#foodietok | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

littlespider666 · 12 days ago

Text

Chapter One

“Congratulations on making partner at Empirical PR!”

Applause fills the room as you feel your cheeks begin to flush. You bow your head in appreciation as your best friend pours you another shot of sake. It had been a long six-month internship (completely unpaid) for you to prove your worth and get hired by the prestigious company. Six months of sleeping, eating, and breathing EVERYTHING to do with public relations. Late nights monitoring clients’ public reputations via news platforms and social media, writing and outlining speech after speech, preparing media packages, boosting their ratings by speaking with the press via phone and email—and all without any recognition, let alone a thank you. To say you deserve this was an understatement. You were a hard worker, and to see that acknowledged by a company as highly regarded as Empirical was an honor. They were the only firm trusted enough to handle all PR for the Pro Heroes.

What made this moment even sweeter was knowing how hard you had worked outside of the internship to make ends meet. In between your PR work you were racing around the city as an Uber Eats courier and ended up launching your own food business. It wasn’t easy by any means, but you’d found a way to make it work (you might have abused some pills but nobody needs to know that). Your food business, The Doki-Doki Bunny, started as a small idea, but thanks to your PR background, it quickly gained traction. Wearing a pastel pink bunny costume complete with floppy ears, sparkling eyes, heart shaped blush, and a cute little frilly apron with an all over carrot and heart print, you became the city’s mysterious and quirky food sensation.

You’d built a cute, over-the-top brand for Doki-Doki Bunny—from designing pastel packaging with adorable messages to creating a viral social media presence. Your Instagram was filled with photos of colorful bento boxes and adorable plating, while your TikTok videos alternated between food prep and doing those dumb tiktok dances in costume. One in particular really helped you go viral.

Set to Tinashe’s "Nasty," the TikTok starts with close-up shots of you rolling sushi and garnishing ramen bowls, your hands moving with precision and flair. The camera dramatically cuts to you, fully decked out in your Doki-Doki Bunny costume. The floppy bunny ears bounce dramatically as you nail the energetic hip movements, pausing between transitions to sprinkle green onions or artfully drizzle sauce over a dish. The final clip shows you finishing the dance with a playful wave before presenting a perfectly plated meal to the camera.

The caption read: “Food so good it’ll make your heart go doki-doki! 🐰❤️ #DokiDokiBunny #NastyChallenge #FoodieTok”

You hadn’t thought much about it after posting, but within hours, the views had skyrocketed. Cho had been the first to text you, spamming fire emojis and screenshots of the TikTok. Customers lined up at your stand that night, phones in hand, excitedly showing you the video. Even now, weeks later, the momentum hadn’t slowed.

After the celebration that night, you and Cho stumble back to your apartment, still buzzing from the excitement and a bit too much sake. The city lights blur into streaks as the two of you laugh over some inside joke that neither of you will remember in the morning. Your heels dangle from your fingers as you balance precariously on the curb, declaring yourself the queen of the world.

“Your Majesty,” Cho bowed dramatically, almost losing her footing in the process.

“Peasant,” you slur, “you shall carry me to my palace!” You try to climb onto her back, and the two of you collapse into a heap of giggles.

Just as you’re rounding the corner to your apartment, a flash of movement catches your eye. Two familiar figures in hero costumes stride down the street on patrol. Even in your drunken haze, it’s impossible not to recognize them: Dynamight and Red Riot. The energetic redhead is talking animatedly to the taller blonde who doesn’t seem to be invested in the conversation. Whatsoever.

“Oh my god,” Cho gasps, clutching your arm. “Is that… Dynamight? And Red Riot?”

“I think it is…” you whisper-shout back, as though they can’t hear you from less than twenty feet away.

Without thinking, Cho brings her fingers to her mouth and lets out the loudest whistle you have ever heard. “Oh boyssss-i mean sirs, sirs. I think we are some damsels that are in need of some big strong men with big dic-”

“Oh my god” you squealed and covered her mouth with your hands. “Cho you can’t say that to them. They’re Heroes, ” you slur, “ of the law.” You get really close to her face, hands still clasped over her mouth. “Shhhh ok? Don’t”.

You turn back to apologize to them and much to your surprise notice that both heroes stopped in their tracks and are staring right at you. Dynamight narrows his eyes, while Red Riot chuckles awkwardly and rubs the back of his neck.

“Go home, you’re drunk,” Dynamight barks, his voice sharp enough to cut through your haze.

“Pfft, you are!” You shout back. Cho snorts into your hand as you drag her away, cheeks burning as you mutter apologies under your breath. The two of you dissolve into a fit of giggles all the way up to your apartment, where Cho flops onto your couch and declares it the best night ever.

✦•········★········•✦

The shrill sound of your phone vibrating on your nightstand disturbs you from your alcohol-induced coma. You open your eyes and immediately squeeze them shut again, regretting your poor decision-making skills from the night before.

Too many shots. Too much soju.

It always ends up like that when you and Cho go out on the town. You two had met back in pre-k when she put a little boy in his place for pulling your hair. To this day, you still have no idea what she whispered to him, but you will always remember the look of absolute fear on his face as she smiled sweetly and skipped toward you. “Boys are so dumb,” she said. “But don’t worry—he won’t be bothering you again.” Those words rang true, and you two were inseparable ever since.

You aimlessly reach for your phone and answer without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“How much do you love me?” Speak of the devil.

“What do you waaaant, Cho”?

“Fine. I’ll make it quick. My bastard father is at it again! He volunteered me to host his clients for a nice dinner and I need a private chef.”

“I refuse.”

“Please, I’m begging you! I’ll do anything!”

“Cho, YOU LITERALLY HAVE HUNDRED OF THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS! Why not hire an actual chef? I just fuck around and find out half the time.”

“Yeah, but it’s always so good! Please? I promise I’ll pay you just as well as I’d pay a professional. Plus, I need someone to shoot the shit with when I excuse myself from the table because of their mind boringly numb conversations. Please please pleaseeeee?”

You can almost picture her little pout in your head. With her stupid little adorable face.

“Ugh, fine,” you groan, throwing your covers off of you. “Send me the time and a list of any known dislikes or allergies and some ideas of what kind of menu you’re wanting. AND if you want the bunny costume, it’s gunna cost you extra.”

✦•········★········•✦

You’re standing in the middle of the grocery store aisle,holding a very very empty basket. You reach for your phone and open the text thread between you and Cho to see the last exchange is still the picture of a cute cat you found on instagram. You sigh heavily and press the record button sending her a voice message.

“Bitch, hello? Still waiting on the grocery list. Feel free to send it any day now. Not like I’m standing here clueless or anything,” you say, exaggerating your frustration as you glance around the aisle. “Seriously, Cho, do you think I’m some kind of psychic chef? Give me something to work with here.”

You end the message with another sigh and glance at your phone screen while waiting for her to reply. Your TikTok app is still open from earlier, and your eyes widen as you see the notifications. The follower count at the top keeps climbing, little hearts and comments flooding in from your latest videos and you let out a little eeeep. Whether it's out of excitement or anxiety you’re not sure.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” you mutter to yourself, gripping your phone tightly. “It’s no big deal. It’s fine. And normal. And not at all overwhelming.”

Just then, your phone chimes. Excited to finally have some guidance, you open Cho’s message, only to see two words staring back at you: No yellowtail 🙂

You blink. That’s it? “Annoying,” you groan, already imagining the smug look on her face as she probably sips a latte or chugs a whole bottle of expensive wine somewhere without a care in the world. “Okay, fine. Let’s just wing it, per usual.”

With no clear direction, you wander down the aisle, grabbing random ingredients and trying to piece together some semblance of a menu in your head. Your eyes land on a single jar of something expensive-looking perched on the very top shelf. It looks fancy enough to impress Cho’s guests and since it’s the last one it must mean it’s good, which means you have to get it, right?

Standing on your tiptoes, you stretch as far as you can, fingers barely brushing the jar. Before you can make a second attempt, your phone vibrates in your hand. A notification pops up: [DM from ProHero_Nighthide]: ‘Hey, can you handle a big order for a private party this weekend?’

Your eyes widen. “Holy shit,” you whisper, opening the message quickly. You’re mid-reply, typing out a professional yet enthusiastic response, when a shadow passes over you.

“Excuse you,” a deep, gruff voice cuts through your focus. Your fingers freeze, and you glance up just in time to see a large hand snatch the jar effortlessly.

“Oi” you exclaim, spinning toward the culprit—a tall, ash-blond man wearing a black surgical mask. You pause for half a second—taken aback by how annoyingly striking his crimson red eyes are—but quickly snap out of it. “Uhhh, I was about to grab that!”

“Ok? Well, now you don’t have to bother,” he says, tossing the jar into his basket without so much as a glance in your direction. “You’re welcome.”

You blink, momentarily stunned by the audacity of it all. “You can’t just—what kind of person does that?!”

His gaze finally shifts to you, eyebrows raising slightly as if he’s just noticing you exist. There’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly. “Probably the kind of person who doesn’t stand around getting in people’s way.”

“Getting in your way? What do you mean? You literally swooped in, outta nowhere like some kind of…villain and stole-”

He snorts his voice booming ever so slightly, “Stoled?”

“Yes!” You shout back standing on your tiptoes (he seems to have a good foot and a half on you) and pointing in his face. “You stole it right from under my nose!”

“Yeah? Well maybe next time don’t be distracted wasting time playing on your little phone.”

“I wasn’t wasting time! I was working!” you shoot back, yanking your basket closer to you like you’re scared he’s going to literally reach into it and take something else. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I needed that specific jar!”

“Right,” he drawls, clearly amused. “Like you would even know what to do with it.”

You blink. “Huh?”

You watch as his eyes, completely full of judgement, flick from your face to your baggy XXL tshirt that has stains near the collar, down to your mismatched socks that you actually forgot to change before you left the house, and then to your prized Crocs that you just had to get when they did a collab with Saniro, and then back up to your face, “I don’t know….just seems like maybe instant ramen is more your thing then high end ingredients.”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

He turns on his heel, “That’s exactly what I was trying to do in the very beginning, Sweetheart.”

You stand there, fuming, as his words sink in.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, glaring daggers at his retreating figure. “Insulting my comfy clothes? The fucking audacity. Sorry not everyone can look like they stepped straight off the pages of a fashion magazine twenty-four seven.”

Your grip tightens around the basket as you seethe.

“And how the hell does what I wear have anything to do with what I eat? That’s so dumb. So dumb.” You grumble, shifting your weight as you stew in indignation. “I mean, do I enjoy instant ramen sometimes? Sure. But that doesn’t mean—” You let out an exasperated noise. “Ugh.”

You looked back to the empty shelf with a frustrated huff, “I better not see him at check out or it’s on”.

✦•········★········•✦

Bakugou steps out of the grocery store pocketing his mask, the jar of Yuzu Kosho nestled safely in his bag. His lips twitch into a smug smirk as he remembers the stunned look on the girl’s face. What a mess, he thinks, shaking his head. He’d rather give up his right ball than let someone who wears fuckin’ crocs get away with the last Yuzu Kosho to use on ramen she’s probably gunna end up microwaving.

As he makes his way back to his apartment, he barely notices the buzzing of his phone in his pocket. It isn’t until he drops his groceries on the kitchen counter that he finally pulls it out, seeing his group chat blowing up.

Shinso: Locked in the caterer for the anniversary party this weekend. You are all welcome, by the way.

He attaches a picture of a dm exchange.

[ProHero_NightHide]: Hey, can you handle a big order for a private party this weekend?

[Doki-Doki Bunny]: Hello! I am humbly honored by your request. And I could but it depends! How many people are we talking?

[ProHero_NightHide]: 30ish

[Doki-Doki Bunny]: Any dietary restrictions or requests?

[ProHero_NightHide]: None. Just make it good. But I’ve seen your stuff so I’m not worried about that 🥰

[Doki-Doki Bunny]: Flattery won’t get you a discount. Just so you know 😘

[ProHero_NightHide]: Lmao 😂😂 it was worth a try. But seriously, I have high expectations. Don’t let me down, Bunny.

[Doki-Doki Bunny]: You’ll be so impressed you’ll cry.

[ProHero_NighHide]: Perfect. I love a good cry. See you Saturday at 5pm 🐰

Kirishima: Dude no way!!!! I’ve been dying to try their food! I’m so pumped for this party now!

Sero: Oh shit. Doki-Doki Bunny? The ramen they be postin’ on the gram looks fire 🔥

Denki: I bet she’s hot af. The way she was moving in that last video? 👀👀👀 Like, that bunny costume is doing something to me, bro

Midoriya: How do you know they’re even female? It’s just a costume, and with technology these days anyone can make it look feminine if they want to.

Sero: Facts 😂😂😂

Shinso: I feel like we are getting way off topic…

Denki: Listen…I don’t know any men who can move like this

He sends a link to a tiktok video and Bakugou reluctantly clicks it.

The video loads with the signature pastel aesthetic that kinda makes him wanna puke. The camera pans over artfully plated bowls of ramen, steam rising as broth is poured with careful precision. A soft, upbeat track plays in the background before the shot cuts to the infamous bunny costume.

The figure moves in sync with the beat, hips swaying and hands mimicking the motions of garnishing dishes mid-dance. It’s playful, ridiculous, but undeniably skilled.

Bakugou’s eyes narrow as he watches.The fuck is this shit? he thinks, his lips curling into a scowl. Still, there’s something irritatingly captivating about the way everything is so... polished. Professional. The final shot of the video ends with the bunny holding up a perfectly plated dish, with their pointer finger and thumb pressed together in the shape of a heart.

Kirishima: See??? Absolute legend.

Denki: Yeah but bro. BUNNY. 🥵

Sero: The food always looks insane.

Midoriya: Honestly, the plating technique is incredible. It’s rare to see this level of detail outside of a fine dining restaurant. I wonder if they went to culinary school…

Denki: Nobody is going to talk about bunny tho???? 😞

Bakugou: This is the dumbest shit I’ve ever seen.

Denki: Bet you wouldn’t say that if she was cooking personally for you. 😏

Bakugou: I wouldn’t want some costumed weirdo cooking for me. Besides, I can cook better shit myself.

Sero: Oh shit, could you imagine a Bakugou vs Bunny cook off? That would be so dope

Shinsou: Would actually pay to see that.

Kirishima: Honestly, I’d watch that too. Bakugou in the kitchen, all intense, vs. Bunny dancing while plating. It’d be like Iron Chef on steroids and shrooms!!

Denki: AND Bunny would win. I mean, come on, the theatrics alone. 🤩

Bakugou: Tch. Like hell they would. Dancing doesn’t make the food taste better, dumbass.

Sero: Nah, but it makes it more fun. You’d probably just yell at the ingredients until they cook themselves.

Shinsou: 😂😂😂

Bakugou: Fuck all of you 🖕

Kirishima: Why fuck me for???? 😭😭😭😭

Midoriya: Or me? I didn’t say shit 😂

Shinsou: We’re just saying, Bunny could give you a run for your money 🐰

Bakugou scowled at his screen, his fingers twitching over it’s keyboard as he debated whether or not to respond. Arguing with these idiots wasn’t worth it—especially when they were all ganging up on him like this. Dipshits.

“Tch. Whatever,” he muttered under his breath, tossing his phone onto the couch. It sat there for a moment, screen still lit up with the group chat. His foot tapped impatiently against the floor, his mind running in circles.

“Like hell they could,” he grumbled, snatching the phone back up.

He opened TikTok with more force than necessary, quickly typing “Doki-Doki Bunny” into the search bar. The profile was easy to find—thanks to the annoyingly bright pastel aesthetic. He clicked on the first video without hesitation.

It opened with a close-up of a perfectly plated bento box, the food arranged so neatly it looked like something out of a commercial. The video cut to quick shots of hands expertly slicing vegetables and rolling sushi, then transitioned to the infamous figure in the bunny costume, the floppy ears bouncing as they sprinkled green onions over a steaming bowl of ramen.

Bakugou’s brow twitched as they started dancing, swaying their hips and twirling utensils in time with the music. It was ridiculous. It was stupid. It was...

Pretty good, he begrudgingly admitted, watching as the bunny finished the dance with a playful wave and presented another immaculate dish to the camera.

The caption read: “Food so good it’ll make your heart go doki-doki! 🐰❤️ #FoodieTok #DokiDokiBunny”

He clicked on another video, and then another, each one just as annoyingly polished and well-executed as the last. The food looked incredible—better than most of the crap he’d seen at fancy restaurants and as stupid as he thought the dancing was, the views? They were all climbing into the millions. He shakes his head dismissively, “So fuckin’ weird.”

He swipes out of the app and back into the group chat.

Bakugou: Yeah whatever. We’ll see if they can put their money where their mouth is.

Denki: I bet I know where you really wish her mouth was 😏

Sero: Oh brotherrrr 🙄

Midoriya: ***Their

Denki: Come onnnn she’s definitely a girl 😭

Shinso: Denki, man, I’m begging you

Rolling his eyes, Bakugou locks his phone and tosses it onto his plush sofa. The group chat was a mess, as usual, but for once, the chaos wasn’t what stuck with him. His mind wandered back to the videos—bright colors, precise movements, and food so meticulously plated it almost pissed him off.

The Bunny gimmick was stupid, sure, but there was no denying that whoever was behind it actually had skill. That food wasn’t just for show. It was the kind of skill you couldn’t fake.

His gaze drifted to the jar of Yuzu Kosho sitting on his counter, and without meaning to, the corners of his mouth tugged into the faintest smirk.

“Tch. Gimmicky or not…” he muttered, leaning back against the sofa. For the first time, Shinso’s party didn’t feel like a complete waste of time. He might actually be looking forward to seeing what this Doki-Doki Bunny could do in person.

✦•········★········•✦

The soft click-clack of keyboards and hum of phone calls filled the modern but elegant office at Empirical PR as you adjusted the brightness on your monitor. The task of the day was deceptively simple—drafting a crisis management proposal for a hero who’d accidentally gone viral for a poorly worded offhand comment. The client wasn’t thrilled about the backlash, but you were no stranger to turning bad press into an opportunity.

Your screen displayed an outline of the talking points you'd been drafting, each one carefully worded to balance accountability with a positive spin. You took a sip of your coffee, adding a note about potential social media strategy when a voice broke through your focus.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite little intern.”

You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Pro Hero Grand—or Yo as he had all but insisted you call him after the third time you crossed paths in the office. His PR was handled in-house by your team, so seeing him here wasn’t unusual. The way he leaned against your desk with a lopsided grin, eyes sharp with interest, definitely was though

“Staying busy?”

“Not an intern anymore,” you reminded him, keeping your tone light but professional. You kept typing. “But yes, I am. Could always be busier, though.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ve got a solution for that.”

You could tell from his tone you didn’t like where this was going.

“How about dinner? This Friday?”

That made you pause. Slowly, you looked up at him, brows raising in mild surprise. Ah. So that’s where we’re at now.

It wasn’t the first time he’d flirted with you. In fact, the first time he did—you’re embarrassed to say, you were blushing like a little school girl, all shy with the giggles and the “omg no!” when he complimented you on your looks. Shindou is an attractive man and to say that his quirk isn’t of um, ahem..interest to you would be a bold face lie but, it wasn’t long before you realized that you weren’t special and he was this way with…well, everyone.

“Dinner?” you echoed, as if you needed clarification.

“Yeah. You and me.” His smirk widened just slightly, and he leaned in a fraction closer, voice dropping just enough to make it sound intimate. “I think we could have some fun.”

Oh, he was good. The way he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth? Absolutely practiced and perfected. Damn him.

You forced a small, polite smile, carefully weighing your options. Though it had been awhile you were strictly a never mix work with pleasure girlie sooo. You were gunna have to pass. Rejecting a guy like Shindou Yo wasn’t about just saying ‘no” though.

If you brushed him off too lightly, he’d take it as a challenge. If you rejected him too harshly, you’d have to deal with awkward tension every time he stepped into this office and that would be exhausting since he stepped in the office A LOT.

“That’s really sweet, Shindou,” you said smoothly, keeping your expression neutral.

“Yo” He corrected you.

“But I’m going to have to pass. I’ve got a lot going on right now.”

His grin faltered just a little. A split second of something unreadable flickered in his eyes before he recovered.

“C’mon, don’t tell me you’re married to the job.”

You exhaled through your nose, still smiling. He wasn’t dropping it. Of course he wasn’t dropping it.

“More like engaged,” you replied, turning back to your screen as if the conversation was already over.

Shindou chuckled, clearly undeterred. “Ah, so what you’re saying is there’s still room for a little fun?”

You shoot him a slow, unimpressed blink, the universal sign for I refuse to dignify that with a response.

Shindou let out a short laugh, tilting his head like he was trying to figure out what was happening. You could tell this wasn’t the reaction he was used to. Poor pretty boy, not used to rejection.

“What?”, his voice still playful, but now tinged with a hint of curiosity. “I prefer to think of it as an open-ended opportunity.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you turned your focus back to your work. “Is that so?”

He shrugged, flashing you another one of his effortless grins. “What can I say? I like to keep my options open. And if you ever decide to do the same, you know where to find me.”

Before you could respond, the rapid click of heels against tile caught both of your attention.

You barely had a second to react before Cho appeared at your desk, to-go coffee in one hand and a mischievous glint in her eyes. She plops down into the chair beside you, crossing her legs dramatically. When she glances up and sees the handsome brunette lingering around your desk, she turns back to you, perfectly arched eyebrow raised.

“Interrupting something?” she asked, barely hiding the smirk in her voice.

“Not at all,” you said smoothly, casting Shindou a final polite smile before turning your full attention to your best friend. “What’s up?”

“Lunch is up,” Cho said. “And also, this, and synchronously your dick, if you had one becauuuuuuse buh buh dah dahh.” She slides a glossy magazine across your desk.

Your eyes flicked down to the open page, and immediately, you wished you hadn’t. Because staring back at you, in all his brooding, delicious glory, was Bakugou Katsuki.

Clad in a sleek, should be illegal, perfectly tailored suit, arms crossed, jaw tight—he looked every bit the powerhouse that GQ clearly wanted him to be. The headline beside his image read: “Musutafu’s Hottest Hero: Dynamight Talks Power, Passion, and Never Settling for Less.”

You blinked. Then blinked again. “Cho.”

“What?” she asked, all feigned innocence. “I just thought you’d like to see what your boyfriend’s up to these days.”

Your face burned as you quickly flipped the magazine closed. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Yeah but you wish he was,” she quipped, sipping her coffee.

Shindou, who had been quietly observing the exchange, let out a little scoff. “Dynamight, huh? Didn’t peg you for the type.”

“I don’t have a type,” you said quickly. Too quickly actually and you instantly regret it.

Cho grinned, catching the slip. “Oh, babe, you definitely have a type.”

Shindou leaned against your desk again, his interest now piqued. “You know, I first met him back when we were in high school,” he mused. “Not exactly the friendliest guy then, or now. He tries real hard to sell that brooding bad-boy image, though huh?”

He tapped the cover of the magazine with a pointed smirk. “Gotta love when PR does all the heavy lifting. I was up for this too actually, but who can compete with that piercing stare. ”

Cho snorted. “Right? It’s like, smolder harder, Blasty, the cameras are watching.”

You tried to fight back a laugh, but it slipped out anyway. He did really have the smolder down to perfection.

Shindou’s smirk lingered as he pulled out his phone, his fingers tapping against the screen as an idea clearly formed in his head. “You know... I bet I could have some fun with this.”

“What does that mean?” You eyed him suspiciously.

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about,” eyes glued to his phone as he walks down the hall toward the elevators, “Enjoy your lunch.”

And unbeknownst to you, just like that, with a few keystrokes, the spark that would ignite the Twitter feud of the year was set in motion.

✦•········★········•✦

Once you stepped back into the office something felt… off. It wasn’t the usual post-lunch lull—the click-clack of keyboards and soft hum of phone calls were still there, but so was an undercurrent of absolute chaos.

“Umm…the energy is whack as fuck in here,” Cho muttered, scanning the scene as you both walked in. Before you could reply, Minami practically tripped over herself sprinting to your desk, her phone clutched in her hand and her face pale.

“Oh. My. God.,” she gasped, like she’d just run a marathon. “You—Oh my God, you need to see this.”

“Okay, breathe,” you said, already bracing yourself as you set your coffee down. “What’s going on?”

Minami shoved her phone in your face, and there it was: screenshots of Bakugou Katsuki and Shindo Yo’s very public, very messy feud was trending worldwide.

“Oh no,” you muttered, scrolling through the timeline.

The first tweet you saw was Shindou’s:

Shindou Yo @TheGrandShindou@GreatExplosionMurderGod I hope you treated the GQ photographer to a nice dinner or something because trying to convince the world you’re approachable while your aura screams “get the fuck away from me” takes serious skill. 💀 #PRMagic

Shindou Yo @TheGrandShindou@GreatExplosionMurderGod But no fr, modeling might be your true calling, bro. I mean, the hero thing is cool and all, but this? This is something special. Ever considered leaving the explosions behind and embracing the smize? 😏 #TopModelShit

Bakugou Katsuki @GreatExplosionMurderGodReplying to @TheGrandShindouTf? Don’t ever @ me.

Shindou Yo @TheGrandShindouReplying to @GreatExplosionMurderGodAww, come on, don’t be like that. You’re not mad, are you? I’m just giving credit where it’s due. You should try it sometime.

Bakugou Katsuki @GreatExplosionMurderGodReplying to @TheGrandShindouGive credit to you? For what? Being a jealous little bitch? Congrats. You nailed that shit.

Shindou Yo @TheGrandShindouReplying to @GreatExplosionMurderGod

Lol imagine being jealous of a guy whose personality is just… yelling. 😬 You should try using your inside voice once in a while.

Bakugou Katsuki @GreatExplosionMurderGodReplying to @TheGrandShindouI’d use my inside voice if you weren’t always saying dumb shit that deserves yelling.

Shindou Yo @TheGrandShindouReplying to @GreatExplosionMurderGod😂 Relax, man. Not everything’s a fight.Somebody gives this man a stress ball. Yikes.

Bakugou Katsuki @GreatExplosionMurderGodReplying to @TheGrandShindouBro. Sit the fuck down. You’re literally just a human vibrator with a shit personality. Try not to short-circuit while you’re begging for all this attention, yeah?

The final tweet from Bakugou was attached to several thousand retweets, and the comments were… amusing but some were unfortunately brutal.

You stared at the screen. “Please tell me this is AI-generated?”

“Oh, it’s real,” Minami said gravely. “Bakugou’s management team logged into his account and changed his password, then deleted everything, but not before people retweeted the hell out of it.”

Beside you, Cho peeked at the phone and burst out laughing.

“Wait—human vibrator is actually kind of iconic.”

“This is a disaster,” you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Oh, babe,” Cho said, patting your shoulder like she wasn’t enjoying this way too much. “Good luck. I’m out.”

You shot her a look. “Seriously?”

She grinned, raising her to-go coffee in a mock toast.

“What? I don’t work here. Good luck! Call me later—I want all the tea.”

And with that, she spun dramatically on her heel, disappearing down the hall like she was walking out of a soap opera.

You barely had time to process Cho’s departure before the ding of the elevator snapped you back to reality. A group of sharply dressed people stepped out, all carrying sleek portfolios and wearing the exact expressions of people ready to chew someone out.

“That’s Dynamight’s team,” Minami whispered.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

Minutes later, your boss Igarashi Sloane appeared, her heels clicking sharply against the tile as she surveyed the chaos. Her expression was tense, but her tone? Sharper.

Her eyes locked onto yours.

“Conference room now.”

✦•········★········•✦

The moment you walked into the meeting, you felt the tension like a physical weight. Dynamight’s management team sat on one side of the table, looking exhausted and pissed.

Your boss sighed heavily, flipping open a folder as she addressed the room.

"Alright, let’s lay it out. This Twitter feud? The straw that broke the camel’s back. But let’s not pretend this is the only problem. Bakugou’s PR has been in freefall for the past two weeks."

She turned toward his team. "So, let’s start from the beginning. What happened?"

One of the managers rubbed his temples, looking like he needed a drink. "How much time do you have?"

"Start from the worst," Igarashi said, already bracing herself.

"That would be the incident with the reporter," one of them muttered.

You opened your notebook, clicking your pen as you prepared to take notes.

"Which one?"

"Exactly."

One of the assistants flipped through a stack of printed-out tweets, landing on one in particular. "It started when a reporter got a little too personal about his sex life at a post-battle press conference. His response?"

The manager cleared his throat, lowering his voice in a gruff mimicry. "The fuck? None of your damn business. What kinda bullshit questions are these? Get the fuck out my face’".

Oooof, you thought, not terrible but definitely not the greatest look.

"It would've been manageable if he hadn’t knocked the mic out of the guy’s hand."

At that, you stopped writing your notes and gave his manager your full attention.

His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. So then the clip goes viral, and Twitter runs with it right? Guess what was trending by the next morning?"

The assistant slides another paper across the table.

#DynamightVirgin

You clenched your jaw to keep from snorting. Professionalism. Personalism.

A few people in the room coughed, clearly trying to suppress their reactions as well.

"Okay," Igarashi said, exhaling. "And then?"

"Two days later, a paparazzi caught him walking out of an agency meeting and asked him if he ever gets laid or just relies on the gym to take the edge off"

You blinked. "Why are all these questions all about his personal life?"

"Because the internet is obsessed with it, Bakugou was voted #1 hottest Hero since he made Pro. Women and men everywhere are chomping at the bit to know every detail about his love life. He’s kept that pretty private. Only having one serious relationship a few years back, which I’m sure you all remember with Pro Hero Illus-o-Camie that went south real quick," the manager said flatly. " Anyway…Bakugou scowled, flipped the guy off, and muttered 'Get the fuck away from me.'"

You winced. "I mean…it could have been worse?"

"Oh, it got worse. Someone edited the clip to make it seem like he was cursing out a fan instead of a paparazzi."

You didn’t even really have to guess what the trending topic was this time but the assistant helpfully provided it anyway.

#DynamightHatesHisFans

"Great," you muttered. "What else?"

Another manager sighed. "Then there was the gym video."

"What gym video?" You and Igarashi ask in unison.

"The one where he yells at a rookie hero after basically circling him like a hungry shark."

You closed your eyes for a second, steeling yourself. "What did he say?"

The manager deadpanned, "'You gunna lift that? Or just stare at it like a pussy ass little bitch?'"

Someone in the back of the room muffled a laugh.

"It went viral as a 'rage moment' clip even though the rookie laughed it off and the end of the video," the assistant added.

"Let me guess. Another trending topic?"

The manager nodded grimly. "The next day, a hero networking event rolls around. Another hero says something snide to him. Bakugou tells him, 'Say that shit again, I fuckin’ dare you.’

"And then, the final nail in the coffin," the lead PR manager said, looking over his notes. "That same reporter from before? The one who kept asking him about his dating life? Found him on the street and baited him again."

You exhaled sharply. "What'd he say?"

"The reporter asked if he was worried if he was going to be single forever because 'no one will be able to handle his aggression.'"

Oh.

"And then Bakugou snapped. Pushed the guy’s camera a little too hard and it fell to the ground and ended up damaged property."

Oh no.

The assistant slid over one last printed sheet.

#DynamightSNAPS

"Okay, but that one is out of context," a woman from his team interjected. "The reporter was actively harassing him. It wasn't just one question, it was a whole setup. There’s more footage, but people are only sharing the five-second clip."

"Sure," your boss said, tapping a manicured nail against the table. "But public perception doesn't care about the full story. It cares about what goes viral."

Silence settled over the room.

"We need a strategy, and we need it now."

She’s speaking to you, directly, who is completely unaware because you are too busy writing in your Kuropi notepad.

It’s not until you hear her clear her throat that you raise your head and see her looking at you.

“You want me to handle this?” You pointed at yourself, as if that would somehow make her reconsider.

Igarashi’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’ve already crafted successful strategies for countless clients, you bring a fresh perspective, and quite frankly, you’re the only one I trust to be brutally honest when it counts.”

Bakugou’s management team didn’t argue, probably too exhausted from all the damage control to care who was leading the charge at this point.

You sucked in a breath. Alright then.

“Okay,” you said, straightening in your seat. “I’ll have a full, actionable plan drafted before tomorrow’s meeting.”

Igarashi nodded in approval before rising from her seat, “Ok, everyone. We will meet here tomorrow morning at 8:00am. And I expect Mr. Bakugou to be present.”

The meeting adjourned. People shuffled out, murmuring to each other, leaving behind half-empty coffee cups and the scent of tension still lingering in the air.

And you? You sat there in silence like you had just been drafted into the war.

Because holy shit. You just agreed to handle Bakugou fucking Katsuki.

This is fine. Everything is fine.

You exhaled, pushing your chair back as you surveyed the battlefield of notes and timelines spread out before you. This mess was now your responsibility.

The clock on the wall ticked. The office was quiet. Your coffee was cold.

Yeah. This was going to be a long night.

✦•········★········•✦

The office was eerily quiet at this hour. The kind of silence that felt almost unnatural, given the usual chaos of the PR world. Your desk was a disaster—pages of notes scribbled in your Kuropi notebook, crumpled post-its scattered like confetti, and an obnoxiously large cup of coffee that had been refilled one too many times.

Your grand game plan for fixing Bakugou’s PR image was coming together—somewhat. Between half-caffeinated ramblings and your brain frying itself over how to make a man who told a reporter to fuck off seem like an endearing public figure, you had at least settled on some key points.

Immediate damage control (drafting a Twitter response that didn’t sound like a threat)

Softening his public image (good luck)

Showcasing his actual good qualities (you were sure he had at least…two?)

Convincing him to stop flipping people off in public (probably impossible)

The clock on your monitor blinked mockingly: 7:23 AM

You had exactly thirty-seven minutes before the meeting. You should’ve spent that time going over the final details of your strategy, but hunger had won the battle.

Rummaging through your desk, you found an unopened pack of mini oreo cookies, and before you knew it, you were inhaling them like your life depended on it. This was fine. You could eat and work at the same time.

Except, of course, the universe had other plans.

Because just as you shoved a ridiculously large amount of pieces into your mouth, the door slammed open.

You froze, half-chewed oreos in your mouth, crumbs clinging to your lips like you’d just been caught mid-heist.

Standing in the doorway was the man of the hour, Bakugou Katsuki. He was in gym clothes today. Joggers that were baggy yet somehow emphasized how large and toned his quads were. His arm muscles on full display in his tank which was a little slutty if you do say so yourself, cropped a bit so it showed just a smidge of his v and-

“Oi,” He took one look at you—frazzled, sleep-deprived, stuffing your face like a raccoon that had broken into a vending machine—and scoffed.

“The fuck are you doing?”

You blinked. He was early. Unreasonably early.

Trying to chew as fast as possible, you waved a hand in his direction, silently screaming at him to wait while you finished.

He in fact, did not wait.

“You’re supposed to be fixin’ my goddamn image and this is what I walk in on?” His lip curled in something between amusement and irritation as he eyed the mess on your desk. “Great. No wonder your little game plan is takin’ all night.”

You finally swallowed, pointing at the clock. “You’re early.”

“No shit.”

“You’re annoyingly early.”

His expression didn’t change. “Yeah, well, you look like you got run over by a truck, so.”

With what little dignity you had left, you wiped the crumbs from your face, straightened your spine, and exhaled. Professionalism. You had to be professional.

“Alright, I don’t know what that has to do with—nevermind” you said, clicking your pen with way more force than necessary. “The meeting starts at 8:00, so make yourself comfortable until then.”

Bakugou didn’t move, eyes still roaming over you like he was trying to place something. His stare was sharp, scrutinizing. Like he knew something you didn’t.

And then, as if he’d finally solved the puzzle, his smirk deepened. He takes a seat directly opposite of you and ok, you heard people talk about how he smells like burning cinnamon or caramel but at this moment, right now, you think that those people are unromantic illiterate morons. Because Bakugou doesn’t smell like caramel or cinnamon. No way. He smells like the warmth of fire embers still glowing dimly long after the flames have died down. The whisper of charred wood. Then there’s this low almost dangerous scent underneath that you just can’t place…something dark and sweet like vanilla aged in whiskey barrels—

“Soooo,” His gruff voice pulls you from your daydream, “You’re like PR princess by day and drunk sexual predator by night or somethin’?”

You choke on your coffee. “What?”

Bakugou grinned like he’d just won the lottery. “Sorry, predator is a bit too strong of a word huh? We’ll go with ‘harasser’ instead.”

“I’m so utterly confused right now. What are you talking about?”

He shakes his head dismissively. “Wild how you don’t remember” his eyes meet yours, his eyebrows raised, “Big strong men with big dicks? Ringing any bells now?”.

You freeze. Brain empty. Just literal static noise.

Because oh my god.

The memory comes rushing back so fast you could vomit.

The street. The drunken haze. The sheer, mortifying fact that Cho had whistled at them. And then—oh, fuck.

Big strong men with big dicks.

Your soul leaves your body. Like that bitch is gone GONE.

Bakugou is watching you like a cat who just cornered a mouse, chin resting lazily in his palm. The corner of his mouth twitches upward as he tilts his head. “Yeah. Thought so.”

You try to save yourself. “I—I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His smirk widens, slow and infuriating, because he knows.

“Nah, nah, don’t backpedal now, Princess,” he drawls, stretching his arms behind his head.

You wish for death. Right now. Instant incineration. The sheer audacity of the universe to make you black out that part but not completely eradicate it.

“Ok, but that wasn’t even me that said that, it was Cho! I was the one who actually stopped her from–”

“Ohhh, right, right,” Bakugou interrupts, nodding like he suddenly remembers something. “Still you know what they say, you are what you hang around..”

You squint at him.

“So a harasser by association.’”

You inhale sharply through your nose. This is a losing battle.

Bakugou, the absolute menace that he is, leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, completely reveling in your suffering. “Didn’t realize you were such a fan of me and my–.”

You gasp. “I’m NOT”

“Damn, closeted then?”, he muses, voice practically dripping with amusement, “it’s ok sweetheart. I won’t tell anybody.”

Your entire body combusts. “OH MY GOD, IT WAS DARK, WE COULDN’T EVEN SEE WHO YOU WERE—”

“Holy fuck you’re such a liar,” he drawls “I heard your friend ask you if that was ‘Dynamight and Kirishima’ and you said yeah and you wanted us to double team you right there against the-”

“OH MY GOD! STOP TALKING!”

“Mmm..I don’t think I will.” He smirks.

You shoot death glares at his dumb handsome face. “You really are an absolute terror aren’t you?”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

You slap your hands on the table, ready to dig your own grave and lay in it. “Look. Can we please—I don’t know—act like adults and move past this?”

His eyes flick toward the stack of mini Oreo wrappers on your desk. Then slowly back to you.

You know what he’s thinking before he even opens his mouth.

“Yeah, real adult-like,” he snorts, lips twitching. “So what’s next? You gunna whip out a juice box and take a nap under your desk?”

You nearly lunge at him. “OH, FUCK OFF.”

Bakugou just grins, arms crossing over his chest like he’s so over the moon pleased with himself.

And then, because of course he’s not done being the worst, he casually tilts his head and goes,

“I will, but uh quick question first, does your taste in food match your taste in men? ‘Cause if your palate consists of instant ramen and mini oreos, it’s not lookin’ great.”

And that’s when it happens.

The connection clicks.

Your brain lags.

Your entire being just short-circuits.

Bakugou watches it happen in real time, the exact moment you realize.

You stare at him, mouth slightly open, as the puzzle pieces snap together.

Tall. Blonde. Red eyes. Real asshole.

The grocery store.

The instant ramen insult.

Bakugou sees the recognition explode across your face and smirks.

“Yeah,” he says, smug as fuck. “Took you long enough.”

You screech.

“OH!” You cover your mouth with your hand, then point at him. “You little—rat!”

Bakugou scoffs. “Rat?”

“Yeah! You’re such a little rat. Scurrying around, stealing other people’s things with your grubby little rodent fingers!”

“First of all, I don’t scurry. Never fuckin’ scurried a day in my life. Second of all, shit wasn’t even yours. It was literally sitting on the shelf!”

“Sounds like something a rat would say”

“Wha-”

The sound of someone’s throat being cleared interrupts you as you both turn to see Igarashi.

“Are you two done?”

Bakugou leans back in his chair. “Yeah, sweetheart. You done?”

You glare daggers at him, jaw tight. “I will be when you admit you’re a rat.”

His smirk widens. “In your fucking dreams.”

“Then no,” you huff, arms crossing over your chest. “I’m not done.”

Igarashi pinches the bridge of her nose. “God, I knew this was going to be painful.”

She strides into the room, setting down her folder with an audible thunk that somehow manages to cut through the lingering tension. “Listen,” she sighs, giving both of you a sharp look. “I don’t care if you two had some weird lovers’ spat or if you’re in the middle of a mutual destruction pact—you are both going to sit down, act like professionals.”

Your mouth opens in immediate protest, but Bakugou beats you to it.

“Lovers’ spat?” He snorts, shooting you an incredulous glance. “Yeah right.”

Your nostrils flare. “Like I’d ever.”

Igarashi slams a hand down on the folder, the sharp thud cutting through the tension like a blade. “Enough.”

The room falls silent.

Your mouth snaps shut on instinct, and even Bakugou—who looks like he has at least ten more insults locked and loaded—leans back in his chair, arms crossed but silent.

Igarashi exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose like she’s trying to ward off a migraine. “Alright,” she says, voice cool and composed. “Bakugou, why don’t you head into the boardroom? Straight down the hall, to the left. The meeting will begin in a few minutes.” She flicks her gaze to you. “I need a private word with my colleague.”

To your surprise, Bakugou stands without protest, though not without throwing one last pointed look in your direction. The smug glint in his eye all but screams this isn’t over, but he says nothing as he strides out of the office, door clicking shut behind him.

You barely get a breath in before Igarashi’s attention is fully on you.

“Igarashi—” you start, already prepped with your defense, but she raises a hand.

“Did I make a mistake putting you in charge of this?”

The question lands like a punch to the gut.

Your spine snaps straight. “No, ma’am!”

Igarashi stares at you, unimpressed.

You clear your throat, scrambling to reinforce your position. “I am more than capable of handling this. He just…” You trail off, realizing mid-sentence that trying to explain Bakugou Katsuki is an impossible feat. “I had a moment of lapsed judgment, but I promise it won’t happen again.”

Igarashi watches you for a long, unreadable moment, then hums, closing the folder in front of her with deliberate slowness.

“Good,” she finally says. “Because I can’t have you two at each other’s throats. I need you to get him to like you—”

You let out a sharp laugh. “Like me? Impossible—”

“Or at the very least, respect you enough to let us do our jobs before he damages his career beyond repair. We’re running out of options. He’s a great hero—one of the best. But he needs to be reined in before his temper does more harm than good.”

Damn it, she’s right.

Bakugou is one of the best. His numbers, his rankings, his rescue-to-capture ratio—all of it speaks for itself. But none of that matters if the public turns against him. If he becomes more of a liability than an asset, people will stop seeing him as a hero and start seeing him as a problem. And problems get replaced.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, inhaling deeply before exhaling through your mouth. “Fine. I’ll handle it.”

Igarashi tilts her head slightly, scrutinizing you. “Handle it?”

“Yes.” You straighten your shoulders, setting your jaw. “I’ll get him to cooperate. Not matter what”

“Good,” she says simply, but you don’t miss the flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Because I’d hate to have to reassign this to someone else.”

You frown. “Wait—you were considering pulling me off this?”

“I was considering the possibility,” she replies smoothly, picking up her folder. “If you’d shown even a hint of doubt just now, I would’ve done it. But…” she pauses at the door, casting you a knowing look. “Something tells me you’re too stubborn to let him win.”

You scoff. “Damn right.”

Igarashi smirks. “Guess you’ll have to prove it. Come on, we’ve got a meeting to run.”

✦•········★········•✦

The boardroom was already packed when you and Igarashi walked in. Bakugou’s management team sat on one side, looking weary but cautiously optimistic. Bakugou, on the other hand, lounged in his chair with all the enthusiasm of someone being forced to attend their own execution. His red eyes flicked toward you as you took your seat, the corner of his mouth still curled ever so slightly in that smug, I know your deepest, darkest secrets kind of way. You resisted the urge to throw a pen at his face. Igarashi, ever the professional, wasted no time. She took her seat at the head of the table and gestured for you to begin.

You straightened, rolling your shoulders back, and cleared your throat. “Alright, let’s get right to it.”

Bakugou’s gaze flicked lazily to you, like he was already waiting for an excuse to shut this down.

You ignored him and pushed forward.

“The goal here is damage control—both in the short term and long term. Right now, Bakugou’s public image is unhinged at best and a PR nightmare at worst.” You clicked the presentation remote, and the monitor behind you lit up with a slideshow. The first slide was a screenshot of his greatest hits from the past two weeks.

Bakugou let out a loud, unimpressed tch at the sight of his viral moments plastered on the screen.

“The immediate priority is controlling the narrative,” you continued. “That means issuing a carefully worded Twitter response—one that acknowledges the most recent situation without escalating it.”

Bakugou immediately scoffed. “I ain’t apologizing to that smug piece of shit.”

“We’re not asking you to,” you replied smoothly. “The statement won’t be an apology. It’ll be a ‘let’s move past this’ approach—firm, controlled, and professional.”

“Lame,” he muttered.

“Effective,” you shot back. “Next, we need a positive public interaction to counteract all of this.” You clicked to the next slide. “A PR stunt. Something that reminds people that you actually do get along with other heroes.”

Bakugou groaned. “You want me to do some fake-ass hand-holding shit with another Pro?”

“Not fake, just controlled,” you clarified. “We could have you do a casual team-up with a respected hero, someone who can balance out your… personality.”

“Like Kirishima?” one of the managers offered.

“Exactly,” you nodded. “Or Midoriya. Someone with enough credibility and charm to make it seem natural. It doesn’t have to be forced, just enough for the media to get the right soundbites.”

Bakugou crossed his arms but stayed quiet. You took that as a small win.

“After that, we’ll start working on a more relatable image. That means adjusting your social media presence—"

“I’m not censoring or changing what I fuckin’ post.”

“Not asking you to,” you said, clicking to the next slide, which featured some of his most aggressive Instagram/twitter moments. “But maybe, just maybe, we dial it down on the pictures where you’re flipping off the camera, glaring like you want to murder someone, or straight-up threatening the entire internet.”

Bakugou looked deeply unbothered, shrugging his shoulders “That’s just my face.”

“It’s your marketing problem,” you corrected. “We’ll shift your content to include things that make you look less like you’re about to start a bar fight and more like someone the public can root for.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Training footage, lighthearted interactions with fans, even something simple like you cooking—"

“I’m not doin’ some corny-ass Dynamight Cooks bullshit.”

“Then how about anything that shows you as a human being instead of a walking explosion?” you countered. “You have a good fan base, yes, but more people want to like you, Bakugou. You just don’t make it easy for them.”

He opened his mouth, probably to argue, but Igarashi held up a hand. “Enough.” Her tone was sharp, leaving no room for debate. She turned to you. “Continue.”

You exhaled slowly and clicked to the final slide. “The last step is repairing your relationship with the fans. That means public appearances that actually make you look good.”

Bakugou’s jaw twitched. “What, like kissin’ babies and holdin’ puppies?”

You smirked. “Wel funny you should mention that because I am in contact with Buzzfeed specifically for the puppy interview. But I think the first thing should be something more natural. Like an event at a school for some young fans, answering questions, giving them a hero moment they’ll remember.”

The room was silent.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, Bakugou actually considered it.

“Kids are alright, I guess.”

That was the closest thing to cooperation you were going to get.

Igarashi finally spoke again, steepling her fingers. “This is a solid plan. We’ll move forward with it immediately.” She looked toward Bakugou’s team. “I expect full cooperation from all parties.”

Bakugou leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, gaze locked onto you. “And what if I don’t play nice?”

You met his stare head-on. “Then you keep tanking your career, and I’ll be here to say ‘I told you so’ when you inevitably have to crawl back for help.”

The room went silent.

One of his managers coughed to hide a laugh.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed.

You just smiled sweetly.

Igarashi exhaled and closed the folder in front of her. “Alright, since we’re done here. I think it’s best we make sure our client and his PR manager are actually on the same page.”

She turned to you, lips curling into a sharp smirk.

“And I think the best way to smooth things over would be a one-on-one.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Lunch,” she said simply. “You two need to iron out the details of this plan and ensure he understands what’s at stake.”

Bakugou scoffed. “The hell for?”

“To show the public you can behave like a normal person,” she said flatly. “It’s just a simple business lunch. A calm, professional meeting.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Igarashi was already standing. “It’s settled, then.”

Bakugou grumbled something under his breath but didn’t outright refuse.

Your stomach twisted slightly.

Lunch with Bakugou.

In public.

What could possibly go wrong?

…Everything.

Absolutely everything.

✦•········★········•✦

As the meeting concludes, the room empties one by one. Bakugou’s management team is the first to leave, relieved to finally pass this problem off to Empirical PR. Igarashi exits last, giving you a pointed look that says good luck, don’t embarrass me before the door clicks shut.

That leaves just you and him.

Bakugou leans back in his chair, arms crossed, watching you with an expression that’s far too smug for someone who just had their entire career blasted and then put in your hands.

You clear your throat, smoothing out your notes. “So. Lunch.”

He doesn’t move. “Yeah?”

You stare at him. “…You do realize that means we have to go somewhere, right?”

“I’m not fuckin’ stupid.”

“Debatable.”

“You always insult your clients like this?”

“Only when they deserve it.”

He narrows his eyes at you, but instead of firing back, he pushes himself up from the chair, stretching his arms above his head—giving you a perfect view of his dumb little slutty little waist and stupid sexy abs.

“I’ll drive,” he says, already heading for the door.

You scramble to follow, narrowing your eyes. “Uh, you have a valid license?”

“No,” he deadpans, sarcasm so thick it could be legally classified as a choking hazard. “It’s invalid. Just like your fuckin’ genetic coding.”

“Oh ha ha ha, you’re so funny Bakugou. And nice and kind, and approachable—OH wait…” you laugh at your own little jab as you press the call button on the elevator. It dings automatically, doors opening up as you step inside, barely holding back your smug grin.

Bakugou follows, standing beside you with his arms crossed. "Hilarious," he mutters, "Real fuckin' comedian over here."

You flash him a too-sweet smile, folding your hands in front of you. "It's all part of my PR strategy. Make you more likable. You know…by association."

"Tch," he scoffs. "Then you better step it the fuck up, ‘cause I ain’t seein’ results."

You gasp, pressing a dramatic hand to your chest. "Are you saying I'm not likable?"

He doesn't even hesitate. "That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

The elevator dings open before you can rebuttal, and he steps out onto the main floor, heading toward the underground parking garage. The moment you see what he’s walking toward, you hesitate.

"Wait," you say, blinking. "That’s your car?" Sitting there, sleek and menacing in all black, is a not yet released to the public 2025 Aston Martin Vantage.

He tosses his keys into his palm and unlocks it with a beep. "Yeah. Why? What were you expecting?”

"I don’t know to be honest," you admit, walking around to the passenger side. "But I wasn’t expecting something this—" You wave vaguely at the car. "Elegant. I guess maybe I was expecting more loud? And obnoxious? Something that really screams “I’m overcompensating.”

He scoffs, “Trust me sweetheart, I don’t need to overcompensate for shit.” He holds open the passenger side door for you and you freeze because…what is he doing?

You blink at him, momentarily stunned. Bakugou Katsuki—Mr. Loud, Rude, and Perpetually Irritated—was holding the door open for you?

He raises a brow, impatience flickering in eyes. "The fuck you starin’ at? Get in."

Still frozen, you point at the door like it’s some kind of illusion. “You—you're—opening the door for me?”

Bakugou exhales sharply through his nose. “Yeah? And?”

“And??” You sputter. “You—you don’t seem like the type!”

He clicks his tongue. “What, you think I just shove people into my car? Jesus, I got some manners.”

You squint at him, skeptical. “Do you?”

He glares, leaning against the door frame like he’s seconds away from slamming it shut just to be difficult. “You gettin’ in or not?”

Deciding not to push your luck, you slide into the seat, the scent of leather and something distinctly him wrapping around you. Warm, smoky, and—fuck. You have to look straight ahead, resisting the urge to inhale too deeply.

Bakugou shuts the door behind you with a little too much force, rounding the front of the car before slipping into the driver’s seat.

The engine rumbles to life with a low, powerful purr—smooth, controlled, much like the man beside you. He flicks through the touchscreen settings before shifting into reverse, one hand resting casually on the back of your seat as he glances over his shoulder to back out.

And wow. That’s some arm. All corded muscle and prominent veins, the kind that belong in a thirst trap gym photo, not casually flexing inches from your face.

“You good?” Bakugou asks.

You snap your head forward, “Yes, I’m fine.” you say quickly. Eyes on the road.

“Yeah? Tell your face then because you look like you just had a religious experience.”

Your mouth opens, ready to fire back, but nothing comes out because, well—he’s not wrong. You physically shake it off, forcing yourself to focus on literally anything else.

“Just drive, Bakugou.”

He snorts, shifting into gear and smoothly pulling out of the garage.

The ride is… shockingly smooth.. You honestly expected him to drive like he fights—explosive, aggressive, full of barely contained chaos.

Instead, it’s the opposite. Calculated. Smooth. Annoyingly competent.

You fold your arms, eyeing him as he flicks on his turn signal like a model citizen.

“Huh.”

He glances over at you, unimpressed, “What?”

“You’re a really good driver.”

“No shit,” he mutters, eyes on the road.

“I just thought you’d be more…I don’t know—unhinged?”

Bakugou scoffs. “I don’t drive like a dumbass.”

You tilt your head. “Could’ve fooled me with that attitude.”

“‘S’not the same thing.” His fingers tap against the steering wheel. “You think I don’t know how to control my shit?”

You hum, glancing out the window. “I dunno. If you did, you probably wouldn’t be in the mess you’re in right now.”

He side-eyes you, unamused. “That right?”

Before you can answer, he flicks on his blinker and turns down an unfamiliar road.

“Are we lost? Because it doesn’t look like there's any restaurants around here. ” you say, frowning.

“I gotta stop at home first.”

When Bakugou pulls into the underground parking of a high-rise building, you blink, momentarily thrown.

“Wait. You live here?” you ask as he parks in a designated spot.

Bakugou shoots you a dry look. “Goddamn, why do you ask the stupidest questions? Like no, I don’t live here..I just like to park my car in random parking garages for fun. The fuck you think?”

You roll your eyes but step out of the car, following him toward the elevator. The ride up is quick, but with every floor that passes, the realization of just how rich he is sinks in. You knew, logically, that Pro Heroes made a ton of money, but seeing it firsthand? Different story.

When the elevator doors open to his penthouse, your eyes immediately scan the space.

And it’s… really nice.

Like, too nice.

And of course it smells amazing.

Like that same smoky warmth he carries—embers, charred wood, and that deep, almost sinful sweet scent. It’s everywhere, wrapped into the very air you breathe, and you hate that your first thought is fuck, it smells so good in here.

Bakugou drops his keys on the counter and places his gym bag on the floor next to it.

“Gimme five minutes.”

You nod, reaching for your phone to commence a quick doom scroll, but then—

He grabs the back of his tank and yanks it off in one smooth motion.

Brain empty. Brain so empty.

Like, seriously��just TV static and a distant dial-up tone playing on loop.

Because Bakugou Katsuki is built. Broad shoulders, thick biceps that flex naturally as he tosses the shirt aside, strong forearms dusted with faint scars that somehow just add to the whole gruff, battle-worn aesthetic.

And his chest? Jesus. Defined, toned, sculpted like he was handcrafted by the gods specifically to be annoying and hot at the same time. His pecs are solid, his waist criminally trim in contrast to the sheer expanse of his upper body, dipping inward in a way that just should not be allowed..

There’s a trail of light blonde hair leading down past his waistband that you should not be looking at, but here you are. Looking. Gawking really.

You quickly snap your gaze away, staring hard at literally anything else—the countertop, the fridge, the floor—is that a speck of dust? Fascinating.

But Bakugou notices.

“Somethin’ wrong, Princess?”

Oh, he’s smug. You can hear it. Can feel it in the way he purposefully turns towards you, giving you an even better view of his obnoxiously perfect physique.

“Nope,” you say, voice way too high-pitched. You clear your throat, trying again. “Nope. All good. Totally fine.”

His smirk deepens. “Yeah? ‘Cause you look like you’re about to pass out.”

You glare, forcing yourself to meet his eyes—which is arguably worse because they’re sharp and full of amusement, and suddenly, the air between you feels too charged.

“Chyeah,” you scoff, attempting to recover, “I’ve seen a shirtless man before, Bakugou ok? I’m not a prude.”

He cocks a brow. “Yeah? Then why’re you actin’ like it’s your first time?”

“Why’re you actin’ like you’re posing for a fuckin’ Playgirl cover?”

That actually makes him laugh—a real, gruff, low-in-his-chest laugh, and you decide right then and there that you hate how nice it sounds.

“Anyways like I said gimmie five. Just don’t touch shit.”

He turns toward the long hall which you are assuming leads to his bedroom, completely unbothered, leaving you standing there, arms crossed, trying to mentally reboot.

Because what the hell was that?

Forcing yourself to move, you take a deep, steadying breath and glance around his apartment, willing yourself to focus on anything else.

His place looked like a spread in Architectural Digest. Floor-to-ceiling windows, sleek modern furniture, an open kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances that looked completely untouched. Like did he even cook here?

The place is spotless, too. No clutter, no mess—just a few neatly stacked books on the coffee table, his hero gear organized in the corner, and a black leather couch that looks so expensive you feel guilty just standing near it. Where’s the chaos? The clutter? The messy stack of dishes in the sink?

Your eyes drift back to the hallway just in time to see him walking back out, now in a fitted black t-shirt and ripped jeans that— oh, great. Perfect. Now he looks even better.

You roll your eyes and turn away dramatically before he can catch you staring again. “Nice place. Kind of a weird flex that it looks like a showroom instead of an actual home, but hey, do you.”

Bakugou snorts, running a hand through his hair as he grabs his keys. “Yeah? Sorry my shit isn’t a disaster like your desk is.”

You scowl. “You’re so—ugh. Can we just go?”

He smirks like he’s won something, twirling his keys around his fingers before jerking his head toward the door.

✦•········★········•✦

Bakugou, predictably, refuses to let you choose where you eat.

After a whole five minutes of bickering—because apparently, he absolutely does not trust your taste in food ("Instant ramen and mini oreos,I rest my case."), he takes a sharp turn and pulls up to a sleek, modern-looking restaurant downtown.

You eye the place warily as he parks.

The kind of spot that screams expensive but in an understated way. Sophisticated, refined, effortlessly cool.

You glance at him, suspicion creeping in. "This is where you picked?"

He unbuckles his seatbelt, side-eyeing you. "Here we go again with the dumb questions. YES! This is the place. Jesus."

"It’s just that….” You purse your lips, studying him. "I just figured you’d take me to, like, an all-meat barbecue joint or something. Y'know, where everything is aggressively protein-packed, and the servers all look like they deadlift for fun."

His eye twitches. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

You grin. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

Bakugou just tchs under his breath before stepping out, slamming the door behind him with a little more force than necessary.

You follow, still amused, still a little skeptical as you step into the restaurant.

It’s nice. Even nicer than you expected. Subtle, modern, expensive without trying too hard. Everything from the sleek wood-and-glass interior to the low hum of conversation gives the place a quiet sort of exclusivity. No flashy logos. No obnoxiously long waitlist. Just quality.

Which, now that you think about it, is very Bakugou.

The moment he walks in, heads turn—because of course they do.

You see it happen in real-time. A murmur of recognition, hushed whispers, subtle not-so-subtle stares. You swear you hear someone gasp. But Bakugou? He doesn’t react at all. Just mutters a quick, "Two," to the hostess before she nods and leads you both to a table near the window.

You slide into the seat across from him, immediately reaching for the menu. "I’m ordering something ridiculously expensive, just so you know."

He doesn’t even look up. "Tch. Knock yourself out, just don’t bitch about it if it sucks, which it probably will, because it’s you.."

"Wow. Such confidence in my ability to choose food."

"I have zero confidence in your ability to choose food."

You roll your eyes but decide not to push it further, glancing over the options.

Then, it happens.

The moment neither of you could have prepared for.

Outside, through the wide glass window, you notice a figure lurking near the curb, camera raised—paparazzi.

You should’ve known. Should’ve expected it. Bakugou Katsuki, Musutafu’s most volatile Pro Hero, suddenly seen out at lunch with an unknown woman? The media lives for this kind of thing.

But what neither of you realize—what neither of you could have predicted—is the exact moment the shutter clicks.

Because at that moment, Bakugou—who had just insulted your ability to pick food—leans forward in his seat a little bit more, smirking just slightly, while you glare daggers at him over your menu.

And from the outside, through the lens of an opportunistic photographer?

It looks like he's just smiling at you.

Like, actually smiling. Like he’s not Dynamight, all fire and fury, but a man caught in a moment of unintentional warmth—unguarded, relaxed, maybe even… happy.

Neither of you have any idea.

Not yet anyway.

But you’re gunna.

✦•········★········•✦

Lunch is going surprisingly well.

You might even say you’re enjoying yourself.

And then…

Bakugou’s phone vibrates on the table.

He ignores it at first, taking another bite of his meal. Then it buzzes again. And again. And then, again.

You raise an eyebrow. “Popular, huh?”

He scowls, yanking his phone off the table and unlocking it.

The second he sees what’s on his screen, his face goes white.

“…What?” you ask, leaning forward, suddenly curious.

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even move. Just stares.

Then, ever so slowly, he tilts his phone so you can see.

You squint at the screen.

And then?

Oh.

OH.

It’s a post on Twitter.

It’s of you and him, from five minutes ago, sitting right here in this very restaurant. The photo. The one neither of you knew was taken. The one where he looks like he’s smiling at you.

And the caption?

“Wait… is Bakugou Katsuki in love??? 😭😭😭”

You make a noise that can only be described as an unholy wheeze.

It gets so much worse.

The replies are absolutely feral.

— “HE LOOKS SO SOFT HELP???”

— “Why does he look like he’s listening to her talk about the meaning of life 🥺”

— “The way he’s smiling????? My heart. MY HEART.”

— “She must have that WAP to have him cheesin’ like this”

— “WE NEED TO KNOW WHO SHE IS. I REPEAT. WHO. IS. SHE.”

Your hands fly to your mouth, horrified. “Oh my god.”

Bakugou looks like he’s about to combust.

He scrolls down—bad idea. Because it only gets worse.

— “NOT BAKUGOU ‘STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME’ KATSUKI LOOKING AT A WOMAN LIKE SHE HUNG THE STARS”

— “HIS ENTIRE BRAND IS BEING RUDE AND UNAPPROACHABLE AND HE’S OUT HERE LOOKING LIKE A LOVE STRUCK BOYFRIEND??? I CAN’T.”

— “WHY CAN’T A MAN LOOK AT ME THIS WAY??? LOOK HOW HE’S LEANING CLOSER TO HER OMGGGG I’M SO UNWELL 😭”

You slap the table, barely choking back laughter. “HOLY SHIT.”

Bakugou grips his phone like he wants to crush it into dust. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!”

“Oh my god, you’re a meme,” you gasp, clutching your stomach.

“I’m gunna fucking kill myself.” He says, dragging his palm over his face.

And then ding—your own phone vibrates, looking down you see a message from Igarashi. All caps: MEET US IN THE OFFICE. NOW.

“We’re being summoned.” You turn your phone towards Bakugou, his eyes squinting to read the text.

Bakugou exhales sharply through his nose, eyes darting toward the window where the paparazzi are still lingering outside, cameras raised like vultures circling a fresh kill.

“Alright,” he mutters, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Let’s head out through the back.”

“Don’t we have to pay the bill?” You ask

“Relax mom, they have my card on file,” He stands throwing his jacket over his shoulders with ease, “now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Neither of you say much on the way back. You, because you’re still processing the insanity of the situation. Him, because he looks like he’s about three seconds from combusting.

When you finally reach the office, you barely have time to step out of the car before Bakugou is striding toward the entrance, his shoulders tense.

You hurry after him, already bracing for the inevitable shitstorm.

Inside, the atmosphere is charged. Igarashi is waiting in the conference room, flanked by a few members of Bakugou’s management team.

Bakugou barely makes it through the door before Igarashi throws a magazine onto the table.

The already printed magazine.

With the photo on the cover.

“I would say ‘take a seat,’ but something tells me you won’t want to,” she says, rubbing her temples.

You and Bakugou both lean in at the same time.

There it is, staring back at you. The now-infamous candid shot.

The headline?

“DYNAMIGHT’S SOFT SIDE?! WHO IS THE WOMAN THAT HAS MUSUTAFU’S HOTTEST HERO SMITTEN?”

You wheeze.

Bakugou, on the other hand, looks murderous.

“Smitten? The fuck?” he grits out, grabbing the magazine like it personally offended him.

Igarashi ignores him, her gaze shifting to you. “The internet has decided you two are dating.”

You blink. “Ok?”

“As you both know, public perception is everything,” she continues, gesturing to the magazine. “And right now? The world thinks you’re the one person who can ‘tame’ Dynamight.”

Bakugou makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means,” Igarashi says, her tone cool and composed, “that you two are going to lean into it.”

You stare.

Bakugou stares.

Igarashi rolls her eyes, “You’re going to pretend to be a couple.”

Silence.

Then, both of you at the exact same time:

“Huh??!”

0 notes