bread0nhead

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Fourteen

Notes: I am sorry this took so long. I injured my back and shoulder pretty bad which landed me in PT. They wrapped up my shoulder so I can't move it much. Sitting at my desk typing is pretty difficult at the moment. This does mean there will be longer spaces between chapters. Thanks for your patience!

It had been almost a week since you last saw Bakugou. 

The silence between you was carefully maintained. Not because he pulled away, but because you did. He checked in a couple times, sending the occasional text asking if you were okay. You responded in short, simple, polite messages. Just enough to not invite more. 

You got wrapped up in the fantasy, fell into it just like everyone else. You let yourself believe you could be just a simple girl living in this magical romance. You let the seams rip and the insides spill. This isn’t you- no, this isn’t Pulchra. You thought you could have more than stolen moments wrapped in sheets and unspoken agreements. Something more than a casual fling. For a moment, you entertained the thought of something real. But that's not easy, that's not safe. 

You flirted with him when it was fun. You watched him get mad or flustered, and liked how easy your words stirred him. But every time things inched towards something real, he reached deeper into a place you weren’t ready to be touched. 

From the moment at the photoshoot, Bakugou has been seeing right through you. He didn’t subscribe to the version of yourself you sold to everyone else. He treated you like he would anyone else. And for a moment, you liked it- you let him peer behind the mask. Because you expected to keep him far away just enough to feel seen, but never vulnerable. Now, he’s too close. 

Bakugou wouldn’t be content with pretty lies or shallow fun, Bakugou is the kind of person that if he cared - really cared - he’d want something real. The raw exposed intimacy where there were no masks or rehearsed lines. The kind where you had to lay everything bare; your fears, your insecurities, your flaws. He’ll want to strip you of all your armor until there's nothing left except the naked truth. And how can you let someone see what's under the mask, when you don’t even know who, or what, is under it all?

You don’t know if you can survive this kind of vulnerability. You don’t know how to survive without Pulchra. For too long Pulrcha was your shield - perfect, untouchable, strong.

But Bakugou didn’t want Pulchra. And you don’t know what there was left to give him. 

“Miss?” A voice cut through your thoughts “I found this in the guest bathroom. It doesn’t seem to be yours.” Your cleaner placed the item beside you. 

You carefully set your book down and glanced over at the item. A rolex watch with polished black metal band and casing. A deep rich green dial laid boldly through the glass. Small orange hands ticked across silver roman numerals. Solid, heavy, unmistakably expensive. This isn’t the sort of thing someone just forgets. This was intentional. 

At first you didn’t touch it, just stared. The weight of it felt too heavy. 

You picked it up and rolled the smooth texture in your hands and thought: ‘If I give it back, I’ll see him again.’

You can take the watch to him and make it clear you and him are only friends. Luckily, you already set that foundation during the interview, now you just need to solidify it. Friendship is easier, you can control the distance without losing him entirely. And he deserves to be told this in person. You’re just friends.

***

You stood outside the large glass building, the one that had the same address of the card Bakugou gave you. You’ve walked past this hero agency a few times, but never bothered to give it much thought. The building must be at least 12 stories tall, and sits at the corner of two busy streets. Tall glass windows covered every inch of the exterior as if to watch the city move by. There was no big fancy sign, just some white letters printed onto the front door. It's oddly…corporate. 

You hesitated as your hand pulled on the metal door handle. A flood of thoughts swirled in your mind.

‘This is stupid’ ‘I should just give the watch to my assistant to take care of’ ‘I should have texted first’ ‘Is he even working right now?’ ‘Maybe I shouldn’t do this at his job’ ‘I should leave’

‘I want to see him’

The front door swung open as someone walked out of the building, catching you off guard. A suited office worker brushed past you without a glance, snapping you back into the present.

You took a breath, slow and steady. Then stepped inside. 

The lobby was bright and professional, all white floors and brushed metal surfaces, softened by blonde wood trim. Stylish chairs and potted plants scattered in organized sections. The whole place felt orderly, and deliberate. 

Portraits lined one of the walls, grayscale shots of the agency's heroes and sidekicks in action. Glimpses of chaos and inspiring moments. You let your heels click softly across the floor, making your way towards the curved reception desk at the center of the room.

Behind it sat a young woman, fresh out of college, with a too-tight ponytail and even tighter smile that screamed ‘God I want to go home’.

“Hi.” you spoke softly but steady.

She looked up from her keyboard, giving her practiced customer service expression. “Hi, how can I help you today?”

“Could you let Dynamite know someone’s here to return something of his?” 

The girl blinked a few times “Of course, name?” 

You pulled the large sunglasses from your face and took the baseball cap off your head with a gentle smile. 

“Oh my god - Pulchra?” the receptionist eyes wide as saucers “I-yes! Of course! Absolutely. I’ll get him right away.” 

You offered a polite smile and tucked the hat and sunglasses into your purse “Thanks.”

As she made a call on the desk phone, you wandered to the wall of the photos. Their monochromatic filter fits with the decor of the lobby. You paused in front of one that made your lips twitch. Bakugou from a couple years prior, mid-scream like he was going to kill the camera man as he carried an elderly lady flung over his shoulder and a fireball exploded behind him in cinematic chaos. You let out a soft laugh.

Then you heard them. Heavy boots stomping down the hall. 

Bakugou didn’t walk to the front desk, he stormed. 

He scanned the room to see if anyone was watching and took long strides towards you so no one could hear “What the hell are you doing here?” He hissed. 

You smiled sweetly, one hand on your hip with a little glint in your eyes. “Missed you.”

He rolled his eyes so hard you were surprised they didn’t roll out of his head. “Bullshit.”

“Okay” you said casually, digging into your purse. “Maybe just this.”

You held out the watch. 

Bakugou's mouth opened, then closed. 

“Let me get this right” he pinched the bride of his nose “you ghost me for almost a week, then show up at the place I work to give me this back.”

“Usually men leave something less obvious when they want to see me again.” You shrugged “A hoodie, a phone charger, a sock-”

“Tch,” he snatched the watch from your hand. “I’m surprised you didn’t have one of your assistants give it back.”

“Mm, I thought about it.”

“So what, now you wanted to see me?” 

“Are you objecting?”

God, you couldn’t stop teasing him. 

His jaw tightened. Before he could respond, a voice echoed down the hallway behind him. “BROOOOOOO!” 

Bakugou’s whole body stiffened like someone poured ice water down his spine “Fuck me” he muttered.

Denki rounded the corner like a golden retriever off leash, phone already out and aimed. Kirishima trailed behind like he was trying not to laugh. 

“Holy shit” Denki whispered. “It’s Pulchra. In our lobby.” His eyes sparkled with excitement and awe.  “Can I–?” He held out his phone, gesturing if it was okay to take a selfie. 

“Touch that phone and I’ll kill you” Bakugou growled before you could respond. 

“Right- yup- totally weird.” Denki recoiled, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. 

You laughed softly and gave a little wave. “Charge Bolt and Red Riot, right?” 

Denkis jaw dropped at how good his hero name sounded coming from you. Kirishima awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, silently apologising for Denki. 

“Sorry, he doesn’t get out much” gave a sheepish grin. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Bakugou’s told us so much about–”

SMACK

Bakugou swung his hand at the back of Kirishima's head with a deadly scowl. “Ow- Dude!” Kirishima rubbed the back of his skull “Not cool, man.” You giggled. 

“What brings you here?” Kirishima continues.

Bakugou cut in “She was just dropping off my watch, then leaving.” 

Kirishima raised a brow, “Why did she have your watch?” “Genius thought he could be cute and leave it at my place.” You glance over at Bakugou with a grin. He’s clearly not having it. “Holy shit, man” Steam starts coming out of Denkis nose “Did you…stay at her house?” 

You didn’t answer, didn’t need to, your silence was enough. But Bakugou looked like he was about to explode, vanish, kill his coworkers all at once. 

“Oh hey, I have an idea” Kirishima said, patting Denkis shoulder trying to calm him down.

“No.” Bakugou deadpanned. He didn’t need to hear whatever stupid idea he had. 

“We’re getting drinks in an hour, you should join us!” Kirishima beamed at you. 

“Definitely not”

“Sure.”

“What?” Bakugou's eyes snapped at you. “Oh my god, yes please!” Denki bounced on the balls of his feet. “You have to come!”

“Not fuckin’ happenin. I don’t need you idiots drooling over her all night.” 

“We promise to not be weird!” Denki raised a hand up like a vow. “It will be fun, you should definitely come!” Kirishima smiled with his big sharp teeth. 

“Yeah, Dynamite” You dropped your voice low and slow “It will be fun.” 

He turned back to you, arms crossed over his chest “Don’t fuckin encourage them.”

You tilted your head with faux pleading eyes “Are you saying no to being friends?”

There was a pause. Bakugou looked at you. Looked at the watch in his hand. Looked at his friends. Then slung his head back with a groan. He sighed loud. Resigned. 

“I hate you all”

Denki slapped his shoulder “That’s the spirit!”

***

The bar Denki picked looked like it was operated by a frat house. Sticky floors, leather stools with tears in the fabric, a jukebox in the corner playing music just loud enough where you had to lean in just a bit to hear what people were saying. 

It’s been years since you’ve been to a place so…Gauche. Secretly, you loved it instantly. 

Kirishima chose a booth near the back where there was more privacy. Bakugou sat with his arms crossed, eyes narrowing like he was trying to intimidate the whole bar, still upset about the turn of events. While Kirishima and Denki tried to impress you by ordering the “manliest” drinks the bar had to offer. 

You ordered a whiskey sour, something far away from your usual wine and prosecco. The bartender asked if you wanted it “real strong or tourist strong” “Real,” you said without hesitation and a bolt of excitement buzzing through you. 

Bakugou scoffed, “You’re going to regret that.”

“You sound like my manager,” you replied, taking a long sip. “Except I don’t want to strangle you. Yet.”

Kirishima let out a bark of laughter “I like her!”

Denki slammed back a shot and pointed at Bakugou “We should trade in the guy with the bad temper for the hot girl.” 

Bakugou growled “I will end both of you.”

You laughed as you watched Bakugou and his friends. There was something exciting about the way they moved around each other. Denki said something stupid, Bakugou said something insulting, Kirishima defused with a smile that warmed the dead. It was chaos. But the kind that only comes from years of real friendship. 

You didn’t have anything like that. Not really. 

Everyone in your life was transactional. You weren’t a friend to anyone. You were a product. A brand. People's livelihoods. Their fantasy. 

You took another long sip of your cheap drink. It was awful. It burned in the back of your throat and had no flavor. It was more whiskey than sour. It was nothing like the smooth expensive full body wines you usually drank. This was a crude disgusting punch in the face. It excites you. 

You scanned the bar. The lighting was dim and warm. It smelt like cheap beer and fries. There's posters of bands on the walls and dartboards with missing numbers. Not many people either, and the few that are here are so drunk they definitely wouldn’t notice pro heros sitting in the corner.  There was a guy passed out at the bar and a couple making out near the bathrooms. This place certainly wasn’t trying to impress anyone. 

It was the last place anyone would expect to find Pulchra. And that felt dangerous. 

Bakugou glanced your way mig-argument with Denki, raising a brow like he knew you were staring. You gave a lazy smile and lifted your glass in a mock solute. He rolled his eyes, but you caught the faintest twitch of his mouth before he turned back to the others. Soon, one drink turned into two. Then three. 

An hour in, and several drinks later, you were flushed, loose and entirely too comfortable with your elbow resting on Bakugou's shoulder. He’s gripping his beer sneering at you. 

“Smile” your voice low as you tilted your head towards Bakugou with a smile “I know you’re actually a big softie. Not all broody.” 

Kirishima and Denki looked at you then at each other. Kirishima grinned “Ya, he’s gone kinda soft. He used to be sooo much worse.” 

“Hard to imagine.”

“Imagine a volcano with a superiority complex and no emotional vocabulary,”

Bakugou slammed his drink down. “I’m right fucking here.” 

You giggled, “Relax, hot stuff.” you booped his nose with a sweet smile. 

Denki leaned into Kirishima “Dude, she booped his nose.” Kirishima whispered back “We can never mention tonight. He’ll kill us.” 

Bakugou glared at you, “You’re drunk.”

You winked “I’m fun”

“You’re reckless.”

You pressed deeper into Bakugou, hand dragging down his thick arm “And you are turning red.”

Kirishima leaned back, watching the chaos unfold like a slow motion car crash he secretly rooted for. “Man, if the media saw you two right now…”

“Shut your face, shitty hair!”

You danced your fingers on his arm as you looked up at him with a smile. “You always get grumpy when a girl flirts with you?”

“I get pissed when someone uses me as a fuckin jungle gym.” Bakugou argued, but not pulling away either. 

Your hand moved up to play with his spikey blonde hair, twirling strands in your fingers. “You love it.” 

“He’s blushing!” Denki shouted as he and kirishma laughed as Bakugou's face turned red and angry. “Aww, so cute.” You teased. Bakugou shot his foot. “That's it. I’m done. I’m cutting you off.” 

“Too late,” you said, quickly downing the rest of your drink and a shot sitting on the table. 

You stood up, blinked, and then swayed. Bakugou caught you by the elbow to steady you. 

“Yeah, you’re done.” 

You rolled your head back to look at him with a big toothy smile and flush face. “Take me home, Dynamite.” you whispered dramatically. 

Bakugou didn’t even respond. He just held you there with the patience of someone who had absolutely none to give. 

He picked you up, slung you over his shoulder and stormed out of the bar as you cried “Nooooo”.

***

The car ride blurred with soft hums and streaks of passing streetlights. You slouched against the cool window, cheek pressed to the glass, breath fogging a tiny circle. The city moved like a dream you weren’t fully part of. Your lips moved with the music playing low from the radio. Not quiet singing, not quiet speaking, just a murmur of whatever lyrics your drunk brain could remember. 

Your limbs felt like syrup, warm and slow. Like gravity was tugging harder than usual. 

“I embarrassed you in front of your friends…” you mumbled, each word flowing like molasses. 

Bakugou didn’t look away from the road. “You embarrassed yourself.”

“That bad?” a soft laugh tumbled out, lazy and slurred. 

He glanced sideways. You looked completely wrecked, eyes half lidded, makeup smudged in a way that was still annoyingly perfect. Mouth parted in some blissed-out half smile. “No…you were fine.” He muttered. 

You defiendly were not fine. But he didn’t want to upset you. 

“I’m not usually like this,” you whispered, voice shinkring. You shifted but couldn’t get comfortable, like your body wasn’t fully yours anymore. 

“No usually like what?” He asked, quieter now.

“...Free.” It came out like a confession, barely audible. You sank lower in the seat. 

Bakugou cursed under his breath and nudged you “Hey, don’t fall asleep. I ain’t carrying your ass home.” 

You groaned, not from pain, just exhaustion. The kind that wrapped around you gentle and constant. Your head lolled toward him. You were still trying to say something. You knew there was something.

“I was supposed to tell you something…” your lips barely moved. Your eyes barely open. 

“Yeah? What?” his hand reached over, resting lightly on your leg, grounding you. You felt it even through the fog. 

Your eyelids fluttered. Your mouth tried to form words it couldn’t quite hold. “We should just…” the world got darker, fuzzier. “...just be friends.” you breathed, syllables slurring into another as your mind slowly gave out. 

Bakugou froze. His jaw clenched. The quiet inside the car deepened. 

His hand tightened softly, just enough to feel real. 

Your head tipped, eyes fully closed. Breath slowed. The city lights danced across your face one last time before your world dipped into black. 

“...Is that what you want?”

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Thirteen

Notes: Kopi Luwak is a type of coffee that is made by the Civet pooping out partially digested coffee cherry. Its supposed to be amazing coffee. It's also widely expensive. You might want to know this before continuing to read the chapter lol Rating: 18+

“I paid 11,000 yen for monkey shit coffee?” 

“Technically a civet” You corrected “More like a cat.”

“And that's supposed to make it better?” His fingers tapped out a sharp, impatient rhythm against the table. Each tap punctuating his hard glare. 

He glanced around the shop, still trying to figure out how you found this place. It was tucked in some back alley like a coffee speakeasy. Café Leblanc. Its all dark woods, stone counters and dim lighting. Intimate, quiet. No trendy artwork or hipster music. There's not even a menu. Just six seats, one master roaster, and you. 

Fuck, even the air smelled expensive.

The master roaster worked behind the bar with strict precision, weighing every bean down to the exact gram, pouring the water in slow careful spirals. The man hadn’t spoken, just nodded like he knew you when you entered the door. 

Bakugou watched you chat easily with the curator while the coffee brewed, like you’ve known him for years. It made him wonder if this is what it meant being with you. Knowing all the hidden gems. Preferring the quiet, refined places over the loud and popular ones. 

Two porcelain cups were placed in front of you, impossibly small against Bakugous large calloused hands. The aroma had sweet notes of chocolate and caramel. Nothing like the bitter sludge he usually drank to survive the day. 

He stared down at it with caution. You were already watching him with excitement, eyes bright and lips twitching with amusement. 

“Go on” you urged, grinning.

With a deep irritated sigh, he carefully brought the tiny cups to his lips. It felt ridiculous and dainty in his grip. Like some play house prop. But the moment the coffee hit his tongue, he stilled. 

It was…good.

Its impossibly smooth, sweet in a way that wasn’t sugary. Rich and full, but not overwhelming. No bitterness, no harsh bite. Just depth. Complex but clean. Balanced. 

It was you, in a coffee cup. 

Complicated, but grounded. Sharp in places, but never cruel. Soft when it mattered. All the things that made him keep coming back to you. 

You leaned in “Well?” 

He met your gaze, eyes narrowing, acting like he was still mad. 

“Fine,” he muttered “Your cat shit coffee’s actually good.”

You laughed with a full bright smile. You felt lighter now, as if the trauma from last night didn’t exist.  He felt the corners of his mouth curl into a reluctant smile. 

You both sipped your coffee in a comfortable silence, nothing heavy or awkward. Its warm and comfortable. 

For Bakugou, it was unfamiliar territory. 

He wasn’t used to this kind of stillness. His world was usually fast, loud, explosive. A constant blur of motion and noise. He moved like every second demanded action. Always something to fix, someone to save, something to improve.

You, on the other hand, looked completely at home. Effortlessly poised, legs crossed neatly, finger tips tracing the edge of your cup with a slow grace. You’re always like this. Polished and refined, a quiet sophistication. But you also have a playful edge that twists at his composure. 

You didn’t flinch from emotion like he did. You wore them openly, flirted with them, played with them. He shoved his down and hid behind irritation and anger. 

You two couldn’t be more different. Him a blunt force, you soft precision. 

And yet, here you were, sitting together in some secret coffee shop drinking overpriced cat shit coffee like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He found his gaze drifting to you again, watching the way you smiled softly into your cup, catching him stealing glances. 

“Careful” you teased, voice low and smooth. “You keep looking at me like that and people might get the wrong idea again.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. When your cup was empty, you placed it down with a gentle smile. “Amazing as always, Sojiro”. The coffee brewer turned a simple nod and took your cup. 

Bakugou has long since finished his cup and was now watching you gather your things and standing up from your seat, pressing out the creases from your shorts. “So, where to next?” 

His face drops to a frown. “What, this wasn’t enough?” 

“Oh don’t be a killjoy.” You pull the strap of your purse tight, ready to go. “We both have today off, plus I had a shitty night. I deserve fun.”

Bakugou rubbed the back of his neck and looked incredibly unenthusiastic. “Fine…but I’m choosing where we go next.” 

You give a light smile and loop your arm around his with a grin. “I kinda like how easy you give into me.” 

“It’s just ‘cause you’re so damn annoying.” He tried to act tough, give a little cockiness. But the corners of his mouth slid into almost a smile. 

***

Bakugou steered the car into a narrow side road, away from the business of the city. He pulled off the road and parked near a quiet overlook. A small hilltop with nothing but a winding road, a few trees and a distant skyline. He cut the engine and all that was left was the distant humm of the city. Its private, away from prying eyes and unwritten headlines. 

He rolled back his seat, stretched his legs out and rested his arms behind his head. He doesn’t look your way, just watches the clouds go by in a comfortable silence. 

“So,” you broke the silence, smirking “this where you take all the pretty girls after you save them?”

He had a lopsided smile but kept his eyes on the skyline. “Yeah. The real Dynamite experience package.”

You chuckled, the sound light, “Well, 2 out of 5 stars so far.” 

Bakugou snorted “No pleasing you, huh?”

The car has fallen into another easy pause. You rolled the window down, letting the warm breeze rush in, eyes fluttering closed as the sunlight heats your skin. The wind played gently with strands of your hair. You looked serene. Relaxed. Effortless.

Bakugou tried not to stare. Or at least not make it obvious.

His eyes kept drifting towards you, how your lips twitched into a smile like you were silently entertaining yourself.

The only noise was the steady soft taps of Bakugou's foot. That familiar, restless bounce of his leg. You noticed it before, his little tick. Like he’s always wired, even when sitting still. You’re not sure if he does the movement out of boredom, frustration, or something entirely else. 

“Favorite pizza topping.”

The question cut through the silence, light and casual. His leg stopped bouncing, head snapping towards you like you just insulted his mother. 

“What?”

“Favorite pizza topping.” You opened your eyes to glance over at him, a mischievous glint dancing there. “If we’re going to be friends, I obviously need to know these important details.”

He groaned, leaning his head back against the leather headrest like you were physically draining him.

“Pepperoni” he muttered flatly, like he was already regretting participating in your game.

You turned your whole body towards him, resting your elbow against the center console. Close, but not touching. Your lips curved. 

“Figures. You seem like a boring pizza topping kinda’ guy.”

His lips twitched, the tiniest smirk when your words poked him just enough.

“Oh yeah?” He fired back, turning just slightly in your direction, but with more distance. “What kind of fancy-ass pizza do you eat? Fuckin caviar or some shit?”

You grinned wide, and made a small hum. “Oh, I don’t eat pizza.”

Bakugou grinded his teeth as a vein on his forehead throbbed.

“Then why the fuck did you ask?!”

“Because,” you said sweetly, voice dripping in fake innocence “I just want to know you better.”

He shifted and grabbed the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

“Fine” he exhaled sharply, narrowing his eyes. “What else do you want to know?”

You casually shifted your position again, turning a bit more towards him, closing the gap just a tiny bit more without realizing it. You played with the ends of your hair as you thought. 

“Who’s your favorite hero?”

He looked at you like you were an idiot. “All Might. Obviously.” And it was obvious by the framed All Might signed trading card attached to the keys of his car. Like a prized possession he wouldn’t leave the house without. 

You hummed, like you haven’t noticed before. “Mm, predicable.”

He rolled his eyes but let you keep going. 

“Who's your best friend?” “Kirishima. Red Riot.”

“Yeah…I see it.” You nodded dramatically, pretending to analyze him.

He sighed. “You done?”

“One more.” You leaned your cheek on the palm of your hand, dropping your voice just slightly. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

He let your question hang in the air- on purpose. Drawing it out long enough until you squirmed under the pressure of silence. He can play too.

“Nah.” 

He studied your face, looking for a flicker of a reaction. But you gave him nothing. Painfully composed. Infuriating. 

“Not exactly shocking.” You shrugged. “With your attitude and all.” 

He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. Like you actually had the nerve to say that. But he bit back to urge to snap at you and only prove your point more. 

“What about you?” he shot back, voice low. His leg bounced again, but slower. Lighter taps of the foot. “Someone actually manage to tie your crazy ass down?” 

You smiled wide, devilish, then turned your body away from him. Facing forward like you were finished with him. 

“I’m the one asking the questions.”

The audacity nearly made him choke on venom. You were playing him like a damn instrument, and you both knew it. 

“Tch, whatever.”

The conversation lulled into something lighter, less interrogation, more friendly small talk. You did most of the talking, he just listened. The conversation never touched on anything personal or deep. Just small things like the weirdest photoshoot you’ve done and your recent travel across Europe. You held your stomach while you laughed so hard, recounting the time Jun tried to practice his French at a tiny Paris cafe and instead of ordering two cappuccinos, he very confidently asked for two cabbages. 

Before you knew it, the sky was painted with shades of orange, pinks and reds. Bakugou glances at the clock on the dashboard and lets out a quiet breath through his nose. 

“It’s getting late,” he said slow, almost reluctant. “I should get you home.” 

You gave a small nod, forcing a faint smile. “Yeah…guess so.”

He started the car, shifting into drive as the car roared to life. You watched as the setting sun and neon lights blurred with the motion of the car. Neither of you said much at first. You both stayed in silence at the radio played on a low volume. 

You glanced over at him from the corner of your eye. Taking note of the way his jaw flexed slightly as he gripped the steering wheel with one hand, the other partially out the window. How the crease between his brows furrowed as he focused intensely on the road head. If he kept staring forward, he wouldn’t have to acknowledge the heavy silence sitting between you. 

You shifted in your seat, tucking your legs slightly, playing with the hem of your sleeve. Anything to keep your hands busy as your stomach did small nervous flips. 

Neither of you knew exactly why the silence felt so heavy all of a sudden. 

The last two days were tiring. The memories of the man held you like a heavy fog. Sure you’ve dealt with more extreme fans before, stalkers and the occasional break in. Its why your home is so reinforced with locks and security. But this man was different in the way he looked at you. There was something wrong in them, something hollow. It wasn’t adoration or obsession, or even rage. It was hunger. He wasn’t trying to get closer to you, he was trying to consume you. 

And then there was Bakugou.

He didn’t hesitate when you needed protecting, it was like natural instinct. And not just in the way any hero would, he stayed. He held his arms wrapped tight around you, his breath ragged, his voice almost trembling while he whispered to keep you safe. And then his lips, frantic, desperate, pressing himself to your forehead, your cheeks, your temple. 

He kissed you, in the middle of all the chaos, he kissed you like it was the only way to keep you grounded; to keep him grounded. He brought out things in you no one has seen in years. 

There was the man who broke in. And then the man who broke through. 

Which scared you more?

Bakugou noticed the shift in energy. “Hey, you alight?”

You blinked quickly, forcing a small smile “Yup, yeah. I’m fine. Just..tired I guess.”

He didn’t fully buy it, but he let it slide. “We’re almost there.”

So many thoughts ran through your mind of ‘what-if’s’ and ‘why’s’. 

‘What if he sees the real me and turns away?’

‘What if I change because of him?’

‘What if the media doesn’t approve?’

‘Why do I care so much?’

‘Why does HE care so much?’

Your chest felt a heavy weight and suddenly the car felt impossibly suffocating. When the car pulled up to your building, you exhaled a long and sneaky breath. You could finally come up for air. 

Before Bakugou could even put the car in park, you were halfway out the door, desperate for distance you couldn’t fully explain. You didn’t trust yourself to stay.

You weren’t usually like this. 

Normally, you could play these games in your sleep, playing men like a drum that beated to your rhythm. Men were easy to manage, predictable in their desire, clumsy in their pursuit. You knew how to flirt, how to tease, how to control every interaction like you conducted an orchestra. 

Because Pulchra knew how.

Pulchra was poised and untouchable. She was the carefully curated image the world adored, the fantasy people projected their desires onto. Pulchra never flustered or stumbled. Pulchra never let anyone close enough to see the cracks.

But with Bakugou, it was different. Different because he actually saw you. Different because with him this would be something real. 

He didn’t worship you or chase like the others. He didn’t seem to care about the performance. Your usual polished armor didn’t work on him. With him, you were raw and exposed. He saw beyond Pulchra. 

And fuck…It terrified you. 

Because you weren’t sure where Pulchra ended and you began. You’d spent so long hiding behind her, behind the attention, you didn’t know what to do when someone saw past it. 

You didn’t give him time to say anything, didn’t let the moment linger. You shut the car door, whispered a curt goodbye and walked off with your hand tight to your chest. 

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Twelve

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it. 

Notes: Cross posted on a03 I hope y'all are liking this so far Rating: 18+

Bright shades of amber flooded your room through sheer curtains. The suns been up for hours and you're now just stirring awake. Stretching your arms over your head you hear the little pops in your spine as your body adjusts. Your legs dangle on the side of the bed as your feet come in contact with the fuzzy rug. You make your way over to the ensuite bathroom to start your morning routine. Wash your face, moisturize, brush your hair and brush your teeth. All the finest products with the perfected choreographed routine being played out. 

And then it hit you.

Shit.

You froze mid-spit, minty toothpaste clinging to the corner of your lips.

You rushed to rinse your mouth, flung open your bedroom door with urgency. Your head peeked out of the frame, cautiously listening.

Silence.

You tiptoed into the living room with barefoot steps. The couch was empty except for the neatly folded blanket and pillow resting on top. It’s like he was never here.

Your body slumps as you let out a sigh. The quiet pressed around you, heavier than usual. This perfectly curated fortress, always immaculate, suddenly felt sterile. Cold. You built this place as the perfect place to be alone, but now it echoed how lonely it feels.  

“Mornin’”

Your heart jumps from your ribs and you whip around, hand to your chest. Relief blooms in your chest, but your stomach still twists. You weren’t sure what was worse, waking up alone, or waking up knowing he stayed and saw too much. Bakugou stood in the hallway, just outside the bathroom, leaning casually against the frame. Shirtless, his hair a disaster. His voice is rough from the lack of sleep. 

He raised a brow at your stunned expression, and the moment clicked. Slowly, his lips tugged into a smug grin. “Aw,” he said, arms crossing over his chest “You thought I left and actually missed me.” He chuckled low and gravely. 

Your jaw drops slightly, ready to argue but no words came out. Just heat rising up your neck and blooming across your cheeks. You hate how he sees right through you. 

Then the soft beeping of your door’s keypad snapped both your heads towards the entrance. Bakugou shot you a look, sharp and questioning. “You expecting someone?”

You shook your head, wide-eyed and whispered “No.”

Immediately, Bakugou stepped forward, positioning himself in front of you like a wall, eyes narrowing on the door as it slowly clicked open. His hands sparked faint crackles. 

“PULCHRA, DARLING!” Jun burst through the door with dramatics, voice quivering in panic, eyes glistening and nose a dark shade of pink. “ARE YOU OKAY?! I CAME AS SOON AS I–”

He froze mid-stride.

Juns eyes darted at you.

To Bakugou.

Shirtless. Back to you.  

Pantsless. 

Back to Bakugou again. 

And with a heavy beat of silence, Jun’s face flattened into a completely unimpressed deadpan. Bakugou grimaced. You groaned into your palm. 

Juns nose wrinkled as his face twisted with disgust.  “Oh, oh no no no, darling. Just….no.” 

“What the hell does that mean?!” Bakugou shouted, hands sparking with small explosions. 

Jun waved him off like an annoying fly and pointed directly at you, voice flat with accusation. “This better just be a sex thing.”

Bakugou's jaw dropped open like he couldn’t decide whether to shout or combust. His face turned violent as his teeth clenched and nostrils flared. 

“Dynamite was the one who saved me last night.” You cut in quickly, putting a gentle hand on Bakugou's shoulder, trying to calm him down. “He stayed over to make sure I was safe.”

“Besides…” you tried to deflect, voice catching just slightly “...like he could handle me anyways.”

Bakugou choked on nothing.

The comeback sat heavy on this tongue, the very real urge to correct you, to prove you wrong. But with Jun standing two feet away, watching like this was some soap opera. He swallowed his words, let out a guttural growl and stomped towards the kitchen. 

“Coffee” he grumbled. 

“Mm-hmm. That’s what I thought” Jun clicking his tongue. 

While Bakugou brewed what smelt like burnt coffee, you relayed all of last night to Jun. The gala, the man, the photos, the break in. Your hands shook as you remembered everything. Jun wasn’t often silent, but for now he quietly listened to you. He’s the closest you have to a friend who works on your team. When you were done retelling your story, he pulled you into a tight hug. 

“It was that damn dress, you looked too good in it.” He winked. 

You gave a huff of a laugh. “Now go get dressed, love. I’ve seen you in your underwear enough today.” 

You pull Jun into another hug and walk into your wardroom. 

Jun glanced over into the kitchen and rolled his eyes. His heels clinked dramatically against the floor as he strutted into where Bakugou stood. At first he just watched Bakugou poorly make coffee like a critic, deciding whether to be offended or fascinated. 

Bakugou could feel him watching but chose to ignore it. He yanked a cabinet and grabbed a mug with more force than necessary, and slammed it onto the counter. 

Jun finally broke the silence “You know…for someone so explosive, you really don’t handle scrutiny well.”

Bakugou's eyes narrowed “For someone so loud, you sure don’t know when to shut up.”

Jun sighed dramatically and leaned against the kitchen counter “Don’t get me wrong. You’re…very rugged for her usual type. A little rough around the edges. But I suppose that's your whole thing. Your charm.” 

Bakugou shot a sharp glare “At least I don’t look like I spent two hours airbrushing my face, just to look halfway decent.” Jun smiled sweetly, “That’s because you would need at least four”

Bakugou was about to argue but Jun jumped in first. “Your whole angry attitude is entertaining. It makes for good headlines. But this…” he spun his finger into a pointed circle framing Bakugou “can’t be a thing. It already went too far. You take this any further, you’ll ruin her reputation.” 

You stepped out into the living room, dressed in a off-the-shoulders black ruffled blouse paired with high-waisted shorts that cinched your waist with the black and gold belt. Your long legs on full display and lifted with a strappy chunky black heel. It was an edgy blend of streetwear and high fashion. Jun looked at you with a prideful smile. 

Instantly you could feel the tension. “What's going on here? Do I have to separate you two?” you pointed at both of them. “No,” they both answered in unison. Jun’s a pep of innocence, while Bakugous was a gruff grumble. 

You squinted at both of them, knowing they were both lying. 

Bakugou poured himself coffee and an extra mug for you. But made a point not to pour a third. 

Jun let out a long sigh. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay darling. I’d be lost without you.” Jun walked over to you and grabbed both shoulders, holding you in place. “Like, literally. I would be broke and on the streets.” 

You rolled your eyes and gave a knowing smirk. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be more careful next time.” 

Jun kissed both cheeks and offered his goodbyes. When he walked past the kitchen he gave a sharp glare at Bakugou that screamed ‘I’m watching you’. He darted his long finger towards Bakugou before walking out the door. 

You walked up to Bakugou “What was that about?” He didn’t respond, just turned to hand you the piping hot mug. You took a whiff and your eyes watered instantly. Somehow you managed to take a sip. It was strong, sharp, burnt to hell. Nothing like your usual french pressed creamy coffee. “Fuck, this is awful.” You winced “How are you such a good cook but somehow make coffee that taste like battery acid?” 

“Don’t be a brat.”

You knew after he finished his coffee, he would be out the door. But you didn’t want him to leave yet. You weren’t ready to be alone. You bit your lip and glanced up at him. “Theres this place. A coffee shop” you hold the mug a little tighter. “Would you…would you like to come with me? I don’t think I can drink this. No offense.”

With a pause, Juns words linger on Bakugou's mind. He should say no, should leave for good. Tell you something came up then lose your number. But the way you look up at him has him weak. He can smell your perfume and the scent of your shampoo. And the way your eyes look at him pull him in. Everything about you breaks his resolve. 

Fuck it. 

With a heavy sigh, he grabs your mug and dumps both cups of coffee down the drain. “Fine.”

You feel relief at his answer as your body untenses. You grab your purse and return a genuine smile. “Ever try Kopi Luwak?” “Nope. But it sounds pretentious.” “Oh, it is.” 

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Eleven

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it. 

Note: This is a rewrite, I didn't like the original I posted so I reworked the chapter. I felt the character consistency was lost. Rating: 18+

“Are you sure you don’t want help?” “I get the sense if you help, the kitchen will burn down.” Bakugou said while sauteing onions and mushrooms in a pan. 

You watched Bakugou work in the kitchen, the clatter of pans, the rich aromas filling the air. The weight in your chest still lingered from earlier, but his presence made it tolerable. Safe.

You shouldn’t want this. Not the quietness. Not the warmth. Not the way he moved through your kitchen like he belonged here. You wanted him to stay- and it scared you. 

You glance over at the digital clock on your microwave. 1:45am. You feel guilty for keeping Bakugou up this late and now having him cook for you. 

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, voice thinner than you intended. “I shouldn’t have kept you up this late. You have work–”

Bakugou didn’t even look at you, just started searing the chicken. “Called off.” 

Bakugou never called off. Never called in sick. Never took vacations or holidays. His world was rigid disciple that never stopped. He didn’t leave room for breaks and moments to breath. 

You blinked a few times and a thought twisted something unexpected inside your chest. 

A steaming bowl with white rice, golden chicken with a soft runny egg on top was placed in front of you. “Oyakodon?” You said with an unenthusiastic tone. 

Bakugous brow twitched as he sneered. 

“That's what you get at 2am, with convenient store ingredients, princess.”

You fainted a smile as he pulled up the seat next to you. Without a moment of hesitation, he started attacking his bowl. Taking big scoops of food like a starved man. He ate like he fought, fast and relentless. You barely touched your chopsticks, eyes down, fiddling with the small chip on the edge of the bowl. Your stomach was sick from the events earlier, the thought of food made your insides turn. 

“For fuck sake…it ain’t gonna kill ya!” 

You take in a deep breath and gather your nerves. You slip your chopsticks through the golden runny egg and scoop a bite with rice, chicken, egg, all soaked in broth. The first bite is amazing. Warmth floors your mouth, savory and sweet. The dashi broth is rich but not heavy. The chicken is tender and the egg melts in your mouth. The dish is simple, honest and devastatingly good. Without realizing it, you let out a small involuntary moan giving away your enjoyment. 

“I hate how good this is.” 

Bakugou smirked, “Next time I’ll make my famous curry.” 

That took you by surprise. “Next time?” 

Bakugou's eyes widened as he realized his slip, quickly clearing his throat. “Don’t…overthink it.” he grumbles, ears tinting pink.

You bit your lip, gaze lowering into the bowl as your cheeks blushed. 

When both bowels are empty and stomachs are full, Bakugou helps you clean the dishes. Of course he gave you the easy job of just drying everything. He's stifling back yawns with the back of his hand  and his eyes are getting droopy. You can tell he’s exhausted. While you are used to after parties and late night shoots, it’s obvious Bakugou is a first to bed, first to rise kind of guy. You don’t get a body like his by staying up all night, eating late night snacks. 

“You should take the bed” you voice soft as you put the final dish away “You’ve done…a lot for me tonight.”

“Don’t be an idiot. You need your beauty sleep after all.” He gave a flick of a grin “You’re starting to look like a goblin.” 

Your jaw dropped, as you let out a gasp- completely offended. You smacked his shoulder weakly, but he only chuckled, deep and genuine. Your playful hits barely made him sway. His laugher died down. As your arm came down, he caught your wrist mid slap- pulling you closer. Not rough, but full of intention. 

“Relax”, his voice lower than usual and wearing a grin “You’re still beautiful.”

He said it with complete certainty like it was the most obvious fact in the world. 

And the breath in you shifted. 

It felt like your insides did a somersault, your mind short circuiting, another part of you fluttered. It did something to you. You’ve been told you’re beautiful a million times. Photographers, fans, celebrities, strangers. Its background noise at this point. 

But not with him. 

When he said it, it sunk deep in you. It doesn’t feel like meaningless flattery, it felt real. It feels like he sees beyond your quirk. He sees the messy unfiltered version and still thinks you’re beautiful. And for the first time…maybe you believe it, too. 

You look down at the polished floor with red tinting your cheeks, you release your wrist. 

“Fine, you take the couch.” Your voice was soft like a surrender. “There's a second bathroom down the hall. I’ll grab you some pillows and a blanket.” 

Bakugou watched you closely, observing you like he would an interrogation. Everything runs hot and cold with you and it’s giving him whiplash. You flirt, then call him just a friend. You ask him to stay and when he makes a move, you pull away. You’re driving him insane. Part of him wants to walk out and chalk it up to a misunderstanding. The other part wants to slam you against a wall. 

When you stepped away to grab pillows and blankets, Bakugou rummaged through his duffle bag pulling out a pair of spare gym shorts. He peeled off his denim jacket, then his hoodie, each layer revealing more. He kicked off his jeans, leaving him in nothing but black boxer briefs. He reached for his shorts just as-

“Shit! Sorry!”

You froze, the bundle of blankets slipping from your arms as you spun around and covered your eyes. Dramatic and pointless. As if you haven’t posed with half naked underwear models before.

“Why the hell aren’t you changing in the bathroom?!” You barked, your voice a few octaves higher.

Bakugou rolled his eyes, not a bit of shame. “Please, don’t act like you’re all innocent. I’ve seen some of your photos online.” 

Your mouth fell open, heat spreading from head to toe. “You’ve seen-”

“Yeah,” he said casually, pulling on his shorts, leaving his chest bare. “They’re tasteful, artsy. Sure. Still far from modest.” he teased.

You wanted to just dig into the deepest hole and die. 

Bakugou stepped towards you, scooping the blankets and pillows off the floor and under his arm. It drew him in close, a little too close, there was a faint smell of burnt caramel. And now you weren’t sure what to do. You turned towards him, enough to feel his warmth. 

You’re surrounded by male modes in your line of work. But Bakugou was something else entirely. He wasn’t crafted in a studio or airbrushed to perfection. He was forged. Every inch carved by years of training and unrelenting discipline. He’s all ridges and sharp lines. His hips dipped into a sharp V, commanding your eyes downward. It's obscene and unforgiving.

And then there's the scars. 

They covered him like brush strokes. Broad lines on a canvas. The largest being in the center of his chest then wrapping down his right side swallowing his entire arm in a web of damage. 

You remember the news. The war. The day the UA students fought like hell and how he almost didn’t make it. His body tells a story. They didn’t make him flawed, they made himart. 

Before you realized what you were doing, your fingers reached out. Curious. Brushing lightly over the rough texture. It was coarse beneath your fingertips, warm and real. You stepped in even closer, drawn in by something magnetic. 

He didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t flinch. But his breath quickened, deeper heavier breaths. He stayed still in anticipation. You could feel the beat of his heart. You grounded yourself in the proof that he was here. 

And suddenly it registered, how intimate the moment had become. Like your body moved first and now your mind was scrambling to catch up. You flinched. “Well!” you blurted, far too loud and clumsy. “I’m off to bed! Goodnight!” Before he could respond, you spun on your heels and marched to your bedroom, shutting the door a little harder than necessary. 

Bakugou let out a sharp, frustrated groan. He rubbed a hand down his face, casting a glance down at himself, scowling at the problem you left behind. 

“This is getting fuckin’ annoying.” he muttered, adjusted himself in his shorts with a low growl.

Inside your room, you collapsed backwards onto your bed, arms side like a starfish, eyes fixed blankly on the white ceiling. You laid there blinking up at nothing, your mind shut off. 

Then, like a dam of  breaking of awkward moments. The moment replayed on repeat. The feel of his skin under your fingertips. The rise and fall of his chest. The heat from his body. 

Your stomach flipped and you grabbed your silk pillow, pressing it over your face to muffle the small frustrated scream that escaped. “What the hell was that?!”

You flopped onto your side, exhaling hard, willing yourself to shake it off. But your eyes drifted to the tablet sitting on your nightstand. You stared at it for a moment, internally debating.

Don’t do it. 

You did it. 

With a resigned groan, you grabbed the tablet and opened the folder of the photo shoot. 

The images burned bright as you swiped one by one. 

The way he held you, almost possessive. The way his eyes locked on you like the cameras weren’t even there. There was tension seen in every pixel. Like you and him existed in a world separate from that around you. The media hasn’t exaggerated, it was impossible not to see it. 

You bit your lip as you chewed on a nail. 

It’s no wonder everyone’s obsessed. Because people love a fantasy. 

And maybe that’s all this was. Just another fantasy. 

You heard his voice echo in your head. “People are reading too damn much into some stupid photos.”

Maybe he’s right, maybe people were reading too much. And maybe…you were too. 

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Update

Those following along with this series, I deleted chapter eleven since I just wasn't proud of it. I'm rewriting the chapter and will repost when done.

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Ten

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it. 

Notes: Cross posted on ao3 Writing this is hurting my back so much. I'm downing ibuprofen like skittle's. Rating: 18+

“Seems this man has a quirk that lets him move in the shadows. Probably how he got past the security.” A police officer reported. “We went to his apartment and found months worth of photos. He’s probably been following her for a while.”

Bakugou glanced over your direction, making sure you were too far away to hear. He didn’t want you to know the terrifying truth. You were sitting at your dining room table, wrapped in a blanket and sipping on a steaming mug of chamomile tea. You looked small. Defeated. 

The idea of a predator lurking near you for months coiled in his chest. His blood boiled with rage. A sick, sour weight settles in his gut with anger, but also something sharper, disappointment. 

“Keep that asshole locked up for good.” The officer nods at Bakugou before heading off. 

Bakugou stands in front of you, crouching down so he's at eye level. “This won’t happen again. I promise.”

You looked deeply in his eyes, there was a fire burning brighter than the red of his irises. You completely and utterly believed him. A level of trust that settled so deep inside you felt safe for the first time in a long time. 

“I keep a go-bag in my car, I’m going to grab it and come right back”

Bakugou placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, grounding you. You simple nod in response. By the time he returned, a black and orange duffle bag slung over his shoulder, all the officers and guards had cleared out. The room finally felt quiet again. You watched as Bakugou dropped the bag onto the floor and practically collapsed onto the couch with a heavy sigh, his head falling back against the cushions. 

There was a long pause before you finally spoke, your voice dry and light.

“Who the hell keeps a go-bag in their car?” The question caught him off guard, mostly because of how casual it sounded after everything that just happened. He blinked, then let out a breathy small laugh. 

“Any good hero with any damn sense.”  He had a smuggish smile. “Red Riot learned that real quick when we had a three day mission. He smelt like ass by the second day.” 

You let out a small laugh you didn’t realize you were holding in, then hummed in approval. But your light expression faded again for just a moment, like the weight of the night started to creep back in. Bakugou noticed instantly. 

Before he let you fall deeper into that hole, he slapped his hands on the couch cushions and stood up like a man on a mission. 

“You gotta be starving. Get the feelin’ you haven’t eaten all day.” He headed for the kitchen “C’mon, I’ll make you somethin’” 

You followed behind with curiosity. “You know how to cook?”

“Course I do. What, you don’t?” He swung open the fridge door and immediately his face dropped like he was personally offended, blinking at the near empty shelves. 

“Yeah…course you don’t.”

“What?” you defended “My private chef takes care of all that!” Bakugou pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed about useless rich girls.

He exhaled, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I’ll order us somethin”

“Or…” you stepped closer, eyes wide and pleading “We could go to the store. Make it a little adventure”

Bakugou paused, eyes shooting you a concerned glance. “You seriously wanna go out? After tonight?”

You looked down as your fingers played with the hem of your shirt. “I just…need a little fresh air. Don’t want to feel trapped.”

He hated the idea of you being so exposed in the open. If it were up to him, he'd lock up every door, board up the windows, and keep you inside forever with him guarding the place. But you weren’t his to keep, not meant to be caged in. And that was too selfish of an ask.

There were a few seconds of hesitation until he sighed. 

“Fine, but you’re stickin’ by my side the entire time. Don’t need some creep gawking at you, slowing us down.”

You looked up and smiled with a sharp nod “Deal.”

You walk out of the kitchen and down the hall, stepping into your bedroom. The second the door door clicked shut, your legs buckled under you. You collapsed to the floor, curling into yourself as everything came flooding in. The adrenaline finally subsided and now all thats left was the anxiety. Your chest heaved in tight, shallow gasps. Your mind spiraled with images of the intruder, but not just this one. Of all those that have stalked you in the past. Made you feel unsafe and vulnerable. You bit down on the back of your hand to muffle the sobbing. The pressure left deep crescent shaped marks in your skin, almost enough to draw blood. But you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t let yourself fall apart. For now, you were safe. But what about later, when Bakugou leaves? What happens when the locks, cameras and bodyguards prove useless again?

You craved solitude, a place where you could not be Pulchra. But now the thought of being alone felt like an open wound. 

Your breath hitched as you took in three deep shaky breaths. Slowly your heart came to an even rhythm as you forced it all down. 

Finally, you push yourself of the floor, legs trembling as you stumble towards your dresser. You grabbed the first three things you could find that looked comfortable enough. Leggings, some old band t-shirt, an oversized cardigan, baseball cap and large sunglasses to hide your swollen red-rimmed eyes. You gave yourself a lookover in the mirror. You looked terrible, the image of Pulchra nowhere to be found. All that was left was a scared girl pretending to be okay. 

With a few quick slaps to your cheeks you brought back some color, forced on a smile and pulled back your shoulders. 

When you stepped back into the living room, Bakugou glanced up the moment you appeared. He takes you in, letting his eyes roll down your body. He’s gotten to see so many sides of you today. He wonders how many people get to see you like this, stripped down of your usual polish and left with something real. 

“Ready?” You ask with a forced pep in your voice.

Bakugou nods and puts on his own casual disguise. A black pull over hoodie with the hood up and washed out denim jacket over it. Bakugou grabs his car keys and leads you out the door. 

Outside was a sleek black sporty Porsche that beeped when he unlocked it. To your surprise, he opened the door for you and gave you a knowing smirk when he could tell you were impressed. 

The car ride was quiet. You leaned your head against the glass of the window and watched the neon lights of the city go by. Bakugou kept looking over at you, hands tightening around the steering wheel, wanting to say something. Anything to lighten the mood. 

Should he play music? No, his music would probably scare you. 

The weathers nice, maybe talk about that? No, too lame. 

“What's your favorite dish? Maybe I can make it. ” Good job Bakugou, something simple. 

You pick up your head and tap your cheek a couple times, really thinking of all the things you enjoy. Food being one of your favorite subjects. 

“Mathéo makes an amazing beef wellington with béarnaise sauce”

Bakugou rolled his eyes so far back he nearly saw his skull. He considers turning around now thinking it will be impossible to please a spoiled rich girl. 

“Well I ain’t Mathéo princess, and it's 1am. We’ll have to stick to convenient store ingredients.” 

The engine roared as it came to a stop. The neon “24/7” sign was bright against the night sky. Again, Bakugou opened the door for you. He watched carefully as you stepped out. He followed closely behind like a security dog staying alert of anyone nearby. 

The door of the store chimed as you stepped inside. The fluorescent lights burned too bright for this time of night. Or…morning? 

You tugged on your cardigan sleeve over your hand, fighting a yawn as you wandered the aisles. Bakugou grabbed a basket and pulled on you by the arm into the direction he needed to go. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve been to a convenient store.” You looked over all the brightly colored snacks. 

“I’m sure it’s been a while you’ve been to any store that doesn’t just sell clothes.” 

You shot him a pouty glare that made him crack a small smile. 

“I could probably make something pretty decent if you actually had food in your fridge.”

“I have food!”

“Wine and cheese isn’t a meal, idiot.” You huffed at his comment. 

Bakugou walked down the aisles, grabbing mushrooms, eggs, chicken, green onions and everything else he needed. You followed closely behind, amused how serious he looked picking out groceries. He examined every item looking for the very best. Like making dinner was another mission and he’d be damned if he failed. 

When Bakugou gathered all the ingredients, you added a brightly colorful bag of candy on top and gave a sickly sweet innocent smile. “In case of emergencies.” 

“A candy emergency?” Bakugou raised a brow.

“Exactly.” 

Bakugou put the basket at the register counter where an overly peppy college student eagerly rang up the groceries. Before you could even grab your purse, Bakugou was already swiping his credit card. 

“Wow, making dinner and paying for it?” You said in a teasing sultry tone. 

“Don’t get used to it.” 

You gently shoulder checked him and looked up with a bright genuine smile. His chest got tight and he knew at that moment, he would do anything to keep you smiling.

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Nine

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it.

Notes: Cross posted on ao3. This series is sponsored by Adderall, Coffee and Mountain Dew.

Rating: 18+

It didn’t take long for your nerves to start to settle. As long as Bakugou was here, you felt safe. 

Bakugou was walking around your penthouse, looking for clues. But also because he was just so fascinated by how you lived. Big luxurious bed, a closet bigger than most apartments, massive windows that overlooked the city skyline, huge kitchen and multiple bathrooms. The whole place was clean, not a single knickknack or photo. There were a few magazines with you on the cover, probably ones you were actually proud of. But the whole place looked like you could pack it up any moment and leave on a whim. It felt familiar to him. The ability to leave everything all behind. The only thing that had personality were the half read books you had on almost every table and candles scented as baked goods scattered about. 

You called out his name from your closet. 

Inside you stood before a full length mirror, your fingers fumbling with the back of your dress. He paused in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame and the other curled tightly at his side. For a breathless moment, he watched you. Really watched you. You’re a living work of art, the kind of beauty only found in the finest museum to be admired from a distance, but never to be owned. 

Not mine, he thought. Never mine. 

“Can you help me with this?” you asked, frustration in your voice. “I swear they design these dresses after straightjackets.”

Bakugou felt a sensation so rare it startled him. He wasn’t the type for halter, not in battle and definitely not with his hormones. This wasn’t something he could muscle through. This was delicate, dangerous territory, and no amount of training could prepare him for the battlefield of his own restraint.

Still, he crossed the room until he stood behind you. Close enough he could catch the faint scent of your perfume. His gaze roamed the length of you, lingering at the dip of your waist and the curve of your breasts. 

He nodded once, but you couldn’t see it. You could only feel the shift in the air, the way it thickened, heavy with things unspoken. His fingers hovered near your skin, knuckles brushing against your spine in a whisper of contact that made his chest tighten.

He touched you, fingertips grazing the small of your back. His hands were steady in battle, unflinching under pressure, but here, they betrayed him. Here, they trembled but just barely.

He found the first button and undid it carefully, as if disarming a bomb, terrified that one wrong move would set off something he couldn’t contain. The fabric loosened, sliding against your skin. The neckline dipped lower, one sleeve slipping down your shoulder with an intimacy that made his breath catch.

He moved to the next button. The dress slithered down pooling at your hips. You drew one arm over your chest, a weak attempt to stay modest. Bakugou looked at your reflection in the mirror, the way your neckline dipped, the curve of your waist, and the way your bare skin begged to be touched. He looked away, feeling the guilt of wanting. 

He exhaled slowly and shaky. You shivered at the feeling, so subtle it was almost missed. But he saw it, felt it. 

He clenched his fists, fighting the primal urge to close the distance, to let his hands wander. For now he would be good. Careful. For now he’ll just remember this moment and the vision before him. 

“Thank you” you whispered. “Yeah” he said as he walked out the door, letting you finish the rest. 

When you emerged from your room, Bakugou nearly choked on the sight before him.

You were a vision, but not the kind he was used to. Gone were the designer dresses, and polished perfection. A stark contrast from moments ago. Instead, you stood there in an oversized hoodie with a stupid cartoon on the front that swallowed your frame, tiny shorts peppered with embroidered strawberries, and a pair of fuzzy socks that slouched at your ankles. You looked utterly ridiculous. Human. And god, he loved this version of you even more. 

“Tea?” You asked already prodding over to the kitchen. “Sure.” Bakugou plops himself on the couch with a heavy sigh releasing the tension he didn’t realize he was holding and rested his elbows on his knees with his face in his hands. 

When you returned, you pressed a warm mug into his hands, and for a few minutes, the two of you sat there, side by side, drinking in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy, either. It was the kind of silence heavy with words neither of you knew how to speak yet. A silence full of everything unsaid.

You took a long inhale through your nose, the air catching just a little. Then, you cleared your throat.

“Um… about the interview…”

Bakugou's eyes snap to you, searching for a sign of what might be coming next. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, he waited in silence until-

CRASH

In a flash, Bakugou was up, the tea spilling from his cup and shattering against the floor. His hand clamped around your wrist, dragging you down behind the couch with a force that made you stumble, made you gasp. He pressed a finger to his lips, mouthing, Get down. His palms sparked small, crackling bursts of smoke and fire sizzling from his skin.

Your heart thundered in your chest as you crouched, slapping a hand over your mouth to smother the cry rising in your throat.

“You BITCH! You’re supposed to be MINE!” The voice was a grotesque snarl, echoing through the open space, impossible to pin down. It was everywhere but nowhere.

Bakugou whipped his head all around, looking and listening for any signs of the intruder. 

“Get out here you chicken shit!” Bakugou yelled. 

“Why him? WHY? Don’t you see how he doesn’t care about you like I do?” Bakugou's palms popped louder with small explosions. 

“You’re a goddess, my Pulrchra! You deserve someone who really loves you!” 

The body of a man materialized from the shadows. He was holding a knife and began charging straight at Bakugou with a wild, desperate scream.

But Bakugou was faster.

With the reflexes, he sidestepped, twisted the man’s wrist until it snapped, and slammed him hard into the floor with a deafening boom. The explosion rattled the furniture, shook the windows. The explosion could be heard from several floors. 

The intruder crumpled unconscious, a thin smear of blood trailing from his mouth and forehead. But not enough to kill him. Just enough to ensure he wouldn’t get up again anytime soon.

You peeked out from behind the couch, trembling. Before you could even think to move, Bakugou was there, gathering you into his arms, holding you so tight you could barely breathe. His chest heaved against yours, heart beating loud.

You broke, tears spilling down your cheeks as you clung to him. You pressed yourself closer, as if you could crawl and hide in his strength. His hands framed your face, warm thumbs brushing away the tears, his touch frantic, desperate.

Without thinking, he kissed your forehead, your cheeks, quick, uneven, feverish, as if he could erase what had just happened.

“You’re safe,” he murmured, voice thick, hoarse. “You’re okay now. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

The door burst open behind you. Security guards spilled in, weapons drawn, faces pale and wide-eyed.

Bakugou didn’t flinch. He didn’t loosen his hold on you for even a second.

“Call the cops,” he barked without turning. “And restrain that bastard before he wakes up.”

You barely noticed the commotion around you. Bakugou’s arms stayed locked around you like a shield. He didn’t let go. Not even when they hauled the man away in handcuffs.

Not even when the danger was gone.

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Eight

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it.

Note: Cross posted on ao3 What's currently happening in LA is awful. It's Trump trying to show the people what happens if you oppose him. He wants people to be scared to speak up. Many times in my life, I've been told I won't go places because I'm too outspoken. That I don't play the game of the silent cog. I was told I make people uncomfortable for speaking out on injustice. I had to "find my place". But why should I be the outlier? Its those that sit in silence and let the safety other others be taken away, that should be uncomfortable. Because they shouldn't be the norm. Speak up for your boundaries. Speak up for the kid getting bullied. Speak up against unfair wages. Speak up for the safety of yourself, your neighbors, animals, and the parents being ripped away from their children. And most of all, FUCK TRUMP. God damn. Rating: 18+

You woke up early, wearing an oversized knitted sweater and the fuzzy shorts. In the kitchen was a perfectly curated balanced breakfast and a small espresso made by your private chef, waiting for you on your marble table. It was a french cuisine this morning. The portions were small, barely enough to fill your hunger. Which meant only one thing…whatever they had planned for you to wear today would be tight and revealing. 

As you sipped on your espresso, your fingers played with the small black and orange card with Bakugou's number on it. It’s been about 5 days and you still haven’t called or texted. What was there to say? 

“Hi friend- I know I read all of this wrong and you think our time together was stupid, but I think I actually like you??” Hell no!

You thought of a hundred things to say. Even typed most of them out. But you never had the nerve to send any. So now the card sits on your counter acting as a souvenir of what once was. 

The beeping of your security keypad echoed, drawing your attention away. When the doors swung open, Jun walked inside carrying a long golden dress wrapped in a protecting film. “Darling! You’ll simply be the bell of the ball tonight with this gown!” Jun sang. 

He strutted like he owned the place and you mindlessly followed towards your dressing room, which was more like its own separate apartment store full of every fabric and jewel to exist. Jun hung up the dress and carefully removed the plastic. It was a long, body forming, strappy dress that flowed like molten gold. The dress looked overly complicated on the hanger which always meant one thing. There would be a lot of skin showing. Your fingers played with the soothing sensation of the fabric, feeling the luxury of real silk. 

Tonight was the Venus Charity Gala, a yearly event where all the top actors, models and celebrities show up in the most couture on theme ensembles. 

“This is great, Jun.” “Oh honey, it’s better than great. It’s perfection. It’s magnetic.  You and Logan will be walking dreams!” 

“Logan?”

“Yes Sweety, didn’t anyone tell you?” 

Your face dropped. 

“Oh my. Well! Logan Rivera will be your sexy little arm candy tonight. His reputation as an actor is skyrocketing. The media is claiming he’ll be Japan's next hottest man of the year!”

You know all about Logan's reputation. But it’s one so well hidden from the public, only those in the industry know what he’s really like. He uses his fame and money to convince up and coming models or actors that he can make them celebrities. As long as they sleep with him. But it’s those girls who wake up beaten and bruised, forever tortured by the memories of Logan Rivera. 

You’re sure your manager and the rest of the team who own your brand know all of this. But they don’t care, all that matters is the articles the next day.

“Hair and makeup will be here around three to get you all glitz and glam. So be sure to lay off anything salty or sweet until then, yes darling?”

You tried your best to give a genuine smile “Yes, thanks Jun.” 

***

Bakugou did what he did best when he needed a distraction- blow shit up. Training dummies, punching bags, even interns. Nothing or no one was spared. He doubled his patrols, took on extra missions, took every opportunity to blow off some steam. If he kept his body moving, you would stay off his mind. 

With every buzz or ring of a notification on his phone, there was a small flicker of hope before it crushed him. Each time it wasn’t you, which was everytime, made the silence a little deeper. This feeling was driving him crazy.  

You drew the line of friendship, made it cut and clear. After everything, the relentless flirting, the touches that lingered a bit too long and the way you looked at him with longing. You chose distance. He should’ve seen it. It was all PR shit for glossy headlines and tabloid feeds. 

He’s not sure if it's his pride being shot that pisses him off, he’s never been rejected before. Girls always come easy to him. Or if it's worse. He actually fucking cares about you. 

Bakugou finished suiting up into his hero uniform ready to patrol his sector for whatever villainy may be stalking the streets. He’s hoping, begging, for some idiot to try him today. Give him an excuse to let loose. 

“Hey, man! You see Pulchra will be at the Venus Charity Gala tonight? Bet she’s going to look sooo hot!” Denki said in passing with a huge smile on his face. Bakugou was about to blow smoke from his ears, just hearing your name. “Who fuckin’ cares? Just some dumb dress up show.”

He didn’t stick around long enough to hear Denki’s response. He didn’t want to hear it.

Patrol was painfully uneventful. Not even a simple purse snatcher or carjacker. Just quiet streets and too much time to think. 

He took a turn down a street he usually avoided and immediately regretted. There you were, or at least a towering billboard of you. Some advertisement for high-end makeup brand. Your eyes stared down at him, wide and bright. Lips curved into a carefully practiced smile. 

“Tsk, whatever.” 

He turned away and walked in the opposite direction back to the agency. It was nearly 6pm by the time he got back and stripped off his uniform. There was an itch gnawing at the back of his mind. His phone was burning a hole in his pocket, telling him to check the news, just once. With a frustrated growl and slamming his locker enough to break the hinges, he yanked his phone from his pocket and typed in “Pulchra Venus Charity Gala” into the browser.

Instant regret.

The screen lit up with a flood of images and video clips. There you were, standing on a red carpet and flashing cameras, dripping in a gown that looked like it was poured on your skin. 

Your hair done up into a loose updo. The liquid dress that cascaded on one shoulder and left the other bare. Opulent gold fabric swept across your chest and crossed back around to your waist until it fell into a long train with a high slit. The dress was tight forming and left little to the imagination. Your chest and midriff barely covered and your ass perfectly sculpted in the clinging fabric. The media described your look as “sexy, daring, and unpredictable.” 

His body tensed as he watched you through the screen. But it wasn’t anger, it was something darker. The kind that pulsed as blood rushed. Made the mouth dry and mind hazey. Then he saw him. 

Some polished asshole with slicked back hair, sculped jaw line and a smile that won awards. Logan Rivera. Some actor pretty-boy he’s never heard of. 

Bakugou’s stomach twisted as he watched you lean into the bastard, hand resting on his chest and smiling at whatever stupid shit he had to say. The media gushed over how perfect you looked together. He wanted to break his phone. 

But against his better judgment, he tapped on a livestream clip.

You looked at the camera with a perfect smile and eyes that dared the world. They drew crowds in, pulled by desire. 

A press reporter came up to you with a mic, craving a story.

“Pulchra, what about 15th hero Dynamite? Have you turned in hot-headed hero, for hot and handsome?” 

Bakugou didn’t want to hear your answer. He closed the browser, locked his phone and slammed it on the bench. 

Fucking waste of time. 

***

The gala was all reds and golds. Flowers spilled from ornate vases and marble fountains flowed with liquid gold. Sparkling crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, refracting small beams of colors in all directions. Silk dancers floated from the ceiling, circling around the audience. Classical music playing modern songs could be heard from every direction. 

Only a few photographers were allowed inside the venue, a true mercy,  but that didn’t make them any less of vultures. They cataloged every glance, touch and whisper. 

After two flutes of champagne and a few stiff uncomfortable dances with Logan, he drifted away. You didn’t entertain his flirtatious comments and pulled away when his hand crept too low. Eventually he got bored and latched himself onto a group of young, entirely too young, models with bright eyes and empty smiles. 

Good. 

You hadn’t wanted a date to begin with. It was your PR teams idea in the first place. Something about optics and perception, staying ahead of the tabloids. Logan was nothing more than a calculated move in a finely tailored suit.  

The room was packed with familiar faces from the industry, but despite the size you felt claustrophobic. Heat building from the weight of too many bodies in designer clothes. The air reeked of a mixture of expensive perfumes and desperation. Everyone hid behind perfectly blended foundation, hollow jokes, veiled insults and dull flexing of success. At every corner were whispers of scandals. 

You were speaking to a new starry eyes model who's only been in the industry for a few months. The only reason she's even at this event is because of some big name actor she's sleeping with. She was going on and on about this fad diet she's on. The kind where there's more risk than reward. But you know if she doesn’t do it, she’ll lose her contract. She changes the subject to you, how she looks up to you. How you’re the reason she began modeling. You feel guilty everytime someone says you’re their reason for getting into this shit hole of an industry. You don’t want to be responsible for their misery. The more she spoke, the more her voice faded away. The music turned to a high pitch ringing. Your pulse quickened, muscles tensed.  You began to feel cold and exposed. There was a shift, like eyes were on you. Not in the usual kind you expect from an event like this. 

You whipped your head around and found an unfamiliar face staring at you from behind the tower of champagne flutes. There was a look in his eyes. A fixation. An unblinking predatory fixation. 

The young model called out your name a few times but her voice fell of deaf ears. It's not till she grabbed onto your shoulder, did you blink and the sound of music and chattering of voices all came flooding back. 

“S-sorry” 

You tried to smile, refocus on the young model in front of you. You forced laughter and small talk. But the way the man's eyes burned into you kept replaying, keeping you frozen in fear. 

You finally got the courage to glance back, but the man was gone. You looked all around and he was nowhere to be seen. 

You spent the rest of the event entertaining other celebrities with your charm, laughed off flirtatious comments and discussed new work opportunities for some product you couldn’t care less about. 

But despite all the drinks, conversion and fake smiles. You couldn’t get your mind off that man. You decide to slip out of the party early without notice. 

***

Back at your home, before you even had a chance to slip out of your dress and into something comfortable, you found an envelope laying on the floor of your white marble. Your heart began to race and your palms sweat as you reluctantly picked up the unmarked envelope. Your hands shaked as you ripped it open.

Inside were photos of you alone in your penthouse from this morning, eating your breakfast. From the angle of the photos, it appeared to have been taken from your balcony. And being on the 33rd floor, only added to the terror. 

Moments later your phone chimed and you nearly jumped at the sound. You looked at your phone only to see a text from an unknown number. 

UNKNOWN: 

You looked beautiful tonight. The fear only made you that more enticing. 

Without a moment of thought, you instantly ran to where you kept the card Bakugou gave you and called the number he scratched on the back. Tears ran down your cheeks and the air thickened in your throat as the phone rang. 

“Who is this?” “Can…can you come over?” He recognized your voice instantly and the way it shook. 

Bakugou grabbed his keys before you even finished your sentence. “I’m on my way.” 

You texted him your address with shaky fingers and the keyword for the front door security to let him in. 

What you considered your fortress now felt like a cell of granite and glass. You sat on the kitchen floor, crying into your hands. A half empty bottle of wine next to you. You were still in your dress, but your hair now undone and lightly tangled. 

Not even ten minutes later you hear three wraps on your door. The sudden sound scares you but you scramble to get up. As soon as you open the doors, you wrap your arms around Bakugou's chest and cry enough to dampen his black shirt. He grabs your shoulders and pushes you back enough to get a good look at you. 

“What happened?” Concern and anger written all over him. 

You move aside and let him follow you in. He kicks the door shut behind him and scans the room like it was a battlefield. Cataloging exits, shadows or any points of weakness. He noticed the number of locks on each door, the monitoring cameras in every corner and the security system screwed to the wall. 

“You said come over” his voice low “So. What happened?” 

You didn’t answer right away, just gripping onto the skirt of your dress. Your makeup had been smudged and your hair tousled. You looked small. 

Silently you handed him your phone with the unknown numbers text. 

“You block the number?”

You nodded and your hands shaked. 

“Thats…not all.” 

Next you handed him the envelope and when he looked at the photos inside he felt his blood boil. Right away he knew this wasn’t some average stalker. This was someone who managed to get past security and avoid the systems you have in place. 

“You have access to your security cameras?” 

You nodded and handed him a tablet that had all camera recordings. As he reviewed the videos, you sat on your couch and wrapped yourself in a blanket. 

There was nothing in the recordings. Not even a shadow. His fists clenched. When he looked up he saw you shaking and trying your best not to cry. 

“You tell security about this?” You shook your head. You kept security guards to a minimum, preferring not having someone always breathing down your neck. “They’re used to crowds, eager fans, but not this. You’re the first I called.” 

Bakugou let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. He sat next to you, close. He was warm. Present. 

“I see how people look at you. You can’t live alone and not have 24/7 patrol watching over you.” “I know!” You were too loud and too sharp. 

Then quieter “I know.” 

Silence fell between them. 

“Everyone thinks they own Pulchra. They think I belong to them. So I chose this solitude. The silence. I wanted freedom.” 

Bakugou's jaw flexed and he inched a little closer to you. 

You leaned against his, resting your head on his broad chest. He let you. 

“I’ll keep you safe.” Bakugou stroked your back with his thumb, fire burning in his eyes. 

“Will you stay with me tonight?” You looked up at him with pleading eyes. A look he could never refuse. 

“Of course.” 

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Seven

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it.

Notes: Cross posted on ao3 I feel like I really need to work on pacing of the story. I get an idea and I rush the story to meet that idea, making the pacing feel unrealistic and clunky. It's something I am trying to figure out. Rating: 18+

The interview was scheduled in a stylish hotel suite that overlooked the city skyline. Polished floors, tasteful art, sleek leather couches and catered buffet tables full of all types of assortments. Fashion weekly had gone all in for this interview. Three professional photographers to get every angle, top stylist on standby and a bigtime reporter named Akari Hyasaka- young, clever, sharper than your stilettos. You arrived on set ten minutes late in your perfectly tailored creme colored suit with the deep V. Your stylist couldn’t decide what shoes to torture your feet with. Eggshell off-white with the red bottoms, or sandy creme with the red bottoms. Eggshell. 

Bakugou was already sitting on the shiny leather couch under the camera lights, scowling in your direction for having the audacity to be late. He wore a long sleeve dark green button up with black tailored pants with black leather chelsea boots. His hair is as unruly as ever. 

“You’re late.” Bakugou frowned.

“I’m surprised you're here at all.” You smiled. 

“Trust me, I don’t want to be.”

“That’s the spirit.” You gave a wink and sat down next to him, straightening your body tight blazer. You caught Bakugou staring at the cleavage and gave him a teasing look. He rebutted by turning his head away with a “tsk”. 

Across from you sat Akari in a perfectly stylish pencil skirt and simple silk blouse. Hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and face painted for a more mature look. She looked both at you with the kind of look that would make anyone squirm. 

Akari gave a hand gesture and simple nod at the videographers filming the interview. The little red lights blinked on, indicating the cameras were rolling. At the corner of your eye you caught Bakugou's leg start to bounce and his grip on the arm of the couch tighten. 

“Thank you both for taking time out of your busy schedules to be here.” Araki said with a smile that could cut diamonds. “We’re just going to have a relaxed conversation about the shoot, your dynamic and what it’s like when two public figures from very different worlds come together. Sound good?”

Bakugou mumbled something under his breath and turned his head away. 

You gave a practiced smile and nod. “Absolutely.” 

And like that, it was now Pulchra and Dynamite on the couch. 

“Let’s start with the obvious,” Akari said “the chemistry. The shoot went viral within 12 hours of the photos being posted. People are calling you the most unexpected pairing since hero licensing met haute couture. Thoughts?”

Bakugou groaned at how lame that sounded.  Sinking sluggishly into the couch, bouncing his leg faster. 

“Dynamite, how about we start with you?” Akari clearly wanted a juicy story. 

“People are reading too damn much into some stupid photos.” 

His comment was a sharp string, is that what he thinks? That this is all a stupid game to him? Were you misreading all of this? Your mind was starting to spiral, you felt the pressure in your body tighten. You wanted to rebuttal and scoff at his words. But that's not what Pulchra would do. So you push any feelings aside and play the part. Give the audience just enough to feel satisfied, but enough to keep your distance. 

“And yet the body language in those photos say otherwise. There’s this…tension. An untold story.  An unexpected spark.”

Bakugou opened his mouth to argue, but you cut in before he had a chance. “Unexpected can be fun, yes. But while everyone sees a spark, I just see two professionals who are clearly good at their job.” You gave a straight lined smile. Avoiding looking at Bakugou because you didn’t want to know if he was agreeing with what you were saying. Knowing if he agreed, it would all be over.

“So what is it like working with Dynamite? We all know how the media portrays him. Is all that true?”

You sideyed towards Bakugou. His jaw was sharp, arms folded over his chest, he was looking at you waiting for your answer. 

“He’s…difficult.” 

Akari looked over at Bakugou wanting a response “She’s not wrong.”

“But,” your eyes softened at Bakugou “he’s honest. It’s refreshing to have someone who is so unapologetically themself and raw with everyone else.” 

Bakugou didn’t say anything, but his jaw relaxed and the muscles in this arm eased. His leg also stopped bouncing. 

Akari raised a brow and smiled “Let’s talk rumors”

You sighed inwardly. Here it comes. 

“There's speculation you’re more than colleagues. There's photos floating around with your hand on his arm walking out of a restaurant.” 

…fuck. 

Bakugou was tense again. 

You leaned forward, smile with strategy. “We’re….getting to know each other.”

Akari blinked “Getting to know each other?”

“Yes, isn’t that what you do with new friends?” You said sweetly. “You talk. You eat. You keep things private.” 

“So that's all this is, friends?”

Bakugou looked at you and you stared back. He didn’t say anything but you sensed a shift. He was waiting for an answer. 

“Yes.” You kept your eyes on his while you responded to Akari. “Just friends.” You smiled but it didn’t reach your eyes. 

Akari could feel the tension in the room and wanted to strike while the fire was hot. “Fair enough. But one last question.” 

Both you and Bakugou raised your brows. 

“Do you think there's a world where heroes could date someone so public without risk? Risk for their image. Risk of safety.” 

Bakugou paused, his eyes winded, looking at the marble floor as he slowly scrubbed his mouth as if to stop himself from speaking. You could tell he was deep in thought. 

Risk was something he never considered. 

You looked at him, really looked. Your smile faded into something more serious. 

“Yes.” You said with confidence. “But only if both parties are brave enough to weather the storm.” 

Akari looked at you both, lip twitching slightly but nothing where the cameras would notice. 

“Beautiful.” 

The rest of the interview was less personal, something less heavy. Akari talked about your next runway show and Dynamite's most recent rescue. The photographers took a few candid shots while you, Pulchra, entertained. Laughing at all the right times. Speaking all the right words. Bakugou watched you as if trying to understand you. Like studying some character in a book.

When the interview wrapped, you both walked out together. The elevator ride was uncomfortably quiet. Bakugou looked more pissed than usual. His body leaned against the steel elevator walls with his arms crossed. You could feel the metaphorical wall between you. 

When the elevator bell rang and the doors opened, Bakugo pushed himself off the wall and walked out, not even looking at you. Large glass sliding doors opened up to the outside where you both walked out. The air was colder and the sky darker. 

“Hopefully this PR bullshit is over. Sick of playin’ dress up.” He seethed as he watched the passing cars. Guilt was creeping in the moment he spoke. He couldn’t bare to watch whatever emotion your face morphed into. 

Before you could speak, Bakugou reached his hand in front of you with a small rectangle card. On it was the name of the hero agency he worked at and on the other side was his cell phone number hand written in pen with his initials in the corner. 

“Call me if you need a friend.” there was more emphasis on the word friend, enough it almost stung. 

He didn’t give you time to explain yourself, how you felt, or even enough time to say goodbye. He was walking away before you could get a single word in.

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Six

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it.

Notes: Cross posted on ao3 I've been writing this for weeks in a Google doc and in the doc it feels so long. Like I actually wrote a lot and I feel so proud. The time its taken, the number of pages. Amazing. Then I paste my work in here and realize I barely wrote shit. Rating: 18+

You were standing on a riser under bright lighting wearing a sleek tailored suit that had a deep plunge highlighting your sternum. The stylist fussed over you, correcting any loose thread or wrinkled edge. When everything was perfect she took a step back and took in the full picturesque doll before her. Your hair is long and slightly curled. Makeup light but with a bold lip. The stylist smiled like she was admiring her own art. 

“It's perfect. You’re perfect”

You offered a soft faux smile “Thank you”

“And your skin is simply glowing!”

“It's just good lighting.”

“Must be more than that” she brushed a curl behind your ear “Maybe a new love interest?” 

The heel of your left shoe buckled under and you stumbled off the riser but caught yourself before completely embarrassing yourself. 

“I- I’m fine!” Thank god for the makeup, the artificial blush hides the heat on your cheeks. 

The stylist now frantic over the structural integrity of the perfectly pressed suit. 

***

Bakugou had his hands wrapped in elastic bandages as he furiously swung at the punching bag. 

Your touch lingered on his mind, like it burned into his skin. He stayed up too late last night trying anything to distract himself from the thought of you. And when he gave into the temptation, he pulled out his phone and looked through the proofs from the photoshoot. Zooming in on you in every picture. And worst of all, something that makes his stomach turn when he thinks back to last time. He did the unthinkable while staring at one of the photos of you. But the release was the only thing that actually put him to sleep. He swung at the bag even harder, putting some spark behind it. 

“Hey bro, we just repaired this gym!” Kirishima said as he walked in the gym with a big smile on his face. 

Bakugou just ignored him and kept swinging his fists. 

“How was your date last night with your super hot model girlfriend?” 

Bakugou missed the bag that time and it only sent him spiraling and just exploded the damn thing. 

“It wasn’t a date!” There was a long pause and the longer the pause the more Kirishima smiled. “And she’s not my damn girlfriend!” Bakugou was bright red now. 

“But you like her, right?” “Don’t be an idiot.”

“That's not a no.” 

Bakugou side eyed him and went for the free weights. He ignored Kirishima's comment and lifted the weights a few sizes heavier than he usually goes for. Kirishima started his workout routine and they stayed in silence except for the occasional grunting and cussing. “She….wouldn’t go for a guy like me.” Bakugou groans the second that came out of his mouth.

“Bro! Of course she would! Why wouldn’t she?!” Kirishima dropped his weight to listen intently. 

“Are you fucking dence? Look at her and then look at me.” Bakugou hated being vulnerable. But Kirishima is the only person who gets to see this side of him. 

Kirishima listened without commentary.

“Half my body is covered in scars and my arm still isn’t what it used to be. She’s perfect and I’m…” Bakugou didn’t let himself finish his sentence. Just picked up the weights again and pumped harder. 

“Aw common bro, girls love scars! They’re so manly!” Bakugou rolled his eyes and popped his earphones in to listen to whatever angry mental music was next in shuffle. 

Bakugou watched his form in the mirror, drawing most of his attention to his beat up arm. Scars created hills and valleys from his chest to his fingers. Even after years of physical therapy, surgeries, and training. His arm will never perform the way it used to. His hand is too scared over on that arm to produce the same amount of nitroglycerin, making the explosions weaker. That entire side of his body was almost completely covered in the history of the war. 

“Hey asshole!” Himari stormed into the gym, throwing the nearest towel she could get her hands on at Bakugou's head. “Did you forget?!”

He bared his teeth and seethed “What the hell do you want now?! What the hell are you talking about?!”

“The interview, you idiot! It's in two hours!” Himari groaned.

“I didn’t forget! I just…didn’t confirm.” 

Himari was stunned. She dragged her hand over her face. Mumbling how she knew she shouldn’t have trusted him to handle this on his own.

“Please, for the love of my blood pressure. Just go. Be charming- whatever your version of charming is. Brood a little. Say something vaguely tender. And then you can leave.” “I don’t do charming.”

“Fine. Whatever. Be yourself. Just show up and don’t insult anyone while on TV.”

Himari pinched her nose and walked out the door “I need a raise.”

***

Sitting in your dressing room, you scanned over the pre-approved interview questions Jun emailed over to you. It included phrases like: “You and Dynamite share explosive chemistry, how would you describe working with him?”

“Are you two the next power couple in both fashion and hero culture?” “Do you think beauty and violence can coexist?” 

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. 

“Bakugou is going to lose it.” 

You opened the folder of the proofs and swiped through each photo. You stopped at the one where you're both nose to nose. You remember the warmth of his touch and the way it made you feel.  Explosive chemistry? Power couple? If that's how other people see you, then how does he?

You closed the folder, chest feeling warm and tight. 

Pulchra will nail the interview. 

But you? You’re terrified. 

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Five

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it

Note: Cross posted with ao3 I hope y'all are liking it so far. I feel like I have a hard time capturing Bakugou

You arrived first. Which is very against your brand, arriving fashionably late and all that. But you were actually excited for this dinner and got ready far too early. Then just waiting and doing nothing was far too boring.

 The restaurant was tucked between two buildings on the quieter side of town. It's the kind of restaurant that only real locals know about and is kept secret from outsiders. The owners keep to themselves and never fuss with food reviews or restaurant stars. It’s not the kind of place anyone would expect to find you. It’s not the kind of place they would expect Pulchra. 

7pm on the dot the bells above the door chimed. Punctual. It’s exactly what you expected from him and the predictability of it has you grinning. 

Bakugou walked in like he was entering a battle. Mean mug and no patience. His hands stuffed in the pockets of his dark green bomber jacket. He looked like he would rather be in a knife fight than be here. His eyes scanned the room like a predator stalking prey- until they landed on you. 

Your heart did something you’d rather not come to terms with yet. 

Bakugou slid into the seat across from you with a heavy sigh. 

“This place better have good drinks.” 

You smiled, handing him a glass bottle. “They have fruity soju, but I imagine your fragile masculinity wouldn’t like that.” 

His eye twitched “You asked for this.” 

“I did”

“Why?”

“I told you, I like you.” you teased. 

Bakugou glared like he was seeing through your silver tongue. “Why? Because I don’t simp over you like every other idiot on the planet?” 

“Yup.”

He blinked “...That was a guess.” 

“You look at me like I’m just…someone standing in your way. Like I’m anyone else.”

“Tsk. Didn’t mean to offend.” He grunted, looking away. 

“You didn’t. You intrigue me.”

He rolled his eyes and stretched his arms on the back of the booth. “Great, I’m a novelty.”

Bakugou flagged down the waiter and asked for a beer and the spiciest curry they could offer. You ordered udon, definitely not spicy. 

There was a long pause between them. Like they were both thinking of what to say to fill the silence. Like there was something building between them. 

“Can I ask you something?” You broke the silence. 

Bakugou just gave a grunt of permission. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of being watched? You’re the symbol of strength. One of the top three from UA and one of the heroes to take down All for One during the war. I see all the articles about you online. They watch your every move.” 

Bakugou ran his hands through his hair. Not exactly liking where this conversation is going. Not a topic he likes discussing. 

“I hate it. I used to think I wanted all eyes on me, to be number one. But now I just want to be a good hero without all the medias validation” 

You nodded and held onto his answer, feeling the weight behind his words. 

“Everyone thinks they know who I am” you said, scratching at the label of the soju bottle. “But they only know Pulchra. The curated version. The illusion. Sometimes I wonder if anyone would still want me if they saw me on my worst days.” 

Their meals arrived at the table piping hot. Bakugou also ordered a tall beer that foamed over the rim. You poked the broth with your chopsticks, staring into it like it was some fortune telling soup. 

“I’d probably like you more”

You blinked a few times, like you couldn’t hear what he just said. He continued. “Perfect people bore me. ‘Sides, I’ve seen perfect people crack the hardest”. His eyes looked down and the tension shifted into something else for a moment. Something about the way he said it made your heart clench. 

“Hm…you know, you’re a lot softer than I expected”

“Yeah, well, don’t go around ruining my reputation” he smirked with a little playfulness in his eyes. 

There was a beat of silence, and then with softness in your voice “Do you ever wish you could just make it all disappear?”

He exhaled through his nose “Sometimes. Then maybe I’d stop getting blamed for shit I didn’t do wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

He took another long drink “I’m too loud. Too messy. Media drags me like I’m the fuckin’ villian just because I dented the sidewalk. But I save everyone, everytime.”

You let out a small bitter laugh “I get that. Pulchra almost got canceled for eating a cheeseburger. With bacon. Apparently Pulchra is supposed to be vegan.” 

Bakugou smirked “Jeez…such a villian”

You both laughed, but it was my quiet, silent kind. The kind kept between only two people. 

There was a flicker of something between them. A realization. Two people who walked completely separate roads, were both walking the same storm. 

“We don’t have to do the interview”. You said between slurps of your udon. Bakugou was stuffing his face with the spicy curry like he was famished. That made him perk up just a bit and slow down his eating. 

“I don’t have to do shit” He spat on instinct.

He quickly finished off his meal.  “I think this whole thing is stupid. But my numbers are going up. And its the first time the media isn’t talking about how ‘destructive’ I am. So I’ll do the damn interview.” 

And that made you smile. 

You finished your udon while he finished his second beer. The rest of the meal was enjoyed in a welcomed small talk. When the table was cleared you grabbed your purse and coat. 

You looked up at him “Thanks for showing up.”

He flinched a bit and the tips of his ears turned red. He rubbed the back of his neck and gave a simple “Whatever” He stood up to walk you out the door where your driver was waiting. You put your hand on his arm, just lightly. But enough for him to feel the weight of it.

“Good night, Bakugou.”

And when your hand left him, it’s like you took a piece of him left with you. 

“Night.” 

You got into the back of the car and Bakugou turned to walk down the sidewalk in the night. When your car was far out of sight, Bakugou paused, took in a deep breath. 

“....fuck.”

[bread0nhead]

Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Four

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it.  Note: Cross posted on ao3 Rating: 18+

You slept in late today, your body still sore from the workout with Bakugou yesterday. When you checked your phone, you saw twelve missed calls and twenty three unread texts. Your agent, friends, even Jun were all trying to get ahold of you.  You shot up from bed in a panic. The first text read: 

“Pulchra, Darling. You and Dynamite have BROKEN THE INTERNET. Vogue Japan posted the photos. Call me, love!”

Attached was a link. You frowned as you hovered over it. Practically wincing when you finally clicked it. 

VOGUE JAPAN: “DYNAMITE AND PULCHRA: THE UNLIKE SPARK SETTING THE FASHION WORLD ABLAZE”

And there it was, the photo. You close enough to kiss him, valnerabiltiy written in your eyes. Bakugou with his hands on your waist and staring down at you, lips parted, as if he caught something raw and dangerous. 

Your phone buzzed again, and again. Notifications flooding your screen. Your face was everywhere, so was his. It wasn’t the fame that struck you, it was the reactions. 

Comments on every platform making speculations of your relationship. They were literally shipping you with Bakugou. “Dynamite looks like hes in love, and pissed about it.”

“I adore an enemys to lovers troupe.”

“Not sure if he wants to punch a wall, or push her against one.”

You snorted at the internets creativity. 

Bakugou didn’t do social media much. The occasional tweet here, and the rare IG post there. But unfortunately, Denki was glued to it. 

“Katsuki, dude. Look at this!”

Bakugou was in the middle of strapping on his hero gauntlets and the rest of his uniform. “What? It's too early for your shit.”  

Denki showed his phone, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re trending. For smoldering”. 

Bakugou snatched the phone from Denkis hand and intensely stared at the screen. He nearly popped a blood vessel as he saw it. “Oh hell no” “Oh hell yes!” Denki exclaimed. 

“You look good bro, super manly.” Kirishima added in. 

“I didn’t sign up for this PR circus.” 

“Hello, boys!” Himari sang, strutting in the locker room like she had no sense of decency. “No.”

“Yes!” She beamed with excitement “The shoot is everywhere. Your popularity jumped sixteen percent!” 

“I don’t give a shit.”

“You should give a shit.” Himari said, clicking on the tablet in her hand. “They want a follow up. Not a photoshoot, don’t worry. They want a joint interview.” 

“Definitely no.” 

“If one photoshoot can improve your popularity just this much, imagine what an interview will do!”

“Still no.”

“It’s enough to pay for the damages you did to the gym, plus more.” She deadpanned. Bakugou felt a tinge of guilt with that one. 

“...f- fuck the money! I did the damn shoot, now I’m done!” 

“Pulchra agreed to the interview. Said she’d happily do it- on one condition.” 

He didn’t want to ask. He shouldn’t have asked. But curiosity was gnawing at him. “What condition?”

Himari ginned “You agree to meet for dinner. Just the two of you. No cameras.”

Bakugou blinked “Why?”

“Why would she want to go to dinner with an angry volatile hero? I don’t know. Maybe to ‘deepen the tension’ for the story. More authenticity or something.”

There was a long pause and Himari could see his gears turning. Her grin grew wider. 

“...when?”

“Tonight, 7pm. I’ll send you the details.”

Bakugou sighed and his fist clenched. This was a bad idea. The first two times they were together were hard enough. Now dinner. What the hell were you thinking? But he was thinking of your touch and that damn photo. 

“Fine.” He muttered “But I’m not paying for her damn dinner.”

[bread0nhead]

Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Three

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it.  Note: Cross posted on ao3 Rating: 18+

Bakugou didn’t like change. He liked his routine. His space. And his damn weights right where he left them. But thanks to a little….incident. There are scorched blast marks and a collapsed wall in the gym of the hero agency. 

So here he was. At a snoody elite fitness club where celebrities and heros frequented thanks to the security to keep paparazzi away and for the discretion from staff. 

Bakugo signed in, swung his towel over his shoulder and nodded at the receptionist and made a beeline for the free weights. 

And then he saw you. 

Long legs in tight black leggings that hugged your ass perfectly. A racerback sports bra with some name brand logo around the band. You were stretching, headphones in, one leg folded beneath you while the other extended in front, arms overhead as you leaned in to take a deep bend. 

It’s been four days since the photoshoot. Four days since you touched him, teased him without mercy and since he walked away like a jackass. 

He didn’t expect to see you again. Not like this. And definitely not bent over dressed like that. 

Bakugou tried to look away, but the stretching became borderline obscene as you started biting your lower lip in focus, and-

Shit.

He turned quickly, nearly growling while pumping the dumbbell like it personally insulted him. 

“Hey there” someone said behind him. Bakugou turned. It was a man in a too-tight tank top, loose basketball shorts and way too much confidence for a guy with that haircut. He wasn’t talking to Bakugou. He was talking to you. 

“Did it hurt?” The guy asked, getting closer with a grin. 

Ah fuck, Bakugou knows where this is going. 

“Excuse me?” “When you fell from heaven” Bakugou nearly gagged on his bottled water and internally cringing at what he just overheard. 

You gave a tight smile “Time to get new lines.”

“Oh come on, you’ve got that kind of smile that-”

“-screams ‘leave me alone’?” you said flatly. 

The guy didn’t get the hint. He actually leaned in closer! That was enough. 

Bakugou stomped forward. “Oi” The douche bag looked up, frowning. 

“Is there a reason you’re breathing near her?”

“Do I know you?”

“No,” Bakugo said, crossing his arms. “But I know desperation when I smell it.”

You blinked in surprise. 

The guy sneered. “Mind your business, man.”

“She is my business.”

The idiot opened his mouth to argue, then paused in recognition. 

“Oh! You’re that explosive hero with the bad attitude!”

“Glad my reputation is faster than your pickup lines. Beat it, extra.”

The guy scoffed and muttered something under his breath, heading towards the exit. 

“Well. That was…”

“Annoying.” “Hot.” 

Bakugou choked. 

You smirked. “Didn’t have to do that, I can take care of myself.”

“I know.”

“Thank you.”

Bakugou shifted his weight, ears turning a new shade of red. His eyes darted around the gym in every direction except in yours. 

“You done stretching?” 

You titled your head to the side “Why? You offering to spot me?”

He rolled his eyes and nodded towards the weights “Just get your ass in the squat rack.”

“Wow, such a charmer.”

You weren’t a stranger to working out, your training was the definition of a sadist- but Bakugou was a whole different breed of hell. He corrected every little inch of your form like a drill sergeant. His hands would hover over you, showing you how to adjust. But when he did touch, even just a tap of the shoulder or to brace your hips, the air shifted. 

“Keep your knees aligned, damnit.” One hand rested on the lower half of your back. “Back straight, push from your heels.”

“I am!” “You’re not.”

“Agh! You always this much of a dick at the gym?”

“Yes.”

“Of course….No wonder you train alone.” 

Bakugou didn’t say anything, just added more weights to the bar. You groaned and cursed under your breath. 

When he was done torturing you, he focused on his own weight training. As you sat on the floor mat, stretching out the pain, you watched every bench press and deadlift with precision. He wore a tight t-black shirt that hugged both biceps like babes. His loose grey basketball shorts that didn’t leave much to the imagination in some positions. Fuck. The sweat rolling down his skin, past all the scars. The intensity in his red eyes. This is the first time you realized, really realized, how hot Bakugou is. 

After an hour of the worst workout of your life, you and Bakugou cooled down with light stretching. You made a loud groan and flopped your back on the floor and spread your arms out on both sides. He simply watched your dramatics with a straight face. 

“Bet you didn’t think you wouldn’t see me again.”

“I try not to think about you at all.” 

“Liar.”

He glanced over. You had a smug smile. Entirely too pretty. 

“How come I’ve never seen you at this gym before?”

“I usually work out at the agency. But there was an…accident.”

“What you blow up the place or something?” you giggled. 

There was an awkward long silence and Bakugou just looked away. You barked out a laugh, enough to make your stomach hurt. 

“Oh my god! You’re a walking hazard!”

“Yeah, well…you’re a walking billboard.” 

You both fell into a moment of comfortable silence. “Thanks again for saving me from that creep earlier.”

“Would have done it for anyone.”

“Sure. Hero.” 

A smile. 

A pause-

“Well, see you around, Dynamite.”

Bakugou watched you turn and give a final wave and returned with a simple nod.  He took in the sight one final time, trying to commit those damn yoga pants to memory. 

[bread0nhead]

Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Two

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it. 

Note: Cross posting with ao3 Rating: 18+

“You want me to do what?”

Himari, a top hero PR manager didn’t flinch. She dealt with Katsuki Bakugou for years. She’s seen him seething, shouting and sparks crackling loud enough to make interns cry. But today, he was giving a special look. Eyes narrowed, lips curled and teeth showing, one brow raised and twitching at the thought. 

“A photoshoot” she said, slow. “For a fashion line. It’s good press. It’s exposure.”

“Fuck exposure, I’m ranked fifteen on the hero charts! I get exposure by saving lives.”

“You’re ranked fifteen because you blasted half a building and singed a bystanders eyebrows during a hostage rescue” she countered. “And yes, you saved the day, and yes, the villain got what was coming. But the media doesn’t care. They care about the old lady screaming how you caused Armageddon on her arthritis!”

Bakugou crossed his arms over his chest and his jaw twitched and he nearly grinded his teeth to stumps. “She lived, didn’t she?” Himari sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s not the point”. Kirishima whos sitting on the leather sofa in Bakugous office is chewing on his lunch. “Cmon bro, do the photos! People love this stuff! Look cool, smolder a little. You can do it!”

Bakugou glared “Smolder?”

Kirishima smiled with his sharp teeth “Ya! Like….hero smolder.”

Denki whos sitting next to Kirishima bobbling his head like an idiot, still recovering from electrocuting a bank robber earlier. “You’ll be great! Just imagine the cameras a villain and do that signature Bakugou scowl. The girls love it!”

Bakugou turned slowly “Do you want to die today?”

Denki squeaked and sank further into the cushions. 

Himari clapped her hands once, sharp and final. “No use arguing. The commission already agreed on your behalf. The shoots with Jun Hatashi- yes, the Jun. He’s working with the new model-slash-muse-slash-icon. Pulchra. You’ve heard of her.” 

Bakugou shrugged “Nope.”

Denki and Kirishia gasped.

“She’s like, on every billboard, bro!” Kirishia exclaimed “She’s super hot! She’s in all those perfume and fashion commercials!”

“Still no”

Denki was practically pulling his hair at this point “Are you immune to hot girls?!”

“I don’t waste my time drooling over strangers”. 

Himari sighed. “Doesn’t matter. Her following is what matters. You need that audience. So show up tomorrow, And try not to blow anything up.”

Bakugou growled but didn’t argue. At least, not out loud. He knew the commission was right. His image needs work. He didn’t care about the press or fans, but he did care about keeping his promise of being number one. And if playing a little dress-up for an afternoon, and got the critics off his ass, fine. He’d endure it. But he sure as hell won’t be happy while doing it. 

The next day, he walked into the studio like he was being led to the gallows. It smelled like hairspray and waaaay too much money. 

Assistance buzzed all around holding clipboards, makeup brushes, and fucking mood boards. 

“Ah!” Some exclaimed “Dynamite’s here!”

Jun Hatashi approached, elegant, thin, dressed in a vibrant lavish suit and wearing sunglasses indoors. 

“You’re taller than I expected” Jun said, scanning Bakugou “and….scowlier.”

Bakugou said nothing, brows knotted together and jaw tight. 

“Fabulous. Very on brand.”

He was dragged into a wardrobe station and forced into three outfits. The first was an all white suite, a stark contrast to his usual black. Bakugou said “he’d rather eat glass”. The second was a mesh loose shirt and ripped leather pants. “I'm not a stripper, dumbass.” The third was a black button up with matte black detailing and slim chino pants, finally earning a grumbled “fine”. 

Hair was next and it took three stylist to even attempt to tame the wild unruly blonde spikes. When someone came at him with a straightener, his first internship with Best Jeanist flashed back in his mind and he almost blew up the entire department. 

And then- you. 

Pulchra entered the room and all eyes shifted to you. How you flowed in the room effortlessly. The air shifted. People hushed. A stylist dropped a brush. You wore a wine-red gown that draped like liquid, high slit, dangerously low neck line, bare shoulders, hair pinned up in loose curls that framed your face. Your heels clinked softly on the studio floor. 

Bakugou blinked once. Twice. His face frowned and deadpanned. Completely unamused. 

“Oh” you said, stopping in front of Bakugou. “They didn’t tell me I’d be posing with an angry hedgehog.” giving a teasing giggle.

Bakugo snarled. “They didn’t tell me I’d be doing this stupid shit with a plastic barbie doll.”

You laughed, the sound was smooth and real. 

“I assure you there is nothing plastic here.” You smirked at him, hand on your hip. “I like you already.”

“And I don’t care.”

“Oh, I really like you.”

Bakugou stood in the studio, the heat of the lights were hotter than he imagined. He didn’t know what the hell to do with his body. While he was stiff and awkward, you flowed like water and poised with confidence. 

“Beautiful! Perfect! Stand together, help him out darling! Hes looking like a tree out there! Give me sparks, give me tension!”

You moved beside him, brushing up against him. “Relax” you hummed “you look like a condemned man.” 

“Because I am” Bakugou muttered back. 

You leaned in, breath whispering in his ear. “Pretend we’re alone and I’m just a normal person.”

He side-eyed you. “You think anyone here treats you as normal?”

“No.” you said simply. “But…you do.”

Bakugou stared at you a little too long.

Jun shouted direction as the camera clicked. 

“Pulchra, hand on his chest. Yes! Bakugou, look at her like you loathe how attractive she is. Beautiful! Tension!”

Bakugou still trying to figure out what to do with his damn hands stood frozen. You guided his hands to your waist and wrapped your arms around his neck. You got close. Really close. Your lips close enough to him where you inhaled his exhale. He instinctively parted his lips. His chest tightened and his mind went fuzzy. It pissed him off. 

“Like this” you whispered. 

The touch was steady, grounded. It worked. The cameras, the crew, it all faded. 

The rest of the shoot went smoother. They leaned in close, arms tangled to tell a story. He burned hot through all of it. At one point, you forcefully grabbed his collar and pulled him really close. You gave a dangerous smile and winked. He rolled his eyes and grunted. 

The shoot lasted two grueling hours. At the end, everyone applauded and lights began shutting down. You turned to say something, but Bakugou was already gone. No goodbye, not even a nod. You watched the studio doors swing shut behind him, almost expecting him to turn around and say something. But he didn’t even glance back. 

Most men lingered. Offered to expend the night with drinks. They tried to give their number. Tried anything to impress you. 

But not him. 

Jun pranced over, eyes sparkling with delight. “Pulchra! Divine, my dear. You and Dynamite? Absolute alchemy!”

You smiled and meant it “Thanks, Jun. Let me know when the proofs are in.”

Back home you sat on the couch with a documentary playing in the background while you slurped on a bowl of ramen, wearing sweatpants. You flicked through articles of Dynamite on your phone. Dynamite saves kid from burning building. Bakugou explodes building. You find his Instagram but there isn’t much content. Few pictures of his hero gauntlets after upgrades, action shots of him being a hero, and the rare angry selfie. 

You can’t stop thinking of the shoot. Or him. Bakugou treated you like a regular person. No wide eyes. No hushed comments. No uncomfortable flirting or weird stares. Just dry sarcasm, a bad attitude and a lot of awkward touching. 

You laughed into your noodles. He looked like he was being assaulted by intimacy for the first 30 minutes. But when you pulled him close, adjusted him hands, he hadn't flinched. There was something honest in him. Rough but guarded. Sharp enough to cut through the wall this world put around you. You wondered if you’d see him again.

Across the city, in a dingy bar that wasn’t frequented by many, Bakugou was being attacked with questions left and right from Kirishima and Denki. He gripped the glass cup filled with foamy beer, debating if he should smash the glass and just end both of them now. 

“She touched you” Denki said with a derpy smile “and you touched her! On the waist!”

“We had to, idiot. It didn’t mean anything.” 

“I can feel the sexual tension and I wasn’t even there!” Denki added. 

“Are you fucking twelve?”

Bakugou finished his beer “I didn’t even say goodbye. I wanted to get the hell out of there.”

“Classic you.” Kirishima said with a grin “Mysterious. Brooding.”

“She probably thinks I’m an asshole.”

“She wouldn’t be wrong,” Denki snickered. Bakugou threw a fork at his head. 

“I don’t care what she thinks.” “Sure” Kirishima said, with a smug smile. “Thats why you've brought her up three times already.” 

“I was bitching about the shoot!” 

“Dude, it’s so obvious you’re thinking about her! I don’t blame you. She’s hot!” Denki smiled. 

Bakugou slammed his fist down “I’m going home before one of you ends up dead.” 

“See ya later, bro. And you better send us those pictures when they come in!”

Bakugou didn’t answer, he was already halfway out the door.

Later that night, back at his flat, Bakugo was staring at his phone. The proofs were sent. There was one photo, just one, that made him pause. 

Your arms wrapped around his neck, faces close, gazes locked on each other, lips parted so slightly. He was looking down at you, expression caught between a scowl and something unreadable. Like he didn’t know to push you away or pull you closer. 

Bakugou frowned at the photo as he stared at it for several minutes. Then locked his phone, tossed it on the bed and went to sleep. 

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter One

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it. 

Note: Cross posted on ao3. This is a reader-insert series, but reader is given the alias “Pulchra” for sake of the story. The idea of Pulchra has been living so deep inside my brain its chemically altered me. I’ll probably continue to write other series with her in it, but with a different storyline. I’m sorry for any grammatical errors and misspellings. This took me far too many weeks and I don’t want to go back and clean it up lol Rating: 18+

A crowded room always had a funny way of going quiet when you walked in. Like the air has been sucked out of the space and no one could breath. 

Cameras stilled, lights stopped flashing and conversations dropped off. Heads turned instinctively when you, no, Pulchra, pulled at the strings of desire. Eyes watched your every move with either lust or envy, wrapping them into a tight knot of fixation. 

You didn’t ask for this. Not the fame or the attention. And definitely not the name. Pulchra. 

Pulchra- latin for beauty, a nickname coined by some glossy magazine trying to sound smarter than they actually are. They were the magazine to find you and make you. Printing your face on the front cover of tounsand of copies. The editor nearly drooled on you as he made an offer any girl living in a poor countryside town couldn’t refuse. A blank check. But as you signed your name on the dotted lines, you had no idea the stain of Pulcha that would be left behind. And when you eventually moved out of the countryside, into the city, no one spoke your real name again. 

You sat in your dressing room, lit by the ring of vanity lights, staring at your reflection. Your hair curled perfectly, lips tinted the prettiest shade of pink and your eyes dusted and smoked out to highlight your natural eye color. You stared back at the reflection empty, debating on busting your hand on the mirror so it shatters and ruining your perfect skin. Not that it would matter. You could be beaten, bruised, riddled with zits and knotted hair. Your quirk will still make you beautiful. 

Three stiff knocks pulled you from your thoughts.

“Five minutes, Pulchra!”

You didn’t answer. No need to. 

You slipped on your floor-length dusty pink silk robe. The photoshoot was for some overpriced perfume, the kind that smells like roses. Why is it always roses? But you smiled through it.

The robe flowed and swished with your movements as you nearly floated down the hall into the studio. As predicted, everyone turned and stared in awe. Floods of makeup artists, hair stylists, designers and the kid who brings you coffee swarmed around you to invade your space and make everything even more perfect. 

“There she is! My Goddess! My muse!” The photographer you didn’t even care enough about to remember his name clasped his hands like he was praying. “Pulchra, darling, you’re a vision. This champaign is going to be iconic.” They literally all say that. 

As is this ad is going to be the ad to beat all ads. But they are all just replicas of each other with different outfits.  

You smiled, not the kind to reach your eyes, but the kind that still made people feel validated. 

“Thank you” you said softly, your voice with just a kiss of husky to sound mysterious. 

He guided you to set- a velvety chaise lounge surrounded by expensive flowers and draped with fine linens. The makeup artists gave your face a couple more puffs of powder, fluffed your hair a little higher and draped your robe off your shoulder so it was a little more……sellable. 

“Alright my venus, give me longing. Give me yearning. Yes- just like that - oh god, you’re a star!”

You tilted your chin slightly, parted your lips with a hint of invitation. It was magic. Your quirk, Infinity Beauty, warped perception. No one saw your flaws. They couldn’t. The world only saw you as a goddess with flawless skin, shimmering eyes, and a perfect body. You were everyone's ideal vision of beauty. Whether they wanted to or not- they wanted you. You’re universally beautiful. 

It was a curse. 

When your quirk first manifested, creepy men made comments despite your young age. Little boys hid their feelings through teasing and hair pulling. At fifteen, a classmate tried to carve your name into his arm. When you were seventeen, a girl punched you just because her boyfriend said “Pulchra” while sleeping with his girlfriend. When you started modeling, things only got worse. Crazed fans followed you,  stalkers broke into your home just to sniff your underwear and pillows. Everyday you receive love letters of people promising to commit their entire lives to you. It's why you now have four locks on your door and security cameras everywhere. 

After the shoot wrapped, you disappeared before anyone could even offer celebratory drinks. Your driver knew the routine, pull around back, windows up and don’t talk. 

Back at your penthouse, you peeled off the costume of Pulchra. Kicking off your designer heels, tossing name brand cloths into a pile on the floor and wiping the makeup off your face. The silence of your apartment was like an old friend. The apartment was filled with the silver lighting of the city and the warm tones of the burning candles. It was dim and quiet. 

You opened the fridge, filled with expensive half opened bottles of wine, artisanal water and fancy meats and cheeses. You reached for the bordeaux cabernet sauvignon and poured a hefty glass of wine and curled up on the cream colored couch. 

Here, no one watches. No one has expectations. Here you’re just….you. 

You wrapped a soft blanket over your shoulders, put your phone on do not disturb and picked up the book you’ve been drowning yourself in for the last few days. A fantasy novel about a princess turned warrior, battling dragons and goblins. It was whimsical, silly, even a little childish. But you liked it. And no one ever asked what you actually like, only assumed. 

“Pulchra drinks green juice.”

“Pulchra listens to classical music and French jazz.”

“Pulchra only dates supermodels and rich men.”

You haven’t dated in years. You weren’t sure you wanted to. How would you know if they wanted you, or Pulchra? 

No one saw you. They only saw what they wanted to see. 

As you curled deeper into the couch and slugged down the rest of your wine while throwing yourself in the fantasy of your book. You let out a long sigh. Tomorrow would be more of the same thing. Another shoot. Another crowd. Another performance.

[bread0nhead]

Dabi multi-chapter fic recommendations, please!!!

Something with more than 15 chapters, and slow burn. No yandere or kidnapping shit 💩

Please and thank you 😚😚😚

[bread0nhead]

Short hair Sam Coe ❤️

What a cutie