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Kirishima sat on her hands as blouses rained down from the depths of Bakugou’s closet. She wiggled her toes in her socks, scrolled her phone, and smacked her lips to while away the time until her friend walked out in a new outfit for review.
“This is bullshit,” Bakugou’s frustrated growl echoed from the walk-in. “I can’t find it. If the hag stole that shirt I’m going to—” Her grumbling continued, lower and unintelligible, as she went on searching. Kirishima never realized Bakugou had this much clothing to begin with and it made her a little envious. Then again, the blonde was about ten times more fashionable than Kirishima, and generally much better at staying on trends. She played with the fraying hem of her old thrifted t-shirt and noticed another hole along the stitches at the bottom. She sighed and smoothed it back down, only for it to bounce back to its well-worn and wrinkled state.
“Found it!” Bakugou’s fist thrust from inside the closet with a silky-sheer scrap of black fabric hanging from it. She walked out, half-dressed in fitted black slacks and a black bra, while fiddling with the buttons on the blouse. She pulled the shirt over her head and glanced once in the mirror, her blonde spikes askew and cheeks flushed from the exertion of trying on outfits for nearly an hour.
“Wow, finally! The fabric looks really nice—” Kirishima whisked her phone out of view and was quick to compliment.
“Ugh, no. Not this one either,” Bakugou sneered at her reflection. Kirishima thought it looked amazing and really accented her strong shoulders and elegant neck, but before she could say as much Bakugou had already disrobed and ventured back into the closet.
Kirishima deflated and flopped onto the floor where she sat, cushioned by the piles of discarded clothing. She picked at a few of the pretty, shiny shirts puddled on the ground and pressed them to her cheek, relishing the slide of high quality silk on her skin.
She sat up and pulled her ratty old t-shirt over her head. Kirishima was more top-heavy than Bakugou, but they were basically the same size as far as shirts went.
The silk slid across her skin like a dream. She flipped her long, red hair out from the collar and fumbled to close the tiny, smooth black buttons, then stood and admired herself in the mirror. Of course a black silk blouse with blue basketball shorts wasn’t exactly *the look,* but she swore she saw Bakugou toss a skirt out here somewhere. After digging around she pulled a wool skirt criss-crossed with an eye-popping black and white pattern out of a nearby pile. As she shimmied out of her shorts, Bakugou stomped out of the closet again in an almost identical shirt to the previous reject.
“The fuck…” Bakugou stopped in her tracks, glaring at Kirishima as she awkwardly kicked off her pants.
“I got bored!” Kirishima whined, holding the skirt up to cover her panties.
“No… it’s fucking fine…” Bakugou muttered, turning away quickly. She stooped to pick through her clothes. “Put it on. Let’s see.”
“Okay,” Kirishima sighed. She coaxed the skirt over her hips and zipped it up the side. It felt snug in the waist, like maybe sitting down would be painful, but the way the hemline sat just above her knees was objectively quite sexy and when she turned her ass looked great.
“That’s too small,” Bakugou said, bursting Kirishima’s bubble. The redhead sighed again and unzipped the skirt with a pout.
“I thought it made my butt look good,” Kirishima said as she picked up her shorts and started tugging them on one leg at a time, teetering slightly.
“Anything that tight would, but you’d be miserable the entire night and I don’t want to hear you complaining before I get my award,” Bakugou grumbled. She began tossing armfuls of clothing back into the closet.
“Wha… You mean, I can come with you?!” Kirishima gasped, flashing her extra sharp smile at Bakugou. That was as good as an invitation from the normally reticent and private hero. “On the red carpet and everything?”
“Yes, idiot. Where else? But you need something different to wear. Black is my thing,” the blonde said, giving Kirishima a once over with a frown. “Plus your ass is too fat for any of my pants.”
Kirishima was too busy with her victory dance to hear Bakugou cast aspersions on the size of her ass. She twirled around the room, picking up her ratty t-shirt on the way over to Bakugou, and landed with her arm around the other woman’s shoulders.
“I can’t wait to cheer you on!”
“Get dressed, shitty hair. We’re going shopping,” Bakugou pushed Kirishima away so she could change.
“And to see what they’ll have on the buffet!”
“On second thought, I’m leaving you here.”
“And there’s probably going to be huge centerpieces on the tables! Maybe a DJ!”
“I’ll bring Deku if I have to, so help me…”
The mall was packed. As the pair entered the building, Kirishima insisted on getting a hotdog on a stick before they started trying on clothes. She nibbled it while they window shopped, and Bakugou slurped on a large smoothie, convinced Kirishima was stalling with no idea why.
“So what do you want to look at?” Bakugou asked, glancing over at Kirishima’s face as she intently studied the Outdoors store display window. A happy family of mannequins sat around a campfire roasting marshmallows while a cute brown bear slept in their tent. Bakugou thought the narrative didn’t exactly make sense, but at least it was eye-catching.
“Urm, I‘unno…” Kirishima muttered, pulling Bakugou’s attention back to her. “I’m not much of a dress up kinda gal.”
“Says the gal who brought me a back up outfit to I-Island,” Bakugou shot back, sucking hard on her smoothie with an accusatory glare.
“That’s different,” Kirishima replied, unable to hide a grin from the memory. “Man, if we could still fit into those outfits I would totally wear it to your ceremony.”
“If we could still fit into our high school shit I’d be worried. Plus they were totally shredded in our fight.” Bakugou chuckled, reminiscing. She chewed on her smoothie straw thoughtfully. Kirishima wasn’t normally this reserved and hesitant, and it was starting to remind her of the old days at UA. Not in a good way.
“Oh yeah, I guess so…” Kirishima trailed off as a couple of stylish young women passed them. They tossed long, glossy black hair over their shoulders, wore trendy clothes and carried cute little handbags hooked over their elbows. The scent of lilacs and vanilla ghosted behind them, warm and invitingly feminine, and their delicate girlish giggles faded alluringly into the background as they walked away.
Bakugou, feeling bewitched, shook her head to clear the obnoxious vision and turned back to Kirishima. The redhead’s eyes remained glued to the women, watching them stroll away with glossy, faraway eyes and a pinched expression.
“Do you want something like what those chicks were wearing?” Bakugou asked, searching and trying not to sound dismissive of the idea. Just because she couldn’t see Kirishima toddling around in ultra-trendy girly stuff didn’t mean it wasn’t an option. Bakugou was an adult now. She was open-minded.
“You think I could pull that off?” Kirishima asked, distracted. She bit a huge chunk off her hot dog on a stick and chewed violently. “No, I couldn’t. I mean, I dunno… I’m not much of a dress—”
“If you say you're ‘not a dress up gal’ one more time I’m punching you in the tit,” Bakugou snarled. Kirishima cupped her boobs with an arm defensively and frowned. “What’s up with you? You’re Red-fucking-Riot! Your hero suit was voted top ten most sexy and scandalous in this year’s Heroic Times.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Kirishima said, unconvinced. “But only because I’m basically topless.”
“Exactly. And ya pull that off with flying colors,” Bakugou grinned, trying to make a point, but it only made Kirishima blush. “What I’m saying is that you can rock whatever you want to wear. You’re a badass woman.”
“I know I’m badass,” Kirishima groaned, stomping her foot like a frustrated child. “That’s the problem!”
She finished the rest of her hot dog in one big bite and toyed with the stick sheepishly. Bakugou was at a loss, trying to understand what the hell was going on under all that shitty red hair. There was absolutely nothing wrong with being badass and she would fight anyone who said otherwise.
“I can’t stand it when you’re like this,” Bakugou suddenly grumbled. She finished off her smoothie and tossed the cup in a nearby trash can, then pocketed her hands.
“Like what?” Kirishima asked with willful ignorance, following suit with her garbage. They started walking down the corridor past other shops while chatting.
“All self conscious and shit,” Bakugou explained. “You won’t take a compliment, you’re all down on yourself. It’s bullshit and annoying as hell.”
“If that’s your idea of a pep talk I don’t like it,” Kirishima replied with a pout. They paused at the entrance to a women’s clothing store. The slinky mannequins out front wore sleek, sequined dresses and tiny, furry bolero sweaters over their shoulders.
“How about here?” Kirishima pointed.
“Sure,” Bakugou sighed, eyeing the fashion warily.
They entered the brightly lit store and started browsing the racks. Bakugou was intent on finding something Kirishima would like to wear, and Kirishima seemed to just flit from item to item with increasing uncertainty. When they finally had enough pieces to try on, Bakugou wrangled her to the fitting rooms and shoved Kirishima into one of the stalls.
“Do you think the sequins are too much?” Kirishima’s voice floated over the stall curtain. Bakugou leaned against the adjoining wall while she waited for the first outfit reveal.
“No. They’re sparkly and shit,” the blonde said, inspecting the dingy drop ceiling of the room with a judgmental squint. “People love sparkly. You love sparkly.”
“True. It is really pretty,” Kirishima hummed. “But what if I draw too much attention from you? There’ll be a media event before the ceremony, right?”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’ll be an issue,” Bakugou barked out a laugh. Kirishima was a good looking woman, but Bakugou would be damned if anyone upstaged her at her own event. “Hurry up in there!”
“Okay, yeah,” Kirishima chuckled. “But I want something to complement your outfit.”
Bakugou felt the heat of a blush creep up her neck and rubbed at it self-consciously. Kirishima never failed to say some sappy, cute shit that made her stupid heart race, and she was glad the redhead couldn’t see just how flustered it made her right now. She would never let Bakugou live it down.
The curtain swished to the side and Kirishima stepped out in the dress and her socks. She glanced up and down to find the tri-fold mirror at the end of the hallway then walked over to inspect her reflection. Bakugou joined her, watching with arms folded, ready to be the voice of reason yet again.
The first dress was a floor length forest green slip-like number, with a scooped neck and spaghetti straps that barely held up Kirishima’s massive breasts. Bakugou swallowed and tried to keep her gaze neutral, but the way Kirishima swished her hips back and forth as the overhead lights caught the sequins was hypnotizing.
The back of the dress was non-existent, revealing Kirishima’s painstakingly defined delts and traps, and a frustratingly tiny peek of her ribs. A slit parted the skirt from ankle to mid-thigh enticingly. Even in her grungy tube socks Kirishima pulled off the sparkly ensemble. Bakugou bit the inside of her cheek to hide a smile.
“What do you think?” Kirishima asked, sounding pleased. She smoothed her hands over her belly and hips as she turned to examine herself from all angles.
“I think one gust of wind, one wrong step, and we’re all gonna be blinded when your headlights pop out of that tiny top,” Bakugou said, shoving her hands into her pockets. Kirishima laughed.
“Oh, come on. They sell tape for that kind of thing. Should I try the shimmy test?” She asked, but telling her ‘no’ wasn’t an option. Bakugou’s stomach clenched as her friend stood up straight, stuck out her chest, and shook her shoulders with an appalling lack of self restraint. The way her unbridled breasts bounced in the sequined fabric was obscene and, honestly, a personal attack.
The blonde had never thought about her best friend’s tits so much before, and now here they were fighting to escape from a flimsy fast fashion travesty. Truthfully, they didn’t belong there. They belonged in each of Bakugou’s palms, smooshed against her face, or pressed snuggly against her own chest…
Bakugou found herself slurping up a line of errant drool. This was a very new, very surprising line of thought that Bakugou refused to examine more deeply right now. She hurriedly wiped her chin before Kirishima noticed.
“Cut that out! What are you, twelve?!” Bakugou hissed, reaching out to grab Kirishima’s shoulders in an attempt to save her own sanity just as the dressing room attendant poked her head around the hallway corner with a tight smile. Instead, Bakugou got two big handfuls of boobs. Her face instantly turned red.
“Is there… anything else… I can do for you… ladies?” She asked with sharply pointed politeness. Kirishima started shaking with laughter, trying to stifle it in her arm as she turned away. Bakugou’s hands fell from her chest and she took a step back, face hot enough to rival one of her explosive blasts.
“No! You don’t think a couple of grown women can try on dresses without help? Fuck!” Bakugou shouted. She grabbed Kirishima and dragged her ass back into the dressing room stall, sliding the curtain closed before the attendant could say another word.
“B-Baku-gou!” Kirishima could barely breathe, she was laughing so hard. Bakugou slumped against one of the stall walls and covered her burning face with her hands.
“You’re so fucking embarrassing,” she groaned, willing the ground to swallow them both. Kirishima’s warm fingers wrapped around Bakugou’s wrists and gently removed her hands from her face. Mirth-filled wide, red eyes and a warm smile captured her whole face. She was still breathless with laughter, and close enough that Bakugou could see the faint childhood scar on her eyelid.
“Dude, your face is so red,” Kirishima said, voice lowered. She bit her lip in such an infuriatingly cute way. How dare she be so adorable after committing such a heinous act!
“Yeah! Because you just reenacted an earthquake in the middle of a public place!” Bakugou scream-whispered at her friend. She yanked her hands out of Kirishima’s grasp and folded her arms, squeezing her biceps with a huff. “That fucking sales person will never leave us alone now. She’s probably calling the mall cops as we speak.”
“Sorry… my bad,” Kirishima said, looking down at her feet. Long, layered red hair fell over her face, shadowing her expression. She looked like a kicked puppy. “I was just trying to lighten the mood a little. I wanted you to laugh.”
Bakugou’s shoulders lowered and she let her arms hang at her sides again. Great, now she was embarrassed and ashamed. Plus whatever that new shitty boob-ogling emotion was earlier.
“Just get dressed and let’s get out of here,” Bakugou said, hoping her softer tone was enough to smooth things over for now. Kirishima looked up into Bakugou’s eyes, searching. The blonde held her gaze for a moment before glancing away, determined not to blush again, and stooping to pick up Kirishima’s t-shirt.
“That was a bust,” Kirishima said as they quickly exited the dress shop with the anxious sales attendant hot on their heels. Bakugou grunted in agreement. Her expression remained dour, but luckily she no longer seemed angry. Normally Kirishima would needle her a bit more to relieve the tension, but something felt off and she couldn’t put her finger on why.
“It was all a bunch of cheap crap, anyway,” Bakugou said.
She steered them back down the mall corridor and toward a rolled ice cream vendor. Kirishima blinked at the cute stall decorated like a huge strawberry, confused. Bakugou wasn’t big on sweets, and yet she sauntered right into line, behind a couple standing hand in hand while gawking at the selection. They were reading the entire menu line for line to each other in baby voices. Bakugou made a face at their lovey-dovey antics then turned to Kirishima, hands in pockets, cool as a cucumber.
“Looks like we have time… What do you want?”
“Me?” Kirishima pointed to herself.
“Yeah! Who the fuck else?” Bakugou snapped, then turned to squint at the menu. “We can share so don’t get something disgusting. Maybe… matcha?”
“Ew! Dude, that tastes like leaves,” Kirishima stuck out her tongue.
“You have the palette of a two year old,” Bakugou sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “Coffee?”
“Really? How old are you, fifty?” Kirishima giggled when Bakugou threw her a half-hearted glare. “What if we do half-strawberry and half-matcha?”
After purchasing their ice cream, the pair sat on a bench beside the escalator sharing the treat between them. Kirishima held the bowl on her lap while Bakugou lounged, arm slung over the back of the bench and eyes roving the crowd. She chewed on her wooden spoon absently.
Kirishima finished her half quickly and was left poking around the bits of green, leaf-flavored ice cream that Bakugou wasn’t interested in eating. She knew the treat was an olive branch from the blonde — a wordless apology in her own language, one that Kirishima thought she spoke fluently. Now, she was beginning to doubt their connection and she didn’t like that.
“Thanks for the ice cream,” Kirishima said, holding out the bowl to her best friend. “Do you want the rest?”
“No, thanks,” Bakugou answered with the spoon between her teeth. Her voice was far away and distracted, her eyes lost in thought. Kirishima nodded and kept the bowl in her lap. She gazed out at the sea of shoppers, trying and failing to find what held Bakugou’s attention. A small part of her wished she could read Bakugou’s mind sometimes, so they wouldn’t have these moments lost in translation. Maybe she should say something…
“Eichan! Kacchan!” A familiar voice pulled Kirishima from her thoughts. She glanced up to find Ochako and Tsuyu standing near the bottom of the escalator. The pair rounded the railing and joined them at the bench with giggles and hellos. Ochako plopped her armful of shopping bags down with a groan and Tsuyu eyed the remnants of Kirishima’s green ice cream like a starving woman.
“How are you guys doing?” Kirishima asked with a wide smile. “Looks like you’ve been at it a while.”
“We’ve been walking around all day and my legs are like jelly,” Ochako sighed, sitting down on the edge of a nearby planter.
“Haven’t eaten since breakfast, kero,” Tsuyu agreed. Her tongue poked out of her mouth tiredly.
“Oh! You poor thing. Here, take my seat,” Kirishima stood aside gallantly. Tsuyu nearly collapsed onto the bench beside Bakugou with a grateful croak of relief. Ochako looked hopeful, and the blonde sucked her teeth and stood up, hand extended sarcastically toward the empty seat. Ochako lowered herself down with a happy sigh.
“You’re the best,” she giggled, swinging her shorter legs. “What are you here for?”
“None of your business—”
“An outfit for the Japan Hero Commission Excellence Awards—”
Bakugou and Kirishima spoke in unison. They turned toward each other, Bakugou glaring while Kirishima grinned sheepishly. Did Bakugou want to keep her invitation to Kirishima a secret? If not, they would find out later since Tsuyu and Ochako were receiving commendations as well. Another mystery that just didn’t add up.
“That’s great! What were you nominated for, Eichan?” Ochako asked, grinning happily. Bakugou frowned. Kirishima blushed and stammered.
“Oh, uh, nothing this year,” she said, rubbing her neck awkwardly. “I didn’t realize that you had to, like, submit yourself to get nominated. My publicist dropped the ball on that one.”
“Oh no! I’m sorry, Eichan. That’s crummy, kero,” Tsuyu said. She reached out with a big hand and patted Kirishima’s arm sympathetically. The redhead relaxed under the warm gesture, but Bakugou’s bristling annoyance didn’t go unnoticed.
“I told her she should fire his ass. Submitting to the ComEx awards should be at the top of his to do list,” the blonde complained. She stood close to Kirishima’s side, glaring down at their colleagues, and anyone else who got too close for that matter.
“He just made an honest mistake,” Kirishima sighed. She offered Bakugou a meaningful look. “One he will never make again.”
“That’s for damn sure,” Bakugou said, followed by a soft grunt of disapproval. She and Kirishima had argued about this a few times already and it wasn’t something they wanted to rehash in public. Kirishima relaxed when it was clear Bakugou would let the matter lie. Although now, turning back to Ochako and Tsuyu, their expressions were full of empathy.
“Bakugou got her nomination, though,” Kirishima offered in an attempt to shift their attention. It worked, as the pair turned to Bakugou while making happy noises and offering their congratulations. Bakugou preened in her own grumpy way and Kirishima smiled.
Even if she didn’t get a chance at being awarded by the Commission this year, she was glad Bakugou did. She had been working so hard to find her place in the heroing world after the war.
“Well, we should head out,” Bakugou muttered.
“It was great seeing you both! We’ll talk at the awards, right?” Ochako bounced to her feet to give Kirishima a tight hug, then they all dogged Bakugou until she promised to take photos together on the red carpet before parting ways. As soon as Tsuyu and Ochako turned away, Bakugou took off at a sprint in the opposite direction.
Kirishima glanced over at Bakugou, jogging to catch up with her fast pace.
“So, um… are we just walking in the opposite direction to avoid more small talk with them, or do you have a store in mind?” Kirishima asked with a grin. Bakugou glanced her way without breaking stride.
“Walk. Away. Just keep walking,” she hissed through gritted teeth. Kirishima laughed as they sped away deeper into the huge mall. When Bakugou was satisfied with the distance they’d made, she slowed to a stop in front of a directory. Kirishima paused by her side and looked up.
This section of the mall was topped with a domed ceiling designed to mirror a bright blue, sunny sky. Puffy white clouds, projected onto the scene, floated peacefully across the light blue expanse. Every so often a flock of birds would pass, melting into and then out of the sky like a mirage. Elegant piano music wafted through the air from the lower mezzanine and the floor sparkled as though it had just been buffed.
Yeah, it was considerably fancier over here. Kirishima glanced down at her thrifted t-shirt and blue basketball shorts, then over at Bakugou’s slouchy black sweats, and realized that they were both very underdressed. High end jewelry, name brand fashions and fancy bags glinted and glittered from fashionably designed window dressings. Rather than using chintzy mannequins, all products were displayed like works of art to try and catch the discerning eye of passersby.
Kirishima scooted closer to Bakugou as the two well-dressed, beautiful women from earlier trotted by laden with bags emblazoned with designer names. She gulped and tugged on Bakugou’s sleeve.
“Maybe we can go back to the other side now?” She asked.
“Why? I wanna check out some stores here,” Bakugou muttered as she aggressively poked at the directory screen, looking for something in particular.
“It’s soooo fancy, though,” Kirishima frowned.
“Yeah, that’s what we want,” Bakugou replied. She glanced at her friend skeptically. “Don’t be intimidated. This whole thing is a stupid fuckin’ façade.”
“Okay, but it’s a super shiny, crazy expensive one,” Kirishima said. Bakugou rolled her eyes and started to walk away. Kirishima stuck close to her side, on her heels.
They entered a brilliantly lit modern boutique. Silver racks, sparsely inventoried with only black items, lined the black and white marbled walls. Bakugou gravitated to one of the racks, but Kirishima had no idea how she could find anything without signage. It all looked the same on the hanger to her.
While Bakugou browsed, Kirishima glanced at a price tag dangling from the ruffled sleeve of a black chemise blouse and her eyes popped out of their sockets. She backed away clutching her hands to her chest as if burned.
“Hello, mademoiselle. Can I assist you with anything?” A soft-voiced woman appeared out of nowhere, standing at Kirishima’s elbow. She was as pale as the walls were dark, with criss-crossing veins of black marbling over her skin. Huge oil-slick tinted wire frame glasses hid her eyes, and her thin lips glistened with a shiny metallic blue lip oil. Kirishima stammered at the distorted reflection of her own frumpy self in the holographic, mirrored finish of the clerk’s glasses.
“I-I think I’m fine, thanks! It’s a bit too rich for my blood,” Kirishima chuckled, face heating up from embarrassment. The clerk simply tilted her head down, scanning Kirishima’s outfit over the rim of her glasses with silvery metallic eyes. Kirishima froze under the scrutiny.
“As I thought, but I figured I would check anyway…” she replied demurely, pointedly pushing her glasses up with one finger. Kirishima was stunned into silence. It took a minute for her brain to catch up to the insult. Before she could stutter out a comeback, Bakugou approached with a few items of clothing slung over one shoulder, the hanger dangling from her fingertips.
“Oi! I need a fitting room unlocked,” she said, glancing between the two women standing in silent impasse. The clerk cleared her throat daintily, then walked away without further comment to Kirishima. She drew out a silver keyring from her oversized black sweater sleeve to unlock one of the massive fitting rooms for Bakugou.
“Ei, come help me try this shit on.” Bakugou took Kirishima’s wrist and pulled her along to the fitting rooms, pausing in front of the diminutive clerk now blocking the entryway. “What’s the problem?”
“Only one person is permitted in the fitting room at a time, please,” the wispy woman informed them, lifting her chin and pushing her glasses up her face with one finger yet again. Bakugou’s grip on Kirishima’s wrist tightened and she scoffed.
“Or what?” The blonde sneered. “The fitting room’s big enough for three damn people.”
“I must insist. It’s store policy—” The clerk’s reply was cut short as the silky black garment Bakugou held slapped her square in the face, muffling the rest of her words.
“Store policy, my ass! You’rejust stuck up, trying to intimidate my friend with yer hoity-toity bullshit. Fuck this,” Bakugou growled, storming out with Kirishima still in tow. She stomped out of the store before releasing Kirishima’s arm, then found a railing to lean against overlooking the rotunda below and cursed at nothing in particular. “What a creep.”
“She was just doing her job…” Kirishima said, taking the spot close beside her friend. Bakugou’s head whipped to the side. She looked disgusted.
“Really? When she fucking insulted you? That was her job?”
“You heard that?!” Kirishima asked.
“I saw her clock you the moment we stepped inside, but I didn’t think she’d be that fucking blatant,” Bakugou said, resting her elbows on the railing while rubbing her forehead with her fingertips.
“Do you know her?” Kirishima asked.
“No… I just know the type,” Bakugou said, shamefully. “My mom and dad used to have a boutique storefront. They always hired women like that. It’s a standard business tactic to scare away people who look like they can’t afford the clothes.”
“That’s awful!” Kirishima sighed, draping herself over the railing. “We’re heroes. We literally break our backs to fight villains and catch bad guys. Why can’t we fix stupid societal garbage like that?”
“Because, for some stupid reason, we can’t punch people for being assholes,” Bakugou grumbled, revealing just how much she’d grown over the years. Kirishima couldn’t help but smirk with pride. If the same thing had happened when they were teenagers at UA, Bakugou would have probably done just that.
“Thank you for standing up for me. It was super heroic of you,” Kirishima said, leaning down to catch Bakugou’s eye. The blonde’s cheeks reddened, and she muttered a simple reply that put a soft smile on Kirishima’s face.
They spent some time loitering in silence before Bakugou stretched her back with a loud series of cracks. She pushed away from the railing just in time to spin around, bump into a tall woman and rebound off her enormous rack. Kirishima caught her with a laugh.
“Momo! Hi!” The redhead greeted their friend with her arms wrapped around Bakugou’s waist.
“Oh my gosh, Bakugou. I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there,” Momo gasped apologetically, politely picking some non existent lint from her friend’s white tank top as the blonde fought her way out of Kirishima’s bear hug. “Hello, Eichan!”
“Bakugou, if you wanted to get some action you could ask first,” Kyouka appeared by Momo’s side carrying two glossy black shopping bags with a large gold emblem at the center of each one. She chuckled and rolled her eyes when a flushed Bakugou stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry.
“Seems like everyone’s out shopping today,” Kirishima said, relieved to see more familiar faces. Kyoka placed the bags at their feet and shook out the cramps in her hands, her many bangles jangling musically.
“We’re picking up some jewelry I commissioned,” Momo explained. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her like a princess addressing her subjects. Bakugou pointedly avoided looking at the abundant swell of her cleavage, modestly swathed in a very soft, very finely knit light pink turtleneck sweater. Kyouka stood by her girlfriend’s shoulder casually rocking leather and combat boots. Her style was always more Bakugou’s speed.
“Are you ladies looking for outfits to wear to the ComEx awards?”
“Yes!” Kirishima groaned. “But it’s been totally impossible to find anything. I’m exhausted and we’ve barely visited two stores.”
“Momo got herself a stylist this year,” Kyoka said, glancing up. Momo nodded with a modest smile.
“It took a lot of stress out of the event for me,” she added sweetly.
“I don’t need a fucking extra to tell me what to wear,” Bakugou butted in from her slouchy perch against the railing. Kirishima sighed.
“Of course not,” Momo replied, smiling at the blonde. “You’re so confident, Bakugou. I wish I had an ounce of your resolve, but my stylist has been so helpful managing everything along with my publicist. I couldn’t be happier with her assistance.”
“I thought you’d want to wear one of your parents’ designs, Bakugou,” Kyoka said curiously. “I heard your mom scared off another hero who asked to be dressed by her. She refuses anyone else.”
“Typical…” Bakugou grumbled.
“Wait, your mom offered to dress you for the ceremony?” Kirishima asked. She assumed that Bakugou’s mom never offered. Their relationship was an odd one and Kirishima learned long ago to just accept it for what it was, but now she realized Bakugou might make it harder than it had to be just to save face.
“Well, yeah, she fucking offers to dress me for every event,” Bakugou muttered. Kyoka rolled her eyes again, unsurprised by Bakugou’s petty antics, and Momo just offered a sad smile. “And I always say ‘No,’ because I’d never hear the end of it from her!”
“Do you think she could dress me?” Kirishima asked hopefully. Bakugou inhaled quickly, probably to yell ‘NO!’, then stopped short and glanced at Kirishima. The redhead gave her best puppy dog impression and everyone watched in real time as Bakugou’s famous resolve crumbled.
“Guess I could ask…” Bakugou said while pulling out her cellphone. Kirishima grabbed her arm and jumped up and down excitedly, cheering directly into Bakugou’s ear while she typed out a message to her mother. The phone started ringing as soon as she hit send. With a putupon groan the blonde accepted the call, then walked away while screaming expletive-laden hellos into the mouthpiece.
“Wow, she didn’t have to threaten her or anything,” Kyoka stage whispered to Momo. Kirishima glanced over to them with a happy smile and flushed cheeks. Momo giggled and nudged her girlfriend’s shoulder gently in reprimand.
“We all have our weaknesses…” She replied knowingly.
Bakugou slumped into the backseat of the black town car awaiting them outside the mall, and Kirishima fell straight across her lap with a tired moan.
“You’re such a baby,” Bakugou smirked, grabbing and tickling her friend’s sides until she squealed and wiggled to the open seat beside her.
“I feel like we just returned from war,” Kirishima whined, slipping her seatbelt on as the car glided into the city traffic. She snuggled comfortably into the seat and leaned her cheek against the window. Bakugou could only agree. All she wanted was to find something fabulous for Kirishima to wear by her side at the red carpet. Instead, she seemed defeated. All from a shitty mall visit.
“My mom’s picking stuff out for you right now,” she said, earning a sleepy side eye from Kirishima. “Just have to endure a fitting with her before the day’s over.”
“Can’t be that bad,” Kirishima yawned, leaning back toward Bakugou until her head rested on the blonde’s shoulder. “Thank you for asking her. I really appreciate it.”
“‘Course,” Bakugou said, giving in and pressing her cheek to the top of Kirishima’s head. “Don’t mention it.”
She slipped her arm around Kirishima’s shoulders and let her friend nap on the way to her parents’ studio across town. When they arrived, Kirishima had her second wind and bounced out of the car excitedly. Bakugou followed her with decidedly less enthusiasm.
“Finally!” Mitsuki greeted them as they exited the elevator into a cavernous, industrial-styled private studio. She stood at the center of the room decked out with work tables, sewing machines, and mannequins already draped in new looks for next season. Bolts and bolts and bolts of every type of fabric imaginable lined the walls, and a makeshift platform had been set up in front of mirrors for Kirishima to model the outfits. The redhead squealed and rushed over to Mitsuki, offering a very polite bow before popping up and grabbing her hands.
“Thank you so much, Bakugo-san! I’m so excited!”
“You’re very welcome,” Mitsuki smiled at Kirishima, then turned a devilish smirk toward her daughter. “It’s nice to know that at least one person respects my work. I would be honored to have Red Riot dressed in one of my pieces for the ComEx Awards this year.”
“I know, right? She’s gonna look bomb in whatever you pick,” Bakugou replied and sat heavily on a small loveseat shoved under one of the floor to ceiling windows. She spread her arms over the backrest and leaned her head back, staring up at the unfinished ceiling criss-crossed with pipes, ductwork and wooden beams.
“You’re gonna help, aren’t you, Katsuki? I’m sure Eichan would like your input…” Mitsuki hummed as she led Kirishima to the platform surrounded by mirrors. Her glowing reflection beamed over at Bakugou three-fold. Bakugou sat up and grunted, rubbing a hand over her face.
“Shut up, hag,” she growled. “Eiko can handle herself.”
“Aw, please! Katsukiiiii…” Kirishima pouted and Bakugou tensed, already capitulating without spending one more second thinking it over. She was beginning to realize that her mom and Kirishima were a dangerous duo.
“I’m literally right here, aren’t I?” Bakugou grumbled. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, caught right in the tractor beam of Kirishima’s broad smile. She couldn’t help but return the sentiment with a smirk. Fuckin’ cheesy asshole.
Mistuki had a few options ready for Kirishima laid out on her work tables. She carried over the first to show off the fabric, then helped Kirishima into the outfit behind a screen. As soon as Kirishima walked out onto the platform Bakugou knew she wasn’t into the look. It was a formfitting unitard with broad, sculpted shoulders draped in wisps of sheer black fabric that trailed along the floor like a cape made of smoke. Tiny crystals dotted the unitard in a gradient of deep red to vibrant orange. As Kirishima turned, the crystals caught the light like tiny explosions.
It was gorgeous, showing off every curve and muscle just as if she were naked, but that was the issue. The unitard not only shrink-wrapped Kirishima’s trunk and legs, but her arms and neck, as well. She picked delicately at the fabric that encased her up to her chin. Kirishima was trapped in a full body glove.
“Mom, that’ll be a nightmare to pee in,” Bakugou said immediately. Kirishima nodded sheepishly.
“It’s gorgeous, Bakugou-san. The hand-placed crystals are stunning, and this sheer fabric is so fluttery and flouncy. It’s to die for, but…maybe too fiddly for me,” Kirishima said apologetically.
Mitsuki turned a discerning eye to Kirishima and nodded, gesturing to the screen with her other hand offered out to help Kirishima step down.
“Too severe,” she agreed. “The shoulders, the gems—they’re flashy, but not in the way Red Riot is flashy. Perhaps something on the traditional side, but not *too* old fashioned?”
“That sounds good! I do like traditional stuff,” Kirishima smiled. She toddled carefully behind the screen and Mitsuki turned quickly to her daughter.
“Help Eichan out of the unitard. I’ll go get the next piece,” she said, smirking wickedly. Mitsuki dashed out of the room before Bakugou could refuse.
Grumbling, Bakugou walked behind the screen only to be treated to the sight of her friend’s sculpted back defined by hundreds of tiny gems sewn onto the form hugging fabric of the unitard. The redhead stood quietly admiring the crystals studding the gloves that encased each of her muscular arms.
“Let me help you with that,” Bakugou said, voice low. Kirishima glanced over her shoulder, relief in her expression.
“Yes, please! I feel like I’m gonna burst out of this any second,” she laughed nervously, then let out a huge sigh when Bakugou started to unzip the suit all the way from the top of her neck to the base of her spine. “That’s so much better.”
“I could tell right away this wasn’t your style,” Bakugou said, holding the fingers of one glove so Kirishima could slip her arm out. The redhead held the floppy top against her chest while they removed the second glove as well, careful not to invert the fingers so the gems wouldn’t catch and tear the fabric.
“Yeah, I have a sneaking suspicion it was made with someone specific in mind,” Kirishima said with a knowing look up at Bakugou through her eyelashes. Bakugou snorted, trying to hide a smile as she shook her head.
“Told you. The old hag has been hounding me for ages. I bet she has a whole creepy closet full of stuff just for me,” she complained.
“Most people wouldn’t describe their mother’s support as ‘creepy,’ Katsuki,” Kirishima chided her. “And I think you’d look so good in one of her pieces. Like this one! You could at least try something on and see if it changes your mind.”
“You think I’d look good in this crazy monstrosity?”
“I think you’d look good in anything,” Kirishima said, meeting Bakugou’s eyes with flushed cheeks and a smile so sweet it made her angry.
“…Shut up,” Bakugou muttered. She wanted to compliment Kirishima, not the other way around! While she was thinking of a way to do just that, a pair of soft, strong hands cupped Bakugou’s cheeks and turned her face toward Kirishima’s earnest, bright red eyes. It was impossible to avoid dipping her gaze toward the redhead’s lips, and then to her breasts as the top of the unitard flopped down and hung from her waist. She wore a slightly too small, full-coverage, no frills black bra that must have come from Mitsuki. Each cup was alluringly overfilled.
“Katsuki, my eyes are up here…” Kirishima chuckled, her soft voice drawing the blonde’s petrified gaze back into focus. She ran her thumbs over the apples of Bakugou’s cheeks tenderly. “Thank you for inviting me. And for helping me try to find an outfit… even if I didn’t get to go with you to the awards, I still enjoyed spending the day out with you.”
“Don’t be such a sap. I wouldn’t have invited just any extra,” Bakugou said. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, so let them hang by her sides clenched into nervous, sweaty fists. Kirishima grinned.
“I know, but you could have anyone else if you wanted them,” she replied, stepping closer, searching the blonde’s face for something. Bakugou inhaled deeply and swallowed, then closed her eyes when Kirishima leaned in… and kissed her so gently on the cheek she thought she was hallucinating.
Bakugou’s eyes popped open as Kirishima pulled away and, on instinct alone, she reached out and grabbed her by the waist. She yanked their torsos together, fitting Kirishima against her body like the last piece to a puzzle. The feeling of rightness was so jarring it stunned Bakugou into inaction and Kirishima blinked, taking the moment to wrap her arms around the blonde’s neck and pull her into a proper kiss.
“Do you need more help with the unitard, Eichan?” Mitsuki’s voice interrupted their moment from the other side of the screen.
“Uh-uhm-ah…” Kirishima stuttered as she and Bakugou parted quickly, both of them colored as brightly as Kirishima’s fire engine red hair. “Yes, maybe a little bit!”
“We’re talking about this later,” Bakugou mumbled, and Kirishima nodded fervently as the blonde sped away from behind the changing screen while shouting: “NEED A PISS!”
When Bakugou returned from her cool down, Kirishima was dressed in her street clothes and Mitsuki was carefully folding something into a huge garment box.
“What the hell! I wanted to see,” the blonde complained, pouting at Kirishima. “Did you decide on something without me?”
“Yes! And it’s a surprise!” Kirishima just smiled and offered an infuriatingly cute little shrug. Bakugou could feel her cheeks warming up all over again despite the betrayal.
“She looked gorgeous. The piece fit Eichan so well I told her she can keep it,” Mitsuki smirked proudly, patting a hand against the lid of the garment box. “Jaws will be on the floor.”
“I also told your mom that you wanted to try on the first outfit,” Kirishima added. Her innocent smile turned as wicked as Mitsuki’s when she had a scheme set in motion. Bakugou took a step back toward the door as they advanced on her.
“No! I don’t want to! You can’t make me!!” Bakugou cried out, but she was no match for them. Soon she found herself on the platform surrounded by three surly blonde reflections glaring back at her, all gussied up in the sparkly black unitard trailing its smoky cape from exaggerated shoulder pads.
“I think… I love it,” Kirishima gasped with stars dancing in her eyes. “Katsuki, it’s so gorgeous!! Your shoulders are like, BLAM! And your butt is like, KA-PLOW!! The cape looks so cool, too.”
“Kill me…” Bakugou whispered softly to no one.
“It’s exactly as I envisioned,” Mistuki agreed, though her voice lacked the usual smugness Bakugou was accustomed to tuning out. When she glanced at her mother’s reflection in the mirror, Mitsuki’s expression was a puzzling mixture of pride and happiness. She met her daughter’s gaze and Bakugou could have sworn there were tears in her eyes.
“I mean… it’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” Bakugou hazarded a near neutral expression and finally straightened up to strike a pose. “And it’ll definitely catch everyone’s eye.”
“That’s an understatement,” Kirishima giggled.
“Eiko will leave them stunned, then you swoop in for the kill!” Mitsuki laughed to herself, looking very pleased indeed.
As her mother fussed with the way the cape fell from her shoulders, Bakugou couldn’t help but feel something was slightly off. It took some posing, but when she realized what she wanted, she said, “Okay. I’ll wear it… but I have some alteration requests.”
“Red Riot!!! Absolutely stunning! Look here, show us those muscles!”
Flash! Flash flash!
“Dynamight!! Over here!”
Click click. Click click click!
“You look beautiful, Bakugou-san!”
“Who dressed you this evening? Drop dead gorgeous, ladies!”
“Smile for the cameras!”
Flash!
The deafening, rapid fire click of dozens of camera shutters going off simultaneously, the dazzling flash of lights dancing in the crowd, it was enough to make Kirishima’s head spin as she stepped out onto the red carpet from the back of the Bakugous’ company town car. On instinct she gripped her friend’s hand and held it tightly while nearly crushing the beautifully embroidered silk clutch purse in the other.
“Just smile, pose like my mom showed us, and don’t let them see you sweat, Red Riot,” Bakugou whispered into her ear. It was easier said than done, but as soon as the car pulled away Kirishima turned on like a light bulb. There was no going back now.
Bakugou gently nudged her and they walked along the red carpet with the other arriving hero nominees and their guests. Ochako and Tsuyu were interviewing with an influencer in the press area. Izuku stood to the side grinning like a loon and looking nervous, not unusual for him even on a normal day, while Shouto posed for the paparazzi in front of the ExComm backdrop. Momo and Kyoka posed at the center of a strange device that Kirishima soon learned was a 360 degree slow-mo camera rig.
So many other friends, colleagues and friends filled the small entrance area to the ceremony hall that Kirishima lost track of time meeting and chatting with everyone. The outfits were stunning all around and the sheer amount of compliments both she and Bakugou received was overwhelming. It was all a blur that ended abruptly in the dimly lit Commission Hall packed with tables, each decorated with elaborate floral center pieces and set with a frankly confusing amount of forks, spoons and knives.
“Did… did we look okay?” Kirishima asked suddenly, realizing she couldn’t remember a single thing she’d said or done in the whirlwind of red carpet entry.
“I guess we’ll find out when they post the pictures online,” Bakugou huffed in her reassuringly surly way. As they took their seats she lowered her voice and added, “Screw what the extras may say, though. I think you look fucking bomb, Red.”
They reached for each other’s hands under the table. Kirishima gave Bakugou’s fingers a brief squeeze to steady both their nerves before the ceremony began, and grinned when the blonde offered up just the smallest smirk in response. In the busy days leading up to the awards they still hadn’t had time to get to that talk Bakugou mentioned back at her mother’s studio, but something had definitely shifted. Kirishima was just waiting for the moment when they could define that shift, and until that happened she was happy to go with the flow.
Earlier they’d heard from an anonymous yet reputable source that Great Explosion Murder Goddess, Dynamite was a shoo-in for the main achievement award. When her name was called to receive the award Kirishima cheered so loudly from the audience she felt light-headed. Or maybe that was all the champagne she’d had? Either way, she floated on cloud nine all the way through the rest of the ceremony, and straight until she woke up nestled into the back of the parked town car, her body pressed against Bakugou’s shoulder.
“Mm… was that all a dream?” She hummed, rubbing an eye with a sleepy fist. Something fluttered down from her face into her lap — a single false eyelash.
“No, you just got very drunk and fell asleep as soon as the car started rolling,” Bakugou chuckled. “Feeling up for a walk?”
“Yeah, but… I think I’m still drunk,” Kirishima said, slowly scooting to the end of the backseat after Bakugou. When she swung her legs through the car door and onto the pavement outside Bakugou’s apartment, the world tilted to the side.
“Oh, I know you’re definitely still drunk,” Bakugou said, catching Kirishima under the arms before she could teeter forward onto her face. “Let’s go to bed.”
Kirishima must have taken her literally, because the next thing she remembered was waking up to early morning darkness from the comfort of a very plush bed. Only slivers of grey light leaked in around the edges of the curtained windows, but it was enough to make out the silhouette of Bakugou’s sleeping form turned away from her on the other side of the bed.
Bold in her waning drunkenness, Kirishima shifted and carefully wrapped an arm around Bakugou’s waist, snuggling up to her back. She drifted off one more time and didn’t wake again until late morning when Bakugou threw open the curtains.
“Wake up,” the blonde cruelly ordered. Kirishima whimpered and pulled the sheets over her head, only to be foiled when Bakugou yanked them off not just Kirishima, but the bed entirely. The redhead whined and burrowed into the pillows, hoping Bakugou would be thrown off by her pitiful noises.
“Noooo,” Kirishima cried as two strong hands grabbed her ankles and pulled her halfway off the bed.
“Yessss! The pics are online — have been since last night,” Bakugou said, grinning madly as she thrust out her phone. Kirishima popped up with a gasp and reached out for the tiny screen. It took her eyes a moment to adjust, and then an even longer moment for her brain to process exactly what she was looking at on Bakugou’s socmed feed.
“Oh my god, Katsuki…” she breathed, scrolling through picture after picture of Bakugou on the red carpet. She shone like a brilliant red and orange star, trailing the ephemeral black cape like wisps of night sky and lording over the lens like a goddess with her shoulders thrown back, neck extended and gaze loftily judgmental. She was a literal bombshell.
The alterations she had requested highlighted her shoulders more than the sculpted pads ever could. Now sleeveless, with the high neckline reminiscent of her winter hero costume, the unitard accentuated exactly what it lacked and brought all attention to Bakugou’s sexy, haughty expression and posture. The two wide metal bangles with glimmering enamel detailing on her wrists called back to her old-style hero uniform gauntlets and finished the ensemble. Not to mention the smoky black eye and understated orange coral lip that tied her make-up to the outfit without competing.
Kirishima lowered the phone and gazed up at Bakugou, “You are so hot.”
“I know!” Bakugou cackled, palms sparking excitedly while she hopped around like a mad gremlin. “I fucking killed it! I look like a million bucks! Those mall bitches can suck it!”
Kirishima giggled and flopped back onto the bed while typing her name into the search bar. The page was immediately flooded with pictures from the ExCom red carpet, pushing out all others she was more familiar with — not including one fated underwear ad she did last year. That one always hovered near the top of the results.
“Wow…” she sighed, grinning happily at her pictures. Most of them were taken with other heroes on the carpet, but there were a few solo shots of Kirishima standing as Mitsuki had instructed — looking coyly over her shoulder with her back to the camera to showcase the elaborate white silk bow on the obi-inspired wrap that cinched her chest. Not only did the pose exhibit the most stunning part of her outfit, it also showcased her delts, traps, biceps, and perhaps most overwhelmingly it put her ass on display, hugged by the handsomely tailored deep crimson red hakama-inspired pants with their structured pleats accentuating Kirishima’s height.
The look was beautiful and simple, completely the opposite of Katsuki’s in-your-face bombastic ensemble, and yet it was just as captivating and so suited Kirishima’s aesthetic by highlighting the strength and beauty of her body.
The bed dipped as Bakugou joined her, lying against her side with the phone held between them. It was so nostalgic of their days at UA. Kirishima felt her heart squeeze with pride as they shared their moment together.
“The 360 shot is so sick,” Bakugou murmured, replaying the gif over and over so they could catch every detail: With the red carpet as their backdrop, Kirishima and Bakugou stood back to back with arms folded. A glittering red and orange flashbang beside clean, sturdy lines and the grounding timelessness of traditional beauty. The camera slowly spun as they turned to face it and each woman flexed a bicep, smirking and grinning, intimidatingly sultry.
“I look kinda sexy, I think,” Kirishima said, surprised by her own admission. Bakugou scoffed, drawing her confused and hurt gaze. “You don’t think so?”
“What… No! Wait — I meant, yes,” Bakugou sputtered, turning red when she realized she would have to admit something very embarrassing out loud. Kirishima let her hand fall away, leaving the phone by her side while the blonde waffled. Bakugou fell silent before muttering something under her breath.
“What was that? I didn’t catch it…” Kirishima hummed, cupping a hand around her ear with a grin. Bakugou sat up and leaned over Kirishima with a serious expression — the same look she wore when meeting a challenge as a hero. Kirishima’s heart sped up as they made eye contact, caged in by Bakugou’s strong arms.
”You’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” she said, voice low. “‘Kinda sexy’ doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.”
Warmth collected in the corners of Kirishima’s eyes. She bit her lip, stifling a grin, and Bakugou glanced away bashfully.
“Maybe we should talk now? About what happened the other day in my mom’s studio.”
“Right now?” Kirishima breathed, resting her palm on Bakugou’s cheek. The dark remnants of kohl smudged the corners of her eyes and mascara still clung to her pale eyelashes, proof that last night really did happen. Kirishima ignored whatever smeary disaster caked her own face. At this moment it didn’t matter in the slightest with Bakugou’s knee slotted gently between her thighs.
“Did you have a better time in mind?” Bakugou asked, her half-lidded, bright red gaze full of an emotion Kirishima only dared to imagine. Their faces inched closer and closer, submitting to the natural attraction that magnetized them.
“Maybe… after one kiss,” Kirishima murmured, brushing her lips against Bakugou’s slack ones experimentally. The blonde sucked in a surprised gasp. Kirishima wrapped an arm around her waist and hugged her close, desperate to get another taste, to draw out new noises and feel the deliciously solid weight of her like an anchor to reality.
“How about one more?” Bakugou greedily offered, capturing Kirishima’s mouth in a full on assault. Thoughtfully aggressive as she always was and knowing Kirishima as well as she did, Bakugou pinpointed the weaknesses of her already vulnerable defenses in that moment. She slipped a hand under the hem of the t-shirt Kirishima wore as borrowed pajamas, burning fingertips gripped tightly to the warm swell of her hip.
“More…” Kirishima moaned between breaths of air, lost to the feeling of Bakugou under her hands, against her mouth, and between her thighs. Heat enveloped them as they chased their want, their need, and forgot about awards, outfits and heroing for a while. The discussion could wait a little longer.