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Bakugou Katsuki spit through the grate of the gutter as he passed. It came out tinged a deep pink, courtesy of the blood still seeping into his mouth. He’d bit the inside of his lip when she’d kicked him in the face, but that was a better price than biting off his own tongue.
It was an impressive kick too, the toe of her loafer making contact directly under his chin, like an uppercut. Bakugou didn’t know Toga had that much force in her. He’d let her get way too close and he’d paid for it. By the time Bakugou had encountered her he was exhausted from his day patrol and his movements were slowed. She’d ducked right under his blast and behind his guard, kicking her fully extended leg straight up and into his lower jaw, that stupid smile shining on her face the whole time. Bakugou hadn’t known she was limber enough to kick above her head, much less with that much force. He’d also learned she wore spandex shorts under her school-girl skirt, which explained why she’d always been comfortable jumping around like a maniac.
He wondered if she wore anything underneath them.
- What the fuck kind of thought is that? - He growled at himself.
Toga had bounded off while he was reeling from the blow, laughing that stupid laugh, resulting in him ended his night with an unexpected loss to that psychopath.
Bakugou ground his teeth, which made his jaw hurt worse. That pain soured his mood even more, such being the familiar, unbreakable cycle of his emotions.
His initial response was to crave violence. He wanted to blow something up and watch as the debris smoldered around him. However, after many years of being a Pro Hero, Bakugou had gained just enough wisdom to know when it was time to hang up the gauntlets for the night. When he stopped being the Great Explosion Hero, Ground Zero, one of the Top Three Heroes in Japan, Bakugou lost a lot of options for dealing with his frustrations.
What he knew was that he didn’t want to be alone. However, he didn’t want people paying attention to him either. He couldn’t handle some UA wannabe running up asking for his autograph, wanting to see his Quirk, or any of the other dozen inane things people did when they recognized him. Normally he would. Typically Bakugou thrived on that attention. But not right now. He’d just had his ass, or more accurately, jaw, kicked by a villain he’d been playing cat and mouse with since fucking high school.
Thinking of high school brought him right back to Toga. Why the fuck did she still wear that uniform? What was it with girls never letting go of those outfits, and worse, old dudes being into them? Toga had finally ditched the sailor collar, but the skirt, shoes, and socks never changed. Why were her clothes so clear in his mind? He supposed six years of fighting died hard.
Bakugou reached the end of the block and rounded left into the first alley he reached. It was light-less, the buildings too tall and close for lamp or star light to penetrate.
Forget her, forget Villains and fights and all that shit he dealt with every damn day. They were the reason he wasn’t going home. If he did Bakugou knew he would sulk, either kicking his furniture to pieces, again, or stare at the blank, dark ceiling over his bed, too energized from that cluster-fuck of a fight to sleep, analyzing every way he’d fucked up on repeat in his head. That situation had happened to him enough times in his Pro-Hero career that Bakugou had developed a strategy to avoid it. This didn’t always work, but tonight he needed it.
Bakugou crackled sparks in his hands just enough to light his path. The alley was devoid of debris, no trash littering the ground or forgotten wooden pallets leaning against the plaster walls. It eased the blind journey of those who knew to come this way. A pulse began to beat. Bakugou felt it in his heart before it reached his ears. We walked on until that beat was clear to even his fucked up ears and searched to his left, locating the steel railing that marked the stairs down. There was only one railing and it was on the far side of the staircase, so if someone didn’t know better they were nearly guaranteed to take a fresh step into thin air. If they survived the fall, visitors were greeted by a steel door, the millimeters beneath it seeping weak light.
Bakugou had learned better than to trust the railing, having been its victim the first time he’d come here. He’d gone inside cursing loudly, with a skinned elbow and severely bruised ego.
He descended without incident and pounded on the door. A pink haired woman with biceps to rival his own opened the door. She looked him up, then down, then up again before nodding, jerking her chin over her shoulder. Bakugou moved inside and after a few steps he reached another metal door which he opened without invitation.
The blast of sound that hit him made Bakugou grateful for his partial deafness. The DJ had no idea how to set their levels and judging by how few people were dancing versus the number sitting with their ears covered, the set wouldn’t last long.
Bakugou took an open seat at the bar and sighed involuntarily. This was the first time he’d rested all night and it was closing on 1am. The familiar bartender caught his eyes and raised a brow, but Bakugou held up a hand, indicating he wasn’t ready to order yet. The man nodded and made his rounds the other direction.
The music ground on, as did Bakugou’s teeth. After an eternity it ended. There were audible sighs of relief followed by a few polite applause, and one person who whooped with far too much enthusiasm. The room erupted into conversation and a standard soundtrack of genre favorites started playing over the speakers.
The bartender returned. ‘A drink, friend?’
‘Gin, with ice.’ Bakugou replied, tiredly but politely. This was a formality, the server knowing his order and Bakugou using the interaction to remind himself that conversations didn’t have to involve screaming and expletives.
The drink arrived and Bakugou inclined his head with gratitude. He picked up the glass from its black cocktail napkin and scanned the room. It was an industrial-rave scene, the furniture and people being composed of steel and black leather. The floor was perforated sheet-metal and the clash of metal boots on hollow steel was a cacophony when the dancing started. Bakugou didn’t know how the floor didn’t collapse under the strain and imagined there must be an impressive support structure underneath.
It was a scene tailor designed for Jirou. Their name is how he got into the bar the first time, and what kept him coming back. They should be coming on soon, which was why Bakugou and the dozens, perhaps hundred, of others were there at this painful hour.
Jirou didn’t do the Pro-Hero scene much anymore, only going out when called for a specific rescue mission or whatever. They were on standby, and for that reason they kept a powerful pager in their pocket and lived a straight-edge lifestyle. Bakugou had seen them stop mid-set with nothing more than a ‘Gotta go’ to their audience as explanation before walking off the stage. It amused him every time it happened.
Bakugou had to admit, he admired Jirou for rejecting the traditional Hero lifestyle. They had no agency, no rounds, no media flocking them. Instead they had built a life around their passion, music, while unmistakably holding onto Hero values. Jirou was every bit the Hero Bakugou was, but they were infinitely more free.
He gnawed the edge of the glass with frustration. These were the thoughts he was here to get away from. Bakugou sipped his drink, the juniper bite of the gin softened by the ice.
- Jirou needs to hurry the fuck up. -
He pulled the glass away and swirled it softly, encouraging the ice to do its job. Bakugou detested being drunk. It clouded his awareness and slowed his reactions in a way that was unacceptable. Even on his 21st birthday when the others had dragged him to a terrible, sticky sports-bar with $2.00 drafts Bakugou refused to drink despite heavy insistence. The fact that Jirou was there helped solidify his rejection. They drank club soda out of a plastic cup, unamused by the increasingly obnoxious antics around them. After that, all Bakugou would drink was two fingers of quality liquor with ice.
He’d always disliked after-work drinking culture and after that day he rejected it completely. It didn’t help his appeal with his co-workers. Not that Bakugou even thought of them that way. He wasn’t there to endear himself to people. And he didn’t mind standing out, in fact, he loved it. He wanted to be the biggest, the brightest, the best in Japan. And once he achieved that, next was the world.
But that wasn’t what he wanted tonight. Tonight he wanted to be anyone but himself. He smoothed down his black hair and checked his palm to see if any dye had come off. There was no residue. Good, that meant it was exponentially better than the last three dyes he’d tried. The gel holding his hair down was the same stuff Eijirou used to spike his up, and was the only product strong enough to subdue his spikes.
He’d gotten the idea from Momo, another high profile Hero. Her personality was not suited for the spotlight she was constantly thrust into, resulting in her being perpetually wired and incapable of relaxing. She confided in Bakugou that at the height of this stress she was on the edge of a Xanax addiction. It followed the pattern Bakugo had noticed among his other slowly deteriorating classmates. They used bars or chain smoking or more escalated substances to cope with the aspects of Hero life that weren’t covered in training.
Momo explained that at her lowest point she had forced herself into deep introspection and gotten creative. She hated the attention of the media, and she hated being alone with herself, so what was the solution? She needed a way to blow off steam and disconnect from her anxiety, but she couldn’t jeopardize her brand image. She needed all eyes off of her for a while.
She decided to face her fear head on by embracing anonymity . She started going to clubs, the huge ones where no one looked twice at you. At first she was terrified by the crush of people and overwhelming noise. But as it happened, that night Jirou was the one on stage. Seeing her friend and long term crush full of life and passion gave her the courage to let go of herself and become part of the music. Momo recounted to him how free she’d felt after that night. She was exhausted and fell asleep as soon as she laid down, something that hadn’t happened in years.
Bakugou thought it was bullshit.
But there came a night when he was so exhausted and furious at the failures of those around him Bakugou knew if he went home he would destroy every piece of furniture in his apartment. So he decided fuck it and went to the nearest club his phone guided him to.
It was a disaster. He’d forgotten the finer point of Momo’s strategy, which involved a change of hair and outfit. He’d strutted in as himself with predictable results from the people around him. He bitched to Momo about her plan being stupid, but she’d just laughed at him. She proceeded to open her massive bathroom suite with its attached closet and dragged him by the ear to sit at her vanity. Bakugou sat stiff with embarrassment as she played with his hair and held different colored clothes to his chest to decide what made him look the least like Ground Zero.
Bakugou was capable of acknowledging experience, so despite his set jaw and burning ears he took in everything Momo said. He tried again a few weeks later, implementing Momo’s advice. And it worked.
Now Bakugou kept a half dozen temporary hair dyes in his locker at the agency he and Sero owned. He had a different color for each place he attended, as according to his mood. Naturally, he always wore black here. It was a bitch to wash from his blonde hair before morning, but worth it.
There was a general milling about as the room vibrated with anticipation for the main act. Bakugou didn’t pick this place for the music, he came here for the people. More specifically, their energy. There was no stilted, awkward dancing as people tried to be cool. Everyone was there to bleed themselves dry. He was too.
Bakugou took a shallow sip of his drink and scanned the room lazily. He knew there were more direct routes for blowing off steam, but sometimes training didn’t give him what he needed. There was an emotional aspect to what he was feeling that couldn’t be purged through physical activity alone. He couldn’t name what was bothering him, but experience had taught him this was a reliable way of burying it.
He’d been suggested to talk to his friends about his emotions, but what good were those knuckleheads? The people he paid to talk to were useless, and he couldn’t burden Momo with everything. No, he’d deal with this alone. Not physically alone though, as he had for years, stalking his apartment in the dark and kicking his furniture to pieces until he became so frustrated with the mess he incinerated it all. Bakugou knew he wasn’t getting his security deposit back, there were too many burns in the carpet for that to be possible.
A scream of girlish laughter penetrated the dull roar of the room, shattering the gothic facade everyone was participating in. Bakugou twisted his neck to glare at the offending table, which was close enough for his sharp red eyes to examine in detail.
The responsible party had messy black hair that hung artlessly at her shoulders and two bright pink band-aids crossed in an ‘x’ on her left cheek. She wore a tiny backpack of pastel blue decorated with every kind of cute charm or pin imaginable. The woman covered her mouth as she laughed, which did nothing to shield its volume. She appeared to be wearing nothing but a pair of black spandex shorts and a matching halter top which Bakugou was positive was actually a sports bra.
She looked violently out of place. Attention piqued, Bakugou tried to puzzle her out. Had she dropped in here after a midnight jog? He couldn’t tell if she was wearing running shoes as her feet were pulled up on the booth she sat on, pressed together with knees wide.
This was what gave her away. Despite her girlishness Bakugou recognized this woman as a force not to be ignored. It wasn’t just her subtle stretching, it was the lines around her eyes and the crease between her brows. Those were features one earned through time and trial and Bakugou concluded his woman had seen and done more than the rest of this room combined. The way she perched her elbows on her knees and cupping her face with her hands looked childish, but Bakugou took in the subtle way she shifted her weight from one elbow to the other, pressing each knee down in turn.
Based on the slow, even movements Bakugou recognized this was a cool-down stretch. Maybe she had run here? But Bakugou didn’t know any women, even Pro Hero’s, who took midnight jogs around this area. If she was a Hero he’d never seen her before, though that wasn’t unusual. There were countless Pro Heroes and Sidekicks in this country and Bakugou didn’t pay attention to anyone ranked below him.
The woman held his attention, his intuition warning him there was something off about her. Men surrounded and fawned over her, which was behavior he hadn’t seen here. That was reserved to more traditional clubs where men and women went with the intention of taking someone home for the night.
The dark haired woman took a sip of her drink, something electric blue with a little paper umbrella and a wedge of lime, which Bakugou was positive was non-alcoholic. Another tell about her.
Bakugou finished his own shallow drink and pushed it away. The bartender replaced the glass without a word needing to be exchanged. Bakugou passed him a bill of an unreasonably large denomination, their signal that he was done for the evening. He sipped the new drink, ice cold water refreshed him in a way nothing else could.
His focus returned to the inscrutable woman. She’d ceased stretching and was now kicking her feet back and forth underneath the table, as they were too short to reach the ground, and Bakugou could see her shoes. They were loafers.
- Who the fuck runs in school-girl shoes? -
They were so worn and faded she’d probably been wearing them since high school. Bakugou mused darkly once more about why the fuck girls clung to that look. It was just weird, and always reminded him of that psychopath-
Bakugou crushed the glass in his hand, shards scattered across the floor. He dropped the remnants and launched off his stool. His clenched fist embedded the remaining shards deep in his left hand, but Bakugou felt no pain as he stalked across the room, dark and silent as an encroaching storm.
The bodies in his path were worthless and he rammed through them. Some of the people he shoulder-checked called out angrily as their drinks slipped or spilled, but a single look at Bakugou’s face silenced them. The blood dripping from his fist disappeared through the holes in the metal floor, adding a flash of warmth to that impenetrable darkness.
The men surrounding the table were oblivious to Bakugou’s approach until he planted himself between them with a final stomp of his boot. They didn’t need to be told to leave, each slipping away with downcast eyes.
The woman saw Bakugou approaching and had crossed her arms over her chest, looking sourly at him from across the table.
Ground Zero slammed his bloodied fist on the table between them, staining it's dark top even deeper.
‘You’re slipping, Toga.’ He growled. ‘With that Quirk of yours I‘d expected better. That disguise sucks.’
‘Yea, well, same to you.’ Toga huffed back.
Bakugou placed his other hand on the table, palm open and upward, sparks beginning to snap.
Toga hugged herself tighter and turned away, but she wasn’t shielding herself from him. She looked petulant, like a child who refused to finish the vegetables on her plate.
‘Oh come on,’ she pouted, sticking out her lower lip. ‘We just did this. I don’t wanna start this again tonight.’
The mundanity of her refusal caught Bakugou off guard and the sparks in his hand fizzled out.
Bakugou blinked, speechless, brows contracted low.
‘You’re just refusing?’ He asked blandly.
‘Yea, I’m tired.’ Toga snapped back, squinting at him in her own disbelief that he didn’t get it.
Bakugou didn’t get it. A Villain had never refused to fight him before. They’d run away, or begged for mercy, but never just said ‘no’.
Toga rolled her eyes at his stupefaction.
‘What’s you plan for round two anyway, Ground Zero? Blow up the whole club in order to arrest me’ Toga antagonized, using Hero principles against him.
‘No, we take this outside.’ Bakugou drew his hands back to his sides, fingers flexing.
Toga’s gaze was a mix of incredulity and contempt. In response to this proposition she kicked her feet up on the table, crossing one ankle over the other. She picked up her drink and leaned back in her booth, slinging her free arm over the top of it.
‘I’m not going anywhere.’ She challenged, keeping their eyes locked as she took a long sip of her drink through its pink straw.
Before Bakugou could rage back the pink haired woman from the entrance manifested at Toga’s side.
‘Is this man bothering you, miss?’ She offered Toga. Her hands were in her pockets but she was rolling her massive shoulders pointedly.
Toga gave a dismissive wave, still not breaking their eye contact, before answering. Her lips left a sticky shine on the straw.
‘Nah,’ Toga said nonchalantly, ‘He’s an old friend.’
The pink-haired bouncer accepted this with a nod and melted back into the crowd, missing as Bakugou hissed through his teeth.
‘ Friend ?’
The vein in his temple was pulsing, awakening the pain in his jaw.
‘Would you just sit down like a normal person already?’ Toga sighed.
Bakugou’s body went stiff with rage. His mind struggled to find a solution, but there was no Heroic way out of this situation. He either walked away from a Villain or started an explosive battle in a room crowded with civilians. That wasn’t an option and Toga knew it. He broke their staring contest by closing his eyes and rubbing his temples with his uninjured hand.
Bakugou lowered himself stiffly onto the stool opposite Toga, hands shoved in his pockets. His bleeding hand soaked the fabric of his black pants. He’d have to remember to wash them in cold water when he got home.
Toga raised her glass in cheers.
‘See, that wasn’t so hard.’ She mocked.
‘We’re not friends.’ Was all Bakugou could manage to growl. He was grateful his clothes were made of fireproof fabric, because he was having trouble controlling his Quirk through his fury, his palms sparking involuntarily.
Toga shrugged. ‘Fine, but we’re not enemies right now either.’ She pointed to the ground with a finger. ‘This is neutral territory.’
‘That’s not how it fucking works!’ Bakugou barked.
‘And why not!’ Toga barked back, looking sincerely angry for the first time. She folded over at the waist and slammed her drink on the table.
- Wow she’s flexible. - The thought came again.
‘We’ve already done the Hero/Villain thing tonight, and we’re both tired.’
Bakugou opened his mouth to argue but Toga cut him off.
‘Oh don’t pretend. I saw those sparks, they were pathetic’. She sneered, then finished, ‘So why should we continue the act?’
Bakugou bristled so hard he felt his hair spring loose from it’s gel.
‘It’s not an act.’ He argued.
Toga threw her head back with a laugh. This one was nothing like her usual girlish peel, it was harsh and exasperated. It made his stinging fingers twitch. Toga rolled her head back towards him.
‘Come on Katsuki, we’ve been doing this for over six years. I know you by now.’ Her grin was harsh and lopsided, reeling one canine at the corner. ‘And you know you’d be bored without me.’
She might as well have kicked Bakugou in the chin again for how much she’d stunned him. Feelings he’d buried in a shallow grave rose up, her accusation all it took to give them enough life and strength to strangle him.
Bakugou Katsuki, Ground Zero, the Great Explosion Hero, was at the top of Hero society. He was constantly in the top three on the Leader Board, eyes were always on him, and he basked in it. He got off on the admiration and the money gave him everything he ever wanted and never needed. Fight after fight kept him electrified and hungry for more.
The time between fights though, it was starvation. Those times of famine were lasting longer and longer as the powerful Villains were eradicated and their syndicates destroyed. Insatiable, he wasn’t sure if there would be enough to sustain him much longer. Unless some aggressive new organization rose up soon, which seemed unlikely, Bakugou wasn’t sure how he’d survive.
That dark, honest part of him admitted he wanted it, wanted Villains to rise again. It wasn’t a heroic desire, but he was bored. He was bored. He was bored. He was so fucking BORED.
Bakugou took a deep breath, in and out, and muttered. ‘Fine.’
Toga preened in triumph.
‘But don’t use that fucking name.’ Bakugou snapped, then reached across the table and took her cocktail napkin without asking, pressing it to his bleeding palm. He flinched, forgetting that glass was still embedded in the lacerations.
‘Uhg, give it here Bakugou.’ Toga emphasized his family name, reaching her hand out and wiggling her forefinger to indicate herself. Bakugou complied, though with a grumble of dissatisfaction. Toga swung her legs off the table and tucked them under her on the booth. She took his hand, peering and poking at the cuts for a moment, then slung off her little backpack and started foraging through it.
A blue pleated skirt was partially removed so it could be searched underneath and Bakugou mused that some things didn’t change. Finally, Toga pulled out a small plastic box covered in glittery, hyper-cute stickers. From the box came a pair of shining tweezers and some gauze. Using the condensation from her glass, Toga wet a square of gauze and began cleaning Bakugou’s bloody hand.
Once cleaned, Toga set to work methodically removing the shards of glass from Bakgou’s hand.
‘You know, this is basic first aid. Don’t they teach you anything at those fancy Hero schools?’ She scoffed.
‘I’m surprised you know how to stop bleeding at all, Miss Stabs-a-lot.’ Bakugou countered childishly.
‘Of course I do.’ Toga replied, rolling her eyes again. ‘I don’t want every person I stab to bleed out.’ She finished, as though that was all the answer necessary.
Toga finished with the tweezers and put them away after rubbing them down with an alcohol square. She grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand closer until Bakugou’s chest was pressed against the table. He concentrated on not cursing aloud as Toga bent her face over his palm and inspected it. She turned his hand this way and that, like a child examining a particularly cool pebble they’d found. Finally she nodded, satisfied, and released Bakugou’s wrist.
Bakugou drew it back to examine the damage. There were only a few cuts deeper than a superficial scrape. Two were on his palm and the other at the base of his middle finger. The damage wasn’t concerning, he’d just made it worse in his anger.
- Pretty standard. - He thought bitterly.
‘Hey, give that back here!’ Toga ordered, snapping her fingers at him.
Bakugou complied, only because she was doing well at first aid. He still bared his teeth in a snarl.
‘Good boy.’ Toga chimed.
Bakugou was rising to flip the table when Toga pinned his wrist to the table with enough force to make him grunt in surprise. He had to stop forgetting how much force Toga contained, he chided himself.
Toga flattened his fingers then squeezed a clear cream from a little tube on the cuts, painting it into the wounds with her finger. Finished, she put the tube away and fished in the little box again.
‘What color band aid do you want?’ Toga asked.
‘None.’ He replied flatly, pulling his hand away again.
Toga brought her elbow down on his wrist from above, pinning him.
Barely managing to contain a howl of pain, Bakugou hissed at her, ‘You bitch.’
‘Green it is!’ Toga decided cheerfully, pulling her elbow away as she warned. ‘And don’t you dare move that hand, mister.’
Bakugou grasped his pounding wrist with his other hand where a bruise was guaranteed to blossom by morning.
Toga pulled out a band aid and peeled it open to reveal a green more lime than the fruit on her drink.
‘Absolutely fucking not!’ Bakugou shouted, actually standing this time.
‘Do you really want to start this, Ground Zero.’ Toga hissed in a voice only for him. Even his damaged ears caught every syllable.
‘It’s a bad night for me. After our little tussle my place to sleep fell through, so don’t push me. You may have more Quirk left than me, but I recover stamina quicker. You can’t keep up with me.’ She challenged, her artificially dark eyes fading and the amber flashing through.
‘Are you threatening me?’ Bakugou asked slowly.
Toga didn’t need to answer. Her body was coiled, ready to spring in an instant, and one hand had moved to a hip so it was in easy reach of the knife he knew she had tucked behind her back.
Bakugou was equally coiled, but remained unmoving as he tried to articulate Toga’s logic.
‘So you’re willing to stab me so you can finish bandaging my hand?’ He confirmed.
‘If that’s what it takes.’ Toga warned.
Bakugou ran his uninjured hand through his hair. It felt like it was covered in glue and soot.
Fuck it, she was right. He was tired.
After another short breathing exercise he up-righted his chair, planted himself back in it, and slammed his left hand back on the table, palm up.
‘Fucking psycho.’ He grumbled.
Toga gave a toothy smile and picked up right where she left off. Once Bakugou was fully patched up with sticky green band aids Toga leaned back and gave an approving nod to her work.
Bakugou shoved his hand back into his damp pocket as Toga took up her drink once more.
‘What the fuck was the point of that?’ He growled, glaring at her sidelong. Toga patching him up didn’t make sense.
‘Something I needed to do.’ Toga shrugged.
‘Was that an apology for kicking me in the chin.’ Bakugou smirked, but it slid right off when Toga answered.
‘Nope.’ She chirped without an ounce of regret in her voice.
Bakugou was about to retort when the soundtrack cut off. Spotlights hit the stage and Jirou walked out with no ceremony or introduction. The room erupted with sound. Toga jumped up on the table, cheering and hopping with excitement in time with the crowd.
Bakugou automatically shot out a hand to steady the table. His insults were lost in the noise.
Jirou gave a wave and wasted no time starting their set. They plugged in their ear-jacks and the beats started pulsing.
Toga hopped down from the table and hooked her arm through his, tugging him towards the already ecstatic dance floor. Bakugou resisted. Going anywhere with Toga was a bad idea.
He watched her mouth ‘Come on’ as she tugged his arm harder, but he still resisted. She scowled at his stubbornness then clawed her way up his arm until she was at his ear.
‘This is what you came for!’ Toga yelled, louder than was necessary for being that close.
Bakugou twisted to glare down at her.
‘What the fuck do you care?’ He yelled back. Their faces were closer than he expected. When had she gotten this tall?
‘Because I don’t want to be alone either! That’s why we’re here!’ She shouted, dumbfounding him. How did she know that?
Bakugou didn’t resist as Toga wrapped her arms around his and pulled him into the crowd. As soon as they broke that initial wall he sensed the energy change. People were moving, stepping and nodding to the beat with their eyes and faces relaxed. But there was an anticipation permeating the group and Bakugou felt his heart speed up, each beat resonating deeper in his chest.
Toga broke them into the heart of the crowd where people were so dense he could barely see the stage, before threading away from him. She flashed her signature toothy smile a last time as she melted into the crowd. Bakugou felt his fingers twitch, insisting on a spark, but in the moment Jirou dropped the beat.
The room erupted into screams and cheers as people broke into earnest movement. It was a grinding industrial beat overlaid with pounding EDM beats. Jirou masterfully kept all the rage of the original song while making it impossible not to move, because if you didn’t your body would shatter.
Bakugou’s body reacted on instinct, moving as well. He’d trained it to do this with months of practice. This was why he was here.
Instead of growling as people pressed against him Bakugou moved with them, letting go of his misanthropy. He stamped his steel toed boots in time with the music, his heart beating in time with the resonance. His ego dissolved as he became part of a singular, ecstatic entity.
Jirou held them all in the palm of their hand, transitioning the songs and intensifying the beat as they saw fit. Their audience shouted along to the music, voices going hoarse with lyrics that took on new meaning and delved into the singer's soul.
The pain in Bakugou’s hand and chin intensified as he exerted himself without restraint. It catalyzed him even more and became part of the experience, soon being released just like the rest of his emotions.
Bakugou hadn’t felt this high since he was a teenager. It was the same jubilation he’d felt when training his quirk at U.A., sensing himself becoming more powerful.
There were several short, jarring notes followed by one long, deep one as the set came to an end. Cheers and shouts rang out and Bakugou howled his approval. Everyone fought to catch their breath and the floor slowly cleared as people sought their friends, fresh drinks, or a place to rest.
Bakugou meandered to the right of the stage where a set of metal stairs that led to the floor above made a good resting place for his newly strained muscles. He sat down slowly, disappointed with how stiff his knees were. Toga was right, he didn’t recover stamina as quickly as he used to.
There were two stomps on the metal stairs and Bakugou realized too late that he’d spoken of the devil. Pushing him aside with her hip, Toga planted herself next to him. She still wore her little backpack and had acquired a leather bracelet with unnecessarily long spikes.
She didn’t look at or speak to Bakugou, instead rifling through her bag. She bobbed her head side to side as though still listening to the music, an ecstatic smile occupying her lips.
Bakugou was still coming down as well. He flexed his neck and shoulders to try and vent some of the energy still pulsing through him. His eyes swept the stage and found Jirou. They were downing a water bottle, but still caught Bakugou’s gaze and gave him a wink. He flinched, knowing he would have some explaining to do later. No matter how he disguised himself, Jirou always saw through it.
Toga’s hand appeared before him, holding some kind of wrapped snack bar. She wiggled it in-front of his face until Bakugou accepted with a grunt. He examined the nutrition facts and found it was a protein bar, the high quality kind. His stomach responded with a desperate growl and Bakugou realized he hadn’t eaten since the morning.
He tore open the wrapper and tossed it aside, proceeding to down the snack in two bites. As he chewed, Bakugou glanced over at Toga. She had consumed hers just as ravenously and was licking her fingers with relish.
It was the long run of that tongue which broke the spell. He’s seen that motion countless times and it always involved someone's blood being spilled.
Bakugou stood and grabbed Toga roughly by the arm, jerking her to her feet. He stomped up the stairs, every emotion he’d drained filling him at once. Toga gracefully kept her feet, bounding up the stairs after him.
‘Where are we going?’ She gasped enthusiastically.
Bakugou didn’t answer. He was clenching his jaw, summoning back the pain she’d inflicted earlier to justify his actions. At the top of the stairs he spied several metal doors on the wall to their right. Still gripping Toga’s wrist with one hand, he wrenched open the door with the other. The deadbolt that was supposed to secure the room ripped free, buckling the door frame. Inside was a couple in a state of advanced compromise.
‘Out!’ Bakugou roared as he and Toga invaded the room. Without question the pair gathered what they could of their clothes and fled, all modestly forgotten.
Bakugou slammed the door behind them, but it bounced due to the latch being torn. Letting go of Toga with a snarl, he stalked over to a couch that had been stashed in the room and forgotten, likely due to the highly questionable stain on its leather seat. He slammed it against the door, barricading them inside.
Toga leaned back against the far wall of the small room, watching this display hungrily.
‘Oh, are you looking to get sexy too, Katsuki?’ She purred, letting her backpack slip off her shoulder and to the floor.
‘Don’t use that name, you bitch.’ He growled, giving the couch a last kick into place. He turned to confront her and knew instantly he wasn’t facing some wilting flower.
Toga was a cobra, coiled tight with every muscle tensed to strike. He couldn’t guess how many knives she had on her, but regardless of her outfit it was guaranteed to be more than just one. She had no fear of being alone in this room with him because she was in no way trapped.
But they were alone, so pretense was forgotten.
‘You think you can get away with this?’ Bakugou hissed, taking the few steps needed to close the distance between them.
‘With what?’ She countered, brows raised. ‘Being normal? Yea, I do. I don’t spend all my time skulking in alleys, you know.’ She finished cuttingly.
This gave Bakugou pause as their eyes locked. He hadn’t allowed himself much thought to the daily lives of Villains. Villains were Villains and Heroes were Heroes and he got paid in both cash and glory to maintain that status-quo. Toga sensed his hesitation.
‘Pathetic.’ She spat, unimpressed. ‘I thought you’d be more fun. Have you ever had a single thought in your life beyond ‘punch the bad guy’.’
The mixture of truth and gross inaccuracy in the accusation lit Bakugou’s dangerously short fuse. He shot out his hand and pinned Toga to the wall by her throat.
The Villain didn’t flinch. Her hair had returned to its regular blonde and settled in pale gold strands around his fingers.
‘Dangerous.’ Toga breathed, a smile showing nothing but her canines.
‘You think this is funny?’ Bakugou spit ferociously. He craved to end it here, to crush her throat and put an end to their years-long game of cat and mouse. Heroism be damned.
‘I could take this whole building down.’ Bakugou threatened. Body shaking, he could feel his palms heating in anticipation of a fight. ‘We could take each other out. We could both die right here.’
‘Is that really what you want?’ Toga countered, voice a hot whisper.
Bakugou’s red eyes flickered and the paralysis of their staring contest ended.
This time Toga shot out her hands, snatching Bakugou’s short hair in both fists and lacing her fingers through to the scalp.
Bakugou barked in pain but had no time to curse as Toga pulled his face to within a breath of hers. It forced his elbows to bend, so while one hand was still wrapped around her neck his arms were pinned between their chests.
‘What do you want? What do you want, Bakugou Katsuki?’ Toga screamed. Her words were strangled but her amber eyes pinned him. They were free of fear and bright with fury.
‘Do you want round two? Do you want to fuck me on the floor right now? What is it you want Ground Zero-!’
Bakugou cut her off by pressing his lips against hers. It couldn’t rightfully be called a kiss, he was just silencing her with his mouth. He couldn’t stand hearing that name.
Bakugou pulled away, realizing they had maintained eye contact throughout that exchange. He quickly shifted his focus to somewhere above her left eyebrow.
‘I-’ He started, then cleared his throat to make his voice firmer. ‘I don’t want to be him for a while.’
It was Toga’s turn to blink slowly with confusion. She kept her fingers wrapped in his hair, but pushed Bakugou away as far as she could.
Bakugou slapped his free hand over his mouth.
‘Shit, sorry, I didn’t ask to do that!’ He apologized through his fingers, every lesson about women his mother had ever, literally, beaten into him coming back. He bit down on a finger, mentally berating himself and trying to formulate a better apology.
‘Do it again.’ Toga said.
Bakugou gazed at her, mystified. Her voice was neither hesitant or demanding, her face blank and eyes focused on his. He couldn’t get a read on her. She was either earnestly asking to press their mouths together again, or getting ready to cleverly stab him in a way that didn’t involve her hands.
Well, he’d always been one for a risk.
Bakugou took a deep breath and leaned into her. Toga bent her elbows to allow him to come in close, fingers never giving up their hold. One hand stayed loosely at her throat while he put the other on her shoulder.
She was a Villain Bakugou reminded himself as he kissed her without hesitation.
This was as far from being a Hero as he could get, Bakugou criticized himself, breaking off to kiss her again, this time lingering. Her lips were warmer than he could have imagined.
Toga didn’t respond, but she didn’t stab him either.
Bakugou broke away for the third time and as Toga still hadn’t changed her expression or her grip on his hair, he decided it was time to get out and pretend this never happened. He pulled his hands away and started to step back, face burning, when Toga released his hair. She clawed her fingers to his cheeks, grasping them hard, and crushed their bodies together lips first.
Bakugou reacted instinctively, cupping her face and waist with his hands. They danced their lips together, hot and fast. Toga’s fingers clung to his jaw, urging him closer. In a move Bakugou should have seen coming, Toga pierced his lip with an excited canine.
Bakugou grunted, his palm at her waist producing an involuntary spark. He grimaced at the mistake. This was another reason he didn’t participate in many intimate relationships.
Toga gave a little gasp of surprise at the pain, which turned into a thrilled giggle. She rose on her toes and pressed her firm chest against his.
‘Do it again.’ Toga rasped in his ear, sending a jolt down his spine and a heady wash of desire elsewhere. He moved the hand on Toga’s cheek to the nape of her neck, fingers threading her damp hair, and produced another light spark.
Toga closed her eyes with a joyous moan, which Bakugou smothered with another kiss. She snaked an arm under his and dug her fingers into his shoulder blade, further locking them together. Her free hand vanished under the hem of Bakugou’s shirt. He let out a shuttering gasp as Toga traced her sharp nails along the ridges of his abdominal muscles. A purr of satisfaction rumbled deep in Toga’s throat.
They escalated their passion from there, bodies pulsing with the beat of the music still pounding from below. Hands traced skin while tongues and teeth explored each other's lips, necks, and ears.
Though compromised by a daze of desire, Bakugou’s situational awareness remained and he recognized a mutual reservation between them. Despite their proximity and Bakugou’s unavoidable and pronounced male desire, neither had ventured below the other’s waist. They were losing themselves in each other's touch the same way they had in the music earlier, but there was no grinding or desperate stripping of clothing. He wanted her close and he wanted her touch, and something about what they were doing could never fulfill that lust in the way he needed.
The realization of what he wanted banished the fog of carnal desire from Bakugou’s mind.
In a fluid movement, Bakugou broke their kiss and stepped away, leaving Toga mystified at his sudden departure. Before she could speak, Bakugou grabbed her wrist and jerked her to him. Wrapping one hand around the back of her head, he pressed Toga’s face to his collar, resting his cheek against the crown of her head. His other arm circled her back, completing the embrace.
Reflexively, Toga pulled away, but Bakugou kept his grip loose to let her know she wasn’t trapped. She strained away from him a few moments and Bakugou could feel her hot breath on his collar as she debated biting him. Toga closed her mouth and Bakugou heard her breath out her nose, long and slow, before all tension left her body. She sagged against him, limp, arms dangling at her sides. Bakugou tightened his embrace to support her.
It soon became clear Toga was in no condition to support her own weight, so Bakugou hefted her just enough to spin them around so his back was against the wall. He bent his knees, keeping Toga’s head cradled to him, and they slid to an exhausted heap on the ground.
They arranged themselves as comfortably as possible. Bakugou slouched against the wall with his legs out, one straight and one slightly bent, cradling Toga lightly to his chest. She was twisted in a way that most people would consider stress torture, but her muscles were relaxed.
They were no longer clinging to one another. Bakugou’s hold around Toga was loose, hands holding the opposite wrists to keep his arms taunt. She had one hand placed lightly on his chest, cheek resting against him and her face to the side.
Bakugou propped his chin on her head. At this angle all he could see was the rusted steel beams that supported the ceiling. The music pulsed in opposition to their stillness. Bakugou closed his eyes and focused on stilling his body. At his current level of exhaustion it didn’t take long for his pulse to even and the arousal in his lap to settle. Toga was silent and motionless, and someone who didn’t know her might assume she’d fallen asleep.
This was it, this was the least heroic thing Bakugou could possibly do. To find tranquility in the company and closeness of a Villain. There was no coming back from this one.
The music stopped and the building rang with cheers. Noise from below gradually lessened and eventually a barely audible ‘last call’ sounded. Neither moved, a mutual and stubborn decision to continue ignoring everything outside their steel room.
A second, more testy last call came and the both groaned resentfully. Toga sat up and gave a huge yawn, covering it with delicately spread fingers, then used Bakugou’s stomach as a springboard to push herself standing. She flowed into a luxurious stretch as Bakugou rubbed his offended belly and growled on his way to his feet.
Distracted, Toga didn’t notice as Bakugou lined up his swing, then gave her a hard slap on the ass.
Toga yelped and whirled on him, holding her bottom as her eyes smarted with tears.
‘That’s for pulling my hair.’ Bakugou smirked. Toga bit her lip and pouted, but didn’t argue.
Smug with victory, Bakugou dragged the couch away from the door and held it open for Toga, bowing with mock chivalry.
Toga stalked past him with a huff, pausing just long enough to stomp on his foot. Despite his boots, the blow hurt and Bakugou gave a grunt of pain. He glared after her, slamming the steel door behind them so hard it finally gave up the ghost, clattered off its torn hinges to the ground.
They followed the last few laughing stranglers outside and down the dark alleyway. Once out, they took the same turn and walked side by side for a while, the distance between them a mark of familiarity. Toga had covered her hair with a ball-cap that featured a pink and black Uravity logo. Bakugou was itching to wash the mess of dried out gel and dye from his. At the end of the block they took a step in the opposite directions then paused. They stared awkwardly at one another, not sure how to end their encounter or if this should even be the end.
‘You said you have nowhere to stay tonight?’ Bakugou recalled. Toga flinched, nodding.
‘Do you want to stay with me?’ Bakugou offered, hesitant but sincere.
Toga cocked her head slightly, regarding him silently. Her amber eyes were bright in the lamplight. Bakugou didn’t know what to expect, or which answer he wanted.
Toga shook her head. ‘Nah, I’ll crash with Jin.’ She answered, smiling. It was a regular smile, no canines or mania.
Tension Bakugou didn’t realize he’d been holding eased. This was the right thing.
He opened his mouth to tease her about acting almost normal when Toga hit him with a series of swift pats on the cheek that were too sharp to be purely affectionate.
‘Maybe next time!’ Toga cackled as she danced away. Bakugou cursed after her, covering his smarting cheek with his bandaged hand as the pain in his chin reawakened.
Already halfway down the block, Toga stopped her skipping and twirled to face him one last time. She gave a huge, two armed wave, typical toothy smile returned, before cupping her hands over her mouth and calling,
‘Eviscerate you later!’
‘That's not a normal goodbye!’ Bakugou shouted after her, then muttered, ‘Fucking psychopath.’
He watched Toga disappear before continuing his own route home. He moved his hand from stinging cheek to pounding jaw, knowing it would hurt like a bitch tomorrow when he went back to being Ground Zero. Bakugou walked on and felt his lips slide back from his teeth as a chuckle rumbled free.
- Fuck that guy. -
He, Bakugou Katsuki, would sleep good tonight.