“i wanna give it all to you” @bloomyn - Tumblr Blog

elle woods!bakugou x emmett!reader

summary - after being unceremoniously broken up with by Midoriya Izuku halfway through his senior year at UCLA, Bakugou follows him to Harvard Law. After he falls, you help him back up on his feet, but will he be able return the favor?

cws - pls read. smut, crack, hurt/comfort. lots of lines are similar to the musical, i loved the musical. this is exactly what it sounds like, weed, possibly poly ending because im soft, swearing, rough sex. there will be allusions to reader's past assault eventually in this as I have diverged from the plot of the movie. these chapters will be carefully tw'ed. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

a/n - i rewrote this but some of it? was previously posted. it's actually done and ill be dropping a chapter a day for the next 5 days or so. enjoy! please consider reblogging/leaving a comment if you like it.

Bakugou is standing in the kitchen on the first floor of the Delta Delta Delta fraternity house, the California sunshine pouring in through the windows as he blends a protein shake, music blasting in his AirPods. Denki comes up behind him and claps him on the back, making the blonde jump a mile.

“If I’d told you,” He says, as Bakugou takes out an earbud and scowls, “That you’d be marrying Midoriya Izuku freshman year, you woulda broken my jaw.” Bakugou swats halfheartedly at his friend.

“People change!” He snaps. “And,” he stops, pouring the shake into a glass with expert precision, “I’m different now.” Denki shoots him a soft smile.

“In all seriousness, Bakugou,” He says, “I’m happy for you, we all are.” He looks away for a moment, “You’ve grown up a lot, and uh, I don’t just mean the twenty pounds of muscle you put on the last few years.” Bakugou grunts.

“Thanks uh, Kaminari.” He says, a rare moment of softness crossing his face.

“Listen, we uh, we didn’t want to do anything big,” Denki says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an envelope. “But Sero, Mina and I got everyone to sign this.” Bakugou inspects it carefully before opening it, as if it might explode, but when he rips through the heavy paper all he finds is an embossed card, that reads, Congratulations in a simple dark font. The inside is filled with well wishes and signatures. A lump builds at the back of his throat.

“Uh,” He searches for words.

“Do you like it?” Denki asks - a touch of shyness in his voice.

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugou snaps. “It’s fine.” Denki breaks into a wide smile, touching his friend's shoulder for only a moment.

“Izuku’s a lucky guy, okay, just uh, don’t forget that. We all love you.” Denki says, and Bakugou nods. “When’s he picking you up?”

“Seven,” Bakugou takes another sip of his shake.

“Do ya know what you’re wearing?” Denki asks, “He’ll probably want to take pictures after, right?” Bakugou scowls.

“Of course I know what I’m fuckin’ wearing!” He snaps.

“Not uh, not the blue shirt, right?” Denki presses gently, and Bakugou’s eyes narrow.

“What’s wrong with the blue shirt?”

“It’s so tight you’re practically spilling out of it!” Denki protests, “Oi, oi Sero,” The raven-haired man sticks his head around the corner, “Tell him he needs to wear a button-down that fits, please.” Sero nods, stepping into the kitchen in slouchy gymwear, a pair of joggers and a soft tee.

“Confirmed.” He says, reaching into the fridge and pulling out a Corona. Bakugou crosses his arms.

“Fine.” He pushes them out of the way, “I gotta shower, fine, I’ll wear something else, Jesus Christ.”

_____

“You look incredible,” Izuku says, green eyes widening when he picks Bakugou up at the door, feeling but not reacting to the eyes of every resident of the fraternity peering at him through the windows. When his back is turned, Bakugou flips his housemates off and gets into Izuku’s convertible.

____

Bakugou pulls Izuku’s chair out at the restaurant, and the freckles on his nose are immediately eclipsed by a red flush.

“I wanted to uh,” He fidgets nervously, they’re sitting outside, and the sun is low and golden in the sky. “Listen, Kacchan,” he says, reaching out and putting a hand over his, patting the crisp white tablecloth. “You know I’m going off to Harvard next year.” Bakugou nods, heart racing at the simple touch. “And I’ve been thinking,” Midoriya shifts his weight in the chair, it squeaks. “And um, I know that you uh, actually,” Midoriya touches the back of his neck self-consciously, “I don’t know what um, you want to do but that’s actually, that’s not important right now.” Bakugou nods, listening. “I have plans, I’ll want to start at a top law firm right after graduation, and then it’s on to Washington.” His eyes get this faraway look, like he can see right out past the street, past the horizon. “I want to work hard, and run for office, and do good things, the house, maybe the senate if I’m lucky.” He rubs his thumb across Bakugou’s hand. “I’ve gotta get serious, Kacchan,” He says, sugar dripping from his lips, “About the future, and about us.” Bakugou swallows.

“I feel like,” he pauses, “Everything we’ve done, together, has made me, uh, the man I am today. I don’t know who I’d be without you.” He says gruffly, uncharacteristically emotional. “I want to get serious about us too.” Midoriya laughs nervously, smiling.

“Well that sort of takes the pressure off me, I suppose.” He turns to the waiter approaching the table, “We’ll have two manhattans, please, Makers Mark is fine if you don’t have anything better.” The waiter turns and practically runs, Midoriya turns his intense gaze back to his boyfriend. “I’ve got my future all planned as I said, and I know we’ve talked about things, like kids, someday, and a house, and I uh,” he looks away again, “I um, if I’m going to be serious about my future, I have to be honest with you-”

“You’re ramblin’,” Bakugou says, stretching a little, attempting to reassure his boyfriend. “It’s alright, chill out a little. I’m uh, I think I know where you’re headed with this, anyway.” Midoriya nods, looking a little calmer.

“I’m so glad to hear that.” He sighs, “I think I just, if I’m going to be pursuing those goals, I need a partner to pursue those goals with me, you know someone who I have everything in common with.” Bakugou nods, heart swelling. “So that’s why I think,” his leg is bouncing under the table, shaking the ice in their crystal water glasses, “I think we should break up.” The waiter arrives at their table with their drinks that exact second.

“What?” Bakugou’s own voice sounds far away.

“I just um,” Midoriya says, scrambling, “Listen, Kacchan, you’re, you’re really really attractive, I just, I don’t know, if you and I have the same kind of ambitions-”

“I crush your GPA!” Bakugou snaps, “Just like I crush you at football.”

“I um, sure, but your degree is in sports medicine!” Midoriya says defensively, “I’m prelaw, I just, if I’m going to do law school, I just think it needs to be with someone, someone serious.” Bakugou swallows, heart pounding so loudly he can’t hear himself think.

“I’m not, I’m not serious?” He can feel the pitch of his voice rising.

“No I mean, um,” Midoriya looks nervous, “Kacchan, people are staring.”

“Fuck people,” Bakugou snaps, “I, I became a different person for you, I fuckin’ went to therapy for you! I’m serious about everything, for you!”

“You were a bully! You needed to go to therapy.” Midoriya says, eyes wide, “And maybe, maybe you should find someone, who you don’t have to change for.” Bakugou stands abruptly, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “What are you doing?” Midoriya hisses, a cool breeze ruffling his hair.

“Calling an uber.” Bakugou snaps. “Fuck you.”

“I’ll drive you home!” Midoriya says, standing and slamming some bills on the table, following Bakugou out of the restaurant. “You’re making a scene!”

“Suck my fuckin’ dick.” Bakugou snaps, whirling on Midoriya as soon as they’re out on the sidewalk, “I’m not getting in the damn car.”

“You’re not being reasonable,” Midoriya says, in a tone that Bakugou’s friends had often called paternal and condescending, but that Bakugou had always gruffly barked was protective. Tonight, however, it was grating on his last nerve.

“You tell me,” Bakugou snarls, “That I’m not goddamn serious enough for you, not ambitious enough, and then think you can drive me home like I’m some fuckin’ housewife you can toss aside? I have job offers. Good ones. It’s not like I spent the last four years just chuggin’ beer and doing keg stands.” He storms off, Midoriya chases after him,

“Please, Kacchan,” Midoriya begs, “You mean so much to me, please just let me drive you home.”

“I don’t need you,” Bakugou turns around and pokes his chest with a finger, “I never did.” Midoriya softens.

“That’s not true. You know that’s not true.” Bakugou’s phone buzzes.

“That’s my ride.” A shining black escalade pulls up in front of the restaurant. He opens the door and then turns around, to look at Deku. His ex boyfriends eyes are wide with concern, hands trembling, and he wants to reach out, to hold him, to say something meaningful, maybe, but instead he just scowls. “I’ll show you.” He growls simply, slamming the car door and mashing his palms into his eye sockets. “Fuck.”

____

“Hey, bro,” Denki knocks softly at the door. “It’s been a few days, I uh,” he sighs, “Fuck it, I’m coming in.” He pushes the door open to Bakugou’s room. It’s still clean, but for Bakugou, the pair of socks on the floor and a can of soda in the garbage are an alarming cry for help. “Dude,” Denki breathes, “Soda?”

“Fuck off dumb shit,” Bakugou growls. “I’m sleeping.”

“It’s three in the afternoon,” Denki says. “You’ve gotta get up.”

“It’s fucking humiliating being conscious!” Bakugou sits up in bed and roars, “I’m done being a goddamn person, I’m sick of this shit.” He flops back down and pulls his comforter over his head. Denki comes over and sits on the edge of the bed.

“Listen, uh, y’know,” He pauses, “Things happen for a reason.” Bakugou lifts the blanket just enough so that he can glare at him. “I’m serious, uh, I think that maybe this just wasn’t the right time for you to get married and stuff.”

“I couldn’t give less of a shit about getting married.” He rakes his hands through his hair, and then he speaks more quietly. “He said I’m not serious.”

“That was stupid.” Denki retorts, leaning back on his palms. “You take everything seriously, you nearly broke my arm playing ultimate frisbee a few weeks ago.” Bakugou nods slowly. “He’s totally wrong about that,” Denki continues, “You’re super serious, you never joke about like, anything, you’re ambitious and you’re smart.” Bakugou sits up a little, massaging his temples.

“You’re right.” He says very quietly.

“Of course I am,” Denki says, putting on some faux bravado, tapping Bakuogu on the shoulder.

“No,” Bakugou says in a low growl, “You’re right that he just, he just doesn’t know that I’m damn serious.” He hops out of bed. “I just have to get into Harvard.”

“What?” Denki breathes, and Bakugou pulls a pair of sweatpants on, stretching as the late afternoon sunlight is sliced by his blinds.

“I just have to get into Harvard,” Bakugou repeats, wheels already turning in his mind. Denki rubs his eyes.

“No, no I heard you. You uh, you said you want to go to Harvard, like, Harvard Law?” Bakugou stretches a little more.

“I have a 4.0.” He says, feeling alive for the first time in days, and Denki shakes his head.

“You need more than that, way more than that for Harvard!” He stands, and sees the light in his friends face, the hope in his eyes, and doesn’t want to squash it. He sighs, and speaks quickly. “But uh I know someone who could probably help. If she’ll pick up the phone.” He runs down the hallway, sliding in his socks. “Yo, Sero, didya ever call that girl Momo back after you fucked her?” Sero sticks his head out of his room,

“Dude, Mina’s here.” He says, looking at Denki like he’s insane. Denki just barrels forward.

“Mina, did Sero ever call Momo Yaoyorozu after they hooked up,” Denki calls, a lazy grin spreading across his face. Mina coughs, the smell of weed drifting down the hallway as she pads absentmindedly out of Sero’s room.

“I don’t care how many sorority girls he’s fucked,” she says, blowing smoke. “Did you call her, babe?” Bakugou follows Denki into the hallway.

“Course I did.” Sero says, dumbfounded. “Did she pick up is the question you should be asking.”

“She’ll pick up if I call.” Mina says, stepping out into the hallway. “Hey big boy,” she runs over and hugs an unwilling Bakugou, “Ya came outside.”

“He wants to go to Harvard.” Denki explains quickly and Mina raises her eyebrows.

“I just have to show Deku that he’s wrong!” Bakugou explains desperately, “He’ll see it, and he’ll understand.” He softens, for only a moment, but every person in the hallway feels the drop in his posture, it was rare to see Bakugou slouch even a little. “I, I have to prove myself to him. I was, he was right about me. That I was a monster, and he, he gave me a second chance. Please.” He looks at Mina. “I need this, uh, if she can help me.”

“She will.” Mina says with a smirk. “We had a good time when we hung out.” Sero groans loudly, rubbing his eyes.

“She’s more likely to text you back then anyway.” He says, and Mina cackles, kissing her boyfriend on the cheek.

“She’s got a girlfriend now.” Denki cautions and Mina rolls her eyes.

“The best ones always do.”

_____

“You, want to get into Harvard Law?” Yaoyorozu raises her eyebrows over an iced matcha latte with 50% sugar. “No offense, Bakugou but isn’t that a waste of daddy’s money?”

“Shut the fuck up.” He snaps but when she narrows her eyes he softens. “Plus uh, it’s my mom's money.” She laughs a little, bringing her paper straw to her perfect lips. “Please,” He says, his low growl uncharacteristically vulnerable as she sits across from him in the living room of the frat house. He pushes a mug of tea over to her. “This isn’t,” he thinks carefully about his words, “This isn’t some fuckin’ vanity project. I’m not doing performance art. I have to, I have to show him, that I’m serious about makin’ everything up to him, that I’m seriously uh, in love with him.” She takes him in, his classically handsome face contorted slightly, deep concentration lines between his brow the only flaw in his tanned skin.

“Alright.” She says quietly, recognizing something in what’s burning behind his eyes. “Alright, I’ll do it.” He visibly relaxes, “But um, there are rules.” He nods. “You won’t have time for parties, or whatever frat responsibilities you have, you need a killer essay, at least a 174 on the LSAT, and um, who do you or your mom know that could write you a recommendation, any chance you know the governor of California?” He blinks a couple of times.

“I guess, I’ll uh, I’ll make some calls.” He rubs his eyes.

________

“One fifty four,” Momo says, sitting on a table in the library, grading Bakugou’s practice LSAT. They can hear the shouts from revelers, and the blonde yawns loudly. “You have to stay up later tonight, Bakugou,” She says softly as the party rages on the quad. “We have to get through this module.”

“I’m gonna get coffee.” He grunts. She cocks her head at him.

“From the vending machine? The barista’s closed.” He sighs as she shudders.

“Yeah, the barista’s closed, It’s 1AM.” She swallows, pursing her lips.

“I’m just surprised.” She pauses, thinking. “Are you sure about this, Bakugou?” She asks. “You know, I look at you and I see someone who belongs out there,” she gestures toward the people shouting and dancing on the grass outside, one thin pane of glass away. “Not someone in here.” He furrows his brow and turns back to her. The shadows are long and most of the lights in the library are off. It smells a little musty, like old old paper and dust. He decides he’s too tired to be angry.

“I’m sure I love him.” He says, rasps. “I’m sure he uh, showed me,” he swallows, “Showed me grace when he didn’t have to.” She nods. “So a few vending machine coffees isn’t gonna wreck my system.” He says and she nods.

“Alright.”

A few weeks later, Bakugou is outlining his essay when Momo is half awake, grading his last practice test.

“Bakugou.” She says softly. “Hey,” he moans, bleary-eyed, looking up from his paper. “Bakugou look,” He lifts his head. “You did it.” She slides the test across the table. “One seventy-eight.” He smiles, a rare, soft genuine smile, and a low laugh falls from his lips in the quiet of the library.

“I did it, huh.” He closes his eyes for a moment before his usual demeanor takes back over, a smirk crossing his face. “Course I did.” She rolls her eyes.

“Now you just have to get in.”

______

“Bakugou Katsuki?” Men and women in suits are sitting in a conference room outside boston, moving files into piles across the table. “Decent LSAT’s, 4.0, oh in,” The man reading lowers his glasses. “Sports medicine.” One of the women squints at a picture of him.

“I mean,” She says quickly, raising her eyebrows, “For reasons of, ah, multiculturalism, I think maybe -”

“We have applicants from all over the world,” The dean speaks up, “We won’t be underrepresented in the demographic of ‘so-cal.’” She nods, with a sigh, taking a look at a copy of his essay.

“This is, it’s rough.” She says, adjusting her glasses. “But I think there’s something there, take a look at the way this argument is structured.” She slides the paper across the table to one of the other professors, who studies it.

“She’s right. I move we admit.” The dean shakes his head.

“I’ll predict he’ll be back to the beach in a month.”

_______

“Because I fucking want to!” Bakugou snarls, laying palm down flat on his mother's huge white marble island, the sun streaming in through the windows, making the cold stone glow. “You said if I could get into college you’d pay for it? Was that a goddamn lie?”

“No!” His mother snaps back, the famed producer crosses her arms. “But Harvard Law isn’t something I’m just going to piss away 400K on so you can get a bullshit degree, or drop out when it interferes with your gym schedule.”

“I’m not gonna do that,” Bakugou responds, forcing himself not to lose his temper. “This is it. This is my chance. I want to do this. I gotta prove to people I’m not some angry jock idiot, I gotta-”

“Katsuki,” His father interrupts. “Harvard Law isn’t something you do for another person.” Both blondes turn and listen to him as he sips a glass of unsweetened ice tea. “It’s something you do for you. That’s all your mother is saying.” Bakugou sighs.

“I can live without sun or valet.” He says. “I need to do this. I need to do it for me.” His mother shudders, shaking her head.

“Surely the clubs in Boston have valet.”

_____

There’s a cool breeze undercutting the last remnants of a hot Massachusetts summer. Harvard’s campus is abuzz with activity as Bakugou makes his way across the quad for orientation. That’s when he sees you for the first time.

“Oh wow,” You say, a warm smile on your face as you eye his bare shoulders. “It’s a little chilly for a tank top, isn’t it?” He grunts in response.

“‘M fine.” The wind rustles his straw hair. “Katsuki, comma, Bakugou.”

“Bakugou Katsuki.” You say, not dropping the smile, “I’m actually your orientation leader,” You hand him the name tag. “Try and find some fabric to stick that too, huh?”

“It’s true what they say then.” He responds gruffly, and you raise your eyebrows.

“What’s that?”

“That lawyers aren’t funny.” You laugh, and stand up from the folding table, stretching a little.

“Gosh, it’s too bad you think that because you are stuck with me all day.” You hold out a hand. “I’m y/n.” He nods, shaking it, swallowing your hand in his. He’s so much bigger than you, taller and wider, with broad shoulders and sculpted muscles running down his arms. You usually feel underdressed here, at Harvard, in your cheap jeans and sneakers, but standing next to him you feel unusually so. His simple outfit looks like new, sparkling money, perfectly ripped black jeans, expensive sneakers, and a flannel artfully tied around his waist. You push down the feelings of inadequacy and motion him over to a blanket.

“Hey, everyone!” You smile. “I’m y/n, and I’m a senior in our law program.” A boy with straight blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes coughs.

“And a scholarship student, I presume,” He says dryly. Bakugou watches you carefully, not a muscle in your face moving before you respond calmly.

“I was until I got a job offer from Kamihara and Todoroki.” You say, never dropping your air of cheerfulness. There are a couple of nervous glances, and a light dusting of pink dances across Monoma’s cheeks. “Yes, and if you’d like to intern there I’d start kissing my ass,” you pull your phone out of your pocket and check the time, “Oh shoot, five minutes ago.” You say with mock concern. There are a couple of chuckles. “Let’s go around the circle then, since you know a little about me.

“I’m Iida Tenya,” A serious looking boy in a crisp shirt with wire rimmed glasses begins. “I’m a Rhodes Scholar from Connecticut, I spent a few years working in finance, before deciding to pursue my law degree. In my free time I collect art, I’m partial to Turner.” Your smile widens.

“How many yachts named Magritte can one man own?” You joke, and this elicits a few genuine laughs. Iida looks at you though, sternly.

“Several.” The introductions sound like you’re each speaking in a foreign language, making references that Bakugou has no context for. He thinks he catches the word “Kafkaesque,” something he’s heard Midoriya say, but it’s clearly cloaked in about five layers of irony as a fly buzzes around Monoma’s head. He defaults to watching the rest of the group, Iida, with the glasses, a round-cheeked girl in overalls, Uraraka, who had just this week gotten back from the peace corps, Monoma, the blonde asshole, and Shindou, a confident boy in a dark green polo shirt, who kept winking at you when you’d ask him a question. Bakugou notes that you seem unimpressed.

He’s having a hard time paying attention, looking everywhere for the familiar mop of green curls, for the soft light, musical laughter he’d grown so accustomed to. He was looking forward to the look of shock on Izuku’s face when he saw him there.

“Uh hey, Bakugou,” You say, reaching over and gently touching his upper arm to get his attention. “Your turn.”

“Bakugou Katsuki.” He says, barely looking at the rest of the group. “I’m from UCLA.” There are a few laughs.

“Oh cool,” You say politely, “And what did you study?”

“Sports Medicine.”

“How the fuck did you get in here?” Monoma says even taking a beat and Shindou laughs lightly.

“I think you mean who did you fuck to get in here.” He corrects and Bakugou’s face goes bright red, ready to roar a response when you beat him to it.

“At Harvard, we embrace multiculturalism in all its forms.” You say, cocking your head to the side. “And from firsthand experience, underestimating any opponent is dangerous. I took both of you for more intelligent men than that.” There’s an awkward pause that doesn’t seem to affect you at all. “Great,” you say standing, “I can give you a tour and then send you all on your way.” You walk backward across campus, pointing out historic buildings, beautiful libraries, and scenic walkways. “And these,” You say, “Are the dorms; if you’re living there. I’m actually up on the third floor, so if you’re having some kind of mental breakdown about an ethics paper, make sure to cry quietly enough so that I don’t have to listen to you bitch.” You hold the door for the building. “All joking aside, feel free to snag my number in case you get lost or,” your eyes flick to Monoma, “You decide you’d like to engage in some retroactive ass kissing, feel free to take my number.” You hand your phone out and Bakugou watches every student put their number in before it comes to him. He barely keeps himself from rolling his eyes at the emojis Shindou used. He’s handing the phone back to you when it happens. He’d played this moment over and over again in his mind, imagined different ways this could go, could feel.

“Bakugou?” In front of you his whole demeanor shifts, you see his shoulders droop a little, and a slight redness rise in his cheeks as a green-haired boy bounds up the steps to the dorm. “What are you, uh, what are you doing here?” Midoriya is standing, fingers loosely interlaced with the man standing next to him. He’s got unusual coloring, red and white hair, and a handsome, solemn face. You break the ice, feeling the tension radiating off of Bakugou in waves.

“It’s nice to see you again, Todoroki.” He nods to you,

“Likewise.”

“I uh,” Bakugou says gruffly, “I go here, I go to school here.” You watch the freckled boy let out a high pitched nervous laugh,

“Uh, Kacchan,” You clock the childhood nickname immediately, “You got in, here, to Harvard?” Bakugou scowls.

“What, like it’s hard?” He snarls and you let out a genuine laugh at what you perceive to be a joke.

“Ah,” He touches the back of his neck, “Right, um, well,” he turns to you, “You’re f/n l/n.” You nod. “Midoriya Izuku.” He shakes your hand, palms cold and clammy. “I read your article in the Houston Law Review last year, it was absolutely brilliant.”

“Thank you.” You smile politely and he nods.

“And the photo they used didn’t do you justice.” You raise your eyebrows at the flattery. “But um,” Midoriya takes Todoroki’s hand. “Nice to see you, Kacchan.” And just like that, they’re gone. There’s a couple of seconds of silence. You both stand in the entrance hallway as the door closes.

“Friend of yours?” You say, after a few minutes, and Bakugou shakes his head. “Thought so.” You reach out, on instinct, and pat his upper arm. He recoils as if you’d shocked him and you jump back. “Cool, cool, not a hugger, I’m writing that down.” Bakugou nods.

“Is there anything else required of me for orientation?” He speaks, voice barely above a whisper. You shake your head. “Then I’m leaving.” You sigh and pad up the stairs to your room. Bakugou is already dialing Denki when the door to his room closes, flopping on his bed with a loud creaking sound. Denki doesn’t even get a greeting out before Bakugou starts to talk.

“He’s fucking dating someone else.” Bakugou snaps. “It’s been what, a few months? And he’s dating someone else? Is that even allowed?” In California, Denki winces, the voice on the other end so loud that everyone in the room can hear it. He coughs, carefully handing the blunt to Mina, who raises her eyebrows.

“I mean,” Denki says, leaning back. “Just show him up, yeah? At least this week is syllabus week but after that, should be easy. You’ve got the best grades in the frat for sure. Whoever this guy is, you can outdo him.” He coughs again.

“Drink some fucking water.” Bakugou growls, hanging up. He takes his pillow and screams into it a few times, then remembers your warning about being able to hear crying on the top floor and makes a decision. He changes, throwing on a sleeveless gym shirt and joggers, stepping into sneakers with soft, specially made arches. He types gym into his phone, gets in his black jeep, and drives. He pulls up to a tiny place in a strip mall. The overcast skies from earlier were now weeping gently, little puddles forming on the decidedly uneven tar of the parking lot.

He opens the door and a bell jingles softly. This wasn’t like the gym at UCLA, all big windows and expensive machines. This was a boxing gym, with one treadmill in the corner, and a few locals doing combinations on the bags. He goes to the front desk, pulling a plastic headband out of his gym bag. He slots it in his hair without looking in the mirrors.

“Hey,” a huge man with unnaturally red hair comes over to him. “First time?” Bakugou nods. “Welcome. Name’s Kirishima.” Bakugou shakes his hand and grunts. “You need gloves?” Bakugou nods again and Kirishima waves him over to a communal bucket. “We clean these every night so -”

“I’ll buy a pair.” Bakugou interrupts.

“You sure?” Kirishima fidgets nervously. “They’re kinda pricey.” Bakugou shrugs, sliding his black card across the counter. There’s a silence. “You need a sparring partner?” Bakugou nods.

“Think ya can handle it?” He growls.

“Yeah,” Kirishima chuckles, drawing himself up to his full height, he’s got a good two inches on the blonde. “Think I’ll be fine.” They step into the ring, and chase each other around until their chests are heaving, until sweat is dripping from their temples onto their chests.

“Another.” Bakugou demands, when Kirishima leans against the rope.

“Easy, I gotta get some water,” He glances at the blonde. “You’re not from around here.”

“Cali.” Bakugou confirms.

“Whatcha doin’ out here.” He hands Bakugou a water bottle and the blonde squirts some water in his mouth.

“Law school.” Bakugou confirms.

“Oh shit, you at uh, Harvard Law?” Kirishima takes a sip of his water.

“I uh,” he scowls, “I just came out here for someone else.” His lips twitch, and Kirishima seems to understand.

“Yeah, my ex did a number on me too.” He shakes his head. “She’s got my dog man, I just,” he looks out across the parking lot. “I dunno. I gave her everything I had and it wasn’t enough. You know what that feels like?” Bakugou nods, setting the bottle on the ground.

“Let’s go again.”

—---

When he gets back to the dorm he’s sweaty, straw hair pushed back with a headband, arms even more swollen with muscle than usual. He swings the door to the dormitory open and hits something hard, hearing your soft squeal.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ,” he swears, when he sees you stumble backward with a hand over your nose, “Be more careful.” You scowl back at him, but he sees the blood drip through your fingertips.

“Are you kidding?” You snap, “You just hit me, you be more careful” You say, attempting to skirt his huge frame, staunching the blood with your fingertips. He narrows his eyes, feeling a twinge of guilt.

“I got ice packs in my room dumbass, lemme fix it.” You let him lead you down the hallway to his room. You eye the weights in the corner and the full vanity of hair products.

“Wow,” You say, as he hands you tissues, “Got a lot going on in here, huh?” He shrugs, unsure of how to respond. He digs in his refrigerator, and pulls out an ice pack, taking you by the shoulder, spinning you so that your back is to him. He presses it to your skin and you hiss at the temperature.

“It slows the bleeding.” He says, without apology, as you shiver.

“Oh, that’s right.” You perk up a little. “You were a sports medicine major.” He nods “You uh,” you stumble over your words, “You look the part.” there’s a pause. “Ready for your first day of classes?” He shrugs.

“It’s syllabus week.”

“What?” You laugh, still pinching your nose. “This is Harvard Law, Bakugou there’s no such thing as syllabus week here.” He shrugs.

“I didn’t have to do the reading to do well at UCLA.”

“Okay well,” You wipe your nose on the tissue, the bleeding is slowing, “You’re gonna have to do the reading here.” He smirks and shrugs. “You are.” He crosses his arms, tanned muscle accentuated by the movement.

“Think I’ll be just fine.” He takes in your genuinely concerned expression for a moment and has very brief second thoughts but you make your way to the door before he can reveal any insecurity.

“I’ll be on my way then.” You say, pausing with your hand on the doorknob. “That uh, was that your ex, earlier?” He scowls.

“I’m bi.”

“Is that what I asked?” You cock your head, your smile disappearing and for a moment he sees you the same way he saw the others today, like a shark sniffing for blood in the water. But your features soften again. “Listen, I um, maybe I’m overstepping but this is a high-stress environment.” He squints at you. “I’ll just say that if you need any of the mental health resources Harvard offers, please let me know and I can help you take advantage of them.” He rolls his eyes. “Hey,” you chastise, “I had like four mental breakdowns my freshman year, and I left my exes behind in Ohio, and I didn’t stick out like a sore thumb.” You chew your lip. “Well, actually I just stuck out less than you.” He shrugs, hands in his pockets.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

“Cool,” you say, opening the door, he catches your response in totality when the door is closed. “Cool, cool, cool.” He collapses on the bed, rubbing his temples, trying to scrub the image of Todoroki and Midoriya from his mind. It doesn’t leave him though, it follows him into the shower, haunts his dreams, and remains a specter as he makes his way through the rain to his first class the following day.

He’s about two minutes late, having had some trouble finding the building. The entire class looks up as he makes his way into the nearest seat at the lecture. He catches Midoriya’s eyes in the front row before he sits, taking out a notebook.

“Ahh,” the Professor coos, “Mr. Bakugou Katsuki I presume?” Bakugou blinks, he’s used to lecture halls of three hundred, where he could pass with both anonymity and flying colors. He gives a little wave.

“I’m wondering what your thoughts might be on the case I assigned for today's class?” Bakugou remembers your warning, too little, too late. The professor reads the blank look on your face and chuckles, “But of course, you didn’t do the reading, do you?” There are a few titters, and the Professor sighs dramatically. “I’ll move on to someone worth my time, and ah, Mr. Bakugou, feel free to see yourself out, and don’t come back until you’ve done the work. Or at all.”

“Are you kicking me out of class?” Bakugou says, his low growl barely carrying across the lecture hall. There’s more laughter.

“If you’re smart enough to find the door that is.” The professor drawls, and almost on autopilot, Bakugou clenches his fists and stalks out of the classroom, blood boiling.

Okay so not doing the reading was a mistake he couldn’t afford to make here. Fine. Fine. He’d handle it. He spends the rest of the class period preparing for his next class, doing reading, and making notes, but he doesn’t fare any better, not able to raise his hand or answer any questions, absolutely floored by the interactive nature of the smaller lectures, unable to keep up with the quick nature of the debate. He usually had the entire class period to cut in and make some comment that would impress the teacher, he was used to being the only student in class that had done even part of the reading. He’s walking slowly out of Windsor Hall when he runs into you, thankfully, not literally this time. It’s just starting to rain.

“Hey Bakugou, how was your first day of class!” You beam at him, and his eyes flick to the little moth hole in your sweater that he can see the lace of your bralette through, but before he can respond someone comes up behind him.

“Kacchan,” Midoriya huffs, Todoroki right behind him, beautiful and silent, fingers interlaced with Deku’s. “Hey, I just wanted to check in on you, just because-”

“I’m fuckin’ fine.” Bakuogu snaps, and Midoriya blanches, flashing his palms and taking a step back.

“Ah, okay, sure. Nice to see you.” He says to you, and the two men walk across the quad, with Midoriya looking nervously over his shoulder. Bakugou takes a couple of steps and then sinks into a wooden bench, his grey sweatshirt already dappled with rain. He holds his head in his hands. You sit next to him, and you half expect him to tell you to fuck off, but he doesn’t, just rubs his eyes.

“I came here,” He says quietly, “Because I’ve never hit a challenge I couldn’t rise to, never found an obstacle I couldn’t overcome.” You don’t respond. “I’ve brute forced my way through, through life,” He looks out, across the quad. “And that’s not gonna do it here,” he turns to you, “Is it?” You nod slowly and speak gently.

“Yeah, Bakugou it isn’t.” You look at Midoriya’s back, now it’s tiny as he ducks into another building, the rain getting heavier. “Did you uh-”

“I came here for him,” Bakugou says, unable to look at you. “I came here for, for love, sounds fuckin’ insane sayin’ it out loud.” He interlocks his fingers behind his head, leaning back and groaning.

“Oh.” You say, eyes wide.

“It’s not goin’ well,” Bakugou admits.

“So you, uh,” you can’t stop the soft laugh that bubbles through your lips. “You came out here, to follow a man? Like, what, Harvard Law was just, part of the plan?” He regards you, solemnly as you shake your head. “Man, what rich romantic planet are you from?”

“Malibu.” He offers gruffly and you giggle. “You can fuck off if you’re gonna laugh at me.”

“No,” you say quickly, eyes wide, “No, no, it’s just um,” you shake your head. “Listen, I grew up in a shithole, with my mom and whatever deadbeat was the flavor of the month.” He looks at you, his face unreadable. “I got through law school by busting my ass,” you laugh again, “I worked two jobs, in addition to class, so it’s just a bit jarring to hear that this is, like, a lark for you.” He scoffs.

“Just because you’ve got some kinda chip on your shoulder-”

“Bakugou,” You interrupt him, “Of course, I have a chip on my shoulder, that’s not the point, the point is that you need one too.” You stand, the rain is coming down a little harder now, and take both of his hands impulsively. “Listen, the thing that keeps you going at 2 AM when you’re writing that essay, when you’re prepping for class, Bakugou, it’s that fire, the people have something to prove to.” You gesture to the rest of the campus. “They laughed at me just like they’re laughing at you, and look at me now. I’m drowning in job offers, I’m a shoo-in for valedictorian, and I have an internship at the most prestigious law firm in Boston.” The rain picks up, large droplets falling now, causing tendrils of your hair to stick to your face. Bakugou, for his part, seems to finally be listening as you pull him to his feet.

“I’m just saying that with this chance you’ve been given, I mean like, a chance other people fucking fought and clawed for.” You say, voice desperate, “I can’t watch you not be driven as hell. Not when you’re taking someone else's place here.” He inspects your earnest expression, so different from the calculating sneers of his classmates.

“Two jobs?” He says inspecting you, and you nod.

“On top of class.” You affirm, and he groans, letting go of one of your hands and rubbing his eyes. “I’m willing to help you.”

“Why?” He asks, still suspicious. You sigh, looking around the empty quad, the rain now soaking through both of your clothes.

“Because I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong here.” You say quietly, barely louder than the rain hitting the pavement. He nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“Thanks, uh thank you.”

“No problem.” You smile softly at him, “Let’s go back to your dorm, I’ll set you up.” He nods, and you let go of his other hand, touching the back of your neck self-consciously. “Sorry about grabbing your hands, I, I get passionate when I argue.”

“S’fine.” Bakugou says, without looking at you. “I like passionate.” You nod slowly, and the two of you make your way back to the dorm, getting completely soaked by the rain. He opens the door to his room and rips his soaked sweatshirt off, and opens his closet, digging for something.

“Oh are we just, um, stripping?” You ask, shivering, and he turns around, smirking, tossing you a soft t-shirt.

“Up to you.” You nod, and with his back turned you pull your sweater over your head, replacing it with his shirt. He watches you change over his shoulder, eyeing the slope of your breasts and the red marks where your bra strap had been digging into your shoulder, but averts his eyes before you get the shirt over your head.

“Where are your books?” You ask, and he points at a pile in the corner. Of course, they’re untouched. You grab the top one and dig a couple of highlighters out of your bag. “Alright,” You get up on his bed and sit next to him. Your shoulders touch. “I’m gonna show you how to annotate a court case.” He leans forward, watching you intently.

Over the next few weeks, Bakugou commits to law school with a tenacious ferocity, and under your, extremely strict, he might point out, tutelage, he begins to reap the benefits. It’s October when you’re assisting Professor Kamihara, grading papers in the corner of the classroom when he’s pacing at the front of the room. He’s a tall stern man, with well-coiffed salt and pepper hair. For a man in his early fifties, his eyes are bright and alive, his face nearly unwrinkled.

“What is better,” he calls out to his students, “Would you rather defend an innocent person or a guilty one?” Hands shoot into the air, but Bakugou is the quickest. As winter approaches, he’s traded his tank tops for long sleeve crewneck sweatshirts with some streetwear brand’s logo on them. “Ah, Mr. Bakugou.” The whole class turns around, but Bakuogu answers easily, smirk glowing on his face.

“Doesn’t matter.” He says simply, and there are titters, but Professor Kamihara puts up a single finger.

“Expand on that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” He repeats, leaning forward in his chair, “Because whether a client’s actually done it isn’t a discussion you need to have as a lawyer, by the time you've taken the case, you’ve accepted their innocence. You just have to get them off.” There’s a pause.

“Well put.” Professor Kamihara says. You can’t wipe the proud smile off of your face, feeling a twinge of sadness, as you look at Bakugou, hoping to congratulate him, and see his eyes fully focused on Midoriya, who beams back at him.

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