louislouisrap

[louislouisrap]

Roarin Twenties ch. 1

Ah hello it’s been awhile

This was supposed to be a short thing but it turned into a long thing. I’m thinking it’s probably going to be my longest fic yet and I think for now the first-gen quirk idea is gonna be put on hold (´･ω･`)

With that said have some more Kirikacchako ☆*ヾ(-∀・*) Although it’s more like Kacchako and Kiribaku and eventually it’ll become Kirikacchako? I haven’t thought that far ahead but poor Bakugo is tormented by the fact that he’s in love with two people. So sad.

You can also keep up with this on my Ao3: louislouisrap

A fancy gala is the perfect opportunity to dredge up the feelings you've been trying to push down.

//

Bakugo stared at his reflection in the mirror and grimaced. It wasn’t that he looked bad--no, he looked too good, too fancy for his liking. However, hard as he’d tried, there had been no worming his way out of the dress code for tonight’s event. Best Jeanist wouldn’t let him.

Bakugo had been a sidekick at Best Jeanist’s agency for two, almost three years now, almost immediately after graduating. Kirishima and Sero had been especially surprised, and even Best Jeanist himself had been at a loss for words for a few moments when he’d opened the door to his agency and found Bakugo standing outside with his trademark scowl, sidekick employment papers filled out and at the ready.

Bakugo knew that being a sidekick at Best Jeanist’s agency would not be easy, mostly for his ego. He’d been absolutely humiliated during his first internship with the then-number four hero, though looking back at that time as an 18-year-old with less of a temper and two more years of experience behind him, Bakugo could admit to himself that he’d been a huge brat. He had the advantage of brute strength, but Best Jeanist had years of experience to draw from. Lightning quick control of his quirk, assessing any situation and acting in the blink of an eye, the ability to remain calm and collected under pressure. UA had opened those doors for Bakugo. He had learned to be calm and to be quick, but Best Jeanist could do it better; by age 18 Bakugo had finally matured enough to swallow his pride and accept help from the same man who’d dismissed him before as reckless and unruly.

And it had been one of the best decisions of his life. He was no Present Mic, but under Best Jeanist’s watch, Bakugo’s public image slowly morphed from that of unstable hothead to an alright guy. He had learned how to put on a halfway decent outward appearance, and while his public speaking skills left much to be desired, at least he no longer scared children. He had honed his agility and critical thinking skills and was truly a force to be reckoned with. Now, at the tender age of 21, he had finally broken into the top ten heroes in Japan and, after a year of working his ass off, was finally going to open his own pro hero agency.

As if the Japanese Hero Billboard Chart in itself wasn’t a big enough event for Bakugo, Best Jeanist had reminded him that there was always an evening gala following the stage presentation.

“So when you say gala…” Bakugo leaned against his desk at the agency, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

“Formal wear, Bakugo,” Best Jeanist replied from his office chair and Bakugo swore he heard a hint of delicate glee in his voice.

The explosion hero slapped the edge of the desk as he rose to his feet. “Well, you all have fun then, I’ll be sure I’m watching something else from my couch at home.”

Best Jeanist sighed. “I thought by now I’d have drilled it into your head that appearances are everything, Bakugo Katsuki, but it appears I’ve still misjudged your thick skull after all these years.”

Bakugo stretched his arms out in exasperation. “Look, I’ll be at the main event, isn’t that enough? What the hell else is there to do at a fancy fuckin’ dinner?”

“Networking, most importantly,” Best Jeanist countered, poking a well-manicured finger in the other man’s direction. “But it’s also another public image opportunity, and one that you sorely need now that you’re in the top ten. You’ll be meeting with members of the press, political figures and public servants who will be looking to you for protection and who will be counting on you now more than ever.”

Bakugo grunted and looked away, crossing his arms with a ferocious petulance.

“You want to be the number one hero, Bakugo. That means taking everything that comes along with it.”

“Yeah, okay!” Bakugo spat angrily, still looking away. “You made your point, alright? But the event’s tomorrow, I don’t even have a--” He stopped himself before he could get out the rest of that sentence, stunned into silence by his own moment of idiocy.

Best Jeanist leaned back in his chair and though his mouth was hidden from view, Bakugo knew he was smiling underneath his denim costume. “I see you remembered who you work for.” He pointed to the storage closet behind Bakugo’s desk. “There’s a tailored suit in there. Charcoal, orange tie, black Oxfords. I assume you at least have a dress shirt at home that fits, but just in case I’ve included that as well.” Bakugo opened his mouth. “You’re welcome.”

Bakugo’s mouth snapped shut and he glared at the number three hero before plodding over to the closet and pulling out a thick wooden hanger, heavy with the weight of the suit, covered in a black garment bag. He slung the bag over his arm and bent down to snatch up the pair of gleaming black Oxfords on the floor. He’d never held anything quite so nice (or expensive) before, and he hated it.

“Thanks,” he drawled, voice thick with disapproval.

Best Jeanist inclined his head and Bakugo could just feel the smugness radiating from his half-hidden face. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Bakugo.”

Bakugo swiped the rest of his things from his desk before heading home for the day. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, already halfway out the door, “go fuckin’ pat yourself on the back some more.”

And now, here he was, glaring at the figure glaring back at him. By some magic, or through powers that Bakugo didn’t really want to think about, the suit fit perfectly. It was a beautiful, smokey charcoal color that contrasted sharply against the satiny, vivid orange of his tie, a nod to Bakugo’s hero costume. The lapels were thin and classy and the two black buttons down the front gleamed. (There was a note pinned to the jacket as well: “Close first button ONLY”.) The waist was tapered and form-fitting without being constricting, and the edge of the jacket formed around the curve of his butt and not a millimeter lower. The crease running down each pant leg was razor sharp, and the break just barely hit the tops of his impossibly shiny Oxfords. Best Jeanist had even included a pair of black socks.

Bakugo was immediately reminded of the male models he’d seen in the magazines at his father’s workplace. Yeah, he admitted, he lookedgood, but at what cost? Already the tie around his neck was stifling, and he resisted the urge to rip the thing off and burn it up in his palm.

He inspected his hair. He knew Best Jeanist would give him shit about not styling it, but Bakugo couldn’t have cared less. His sandy blonde spikes were slightly less unruly just because there was now less of it--in the past couple years he’d preferred to have his hair cropped a bit closer to his head in a more professional looking fade. That was enough of a style, right? Right.

Bakugo adjusted his lapel one last time before tearing himself away from the mirror and resigning himself to his well-dressed fate. Soon this night would be over, and he could go back to worrying about the more important aspects of his career. The entire day had been stressful enough; he’d managed to keep his composure professional at the stage event in the wake of his firecracker nerves--excitement, nervousness, pride--and even said a few words for himself that were a far cry from his declarations of singular success at the UA sports festival five years ago. The mobs of press that swarmed the heroes after the event ended had been the anxiety icing on the cake; this gala would be a shake of anxiety sprinkles on top of that. Bakugo looked forward to coming home afterwards and shoving his suit in the darkest corner of his closet, never to be seen again.

His phone chimed suddenly and Bakugo strode over to his nightstand to inspect it.

Kirishima: hey man sorry again i couldn’t be there for your big day, but i saw everything on tv!!! you were so fuckin cool!!! really proud of you :) gettin ready to head back home in a couple days, lookin forward to hanging out and going back to the gym

Bakugo sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. If today’s events had given him acute anxiety, then Kirishima was utterly chronic. The realization that he liked his best friend had been slow to dawn on him, though perhaps that hadn’t been entirely unintentional. Bakugo had had an inkling while they were still students, but at the time he’d been so hellishly focused on his goal to become the number one hero that he’d pushed aside any feelings that had bubbled up whenever he and Kirishima spent time together. Which, admittedly, was often.

There was something absolutely magnetic about the redhead, and Bakugo, hard as he may have tried, was not immune to his pull. Kirishima’s enthusiasm, his strength, his spirit, energized Bakugo mentally in a way he couldn’t begin to explain. It was almost intoxicating, and even after their class had graduated, Bakugo couldn’t stay away. Not that Kirishima would have let him, though. They had become practically inseparable by that time, and when Kirishima broke the news that he’d been accepted at a pro hero agency a mere 15 minute metro ride from Bakugo’s apartment, it had been difficult for him to hide his excitement.

And yet, it was as if there was still an invisible wall between them, with both of them unable to break through to the other’s side. A hesitancy to dig deeper, to get closer, and when they felt themselves reaching that wall, they backed off. The question of whether or not one liked the other more than a friend hung heavily over them, had been for years, but neither one had felt confident enough to coax it out into the open.

What if he asked, and Kirishima said no? The thought had kept him up at night on more than one occasion, and for awhile Bakugo had been content to let his curiosity die down for awhile. But now things felt different. Kirishima had been away for two weeks volunteering at a new pro hero agency in a location that was often gently referred to as “underserved” and "at-risk". The agency was lacking in staff, manpower, resources, and Kirishima had generously offered his time and services to help get the place up and running. Bakugo had been genuinely happy for him, and didn’t seem too perturbed in the beginning by the fact that the town was a good three-hour ride by bullet train.

“You better not slack off at the gym while you’re gone,” Bakugo had warned him with a grin. “Otherwise be prepared to get your ass handed to you when you get back.”

But now that it had been two weeks of physical separation, Bakugo was becoming acutely aware of the strange emptiness he felt without Kirishima there, and it was digging up feelings that he’d hoped he’d buried long ago.

Bakugo was preparing to text back when two more notifications popped up on his screen.

Ashido: you better show up tonight!!! i know you hate this kind of thing but i also made a bet with sero so if you could just pull through for me that’d be great <3

Bakugo snorted. Along with Kirishima, Bakugo had had a hard time getting rid of Ashido, Sero, and Kaminari. Through sheer determination, they’d glommed onto him in their school days in spite of how aloof Bakugo had tried to appear. Truthfully, he hadn’t really minded them and perhaps he’d been a tiny bit grateful for their tenacity, as he was not very adept nor experienced at making the first move in friendships. Kirishima and the rest of them had effectively done the hard work for him, and by their last year at UA, Bakugo sincerely cherished them as a weird sort of family.

He swiped to the next message.

Uraraka: Can’t wait to see you tonight!! It’s gonna be fun :D

Ah, the other source of Bakugo’s unrest, Uraraka Ochako.

She’d never really been on his radar in school. Sure, he respected the hell out of her and her skills, and he’d seen how much impressive progress she’d made in their three years at UA, but outside of that, they’d never really gotten that close. It wasn’t until they graduated that a friendship began to blossom.

They’d both gotten jobs as sidekicks in towns next to each other, a pleasant surprise they’d learned after they’d met at the same bar after their shifts. The first time around, they’d spent a few hours there chatting, Bakugo finding that it was quite easy to talk with Uraraka. They talked about her parents’ business and how she’d begun sending them money to help expand it and buy better equipment. Bakugo told her about how Best Jeanist was doing, and his experience as a sidekick so far. They exchanged horror stories of all sorts, from the embarrassing to the truly awful parts of the job.

He’d walked her home when it got dark, and they discovered they lived only about a 10 minute walk from one another.

After that, Uraraka would sometimes show up at the end of Bakugo’s shifts on her days off, to offer some company and joke around with him, especially during his late-night patrols which were mind-numbingly boring more often than not. Bakugo then began returning the favor, sometimes bringing Uraraka a sandwich or a coffee from the convenience store.

Eventually, they’d started hanging out outside of the work environment, though usually not alone; Bakugo enjoyed spending time with her and Kirishima the most, though they got together often with the Bakusquad, mostly with Ashido making the plans.

As time passed Bakugo realized, to his dissatisfaction, that when he and Uraraka were together, he felt that same nervous excitement in the pit of his stomach that bubbled up whenever he was with Kirishima. She was innocently funny, which contrasted endearingly with the fact that Bakugo’s foul mouth entertained her to no end. She was earnest, headstrong and unflinchingly devoted to putting her life on the line as a pro support hero.

He was attracted to that, to her. To him.

He was in love with two fucking people. And he had no idea if they felt the same way.

So he buried his feelings, simple as that. If they felt strongly enough, he reasoned, they could bring it up first, but he wasn’t going to be the one to wear his heart on his sleeve and have it broken, or worse, ruin the friendships he already had. Not only that, but he was also pretty sure he didn’t know how to tell someone he liked them.

He texted back:

Me: If this is fun then I’ve died and gone to hell. See you soon round face

Well. There was really no backing out now. Bakugo gathered his keys and his courage, pocketed his phone and headed outside to hail a taxi.

[louislouisrap]

Black Water ch. 3

Okay I guess I’ll post the last chapter here! Clinging to the last vestiges of tumblr huhuhhuuhu

If you’d like to read the rest of this fic, you can do so here on my Ao3 (although I have posted links to the other two chapters here on my tunbl): Black Water

Sometimes, I feel like throwing my hands up in the air

I know I can count on you

Sometimes, I feel like saying, "Lord, I just don't care"

But you've got the love I need to see me through

“You’ve Got the Love”, Florence + the Machine

The small nightlight in the kitchen on the first floor casts shadows from its orange glow as Bakugo enters. The kitchen itself opens up into the common room, darkened where the light’s glow is too weak to travel. The shadows disappear instantly when Bakugo flips the light switch and he blinks for a few seconds in the blinding brightness.

He quickly shoves the plastic bag he was carrying down into a large garbage bin next to the kitchen counter and washes his hands. After drying them on his pants, he rummages around the cupboards quietly for a glass.

He find a tall glass above the sink. There are a few fingerprint smudges on it, and with a scowl Bakugo thinks that it must have been Kaminari’s turn to do dishes recently; he takes the glass anyway. He turns the faucet on and before filling up the glass lets the cool water run over his hands as he rests his elbows on the countertop. It becomes white noise in his ears, and he lets it drown out the thoughts in his head. He closes his eyes for a moment, just being, existing, before standing upright again, wiping his hands on his pants for a second time, then filling up his glass. He takes a long drink, feeling the cold water fill up his empty insides.

He leaves the glass in the sink--he’ll come back to wash it before he leaves--and reclines out along the length of one of the couches in the common room. He folds his hands behind his head and stares up at the ceiling. The room is silent, save for the low hum of the refrigerator. Bakugo concentrates hard, lets the sound fill his ears, his mind in the hopes of drowning out any other thoughts that would, inevitably, rise to the surface.

For a few moments, it was peaceful.

Then, without warning, the image of All Might materializes in his mind: tattered suit hanging off his thin frame, bright blonde hair streaked with blood, and suddenly Bakugo feels sick again.

As if that’s not bad enough, the sound of a familiar voice floats through the air. Now I’m hearing things , Bakugo thinks ruefully.

Suddenly, the double doors into the common room open, and flash of red hair announces that Kirishima has arrived.

Bakugo stares. Kirishima grins.

Uraraka pops up behind the redhead with a friendly wave.

“Hey Bakugo.” Her voice is warm and comforting, which Bakugo would have appreciated more if he wasn’t currently being pissed off that the two of them were there in the first place.

Bakugo visibly bristles. “What the hell are you two doing here?”

“We were worried about you, man. I...heard you. Next door,” Kirishima explains.

Bakugo freezes. Fuck. Someone had heard him. He recovers the only way he knows how, with a scowl and a click of his tongue.

"So why the hell do you care? You should've stayed in your room, losers.” Bakugo's face goes warm and pink, but he doesn't budge.

“Ah--” Uraraka butts in-- “well, I was up, and I happened to run into Kirishima, so I thought it would be nice to have some company!” She clasps her hands together and smiles, in that stupid way that makes Bakugo spend the extra second to take in her expression.

He doesn't want them around right now (or does he? He honestly doesn't know), doesn't want them to see the pathetic state he's in, but he's smart enough to know that pushing them away will only make them worry more.

"Whatever,” Bakugo mutters and shoves his hands deep into his sweatpants pockets. Uraraka hums happily and announces she'll make some tea.

As she fills up the electric kettle, Kirishima flops down onto the couch next to Bakugo. The redhead grins, but Bakugo can sense it's fake.

"Stop worrying about me,” he grumbles, casting his eyes downward. Something about seeing Kirishima's stupid face irritates Bakugo, like there's something weird about it. Kirishima's not supposed to look worried. He's supposed to be strong-willed, determined, practically radiant with positivity. The fact that Bakugo himself is the reason behind his pained expression makes his stomach knot, and he doesn't want to look.

He doesn't see Kirishima's grin crumble. "Stop telling me to stop worrying about you. You're like my best friend, what am I supposed to do, just ignore what happened?”

"Yeah, idiot, that’s exactly what you should do. Because if you fall asleep in class after being up tonight with me, I'm gonna be the one to have to tutor your dumb ass again.” It's a flimsy excuse, and Bakugo mentally recoils as soon as the words leave his mouth. But if he explains himself to Kirishima and Uraraka, that means admitting weakness. Admitting that he's so damn lost. Admitting that everything he's ever believed in, about himself, about his idol, may have been wrong.

But he doesn't say these things, and so Kirishima barks out a laugh as Bakugo half-heartedly chastises him. "God, Bakugo, Uraraka was right,” he says, shaking his head. "You really are so easy to figure out."

Bakugo snaps his head up to glare at Uraraka, who's still in the kitchen with her back to the boys. Her body hiccups nervously and she can practically feel Bakugo's angry stare without even having to look.

"So you and Round Face been talking about me, is that it?”

"Don't get mad at her, Bakugo. Like it or not, you have friends now, and you're gonna have to get used to talking to us eventually.”

Bakugo feels a stab of guilt, knowing he's been purposely keeping them in the dark, but his mouth seems to move faster than his mind as he spits out, “I don't have to do shit, Shitty Hair. I don't care if you're my best friend, if I don't want to talk about something, I'm not gonna freakin’ talk about it, okay?”

Kirishima clenches his fists in his hair, leans his head back in frustration. "So there is something!  God, Bakugo, you're so fucking frustrating sometimes.”

As he says this, Uraraka enters the common room, stepping carefully with a mug of tea in each hand, and one floating gently in front of her face. She sets down on the table the two mugs in her hands. “Kirishima, can you get that?” she interrupts.

Kirishima stops what he’s doing, reaches out and takes hold of the mug by the handle, and Uraraka presses her fingertips together to release her quirk's hold.

"Thanks. Both of you are getting super loud, by the way,” she warns, taking up residence in the middle of the couch so that Bakugo and Kirishima are seated on either side of her. She turns sideways and crosses her legs, leans forward a bit in Bakugo's direction, even though he's making it a point to look anywhere but at her.

“Bakugo,” she says slowly, trying to figure her words out carefully. She's been learning that there's definitely a way to talk to him, and she and Kirishima both need some tact right now. “It's okay if you don't want to talk about what happened. But can you let us be here for you, at the very least?”

Bakugo's got his elbow propped on the arm rest, his chin buried in his palm. He glares out into the empty common room. Why did Uraraka always make so much fucking sense?

She made sense, and that pissed him off. That she could make him stop feeling angry with that annoyingly sweet voice of hers and that uncanny ability to see right through him.

And then there was Kirishima. He made Bakugo actually want to spill his guts, the only person he was comfortable enough with to even entertain the possibility of doing so. Even if he was kind of thick-headed sometimes, Bakugo trusted Kirishima.

And yet, he just can't. He can't explain to them about what happened. What's happening. Not yet, anyway.

"Fine,” he mutters into his hand. Uraraka smiles broadly and Kirishima's shoulders loosen up a bit.

“Good,” Uraraka says, reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table. “Hey, do you think anyone would hear the TV from down here?”

“We could keep it low and turn on the closed captioning,” Kirishima suggests, blowing off the steam from his tea. “What’s there to watch this late at night?”

“Lots of fun stuff! Bad infomercials, adult stuff,” she adds with a giggle and a blush. “When I was little, sometimes I’d stay up late and watch old black-and-white movies while my parents were asleep. Like Godzilla and stuff.” Uraraka flicks through the channels. After a moment, her eyes light up when she spies the beginning of Mothra Vs. Godzilla . “Oh, perfect! ”

Bakugo doesn’t say a word as he draws his feet up on the couch and cradles his mug of tea in his hands.

Kirishima leans back into the couch and grins. “I never really pegged you for a kaiju fan, Uraraka.”

She takes a sip of her tea. “Really? I just think they’re so cheesy and silly, the perfect thing to watch when you just want some dumb fun, you know? Watching it now though, I’m kind of reminded of Bakugo!” She grins and regards him out of the corner of her eye.

Kirishima sputters and nearly chokes on his tea, laughing incredulously as he watches to see what Bakugo’s reaction will be.

The blonde grunts in response and gives Uraraka a glare that makes her start to sweat slightly and lean towards Kirishima for protection. “You’re fucking hilarious,” he mutters, but to everyone’s surprise he doesn’t fight back. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t understand exactly what Uraraka was up to. She was, in her own way, trying to help. To take his mind off of whatever she thought was bothering him with tea and dumb old monster movies.

And he hates that it’s working. Somehow, with her and Kirishima with him, everything is, at least for the moment, okay . He knows they won’t judge him, won’t bother him to talk more. And for that, he’s grateful.

Bakugo expresses his gratitude by sitting quietly next to Uraraka, occasionally glancing at her and Kirishima out of the corner of his eye when they’re not looking. His lips quirk up slightly, which he hides by taking a long sip of his tea.

It’s halfway through the movie, and all three of them are quietly rooting for the giant monsters, fighting to keep their voices down as they watch sparks fly and buildings topple on screen. At one point, Uraraka’s fist goes flying and smacks Bakugo’s arm. She turns to him, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry,” she breathes, her hand instinctively coming back to rest gently where she’d hit him. “Are you okay?”

Bakugo’s face goes warm at her touch, and he stares at her hand before shrugging it off. “‘M fin--” His eyes narrow. “You trying to say that a weak hit like that would hurt me? Fucking bold of you, Round Face.” He smirks at her around the lip of his mug and once Uraraka has recovered from the fact that Bakugo just teased her, she grins back at him.

“Of course, what was I thinking?” she replies, and smiles down into her tea.

It's four in the morning by the time the movie ends. Uraraka stretches her arms above her head, yawning widely. “We should probably get to bed,” she offers sleepily.

“Mm,” Kirishima agrees, rubbing his eyes.

“Like I said,” Bakugo rumbles as he ambles off the couch, “if either of you dumbasses falls asleep in class today, don’t come crying to me for help.”

Kirishima waves him off. “Yeah, yeah.”

Without a word, Bakugo takes their tea mugs and washes them out, sets them upside down on the drying rack next to the sink. Quietly and carefully, the three of them step up the staircase to the fourth floor of the dorms.

Uraraka wishes them both a quiet goodnight before slipping silently into her bedroom. Kirishima and Bakugo walk together to the boys’ side of the floor; to Kirishima’s surprise, Bakugo stops in front of the redhead’s door with him.

“Kirishima,” Bakugo mutters, glaring down at the carpet. “Thanks.”

“Of course, man.” Kirishima sighs and crosses his arms. “But I still don’t get why you can’t just talk to us. And like, me especially,” he adds. Bakugo picks up on his slightly hurt tone and feels that pang of guilt again in his stomach. He’s not used to that.

“Kirishima, don’t fuckin’ do that again,” he says, making a face.

“Do what?”

“You think I’m just doing this on purpose? I’m kind of insulted, actually, that you would think I’m purposely not talking to you.”

Now it’s Kirishima’s turn to feel guilty, and pink embarrassment rises to his cheeks. “Bakugo, I--”

“I wasn’t done, dumbass,” Bakugo interrupts, trying to keep his voice low. “I know this kind of stuff is important to you and whatever. And I’m--” he closes his eyes and sighs. “I’m...sorry, but I just. I fuckin’ can’t talk about it.”

Kirishima opens his mouth and Bakugo immediately cuts in again. “It’s got nothing to do with you personally, okay? So calm the hell down.” Kirishima closes his mouth.

“I’m just not...ready yet. I guess.”

Kirishima turns this over in his mind. “Alright. Well. You know I’m here for you. I mean, for whenever you’re ready.”

Bakugo shoves his hands in his pockets and his cheeks begin to dust pink. “Yeah. I got that.”

Kirishima punches him gently against his arm. “Good.” He turns to quietly open his bedroom door. “See you in class, man.”

Bakugo nods at the floor and retreats to his own room. He throws himself onto his bed and lets the last hours of night take him swiftly and mercifully. He doesn’t dream, but his chest is warm and heavy with gratitude as he falls asleep.

[louislouisrap]

Just making the obligatory “where to find me” post since I’ll probably be effing off of tumblr eventually

Ao3: louislouisrap

Twitter: 1man5syllables

Pillowfort: ultraxblue

Don’t be a stranger! (*＾▽＾)／

[louislouisrap]

hi im a big slut for kacchako wow

[louislouisrap]

long distance (kacchako)

I don’t understand what prioritization means.

I swear to god I’m working on the last part of Black Water but I was so captured by one of ualright’s tweets about Bakugo and Uraraka being in a long distance relationship that I had to crank one (a fic) out.

I have strong feelings about LDRs because I was in one for about two years before I moved to be with my now-husband. Shit sucks but it feels real good when you first see the other person after months or years apart. 

In this lil one-shot, these two have been apart for about two months while Uraraka was away on a rescue mission. emjoy <3 

Finally, the day was here, and Uraraka was coming home. It had been exactly two months and three days since she’d left--not like Bakugo had been counting down or anything. Or at least, not to begin with. Neither of them had been exactly certain when Uraraka would return from her rescue mission, which had made her departure especially hard.

It had all happened so fast: Breaking news reports began popping up that there had been a devastating earthquake in a small developing nation and the estimated death toll was only going up at an alarming rate. While pro heroes did exist there, the network was small, underfunded, and still new. Many support heroes themselves had been killed in the quake, and seismologists warned that the aftershocks would guarantee even more destruction. The same day the news broke, Japan, along with other nations, had sent aid workers to the small country. Amongst them, some of the best pro heroes they had to offer. Uraraka was one of the first to be contacted; she’d accepted immediately and was on a plane a few hours later.

It had been a solemn goodbye at the airport, with Uraraka trying not to cry but doing so anyway, and Bakugo muttering that she better show up those other foreign pro heroes, to which Uraraka laughed through her tears and said she’d do her best. They’d hugged and kissed until Bakugo insisted she’d miss her plane if she didn’t leave now. He’d watched her with an unreadable expression as she shuffled with the crowd towards the security checkpoint, waiting until she’d vanished from sight.

A tiny part of Bakugo’s mind, which he had silenced aggressively and immediately, feared if she would return at all.

But here they were now, Uraraka on a plane bound for Narita airport, and Bakugo on a train there to meet her. She’d fussed that he didn’t have to take the time to go all the way there, and he argued that she would need someone to help with her luggage so she might as well stop complaining, which she did rather quickly with a smile in her voice.

Bakugo didn’t get excited for much. Or at least, not outwardly excited, but when he did, it was usually in response to situations where he could flex his strength and power, be it against villain or Deku alike. Now he was finding the butterflies in his stomach strange, and he fought to keep his foot from tapping impatiently on the floor of the train as it made its way towards the airport. Too damn slow, he thought, even though he’d made sure he’d be arriving before Uraraka’s flight landed. To keep his mind occupied, Bakugo turned on the plush bench towards the window behind him, propped an elbow up on the sill, and watched the scenery. It was late March when Uraraka left, and she’d lamented that they probably wouldn’t get to see the cherry blossoms together this year. The weather had been cool, and the trees were only just beginning to bud. Now the passing scenery was awash with green and the days were brighter, the sky more blue, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Bakugo would soon be reunited with the person he’d come to, after two years, treasure most in this world.

It was early afternoon and the train car was mostly empty and the sunlight streaming through the windows warmed the air, though Bakugo wished the few passengers scattered around would just leave so he could ruminate in peace. He hated the weird tingling in his gut, the way his hands were sweating in anticipation. He scowled as he rubbed his palms roughly against his jeans, desperately wishing he could be alone to pop off a few small explosions to quell his perspiration. Finally, the automated voice overhead announced that the stop for the airport was next, and Bakugo practically leapt out of his seat to stand in front of the train car doors.

When the train slowed to a stop, Bakugo took a shaky breath, shoved his hands in his pockets, and made his way into the airport. It was a massive place, and Bakugo spent a couple minutes checking the signs hanging from the ceiling to make sure that he was headed in the right direction. He passed by other couples walking hand in hand, families hugging one another, and Bakugo’s heart beat just a little faster in his chest. That was going to be him soon. That would be him and Uraraka. He would finally be able to feel and touch her again. The region she’d been sent to wasn’t necessarily remote, but as it was a developing nation in the midst of an infrastructural crisis, a good internet connection had been hard for Uraraka to come by. Adding in the long days, oftentimes even when she did have a decent signal, she was so exhausted that the most she could muster was a ‘hi’ and ‘I’m doing okay’ or ‘I miss you.’ The lack of communication and, possibly more importantly, physicality had begun to take a toll on them both. Bakugo felt himself practically aching to wrap his arms around her again.

Finally, he reached the wing of international arrivals. It was busy--families, friends, significant others milling around outside the restricted area from where passengers would soon stream out before collecting their luggage. Bakugo pulled his hands out of his jean pockets and stuck them in his jacket pockets instead. He bounced slowly on the balls of his feet and scowled in everyone else’s general direction. A few people, Bakugo noticed out the corner of his eye, were glancing at him and whispering here and there. A small child’s eyes grew wide and his mouth gaped as his mother smiled and tried to capture his attention with a small toy. Normally Bakugo would just ignore the stares, maybe even reluctantly take a photo or sign an autograph for a kid, but now he just wished they would all piss off. The only thing on his mind was Uraraka.

Finally, a few people trickled out into the vestibule, and Bakugo’s heart leapt into his throat. She would be here any minute now. He stayed a respectable distance from the edge of the entrance, so as not to appear too eager, but close enough that Uraraka would be able to spot him immediately.

Bakugo’s heart dropped from his throat into his stomach as soon as he caught sight of her. His brain registered her instantly. The chestnut of her hair, her bright round eyes, the exact height at which his line of sight would pick her up. All of the little things about her over the past two years that had nestled and fit into him like pieces of a puzzle, that he had no power over, yet he welcomed her into his consciousness without a second thought.

Bakugo chewed his bottom lip to keep from breaking into a bigger grin as he took in the sight of her. She looked the same--of course she looks the same, you idiot, it’s only been two months--and yet it was obvious that the trauma of the rescue mission had taken its toll on her. There were faded dark circles under her eyes; her shirt sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and her right arm was sporting a square of gauze held in place with medical tape. Small, faded spots of yellow-green bruises speckled her arms and shins, and a long, thin gash that had since scabbed over peeked out from the collar of her shirt. Her hair was pulled messily into a ponytail and her cheeks weren’t quite the radiant pink they usually were, but god she was beautiful.

Uraraka’s tired eyes shone as soon as she saw Bakugo waiting for her in the crowd, and she broke out into a run to meet him, hefting her large duffel bag onto her shoulder as she did. Without a word, Bakugo removed his hands from his pockets, ready to embrace her. He could already see her nose growing pinker, a sure sign that she was about to start crying. Uraraka let the duffel bag fall to the ground as she all but slammed her body against Bakugo’s and wrapped her arms around him.

They quietly clung to each other for what felt like forever, as if making up for the time they’d spent without physical contact by being as close now as possible. Bakugo tipped his head down, and his lips made contact with the crown of her head. He breathed in the smell of her hair, her sweet floral shampoo now mixed with the unfamiliar permeation of the dust and concrete that had followed her home.

Uraraka herself was comforted with the familiar scent of detergent and nitroglycerin as she pressed her face into Bakugo’s chest and closed her eyes. The scent of him seemed to flow through her body, reassuring her that she was home now. All the memories of death and destruction she’d seen, the long days of rescue that had stretched into the dead of night, the pain and fatigue, all seemed to soften just a bit in her mind now.

Finally Uraraka broke their embrace, and leaned up on her toes to kiss her boyfriend. “I missed you so much, Bakugo,” she said quietly, her cheek pressed against his as her arms now wound around the back of his neck.

“Missed you too, Round Face,” Bakugo murmured into her ear. “But let’s get the fuck out of here and go home.”

Uraraka smiled into his cheek and nodded. She knew how much he loved crowds, which was not at all; not to mention after her long flight, she really, really wanted to go home and shower. “Let’s go.”

Bakugo grunted approvingly and scooped up Uraraka’s duffel bag from the floor and slung it over his shoulder. She slipped her hand into his as they made their way downstairs to the trains back into the city.

---

They didn’t speak much on the way home. Uraraka fell asleep for most of the trip, her head resting against Bakugo’s shoulder as he took care to make sure at least one of her fingers stayed upright while he held her hand in his. He shook her gently at the stop before theirs and she woke up blearily.

“You’re cute when you’re drooling,” Bakugo rumbled and grinned devilishly at her. Uraraka blushed and immediately wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand.

“So mean,” she teased back.

After a short walk from the station, they reached their apartment. Bakugo unlocked the door and Uraraka nearly collapsed on the floor with relief. “Hooooome!” she squealed, kicking her shoes off in the foyer and racing towards the bathroom. “A real shower!”

“Keep it down, would ya?” Bakugo tossed the duffel bag into their bedroom, then followed Uraraka into the bathroom. As she undressed to shower, he could see even clearer the contrast of the blue-green bruises and reddish-brown, scabbed-over gashes against her pale skin. Instead of sympathy, however, a burst of pride welled in his stomach. He couldn't help the smile that split across his face as he came up behind her and pressed his lips to the back of her head.

"Damn, Round Face, you really did a number.”

Uraraka sighed and dropped her head. "You should have seen all this before the recovery heroes had a chance to heal me." She bit her lip and ripped off the medical tape keeping the patch of gauze secure on her arm. The skin beneath it was new and pink, a fresh scar that would stay with her forever. “I feel fine, though.”

Bakugo hummed in response, low and gravelly that buzzed against Uraraka’s head. “You want tea?”

Uraraka stepped into the shower and closed the curtain. “Yes, please!”

---

They sat in bed together as Uraraka recounted everything that had happened during the rescue mission. Her voice rose excitedly as she recalled all the pro heroes she’d met, and all the different cuisines she’d been able to try, as the makeshift base camps from each nation had their own cooks on hand. She smiled gently as she told Bakugo about the families she’d been able to save, children, adults, even pets she’d found in the rubble when it seemed hopeless that they’d find anyone alive. Bakugo gripped her shoulder tight and pulled her close when she had trouble talking about those that hadn’t made it through the night, or the countless times when they’d arrived only minutes too late.

“Hey,” Bakugo said, tipping Uraraka’s chin up towards him. “You’re a fucking hero.”

Uraraka sniffed and nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

[louislouisrap]

in which bakugo accidentally explodes at the gym

So I know I said I wasn’t really planning to make a fic out of this but uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

I kinda want to now? I might? Make this a thing? Or at least write up a little drabble about how each character discovers their power? I have no idea but this was fun and I wanna do it again.This was super loose and rough, very little editing. Was just for fun  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also the entirety of my time spent in the gym until now was in preparation for writing about Bakugo and Kirishima going to the gym, so never give up on your dreams I guess

Also it’s super cool that some people started following me after reading my previous drabble! Thanks for doing so and I hope you continue to enjoy my dumb lil writings! （*´▽｀*）

It had been a week since Uraraka had been to the dermatologist, and they were still no closer to figuring out why her skin was behaving the way it was. The doctor had determined, at the very least, that the pads on her fingers were benign, and had suggested she try a callus cream. If nothing else, surgery to remove the pads was a last resort, but as they weren’t necessarily bothering her, Uraraka had initially dismissed the option.

It wasn’t alarming, but it stuck in the back of Bakugo’s mind as he headed to the gym with Kirishima.

“Hey man.” Bakugo greeted the redhead with a hearty clap on the shoulder as he emerged from his apartment.

“Hey!” A grin spread across Kirishima’s face, his mood infectious as always, as he stepped out into the apartment hallway. His broad hand enveloped the back of Bakugo’s neck and he went in for a combination chest bump and back slap, with a bit of a hug mixed in. After a moment, however, Kirishima broke their embrace and gave Bakugo a funny look.

“Dude, you’re like, really sweaty. Or greasy or something.”

“I know, right?!” The tips of Bakugo’s ears went pink in spite of himself. He wasn’t ever really ashamed of his body, and bodies did weird things from time to time, but he had found it odd that in even in the comfortable autumn air, he was suddenly working up a noticeable sweat. “I don’t know what the fuck’s going on but I’ve been sweating like crazy the past few days.”

“I’m telling you, you need more cardio,” Kirishima laughed as they made their way out of the apartment complex and into the quiet morning streets of Shibuya.

“It’s not even that,” Bakugo argued. “It’s like I’m sweating, but it doesn’t even smell or feel like sweat. Like—” he rolled up the sleeve of his hoodie and sniffed the crease of his elbow, then shoved his arm in Kirishima’s face— “it sort of smells like chemicals? Kind of like a sweet chemical smell?”

Kirishima cautiously sniffed, then looked up at Bakugo suspiciously. “That’s weird, man.”

“I know.”

They walked on in silent contemplation for a few minutes. Then Kirishima peered at Bakugo’s face.

“Your skin looks really good, dude.”

Bakugo regarded him quizzically.

“Like it looks really smooth. Like a baby’s butt. Maybe it’s your weird sweat.”

“Shut the fuck up, Kirishima.”

Kirishima laughed, a low giggle that erupted into hearty peals. It wasn’t that funny, but Kirishima somehow managed to find humor in almost everything, and with his childlike, friendly demeanor, he was often mistaken for a high school student, rather than twenty-two. This was especially true when he let his normally spiked hair go natural, falling around his face in a way that brought out the baby fat roundness in his cheeks. Today, however, Kirishima had decided against his usual styling routine, in favor of pulling his hair back in a low ponytail for their gym session. “I’m serious! Well, kinda anyway. Here—” he grabbed Bakugo’s forearm and rubbed his cheek against it— “we’ll see tomorrow how my face looks.”

Bakugo tore his arm out of Kirishima’s grip, then smacked him on the back of the head. “You’re a fuckin’ weirdo, you know that?” he barked out, suppressing a laugh. “Besides, that’s not even how that works.”

Kirishima shrugged. “Worth a try.”

“This is why you failed science in high school,” Bakugo snorted.

Kirishima was still arguing that he had been unfairly graded in science class (“Every science class?” Bakugo had asked) when the two of them reached the small gym. It was on the ground floor of a bigger building, not necessarily large, but tall, like most buildings in the area were. The gym itself was cozy, not really exclusive, but its members were more like a community, a family rather than a collection of random gym-goers. Bakugo liked it that way, and had convinced Kirishima to switch from the commercial gym he’d been a part of for the past year.

It was early in the morning, and while there were a few early risers like themselves that frequented the gym, today they were the first ones in the building. Being as tight-knit as it was, Bakugo and Kirishima had keys to open the gym whenever they pleased. They let themselves in and made their way to the locker room to change. Bakugo tore off his black hoodie and shoved it in his locker, revealing a very plain grey t-shirt that matched his grey and black gym shorts and black and white sneakers.

Kirishima, in comparison, had a slightly louder fashion sense. Unzipping his bright red sweatshirt revealed an equally bright red tank top that did a wonderful job of showing off his chest and broad shoulders. His gym shorts were, similar to Bakugo’s, an average dusty grey, while his maroon and white sneakers finished the ensemble.

Bakugo stuck a pair of earbuds in his ears, slipped his phone into the pocket of his shorts, and followed Kirishima to one of the squat racks in a far corner of the gym. Today was deadlift day. Nothing too hard, just some lighter reps for more volume and to help with his grip strength. Before Kirishima set himself up with the barbell to start warming up for his squats, Bakugo grabbed a second barbell from behind the rack, set it on the metal spotters, and loaded two large plates on either side.

With a quiet grunt, Bakugo lifted the barbell off the spotters and shuffled over to set it down next to the squat rack where he and Kirishima could lift side-by-side. He started off with a few light warm ups: positioned the bar midway over his feet, pulled back against its weight, straightened his back, and pushed his soles into the ground as the heavy barbell lifted up off the floor. He felt the pull in his hamstrings, the fullness of his lungs holding in a giant breath of air and the slight dizziness of holding that air in until it all came out in a whoosh after a couple reps.

Bakugo counted out ten quick reps, then took a minute’s rest to get some water at the drinking fountain. He returned, then added another 45-pound plate to each side of the barbell to start the actual work.

Even with his earbuds in and his music playing, Bakugo could still hear Kirishima next to him, whooping and grunting every so often. The two of them were usually courteous enough to be as quiet as possible whenever there were others in the gym, but since it was empty, they could let loose a bit this morning.

Bakugo bent down and adjusted his hands on the bar, the grippy crosshatched metal digging into his skin. He sucked a breath deep into his belly, bent down, back straight, and pulled. The barbell was heavy, but lifted with little resistance. Bakugo held his form for a second, two, three. He felt an itch in his palms, felt sweat trickling down his face, his forearms, into the creases between his fingers.

Suddenly, he felt the bar in his hands slip, his skin too slick to keep a tight grip.

“Fuck,” Bakugo muttered as his forearms strained to keep the bar up. “Fuck!” he shouted again as the bar slipped farther, and he felt the knurling grate against his palms.

And then, out of nowhere: a multitude of whip-like crackles, then an intense heat bloomed and spread through his arms. A bright flash of fiery orange-red, dark smoke enveloping his hands. An explosion, loud enough to shudder the squat rack that Kirishima was occupying, made louder by the accompanying thud of the barbell as Bakugo dropped all 225 pounds in an instant. The force of the explosion was enough to knock him back on his ass, and he rolled back a bit onto his shoulder to soften the blow. His palms buzzed with heat and energy, and even though the explosion seemed to have come from his very own hands, he felt no pain. Just an all-encompassing warmth that traveled up his forearms and left his heart racing.

Bakugo’s chest heaved as he stared at the barbell on the floor. Thin trails of smoke whisped and curled from his hands. Kirishima rushed to his side, eyes wide and terrified. “Holy fucking shit, Bakugo, are you okay? What the fuck happened?” He knelt down and placed a firm hand on Bakugo’s sweaty, trembling back.

“I have no fucking idea,” Bakugo breathed, his voice trembling as badly as his body. He swiped at his brow with his forearm and noticed that the sweat that had been dripping down his face a moment earlier had almost completely dissipated.

Kirishima sat down next to Bakugo, drew up his knees and rested his elbows atop them. “You hurt?” he asked, brows furrowed in concern. He regarded Bakugo, who glared intensely at his open palms.

“I…I don’t think so, but—Kirishima, my hands literally just exploded.”

A beat.

“Your hands—”

“Exploded, Kirishima. It sounds insane, I know, but I swear to god that’s what happened just now. I felt it.” Bakugo’s voice regained some of its strength. “When the bar slipped out of my hands, it like, ignited or something.”

“What did?” Kirishima asked cautiously.

“I think,” Bakugo said slowly, “it’s this stuff I’ve been sweating.”

Kirishima was silent, then carefully reached out to touch Bakugo’s hand. Bakugo recoiled immediately.

“Are you crazy, Shitty Hair?”

“Just relax, would you?” Kirishima rolled his eyes and grabbed Bakugo’s wrist, pulled it close to him, and brushed his fingertips across Bakugo’s open palm. Both boys stared at Bakugo’s hand, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, Kirishima seemed to noticeably deflate. “Well that was disappointing.”

“So you wanted me to incinerate your hand?”

Kirishima shrugged. “I dunno, I just…wanted to see if something would happen. But your hands didn’t feel sweaty at all, you know.”

Bakugo opened and closed his hands a couple times, brushing his fingers along the edge of his palm. Kirishima was right; all of the perspiration from earlier was practically gone.

“Something fucking weird is going on,” he muttered. He scrambled up off the floor, then held a hand out to Kirishima to hoist him up.

“Yeah,” Kirishima agreed as he let Bakugo pull him to his feet. “Between you and Uraraka, there’s something in the water these days, man.”

Uraraka. Bakugo pulled his phone from his pocket and saw, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that she had called recently. For reasons that Bakugo would later attribute to the mysterious workings of the universe at large, he knew he needed to call her back right then. He didn’t know why, but he just knew.

With a heavy thumb he tapped on the missed call notification and brought the phone to his ear. She picked up after one ring.

“Uraraka? Hey, I—”

The sinking feeling in his stomach bottomed out as she interrupted him, her voice shaking as badly as his had moments ago. “Bakugo, I need you to come over, right now.”

“Are you okay?” he demanded.

“Just get here as soon as you can. Please.”

Bakugo ended the call immediately and grabbed Kirishima hard by the arm. “We have to go,” he explained, forcing down the panicked edge in his voice. “Now.”

[louislouisrap]

in which uraraka discovers something weird about her fingers

So I spent the afternoon writing a disgustingly self-indulgent Kacchako drabble based off a thing I was thinking about the other day. Nothing revolutionary but I thought it would be cool to have an AU where everyone starts off quirkless and then begin developing powers out of nowhere. 

I blame it on having watched The Darkest Minds on the plane home from Japan last week. Wasn’t the most amazing movie but man it scratched that X-Men itch ugh

Anyway idk if I’m going to turn this into a real fic but I’m at least also going to write Bakugo’s quirk discovery. Also in my AUs Bakugo is a lovable asshole and you can’t stop me

It was a little after six at night when Bakugo rang the doorbell. Uraraka’s face lit up when she opened the door to greet him, like she always did when she saw him, and without fail, it always put a little jolt in Bakugo’s gut. The fact that he was wearing the navy blue graphic t-shirt she bought him last week probably didn’t lose him any boyfriend points either.

In his hand he carried a plastic bag, heavy with beer and ice cream from the convenience store.

“Hey!” Uraraka chirped, practically leaping up to kiss him. She flung her arms behind his neck, and Bakugo wrapped his free arm around her back and hugged her close.

“Hey,” he replied and moved in, as Uraraka suspected, to kiss her. Instead though, his lips brushed the shell of her ear, and in a voice that had no right being as sultry as it sounded, Bakugo said, “I smell pizza.”

Uraraka groaned and pushed him away. Bakugo grinned mischievously. “Yes, the delivery guy was here like, five minutes ago. Happy?”

Bakugo gloated and headed inside. “Knew it.” He kicked his black boots off in the foyer and shoved his feet in the pair of blue house slippers he’d started keeping at Uraraka’s house months ago. “Hey, your roomies gone?” he called from the kitchen as he set his bag down on the kitchen table and removed his convenience store haul.

“Yeah, Momo and Tsu both have classes tonight,” Uraraka replied from the living room as she set up plates and napkins on the low table where their pizza awaited. Bakugo sauntered in with a beer in each hand, placing them on coasters before he came up behind Uraraka and, without warning, grabbed her wrist and spun her around to face him.

“Good,” he muttered, “so I don’t have to worry about them seeing us sucking face.”

Uraraka laughed and her arms returned to rest behind Bakugo’s neck. “What do you mean? We’ve been dating for like six months already.”

“And yet you still get embarrassed and shit when they walk in on us making out.” Right on cue, Uraraka’s cheeks blushed pink at the thought.

“I’m just saying, that kind of stuff should stay in the bedroom, you know?”

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “Sure, whatever, ya prude. But since there’s nobody around tonight, I’m declaring the entire house our bedroom.”

Uraraka grinned. “Until ten-thirty.”

“Fine.”

He finally kissed her, long and slow and deep, bringing his hands up to thread his fingers through her auburn hair. Uraraka smiled as Bakugo’s lips traveled across her soft cheek, until she could feel his breath warm against her ear.

“I hope you remembered the extra peppers,” he whispered.

“Bakugo!” Uraraka shrieked, pulling away immediately. Bakugo cackled and hopped over the couch armrest, putting distance between himself and Uraraka before she could reprimand him physically, which happened fairly regularly, as Bakugo loved getting a rise out of her whenever he had the chance.

He settled down on the second-hand corner sofa that Uraraka and her roommates had bought before they moved in. It was slightly worn in places, which had at first given Momo reservations, but it was comfy and it was big, and the long corner end could be converted into a bed whenever guests came over.

Bakugo lifted the cardboard cover off the pizza box and immediately tossed three slices onto his plate. “You gonna have some or what?” he called to Uraraka, as if he hadn’t just left her hanging a second ago.

Uraraka scrunched up her face and blew an exasperated raspberry in Bakugo’s direction before settling down on the couch next to him and taking two slices of the half of the pizza that wasn’t covered in green jalapeno slices.

They ate their pizza and drank their beer together, watching Youtube videos on the living room TV, also second-hand.

“Movie time?” Uraraka offered after they’d cleaned up the empty pizza box and cans and washed the grease from their hands. Bakugo settled into the long corner end of the couch and patted the empty space in front of him.

“Yeah, c’mere.”

Uraraka flicked off the living room light and moved to position herself between Bakugo’s legs, her back resting on his chest. She scooted down just a bit until the top of her head was low enough for him to rest his chin on if he wanted, which he usually did whenever they were sat like this. Uraraka tapped a button on the DVD remote to start the movie, then pulled her flannel throw blanket over their exposed legs. (She was always quick to get goosebumps as soon as the temperature dipped below 20 Celsius; Bakugo would always tease her about it and would argue that she should just wear longer shorts if she didn’t like it. Uraraka didn’t like that he was always so sensible.)

Bakugo wrapped his arms around Uraraka’s waist and pulled her closer into him. Out of habit he expected her to rest her hands on his legs or arms or generally somewhere on him like she usually did, but to his surprise she kept them clasped together between her legs. He mentally shrugged it off as they watched, enraptured, as explosions fired off on the screen and the cheap speakers buzzed with bass tones that were meant for a much nicer sound system.

Halfway through the movie, Uraraka brought her hands up to touch Bakugo’s arms around her waist, absently rubbing her thumb across his wrist. This went on for about ten minutes before Bakugo shifted up a bit higher and took Uraraka’s hands in her own.

“Hey,” he remarked in a voice low and gravelly that Uraraka felt hum in her own chest. “What’s with your fingers?”

At this, Uraraka immediately closed her fingers into fists and shoved them back between her legs. Thankfully, the light from the TV screen hid her pinkened cheeks.

“O-oh, that, it’s nothing,” she replied hurriedly, knowing exactly what he meant. “I think it’s just like, an allergic reaction or something.”

“If it’s nothing, then lemme see,” Bakugo grunted, pulling Uraraka’s wrists up as she fought to keep her hands hidden. She was strong when she wanted to be, Bakugo knew, and damn was she annoying like that sometimes.

“It’s embarrassing,” Uraraka complained, struggling to keep her arms locked straight. She felt it as soon as Bakugo started seriously trying, felt his chest and biceps tense around her, and she shouted his name angrily when he pulled up her left arm, her fist at his eye level.

“Open up,” he demanded.

“It looks weird,” she warned quietly.

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “Good lord woman, open your goddamn hand.”

Slowly Uraraka unclenched her fist, reluctantly spreading her fingers. With his free hand, Bakugo grabbed the cellphone laying at his side and tapped on the flashlight to get a better look. Upon closer inspection, Bakugo could see a raised bump of skin on each fingertip, about two centimeters in height and covering almost the entirety of the digit. Mainly flesh-colored, with the slightest tinge of pink. They almost reminded Bakugo of the pink pads on a cat’s paw.

“Does it hurt?”

Uraraka shook her head. “No,” she said quietly. Bakugo’s own hands were rough and callused from years of playing drums, and he gently ran a thumb over the bump on her index finger. It was softer than he expected. “I thought they might have been blisters, but I mean, blisters don’t do that. And few days ago my hands were fine, then literally the next day…” She trailed off.

“What about your other hand?”

Uraraka slowly brought her right hand up for Bakugo to inspect. Just like her left hand, he found each fingertip had a perfectly round, slightly pink…pad, for lack of a better term.

“Huh,” Bakugo remarked after a moment. “That is weird.”

Uraraka pulled her hands back down and hid them under her legs. “I told you!” she whined. “They’re really gross.”

“Oh my god, relax, Round Face,” Bakugo huffed, then kissed the top of her head reassuringly. “They’re not gross.” She felt him grin into her hair. “They’re almost kinda cute. Like cat paws.”

Uraraka turned to look at Bakugo. “Really? Now who’s the weird one?” she shot back.

Bakugo’s grin widened. “Still you, Weirdo-Hands.”

Uraraka gasped and smacked his arm hard enough for the skin to sting a bit.

“Oi!” Bakugo smacked back, hard but without malice. He glared at her and she stuck her tongue out at him. Cute. “Listen, Uraraka, it’s probably nothing, okay? You even said it yourself, it’s probably an allergic reaction or something. Quit freaking out.”

Uraraka groaned. “I know. I can’t help it.” She leaned her head back against his chest. “Anyway, I have an appointment with the dermatologist tomorrow so I’ll find out what’s going on then.”

“Well let me know what they say.”

“Of course,” Uraraka replied, pulling Bakugo’s hand up to give it a little kiss.

Bakugo’s arms found their way around Uraraka’s waist again, and he pulled her in tight, making her hum happily.

“I just realized,” Uraraka said, her gaze turning back towards the TV, “we never paused the movie, and now I have no idea what’s going on.”

Bakugo grunted. “It’s a shitty movie anyway, does it really matter?”

Uraraka flexed her toes under the blanket. “I guess not.” They sat for a few more minutes, watching the movie as Uraraka grew increasingly more restless.

“Hey.”

Bakugo looked down.

“Wanna make out?”

Bakugo shrugged and his cocky grin returned. “Sure.”

[louislouisrap]

New chapter! All Uraraka and Kirishima :')

[louislouisrap]

New one shot (I guess??)

It’s way easier to just post the link to my ao3 instead of writing everything out in a new post so I might just do that....from now on...........

[louislouisrap]

Read a thing on twitter about bakugo and/or present mic going deaf or HOH from their quirks and I.... can't stop thinkin about it.....

I fucking love exploring real world, logical repercussions in fantastical series like bnha

[louislouisrap]

The One Chip Challenge

The Bakusquad flirts with death and Jirou's there to film it. | Read on Ao3 here

Notes: 

First of all I am very very sorry to Midoriya for using him for nothing more than cheap jokes. I love my boy but sometimes that's just how it is.

I've also never eaten one of these spicy guys before so my only references for this story were the few videos I watched of people actually taking the challenge, which I then (probably) greatly exaggerated for comedic effect. Don't @ me.

Last note, I have no idea when the next Bakusquad installment will drop, I have a few other fics I want to focus on, and honestly I've just been doing these as the inspiration strikes, but I will try to at least do a few more. I love these kids.

denki: yooooo guys i got something fun for us to do

mina: u say fun but

denki: lets do the one chip challenge

hanta: kaminari no

kaminari: kaminari YES

katsuki: wtf no those are so expensive just for one fucking chip

kaminari: well uhhhh,,,,

mina: omg did u buy em already????

katsuki: wait can you even get those here

denki: don’t worry about it

eijiro: dude I told u to stay off ebay

denki: ARE U GUYS GONNA DO THIS WITH ME OR NOT

mina: YAAAS

mina: YOLOOOO

hanta: except in this case yolo is an actual warning lmao

denki: okay so we’ll all meet in the common room tomorrow night

mina: o7

denki: ……………………

denki: GUYS??????????????

The five of them sat on the rough carpeted floor of their dorm’s common room, surrounding the table on which five small, red, coffin-shaped boxes had been carefully placed. The boxes were still sealed, yet they were regarded with fearful, suspicious eyes, as if just their proximity to the chips inside was dangerous enough.

Jirou was sitting on the couch behind Kaminari, her knees drawn up and cellphone out. When Ashido had told her what he’d proposed to their group, Jirou immediately volunteered to tag along and record the experience, unwilling to pass up an opportunity to see her boyfriend completely wreck himself. Not that those opportunities weren’t plentiful already, but this was on another level entirely.

A few moments passed. Nobody spoke. The weather was comfortably warm, and the light fabric and short sleeves of their sleep clothes would have been sufficient on any other night; however, sitting in the breezy common room, a few members of the Bakusquad were already starting to break out in a cold sweat. Sero trembled slightly.

Out of all of them, Bakugo was the only one who looked almost bored. “So are we fucking doing this or what? Otherwise I’m going to bed.”

Kaminari breathed deeply through his nostrils. “Okay, okay, we’re gonna do this.” He reached out and took one of the red boxes; everyone followed suit.

As he popped open the flap, Jirou piped up, “Hey, did you guys remember the drinks and stuff?”

Ashido sprang up from the floor. “Oh shoot, that’s right! Hang on, guys.” She did a tip-toeing sprint out of the common room, and a couple minutes later returned with a carton of milk in her hands. Hanging off her wrist, she had a plastic bag filled with bread, a pint of ice cream, some spoons, and a stack of plastic cups.

“Hopefully this’ll work,” Sero said, eyeing the food as Ashido arranged it on the table.

“Alright you guys, we can totally fucking do this, okay?” Kirishima pumped a hardened fist in the air. “I believe in us!”

“Go team!” Ashido and Kaminari joined in Kirishima’s fist pumps, and Sero reluctantly followed. Bakugo rolled his eyes.

“Are you guys ready? I’m gonna start recording.” Jirou snapped a few pics of the group’s little hype session, but before she could start filming they heard the doors behind them swing open, and Uraraka, Midoriya, and Todoroki filed in, each carrying a small bag or two, indicating they had just come from the convenience store. They halted abruptly and stared at the group sitting on the floor. The group sitting on the floor stared back.

Kirishima raised a hand in greeting. “Sup.”

Uraraka passed Midoriya her bags and rushed over to the table. “Oh my god, are those the spicy chip things?” She dropped to her knees and put her arms around Ashido. “Minaaaa,” she wailed dramatically into her pink shoulder, “are you really going to do this?”

Ashido laughed and patted Uraraka’s back. “It’ll be fine! I’m the queen of spicy.” Her dark eyes gleamed as she flashed the group a confident grin. Midoriya and Todoroki quietly set their bags down and joined Jirou on the couch, curiosity too strong to ignore.

Kirishima raised his shoulders dubiously. “Honestly guys, I think Bakugo’s probably going to hand our asses to us. You guys ever seen how much chili oil he puts when he gets mapo tofu? Like, half a jar. No joke.”

Uraraka whipped her head around to gape at Bakugo in disbelief. He grinned triumphantly, all teeth.

“What?!” Kaminari shrieked, looking as though Bakugo had just shot him through the heart. “Are you serious?! Who does that?!”

“There’s no way I can compete with that!” Ashido complained.

Bakugo folded his arms and leaned back against the couch. “Your point is?”

“Damn, dude, that’s low,” Sero groaned, shutting his eyes.

Bakugo clicked his tongue dismissively. “Look, I already know I can crush all you idiots when it comes to spicy stuff, no contest.” He grabbed a box off the table and waggled it between his fingers. “This? This is a fuckin’ snack. I’m just here to watch the rest of you destroy your own assholes.”

Uraraka turned to Midoriya, her eyebrows pinched together with worry. “Deku, say something! I feel like this a bad idea.”

Midoriya opened his mouth, but Todoroki raised an arm out in front of him, cutting him off before he had the chance to say anything.

“Let them do it,” he interrupted calmly.

“But Todoroki, what about their assholes?” Uraraka protested earnestly, and Jirou and Ashido immediately shrieked with laughter.

“Lessons are best learned through mistakes,” he replied, conveniently leaving out how he really just wanted to see his classmates make complete dumbasses of themselves. Uraraka looked pleadingly at Midoriya.

In response, Midoriya got his phone out and started tapping out a Google search. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Uraraka,” he said, trying to reassure her in his usual, sweet way. “I mean, I’ve never heard of anyone like, dying from it. If you were going to eat the pepper itself, though, that would be a totally different story.” He began descending into mumbles as his thumb scrolled up and his eyes darted back and forth across the screen. “The heat from the pepper itself is so strong that it can cause a stress response from the body, like—look at this, this guy who experienced acute headaches after eating a whole Carolina Reaper, or this guy who started convulsing a—”

“Okay, you’re not helping,” Sero interrupted.

Midoriya looked up from his phone. “Like I said,” he repeated, “I think it should be fine! It’s just probably going to, uh, hurt.”

A somber chill fell over the room as everyone silently regarded the boxes on the table as one might regard a wild animal; respectfully, but with the knowledge that it could completely destroy your anus.

“Alright kids, I’m recording,” Jirou announced, holding up her phone. “Let’s do this.” She took the time to pan it around the room, giving everyone a moment of introduction as it passed. Todoroki, seated next to her, set off a little flame in his palm, then Midoriya, next to him, gave a small wave with both his hands. Uraraka, who had finally detached herself from Ashido and was seated on the floor between her and Bakugo, reluctantly flashed a peace sign pressed against the side of her cheek. Bakugo stuck up his middle finger. Sero mimed reaching out towards the phone as it passed onto Kirishima, who took the opportunity to give the camera a quick, self-indulgent flex. Once she’d filmed everyone else, Jirou leaned forward so she was pressed against the back of Kaminari’s head, who was still sitting on the floor below her. With both earphone jacks encircling the phone, she extended them out in front of her to get both herself and Kaminari in the frame.

“Good luck, Pikachu,” she said, resting her head on top of his. “If you don’t make it, I’ll tell your parents you died running laps during gym or something.”

Kaminari wilted beneath her. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m putting my life on the line here!”

Jirou laughed and sat back up, letting the phone drop from her jacks into her waiting palm. “Geez, you're dramatic. Besides, this was your idea, remember?”

Kaminari reflected on this momentarily. “You got me there,” he conceded.

“Guys, I’m goin’ in,” Kirishima said, taking it upon himself to grab the first box and tear it open. Inside was one sealed wrapper containing one whole chip. Everyone watched as he gingerly split the wrapper to reveal a reddish-orange but otherwise plain-looking tortilla chip. He carefully brought it to his nose and sniffed it, then shrugged. “Meh,” came the verdict.

Everyone else followed suit, and soon there were five chips being held out precariously between thumbs and forefingers, each student eyeing one another, waiting for a countdown to start so they would all suffer at the same time. By now Sero’s entire body was shaking. A bead of sweat ran down Kirishima’s face. Kaminari involuntarily whimpered and Ashido had a death grip on Uraraka’s hand.

“Fuck’s sake, okay, threetwoonego.” Bakugo counted down with no fanfare whatsoever and shoved the chip in his mouth. There was no time for anyone else to second guess what they were about to do and with a multitude of protesting whines, the rest of the Bakusquad went to crunch town.

For some moments, the only sound came from the muted chewing of chips within closed mouths. The four non-participants watched, not really sure what they were waiting for, but their bodies seemed to involuntarily tense up nonetheless.

Bakugo was the first one done. He swallowed the chip and opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue as proof that he’d finished it. “Tastes like crap,” he muttered. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were slightly pink, but otherwise he showed no signs that the spicy, rectum-annihilating pepper had had any effect on him. He reached over Uraraka’s lap and grabbed the milk and poured himself a cup.

“So was it spicy?” she asked, pointing to the milk.

Bakugo drained the cup and shook his head. “Just tryin’ to get the nasty t—”

And then the coughing started. The four bystanders had been so distracted by Bakugo, they didn’t notice the rest of the squad had quickly fallen apart.

Sero was bracing his hands on his knees, staring down at the ground and wiping his nose every few seconds. Kirishima was gritting his teeth, gripping his shorts tight as he tried to stave off the creeping, searing heat from the chip. Kaminari was wheezing quietly as all manner of fluids ran down his face. Ashido was fanning herself and shaking her head; bits of wet, pink hair clung to her skin.

“I’m going to kill you,” Kirishima panted as he stared up at the ceiling, eyes watering. “I’m going to kill you, Kaminari.”

“Dude, you never said no!” Kaminari choked out. “Why didn’t anyone stop me? Fuck, this was a bad idea!”

“I mean I did say…” Midoriya trailed off, realizing nobody was listening to him. He looked to Todoroki, who shrugged apologetically.

Jirou leaned over to catch a glimpse of Kaminari’s face and burst out laughing at the sight of his flushed cheeks, snot and sweat and tears dripping everywhere. The shutter snapping coming from her phone didn’t improve his mood.

“It’s not funny!” he sobbed, reaching for the milk and pouring himself a cup. He downed it immediately and groaned. “I think I’m actually dying!”

“My entire body literally feels like it’s on fire,” Ashido moaned, shoving a scoop of ice cream in her mouth as Uraraka did her best to fan her friend. She turned her head to the side and thrust her arms out towards Todoroki, making grabbing motions with her hands. “Todoroki, I need your body.” On the other side of the table, Kirishima choked on some phlegm.

“It’s your own fault,” Todoroki responded coolly, which was a hilarious pun that none of the characters in the story were able to appreciate.

“Please? Just the cold side!”

“No,” he argued, albeit weakly, because Ashido still scrambled up next to him on the couch and hugged his left side with hardly a struggle. Resigning himself to his fate rather easily, his skin soon turned pale and firm as he coated his arm with a thin layer of ice. Ashido sighed contentedly.

Bakugo snorted, looking for all the world like he’d been eating nothing more than a piece of candy less than five minutes ago.  “What the hell happened to ‘learning a lesson’?” he asked, mimicking the boy’s serious tone.

Todoroki looked down at his feet. “I…felt bad,” he admitted.

At some point, Sero had taken off his shirt and laid down, fanning himself with it. “Someone gimme bread,” he gasped. Midoriya reached over and pulled a piece of bread from the bag on the table and tossed it in Sero’s direction. It landed on his stomach with a quiet thup. Sero crammed the bread in his mouth and let it sit there, hoping that with enough time the starch would just suck everything out of his mouth, pepper included. It didn’t.

Kirishima too had lost his shirt, and had now commandeered the ice cream, alternating between eating it and pressing the pint to his cheeks and neck. “I’m in literal hell,” he moaned around a mouthful of quickly melting ice cream. “Ashido, get off of Icyhot, I want a turn.”

In response to this, Ashido tightened her grip around Todoroki’s arm. “No way! Get your own.” Kirishima whined pathetically.

“On second thought, I’ll take your right side,” Sero piped up from the floor. “Just burn off all the skin in my mouth so I never have to feel anything again.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Midoriya said.

“Do you have a better idea?” Sero shot back, uncharacteristically cranky with pain.

Midoriya looked up thoughtfully. “More bread?”

Sero considered. “Sure, hit me.”

Midoriya tossed two more slices of bread to Sero, who immediately shoved them both in his mouth. After a few moments, however, he shook his head. “It’s not working,” he whined, though with the bread still in his mouth, it just sounded like “mmh mmh mhh.”

Midoriya frowned. “Damn, I really thought more bread would work,” he muttered to himself.

The torture dragged on for another fifteen minutes or so, the squad’s agonized wails devolving into pathetic whines, and lastly to exhausted sighs, like the souls of the damned finally being laid to rest. The prickly, numbing heat still lingered long after the pain had subsided, and the next hour was spent complaining and swearing to Kaminari that he was never allowed to watch Youtube anymore.

Outside, hazy dusk was settling, and curfew approached. Kirishima had fallen asleep at some point, his shirt draped over his eyes and his mouth wide open, lips still slightly pinker than usual. The four other participants had all left to take cold showers and go to bed, terrified of what havoc any midnight bathroom breaks might wreak.

“We probably shouldn’t leave Kirishima here,” Uraraka commented. She, Midoriya, and Todoroki were the last stragglers, bunched up together on the same couch, flipping mindlessly through social media and random news feeds.

“Yeah, we should probably get to bed too, I guess,” Midoriya agreed with a yawn, ambling off the couch in a sleepy state. “I can take him back to his room.” With a little grunt, he hoisted Kirishima onto his back and headed towards the stairway. “See you guys tomorrow,” he whispered.

Uraraka waved to him sleepily with both hands, and Todoroki called out a ��see ya” without looking up from his phone. They two soon parted ways as well, and the common rooms were silent again.

Meanwhile, still not quite tired enough to sleep, Jirou and Kaminari had gotten to huddling beneath Jirou’s comforter, watching a local band’s gig she’d recorded last weekend on her phone. Leaning against one another, a pair of earbuds shared between them, all that could be seen in the room was a soft glow from under the bedsheets.

Halfway through the performance, Kaminari wriggled an arm free and snaked it around Jirou’s waist, pulling her close to face him. “Hey,” he smiled, looking almost charming enough that Jirou nearly forgot that only a couple hours earlier, that same face had been red and gushing snot and perspiration. He leaned forward to kiss her, but instead of her lips, he was met with an open palm that kept his mouth at bay.

“Do not,” she warned, “get anywhere near me with that thing for at least a week.” Kaminari whined into her hand.

“Oh come on, that’s not fair! I’m not spicy anymore, I swear.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t trust you.” She slid her hand down to cup his chin and kissed his forehead instead. “I hope you learned a lesson today.”

Kaminari chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Don’t challenge Bakugo with anything spicy.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. And?”

“Bread definitely doesn’t work.”

“Denki.”

Kaminari sighed. “Fine, no more impulse buys. I guess. Geez, you’re no fun.” This earned him a stab in the cheek with an earphone jack. “And violent!”

Jirou smirked. “I’ll remember that next time I’m watching you crying on the floor in pain. Now come here, my favorite song is next.”

She pulled him back to her side and hit play.

[louislouisrap]

oh man I kinda kept bakugo in the background in this next story and im feelin kinda guilty!!!!!

no lemme try that again i kinda kept bakugo in the bakuground ok byeeee

[louislouisrap]

Fat Gum and his interns, Suneater and Red Riot!

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Does read more not show up on mobile? Is that what I'm seeing? If so I'm v sorry ._.

[louislouisrap]

The Bet

Sero bets on Bakugo's social skills, and Bakugo can't back down from a challenge. | Read on Ao3 here

Notes:  Having fun with the Bakusquad after some inspiration came from a chat with work friends. Mina is the best. I love my dumb sons and daughters. This is bad and I don't care!

Bakugo Katsuki isn’t a bad person. You won’t ever catch him hurting a child, stealing from the less fortunate, or wearing sandals over a pair of socks.

But Bakugo Katsuki isn’t winning any good Samaritan awards either, and he knows this. He is well aware of the fact that he’s not easy to get along with; he’s smart as a whip, sure, but social graces have always managed to elude him. Kirishima is (somehow) his best friend and at least can see beyond his frustrated outbursts whenever they have their study sessions together; Deku is, well, himself, and by some miracle is able to see something admirable in the boy in spite of sixteen years of bullying.

Bakugo Katsuki also can’t turn down a challenge, which is what Sero Hanta is banking on when he proposes the following with a cheeky grin and a gleam in his eye: “I bet you can’t spend five minutes having a normal conversation with a stranger.”

“Huh?” Bakugo’s face screws up and he leans in closer towards Sero, who’s sitting across from him at Shake Shack. It’s lunchtime; the restaurant is noisy, and he probably didn’t hear him properly. On either side of their blonde friend, Kirishima and Kaminari stop their conversation and listen eagerly.

Ashido, sitting across from Kirishima, pauses mid-fry-chew and stares dumbly at Sero. “Did you really just…” she starts, and can’t even finish. The tone of her voice is what a sad headshake would sound like if it could talk.

“What the fuck does that even mean,” Bakugo says, swiping some of Sero’s fries just for having the audacity to offer up such a stupid bet.

“What I mean,” Sero explains, scowling a bit at the loss of his fries, “is that we all know how much of a dick you were when we started at Yuuei, right?” He looks to Kaminari and Kirishima, and at the same time Bakugo shoots them an angry glare. They’ve all known each other too long now for Bakugo’s threats to have much of an effect anymore, and the two shrug noncommittally.

“I mean, yeah,” Kaminari says.

“Pretty much,” Kirishima agrees.

Ashido gulps down her lemonade. “But let’s be honest though, you’re still kind of a dick. Like last month,” she points a pink, manicured finger at Bakugo, “you actually apologized to Midoriya that one time, remember?” Bakugo’s face reddens, though whether from anger or embarrassment is anyone’s guess. “But then five minutes later you kicked his chair out from underneath him because you said his muttering was annoying you.”

“Yeah, and with those goddamn reflexes of his, he kicked it right back at me!” Bakugo slams his fists on the table, causing a few heads to turn and regard the students crossly. Now Kaminari’s red-faced and crying laughing at the memory, and Ashido goes back to sipping her drink like it’s the sweetest tea.

Sero rolls his eyes. “Okay, whatever, the point is that it’s our second year. You’re not as much of a dick anymore, and I feel like it’s about time we let you out into functioning society. Like…hm, like a—”

“A caged bird set free,” Kirishima finishes, his fist clenched in the air triumphantly.

“A lion cub taking down an injured wildebeest,” Kaminari offers, having just watched The Lion King for the first time last week.

“A dumb baby on a leash,” Ashido says flatly, loudly sucking the last dredges of lemonade from her cup. The boys, minus Bakugo, mentally begin preparing her eulogy.

“I will fucking destroy this food court and take you down with me, you pink freak,” Bakugo snarls.

Ashido shrugs and takes one of Sero’s fries. “See?” She points the fry at Bakugo. “Normal people don’t say that. There’s no way he can do this.”

Sero leans back in his chair and folds his arms thoughtfully. “I’m gonna have to disagree. I think you’re underestimating him, Ashido.” He offers a hand out towards Kaminari and Kirishima, inviting them to share their thoughts. “Gentlemen?”

“You can absolutely do this, man,” Kirishima proclaims encouragingly, focusing on Bakugo and looking like he’s about to cry.

“I didn’t want to say anything,” Kaminari admits, suddenly quivering noticeably, “but I’ve got a date with Jirou riding on this.” He looks Bakugo dead in the eyes, his expression deadly serious. “Please, please. Do it for me.”

Bakugo stares dumbly at his friend. “Just how long have you been planning this?” Kaminari shrugs weakly, and everyone else is conveniently looking away. Bakugo stares down at the table, his expression a mixture of rage, serious consideration, and some self-loathing as he realizes that his best friends are all idiots and he’s going to kill them.

“Bakugo, Bakugo, Bakugo,” Sero begins chanting quietly, then Kaminari and Kirishima join in. “Bakugo, Bakugo, Bakugo!”

“Not feeling up to the challenge, huh?” Ashido grins as the boys continue chanting. “Top three in the class, and you can’t—”

“Shut it, Pinky!” Bakugo snaps, his gaze still trained on the table, inwardly cursing his competitive nature. A moment passes as they all wait silently for the verdict. Finally, he grits his teeth and slaps his palms on the table. There's a faint smell of smoke. “You’re all gonna be eating your fucking words.”

Kirishima punches the air triumphantly. Kaminari presses his palms together and mouths thank you to the ceiling.

Sero points to the cashier a few meters away. She’s a cute girl, maybe 18 or 19, a year or two older than them. Her skin has an iridescent shine to it, darkening to a crystalline blue at her fingertips. She has big eyes and bright silver hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Against the black t-shirt she’s wearing, she looks almost like a sparkling diamond against a backdrop of black velvet. “Go order something from her. But also like…you know, talk to her.”

“For ten minutes,” Ashido adds, positively beaming.

“Wh—Sero said five!” Bakugo argues.

“Are you saying you can’t hold out for five more minutes?” Mina fires back. Bakugo bites his tongue.

“Fine,” he mutters.

“And no shouting!” Kirishima says.

“I don’t shout!” Bakugo shouts. He quickly pushes himself up and away from the table, ready to get this over with.

Kaminari’s hand suddenly darts out and grabs Bakugo’s wrist. “Waitwaitwait—I have an idea!”

“What?” Bakugo hisses. He whirls around, and any confidence he was feeling before bottoms out and his stomach drops when he sees the grin on his friend’s face.

“Ten minutes,” Kaminari repeats, “and you have to get her number.”

Bakugo’s expression falters and he almost, almost looks scared. “Hell no.”

Ashido reaches into the tiny purse at her side, pulls out a black pen, and waves it in front of his face. “What’s the matter?” she teases. “Is Lord Explosion Murder scared of a pretty girl?”

Bakugo considers this for a moment, and the friends wait with baited breath. “Eat shit and die,” he finally mutters, swiping the pen before stalking off to the cashier.

Four pairs of wide eyes follow him as he makes his wait to the counter. “He’s actually doing it,” Sero breathes.

Bakugo decides, while walking towards the cashier, that he needs new friends. It’s that simple. Only a bunch of horrible losers would foist such a challenge upon him, and he did not make friends with losers. They were all horrible, he tells himself, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring up at the menu behind the sparkling young woman. And he’s horrible too for going along with it.

She’s not the worst thing to look at, but Bakugo also has no reason, or desire for that matter, to care about her, as is the case with him and most other people anyway.

He wants a shake. He whips his head around to glance at his squad, who all give him thumbs up and wide grins when they see his face. He scowls and flips them off.

“Can I help you?” The girl behind the counter smiles at Bakugo, hands folded neatly in front of her. His mind takes a deep breath.

“Yeah, uh,” his eyes flick down to the pin on her t-shirt, “Hikari. A vanilla shake. Small.” There was something else people usually said when asking for stuff. “Please,” he adds. He tries to give Hikari something besides his default scowl of an expression but he just can’t, and the best he can do is to scowl a little less than usual.

He passes her a thousand-yen note before she can even tell him the total; she takes it, and her blue fingertips brush his open palm as she drops the change into his hand.

Ten minutes isn’t all that long, Bakugo reminds himself, and he desperately looks for something else to talk to her about, when Hikari turns her back to work the ice cream machine. Well, shit.

“Just vanilla, huh?” He hears her say, and he has to lean over the counter to catch it over the sound of the machine. It takes him a few seconds before he realizes he’s supposed to say something back.

“Oh, uh, yeah, it’s…good.” It’s good? The words echo in his head. What the fuck is wrong with you? Bakugo’s cheeks go pink with internal rage as he stares at the floor. The horror of how actually terrible he is at conversing crashes down on him like a tidal wave of embarrassment, and he truly does wish the sea could just come and kill him now, and could it also please drown the four idiots who thought up this ridiculous bet.

He snaps out of his homicidal daydream when Hikari places the cup in front of him on the counter. “It’s my favorite,” she says. “Everyone says vanilla is so boring, but I think it’s sort of adventurous, ‘cause it’s like, just bland enough that you could add almost anything to it and create a new flavor, you know? But personally I think vanilla on its own is really good too. I could eat a whole thing of ice cream by myself.”

Bakugo’s eyebrows irk together and he eyes her suspiciously. Who cares this much about vanilla? He can’t be too mad though, since she’s been saving him from doing most of the talking so far. So he nods and takes a sip of the shake. “It’s good sh—“ Don’t swear ”—shake.” He barely recovers, then mentally slaps himself. It’s good shake? His inner voice rages. Are you having a fucking stroke??

Hikari laughs. “You’re kinda cute,” she says, and Bakugo nearly chokes on his drink. Then she squints a bit, before the recognition hits her. “Hey, aren’t you that angry kid from Yuuei? Bakugo Katsuki, right?  You won the sports festival last year!”

Bakugo’s entire being cringes at the memory, and if he’d been blessed with a time-altering quirk he’d go back to that festival and punch himself. Even a year later, that’s still one of the first things people say when they recognize him, which is more often than he’ll ever be comfortable with. He wants to lay into her that he was a stupid punk kid back then, and also that people change, alright? And that maybe other people should try minding their own damn business, okay?

“Yeah, that was me,” he says. “So?”

“It’s just that you don’t really seem like such a hothead now.” She’s still smiling, and she won’t stop looking at him, and it’s weird. Is this…is she interested in him? Bakugo glances back at his squad and sees Ashido impatiently pointing to an invisible watch on her wrist, and he realizes it’s fucking now or never. He may not be the same raging teenager he was last year but by God he’s not going to lose to Sero.

He throws a Hail Mary, swallowing whatever pride he’s maintained up to this moment and taking whatever cues he can pick up on from Hikari. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.

He leans forward on the counter, mirroring Hikari, and gives her a grin that he prays doesn’t make him look like a psychopath. “I mean like, just when it counts, you know?” he replies coolly, and he actually makes her blush. “Speaking of, what—” he gulps, tries to keep his voice steady and his mind focused on continuing this damn conversation, “what did you think of the sports festival this year?”

Hikari looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Well it wasn’t as exciting as last year’s, that’s for sure. I love Present Mic’s commentary, though. That’s always been my favorite part of the whole festival. He really knows how to get everybody hyped up, you know?”

Bakugo’s face screws up involuntarily at the mention of his English teacher and he leans back, losing whatever cool front he was putting up.

“You don’t think so?” Hikari asks.

“He’s freaking annoying,” Bakugo grumbles. “If you had him as a teacher you’d think differently.”

She hums in agreement. “I suppose.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, and time’s running out. Bakugo takes out his phone and checks it with feigned urgency. “Hey listen, Hikari, I have to get going, but if y—” She cuts him off as she whips a napkin out of one of the napkin holders nearby and scribbles her name and some numbers on it. She slides it across the counter with a smile that includes a seductive bite of her lower lip.

Oh, she’s picking up what he’s putting down, alright. He grins, for real this time, and swipes the napkin off the counter. “See you around,” he says with a nod, and rushes back to his waiting audience before he mentally implodes.

“He fucking did it,” Sero says, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it.”

Bakugo’s face is flushed as he power-walks to the table. There’s a slight tremor in his legs as he sits down and drops the crumpled napkin, showing off his prize.

“Holy shit.” Kirishima’s awestruck, regarding the napkin like it’s a precious gem. “That was amazing, dude.”

Kaminari whips out his phone and takes a picture of the name and number, then furiously begins texting, his eyes lighting up. “I owe you one, man.” Bakugo sucks pensively on his shake as his friends fuss over him. He’s coming down a bit from his nervous high, but like hell he’ll let any of them know that.

“So are you gonna call her?” Ashido asks, and Bakugo nearly chokes on his drink for the second time in less than ten minutes.

“Why the hell would I call her? I don’t even know her.”

Pinky rolls her eyes. “That’s the point of a date, doy.”

“Not happening,” Bakugo grumbles and tosses the napkin at Sero. “Here, you can call her.”

Sero whistles low and folds the paper into his pocket. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Bakugo shoves back in his seat and crosses his arms. “So are you all satisfied now?”

The Bakusquad contemplate for a moment.

Ashido shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

“Worked out for me,” Sero grins, tapping his pocket.

“I never doubted you for a second,” Kirishima says proudly, clapping Bakugo on the shoulder.

Kaminari looks up from his phone, his eyes glistening. “I’ll name our godchildren after you, Bakugo, I promise you.”

END

This is part of an ongoing series of short stories focused on the Bakusquad, called Our Good Old Days. Or it will be a series once I write the next one (*´∀`*)

[louislouisrap]

hello i am here ヾ(*´ー`)ノ

I thought I’d make a sideblog as a way to whore out share my fics with others who may not be on Ao3