#germany: “we put the cans and bottles next to the trashcan so people in need can return them for pfand”

[foxesonstilts]

going to a concert in amsterdam and am as always mystified and deeply amused by the difference in cultural acceptance of drinking alcohol on public transport between netherlands and germany

[puffyswritings]

Home Sweet Home (Kacchako One-Shot)

AKA Oh look! It’s another Kacchako short!!

Rating: Teen (for cursing)

Word Count: 2,908

Other Notes: I stayed up last night writing this. I edited it a lot today so it should be better; in terms of flow and detail, I mean. Here, they are all in their late-20′s. You’ll get more backstory as you read along, but this was originally for KPW but I got busy so..... I don’t look at it as that anymore, but just a fic where I can write from Hot Head’s POV and have fun! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!! The story begins at the link below!

“Thank you so much, Ground Zero! I am so glad you agreed to let us interview you here!” The host continue giving his praises, expressing his happiness through wide gestures. Bakugo nods along, somewhat out of the one-sided conversation.

“Anything for a fan,” the Hero says after snapping back into the conversation a moment later. The host’s smile grows impossibly wider and Bakugo can think of a hundred things he could be doing right now rather than sitting in this freezing studio. Cleaning his apartment could be one; going over remodeling ideas for the agency or sitting through another board meeting. Hell, he’d rather peel paint than be here.

Of course, while all of those things could be something he could have left to do minutes ago, he promised a certain friend that he’d go through an interview. Every bit. From the make-up to the closing notes; even this. It’s annoying and grating his nerves--how far does this guy think he’ll get just by flattering Bakugo anyway?--but he isn’t going to back out. Besides, this guy is saying something at least remotely interesting.

“Are you traveling anywhere anytime soon?”

The Pro shrugs. “I don’t plan on it. But if I need to…”

The host jumps forward, earning a pair of narrowed eyes in his direction. “So you keep contact with Heroes from other countries?”

“Yeah.”

“What about Heroes who have moved--and or visited--another country. The same Heroes who are from Japan?”

What is he getting at? “Of course I do; and not only me. We try to keep good ties with Heroes everywhere. In the case that there is an emergency, say, in, France, and they have been severely attacked and they need backup. Then hey, some friends in Germany would go and assist.”

“What is considered an “emergency”?”

“Global panic, natural disasters, an organized rising of a villain or villains.”

Nodding, the host leans back. To the audience, he seems as if he’s thinking, and hard. To Bakugo, it’s all staged; and he can’t help but feel as if he is playing right along with it. “It’s coincidental you mention that, Ground Zero. Because I actually wanted to ask about the most difficult--most dangerous--organized villains in recent history: the League of Villains.

“Is that alright?”

At least he has the fucking decency to ask first, is the Pro’s first thought. His second is to shrug it off. That would be off-putting and crossing the line to his promise though. Which leaves him with two options: Either give his assent, or tell this guy--with as much professionalism and politeness he can muster--to go fuck himself. Neither are ideal, nor do they leave him with any wiggle room. Because if he says yes, those damn feelings will come back; the ones he has conquered and resolved, but still arise. If he says no, then he disappoints his friend and looks like a little bitch. So.

Bakugo straightens in his chair, uncomfortable leather sliding along his slick suit, only to slide back down. He levels his perfected, “you’re on fucking thin ice but you may speak” look at the man. In the steadiest tone he can manage, Bakugo says, “Go ahead.”

---

“You did amazing!!”

“Eat shit.”

Brushing off the good-intentioned compliment, Pro Hero, Ground Zero, tosses an empty water bottle into the nearby trashcan, making his way to the only person who has believed in him since he was a tiny little fuck up.

Izuku Midoriya--or Deku nowadays--beams his trademark smile, unfazed by the harmless remark. “Though I’m surprised you let him ask you about the League…” The shorter man trails off, eyebrows knitted together in thought. Bakugo remains silent. He isn’t all that surprised he talked about the single most traumatizing years of his life. It isn’t as if he hasn’t before.

As they walk down the hall, leaving the small apartment Bakugo has called home the past four years, he looks down at the green-haired Hero and can’t help but smirk. Izuku has stood by him through thick and thin--though more of the former than any. He couldn’t be happier to call this fucking dork his friend.

His sweating hand hits Izuku on the top of his head, roughly rubbing it. “Don’t worry. It’s just a bunch a questions.”

Izuku slaps Bakugo’s hand, moving away and scowling. “I can worry if I want.”

Crimson eyes roll. “Yeah, do whatever the fuck you want I guess.” Izuku crinkles his nose, but Bakugo ignores it. He stuffs his hands into his pant pockets, eyes looking around them.

It’s a habit he picked up at UA: Vigilance. Not knowing where you are or what’s around you, will fuck you up. You think you’re heading home and end up face-to-face with a pile of shit, barely alive ten minutes later. Being lost has never been something Bakugo liked, or liked admitting. It’s annoying, and a pain in the ass. That’s why his memory is so great; he had unconsciously trained himself to remember his location, how he got from Point A to Point B, vice versa, and everything along the way. Going from his agency to the nearest grocery store is only a fifteen minutes walk at worst and he could navigate himself there with his eyes closed.

The apartments and townhouses begin to grow farther apart as they walk down the street. Civilians come by, stopping the Pros as they pass. Bakugo rolls his eyes at Izuku’s own excitement, the work he put into getting to this point sos obviously paying off. It isn’t that Bakugo would ever admit, but seeing Izuku like this, happy smile stretching across his face as bright eyes widen at every “Deku!!! Please sign this!!” Even Bakugo has a wide arrange of adoring fans; not that it’s all surprising.

When the crowd thins, Bakugo notices they have ended up close to one of the train stations. He looks around them, catching sight of the time on one of the clocks. “Where the hell are we going, Deku?” he asks after the last fan leaves.

Izuku perks up at the question, dropping his hand from waving. He nods to the train station, beginning to walk ahead. “Don’t you remember?” he calls by the time Bakugo catches up to him, huffing in fake annoyance. “We’re going to see Uraraka!”

He stumbles. Bakugo fucking stumbles.

It takes him more than a couple seconds to find his voice. When he does, he isn’t proud of his high-pitched, cracking tone either. “She’s back?”

Izuku nods, either deciding it’s wise not to comment on the two-in-a-row blunders made by Bakugo, or not caring. “Not yet; but soon! A few and the other Heroes and I wanted to prepare a welcome home party for Uraraka before she actually gets back.”

Bakugo’s first thought is to wonder why in the fucking hell this dumbass has Ochako’s keys in the first place. Until he remembers that he isn’t the only who has access to her house.

“What the fuck for?”

“She’s coming back home. It’s been two years, Katsuki... Aren’t you excited?”  Not that he needed to be reminded, but fuck you too Izuku.

Of course he knows how long Uravity has been overseas. Training to become a better Hero in other countries; learning their styles and systems to bring back and improve Japan or some shit. It came as no surprise, but Bakugo has to close his eyes over the crashing wave of pain that accompanies the numbers. Twenty-five months. Twenty-five-fucking months.

“Thanks for the reminder, jackass,” Bakugo mumbles. Balling his hands into slick fists, the Pro stuffs them back into his pockets. He kicks at the ground once before stalking ahead. He doesn’t exactly know where Izuku is going, but sticks to the idea that he want to take the train to her house and heads that way. I can’t believe it.

“I’m so--I didn’t mean to upset you, Katsuki,” Izuku says after running to catch up to the other’s fast strides ahead.

“Sounds like an apology,” as tedious as it is. Bakugo has always hated constant apologies. No matter what for. People should only apologize when it matters. Upsetting him doesn’t; it happens. No one can apologize for the number of times Bakugo has been upset or an asshole; and Izuku has tried. “You’re right though,” he grumbles after more than a couple thoughtful moments. It’s painful. Hurts like unlike anything; and he has been throws into a building by a mammoth of a villain before. He’s done his best to forget, to distract, and to push aside the ache that comes with missing her. He’s done it. At least he thought so.

Izuku gives the other a mildly shocked look. “I am?”

Slowing to a stop, Bakugo gives his infamous sharp grin. It wobbles at first, and he panics that maybe it won’t hold. It does. This is familiar at least, pretending to be one thing while all he wants to do is cry alone in his bed. When he finally has Izuku waiting long enough, Bakugo declares with a surprisingly strong voice, “Uraraka’s home.”

---

Urakara is late.

“What the fuck.”

To a majority’s surprise, Bakugo leaves his supposed hiding place. He makes his way to Izuku, Half-and-Half, Earphone Jack, and Pikachu around him by the stove in the kitchen. “What’s going on, Deku?” he all but demands in his barely-shouting voice.

Earphone Jack roles her eyes as Izuku begins to scroll at something on his phone a bit more frantically. “Calm down, Bakugo,” she says in an overly exaggerated tone.

“Yeah man. Are you--I get it.” Pikachu moves a couple inches backwards after being tossed a famous glare. True enough, it has lost some of it luster since his middle school days, but it has gotten easier for his former classmates to tell when Bakugo is not in the mood to be played with. This is one of those times.

Swinging crimson orbs to the left and locking on to his next victim, Bakugo grounds out the same sentence from a moment ago.This time, Izuku passes his phone to Bakugo. “She’s stuck at the airport, Katsuki. I don’t--”

“Are you going to get her?” Bakugo asks, still looking down at the most recent exchange between the two friends. Seems like traffic is backed up again; guess I’ll be here a while:p

For a moment, no one says anything. The other Heroes have gone silent, and when Bakuo looks up, he finds no change in his thought that Izuku is still an airhead. “Since you aren’t, I’ll go.” He pivots on one foot, reaching across one of the chairs for his jacket. Izuku calls out to him, but Bakugo responds in only lifting his hand to flip him off. He stomps across the wooden floors, staring only at the door. The few other Heroes scattered across the living room avert their eyes as he passes them, but he could care less. “Damn extras.”

Once the door is closed behind him, Bakugo realizes that he left his phone in there. “I’m not going back,” he mumble as he jogs down the porch steps, and then to his car. He stops in front of it, keys dangling from one finger. The black thing needs a wash. The  few wrappers and papers left behind need to be cleaned out as well.

A passing car’s honk disturbs him from his thoughts. He scowls. Of all the times to worry about cleaning, it’s now.It’s something that strikes a nerve; and a big one. He should be on his way to When pick up Ochako. Ochako.

Exhaling what he can, Bakugo swings open his car door. He slams it shut behind himself, a bit too hard. This is ridiculous. It’s been two years since he last saw her and here he is acting like his teenage self. At least I’m not as shitty as I was back then, he thinks darkly, pulling out of the driveway.

Making his way through the city to the airport, he makes a plan for himself. It doesn’t feel like much, but by the end, he feels...better, but only marginally. The expressway is crowded and the airport is painstakingly more so. By the time he actually gets to the gate Ochako said she would be waiting at--per her text to Izuku--two hours have passed. He feels nerves begin to intensify, gnawing at his stomach. The familiar chemical smell that has become apart of himself intensifies. He tries--stupidly--to wipe his hands on the small towelette in his car. He leaves his car, unbelievably nervous.

The crowd is awful.There is a mass of many brown-haired people, and being as short as she is doesn’t help out all that much. So much so that doesn’t see her at first. He wonders around, standing on the tips of his toes, moving people aside, just to try and get a break through the masses. After a while of passing through people and being stopped, Bakugo comes close to one of the airport shops, and spots a small crowd by the window.

He narrows his eyes, recognizing a familiar uniform. “It’s so amazing to actually meet you!” he hears as he approaches the crowd. A quick scan at the people in the back and he knows they’re fans. Now how many Heroes are scheduled to leave the airport today?

He nears the end, catching the quick reply. “Aww!! Thank you so much!” Bingo.

Bakugo rounds the side of the crowd, pushing newcomers out of his way. He actually feels his heart skip a beat after hearing her soft responses, shy laughs.  Along the way, he manages to catch sight of short brown hair; a dimple; the corner of a smile. It’s like falling in love with her all over again.

The window ends up blocking her in. He notices this as he comes to the side, the small opening just ahead of him. But he also sees why she also chose it. The chair to her right block fans from getting as close as the left side, especially when no one notices the opening behind the plastic chairs when someone they admires is standing in a crowded airport.

He moves closer to the opening. Unlike when he was walking around the crowd, people have begun to notice him. He flashes a quick grin, feeling almost giddy at just how close he’s coming to finally seeing all of her.

She’s finishing talking to a fan, her back turned to him as he calls out to her over the crowd. “Oi! That you, round face?”

The moment recognition registers on her face, Bakugo feels happiness swell in his chest. It took her a couple seconds to spot him, and then she runs to him--something he didn’t expect her to do. If he’s being honest, the first time he sees her in two years, he expected for her to--as crazy as it kind of seems--to hit him for being stupid. For not talking to her, almost avoiding her entirely. Even thousands of miles away.

“Katsuki!” she exclaims as she throws bare arms around his neck. He doesn’t stumble, taking her lift-off and spinning her around. “You’re here!” she whispers.

He chuckles, suddenly choked up. “Why wouldn’t I?” is what he almost asks. He stumbles over the words on his tongue. So instead of being able to say anything at all, Bakugo sets Ochako down, but not yet pulling back from her; just as she continues holding onto him. Looking down at her, he can hardly put it into words; just that it’s making him want to kiss her right now, this warm feeling in his chest.

Brown eyes lift to search his own. From his eyes to his chin, to his hair and ears. He holds his breath as her eyes flicker over his face, searching for something he can’t figure out. He’s as much entranced by her appearance as she is by his. The woman hasn’t aged a day. Her usually short hair seems only a little longer, eyes as deep and beautiful as ever.

He hasn’t talked to her in seven months. He hasn’t seen her in two years. There is a crowd, a packed airport. He is tired and pissed he had to waste two hours in traffic, and search around the building for this woman for nearly an hour. The party is making his eye twitch whenever he thinks about, but all their friends are there. They are the reason he’s here, but he can’t stay angry. Just thinking about going home with her, talking to her--it all makes him want to sweep her up again and take her out of here. He wants to give this woman the world. He’ll suffer a hundred more crappy parties just for her.

There are a so many other things he could be doing the longer he stares down at her; things that he should be doing. Yet he can’t think of a single one as he leans down. He watches her head tip back ever-so-slightly, eyes closed as she leans into him. Seconds later, he’s capturing pink lips in his own.

This is what I missed. He breaks the connection some time later, breathless and face red. The crowd around them--how did he forget?--make assorted noises, but he ignores them. “I missed you,” he whispered hoarsely. Ochako just smiles, an awestruck expression on her face. I feel just right in these arms.