Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

To hell with the League of Villains and their flaming pile of Paranormal horse-ass.
Nutsack-face man could kiss his exploding fists in the special torture chamber he’s occupying in the pit.

Bakugo could already feel his blood boiling as he stuffed a hand into the lower compartment of his desk to retrieve the unsuspecting envelope that lay waiting for him. An envelope that lay hidden in his desk, much like its predecessors had been for the past week.

He let out a shaky breath of barely contained rage. He had to keep himself calm to prevent his heart rate from going ham. Last thing he needed was his newly stitched heart, manufactured fresh from EdgeshotTM, to explode again because god knows that he wouldn’t be so lucky as to get a new one anytime soon.

“Oi, oi Sir Kaachan! Another visit from lover-ville, I see!” A buzz of bright blonde perched himself atop Bakugo's desk like he lived there, snatching up the envelope and giddily tearing it open, as the letter’s intended recipient’s glare of bloody murder bounced off his skull.

It’d been a good few months since the war had wrapped up, and they’d mailed the big Bads into the pits of Hell, packaging them up with a loving kiss on the ass. Overall, it’d been a pretty good time, despite the frequent check-ups at the hospital. Everyone had pitched in with efforts to help rebuild the city and wounds were slowly beginning to heal.
There had been mourning for those lost and there had been celebrations for all those still here. His parents and all his classmates had lived to see another day and that was enough for him - some dweebs were even keeping in contact with the navel-laser, sparkling bastard.

Crime rates had dropped significantly since the dark times following the Paranormal liberation war and things were returning to some sense of normalcy.

Bakugo’s days were fairly peaceful and he was able to bask in the glory of their successes for a while.

Of course, that was until the fanmails started and the spotlight of his win became slightly too blinding for his own liking.

Just over a week ago, letters from some crazed fan professing their love for him had been spawning in the drawer of his desk. Letters and gifts weren’t a novel occurrence since his victory (both of good and bad nature), but consistent letters from the same damn extra shoved into his desk were.
Letters that he’d chosen to ignore after reading the cringeworthy contents of the first two he’d received.

Bakugo ground his teeth and clenched his fingers into the sides of his desk like the intimidating warlord he was and definitely NOT like a petulant child (as an extra who apparently didn’t fear death had pointed out), watching his electric-wielding classmate skim through the letter.

An amused eyebrow curled upwards, accompanied by a smug smirk, on the electric quirk user’s face and Katsuki Bakugo could hear his desk creaking underneath his fingertips.

“ ‘I dream about you so much that I can hardly sleep at night!’ Looks like our class celebrity has quite the passionate fans, eh?”

He felt something pop in his jaw.
“I’M GONNA KILL THOSE DAMN EXTRAS!”

Well, so much for keeping calm. Guess he’ll have to ask the dumbasses to send over an apology to Edgeshot at his funeral.

“Hey, hey! Take a deep breath, Bakubro!”

Bakugo seethed, rigid shoulders relaxing slightly under the firm touch. He forcefully sucked air into his lungs, before pushing it out again, feeling the surge of anger simmer down, though still battling to be released.

Bakugo will admit that, at times of urgency, (and perhaps at times that weren’t so urgent) he could be reckless. I mean, that was part of being a hero wasn’t it? Moving before thinking and all that blabber that damn De-Izuku preached about.
(To all those extras who think he’s struggling with this dumb name stuff, HE IS NOT. Try training a reflex built up over more than a decade out of yourself and then talk.)
He was reckless, yes, but he wasn’t stupid.

He knew better than to keep fighting and letting his emotions go haywire, at the cost of dying a dumb death that wouldn’t even have the glory of a win on the battlefield to accompany it. Any residues of rage were concentrated through the glare he tried to shoot at the piss-yellow annoyance currently happily toying with HIS stuff, but, to his utter outrage, the glare went unnoticed yet again.

As the wave of anger subsided, the redhead beside him released his hold on his shoulders and let out a laugh.

“You know better than to wind up “our class celebrity”! Not cool, Kamibro. He just defeated a world class supervillain, let him chillax!”

At the scolding, Kaminari let out an exaggerated sigh, making a show of rolling his eyes and slumping forwards to splay out all over the silently-seething blonde’s desk.

“Argh, I don’t get it!” He whined out, “What about his jerkish attitude attracts all the chicks??”

“What’s this about chicks?” A girl sporting a dark bob, with one ear bandaged up, joined the group, alongside a girl in pink who locked eyes with Kaminari and grinned smugly.

“It’s Bakugo’s love letters again,” Kirishima chuckled nervously, eyes flitting down to scan his friend’s reaction before continuing, “Those first years are intense, aren’t they?”

The pinkette sauntered over to join the electric blonde and plonked herself down, holding her head in her hands and staring deeply at the boy in question.

“Hmmm…” she tilted her head slightly to the side, feigning deep concentration. “Maybe without that scowl I might be able to see the appeal.”

At those words, Bakugo only proved to deepen his scowl and stared threats of murder into the two pools of black scleras staring back at him.

Mina just beamed and then turned her attention upwards to the redhead.

“I thought Bakugo would’ve loved the attention he’s getting. Y’know, being Lord Explosion and all?”

“ITS GREAT EXPLOSION MURDER GOD DYNAMIGHT TO YOU, RACOON EYES!” He bellowed, then snapped his head down towards his lap to seethe in peace.

The group went silent for a few moments, looking around at each other, before bursting into fond laughter.

“ITS NOT FUNNY DAMMIT!”

In a way, Racoon Eyes was right. He had enjoyed bathing in the light of praise and glory. It was something he really basked in, alongside the thrill of winning and his hard-set determination of becoming No.1. However, throughout his journey at UA, attention and praise has slowly been sinking lower on his list of priorities.
Now don’t get him wrong, he still enjoyed the recognition he got after a victory and it was nice to see his efforts being appreciated, no matter how much he barked and growled in protest. The acknowledgement was a rewarding, albeit an annoyance sometimes, but he only enjoyed it to the extent of admiration. He enjoyed the feeling of his pride being stoked on by those around him being in awe of his abilities and his heroics.
He liked it when his hard work was recognised - when all those years of blood, sweat, broken bones and plummeting from treetops were seen.

However he had a limit to how much of the spotlight he could handle and that was where he drew the line.

At first, the praise showered upon him served as a nice stroke to his ego and he accepted it with minimal grunts of feigned annoyance. But as time dragged on, the inconveniences began to overshadow the brief moments of satisfaction as he found himself having to avoid crowded places and hide under tacky hats and hoods in order to get a few moments of peace in public. His only consolation was knowing that Todoroki was probably suffering through the same fate, having complained about being unable to go out to eat soba in a throwaway comment earlier that month.

Now these letters weren’t like the glory and praise he glowed under.
These letters were a whole different kind of attention that he wasn’t entirely familiar with.
It was the icky, Deku-esque attention that made his skin crawl and never failed to get his blood pumping all throughout his early childhood up till recently. In fact, his stand-offish demeanour and violent personality had worked to save him from such attention for the most part, even if not purposefully.
It made him uncomfortable.

Somewhere within the laughter, stupid Deku must’ve approached because apparently a side effect of danger sense must’ve been knowing exactly when someone is thinking about you and then sliding in to join the conversation like some kind of wannabe main character.

“I don’t think these letters mean anything bad, Kaachan!” He said, giving one of his stupid nervous grins and scratching his mop of green hair.

“SHUT UP DAMN DE-…IZUKU!!!”

“Aye, aye, Mr Celebrity. Still struggling with the Deku-Izuku mix?”

“Guys, don’t rile him up!”

It was just when Bakugo was ready to leap up, hardened hands pressing down on his shoulders or not, when Ears decided to raise her hand to break up the inevitable fight.

“Hey Kaminari, could you pass me the letter?”

The Dunce grinned, reeling back his arm and throwing it over into waiting hands, blowing a kiss as he released the paper.

“Catch, princess,” he winked, being met with an eye roll in response, despite the very visible flush of pink painting the girl’s cheeks.

Now it was Bakugo’s turn to mentally roll his eyes.
He whipped around, ready to snatch the letter away from the girl when a series of small slips of paper fell out of the envelope.

The group peered down at the scraps hesitantly,

“Huh. I didn’t see these,” Kaminari said, peering over from the desk side, confusion etched across his face.

The slips consisted of small photographs and sketches, now all strewn out messily onto the floor. All of the slips contained an image of Bakugo in one way or another.

“Hey,” Kirishima spoke out lowly, brow furrowed as his eyes zeroed in on a photograph. “Isn’t that from our trip out to town a few days ago?”

The photograph captured an image of Bakugo, dressed in casual clothing. His expression contained his usual hints of mild irritation, with his signature scowl plastered onto his face. He appeared to be leaving the restroom, tissue paper scrunched up to wipe up his hands. All in all, he was unaware of the photograph being taken.

Now this…this was annoying.
Bakugo felt his jaw clench, feeling pairs of eyes stare at him as he examined each of the pictures.

There were multiple photographs of him, ranging from him walking around on campus or sitting down in lessons, to him lounging around at home, completely unaware of the prospect that anyone else could be watching him. The sketches all seemed to be portraits drawn of him from all different angles, portraying a range of facial expressions he must’ve made throughout the day.
This wasn’t some silly lovesick student. This was a creep. A stalker.

“Bakubro…”

“Eh?”

“Woah… talk about creepy.”

“Um…Kaachan?” Deku piped up, now by his side, “I think you should tell Aizawa Sensei about this…”

Bakugo locked eyes with him, red to green, before spinning around to face-

“OI! HALF’N’HALF!”

Todoroki, along with a fair number of his other classmates, had already joined the crowd in the corner of the form room to investigate the commotion. His mouth was set into a straight line as he eyed the photos and sketches.

“No.” He replied, eyes glinting, knowing what the explosive boy was about to ask. “I haven’t received anything like this. I have received a few gifts and letters, but not of this kind.”

…

Well kiss him goodnight but an exclusive stalker was not the kind of news he wanted in his letterbox this year.

Any unease was quickly transformed into a huff and an ugly scowl as he turned up his nose and jutted out his chin in an exaggerated show of annoyance, letting his classmates discuss the creepy array of photos amongst themselves.

The bell rang shortly after, and, after a few of the dimwits had the decency to clean up the contents of the letter and place them neatly on his desk, the crowd around him eventually dispersed.

Sure the letter was creepy, but stalkers were a run-of-the-mill problem. They weren’t some kind of code red danger alert. Hell, he’d be reporting Deku for all the BS he’d seen him doing if stalkers were the first thing on his mind.
Still, he’d rather not risk being mailed a photo of him taking a fat dump later (or whatever else those freaks were going to capture).
With a mind to hand the letter into Aizawa later to leave this problem for his teacher to deal with, Bakugo slumped comfortably down into his seat, legs stretched out as he listened to his homeroom teacher drawling out instructions.

———————————

When the end of the day was signalled by the bell, Katsuki rolled his shoulders to ease out the stiffness that had been settling into his body after sitting down for hours, and shoved his worksheets into his bag, tuning out the unnecessary chatter that buzzed around the classroom.

Just as he was about to leave his desk, the pale envelope tucked away in the drawer caught his eye.
Right. The stalker.
He’d forgotten to talk to Aizawa during lunchtime, prioritising the need to fill his own stomach. In fact, the entire morning commotion had completely slipped his mind.

He glanced up at the podium, only to find that his homeroom teacher had once again disappeared, probably cocooned away in his sleeping bag in a dusty corner somewhere.
With an internal groan, he snatched up the letter and tossed it onto the vacant front desk as he left the room, not bothering to humour the voices behind him, whining at him to wait. Whether Aizawa saw it or not, that was a problem for the Bakugo of tomorrow to sort out.

————————————

“PUT YOUR BACK INTO IT, IZUKU!”
Bakugo had a grin plastered on his face, chest heaving and eyes wild with exhilaration as he stared down the glowing green figure across from him.

Deku couldn’t help but mirror his friend’s excitement with a resolute smile.

“I’d never try to disappoint you with anything less, Kaachan!”

The boy crouched down to attack, feeling the familiar buzz of his quirk coarse through his veins, filling his body with a comforting warmth.

Bakugo widened his stance, digging his feet into the ground, preparing to counter as a flash of green whizzed towards him.
He tensed both arms, aiming a blast at the floor beneath his feet to propel himself upwards, just in time to dodge the figure that zipped by below him.
Crimson eyes darted up and narrowly evaded the leg that was coming crashing down on him from above, blasting it away, and flipping backwards through the air to land in a crouch on the concrete.

The fizzle of green electricity skidded to a halt opposite him once more and the soft crackling of light slowly faded out.

Midoriya opened his mouth to catch his breath, the panting quickly fading into a sigh. Glowing eyes gradually returned to their normal green hue as he looked up at Bakugo, smiling sheepishly.

“Sorry, Kaachan… I think that’s all I have for today.”

Despite the light-hearted facade, Bakugo could see through to the dejection that wallowed in the awkward chuckle, following the apology.

It wasn’t that Izuku didn’t want to fight anymore - he’d barely broken a sweat and his fingers were fidgeting at his sides with unused adrenaline - it was that he couldn’t fight anymore.

It was no secret that the flames of OFA were dwindling out. The two had spent a greater amount of time than Bakugo would ever dare to admit crying about it at the hospital. It’d been hard to come to terms with but there was little that the two of them could do. Therefore, they'd agreed to make the most of the time Hero: Deku had left with his quirk, meeting up as often as possible to spar it out.
And (even though Izuku definitely already knew with how much he’d seen him pathetically bawl his eyes out) Bakugo would never admit just how much it hurt knowing that his childhood friend’s dreams were going to be snatched from him. How much it hurt knowing that both their dreams were going to be snatched away. After all they’d gone through together.
After all Deku had gone through.
They were meant to be heroes together dammit.

Instead, Bakugo just tch’d, relaxing his stance and walking towards his friend.

“Was getting tired anyway,” he grumbled stubbornly, hands shoved into the pockets of his joggers.

They both knew it was a lie.

Deku chuckled lightly in response, eyes still melancholy but a grateful smile on his face.

….
“Sorry, Kaachan.”

“Dont apologise for useless sh*t, Izuku.”

They both stood side-by-side for a few moments, taking in blissful silence under the cover of the starry night sky, unspoken words floating between them.

It was then that Deku started, hands reaching into the pockets of his shorts for something that wasn’t there.

“Hah?!”

“I think I left my phone in homeroom…”

…..

“…..Dumbass.”

Deku sighed, fingers scratching at the shaven side of his head, casting an apologetic look at his friend once more.

“Sorry, Kaachan… I’ll go grab it but I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a goodnight!”

And with that, the boy spun on his heel and started jogging towards the main school building.
It was only when he noticed a pair of footsteps continue to jog beside him that he turned his head once more.

He laughed despite himself.
“Kaachan, it’s fine! I can go alone.”

The blonde beside him just huffed, eyes trained forward.
“You don’t even know if the classroom is still open, idiot. Besides, nothing else to do.”

The greenhead just hummed in response and the two of them silently made their way up to the door with 2-A plastered on it.

With a hint of hesitance, Deku pulled the door handle of the classroom, slightly shocked when the door actually swung open.
The two padded inside.

Bakugo hung idly by the door, waiting as Deku scrambled to his desk, searching for his phone.

His eyes scanned the room.
It was different seeing their homeroom in the dark, empty. It felt strange without the typical crowd of rowdy teenagers to fill the large space.

It was then that a familiar slip wedged into his desk caught his eye, its pale corner poking out from his drawer.

He glanced back at Izuku, who was still fumbling around at his desk, somehow managing to bump into other chairs and desks through God knows what logic, before creeping towards his own desk.
Sure enough, there lay another envelope, sitting innocently in all its glory. He let his fingers trail around its edges as he recalled the events of the morning, before haphazardly ripping it open, not caring as little shreds of the wrapping sauntered down into a halo at his feet.

Just like this morning, a large letter fell to the ground, followed by little square slips.

He crouched down, shoving aside the letter, to focus his attention on the slips- the photographs and sketches. He turned them over in his hands, sifting through them, anger beginning to bubble in his gut.

More photos.
Some of him with his head down, working intently during class. Some of him staring absentmindedly at the train station, glaring at no-one in particular as he awaited his ride home for the weekend. More shots of a wild Bakugo. More and more and more and more. Some close-up shots of his face as he yawned, stretched or cracked a satisfied grin.

And he was pissed.

That grin was reserved for a select few people during the rare moments they’d done something worthy of the praise of Lord Dynamight, not for some random creep, stalker.
Each photo added heat to his boiling anger, which the mini Edgeshot in his chest was not appreciating.

And lord above. Not only was Katsuki a genius, but he was also a fortune teller apparently.
The very last photo in his hand was one of him in the school bathroom standing in front of a urinal, hands in front of his pants as he’d just finished his stream.

What a goddamn, f*cking creep.

His eyes had only just managed to flick over to the sketches when he heard a noise of triumph from behind him.

“Found it!”

Katsuki hastily shoved the array of creepy pictures into his pocket as he shot back up, turning to face satisfied green eyes.

Deku waved his phone around, giving that apologetic smile of his.
“Sorry I took so long. Can’t see that well in the dark haha..”

It seemed that all Deku did these days was apologise. Apologise, apologise, apologise. Bakugo bet that Izuku would even apologise if it started raining during the damn school festival or something.

He huffed, hands back in his joggers, fingers scrunched around the bits of paper now sharing his pockets.
“Took you long enough.”

Deku walked over to the blonde, when his eyes landed on the letter and the scraps of paper that once made up its envelope. Bakugo didn’t stop him when he reached down to pick the letter up.

“Another one, huh?” he smiled warmly, as he unfolded the sheet of paper.

“Well, the creep should get a new hobby,” Bakugo scoffed. “Or put all that writing passion into a damn novel.”

Deku hummed absently. His eyes squinted as he tried to make out the words on the page in the darkness.
Bakugo stood there, watching Deku’s face twist into a frown.

He cocked an irritated eyebrow and began tapping his foot when the boy seemed to double take and turn on the torch on his phone to reread the letter.

He heard the clock ticking steadily overhead, his heart thumping in time to the TICK, TICK of its hands.

As time trickled by and they were still standing in that dark room, whatever unease Katsuki had at Deku’s shock was quickly overshadowed by his impatience.

“HAH?! HURRY UP WITH YOUR NOSING ABOUT, DE-….IZUKU! SOME OF US PREFER TO HAVE A HEALTHY SLEEP SCHEDULE!”

Okay, mini-Chestshot did not like that outburst, from the way his heart began to ache slightly.

Deku startled, as if he’d forgotten he even had company, eyes flicking up to meet irritated crimson, before returning to the sheet in his hands, lips thin with concern.

“I…I don't know, Kaachan…” he looked up once more to lock eyes. “These… ‘fans’ you have seem really passionate…mumble mumble… and I just have this feeling……mumble mumble mumble…..have you shown the photos from this morning to Aizawa-sensei?”

Now the unease was settling back in.

“Forgot, damn it,” he grumbled, snatching the letter from Deku’s hands to scan over the contents himself.

His eyes narrowed as he read.

The first part of the essay-worthy letter seemed normal enough.
A whole bunch of ‘your radiant ruby eyes’, ‘inspiring bravery’, and a bunch of other yawn-inducing comments about how appealing his appearance was, alongside a few bits about how in awe said stalker was of his contributions during the war.

It was the second half that made him raise an eyebrow or two.

Watching you sleep brings me peace, Katsuki. The way your face twists into such wonderful expressions…it fills me with desire as your heroics fill me with awe. Watching you eat sates my hunger and watching you smile brings me waves of joy. I want to get to know you, I want to desperately find the courage to talk to you. I can see your charm below that mask of anger you wear to keep others at bay and I feel pained knowing that no-one else can see just how glorious you are too. Every step, every breath you take, I want to share it with you. I want to share your blood, your sweat and your tears. I will support you through every victory and hardship and I will kiss the very ground that you walk upon. Your life is mine. I love you.

And so on.

Bakugo did a one over of the writing, vaguely aware of green eyes watching his face beneath brows furrowed with concern, just as he’d watched Deku read it moments before.

And all that he could think was: Wow. What a depraved little Shakespeare he had on his ass.
Sure, it was unnerving (and he could feel Chestshot agree, judging by the quickened beating of his heart), but what was he to do now?
It wasn’t as if he was in any immediate danger.
Well.
That was if the whole ‘watching you sleep’ and ‘Your life is mine’ part wasn’t thought about too hard.
Still. He’d fought in two wars and emerged victorious against a good batch of fairly seasoned villains. He could handle a peeping Tom. He just had to stay extra vigilant of stray cameras while he was doing his business.

He steeled his expression, easily allowing what creeping sense of unease he’d felt bleed into mild irritation. What was a bigger problem was probably the paranoid, bleeding heart of the boy currently in his company. He knew that stupid Deku would take any sign of discomfort from him as a reason to knock down Aizawa’s door and send a search after the poor lovesick lunatic. Sure enough, word would get around and then he’d be surrounded by his own personal bodyguards, tailing him wherever he goes, which would basically be the same as having a weird stalker.
Just without the unsolicited photos.
And detailed portraits.

Ah, the sketches. He hadn’t looked at those yet.

He had half a mind to whip them out of his pocket on the spot but he was aware that he had no idea what he was going to see and he was also aware of the concern practically pouring out of his childhood friend, so decided he’d rather be alone when he examined them.

He snorted.

“Should be writing poetry with the passion poured into this trash.” He then shoved the letter into his pocket, next to the photos, and made his way out of the classroom, back hunched in annoyance.

“Still, Kaachan-“

“HAH?! You tryin’ to get me all sleep-deprived, Dek-IZUKU?!”

He heard Deku scramble to catch up to him, spluttering excuses, before they fell into an awkward silence for the rest of the way back to the dorms.

———————————-

After exchanging good nights with the crowd of stragglers lazing around in the common room area ( and by that, he meant his classmates pleading for him to stay to watch a movie and him barking about it being 8pm), Bakugo found himself alone in the elevator with Todoroki, who was evidently trying to start a conversation through his eyeballs. They stood together in silence.
He offered no response to the curious eyes watching him and bid the boy a grunt in farewell when he reached his floor.

He trudged to his room, walking a little faster than usual, and closed the door with a loud slam behind him to announce his arrival.
He pulled off his clothes, which were mildly damp with sweat and spotted with bits of dirt, throwing them into the laundry basket, before wriggling into a clean set of clothes for bed.

After killing all the germs that dared to plague his fangs of doom and relaxing into a steaming, hot shower to kill all the germs that dared to plague his skin, Bakugo found himself standing in a corner, shaking down his old joggers to release the bits of paper from their pockets.
Finding that he’d triumphed against his pockets and gotten all the scraps out from its clutches, he flung his trousers back into the laundry basket and dropped down onto the floor to investigate.

Amongst the many photos, the sketches gazed back up at him.
He felt his lip curl unconsciously as he challenged the familiar faces glaring at him. His face. And the longer he looked at them, the more frustrated he felt.
Who do they think THEY’RE glaring at?

A new development from the sketches that they’d discovered this morning were the full body sketches though.
The ones from this morning were all focussed in on his face. Some of these ones, however, seemed to trace his entire form.

They outlined every harsh line and curve of muscle and every little speck and imperfection on his skin. Battle scars and scratches that had only recently emerged and that would very quickly fade within the next few days.
Little parts of him that nobody should even know about, being hidden beneath his clothes, much less an outsider extra.

The only ones who’d even have the opportunity of seeing them would be his classmates during the times they changed for training, but he heavily doubted that any of them had enough free time to commit to such an elaborate ‘prank’.

Whoever was sending all this to him was definitely some kind of creep. (That much could be inferred from what kind of stuff they wrote in their little love letters).
But the concern was that they were a creep with a little too much access to his personal life. Someone who had a large enough opportunity to be capturing all these photos and sketching out still-lifes to slobber over in their little perverted nest. Someone who is able to capture sides of him even he was barely aware of (because he did NOT look like that whilst he slept).

Someone who’s been able to do all this without him knowing.

Katsuki is prideful but he’s self-aware.
He knows that sometimes he doesn’t catch everything that’s going on around him but SURELY… surely he’d notice if a stray camera'd been trained on him for at least the past week. He was a hero in training for god sake (and an aspiring No.1 at that). How could he have not noticed someone from outside his close little circle trailing him like this. What was he missing?

He scratched at his head in frustration, pulling at spiky strands. He was aiming for No.1 so he couldn’t afford to get sidetracked by distractions like this, but he couldn’t deny the creeping feeling in his chest that was getting more and more uncomfortable. He couldn’t deny that feeling of rage.
Because that was all it was.
Rage.

Katsuki Bakugo was a creature of pure fire and fury, born to spite all villains who escaped the pits of Hell. All he felt was the glow of victory and wrathful clutches of rage. Because he could not be worried, much less scared. Especially over some no-name loser stalker who he shouldn’t even bother wasting his breath over. He’d battled and won against a full on demon lord!

Still. He didn’t like the idea of having beady, little eyes on him without his awareness. He didn’t want to be watched that way. The only time that extra eyes should be on him is when he wins.

Flicking his eyes to the digital clock stationed at the head of his bed, he scowled. It was past his bedtime. This little stalker was keeping him up past his bedtime. It was bad enough that he’d let them interfere with his days, and now they were disturbing his nights.

Gathering the paper into a small pouch, Bakugo decided that he’d hand these in to Aizawa as well. His teacher would investigate them, alongside the envelope from his morning and that would be the end of it.

The pro heroes would probably catch the rat bastard in a day tops, give them a scolding or two, and all would be well for Katsuki to carry on his journey in the fast lane to becoming No.1.

——————————————-

Tick. Tick.

Tick.

BOOM!

Bakugo sat bolt upright in bed, palms outstretched and sizzling as his eyes darted wildly around the corners of his room, trying to catch glimpses of movement in the shadows.
The smell of burnt bedsheets wafted to his nose.

His chest rose and fell in rapid intervals and his breathing quickened.

Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t.

He did not like this.
He had to calm down.

One hand fisted at his duvet, grounding himself as he tried to slow down his breathing.

He did not do good with nighttime surprises.

Another downside of the war were definitely the reoccurring nightmares of his first year. Unwanted memories that he’d handled easily at first, but seemed to slowly be coming to the forefront of his mind more often since he’d gotten his new heart.

It wasn’t something worth complaining about though. If the cost of living was just a few bad dreams now and then, he’d take it with outstretched arms.

But someone had been in his room.

Someone was here.

It was one thing being mildly aware of photos being taken whilst he slept, but it was a whole other thing waking up whilst said unwanted guest was paying a visit.

Someone was here. Someone was here and had just touched his face.
Something slobbering and wet had just touched his cheek.

He took in a few sharp breaths and glared into the darkness.
His palms sparked, lighting up the room in tiny sections, and he sat there. Waiting.

After a good few minutes of staring down the darkness, he released another small explosion to catch any sign of unprohibited life hidden in his room.

….

No-one.

Tentatively, he slid off his bed, hands remained stretched in front of him. He crept around his room, sticking close to the walls, until he finally found the light switches, releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as the room was submerged in warm light.

He was alone. There was no-one else.

His hands dropped to his sides and he scrambled to grab his phone that was being charged on his bedside table.

Fingers fumbled and slipped across the screen as he swiped to pull up the camera.
Hesitantly, he turned it onto the selfie functions and raised the device to eye-level.

Sure enough, there it was.

Printed onto his cheek was a large, red lipstick stain. It stared at him through the phone screen, challengingly. Fat. Wet. Vibrant red.

He could see his face beginning to flush, heat rising to his head as his hands shook.

Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Edgeshot did not give you another chance for this.

He raised a finger gingerly to his cheek to touch the ugly stain.

It was more watery than he’d expected. In fact, as soon as he’d touched it, the stain began to lose its shape and drip down onto his chin.

It was then that a particular scent caught his nose.

He raised red-tipped fingers to his nose and sniffed.

…

His body froze for a split second, before he jumped into high alert, eyes frantically scanning his room once more.

Knock.

He jumped away from his wall, where the noise had come from, poised to attack.

….

“Hey Bakugo.. you good over there??”

He relaxed slightly at the sound of Kirishima’s tired voice drifting through from the other side of the wall, though he hesitated before responding.

“Yeah …Doin’ peachy, dumbass…”

He waited as the person yawned in response and all fell into silence.

….

But he’d smelt it.
The lipstick stain on his face.

It was an unmistakable smell.

He’d spent long enough on the battlefields to become well-acquainted with it.

Someone had come into his room.

Someone had come in and kissed a bloodstain onto his face.
Blood that he sure as hell hoped wasn’t his.

…
Neither his nor anyone else’s.

It was then that something on his desk caught his eye. Something that hadn’t been there when he’d fallen asleep.

A photo.

He stormed towards it, snatching the paper up.
A photo of him sleeping soundly barely minutes before, brows furrowed and lipstick- no. Bloodstain tainting his cheek.

He let out a growl.

DAMN IT.
Nobody messed with Katsuki Bakugo and lived to tell the tale, whether perverted stalker or deranged psycho murderer. Nobody messed with him.

Especially not during his battlesleep.

He fiddled with the picture between his fingers, mind already planning out twenty different ways to catch the slippery rat and get revenge, when he flipped it over and read the message stuck onto the back in scrapbook letters.

..

He paused his train of thought.
One look up. Another look up.
Clear.

Nobody there.

He gritted his teeth, feeling a blood vessel threatening to burst in his forehead.

Oh this bloody stalker wanted to tango.

…
.

”I see you.”

.

Chapter Text

Bakugo found himself groaning, head buried in his lap as he sat hunched over in his seat.

Since the interruption at around 2am that morning, he’d been denied proper sleep. Every ten minutes or so of squeezing his eyes together and tossing about on his bed, he’d be forced awake by the paranoia induced by the prospect of not being alone in his room.

He hadn’t received a goodnight kiss since he was about six, having threatened to bite the hag’s nose off had she continued to give them to him, so he definitely did not expect to receive one from a stranger over a decade later. Especially not one from blood-stained lips.

Still, it wasn’t like he was scared. That would be silly. The Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight didn’t do fear. He stayed awake because he was geared for a fight and the uneven thrumming of mini-Edgeshot was solely due to his hunger for battle. That was all.

So when the first rays of orange light tickled through the cracks in his curtains, he left his room with bloodshot eyes and an urge to scream in the middle of the hallway.

Instead, he opted to go for a quick run around the campus to burn off any unneeded adrenaline, deciding to use the time to trace his own steps over the last week, hoping to pinpoint any suspicious encounters that he may have had.

Fast forward a good few hours, Bakugo found himself slightly regretting that decision. Though the exercise had been a good release at the time, he’d really gained nothing from it except mildly achy joints and frustration at the lack of answers he’d dredged up.

Coupled with the lack of sleep, he felt like trash.
Though he wasn’t unfamiliar with nightmares, very rarely did he experience sleepless nights.
The very idea that he’d been unable to keep to his healthy sleep schedule did not help ease the light throbbing in the back of his head that was significantly souring his mood.
So forgive him if he wasn’t in the mood for the pointless hollering in his eardrums that morning.

“Ka! Ka! Kaachan of the Bakugo’s!!!” Kaminari threw himself on top of his friend’s desk, before snaking his hand into the drawer below.
He frowned.
“Huh. No secret lover today?”

The bright blonde blinked at the hunched form in front of him and shrugged, a cheesy grin forming.

“Guess they realised your attitude wasn’t worth it and decided to switch over to someone more charismatic, after witnessing my electric charm.”

“SHUT IT!”

Bakugo stuck on his signature scowl as more people began to hover around and descend into meaningless chatter with one another.

He closed his eyes, gathering information up in his brain library.
The letters usually appeared every morning when he arrived in homeroom. Yesterday morning, he’d found one in his drawer, as per usual, and that was when they’d discovered the photos and sketches. Of course, the creepy ass paparazzi pictures had probably been happening since earlier on, but he’d never bothered to take a peek inside the envelopes past day one and two. After the first two days, he’d stuck to shredding the envelopes over bins around campus, up until yesterday’s events.
That means, of the twelve he’d received, they could’ve started anywhere between days 3-11.

After finishing training with Deku at around 7:00pm, he’d discovered yet another one in his desk, but this morning there weren't any tacky stalker envelopes in sight. The obvious conclusion drawn from that was that the creep was sneaking into their class after school hours to slip their creepy poems and souvenirs inside his desk.
The anonymous sender was almost certainly another UA student (and he didn’t want to even entertain the idea of an outsider having such easy access to the school).
They were a UA student who was close enough in proximity to him to pass him multiple times throughout the day, or a student who had some sort of stealth quirk.

Overall, there wasn’t much the creeper left behind to narrow down his suspects.
However there was one valuable piece of information. They always visited everyday after school. They snuck in some time after the bell and before 7pm.

And oh boy was Bakugo looking forward to the sound of the last bell.

But before that, he had another task to do before it slipped his mind again.

————————————

The lunch time bell rang and a quick glance around the room told Bakugo that a good portion of the class had already mentally clocked out before the ring.
No wonder those extras were always fumbling behind when they probably spent more brain energy on deciding what to stuff their faces with than taking notes.

He grabbed the pouch of evidence from his backpack and stashed it into his pockets, before scraping his chair against the floor to stand.
He mentally smirked at the variety of groans that the screech caused.
Yeah, if the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight is forced to succumb to headaches then he’d gladly share the love. Sharing is caring.

His classmates slowly filtered out of the classroom, just as Aizawa dragged himself in, nodding in acknowledgement to Ectoplasm who had finished packing his teaching materials. Kirishima was loitered near the back of the escaping crowd, eyebrows raised with curiosity.

“Oi, Bakugo! You joining?”

Bakug waved a random photo from the pouch in response and grunted. The redhead’s mouth formed a silent ‘O’, before grinning with recognition. With that, he gave his friend the double finger guns in encouragement and left to load up on a heap of protein.

SLAM

Aizawa’s uncovered eye slowly looked up at the student before him, head still lowered over the stack of papers he was going through.

“TRACK THIS TRASH!”

The dry eye then slowly tracked back down to the pouch on his desk. The force of the slam caused its contents to spill out, mixing messily with the paperwork he was going through.
At that, the hero didn’t even attempt to suppress his audible sigh.

Bakugo watched, chin jutted out and glaring, as Aizawa slowly reached out to the envelope that had spilled out of the pouch.

Aizawa skimmed through the letter, then briefly rested his eyes upon a few of the upturned photos on his table, face unchanging.

“Your fans are quite passionate.”

He growled.
“I DON’T WANT THESE CREEPS ON MY ASS!”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow and glanced at his chest.
Oh shoot. He felt his pocket Edgeshot strain slightly with disapproval at his outburst. Damn it.

…
“I don’t want a weirdass creep on my ass…”

That seemed to satisfy the pro hero, who nodded. He placed the envelope back down on the desk in front of him.

“It is expected that you would attract a lot of attention, especially after your exploits.” There was a hint of warmth to his words, despite the poker face.
“Usually people like these don’t turn out to be too big of a problem - they come and go.”

Bakugou frowned.

“Regardless, they have invaded your privacy. I will make sure to keep an eye out and alert your other teachers to ensure that this will not continue. Keep focussing on your path ahead and we will handle the rest.”

Aizawa’s eye caught his, a hint of something slipping past his solid mask.

“Thank you for coming to me with this, instead of trying to deal with it on your own.”

Aw damn it. Aizawa-sensei was so freaking cool sometimes.

“Hah? I’m not dumb. I know the procedure for this riffraff,” he scoffed out, turning away.

“Wait.”

Bakugo slumped, one foot out the door.

“Is there anything else that needs to come to my attention?”

There was a stretch of silence as the blonde quirked an eyebrow in mock confusion, though a hint of his feral grin couldn’t help but peek through.

Sure, Aizawa-sensei was damn cool..

“Nothin’ else, unless you're planning on invading my privacy instead.”

And with that, the large door with 2-A plastered over it slammed behind him.

Aizawa-sensei was cool alright. But not cool enough to stop him from hunting that little rat himself.

Nobody messed with the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight and lived to tell the tale.

————————————

For the most part, Bakugo had been keeping his eyes and ears sharpened throughout the day.
And, to his utter misfortune, everything seemed relatively normal. No sneaky cameras caught his eye, no matter how many times he violently whirled around, in hope to catch the rat off guard.

At first, the bunch of ragtag losers around him seemed slightly concerned but, after individually assessing that it wasn’t anything serious, they had started joking around about how he’d started going feral after not tasting the blood of the battlefield for so long.
And, in part, that was the very very slightest bit true, though he definitely did come into contact with someone’s blood alright.

But he wouldn’t be void of battle for long. Even if he couldn’t catch them in their paparazzi act, he’d pounce on them during their daily mailman duties.
Still, it would be nice to confront them beforehand.

Bakugo huffed in frustration. His combat boots were getting a little too small for him and were a struggle to pull on nowadays. He was due for a costume renovation.

The changing room was empty by now and he was the last one left. And that was infuriating.

Of course the dumbass duo (dunce and sh*tty hair respectively) had offered to stay behind but like hell he’d let them have the satisfaction of laughing at him as he fought against his boots.

He plonked himself down on a bench and pulled once more, releasing a primal growl in hope that his boots would be intimidated into obeying.
Unfortunately, his costume was just as stubborn as its owner.

Creakkk.

His head snapped round as another person snuck into the changing room.

“Ah! Kaachan!”

“Dek-Izuku???”

Deku smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head with the hand that wasn’t carrying his costume case.

“We’re in training. You can just call me Deku, Kaachan.”

“I’ll call you whatever I want, snail trash!”

“Kaachan…”

The two fell into silence, though Bakugo was acutely aware of the other beginning to change as he resumed his own struggle.

Something felt off. His brain sparked an alert.
Something was wrong and he knew what it was.

In the corner, Deku had already finished changing and was now fiddling with something on his phone, back facing him.

“…Oi, Deku…”

“Hm?”

Bakugo kept his eyes carefully trained on his boots, though he’d stopped pulling at them.

“What kept you?” He looked up.
“You slacking on training or what?”

Deku glanced round at him, his lips curving downwards slightly.

“Well, All Might wanted to catch up before heroics…”

“…”

The boy’s frown then gave way to his usual sheepish expression.

“And when I got back I couldn’t find my hero costume…so I had to grab my spares from the support department.”

“…”

His sheepish expression then morphed into one of slight panic, realising Bakugo’s own look of suspicion hadn’t gone away.

“I-I must have misplaced it and then I lost track of time trying to find it again!!”

Bakugo watched as the boy frantically stammered an explanation, waving his hands about, in hope to dispel whatever had drawn suspicion towards him.

“Misplaced?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah! I looked for it in the usual shelves but it just… wasn’t there…” Midorya trailed off, before suddenly jolting back to attention.
“But I’m sure it’s nothing odd! I must’ve accidentally left it somewhere and forgotten it!”

That was it. If what he’s thinking is correct, then the statements line up.

Bakugo rose to his feet, throwing his combat boots harshly against the wall with a muffled thump.

“Oi, Deku.”

He could see a bead of sweat drip down the freckled face in slow motion as he strode towards him. He stopped a good five paces in front of the boy, whose eyes darted about with confusion and nerves.

“Your middle school.”

“Huh?”

Adrenaline began to pump through Katsuki’s veins and he almost felt tempted to grin.
If what he was thinking was right…

“What’s its name.”

“Kaachan..? What’s this abou-“

“ANSWER ME!”

“KAACHAN WHAT’S-”

“ANSWER, DAMN IT!”

“WE WENT TO THE SAME ONE! ALDERA MIDDLE SCHOOL! IT'S ALDERA!”

“….”

“……..”

The two stared at each other, eyes wide and chests heaving. Tension hovered in the air.

“…Kaachan-”

“Bakugo.”

The two boys turned in unison to see mismatched eyes gazing back.

Todoroki stood in the doorway, face giving way to a puzzled expression. He then caught sight of the discarded boots, which had been thrown at the corner of the room.

“Midoriya?”

“HAH?! Spit it, Half’n’half!”

The dual quirk wielded pursed his lips in a way that hinted at him wanting to comment on something, though he ultimately decided against it, discarding the thought with a few quick blinks and turning to face his fuming classmate.

“Aizawa-sensei wanted me to come get you.”

Bakugo tch’d and stepped back from the sweating face a few inches before him, instead brushing past the messenger in the doorway.

He heard the other two scamper after him.

“Kaachan, what was that about?”

“Bakugo, your shoes…”

He ignored the incessant noise of questions behind him, as well as the fact that he was walking towards the training area in his socks.

His idea still held weight. Considerable weight now, as a matter of fact. Even if his initial intuition hadn’t been fully on the gold.

“Kaachan?”

…Because he’d just seen two Dekus.
Or, more precisely, one Deku and a sneaky little rat.
He’d felt something was off as soon as this Deku entered the changing room. That was because, just a few minutes earlier, a scumbag asshat imposter had just changed into a certain green hero costume amongst his classmates. And the imposter was wearing Deku’s face. A voice in his head was screaming something, but he pushed it aside. Having spent the day riding out a headache, he didn’t want to distract himself by overthinking.
If he was lucky, then the rat would be somewhere in the training grounds. Whether this was the stalker or not, he’d be frying up some rodents for tea.

“Bakugo.”

Todoroki jogged up beside him. Besides a short flicker to his classmate’s face, he paid no notice to the feral grin now spreading over it.

“Bakugo. Do you really plan to wear just socks to training?”

Red eyes, glowing with excitement, darted to challenge mismatched ones.

“You tryin’ to say I can’t beat your ass without shoes?”

The two-toned boy frowned in response.
“I just think that Aizawa won’t be very happy with you turning up without your footwear.”

And Aizawa sure wouldn’t be happy to see what he was gonna do to little Fraudzuku in a moment.

Suddenly, he froze. The voice in his head barked a clog into motion in the back of his mind.

“Aizawa? Wasn’t All Might going to take this lesson?”

Todoroki skidded to a halt, back pedalling a few steps to stand beside him, (when he well-knew that he should be standing behind him, that asshole).

“All Might isn’t in today. I think they said something about food poisoning.”

His grin dropped.

Well, All Might wanted to catch up before heroics…

If All Might wasn’t in today then-

“Ah. No wonder you were so suspicious today, Bakugo.”

He whipped his head round and released a heavy blast in the direction of the voice.

THAT ABSOLUTE RAT BASTARD!

He charged into the plume of smoke he’d caused, arms raised to attack. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Todoroki fall into stance, though confusion evident through the split moment of hesitation.

He flung his arms at the silhouette of his childhood friend, only to meet nothing. Once the smoke cleared, the space where the boy was supposed to be was empty.
A look left. A random general studies class was being lectured by their teacher. A look right. Some business course students were huddled in a group, muttering over a clipboard. In front, students from all different courses were walking by, busy with their own lives.

He threw his arms up into the air and roared.

Damn it!!!

He’d been so close, but he just had to be careless. Of course any random old extra could find a detail such as their middle school with a bit of digging. Especially if they were some obsessive weirdo. This is why five step verification existed! And this is why you shouldn’t stay up at night or you’ll find yourself making STUPID mistakes such as this!

He seethed inwardly as Todoroki came to stand near him, a look of concern settling on his face.

“You go after him. I can go back and tell Aizawa that someone has been impersonating Midoriya.”

Bakugo felt something in his neck click, with the speed at which he snapped his head round to face the other.

“YOU-!?” He felt his heart thud uneasily.
He had to breathe. Calm. Calm.

“Did you know?” he hissed out, rage tangible through the strain of his voice.

Todoroki looked away. His eyes squinted as if he were weighing up what he should say. He then looked back, locking eyes.

“I wasn’t sure. I saw Midoriya in the training-”

“YOU SAW HIM THERE AND YOU DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING WHEN YOU SAW A WHOLE ASS COPY-PASTE IN THE CHANGING ROOM?!”

Mismatched eyes steeled, waiting for the other’s seething to lessen, though the evident worry that crinkled the corners of the grey and blue eyes didn’t help to ease out the anger.

“I was cautious. I was uncertain as to whether he truly was an impersonator or if Midoriya had just run to you before me, as I hadn’t paid too much attention to whether he had left the training grounds during that time.” He paused.
“And I was also unsure as to which Midoriya was the fake, as I’m sure you were previously assessing.”

Damn it all.

The slippery coward had probably reverted back to their original form by now. Though that was considering they had control over how long they stayed camouflaged as someone else. If there was even the slightest chance that they were still loitering about as a second Deku, he’d take it.

He crouched down and stretched his arms out behind him, feeling sweat collect on his palms.

“Be sure to check if the real Izuku is there when you get there, you blind airhead!”

Before he could be graced with a reply, he let his explosions pop out from his hands, propelling him away.

———————————

“Kaachan, I really don’t know!”

“Well, think harder then, Dek...ARGH IZUKU!!”

“Bakugo, I really don’t think he knows. Midoriya interacts with a lot of people.”

“LEAVE IF YOU DON’T HAVE ANYTHING USEFUL TO SAY, DAMN IT!”

Aizawa just watched as the three students sitting in front of him continued to squabble. He massaged his left temple with one of his knuckles to ease the incoming migraine.

They really weren’t getting anywhere like this.

“Enough.”

The room fell into silence and the three looked up at him expectantly.

“Midoriya, can you really not recall any interactions you’ve had recently that may have flagged some suspicion?”

The green-haired boy straightened in his seat.

“Well, it’s as Todoroki says,” he sighs. “I’ve been trying to be more active with life around the school, but there aren’t any people that really stood out to me, in that regard. I was more trying to get to know people.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow.

“And did any of the students you’ve interacted with have an appearance altering quirk, or anything along those lines?”

An expression of disappointment spread across Midoriya’s face and he looked down at his lap.

“I…I didn’t catch everyone’s quirks.”

“HAH?!” The firecracker beside him exploded, hands threatening to throttle him. “What’s the point of talking to all those damn people if you’re not gonna ask about their dumbass quirks?! You hit your head on Half’n’half’s glacial asstrick or something, you dim-witted numbskull?!”

Chaos ensued once more and Aizawa just leant back against his seat and sighed. A crease had begun to form in his brow. The situation wasn’t dire, but still. Why?

“Bakugo.” The three students looked back at the teacher. “It isn’t Midoriya’s job to make a profile on everybody’s quirk and what they are for lunch.”
At that, the blonde snapped his jaw shut, the shouting reduced to a low growl.

He continued.
“I’ve contacted the other staff and the principal, and we have little reason to doubt that this wasn’t pulled by a student,” But the question was why? “We will do a scan through student profiles promptly to find who could be responsible. Did they say anything that could’ve hinted at a motive for doing this?”

At that, the freckled student looked over curiously to the other two. Bakugo had his usual scowl ironed on, whilst Todoroki kept his face stone blank. They both knew something. Just as Aizawa was about to press for more, the dual-quirk wielder spoke.

“They commented on Bakugo facing them with more suspicion than usual.”

Bakugo’s eye twitched, though he was clearly suppressing the urge to refute something back.

Aizawa needed a coffee top-up.
A memory from just earlier that day resurfaced in his mind, specifically the one involving the blonde.
He had been speaking truthfully, about how stalkers of that sort weren’t usually a major deal, but he had been feeling slightly more concerned than he’d been letting on. Thinking back on all that had occurred over the last year, it wasn’t a mystery why he was worried for the boy. Though not the greatest danger, obsessive stalkers could still prove a threat to his student, no matter if they were a fellow peer or not. Still, he knew a calm and rational approach would be most effective, as showing his concern openly could send the blonde spiraling into battle mode - something that he wanted to avoid if possible.

But now, if his intuition was right, they’d discerned that the stalker had been using their quirk, in order to get close to the boy. A transformative quirk of some nature. Either that, or an illusion type.

The question was whether there was any malicious intent behind what the anonymous student was doing. From what he’d read in one of the letters, they obviously had some unhealthy fixation on Bakugo, which, dangerous or not, had to be sorted out quickly as it was clearly violating the boy’s privacy.
Judging from the look of recognition appearing on Midoriya’s face, they seemed to be on the same train of thought.

“Bakugo, has the situation you brought up at lunch ever extended past what you showed me?”

Bakugo scoffed, folding his arms over his chest.
“Just ask the question properly.”

“Has the stalker ever attempted to make direct contact with you?”

All eyes were on the boy, who wore an expression resembling one of mild disgust, as if he’d just chosen a poorly flavoured jellybean.

“No.”

There was hesitation.

“Tell me the truth, Bakugo.”

The boy gritted his teeth, shoulders hunching inwards.

“No, dammit…Aside from today.”

So he’d also thought the fake Midoriya was the stalker. Aizawa narrowed his eyes. There was still something his student was reluctant to share.

“Bakugo. This could affect the rest of the class, as well. We won’t be able to accurately assess the situation if you don’t tell us everything you think could relate to this.”

The blonde hissed in his chair, refusing to make eye contact. He could see the sparks of contemplation battling behind his eyes, shadowing the red.

“I’m telling the truth.”

Aizawa sighed, pushing down the urge to press further. The determined look in the pair of red eyes told him that he wouldn’t manage to drag out any more answers, despite the fact that they both probably knew there was more that was being left unsaid. Regardless, Aizawa trusted his students. He trusted that, if the information was truly vital, Bakugo would tell him. So, with reluctance, he relented.

“Alright.” He locked eyes with the blonde across from him. “I trust you.”

The boy only levelled his stare, though he didn’t miss the minute squirming.

“You three go back and join the others for the last few minutes of class. Tell me if anything else comes up.”

With that, the three boys stood up and exited the spare classroom.
Aizawa immediately slumped down further into his seat, once he was left alone. Being a teacher certainly wasn’t for the weak.

He’d already talked with Nezu. There was no trace of anyone from outside sneaking into UA, disguised using a quirk or not, so he had almost no doubt that it was a student who had impersonated Midoriya. But why? Was it really just an obsessive, lovesick student or something else?

Just as he was about to stand up and leave, the door opened again. He raised an eyebrow in question, as Bakugo popped back in through the doorway.

“Sensei, I…” the boy gritted his teeth, conflict mixing with a hint of embarrassment. He then composed himself. “I think the school should up its sh*t dorm security.”

“Bakugo-”

Aizawa jumped to his feet but he could interrogate him on what he could be implying with such a statement, the boy had run off.

———————————

Ok. He’d admit that escaping from Aizawa like that wasn’t exactly his finest moment, but he wasn’t going to let him pester him further.
This was his business, dammit.

Looking at the ratass’s moves so far, he doubted that they would endanger the rest of his class. From the passionate BS being spewed in those letters, he seemed to be the sole target. He would’ve heard some commotion if someone else was receiving such sappy poetry.

Fraudzuku was almost certainly the creep. It just made sense how he managed to slip around him so frequently unnoticed. Because Bakugo, as much as he would never admit, wouldn’t think to go around accusing his classmates.
Still, judging from Deku’s reaction to all that, it wasn’t like the slippery creep needed to harm him in any way to take on his identity, like a certain bloodsucker’s quirk, (though lord knows who’d be so desperate to take the nerd’s identity of all people). That meant there probably wasn’t any immediate danger.

The only problem was that the little coward was most likely aware that they were now on their trail and, if there was a chance that this could come back and affect his classmates, he had to avoid leaving blind spots. So, he’d left the hint about the creep sneaking around in his dorm room and then made a tactical retreat (HE DIDN’T RUN AWAY).

He’d sat through the remainder of the last lesson, feeling those glances of concern around him like laser beams. It was irritating.
Just a few minutes before the final bell could ring, he raised his hand to ask to go to the toilet. Present Mic had been reluctant to let him go with so little time left, but gave in after he had threatened to piss himself right there and then, which caused a few muffled snickers around the room. Those annoying ass snickers suited the dumbasses much better than those ugly, unwarranted worried faces. Did they want to get wrinkles early and turn up to graduation looking like raisins drier than icyhot’s pathetic excuse for jokes, or what? Besides, he had to go before the lesson ended or he might risk losing his chance to go hunting for a certain, little rat. He didn’t need to tell Aizawa all the boring details if he just caught the creep straight away.

He was in the process of washing his hands, when another student entered the bathroom. The guy looked fairly plain, apart from dull, gingerish hair. They quickly averted their eyes upon meeting his gaze and began washing their hands a few sinks across from him. Bakugo returned his attention lazily to his hands at the sink, squirting a good mountain of soap into them.
OH, THAT’S RIGHT. DIE, YOU FILTHY GERMS, DIE!!!

That was when he heard it. As soon as he turned off the sink. Click.

The guy at the other sink froze. His phone was in his hand, trained towards the face now glaring at him.

“Oh.”
The bastard turned and sprinted towards the door.

Found you, sneaky ass rat.

Bakugo aimed an explosion at the door, no doubt leaving it and the person in front of it slightly singed, but just weak enough not to cause any proper damage.

He heard a high-pitched yelp and felt a grin form on his face. He chased after the coughing figure as they both ran out of the bathroom. There were students filling the halls by now, meaning lessons had already finished. He kept his eyes focussed on that dash of ginger just a few inches in front of him. At this point, he was practically on his heels.

“GET BACK HERE, CREEPY ASSHOLE!”

Now the hallways were busy and people around them stared at the spectacle occurring, murmuring amongst themselves. The rat squeaked at the sound of his roar, attempting to speed up.

Bakugo picked up the pace, hand outstretched to grab onto an arm, when he rounded a corner and collided with someone. He fell to the floor with a thud.

He looked at the figure who’d fallen across from him to see a floating set of girl’s uniform.

“Bakugo-?”

His eyes flitted to the crowd ahead, then to the clock on the wall above them, wary of the time. Shoot. He was going to lose his kill.

He jumped to his feet, yelling behind him.

“PESTER THE GRANNY IF YOU BRUISED YOUR ASS AND WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING!”

The hallway was so crowded by now, with students escaping back to their dorms, that he had to physically push past people to move forwards. The slow pace was causing him to start sweating with frustration, eyes darting desperately to spot that dull, ginger splodge in the sea of students.

He growled and his eyes darted back to the clock. It was after-school hours now.

It would be pointless running aimlessly through the halls to try catch the punk, when he wouldn’t even be able to use his quirk in case of accidentally catching randoms in the fray.

But the bell had already rung.
What happened during after-school hours?

The postman came knocking.

He turned on his heel and dashed towards the room labelled 2-A, knocking shoulders with countless people.

No person in their right mind would think of continuing their little delivery stunt after just narrowly avoiding death at his hands. Then again, no person in their right mind would be pressing their unwashed, stinky-ass, fatherless lips against the faces of sleeping people to kiss bloodstains onto them either.

He reached his formroom and slammed open the door.
And, boy had he hit the jackpot.

Inside, a kid in UA uniform, with a face he’d never seen before, stood near his desk. Icy-blue eyes snapped round to meet red, widening with shock. His hair was a dark navy, not the dull, year-old-Dorito colour he’d been expecting, but that didn’t matter at all.

“I-I-I j-just lost my way and w-was looking for some hel-”

“Game’s over, little rat-face, corridor-running creep.” Excitement buzzed through his veins as he savoured the look of fear at the little pops he let dance across his palms. “You already know I know about your cheap face-snatching parlour tricks. There’s no running now.”

The navy-haired boy inched away from his desk, face crumbling, as he cowered under the murderous grin of the beast menacingly making its way towards him.

Bakugo stopped as he reached his desk, not letting his eyes leave the other boy, and rummaged a hand into his desk compartment.

Sure enough, another envelope.

His smile widened.
“So, you saying this just happened to appear whilst your greasy fingers were tinkering with my property?”

The boy opened his mouth pathetically, beads of sweat pouring from his forehead.
And then he ran.

That PUSSY.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST ESCAPE, SONIC WANNABE?!”

He charged after him, murder on his mind.
The hallways had already almost cleared and the blueberry dashed through the doors and then, to Bakugo’s surprise, leapt out of a window.

Oh, that creep was NOT getting away.

Bakugo grabbed the window frame with one hand and blasted himself out, catching sight of a falling figure a metre below him.

Was he planning to die, just to escape him? After all those letters, saying how he’d so desperately wanted to meet the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight that he had even gone to the trouble of breaking into his room?? Well, now he was feeling a little offended.

Bakugo projected himself downwards, with a BOOM, and grabbed the scruff of the boy’s collar with one hand, using the other to direct them towards a shed behind the school that lay a few feet away.

He landed with ease, just in front of the small building, hand still gripped around the shirt collar.

The boy hung limply in his hold, whimpering.

He scoffed.
“You go through all this trouble to pester me, but you’re literally on the verge of pissing yourself when you see me face-to-face, huh?”

Tear-filled eyes pleaded up at him.
“I-it’s not me!!!”

Now this was getting slightly irritating.
“What do you mean?!” He growled. “You think I’d buy that flaming pile of garbage when I caught you loitering around my desk?!”

“I-I mean it!!! Someone ordered me to deliver it, b-b-but I didn’t write those letters!”

Bakugo harshly pulled the boy closer, still holding his collar. He glared down, their faces a hair’s breadth apart.

“Convenient, you little creep. Unfortunately, my BS detector is pretty strong,” he let the boy quiver a bit more. “Even if a flaming rat disrupts my sleep by slobbering all over my face.”

“…H-huh?”

“I smell smoke on you, you bastard.”

Watery eyes widened further, recognising defeat and probably also the incoming Howitzer impact that was going to add to their singed uniform, thanks to the bathroom explosion.

Bakugo’s hands crackled, making the boy begin to whimper again, when he suddenly hunched over in pain.

His chest.
A sharp stabbing sensation was spreading through his chest and he doubled-over, loosening his grip on the collar.

He’d been so worked up lately, he’d neglected paying closer attention to the currently weakened condition of his heart. All that sudden shouting and running had taken a toll on him.

Then, the sensation was gone.

He looked up at the boy who had stumbled a few steps away from him now. He had a hand on a device that was hidden under his sleeve and a wispy cloud of pale smoke was floating out of it.

He suddenly felt light-headed and he was vaguely aware of his knees giving out from under him.

Stupid support items.

He collapsed, face down in the dirt. His limbs felt stiff and he couldn’t seem to move. Overhead, he heard the clicking of a camera shutter.

Oh, that Smurf was so dead once he got back up.

He felt hands roll him onto his back and then heard another click go off. His vision was hazy, but he could make out a figure looming above him. A cold hand caressed his cheek for a second, before drawing back.

“I’m sorry, Bakugo. I really am.”

The voice was different from the weak, whimpering mess a few moments ago but it was definitely the same person.

The figure seemed to draw closer, probably sitting down next to him and leaning over.

“I just needed to know. I can’t live with myself if I let this moment pass me by.”

There was a faint rustling near his head.

“I really, really admired you for all you did during the war. And that’s why I need to know. I need to make sure.”

He wanted to gnash his teeth and bite something, preferably the face above him.

He heard a shing by his ear. The sound of a blade being drawn.

“And I noticed you were a fan of shoujo manga, so I thought you’d like the letters.”

Yeah. And he sure loveddd being paralysed on the ground and being forced into a one-sided conversation with someone who was clearly skipping out on a few therapy sessions. He desperately tried to thrash about, willing for his sweat to detonate.

POP!

The voice squeaked, and he heard the sound of shoes scraping across the ground as they scooted away.

He grinned.

POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP!

He let the small explosions gradually get bigger as their sparks danced in the air above him.

POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! SHING!

A searing pain jolted through his right arm as something sharp impaled one of his hands.

He let out a growl that didn’t form any sound, staying confined in his frozen mouth.

SHING!

Pain shot through his other hand.

He felt something warm and damp ooze out of his hands. It hurt. It hurts, damn it.

“Sorry, but I don’t want to get caught. Not yet at least.”

So he knew this was bad and he was still going around stalking and trapping people, despite wearing the uniform of a hero student. What a disgrace to the school. Who even admitted this kid in??

“You’re really strong, Bakugo,” the rat gasped in awe. “Like you’re really cool.”

He felt a hand rest on his chest.

“I just have to do this. It's really for confirmation. And if it works, then you’ll be even cooler.”

A thin blur was being raised over his body. No way. No way.

“A-and I warned you about what I was going to do in my fifth letter….And you didn’t object…”

Who even sat through and read through all that trash?! He wasn’t some sentimental sap who cried over every piece of fanmail like some of the other losers in class.

He willed for his explosions, despite the numbness in his hands.

BANG! POP! Fizzle.

The pain made him want to scream, but he didn’t care. Not after all he’d gone through. What he did care about, was the fact that the blasts were getting weaker and quieter and the blood was spewing more violently.

The figure jolted.

“No! Don’t do that!”

They waited, watching hesitantly as the pathetic excuses for explosions fizzled down, no matter how much they were willed not to.

“I’m sorry about your hands. But, if this works, then I’m sure Recovery Girl will get them all fixed up.

If this works, if this works, if this works. Well, what if it didn’t work? This sicko better release him before one of them ends up dead. And he sure didn’t want to think about who that would be, with the way things were going.

“I’ll come back for you, Bakugo.”

With that, the thin blur drew closer, until-

ARGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Something stabbed deep into his chest and he could feel copper coming up his throat and spluttering into his mouth.

It was getting hard to breathe and he was sure he was going to choke on his own blood faster than he’d actually bleed out.

He couldn’t go out.

Not like this.

Not after everything everyone had done for him.

Edgeshot.
He couldn’t let all Edgeshot’s efforts go in vain, just for him to die at the back of the school to a wish-wash, toilet plunger looking, chalkboard grating, putty-hearted nobody.

He thrashed about in the cage that was his body, kicking, screaming, anything.

Witnesses.

There were a few in the hallway when he’d jumped out the window. Surely, they’d call up a teacher or would’ve heard the explosions and called one anyway to break up a possible fight.

No. This was a hero school. Kids were constantly training their quirks.

Damn it. DAMN IT!

Consciousness was fading quickly, but he clung on. He couldn’t close his eyes or he wouldn’t rest in peace knowing he’d succumbed to such a pointless attack. NOT EVEN A VILLAIN ATTACK FOR GOD’S SAKE.

Sticky, warm liquid was oozing around his body.

DAMN IT! WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE?!

The world around him was a blur of black and white, but he needed to stay awake. ANYTHING.

POP! FIZZ. Sputter.

Pain, pain, pain. Every shock made him want to tear his arms off. He was going to choke. Pathetic coughs exited his lips, accompanied by blood.

His fingers. He could wriggle them. It was wearing off.

He held on. Just a bit more. A bit more and then he could move.

It was then that he heard footsteps.

Dull thuds that didn’t even sound like they were real. The thuds stopped. Some faint shouting.
Then running.

His eyelids drooped.

DAMN IT!

.