[bread0nhead]

Spare some dough on Ko-Fi

Baguette to know me:

Pronouns: she/her

Name: Cat

Sign: Gemini

Just a mid western gal who is fucking old, always cold, and probably stoned. In my spare time, I like to take long walks on the beach in my head with fictional men. I also love drawing nude dudes and aggressively writing fan fiction. So don’t threaten me with a good time. No, seriously, don’t. I hate leaving my house.

My message box is always open, let’s chat. I will send unsolicited cat pics.

ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ

Baking a request:

What I doughnut do:

Non-con, yandera, AU, incest, OC’s, under age, m!reader, domestic violence.

A/N:

I try not force myself to write, because then I produce garbage. Because I want to give myself time to actually be happy with what I wrote and never force the process. Please understand a completion of a request may take longer than expected.

Who I write:

Sukuna Ryomen, Dabi (Touya Todoroki), Hawks (Keigo Takami), Tomura Shigaraki, Hitoshi Shinsou, Levi Ackerman, Katsuki Bakugou.

Not on the list? That’s okay! Still don’t hesitate to submit a request! These are just characters I am confident in writing for.

ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ

No bun intended

[bread0nhead]

New tattoo 💨⚔️

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Twenty

Notes: Cross posted on ao3 The fuck?? Twenty chapters? You guys are still entertained by this ridiculous story?

“Do you have any idea what’s happening right now!?” Norikos echoes through the high-ceiling meeting room. 

You took a long sip of your iced latte, looking completely unphased, falling into the leather desk chair. “Good morning to you, too.” 

“This is not a good morning,” Norkio snapped, slamming her tablet in front of you where the screen lit up with headlines that made your stomach churn. You hesitantly picked it up and scrolled through each article. 

Hope for Tomorrow, Love for Tonight? Pulchra Leaves Charity Ball on Dynamites Arm.

From Gala to Getaway: Pulchra & Dynamite Spark Debate After Early Exit.

Pulchra’s Mystery Night Out: Priorities in Question?

And the worst- the one plastered across every social feed: 

A gallery of shots cataloging your night. Photos of you and Bakugou together at the gala. Photos of you and him leaving early. And intimate shots of you and Bakugou walking out of the restaurant. His arm draped over your shoulders, your body instinctively towards his. His lips resting on the top of your head. A smile painting on your face. You looked comfortable, safe, like you belonged there all along. 

Comments scrolled underneath in endless waves, screaming from every direction. 

“She ditched a fundraiser for victims of villains to cozy up to a hero? Gross.”

“So the fantasies’ dead? She’s just dating some angry meathead?”

“This was cute at first, now it's just weird. They make a terrible couple.” 

“Dynamite is going to ruin her.”

You tried to hand the tablet back, but Noriko just glared harder. “Do you understand how bad this looks? That event was televised. Families of people who lost everything were there. And you left. For what? Some hero with a bad rap and an even worse temper? Japan’s untouchable sweetheart doesn’t look so sweet anymore.”

You flinched. “That’s not-”

“Not what it looks like?” Noriko cut you off. “Perception is everything. Pulchra doesn’t leave early. Pulchra doesn’t get caught sneaking off with a man like a love-drunk schoolgirl. And most importantly, Pulchra doesn’t tie herself down!”

Jun finally piped up, sitting his cappuccino. “At least it's with Japan's hottest hero. I mean, if we’re judging optics alone-”

“Jun,” Noriko snapped, “Not now.”

He shrugged, “Just sayin’.”

“I don’t owe anyone an explanation.” Your eyes narrowed at Noriko. 

“You owe your brand an explanation. Your sponsors. Do you know how many contracts are tied up in you maintaining a certain image? Because I do. And right now? They’re calling me asking if Pulchra is going soft.” 

The word landed like a slap. Soft. Like choosing to leave a room full of sponsors and cameras for one night of being human was considered weakness. 

Jun sauntered over to you, placing his hand on your shoulder. “She’s not going soft. She’s just…diversifying her portfolio.”

Noriko pinches the bridge of her nose like she was holding back an aneurysm. “Fix this. Or I will, Pulchra.”

You pushed yourself out of your seat and walked to the door. Your hand grasped the metal handle and swung the glass door open with force. 

“My name’s Y/N. Not Pulchra.” and with that, you walked out of the office without sparing a glance.

***

The warehouse reeked of chemicals and burned plastic. Smoke clung to the rafters where Bakugous explosions had ripped through walls and equipment, scattering the half-melted remnants of a quirk-enhancing drug operation across the concrete floors. 

“Bag and tag everything,” One of the officers barkered to his team, pulling on latex gloves as they stepped over busted crates. 

Bakugou wiped the sweat from his temple with the back of his hand, his chest still rising from the adrenaline. Over a month of chasing leads, and several near-misses. And finally, this hellhole of a mission was done. 

“Good work, Dynamite.” An older cop clapped him on the shoulder as two suspects were cuffed and dragged past. “Hell of a takedown.”

“Yeah,” Bakugou muttered with a rough voice. “About damn time. Fuckin’ idiots.”

The officer laughed. “Jeez, you’re one hell of a lucky guy, ya know that? Got the looks, the quirk, and the girl, sure must be nice.”

Bakugou turned sharp. “The hell are you talking about?”

“Captain, sir!” A younger officer called out from behind.

The captain gave Bakugou's shoulder one more squeeze before nodding and heading off. 

Bakugou didn’t bother entertaining the comment any longer. He was filthy, sore, and needed a shower before the adrenaline crash hit. 

***

When he swung the large glass doors of his agency open, something felt off. 

Everyone in the lobby was looking at him. Not the usual awe or fear he’d expected, but something different. Smirks, knowing looks, a few whispers they didn’t think he’d hear. 

Bakugou glared back at them, a snarl tugging at his mouth. “The fuck are you all staring at?”

Nobody answered, suddenly too busy with their phones or clipboards. “Tch,” he muttered, stomping towards the locker room to strip off his hero costume.

By the time he changed into civilian clothes and trudged towards his office, his patience was already running thin. He shoved the door open and immediately regretted not turning around. 

Waiting inside were Kiego, president of the Hero Commission, leaning against the wall, and Himari, his oh-so-delightful PR manager, perched on the edge of his desk with crossed arms and a look that screamed trouble. 

“Two of the worst people I could possibly see in my office.” Bakugou growled, brushing past them to drop into his chair. 

Keigo grinned with a low chuckle. “Oh man, you and your girl are causing quite the commotion.”

Bakugou leaned back, propping his feet on the desk and crossing his arms. “Someone gonna finally tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“Your downfall, apparently.” Himari said dryly, thrusting a tablet into his lap. “Half of Japan is acting like you stole the damn Mona Lisa straight out of the Louvre."

Bakugou frowned and swiped through the screen of photos and headlines. Bakugou didn’t even finish scrolling before tossing the tablet back across the desk. “I really don’t care about this garbage.” 

Himari slammed her palms down on the desk, leaning over him. “Well, I do! And you should, too! Her fans are losing their goddamn minds, claiming you stole their ‘Goddess’. Your fans are calling you reckless for dating someone with a…less-than-child-friendly portfolio.”  

“The hell does that mean?!” 

“I’m talking about the tasteful, but still nude photoshoots she's done! Sex sells, Bakugou, and Pulchra is a brand. Her brand. You think her rapid fanbase is gonna sit back while you turn their little fantasy into a tabloid romance?!”

Bakugous brows pinched together. “She’s a fucking person. Not some collectible they can jerk off to.” 

Keigo let out a low whistle. “Easy, Dynamite. I’m not disagreeing with you, but your girl’s team is calling us nonstop. Her sponsors, and yours, are pissed.”  

Bakugou cut him a side-eye. “And what? You want me to apologize for taking her out to dinner?” 

“I don’t know, maybe?!” Himari snapped. “What I want is for you to understand this isn’t about you. Little miss perfect walked out of a high-profile charity event halfway through the night, with you, and now it's a scandal. And that looks bad for the commission.” 

Bakugou leaned forward, planting his elbows on the desk, his glare sharp enough to cut. “So, who’s the piece of shit who started this rumor?” 

Himari smirked like she’s been waiting for that question. She picked up the tablet and typed in a name in the search bar, tossing it back to Bakugou with the reporter's picture up. “Fujino Yoshiaki”

Bakugou glared at the screen. He recognized the man on the tablet. It’s the same prick who tried to interview you and him during the gala. “Figures,” he muttered. 

“Bakugou.” Himari’s tone softened, just slightly. “We need to get ahead of this. A statement. Maybe an interview. At the very least, some kind of-”

“No.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“No statements, no interviews, no bullshit.” 

Keigo raised a brow. “Then what's your plan, tough guy? Because right now, the public is after your ranking.”

Bakugou stood, shoving the chair back so hard it nearly tipped. He grabbed his jacket off the back of his seat. 

“My plan,” he said, voice low and steady, “Is to go see her. You two jackasses can figure out the rest.” 

***

There were three loud knocks on your door. 

You barely registered the sound as you sat at your kitchen island, glass of wine beside you. You continuously refreshed your social media every thirty seconds as though it would make the news change. Headlines and comments felt like a knife to the gut. You wanted to throw your phone in the trash, maybe you with it. 

Three more knocks rapped against your door, followed by a familiar gruff voice. “Open the damn door.”

Your heart stopped. With a shaky sigh, you dragged yourself off the stool and barely cracked the door open to see angry red eyes and a mess of ash blonde hair on the other side. “What are you doing here? Why are you-”

“Not playing twenty question, princess,  let me in.”

You contemplated shutting the door and locking the deadbolt, telling him to leave. To let you sink into your spiral of self pity alone. But your fingers betrayed you, opening the door fully and stepping aside. 

His eyes scanned you up and down. Your hair in a messy bun, streaky makeup, bare feet, oversized shirt and tiny shorts. His jaw clenched. “You look like shit.” 

“Wow, thanks.” You muttered as you closed the door behind him. 

He brushed past you into the apartment like it was his to claim. 

“You can’t just….show up here.” 

“Sure I can.” He said, heading straight to your kitchen. He opened the fridge, scowled at the contents since you still haven’t bought groceries, then closed it again. “You eat today?”

“Bakugou.”

“No? Thought so.” He looked over at your half empty glass of wine and grabbed a cup from your cabinet and filled it with water. “Here, drink.”

You crossed your arms. “I don’t need water.”

“Yeah, well, you need somethin’. You look like you're about to combust.” He set the glass in front of you. 

You glared at him, but took the water anyway, sipping just to have something to do with your hands. 

For a moment, neither of you spoke. 

Finally, you exhaled. “They’re tearing us apart.” 

“Yeah, I saw.”

“They’re saying I’m selfish. That I don’t care about anyone but myself. That I abandoned everything Pulchra stands for. And you-” your voice wavered, “-they’re saying I’m corrupting your image. They’re blaming you for taking away Pulchra. That you’re-”

“Let ‘em talk.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

Bakugou shrugged like none of this phased him. “You think I give a single fuck what they write? What they say about me? About us?” 

You hugged yourself tighter. “I can’t not care. My team, my sponsors, my brand. There are peoples whos entire careers depend on me being who they want me to be. If I ruin that-” 

“Then good.” He cut in.

You snapped your head up. “Good?”

He came around the island, closing the space between you with slow, deliberate steps until he was right in front of you. Close enough you could feel the heat radiate off of him. “Yeah, good. ‘Cause you hate this Pulchra bullshit. You’ve been suffocating in that shit for years.”

“I…” your throat tightened. 

“And don’t tell me I’m wrong. I know you.”

You swallowed hard, staring at the half empty glass of water on the counter. “Even if I wanted to, I would know where to begin. This is all I know.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Then we’ll figure it out.”

Your eyes snapped up to his. 

He didn’t look away. “Write your own brand. Something you're actually proud of.  One that doesn’t have a choke hold on you.” 

Your head fell into his chest, and the tears that came along with it. Bakugou didn’t comment on them. Just lifted your face up so he could wipe away the tears with his thumb. “And before you start worrying about my rep- fuck that too. Told you I don’t need medias validation to know I’m a damn good hero.” He smirked. 

You nodded, and rested your head back on his chest as your arms wrapped around his torso. 

“''sides, I have the name and address of the dick to release the news articles.” 

Your head perked up to look at him, eyes narrowed in.  “You’re not going to blow him up, right?” 

His smile grew wicked. “Probably. No one fucks with my girl and gets away with it.” 

Your eyes grew wide and heat rushed to your cheeks. “Your girl? That's an awfully bold statement.” 

His hand gripped your chin, making sure your eyes stay on his. “Fuck yeah, you seriously think after all this shit, I’m not locking you down?”

A laugh escaped your lips, unexpected and cathartic. “You’re an idiot.” 

“No, I’m the fuckin’ best and you love it.” 

The words landed heavier than they should have. You stared at him, heart pounding, realizing maybe you weren’t as scared of the headlines as you were how much you wanted this. Him. 

Bakugou stepped back just enough to give you room to breathe. He reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. “Now, are you going to keep spiraling or can I order us some food so you don’t pass out on me?” 

You sniffled, rubbing your eyes with a faint smile. “Bossy.” 

“Damn right.” He tossed you his phone with a grin. “Now order whatever you want.” 

Despite everything, despite the chaos waiting for you, you felt lighter. Like maybe this was survivable. Like maybe he was right.

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Nineteen

Notes: Cross posted on ao3. Thanks for your patience. I had the hardest time with this chapter because its so dialogue heavy. I'm really quiet in real life, that when it comes to writing conversations, it feels so foreign to me. I knew this chapter was coming and was dreading it so much. Hopefully it's okay.

Rating: 18+

“I’ll grab my car. Wait here.”

You nodded. Your throat was too dry to speak, it choked you. 

The night air nipped at your skin like a warning. You stood just outside the rear exit of the hotel. No cameras, no eyes, just consequences and silence. 

Bakugou silently shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. It was still warm, his warmth, and it smelled like him too. Clean warm spice and a hint of burnt sugar. You clutched it tighter like a shield. 

Behind you, the ballroom loomed over you like it could swallow you whole. You could go back, fall back into the routine. Give a weak excuse like a powder break, or you simply needed air. No one would question or judge. 

And if you went back, Bakugou probably wouldn’t chase. He’d accepted it. Finally let go.  He gave you a choice, which meant it was yours to ruin. 

You gripped onto your clutch tighter, fingers digging into the glittered metal. The doubt screamed in your chest. What are you doing? This is reckless. This is stupid. You can’t afford this. The people want Pulchra and you can’t take that away from them. You’re being selfish. 

Headlights rounded the corner. A low engine rumble purred in the silence, loud and unmistakable. Bakugou stepped out. He didn’t say a word. Just walked around to open the door for you with a silent invitation. But you just stood there staring at the sleek black leather seats. You could hear the muffled music of the gala behind you. It called your name, whispered sweet words. 

“Well?” Bakugou was giving you another choice. Another chance to turn back around. 

You took a deep breath and stepped forward. 

Every step towards the car felt like walking off a ledge. The loose gravel beneath your heels made the ground impossible to walk on. The night air dared you to step back into the warmth. But you kept moving forward.

The leather was cool to the touch. You clicked the seatbelt into place like it might hold you together. Bakugou closed the door behind you, then climbed into the driver’s seat. 

City lights slipped past the windows. The hum of the engine and low music from the speakers was the only sound between you. His one hand wrapped around the steering wheel, and the other resting against his cheek while the edge of the window propped his elbow. The ride was quiet, weighted by things neither of you were brave enough to say. As if speaking the wrong thing would break everything and reality would come crashing in. 

Your gaze lingers on him. His jaw was tight, his red orbs carefully watching the road. His finger rhythmically tapped on the leather steering wheel. The sleeves of his black button up rolled to his elbow. His arms were big with a vein wrapping around. The scars are a different shade from the rest of his skin. His hair, perfectly chaotic. Golden streams of light danced across his features. He looks dangerous and beautiful at the same time. 

You let out a deep exhale and roll your head on the headrest. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

He didn’t look over, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch with a faint smile. “You say that like I dragged you out of there.” 

You huffed “You kinda did.” 

His eyes flicked over to you and his lips pulled into a lopsided grin. “I think you kinda liked it.” 

And that was somehow worse. Because he was right. 

***

The elevator ride to your penthouse was silent too. You didn’t speak as you typed in the access code. He didn’t comment when the doors opened. 

Your heels clicked against the polished floors as you stepped inside. The moment the door closed behind you, you kicked them off. The relief was immediate. 

Your body relaxed with the sight of your sanctuary. 

Next you unhooked the heavy diamond necklace. Then peeled the gloves off like shedding skin. Every motion was sweet relief. 

“Make yourself comfortable.” You muttered, already walking towards your room. 

He collapsed onto your couch like he’s been here a hundred times before. One arm flung lazily across the back, his legs spread like he owned the space. He looked at ease. Like he belonged here. Like he belonged with you. 

You hesitated just outside your bedroom. “So…dinner. What should I wear? You’re still in your suit. I don’t want to look out of place.”

Bakugou turned his head slightly, brows raised. “Wear whatever the hell you want. I don’t care.” “That’s not helpful,” you sighed, crossing your arms. “Is this place fancy like I should wear a dress, or casual and it's a jeans kind of place. I need details.”

“Wear whatever you would wear on a date.”

You blinked. “This is a date?” 

Bakugou grinned, unapologetic.  “Obviously.” 

Your breath caught. Your pulse skipped as your cheeks grew warm. You stood like a frozen buffering video before disappearing behind your door. 

The second it shut, you pressed your back to it and exhaled, long and shaky. 

Date…

You rushed to your closet, clothes being thrown everywhere as you frantically looked for the right outfit. This is your first date with Bakugou. It had to be cute, sexy, but simple. You wanted something perfect. You held several items of clothing against your body as you looked in the mirror. Nothing felt good enough. Nothing felt right.

The more you dug through your closet, the more you realized everything belongs to Pulchra. 

You don’t know how to date. Pulchra does. She's good at it too. Always dressed in the perfect outfit, singing all the right words to tantalize men. She knew how to flirt, how to touch, how to make men want more. 

In the deep depth of your closet was a relic wrapped in chiffon. The flowery print faded from time. You haven’t worn this dress since you became Pulchra. The material is cheap and looks far outdated. But when money was tight and you were just a girl living in the countryside, this was your favorite. 

Your makeup now removed, only light mascara and a delicate lip tint. Your hair in a simple ponytail held by a pink ribbon wrapped into a bow. The dress still fits perfectly. A floral dress that's cut in a flirty mini length with a simple sweetheart neckline held up with delicate straps. It wraps tightly around the body with gentle ruching. It's feminine and romantic, while still being simple. 

The reflection in the mirror felt strange. But it also felt easier. Lighter. 

When you stepped into the living room, you heard the shift of fabric before you saw it. Bakugou standing, eyes already on you. You walked towards him slowly in your chunky white feels, heart pounding behind your rips. 

He stared. Didn’t blink. 

“That’s more like it,” he said, voice low. 

You arched a brow. “More like what?”

His smirk softened into something warm. “You.”

Your breath hitched. “It’s cute.” he added casually. 

You laughed, caught off guard. “Cute? Didn’t think you knew how to give compliments like that.”

“Don’t get used to it.” His mouth curved.  “You’ve got enough people to inflate your ego.” 

You rolled your eyes and gave a small huff. Your vision shifted over to Bakugou. His suit jacket was off, vest and tie removed. Now he was just in his slacks and black button up. The sleeves rolled up and the first two buttons on his shirt undone. 

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, “you clean up okay too.”

“I know.” 

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, fuck you.” 

“Happily” He winked. “But we’ve got dinner plans first.” 

Your mouth fell open and your cheeks grew even hotter. You tried to say something back but your brain was short circuiting. 

Bakugou walked up right in front of you and tossed his keys in the air to catch them again. “Ready?” 

With hesitation, you nodded “Yeah.”

He opened the door for you, holding it with a slight tilt of his head. “Then let’s go.”

***

The restaurant was tucked into a quiet alley, no signs or neon lights, no paparazzi or pedestrians waiting outside. Just a simple back awning, trailing ivy and soft lantern lights pooling across the stone pathway. 

Inside smelt like grilled eel and something sweet. Wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, gentle candles illuminated the tables and fresh flowers brightened the decor. There were only a couple patrons seated apart in hushed conversation. Two sushi chefs worked silently behind the counter as they rolled fresh ingredients. 

The hostess didn’t ask for a name, just met Bakugou's eyes and gave a nod before leading you both to a private room tucked behind shoji doors. He rested his hand on the small of your back, a quiet guide as you stepped into the space. 

“Wow,” you murmured, taking in the soft lighting and elegant decor. “This aesthetic doesn’t exactly scream ‘Katsuki Bakugou.’”

He gave you a look as you sat across from him at the table. “Yeah? And what does my aesthetic scream?”

You smirked. “Sticky floors, peeling vinyl seats, and a seventy year old man shouting behind the counter.” 

Bakugou gave a low chuckle. “Tch. That’s for another day.”

He poured sake into two little ceramic cups with practiced ease. “This place’s for…quiet shit.”

“Ohhh,” you teased, rasing an eyebrow. “So this is where you bring all your first dates.”

“Nope.” He sipped the sake without flinching. “Never brought anyone here before.”

That stalled you. You tried to laugh it off, but his eyes were steady. Serious. 

“I guess I should be honored then,” you said, voice lighter than you felt.

He smiled, all heat and trouble. “You should.”

A server entered, quiet and professional, and took your orders. You weren’t even sure what you picked. Just said yes to whatever Bakugou pointed at. After they left, the silence stretched for a beat too long. 

“Favorite ice cream topping.” His question cut through the silence.

“What?” You looked up while holding a piece of sashimi to your mouth. 

“Favorite ice cream topping.” He grinned with a tease “If we’re going to be friends, I obviously need to know these important details.” His grin turned smug. 

Oh, you see what he’s doing now. “Or let me guess, you don’t eat ice cream either.” He continued. 

You let out a heavy sigh. “Strawberries.” He smiled at that. 

“Favorite hero.” 

You flinched as your ears turned a certain shade of red. “I thought you wanted to talk, not ask stupid questions.” 

He leaned back into his chair, “One question for every piece of sashimi.” he grinned. 

Your face burned hot and your fingers fiddled with each other. “You’ll make fun of me.” 

“I’ll only make fun of you if it's Deku.” 

You straightened your back, took in a deep breath and steadied your nerves. “Its…” you rolled your eyes and groaned “you.” 

Bakugou had the biggest shit-eating grin. Obviously loving every moment of this. “Damn right it is.” 

You scoffed, “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Already there.” He leaned into the table, “So, what did it for you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously your sweetheart personality.” your voice dripped with sarcasm. Then with a defeated sigh you continued “I might have had a huge crush on you back in your first year at UA. I was watching the sports festival and for some reason my stupid adolescent brain thought you were cute.” 

You could see his ego getting bigger “You had a crush on me?”

“I was, like, sixteen! It barely counts.”

“Still counts.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t make me take it back.”

“You won’t.”

There was a beat of silence. You cleared your throat and looked up at Bakugou. “I…actually watched the live stream of your recent save.”

Your confession caught him by surprise. He wanted to know more of what you thought. 

He raised an eyebrow “You did?” “Yeah. You were…incredible.” Your fingers played with the chopstick. “I know the media paints you as this unhinged ticking time bomb, but I actually wish more heroes were like you. You’re honest. Real. I wish more heroes-”

“Didn’t hide behind fake smiles?” 

Your eyes flicked up at him. The words stunned more than it should have. “Yeah.” 

The quiet crept in.  He watched as you stared outside the window, lost in your thoughts.  

Bakugou swallowed a shot of sake and rolled the empty ceramic cup between his calloused fingers. “So…wanna tell me why you dipped for two months? Though,  I’ve got a pretty good guess.”

The topic you wanted to avoid. Anxiety started to creep in. But so did relief. This was the first step to being honest with yourself. With showing someone yourself, without the mask of Pulchra. There was a long pause as you tried to find the right words. As you debated how much you wanted to tell. 

You looked down at your hands, thumbs pressing into each other. “I know it sounds stupid, but when I became Pulchra, even my friends and family stopped calling me by my real name. I became this…fantasy. This thing people dreamed about. I haven’t had someone call me ‘Y/N’ in years. I really didn’t know how to respond.”

“That’s fucked.”

You gave a soft, humorless laugh. “Its…my quirk.”

“I read about your quirk in your file.” 

Your eyes snapped at him wide, then you grinned. “Wow, stalker much?”

A vein throbbed out of his forehead “Well, princess, maybe you shouldn’t have been so damn secretive."

“In my defense, you never asked.” 

Oh, now he was mad. But he remained quiet, he let you continue. 

“With my quirk I’m a product. A brand.  And everyone- my agents, my stylists, hell, even my family. They all benefit from it. So I kept playing the part. But when you started getting close, and I felt myself…wanting more, I panicked.”

He watched as you unraveled at your own pace. “I’ve been giving so much of myself away to other people, I didn’t think there was anything left of me worth giving.”

When you looked up, his eyes were already on you. His expression unreadable. 

Then you asked, hesitant. “Does my quirk even work on you?”

His mouth twitched a half-smile forming. “Yeah, it works.”

Your chest squeezed. 

“But it doesn’t cover up your shitty personality.”

Your mouth dropped open and you threw the cloth napkin at him. “Asshole!”

He burst out laughing, loud and genuine. And you laughed too. Really laughed. The kind that curled your toes and made your ribs ache. 

After that, everything eased. 

The night fell into something more comfortable. The conversation was lighter and flowed effortlessly. He talked about his crazy hero stories, his time at UA, even his family. You told him about upcoming shows, where you grew up and what you do outside of work.

Every story you shared felt like a small reclamation. 

He listened. No to Pulchra, but to you.

When the staff began turning chairs and dimming the lights, Bakugou stood and tossed a wad of yen on the table. 

“C’mon,” he said. “I think we overstayed our welcome.”

He slung an arm around your shoulders as you stepped into the cold. You leaned into his warmth without thinking. It felt easy. Like second nature. 

The valet pulled up, and Bakugou didn’t let you go until the engine rumbled beside you.

He kissed the top of your head, gentle like a promise. 

“Let’s get you home before you turn into a pumpkin.” he grinned. 

You didn’t say anything. 

But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like a character in someone else’s fantasy.  

[bread0nhead]

My Sanemi ring came in!

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Eighteen

Notes: Cross posted on AO3 Next chapter is going to be a bit delayed. Sorry!

Rating: 18+

The golden lettering against the textured cream paper weighed heavily in your hand. ‘Hope for Tomorrow: Honoring Civilians and the Heroes Who Protect Them.’

You stared at it like it might disappear if you just willed it hard enough. 

“Stop glaring at it” Jun muttered while he adjusted the hem of your gown. “It didn’t commit a crime.” 

“It invited me to one,” you replied dryly. 

Jun rolled his eyes. “You look stunning. This gown cost more than my entire salary. Now quit brooding like a tortured protagonist and act like a woman who's about to walk a carpet in front of hundreds of flashing cameras.” 

You inhaled deeply and stared at yourself in the mirror. The gown was midnight itself. Black sleek velvet that hugged every curve. A cascade of jeweled embellishments swept from the sweetheart neckline down to the hip, catching the light like falling stars. Long black gloves wrapped tightly on your arms, accented by a diamond bracelet. It was a dress meant to silence rooms.  

It was flawless. But you didn’t feel it. 

Jun handed you your clutch and looked you in the eye. “Tonight, be the woman they want you to be. We can deal with the rest tomorrow.”

You pulled your composure over yourself like armor. Guilt, pity, anger, whatever the hell your feeling, it wasn’t the night for it. It was time to be Pulchra, not because it felt right. But because it was the only way to breathe. 

***

The car rolled to a stop outside Grand Bishop Hotel, its marble facade bathed in warm golden lights. Spotlights danced across the front steps, photographers stood behind roped barriers, and a line of luxury cars stretched down the block. You hadn’t even stepped out yet and already cameras clicked. 

Your driver circled around to open the door. You inhaled sharply. 

Jun raised a champagne flute in the backseat and gave you a teasing smile. “Don’t trip, darling.” 

“Shut up, Jun.” you muttered. He winked at you “Just channel your inner goddess. Or demoness. Whatever you are nowadays.” 

You stepped out of the car with your strappy heels being the first to show. 

The flash of cameras were relentless. You gave them what they wanted, a tilt of the chin, a small knowing smile, a pose at the right angles. You walked the carpet alone. Elegant. Divine. Out of reach from the ordinary. You played the part they yearned for. 

Inside the ballroom shimmered with chandeliers dripped with crystal. Fresh cut flowers filled the empty spaces. Tables gleamed with polished cutlery. Heroes milled about in suits and gowns, champagne flutes in hand. Pro-heros, sidekicks, brand sponsors, celebrities. Power and pageantry in a single space. 

You floated through the grandroom like water, untouchable yet intimately present. 

You shook hands with heroes and celebrities alike, each greet personalized to feel special. You laughed when expected, nodded when appropriate. 

With men, you let them believe they were clever, powerful, singular. Your eyes lingered just long enough to imply they’d caught your rare and fleeting interest, before you turned leaving them dazed and wanting. 

With women, you offered reverence. You whispered compliments like confessions. You marveled at their gowns, their careers, their success. You made them feel as though they’d outshone a goddess. 

Every motion was deliberate. Every glance a performance. And every person who crossed your path left feeling somehow chosen. 

And then- there he was. 

Across the ballroom. 

Katsuki Bakugou stood like an angry war god. His tailored deep crimson suit cut sharp, a black silk shirt buttoned to the collar beneath the vest, sleeves rolled just enough to show the curve of his muscles and old scars. His usual mess of ash-blonde had been tamed, the sides slicked back. 

His hands were shoved in his pockets, his jaw tight and his eyes- sharp, red, feral. Every line of his body screamed ‘Don’t talk to me’’

And like fate snapping a thread taut, his gaze collided with yours. 

It was instant. The entire room seemed to hush, dim, dissolve. Just noise and blurred movement as the heat of his state pinned you in place. Your breath stilled. Something between your ribs fluttered, skipped, and died. 

He looked away. 

Not like he’d been caught, but like he was restrained. Like he had to. The pull of him didn’t weaken. It simply turned its back and walked away. 

You barely registered the hand that touched your shoulder, calling your name. Your body stayed rooted, but your mind chased after the man who’d disappeared into the crowd like a shadow. 

Only when Bakugou fully vanished did you blink and turn to the hero who’d spoken. You curved your lips into the routine smile and slipped back into Pulchra. 

Another hour passed and you weren’t really there. Your body was, but not your mind.

Your eyes scanned for him, behind laughter and lifted glasses. Through the mountain of polished heroes and eager sponsors, he was nowhere to be found. 

Until-

“Pulchra!” A familiar voice barked across the room, loud enough to startle the champagne in your hand. You turned, instinctively and saw the shock of red hair beaming in your direction. 

Kirishima. 

He waved like an over excited dog seeing its owner. 

You smiled, a flash too strained. Several eyes turned at the sound of your name and heat pricked along the nape of your neck. You couldn’t ignore him now, not without drawing more attention. 

With a steady breath, you crossed the room. 

Kirishima grinned so bright it could blind as you approached. And there, leaning next to him with arms folded, eyes heavy and expression unreadable, stood Bakugou. 

“And the elusive Pulchra does make an appearance!” Kirishima laughed, giving you a half-hug before stepping back. 

“Her name’s Y/N.” His voice was firm and final. Sharp enough to cut skin. 

You stiffened, breath catching, a cold ran through your body. Your eyes snapped to Bakugou. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look anything. Just calm. Certain. 

“Oh, sorry!” Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck “What do you prefer to go by?” 

It was such a simple question, but an impossible answer. You opened your mouth, you weren’t even sure what would come out. But your words caught in your throat with a fluttering panic. “Y/N.” Bakugou cut in. “She prefers to go by Y/N.” His gaze stayed on you.

“Awesome” Kirishima beamed “I like Y/N better anyway.” 

“Me too.” Bakugou's voice was smooth, like it was a matter of fact. 

You could feel the room tilting. 

He was doing this on purpose.

Stripping you down in front of everyone. He watched you slowly come undone as your name rolled off his tongue like it belonged there. 

Your smile was weak like you were desperately trying to hold it together. 

“It-it’s okay, I am fine with either.” your voice was a syllable away from cracking. 

You tried to look anywhere and everywhere that wasn’t Bakugou. His gaze felt too heavy to hold. 

You cleared your dry throat “I am going to get something to drink, excuse me.” “Hey, don’t worry about it, I’ll grab us all drinks.” Kirishma was already walking off. “Be right back!”

Shit. 

You exhaled slowly, nostrils flaring, trying to push the rising heat from your chest down into your stomach. 

“You’re enjoying this,” you said through a clenched smile, eyes flicking up to meet his. 

Bakugou smirked and leaned in slightly. “What gave it away?”

Your finger tapped against the stem of your glass in quick succession. “I hate games.”

“Good.” He said simply, “so do I.”

You wanted to smack that smug right off his face. 

Before you could throw something back, a man in a sleek black suit with a press badge and camera came sliding up, wearing a grin that reeked of opportunism. 

“Well, well. If it isn’t Japan’s favorite power couple,” he said with a tone too casual to be polite. “Since that interview, fans have been wondering- has the romance fizzled? Or were you just hiding?” 

Shiiiit.

Bakugou looked down at you with a knowing grin. “Yeah, Y/N. Are we just hiding?” 

You held back a scoff. 

Not now. Not here. Just breathe. Smile. Be charming. 

You laughed, brittle. “We’re just busy people. Our schedules can make it hard to maintain friendship.”

“But here you are, together. People are going to think it's more than friendship.”

Your pulsed roared in your ears. Your breath felt tight. Your body felt hot. You were unraveling. 

You opened your mouth to answer, but Bakugou leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted your cheek. 

“Careful,” he whispered in your ear. “Pulchra’s slipping.”

The words slithered down your spine. Your heart lodged somewhere in your throat. He knew what he was doing. He knew exactly where to strike. 

You turned to the camera man, forced the shakiest smile you’ve ever worn. “Sh-shouldn’t you be focusing on the fundraiser?”

The reporter faltered, blinking at your stutter. He sensed the cracks, the shift in tone. He smelled blood. 

Bakugou stepped forward, enough to block your body with his. He glared down at the reporter. 

“Beat it,” he growled. 

The camera man flinched and backed away with a tight, forced smile. “Of course, my mistake.”

He was gone and your restraints snapped. 

You looked up at Bakugou, eyes blazing. “What the hell, Bakugou?!” you hissed low enough to stay private. 

Bakugu shrugged. “Just making conversation.” 

You let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh.  “Don't you have, Oh, I don’t know..people to entertain? This is a hero event. And you are a hero.”

Bakugou stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned back a bit. “Nah, I don’t give a shit about that stuff.”

“Clearly.” You muttered, voice tight. And you turned, your Louboutins snapping sharply against the marble as you walked away. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Anywhere but here.” Your eyes rolled before you could stop them, you didn’t even try to look back. 

You didn’t get far. 

His hand wrapped around your forearm. Not harsh, but firm. “Not this time.”

You froze.

Eyes flicked your way. You felt the shift in the air, the buzz of whispers beginning to swell. Faces in gowns and suits turned in your direction like moths to flames. 

God damnit. 

You forced a smile, tight, professional. A mask of reassurance. You needed them to know everything was fine.

“What do you want?” Your voice was lower now, barely hanging on. 

He leaned in slightly, tone quiet but with an edge of steel. “We need to talk.”

You yanked your arm free, not too rough, but enough to show you were done being dragged around. “Fine.” You exhaled. “But not here.”

“Great,” he walked past you, expecting you to follow. “Let’s go.” 

Deafted, you followed. You followed close behind, your fingers grabbing onto the fabric of his jacket as the crowd thickened, in hopes not to lose him. He moved with purpose, parting the sea of people. 

“Go?” You asked breathlessly, voice almost lost to the music and voices. “Go where?”

“Dinner.” He said without missing a beat.

“What?” you quickened your pace to get closer to him. “There's another two hours of the charity. We can’t just leave.” “Sure we can.” He said simply, like the rules never applied to him anyways.  

You looked around, half-expecting someone to stop you. But no one even noticed. 

“Aren’t I…a little over dressed for dinner?” Your voice soft, small. 

“Then I’ll take you home first and you can change.”

“You’re not going to let this down, are you?”

“Nope.”

Before you knew it, you were both standing in front of the exit. You looked at the doors, they looked heavy, sturdy, impenetrable. On this side of the doors was Pulchra and everything she stood for, and on the other, awaited you and everything that waited to be discovered. 

Bakugou didn’t push. He stood before you, quiet, patient. He gave you space to choose. He needed you to be certain with your decision.  

You looked at the doors, then at him. 

“What's it going to be?” 

You swallowed hard. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, gripping the soft velvet of your dress like a lifeline. The world beside you begged you to stay. But the weight of his gaze. It made you want to remember who you were before. 

“O….kay.” you whispered, barely more than a breath. 

Bakugou grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the door, not with force, but with certainty. He wouldn’t give you the opportunity to change your mind. 

You watched the crowd slowly fade away as the doors shut behind you. The mechanical latch of the door was deafening. The sound echoed somewhere in your chest. 

Pulchra stayed behind. And for the first time in years, you walked forward. 

[bread0nhead]

I showed my husband all my Husbandos (Dabi, Sanemi, Bakugo, Sukuna)

Now he thinks my type is “men with spiky hair”

Yes…yes… “spiky hair”

Totally not emotionally repressed toxic men…

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Seventeen

Notes: Cross posted on a03. Shorter chapter today, so I promise to have the next chapter up soon. Rating: 18+

“This isn’t necessary,” You said flat and final. 

You tossed the glossy pitch deck on the desk. You never even opened it, you didn’t need to read it to know what it said. The cover displayed bold letters  ‘Hope for Tomorrow’. A well known charity event held by heroes every year. The proceeds go to families affected by villain attacks. 

“No,” Noriko, your brand director, said with a pinched smile. “But it’s important.” 

You stared her down. “Can’t I just make a sizable donation? Quietly.” 

“Quiet doesn’t trend.” She said, folding her arms. “We need optics. You, standing next to pro heroes who risk their lives for civilians- showing your support.”

You bristled. “I’m not a hero.”

“No,” she repeated. “But you are an icon. And icons show up.”

“Dress to impress, smile a little for the cameras, drop some extra zeros on a check, and you're done, darling.” Jun chimed it, sitting across the desk with his legs crossed.  “Easy.” 

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Nothing about this was easy. A hero charity event meant Bakugou might be there. 

Fifty-two days.

That’s how long it's been since the night of Kirishima's party. Since he said your name like a confession. 

You hadn’t spoken, hadn’t texted. But you still saw him everywhere. News clips, interviews, and ad campaigns he certainly hated. He’s been growing in popularity. Working harder. He looked sharper, angier. 

Your reflection had grown harder too. 

“Fine,” you relented, pushing your chair back with a sigh. “I’ll go.”

“Great!” Norkio clapped her hands “The event is next week, your gown is already picked. Meeting adjourned.” 

You didn’t wait. You snatched your bag and made your exit, heels striking the floor with a sharp rhythm. You could feel it; the edges fraying. You could feel Pulchra slipping. 

The lobby lights were too bright as the sun beat through the windows. You stood near the front glass, texting your driver, and distracting yourself with the noise of social media. “Since when does Pulchra argue about an event?” Jun put one hand on his hip, the other pointing directly at you. 

“I just don’t see why I have to go. It's an event for heroes.” You dragged the word heroes to prove a point. 

“Ugh, god.” Jun pressed his fingers into his forehead  “Please tell me this isn’t about that explosive hero with the bad temper.” “Dynamite.” You corrected, too quickly. “And it's not…Maybe, I just need a break.” Your voice was low, like you were even trying to convince yourself. 

“A break?” Jun scoffed. “I didn’t think ‘break’ was even in your vocabulary.” “Well, maybe it should be.” You snapped. 

“What is with you lately? The last two months you have been such a…” He circled his hand in the air like he was trying to find the most delicate word. “Diva.” 

“The person who needs a break is me darling, putting up with your dramatics.” Jun continued, brushing his hair back with his hand. 

Your jaw dropped and brows knitted together. “Are you kidding me?” Your body started to feel tight. “All you do is leech off of me and call it ‘friendship’!” you shouted. A few passerbyers looked your way. 

You regretted the words as soon as they slipped. You slapped your hand over your mouth. Jun looked both surprised and offended. 

“I-I didn’t mean that,” Your voice was low, apologetic. “I don’t know why I said that.”

Juns lips pressed into a thin line. “No, it's fine. Honestly.” He waved off like it didn’t sting, like he hadn’t flinched. “I get it. You're spiraling and I’m your nearest punching bag.”

You opened your mouth to apologize, but your driver pulled up at the curb like divine intervention. Without another word, you turned and walked quickly out the door. 

Once in the back seat, you shut the door a little too hard. 

Your hands gripped at your bag like it might float away. You focused on your breath, nostrils flaring with each inhale. You counted to ten, again and again. But nothing helped. 

Cracks are forming. That much you can’t deny. 

Pulchra once felt effortless. Now it’s something you stitch together in a panic as each seam rips open. You can feel it; the thing you pushed down for so long is starting to spill out. 

You could still hear your name in his voice. 

It sounded smooth like honey, but stung like fire. 

Since Pulchra, you haven’t heard your name in years. Something so simple lost to time and fame. 

You didn’t realize how much you missed it. Not until he said it like it was as easy as breathing air. Since then Pulchra was becoming harder to put on each day. Her mask didn’t fit right anymore. Too tight. Too far from the person starting to claw her way back. You wanted to text Jun and apologize. Explain yourself, but everything felt like a miserable excuse. Instead you close your texts and open your thread of social media posts, news articles and whatever bullshit will drown your thoughts. That's when you saw it. Bold text with an attached video stream and a familiar burst of orange, black and green. 

LIVE NEWS BROADCAST - CHANNEL 7 HERO WATCH 

“We’re coming to you live from downtown Musutafa, where a violent villain attack has brought chaos to the financial district. Several buildings have sustained serious damage, and local heroes are responding to the crisis.” The anchor’s voice cut crisply through the buzz of battle. 

The done footage zoomed in on a demolished intersection, smoke billowing upwards from twisted rebar and shattered glass. Sirens wailed as emergency responders tried to cordon off the zone. Cillians ran for cover, their faces smudged with soot and fear. 

“We’ve just received word that Pro Hero Dynamight is on the scene.”

The camera panned left, zooming in on a familiar spiky-haired figure rocketing through the smoke like a missile. Organe blasts erupted from his palms as he shot with ferocious speed. 

“There he is! Dynamite has entered the fray! And as always, he’s bringing his signature intensity to the fight.” 

Below, Dynamite landed on a toppled food truck, launching himself into the air with a thunderous boom. The camera jolted slightly from the shockwave hit. 

He aimed himself straight at the villian, a gangly figure in a heavy mech suit, shooting bursts of energy toward Bakugou. Each hit missing as Dynamite evaded the blasts with a smooth motion. 

“Ha! Nice try, spark-spitting shit head!” Dynamite's roaring voice caught on a secondary mic below the drone's audio feed. 

“Ah- apologies for the language, viewers.” 

Dynamite slammed an explosive right hook into the villain's side, detonating the air around him. The villain screamed as the mech suit sparked violenting, spiraling towards the ground in smoke. 

But Dynamight didn’t stop. Instead of watching his target fall, he twisted midair, catching sight of a nearby apartment complex groaning under the weight of earlier damage. A slab of concrete gave way and fell. “MOVE, IDIOT!” Dynamite barked as he blasted towards the falling debret. 

The camera zoomed in, capturing him landing hard and aiming his hands up towards the concrete slab. With a heavy barrage of explosions, the concrete broke into millions of little pieces. 

A woman and two children scrambled out from the dust, screaming. 

“A dramatic rescue from Dynamite.” The anchor narrated as the crowd behind erupted in cheers. 

The camera cut to Dynamite. He looked up, straight at the drone, red eyes narrowed. 

“Get that damn camera outta my face.” 

The camera feed cut to static. 

***

Bakugou fell into his office chair with a heavy sigh. His hero costume partially removed. His hair thick with concrete dust. Dirt smudged his face. He sunk further into the cushiony leather chair and closed his eyes while his muscles started to relax.

“Hot, damn, Dynamite!” Himari burst through his office door with extra flair. 

Bakugou growned. “Go away.” 

His PR manager strode across the room, she held a folder in one hand and iced latte in the other. 

“No can do, champ.” she chirped. “That save is streaming on every platform, you’re trending and your popularity is skyrocketing.” 

“I really don’t give a shit.” 

“We need to ride this wave, keep the momentum.” Her hand slammed down on his desk. “The commission wants you to attend the ‘Hope for Tomorrow’ charity event.” 

“Not happening.”

“Dynamite,” her tone flat. “Your numbers are up, your reputations stabilized, you haven’t blown up a reporter in two months. Aside from that mouth of yours, people think you are maturing. You skip this event, the media eats you alive. They’ll think you lack empathy.”

“Then let ‘em choke.”

“You don’t get to do that anymore” Her voice hardened. “You’re projected to enter the top ten. Like it or not, your image matters.”

His finger tapped on the wood surface of his desk, his jaw tense and brows tight. Himari was right, he knew it. But it didn’t make it any easier to accept. 

“Who will be there?” Bakugou asked, trying to look uninterested. 

“Some of the older heroes, Present Mic, Snipe, Best Jeanist.” Himari listed off “Mostly your fellow heroes. Inginium, Creati, Red Riot, Phantom Thief. The usual.” 

Himari watched as Bakugou stood up, grabbed his hoodie and pulled it over his broad frame. 

“But that's not really what you’re asking, is it?”

Bakugou's eyes snapped at her, as he paused mid-zip. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Right,” she dripped with sarcasm. “Because you’re totally not training like a demon every day and doubling your shifts just because you want to.” 

“Drop it.” His voice rough as he pulled his hood over his head, heading towards the door. 

“She’ll be there.” Himari quipped.

Bakugou didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. Just walked out the door. 

Pressing the button on his keyfob, Bakugou's car beeped twice in the parking lot. 

Autostart caused the engine to roar to life with a low, guttural rumble as Bakugou collapsed into the driver seat, slamming the door shut. The adrenaline from the fight still pulsed in his limbs, but now that the rush was gone, the dull ache in his old war-scarred arm returned like an unwelcome echo. He flexed his fingers, then winced when his elbow locked and sparked with pain. He hated this part, the way his body reminded him that even now, after everything, some damage couldn’t be undone. 

He leaned his head back against the seat and his eyes fell closed. The hum of the engine filled the silence, steady and low, grounding. But it didn’t soothe the tightness in his chest. His phone buzzed in his hoodie pocket. He pulled it out and unlocked the screen with a swipe of his thumb. A flood of notifications greeted him. Mentions, tagged posts, messages from colleagues and strangers alike. Praise for the way he saved that family from the rubble. Viral footage. Glowing headlines. 

It all felt like white noise. 

He tossed the phone into the passenger seat, then scrubbed his hands down his face, palms rough over the day’s grime and fatigue. It wasn’t the attention he hated, it was what it reminded him of. 

After a long pause, he reached for his phone again. 

He doesn’t know what fucked up demon possessed him to do it, but he opened his gallery and swiped until he found them. 

The proofs from the photoshoot. 

The stupid, infuriating, unforgettable day. 

There you were, lit up by the flash of the camera. Lips parted in some perfect, calculated smirk. Effortless. Untouchable. He remembered thinking you were just another shallow figurehead. Until the night of the restaurant, where you showed a glimpse into your world. 

He stared down at the screen. Your image smiled back at him. 

“This is fucking stupid,” He muttered under his breath. His thumb locked the screen again. 

You ran, and he told himself not to chase people who run. 

And now, with the charity event looming, he’d have to see you again. Or Pulchra. Or whoever the fuck shows up that day. 

He should ignore you, like you’ve done to him.

But it's impossible to ignore someone like you.

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Sixteen

Notes: Cross posted on a03 I am actually really excited about this chapter. So much of this story was based off this one single chapter.

Rating: 18+

You studied your reflection in the tinted window of the car. Every detail has been meticulously accounted for. A crisp white men’s button down hung just long enough to flirt with modesty,  cinched at the waist with a deep red leather belt that matched your bold lips. Thigh-high black leather boots hugged your legs like second skin. Your hair twisted into a relaxed top bun, calculated chaos, the kind you spent hours to look like it took minutes. Winged liner sliced sharp against your soft features, your cheeks dusted in a flattering flush. A spritz of bergamot, cardamon, sandalwood and vanilla kissed your skin. 

You’d never been to a house party before. Not really. Galas, yes. Premiers, of course. Rooms filled with the wealthy pretending to laugh at things they didn’t understand. Those, you knew. But this? A casual night at someone's apartment with  friends? You didn’t know what the dress code was for something so mundane. You’re not sure if you're overdressed or under-experienced. 

But you’d be damned if you showed up in anything less than perfect.

Kirishima's apartment buzzed with the pulse of music, tangled with bursts of laughter and off-key singing. The kind of atmosphere that felt foreign. 

You stared at the door. 

Were you supposed to knock? Or just walk in? What was the etiquette for something like this? Did you count as one of those ‘just-walk-in-without-knocking’ kind of friends? 

The door opened before you could decide.

Kirishima stood at the threshold with his iconic red hair, wearing a loose athletic tank top and soft gray joggers that rode low on his hips. Great. Casual. 

“You came!” He said with a bright toothy smile and a beer in one hand. “I was starting to think you for sure bailed.” 

“And miss all this?” You teased, slipping past him into the apartment like the very idea of awkwardness never touched you. “Never.” 

The living room was alive with chatter and old pop music. The apartment smelled of Glade plug-ins and testosterone. There was a battered punching bag and weights in one corner, a massive big screen TV and plush couch in the other. Posters and string lights clung to the walls. It was bigger and more open than you imagined. But still humble, even for someone as successful as the 12th ranking hero. 

There was a pink skinned girl with yellow horns sitting on a beanbag eating from a bag of chips, talking to a black haired girl messing with the music. Next to her was the familiar blonde hair with the black streak, laughing at something on his phone. And in the corner, leaning on the kitchen island was Bakugou, a beer loose in his hand. He was already watching you before you saw him. Your eyes locked and something about the way he looked at you made a shiver run down your spine and you couldn’t help but look away.

“Oh my god!” Came a high-pitched squeal. “Pulchra!”

A hurricane of pink ran up to you. Her smile was big and eyes sparkled like glitter. You barely had time to brace yourself before you were pulled into a citrus scented hug. 

“You are sooo much prettier in person! Like- how is that even possible?” She grasped both of your hands between hers. “We have to take a photo together- no! Several!”

“Mina, you’re scaring her.” A tall slender man with black hair and unique elbows came up from behind. 

You gave a practiced laugh and bright smile with enough charm to dazzle. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mina. Denki told me all about your moves on the dance floor.” 

Mina immediately lit up “Girl, I will literally bust out my playlist right now.” 

Elbows hung out his hand with a lopsided grin “I’m Sero. Sorry about Mina.” You took his hand and gave a firm yet gentle and feminine shake. It's perfectly practiced, it says you're confident, but meek enough to not intimate men. 

Denki came up with his arm around the black haired girl with ears that dangled with earphone jacks. You recognize her from the texts you helped Denki send. The texts you curated must have worked. “You must be Jiro,” you gave another friendly smile, “I’ve heard so much about you.” your tone light and warm. 

Denki rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled “Aw common, don’t embarrass me in front of my girlfriend.”

Jiro raised her hand and gave a cool “Hey.”

“I’m so happy to have a girly friend! Jiro wont even let me do her makeup!” Mina swooped your hand, dragging you into the living room. She threw herself on the beanbag and pulled you down next to her. 

The mood lifted with laughter. You said all the right things, laughed at all the right times. You played the role effortlessly. The ethereal gust who made everyone feel like they were the only person in the room. 

You could feel Bakugou's eyes on you the entire time, but he hadn’t said a word. No warm welcomes or dry comments. Just gnawing silence. 

The party unfurled in waves. People rotated between card games, drinking dares and shouty debates on best hero costume. Jiro played DJ until Mina stole the aux cable and drowned the room in retro pop remixes. You danced a little when Mina asked you to join her, posed for selfies with Denki and made jokes with Kirishima. You gave the impression of carefree, yet perfectly refined. 

You sipped on the sharp wine in the red solo cup. Denki offered you something stronger. But after your drunken mishap the other night, you weren’t going to slip again. You paced yourself, just enough to seem alive but not enough to stumble. Because that's not what Pulchra would do.

You caught Bakugou’s stare again as you laughed at one of Seros stupid jokes. But this time he looked away first. He looked at you with scrutiny until he couldn’t stand the sight of you anymore. You noticed the tension and it made the room feel heavy. 

You needed air. 

You slipped into the apartment's balcony, the sound of laughter and music muffled behind the sliding door. The city stretched beneath you, lights shimmered in the night sky. You pressed your palms into the metal railing, letting out a deep breath. Your smile faded the second you were alone. 

“Thought you’d run outta fake smiles eventually.” 

You heard the door slide shut behind him, felt the shift in the air as he stepped closer. 

You didn’t need to turn. “Thought you might follow.” 

“You always this performative, or just around my friends?” His voice was rough and sharp. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

You knew exactly what he was talking about. But you didn’t dare to accept it. 

“Bullshit.” Bakugou folded his hands into his jacket. “That fake-ass smile. The voice. The whole fuckin…Pulchra thing.” Your hands tightened around the cold metal. 

“This is just who I am.” 

Bakugou stepped beside you and you looked him straight in his eyes. You needed him to believe you.

“No, it’s who you sell.” 

You didn’t respond. Under his eyes, you felt like a rabbit in a fox den. “I’ve seen you,” he continued, “Crying on your kitchen floor. I carried your drunken ass home. I’ve seen how you get nervous, when things get a little too serious.” 

You turned to him fully, searching his face. He wasn’t angry. This was worse. This was restraint. This was heartbreak dressed up like indifference. 

“You said we should just be friends.” He said, voice steady, but strained. “So I’m playing nice. I’m doing that. But how the fuck am I supposed to be your friend when I don’t know which version of you I’ll get?” 

He turned away and looked down at the city, elbows braces on the railing, eyes lost in the colors and lights. For a moment he didn’t say anything, just let the breeze ruffle his ash-blonde hair as the muffled bass thumped behind.  “I don’t know if I’ll get Pulchra or…”

Don’t. Don’t say it. God, fuck, please don’t say it. 

Then he moved. Just his eyes at first, dragging them upwards, slow and deliberate. “Y/N”

It was barely more than a breath, but it hit you like a blow. 

The noise of the city life, the low bass of music, the laughter on the other side of the door. It all faded into a static until there was nothing left but the unbearable thumping of your heart playing in your ears. Your breath caught in your throat like you swallowed a rock. Your lips parted as they trembled, but quickly snapped shut. 

“I need to go”, your back turned away from him. 

“Wait- what?” He tried to grab you, something to pull you back. But you were already half way inside. 

The walls closed in on you, the edges of your vision turned dark. Each breath a gasp as it tried to keep up with the rapid beating inside your chest. When your sight landed on everyone enjoying themselves, sitting in a circle laughing amongst friends. You held it all back, fell into the routine you knew. 

You smiled, as big as you could make it without breaking. “Thank you so much for having me, but I must get going. I have a big event tomorrow.” A lie. 

Bakugou stood frozen in the open doorway, mouth slightly hung open as his eyes grew wide. 

“Awww, nooo!” Mina rushed up to you with a big hug. “Let’s hangout again soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” your hands dropped out of the hug, trying to gain distance “‘Course.” A lie. 

Everyone except Bakugou surrounded you, giving hugs and heartfelt goodbyes. He just watched the scene playout in front of him until his face twisted into a snarl. 

You grabbed your purse and walked as fast as your legs would carry you without raising suspicion. When the door finally clicked shut behind you, you nearly collapsed into yourself. 

Your heels clicked against the tile. Your hands claw at your bag straps as you smash the elevator button again and again and again. Anything to make it come faster. To get away. 

The second the doors parted, you darted inside, hitting the lobby button like it might save your life. Three steps and your back hit the cold wall. You slid down just slightly, as your lungs tried to catch up with your racing thoughts. Your eyes squeezed shut and just for a second, you felt safe in the silence. 

Then-

A heavy scarred hand parted the space. The doors jerked open again. 

And there he was. 

A storm of ash-blonde hair, burning red eyes and broad shoulders that tensed. 

He stepped in without a word, hit the button to close the doors, then leaned back against the far wall. His arms crossed over his chest, jaw clenched, eyes focused on the opposite end of the elevator. 

He didn’t look at you.

You couldn’t look at him. 

You held your fist close to your chest, palms clammy from adrenaline. You swallowed thickly, searching for something, anything, in his posture that could tell you what he was thinking. But he didn’t give you a single clue. 

You stared at the thin layer of dirt on the floor. 

The air between you was thick enough to drown in. The silence was palpable. 

You watched the numbers above the door tick down with each floor like a countdown of a bomb ready to go off. 

As the doors parted open you rushed out, not looking back at him. But you could hear his heavy boots closely behind you; could feel his presence pressing down on you. You ignored him as you continued to walk, pulling out your phone to send a text to your driver to come pick you up. You made long strides to the entrance of the building until your hands landed on the heavy glass doors and could feel the gentle gust of wind as you pushed open. “Where the hell are you going?!” His hand caught your arm, causing the doors to shut you back inside. The cold breeze of freedom left your skin. 

“Home.” You yanked your arm out of his grip, not even looking at him. When you broke free, you pushed the door open and walked out before he could pull you back in. 

Bakugou growled and slammed the door open, following you. “You can’t just fucking stand out here by yourself!” 

“I’m fine, Bakugou.” You shift on your feet, looking down the street for headlights. “My driver will be here soon.” 

Bakugou clicked his tongue, “For fuck sake.” He muttered. He came to stand beside you, his shoulder brushed yours. He was close. Too close. “What are you doing?” You asked quietly.

“Making sure no one kidnaps you or some shit.”

Despite the late night, the city buzzed around you. Cars rolling past, people on the sidewalk laughing or glued to their phone. You could feel eyes on you. Whispering. Noticing. You shifted your body away from him, subtly folding your arms and ducking your head like that would make it better. 

Anything to not look like together.

And he saw it.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” he said under his breath. “You really want to keep up this whole Pulchra thing, huh?” 

“It's not a thing” you emphasized the last point with poison “It’s just who I am.”

“No, its fucking not!” His voice was loud.  “And you're running from it!” 

Your lips parted but nothing came out. You turned away from him fully, hand squeezing on your arm. 

“You’re running from me,” he continued, almost a whisper. 

Your nails dug into the skin, your body tense “You don’t get it.” 

“Then make me” He snapped. “Explain to me why you bolt the second shit too real? Why are you so scared of someone actually seeing you!” 

There was a long pause. The hum of cars, the whispers of pedestrians, the soft bass of music nearby. But no words. Seconds felt like minutes. 

“You know whats fucked?” His words were soft “You never even told me your name. I had to dig through protected files just to learn something so fucking simple.” 

You turned and looked at him. Really looked. 

He wasn’t angry, not really. He was hurt. 

And that made it worse. 

Your voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m sorry.” 

A pair of headlights slowed at the curb. Your driver pulled up, parked the car and got out to open the door for you. 

You swallowed hard. 

“I have to go,” you said, turning towards the car.

“Why do I feel like if you get in that car I’ll never see you again?” His voice was quiet and almost cracked. 

You thought of turning around, you really did. But you slid onto the cool leather of the car. 

Bakugou stood on the sidewalk, watching you go. His hands in his jacket pockets. His face unreadable. But his eyes burned. 

The car door shut and could feel him staring through the glass. But you didn’t look. 

As the car pulled away, he didn’t wave. He didn’t move.

But he didn’t look away, either.

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Fifteen

Note: Sorry for the wait. I have no idea how I am fifteen chapters in. And I still can't decide if I like this or not. Rating: 18+

The sunlight pierced through like it had a personal vendetta against you. 

You groaned, immediately retreating under the covers like it could undo the damage. Your skull throbbed with a dull, relentless ache, each pulse like someone was hammering a spike through your temples. You pressed your thumbs into your forehead, rubbing slow desperate circles. Your mouth was bone dry, like you tried to swallow cotton in your sleep. 

Still half buried in the sheets, you fumbled for your phone on your nightstand. The blue screen lit up too brightly and it made your eyes wince. 

1:03 p.m.

Fuck. Bits and pieces flickered through your memory like a rolodex. Denki offering you a shot while poorly trying to flirt with you being the last you remember. Everything after was lost in the stupor of cheap liquor. 

Cheap liquor, augh fuck- you were going to puke. 

You open your notifications. You skipped past the usual social media noise and went straight to your texts. There was one message from your manager about an upcoming fashion show. A collage of colors and swatches from Jun for an outfit he’s putting together. And ew, a dick pic from one of the models you worked with at your last shoot. Delete. Then there was a message from Bakugou. 

BAKUGOU:

‘Meds and water on your bedside. Take them, dumbass.’

Your head snapped at the nightstand. 

There it was. A glass of water, beads of condensation already faded and two ibuprofen pills on a folded napkin. 

Your stomach dropped as your blood ran cold. 

You threw the covers in a panic and checked yourself. Still in last night's outfit. Slightly wrinkled, shoes gone. But still intact. Thank god. 

You popped the pills and drained the glass like it was holy water. Your tongue had never been so grateful. 

So Bakugou got you home last night. Great. 

You felt like an idiot. You got lost in the moment, let your guard down again. Going to cheap bars and getting drunk, that's not something Pulchra would do. What did Bakugou see when you were drunk and he took you home? 

You tried to force your brain to rewind. 

Nothing concrete, just flashes. 

You remember making small inside jokes with Kirishima and laughing so hard your cheeks went numb. You remember going back and forth with Denki on what he should text to the girl he likes. Hell, you even remember stealing Bakugou's beer and calling it bready piss water. 

You don’t remember ever having that much fun before. 

***

“Last night was fun.” Kirishima said while peeling off his hero costume. “We should make her an official member of the Bakusquad!” 

Bakugou was barely listening, just grunted acknowledging his presence, not necessarily his words. It's the end of a long patrol shift and he’s ready to go home. The day was full of low-end thugs and minor misdemeanors. Things fucking rent-a-cops could handle. His mind wasn’t on the job. It hasn’t been all day. His head was stuck in the driver seat of his car, replaying your slurred words as you lay half asleep. 

“Denki was going to invite her to the groups next get together” 

That snapped Bakugou out of his thoughts. “What?” Bakugou slammed his locker door shut “Who the hell said that perv could have her number!”

Kirishima shrugged, “You know how that guy moves.”

“Well he better not invite her!”

“Too late!” Denki chimed in from behind as he strolled into the locker room with a thumbs up and big smile. Bakugou stormed up to Denki and grabbed him by the shirt “Undo it, dip shit.” His voice stern and his face a scowl. Denki peeled off Bakugou's hands like live grenades. “She already agreed man, what's the problem?”

Your words echoed in his mind. 

‘We should just be friends’ 

Bakugou clicked his tongue “Forget it.” He turned away and marched out the room.  Not before blowing up a nearby towel rack. Kirishima and Denki look at eachother confused and shrug. 

*** Bakugou barrelled through the door of his flat, kicking off his boots and throwing his coat on the back of the nearest chair. He dropped on the black leather couch with a deep heavy sigh, draped his arms on the back and let his head roll down. After a few beats and his anger subsided, he dug his hand into his front pocket and fished out his phone to open your thread of texts. 

BAKUGOU: ‘Didn’t think a shitty party would be your kind of scene’ 

He watched as three dots danced on the screen, vanished for a few seconds then reappeared. 

SPOILED PRINCESS:

‘Its not.’ 

‘But neither are shitty bars.’

BAKUGOU: 

‘Why go?’ 

Those damn dots again. 

SPOILED PRINCESS: 

‘Denki’s good at begging’ 

Bakugou stared at your text longer than needed for such a short response. When he was over it, he tossed his phone on the couch and peeled himself off and headed towards the bathroom. He stripped himself of every layer, and turned the water on until it was scalding. The steam blurred the mirrors. Fogged the entire room until it was impossible to see. 

He stepped in and let the heat melt the tension of his tight muscles. He stood under the stream, arms braced against the cool tile wall, head bowed. For a while he just listened to the water emptying into the drain, let his lungs fill with steam and let his mind relax. 

And then like you always do, you crawled your way into his skull. You’re an itch he can’t scratch. A leech on his brain sucking away the space until it's nothing but you left. 

Bakugou never had to chase before, relationships were easy because he kept them that way. Women always wanted the hero Dynamite, someone fiercely strong and showed no signs of weakness. But when the costume came off, it was like tiptoeing an active landmine. He shrunk himself into the box he believed people wanted and sealed that box up so tight, no one could get in. But you didn’t play by those rules. You didn’t care that he’s Dynamite. You didn’t flinch when he was pissed or recoil when he got soft. You teased the edges. Pulled at him with that wicked grim and the way you look at him. You looked past the scars and title. The media only saw Bakugou’s temper and recklessness, while others clung to the myth of a new symbol of strength, untouched by fear or flaw. You saw something else entirely. Just…a man. 

You made him care, actually care, and what did you do? 

We should just be friends.

Said it like it hadn't meant anything. Like he didn't mean anything. 

He thought of the way you held onto him while drunk, like you needed him to ground you. The way you laughed with his friends like you belonged there. And the way you fell asleep in the passenger seat, soft. Peaceful. 

He exhaled hard through his nose while running a hand through his wet hair. The water streamed down his skin, burning hot, but it didn’t cut through the knot in his chest. 

Fine. If you wanted space, he could give it. If you wanted to pretend none of it mattered, he could play that part too. But fuck- it didn’t make any of this easier. 

Because for the first time, he wanted it to matter, he wanted more. 

***

Your feet ached standing in five inch heels for two hours. A seamstress pulled on a thread and needle while you stood on a riser under the heat of bright lights. There was a constant thunking sound as sewing machines binded beautiful garments. Interns running around, pulling lavish fabrics and draping them over mannequins. 

Vérité Vogue runway was only two months away and everyone worked tirelessly on each of your outfits, four to be exact. The show tells a tale of a faceless maiden who danced beneath moonlight. Her silver mask hides both curse and crown. The people cheered, never knowing her name, only the silver shimmer she gave. Until a fearless warrior, blind to enchantment comes and does not bow, only offers his hand. It's a story of love and truth.

The doors swung open and Jun struts in wearing a sheer black blouse tucked into high-waisted leather pants, cinched with a pearl-studded belt. A structured purple and silver blazer with embroidered thorns completed the look. As always, he looked unapologetically divine. 

He stopped in front of you, lit up and dramatically gasped, placing his hand on his chest. “This dress is art on you my dear!” Then his face dropped and snapped his fingers at the nearest intern, instructing the young girl to step forward. “But it needs more rhinestones.” The intern bowed and quickly scurried to grab the box of delicate crystals. 

The deep emerald green gown sculpted into a silhouette of sheer seduction and grace. Intricate beadwork and delicate embroidery cascaded across the bodice and hips like ivy. Off the shoulder sleeves framed your collarbone with elegance, while sheer panels and a daring thigh-high slit hinted at danger.

Jun stepped closer and adjusted the fall of fabric at your shoulder, then stepped back to admire it again. “God, when this gown hits the runway under those spotlights? The audience will either cry or propose. Maybe both.” 

“Let’s hope they at least clap.”

“They’ll scream. Trust me, darling. It's more than a look, this is lore.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes and of course, Jun caught it. 

He crossed his arms and cocked his head with a curious glint. “Speaking of lore, want to explain why you were out drinking with Japan's hottest hero three nights ago?”

Your eyes grew wide and your heart beated harder. 

“How do you know about that?” 

He waved up his phone with a grainy photo of you and Dynamite walking out of the bar with you leaning against his shoulder. Your face flush and hair in a tangled messy bun.  “You wouldn’t believe what we had to pay to ensure this photo didn’t get released.”

“...Shit.” “And can you explain to me again why the other week I caught you two half naked while our little hero made coffee in your kitchen like a domesticated husband?” Jun sighed. 

“I told you, It’s not like that.”

“So what is it? I just want to know if I should order matching rings, or a press damage control team.” “We’re just friends, nothing more. I promise.” 

Jun clicked his tongue and dropped his hands to his hips. “Look, love. I am just making sure you know what you’re doing.” 

Your brows furrowed and something in you snapped. “What am I doing? What are you doing! You made us do that stupid photoshoot and interview!” 

Jun looked down at the seamstress fiddling at the hem of your dress. She could feel Jun staring and looked up. She knew right away to leave you and Jun so you could speak privately. She quickly gathered her things and left the room.

“You know that was just to stir up drama, we told a story. Gave people something to talk about. Feed the people a fairytale.” Jun placed both hands on your shoulders “But it can never be more than that. Pulchra belongs to the people. Not one person.” 

There it is. 

The unspoken truth he never said out loud. 

“Are we done here?” You’re already stepping off the platform. 

Jun rolled his hand in the air “Yes, yes.” 

An intern started undoing the buttons in the back and helping you carefully step out of the dress. You quickly pulled on your slouchy jeans with rips at the knees and a loose off the shoulder crop top sweater. Your hands shook with anger as you dressed yourself. Tears threatened to spill over. But this wasn’t the place to give into such emotions. Not with Jun a mear two feet away and a room full of eager interns wanting to make it big in the industry. 

Inhale, exhale. Shoulders back and happy smile.  

You stood before the team that worked on your outfits and gave the best genuine thank you one could muster. Everyone returned with appreciation and wished you a good day. 

Your driver picked you up around the back. When the door to the car closed, you melted into the cool leather seat and let out a heavy sigh. Instantly your driver rolls up the privacy window so you can have some peace and starts playing your music. Truly, no one gets you better than him. 

You sat in the backseat, still and silent, but your jaw ached from how hard you were clenching it. Every word from Jun replayed like static, loud and grating beneath your skin. Your nails dug crescents into your palms, hidden beneath folded arms. Your silence pulsed louder than any scream. Just as the tether was about to snap, your phone vibrated pulling you from the edge. Digging your hand into your designer bag, you pulled out your phone with a notification on the screen. 

DENKI: ‘Hey!! You still on for tonight? It’s going to be so awesome!!’

He followed up with a gif of a cartoon cat begging with big shiny eyes. 

Right, the party at Kirishima's place. With all the work you had this week, you completely forgot. 

You stared at the cat on repeat, watching its paws held up like a prayer. You watched it like it knew.

Juns words still etched in your mind, less like a warning and more like a reminder that your whole life had been assigned ownership without your permission. But this is your reality, you made peace with it- mostly. At least you thought you did.

But now there was the flicker of an ember, something beneath the illusion. A desire to not be perfect, but to be present. 

You stared at the text long enough for the screen to go dark and see your reflection on the glass. 

‘Pulchra belongs to the people. Not one person.’’

Your fingers tapped the reply before you could overthink it. The message sent with a soft ping. You chewed on the bottom of your lip, tasting the smear of colored gloss. 

This had to be the right choice.

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Fourteen

Notes: I am sorry this took so long. I injured my back and shoulder pretty bad which landed me in PT. They wrapped up my shoulder so I can't move it much. Sitting at my desk typing is pretty difficult at the moment. This does mean there will be longer spaces between chapters. Thanks for your patience!

Rating: 18+

It had been almost a week since you last saw Bakugou. 

The silence between you was carefully maintained. Not because he pulled away, but because you did. He checked in a couple times, sending the occasional text asking if you were okay. You responded in short, simple, polite messages. Just enough to not invite more. 

You got wrapped up in the fantasy, fell into it just like everyone else. You let yourself believe you could be just a simple girl living in this magical romance. You let the seams rip and the insides spill. This isn’t you- no, this isn’t Pulchra. You thought you could have more than stolen moments wrapped in sheets and unspoken agreements. Something more than a casual fling. For a moment, you entertained the thought of something real. But that's not easy, that's not safe. 

You flirted with him when it was fun. You watched him get mad or flustered, and liked how easy your words stirred him. But every time things inched towards something real, he reached deeper into a place you weren’t ready to be touched. 

From the moment at the photoshoot, Bakugou has been seeing right through you. He didn’t subscribe to the version of yourself you sold to everyone else. He treated you like he would anyone else. And for a moment, you liked it- you let him peer behind the mask. Because you expected to keep him far away just enough to feel seen, but never vulnerable. Now, he’s too close. 

Bakugou wouldn’t be content with pretty lies or shallow fun, Bakugou is the kind of person that if he cared - really cared - he’d want something real. The raw exposed intimacy where there were no masks or rehearsed lines. The kind where you had to lay everything bare; your fears, your insecurities, your flaws. He’ll want to strip you of all your armor until there's nothing left except the naked truth. And how can you let someone see what's under the mask, when you don’t even know who, or what, is under it all?

You don’t know if you can survive this kind of vulnerability. You don’t know how to survive without Pulchra. For too long Pulrcha was your shield - perfect, untouchable, strong.

But Bakugou didn’t want Pulchra. And you don’t know what there was left to give him. 

“Miss?” A voice cut through your thoughts “I found this in the guest bathroom. It doesn’t seem to be yours.” Your cleaner placed the item beside you. 

You carefully set your book down and glanced over at the item. A rolex watch with polished black metal band and casing. A deep rich green dial laid boldly through the glass. Small orange hands ticked across silver roman numerals. Solid, heavy, unmistakably expensive. This isn’t the sort of thing someone just forgets. This was intentional. 

At first you didn’t touch it, just stared. The weight of it felt too heavy. 

You picked it up and rolled the smooth texture in your hands and thought: ‘If I give it back, I’ll see him again.’

You can take the watch to him and make it clear you and him are only friends. Luckily, you already set that foundation during the interview, now you just need to solidify it. Friendship is easier, you can control the distance without losing him entirely. And he deserves to be told this in person. You’re just friends.

***

You stood outside the large glass building, the one that had the same address of the card Bakugou gave you. You’ve walked past this hero agency a few times, but never bothered to give it much thought. The building must be at least 12 stories tall, and sits at the corner of two busy streets. Tall glass windows covered every inch of the exterior as if to watch the city move by. There was no big fancy sign, just some white letters printed onto the front door. It's oddly…corporate. 

You hesitated as your hand pulled on the metal door handle. A flood of thoughts swirled in your mind.

‘This is stupid’ ‘I should just give the watch to my assistant to take care of’ ‘I should have texted first’ ‘Is he even working right now?’ ‘Maybe I shouldn’t do this at his job’ ‘I should leave’

‘I want to see him’

The front door swung open as someone walked out of the building, catching you off guard. A suited office worker brushed past you without a glance, snapping you back into the present.

You took a breath, slow and steady. Then stepped inside. 

The lobby was bright and professional, all white floors and brushed metal surfaces, softened by blonde wood trim. Stylish chairs and potted plants scattered in organized sections. The whole place felt orderly, and deliberate. 

Portraits lined one of the walls, grayscale shots of the agency's heroes and sidekicks in action. Glimpses of chaos and inspiring moments. You let your heels click softly across the floor, making your way towards the curved reception desk at the center of the room.

Behind it sat a young woman, fresh out of college, with a too-tight ponytail and even tighter smile that screamed ‘God I want to go home’.

“Hi.” you spoke softly but steady.

She looked up from her keyboard, giving her practiced customer service expression. “Hi, how can I help you today?”

“Could you let Dynamite know someone’s here to return something of his?” 

The girl blinked a few times “Of course, name?” 

You pulled the large sunglasses from your face and took the baseball cap off your head with a gentle smile. 

“Oh my god - Pulchra?” the receptionist eyes wide as saucers “I-yes! Of course! Absolutely. I’ll get him right away.” 

You offered a polite smile and tucked the hat and sunglasses into your purse “Thanks.”

As she made a call on the desk phone, you wandered to the wall of the photos. Their monochromatic filter fits with the decor of the lobby. You paused in front of one that made your lips twitch. Bakugou from a couple years prior, mid-scream like he was going to kill the camera man as he carried an elderly lady flung over his shoulder and a fireball exploded behind him in cinematic chaos. You let out a soft laugh.

Then you heard them. Heavy boots stomping down the hall. 

Bakugou didn’t walk to the front desk, he stormed. 

He scanned the room to see if anyone was watching and took long strides towards you so no one could hear “What the hell are you doing here?” He hissed. 

You smiled sweetly, one hand on your hip with a little glint in your eyes. “Missed you.”

He rolled his eyes so hard you were surprised they didn’t roll out of his head. “Bullshit.”

“Okay” you said casually, digging into your purse. “Maybe just this.”

You held out the watch. 

Bakugou's mouth opened, then closed. 

“Let me get this right” he pinched the bride of his nose “you ghost me for almost a week, then show up at the place I work to give me this back.”

“Usually men leave something less obvious when they want to see me again.” You shrugged “A hoodie, a phone charger, a sock-”

“Tch,” he snatched the watch from your hand. “I’m surprised you didn’t have one of your assistants give it back.”

“Mm, I thought about it.”

“So what, now you wanted to see me?” 

“Are you objecting?”

God, you couldn’t stop teasing him. 

His jaw tightened. Before he could respond, a voice echoed down the hallway behind him. “BROOOOOOO!” 

Bakugou’s whole body stiffened like someone poured ice water down his spine “Fuck me” he muttered.

Denki rounded the corner like a golden retriever off leash, phone already out and aimed. Kirishima trailed behind like he was trying not to laugh. 

“Holy shit” Denki whispered. “It’s Pulchra. In our lobby.” His eyes sparkled with excitement and awe.  “Can I–?” He held out his phone, gesturing if it was okay to take a selfie. 

“Touch that phone and I’ll kill you” Bakugou growled before you could respond. 

“Right- yup- totally weird.” Denki recoiled, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. 

You laughed softly and gave a little wave. “Charge Bolt and Red Riot, right?” 

Denkis jaw dropped at how good his hero name sounded coming from you. Kirishima awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, silently apologising for Denki. 

“Sorry, he doesn’t get out much” gave a sheepish grin. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Bakugou’s told us so much about–”

SMACK

Bakugou swung his hand at the back of Kirishima's head with a deadly scowl. “Ow- Dude!” Kirishima rubbed the back of his skull “Not cool, man.” You giggled. 

“What brings you here?” Kirishima continues.

Bakugou cut in “She was just dropping off my watch, then leaving.” 

Kirishima raised a brow, “Why did she have your watch?” “Genius thought he could be cute and leave it at my place.” You glance over at Bakugou with a grin. He’s clearly not having it. “Holy shit, man” Steam starts coming out of Denkis nose “Did you…stay at her house?” 

You didn’t answer, didn’t need to, your silence was enough. But Bakugou looked like he was about to explode, vanish, kill his coworkers all at once. 

“Oh hey, I have an idea” Kirishima said, patting Denkis shoulder trying to calm him down.

“No.” Bakugou deadpanned. He didn’t need to hear whatever stupid idea he had. 

“We’re getting drinks in an hour, you should join us!” Kirishima beamed at you. 

“Definitely not”

“Sure.”

“What?” Bakugou's eyes snapped at you. “Oh my god, yes please!” Denki bounced on the balls of his feet. “You have to come!”

“Not fuckin’ happenin. I don’t need you idiots drooling over her all night.” 

“We promise to not be weird!” Denki raised a hand up like a vow. “It will be fun, you should definitely come!” Kirishima smiled with his big sharp teeth. 

“Yeah, Dynamite” You dropped your voice low and slow “It will be fun.” 

He turned back to you, arms crossed over his chest “Don’t fuckin encourage them.”

You tilted your head with faux pleading eyes “Are you saying no to being friends?”

There was a pause. Bakugou looked at you. Looked at the watch in his hand. Looked at his friends. Then slung his head back with a groan. He sighed loud. Resigned. 

“I hate you all”

Denki slapped his shoulder “That’s the spirit!”

***

The bar Denki picked looked like it was operated by a frat house. Sticky floors, leather stools with tears in the fabric, a jukebox in the corner playing music just loud enough where you had to lean in just a bit to hear what people were saying. 

It’s been years since you’ve been to a place so…Gauche. Secretly, you loved it instantly. 

Kirishima chose a booth near the back where there was more privacy. Bakugou sat with his arms crossed, eyes narrowing like he was trying to intimidate the whole bar, still upset about the turn of events. While Kirishima and Denki tried to impress you by ordering the “manliest” drinks the bar had to offer. 

You ordered a whiskey sour, something far away from your usual wine and prosecco. The bartender asked if you wanted it “real strong or tourist strong” “Real,” you said without hesitation and a bolt of excitement buzzing through you. 

Bakugou scoffed, “You’re going to regret that.”

“You sound like my manager,” you replied, taking a long sip. “Except I don’t want to strangle you. Yet.”

Kirishima let out a bark of laughter “I like her!”

Denki slammed back a shot and pointed at Bakugou “We should trade in the guy with the bad temper for the hot girl.” 

Bakugou growled “I will end both of you.”

You laughed as you watched Bakugou and his friends. There was something exciting about the way they moved around each other. Denki said something stupid, Bakugou said something insulting, Kirishima defused with a smile that warmed the dead. It was chaos. But the kind that only comes from years of real friendship. 

You didn’t have anything like that. Not really. 

Everyone in your life was transactional. You weren’t a friend to anyone. You were a product. A brand. People's livelihoods. Their fantasy. 

You took another long sip of your cheap drink. It was awful. It burned in the back of your throat and had no flavor. It was more whiskey than sour. It was nothing like the smooth expensive full body wines you usually drank. This was a crude disgusting punch in the face. It excites you. 

You scanned the bar. The lighting was dim and warm. It smelt like cheap beer and fries. There's posters of bands on the walls and dartboards with missing numbers. Not many people either, and the few that are here are so drunk they definitely wouldn’t notice pro heros sitting in the corner.  There was a guy passed out at the bar and a couple making out near the bathrooms. This place certainly wasn’t trying to impress anyone. 

It was the last place anyone would expect to find Pulchra. And that felt dangerous. 

Bakugou glanced your way mig-argument with Denki, raising a brow like he knew you were staring. You gave a lazy smile and lifted your glass in a mock solute. He rolled his eyes, but you caught the faintest twitch of his mouth before he turned back to the others. Soon, one drink turned into two. Then three. 

An hour in, and several drinks later, you were flushed, loose and entirely too comfortable with your elbow resting on Bakugou's shoulder. He’s gripping his beer sneering at you. 

“Smile” your voice low as you tilted your head towards Bakugou with a smile “I know you’re actually a big softie. Not all broody.” 

Kirishima and Denki looked at you then at each other. Kirishima grinned “Ya, he’s gone kinda soft. He used to be sooo much worse.” 

“Hard to imagine.”

“Imagine a volcano with a superiority complex and no emotional vocabulary,”

Bakugou slammed his drink down. “I’m right fucking here.” 

You giggled, “Relax, hot stuff.” you booped his nose with a sweet smile. 

Denki leaned into Kirishima “Dude, she booped his nose.” Kirishima whispered back “We can never mention tonight. He’ll kill us.” 

Bakugou glared at you, “You’re drunk.”

You winked “I’m fun”

“You’re reckless.”

You pressed deeper into Bakugou, hand dragging down his thick arm “And you are turning red.”

Kirishima leaned back, watching the chaos unfold like a slow motion car crash he secretly rooted for. “Man, if the media saw you two right now…”

“Shut your face, shitty hair!”

You danced your fingers on his arm as you looked up at him with a smile. “You always get grumpy when a girl flirts with you?”

“I get pissed when someone uses me as a fuckin jungle gym.” Bakugou argued, but not pulling away either. 

Your hand moved up to play with his spikey blonde hair, twirling strands in your fingers. “You love it.” 

“He’s blushing!” Denki shouted as he and kirishma laughed as Bakugou's face turned red and angry. “Aww, so cute.” You teased. Bakugou shot his foot. “That's it. I’m done. I’m cutting you off.” 

“Too late,” you said, quickly downing the rest of your drink and a shot sitting on the table. 

You stood up, blinked, and then swayed. Bakugou caught you by the elbow to steady you. 

“Yeah, you’re done.” 

You rolled your head back to look at him with a big toothy smile and flush face. “Take me home, Dynamite.” you whispered dramatically. 

Bakugou didn’t even respond. He just held you there with the patience of someone who had absolutely none to give. 

He picked you up, slung you over his shoulder and stormed out of the bar as you cried “Nooooo”.

***

The car ride blurred with soft hums and streaks of passing streetlights. You slouched against the cool window, cheek pressed to the glass, breath fogging a tiny circle. The city moved like a dream you weren’t fully part of. Your lips moved with the music playing low from the radio. Not quiet singing, not quiet speaking, just a murmur of whatever lyrics your drunk brain could remember. 

Your limbs felt like syrup, warm and slow. Like gravity was tugging harder than usual. 

“I embarrassed you in front of your friends…” you mumbled, each word flowing like molasses. 

Bakugou didn’t look away from the road. “You embarrassed yourself.”

“That bad?” a soft laugh tumbled out, lazy and slurred. 

He glanced sideways. You looked completely wrecked, eyes half lidded, makeup smudged in a way that was still annoyingly perfect. Mouth parted in some blissed-out half smile. “No…you were fine.” He muttered. 

You defiendly were not fine. But he didn’t want to upset you. 

“I’m not usually like this,” you whispered, voice shinkring. You shifted but couldn’t get comfortable, like your body wasn’t fully yours anymore. 

“No usually like what?” He asked, quieter now.

“...Free.” It came out like a confession, barely audible. You sank lower in the seat. 

Bakugou cursed under his breath and nudged you “Hey, don’t fall asleep. I ain’t carrying your ass home.” 

You groaned, not from pain, just exhaustion. The kind that wrapped around you gentle and constant. Your head lolled toward him. You were still trying to say something. You knew there was something.

“I was supposed to tell you something…” your lips barely moved. Your eyes barely open. 

“Yeah? What?” his hand reached over, resting lightly on your leg, grounding you. You felt it even through the fog. 

Your eyelids fluttered. Your mouth tried to form words it couldn’t quite hold. “We should just…” the world got darker, fuzzier. “...just be friends.” you breathed, syllables slurring into another as your mind slowly gave out. 

Bakugou froze. His jaw clenched. The quiet inside the car deepened. 

His hand tightened softly, just enough to feel real. 

Your head tipped, eyes fully closed. Breath slowed. The city lights danced across your face one last time before your world dipped into black. 

“...Is that what you want?”

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Thirteen

Notes: Kopi Luwak is a type of coffee that is made by the Civet pooping out partially digested coffee cherry. Its supposed to be amazing coffee. It's also widely expensive. You might want to know this before continuing to read the chapter lol Rating: 18+

“I paid 11,000 yen for monkey shit coffee?” 

“Technically a civet” You corrected “More like a cat.”

“And that's supposed to make it better?” His fingers tapped out a sharp, impatient rhythm against the table. Each tap punctuating his hard glare. 

He glanced around the shop, still trying to figure out how you found this place. It was tucked in some back alley like a coffee speakeasy. Café Leblanc. Its all dark woods, stone counters and dim lighting. Intimate, quiet. No trendy artwork or hipster music. There's not even a menu. Just six seats, one master roaster, and you. 

Fuck, even the air smelled expensive.

The master roaster worked behind the bar with strict precision, weighing every bean down to the exact gram, pouring the water in slow careful spirals. The man hadn’t spoken, just nodded like he knew you when you entered the door. 

Bakugou watched you chat easily with the curator while the coffee brewed, like you’ve known him for years. It made him wonder if this is what it meant being with you. Knowing all the hidden gems. Preferring the quiet, refined places over the loud and popular ones. 

Two porcelain cups were placed in front of you, impossibly small against Bakugous large calloused hands. The aroma had sweet notes of chocolate and caramel. Nothing like the bitter sludge he usually drank to survive the day. 

He stared down at it with caution. You were already watching him with excitement, eyes bright and lips twitching with amusement. 

“Go on” you urged, grinning.

With a deep irritated sigh, he carefully brought the tiny cups to his lips. It felt ridiculous and dainty in his grip. Like some play house prop. But the moment the coffee hit his tongue, he stilled. 

It was…good.

Its impossibly smooth, sweet in a way that wasn’t sugary. Rich and full, but not overwhelming. No bitterness, no harsh bite. Just depth. Complex but clean. Balanced. 

It was you, in a coffee cup. 

Complicated, but grounded. Sharp in places, but never cruel. Soft when it mattered. All the things that made him keep coming back to you. 

You leaned in “Well?” 

He met your gaze, eyes narrowing, acting like he was still mad. 

“Fine,” he muttered “Your cat shit coffee’s actually good.”

You laughed with a full bright smile. You felt lighter now, as if the trauma from last night didn’t exist.  He felt the corners of his mouth curl into a reluctant smile. 

You both sipped your coffee in a comfortable silence, nothing heavy or awkward. Its warm and comfortable. 

For Bakugou, it was unfamiliar territory. 

He wasn’t used to this kind of stillness. His world was usually fast, loud, explosive. A constant blur of motion and noise. He moved like every second demanded action. Always something to fix, someone to save, something to improve.

You, on the other hand, looked completely at home. Effortlessly poised, legs crossed neatly, finger tips tracing the edge of your cup with a slow grace. You’re always like this. Polished and refined, a quiet sophistication. But you also have a playful edge that twists at his composure. 

You didn’t flinch from emotion like he did. You wore them openly, flirted with them, played with them. He shoved his down and hid behind irritation and anger. 

You two couldn’t be more different. Him a blunt force, you soft precision. 

And yet, here you were, sitting together in some secret coffee shop drinking overpriced cat shit coffee like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He found his gaze drifting to you again, watching the way you smiled softly into your cup, catching him stealing glances. 

“Careful” you teased, voice low and smooth. “You keep looking at me like that and people might get the wrong idea again.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. When your cup was empty, you placed it down with a gentle smile. “Amazing as always, Sojiro”. The coffee brewer turned a simple nod and took your cup. 

Bakugou has long since finished his cup and was now watching you gather your things and standing up from your seat, pressing out the creases from your shorts. “So, where to next?” 

His face drops to a frown. “What, this wasn’t enough?” 

“Oh don’t be a killjoy.” You pull the strap of your purse tight, ready to go. “We both have today off, plus I had a shitty night. I deserve fun.”

Bakugou rubbed the back of his neck and looked incredibly unenthusiastic. “Fine…but I’m choosing where we go next.” 

You give a light smile and loop your arm around his with a grin. “I kinda like how easy you give into me.” 

“It’s just ‘cause you’re so damn annoying.” He tried to act tough, give a little cockiness. But the corners of his mouth slid into almost a smile. 

***

Bakugou steered the car into a narrow side road, away from the business of the city. He pulled off the road and parked near a quiet overlook. A small hilltop with nothing but a winding road, a few trees and a distant skyline. He cut the engine and all that was left was the distant humm of the city. Its private, away from prying eyes and unwritten headlines. 

He rolled back his seat, stretched his legs out and rested his arms behind his head. He doesn’t look your way, just watches the clouds go by in a comfortable silence. 

“So,” you broke the silence, smirking “this where you take all the pretty girls after you save them?”

He had a lopsided smile but kept his eyes on the skyline. “Yeah. The real Dynamite experience package.”

You chuckled, the sound light, “Well, 2 out of 5 stars so far.” 

Bakugou snorted “No pleasing you, huh?”

The car has fallen into another easy pause. You rolled the window down, letting the warm breeze rush in, eyes fluttering closed as the sunlight heats your skin. The wind played gently with strands of your hair. You looked serene. Relaxed. Effortless.

Bakugou tried not to stare. Or at least not make it obvious.

His eyes kept drifting towards you, how your lips twitched into a smile like you were silently entertaining yourself.

The only noise was the steady soft taps of Bakugou's foot. That familiar, restless bounce of his leg. You noticed it before, his little tick. Like he’s always wired, even when sitting still. You’re not sure if he does the movement out of boredom, frustration, or something entirely else. 

“Favorite pizza topping.”

The question cut through the silence, light and casual. His leg stopped bouncing, head snapping towards you like you just insulted his mother. 

“What?”

“Favorite pizza topping.” You opened your eyes to glance over at him, a mischievous glint dancing there. “If we’re going to be friends, I obviously need to know these important details.”

He groaned, leaning his head back against the leather headrest like you were physically draining him.

“Pepperoni” he muttered flatly, like he was already regretting participating in your game.

You turned your whole body towards him, resting your elbow against the center console. Close, but not touching. Your lips curved. 

“Figures. You seem like a boring pizza topping kinda’ guy.”

His lips twitched, the tiniest smirk when your words poked him just enough.

“Oh yeah?” He fired back, turning just slightly in your direction, but with more distance. “What kind of fancy-ass pizza do you eat? Fuckin caviar or some shit?”

You grinned wide, and made a small hum. “Oh, I don’t eat pizza.”

Bakugou grinded his teeth as a vein on his forehead throbbed.

“Then why the fuck did you ask?!”

“Because,” you said sweetly, voice dripping in fake innocence “I just want to know you better.”

He shifted and grabbed the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

“Fine” he exhaled sharply, narrowing his eyes. “What else do you want to know?”

You casually shifted your position again, turning a bit more towards him, closing the gap just a tiny bit more without realizing it. You played with the ends of your hair as you thought. 

“Who’s your favorite hero?”

He looked at you like you were an idiot. “All Might. Obviously.” And it was obvious by the framed All Might signed trading card attached to the keys of his car. Like a prized possession he wouldn’t leave the house without. 

You hummed, like you haven’t noticed before. “Mm, predicable.”

He rolled his eyes but let you keep going. 

“Who's your best friend?” “Kirishima. Red Riot.”

“Yeah…I see it.” You nodded dramatically, pretending to analyze him.

He sighed. “You done?”

“One more.” You leaned your cheek on the palm of your hand, dropping your voice just slightly. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

He let your question hang in the air- on purpose. Drawing it out long enough until you squirmed under the pressure of silence. He can play too.

“Nah.” 

He studied your face, looking for a flicker of a reaction. But you gave him nothing. Painfully composed. Infuriating. 

“Not exactly shocking.” You shrugged. “With your attitude and all.” 

He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. Like you actually had the nerve to say that. But he bit back to urge to snap at you and only prove your point more. 

“What about you?” he shot back, voice low. His leg bounced again, but slower. Lighter taps of the foot. “Someone actually manage to tie your crazy ass down?” 

You smiled wide, devilish, then turned your body away from him. Facing forward like you were finished with him. 

“I’m the one asking the questions.”

The audacity nearly made him choke on venom. You were playing him like a damn instrument, and you both knew it. 

“Tch, whatever.”

The conversation lulled into something lighter, less interrogation, more friendly small talk. You did most of the talking, he just listened. The conversation never touched on anything personal or deep. Just small things like the weirdest photoshoot you’ve done and your recent travel across Europe. You held your stomach while you laughed so hard, recounting the time Jun tried to practice his French at a tiny Paris cafe and instead of ordering two cappuccinos, he very confidently asked for two cabbages. 

Before you knew it, the sky was painted with shades of orange, pinks and reds. Bakugou glances at the clock on the dashboard and lets out a quiet breath through his nose. 

“It’s getting late,” he said slow, almost reluctant. “I should get you home.” 

You gave a small nod, forcing a faint smile. “Yeah…guess so.”

He started the car, shifting into drive as the car roared to life. You watched as the setting sun and neon lights blurred with the motion of the car. Neither of you said much at first. You both stayed in silence at the radio played on a low volume. 

You glanced over at him from the corner of your eye. Taking note of the way his jaw flexed slightly as he gripped the steering wheel with one hand, the other partially out the window. How the crease between his brows furrowed as he focused intensely on the road head. If he kept staring forward, he wouldn’t have to acknowledge the heavy silence sitting between you. 

You shifted in your seat, tucking your legs slightly, playing with the hem of your sleeve. Anything to keep your hands busy as your stomach did small nervous flips. 

Neither of you knew exactly why the silence felt so heavy all of a sudden. 

The last two days were tiring. The memories of the man held you like a heavy fog. Sure you’ve dealt with more extreme fans before, stalkers and the occasional break in. Its why your home is so reinforced with locks and security. But this man was different in the way he looked at you. There was something wrong in them, something hollow. It wasn’t adoration or obsession, or even rage. It was hunger. He wasn’t trying to get closer to you, he was trying to consume you. 

And then there was Bakugou.

He didn’t hesitate when you needed protecting, it was like natural instinct. And not just in the way any hero would, he stayed. He held his arms wrapped tight around you, his breath ragged, his voice almost trembling while he whispered to keep you safe. And then his lips, frantic, desperate, pressing himself to your forehead, your cheeks, your temple. 

He kissed you, in the middle of all the chaos, he kissed you like it was the only way to keep you grounded; to keep him grounded. He brought out things in you no one has seen in years. 

There was the man who broke in. And then the man who broke through. 

Which scared you more?

Bakugou noticed the shift in energy. “Hey, you alight?”

You blinked quickly, forcing a small smile “Yup, yeah. I’m fine. Just..tired I guess.”

He didn’t fully buy it, but he let it slide. “We’re almost there.”

So many thoughts ran through your mind of ‘what-if’s’ and ‘why’s’. 

‘What if he sees the real me and turns away?’

‘What if I change because of him?’

‘What if the media doesn’t approve?’

‘Why do I care so much?’

‘Why does HE care so much?’

Your chest felt a heavy weight and suddenly the car felt impossibly suffocating. When the car pulled up to your building, you exhaled a long and sneaky breath. You could finally come up for air. 

Before Bakugou could even put the car in park, you were halfway out the door, desperate for distance you couldn’t fully explain. You didn’t trust yourself to stay.

You weren’t usually like this. 

Normally, you could play these games in your sleep, playing men like a drum that beated to your rhythm. Men were easy to manage, predictable in their desire, clumsy in their pursuit. You knew how to flirt, how to tease, how to control every interaction like you conducted an orchestra. 

Because Pulchra knew how.

Pulchra was poised and untouchable. She was the carefully curated image the world adored, the fantasy people projected their desires onto. Pulchra never flustered or stumbled. Pulchra never let anyone close enough to see the cracks.

But with Bakugou, it was different. Different because he actually saw you. Different because with him this would be something real. 

He didn’t worship you or chase like the others. He didn’t seem to care about the performance. Your usual polished armor didn’t work on him. With him, you were raw and exposed. He saw beyond Pulchra. 

And fuck…It terrified you. 

Because you weren’t sure where Pulchra ended and you began. You’d spent so long hiding behind her, behind the attention, you didn’t know what to do when someone saw past it. 

You didn’t give him time to say anything, didn’t let the moment linger. You shut the car door, whispered a curt goodbye and walked off with your hand tight to your chest. 

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Twelve

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it. 

Notes: Cross posted on a03 I hope y'all are liking this so far Rating: 18+

Bright shades of amber flooded your room through sheer curtains. The suns been up for hours and you're now just stirring awake. Stretching your arms over your head you hear the little pops in your spine as your body adjusts. Your legs dangle on the side of the bed as your feet come in contact with the fuzzy rug. You make your way over to the ensuite bathroom to start your morning routine. Wash your face, moisturize, brush your hair and brush your teeth. All the finest products with the perfected choreographed routine being played out. 

And then it hit you.

Shit.

You froze mid-spit, minty toothpaste clinging to the corner of your lips.

You rushed to rinse your mouth, flung open your bedroom door with urgency. Your head peeked out of the frame, cautiously listening.

Silence.

You tiptoed into the living room with barefoot steps. The couch was empty except for the neatly folded blanket and pillow resting on top. It’s like he was never here.

Your body slumps as you let out a sigh. The quiet pressed around you, heavier than usual. This perfectly curated fortress, always immaculate, suddenly felt sterile. Cold. You built this place as the perfect place to be alone, but now it echoed how lonely it feels.  

“Mornin’”

Your heart jumps from your ribs and you whip around, hand to your chest. Relief blooms in your chest, but your stomach still twists. You weren’t sure what was worse, waking up alone, or waking up knowing he stayed and saw too much. Bakugou stood in the hallway, just outside the bathroom, leaning casually against the frame. Shirtless, his hair a disaster. His voice is rough from the lack of sleep. 

He raised a brow at your stunned expression, and the moment clicked. Slowly, his lips tugged into a smug grin. “Aw,” he said, arms crossing over his chest “You thought I left and actually missed me.” He chuckled low and gravely. 

Your jaw drops slightly, ready to argue but no words came out. Just heat rising up your neck and blooming across your cheeks. You hate how he sees right through you. 

Then the soft beeping of your door’s keypad snapped both your heads towards the entrance. Bakugou shot you a look, sharp and questioning. “You expecting someone?”

You shook your head, wide-eyed and whispered “No.”

Immediately, Bakugou stepped forward, positioning himself in front of you like a wall, eyes narrowing on the door as it slowly clicked open. His hands sparked faint crackles. 

“PULCHRA, DARLING!” Jun burst through the door with dramatics, voice quivering in panic, eyes glistening and nose a dark shade of pink. “ARE YOU OKAY?! I CAME AS SOON AS I–”

He froze mid-stride.

Juns eyes darted at you.

To Bakugou.

Shirtless. Back to you.  

Pantsless. 

Back to Bakugou again. 

And with a heavy beat of silence, Jun’s face flattened into a completely unimpressed deadpan. Bakugou grimaced. You groaned into your palm. 

Juns nose wrinkled as his face twisted with disgust.  “Oh, oh no no no, darling. Just….no.” 

“What the hell does that mean?!” Bakugou shouted, hands sparking with small explosions. 

Jun waved him off like an annoying fly and pointed directly at you, voice flat with accusation. “This better just be a sex thing.”

Bakugou's jaw dropped open like he couldn’t decide whether to shout or combust. His face turned violent as his teeth clenched and nostrils flared. 

“Dynamite was the one who saved me last night.” You cut in quickly, putting a gentle hand on Bakugou's shoulder, trying to calm him down. “He stayed over to make sure I was safe.”

“Besides…” you tried to deflect, voice catching just slightly “...like he could handle me anyways.”

Bakugou choked on nothing.

The comeback sat heavy on this tongue, the very real urge to correct you, to prove you wrong. But with Jun standing two feet away, watching like this was some soap opera. He swallowed his words, let out a guttural growl and stomped towards the kitchen. 

“Coffee” he grumbled. 

“Mm-hmm. That’s what I thought” Jun clicking his tongue. 

While Bakugou brewed what smelt like burnt coffee, you relayed all of last night to Jun. The gala, the man, the photos, the break in. Your hands shook as you remembered everything. Jun wasn’t often silent, but for now he quietly listened to you. He’s the closest you have to a friend who works on your team. When you were done retelling your story, he pulled you into a tight hug. 

“It was that damn dress, you looked too good in it.” He winked. 

You gave a huff of a laugh. “Now go get dressed, love. I’ve seen you in your underwear enough today.” 

You pull Jun into another hug and walk into your wardroom. 

Jun glanced over into the kitchen and rolled his eyes. His heels clinked dramatically against the floor as he strutted into where Bakugou stood. At first he just watched Bakugou poorly make coffee like a critic, deciding whether to be offended or fascinated. 

Bakugou could feel him watching but chose to ignore it. He yanked a cabinet and grabbed a mug with more force than necessary, and slammed it onto the counter. 

Jun finally broke the silence “You know…for someone so explosive, you really don’t handle scrutiny well.”

Bakugou's eyes narrowed “For someone so loud, you sure don’t know when to shut up.”

Jun sighed dramatically and leaned against the kitchen counter “Don’t get me wrong. You’re…very rugged for her usual type. A little rough around the edges. But I suppose that's your whole thing. Your charm.” 

Bakugou shot a sharp glare “At least I don’t look like I spent two hours airbrushing my face, just to look halfway decent.” Jun smiled sweetly, “That’s because you would need at least four”

Bakugou was about to argue but Jun jumped in first. “Your whole angry attitude is entertaining. It makes for good headlines. But this…” he spun his finger into a pointed circle framing Bakugou “can’t be a thing. It already went too far. You take this any further, you’ll ruin her reputation.” 

You stepped out into the living room, dressed in a off-the-shoulders black ruffled blouse paired with high-waisted shorts that cinched your waist with the black and gold belt. Your long legs on full display and lifted with a strappy chunky black heel. It was an edgy blend of streetwear and high fashion. Jun looked at you with a prideful smile. 

Instantly you could feel the tension. “What's going on here? Do I have to separate you two?” you pointed at both of them. “No,” they both answered in unison. Jun’s a pep of innocence, while Bakugous was a gruff grumble. 

You squinted at both of them, knowing they were both lying. 

Bakugou poured himself coffee and an extra mug for you. But made a point not to pour a third. 

Jun let out a long sigh. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay darling. I’d be lost without you.” Jun walked over to you and grabbed both shoulders, holding you in place. “Like, literally. I would be broke and on the streets.” 

You rolled your eyes and gave a knowing smirk. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be more careful next time.” 

Jun kissed both cheeks and offered his goodbyes. When he walked past the kitchen he gave a sharp glare at Bakugou that screamed ‘I’m watching you’. He darted his long finger towards Bakugou before walking out the door. 

You walked up to Bakugou “What was that about?” He didn’t respond, just turned to hand you the piping hot mug. You took a whiff and your eyes watered instantly. Somehow you managed to take a sip. It was strong, sharp, burnt to hell. Nothing like your usual french pressed creamy coffee. “Fuck, this is awful.” You winced “How are you such a good cook but somehow make coffee that taste like battery acid?” 

“Don’t be a brat.”

You knew after he finished his coffee, he would be out the door. But you didn’t want him to leave yet. You weren’t ready to be alone. You bit your lip and glanced up at him. “Theres this place. A coffee shop” you hold the mug a little tighter. “Would you…would you like to come with me? I don’t think I can drink this. No offense.”

With a pause, Juns words linger on Bakugou's mind. He should say no, should leave for good. Tell you something came up then lose your number. But the way you look up at him has him weak. He can smell your perfume and the scent of your shampoo. And the way your eyes look at him pull him in. Everything about you breaks his resolve. 

Fuck it. 

With a heavy sigh, he grabs your mug and dumps both cups of coffee down the drain. “Fine.”

You feel relief at his answer as your body untenses. You grab your purse and return a genuine smile. “Ever try Kopi Luwak?” “Nope. But it sounds pretentious.” “Oh, it is.” 

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Eleven

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it. 

Note: This is a rewrite, I didn't like the original I posted so I reworked the chapter. I felt the character consistency was lost. Rating: 18+

“Are you sure you don’t want help?” “I get the sense if you help, the kitchen will burn down.” Bakugou said while sauteing onions and mushrooms in a pan. 

You watched Bakugou work in the kitchen, the clatter of pans, the rich aromas filling the air. The weight in your chest still lingered from earlier, but his presence made it tolerable. Safe.

You shouldn’t want this. Not the quietness. Not the warmth. Not the way he moved through your kitchen like he belonged here. You wanted him to stay- and it scared you. 

You glance over at the digital clock on your microwave. 1:45am. You feel guilty for keeping Bakugou up this late and now having him cook for you. 

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, voice thinner than you intended. “I shouldn’t have kept you up this late. You have work–”

Bakugou didn’t even look at you, just started searing the chicken. “Called off.” 

Bakugou never called off. Never called in sick. Never took vacations or holidays. His world was rigid disciple that never stopped. He didn’t leave room for breaks and moments to breath. 

You blinked a few times and a thought twisted something unexpected inside your chest. 

A steaming bowl with white rice, golden chicken with a soft runny egg on top was placed in front of you. “Oyakodon?” You said with an unenthusiastic tone. 

Bakugous brow twitched as he sneered. 

“That's what you get at 2am, with convenient store ingredients, princess.”

You fainted a smile as he pulled up the seat next to you. Without a moment of hesitation, he started attacking his bowl. Taking big scoops of food like a starved man. He ate like he fought, fast and relentless. You barely touched your chopsticks, eyes down, fiddling with the small chip on the edge of the bowl. Your stomach was sick from the events earlier, the thought of food made your insides turn. 

“For fuck sake…it ain’t gonna kill ya!” 

You take in a deep breath and gather your nerves. You slip your chopsticks through the golden runny egg and scoop a bite with rice, chicken, egg, all soaked in broth. The first bite is amazing. Warmth floors your mouth, savory and sweet. The dashi broth is rich but not heavy. The chicken is tender and the egg melts in your mouth. The dish is simple, honest and devastatingly good. Without realizing it, you let out a small involuntary moan giving away your enjoyment. 

“I hate how good this is.” 

Bakugou smirked, “Next time I’ll make my famous curry.” 

That took you by surprise. “Next time?” 

Bakugou's eyes widened as he realized his slip, quickly clearing his throat. “Don’t…overthink it.” he grumbles, ears tinting pink.

You bit your lip, gaze lowering into the bowl as your cheeks blushed. 

When both bowels are empty and stomachs are full, Bakugou helps you clean the dishes. Of course he gave you the easy job of just drying everything. He's stifling back yawns with the back of his hand  and his eyes are getting droopy. You can tell he’s exhausted. While you are used to after parties and late night shoots, it’s obvious Bakugou is a first to bed, first to rise kind of guy. You don’t get a body like his by staying up all night, eating late night snacks. 

“You should take the bed” you voice soft as you put the final dish away “You’ve done…a lot for me tonight.”

“Don’t be an idiot. You need your beauty sleep after all.” He gave a flick of a grin “You’re starting to look like a goblin.” 

Your jaw dropped, as you let out a gasp- completely offended. You smacked his shoulder weakly, but he only chuckled, deep and genuine. Your playful hits barely made him sway. His laugher died down. As your arm came down, he caught your wrist mid slap- pulling you closer. Not rough, but full of intention. 

“Relax”, his voice lower than usual and wearing a grin “You’re still beautiful.”

He said it with complete certainty like it was the most obvious fact in the world. 

And the breath in you shifted. 

It felt like your insides did a somersault, your mind short circuiting, another part of you fluttered. It did something to you. You’ve been told you’re beautiful a million times. Photographers, fans, celebrities, strangers. Its background noise at this point. 

But not with him. 

When he said it, it sunk deep in you. It doesn’t feel like meaningless flattery, it felt real. It feels like he sees beyond your quirk. He sees the messy unfiltered version and still thinks you’re beautiful. And for the first time…maybe you believe it, too. 

You look down at the polished floor with red tinting your cheeks, you release your wrist. 

“Fine, you take the couch.” Your voice was soft like a surrender. “There's a second bathroom down the hall. I’ll grab you some pillows and a blanket.” 

Bakugou watched you closely, observing you like he would an interrogation. Everything runs hot and cold with you and it’s giving him whiplash. You flirt, then call him just a friend. You ask him to stay and when he makes a move, you pull away. You’re driving him insane. Part of him wants to walk out and chalk it up to a misunderstanding. The other part wants to slam you against a wall. 

When you stepped away to grab pillows and blankets, Bakugou rummaged through his duffle bag pulling out a pair of spare gym shorts. He peeled off his denim jacket, then his hoodie, each layer revealing more. He kicked off his jeans, leaving him in nothing but black boxer briefs. He reached for his shorts just as-

“Shit! Sorry!”

You froze, the bundle of blankets slipping from your arms as you spun around and covered your eyes. Dramatic and pointless. As if you haven’t posed with half naked underwear models before.

“Why the hell aren’t you changing in the bathroom?!” You barked, your voice a few octaves higher.

Bakugou rolled his eyes, not a bit of shame. “Please, don’t act like you’re all innocent. I’ve seen some of your photos online.” 

Your mouth fell open, heat spreading from head to toe. “You’ve seen-”

“Yeah,” he said casually, pulling on his shorts, leaving his chest bare. “They’re tasteful, artsy. Sure. Still far from modest.” he teased.

You wanted to just dig into the deepest hole and die. 

Bakugou stepped towards you, scooping the blankets and pillows off the floor and under his arm. It drew him in close, a little too close, there was a faint smell of burnt caramel. And now you weren’t sure what to do. You turned towards him, enough to feel his warmth. 

You’re surrounded by male modes in your line of work. But Bakugou was something else entirely. He wasn’t crafted in a studio or airbrushed to perfection. He was forged. Every inch carved by years of training and unrelenting discipline. He’s all ridges and sharp lines. His hips dipped into a sharp V, commanding your eyes downward. It's obscene and unforgiving.

And then there's the scars. 

They covered him like brush strokes. Broad lines on a canvas. The largest being in the center of his chest then wrapping down his right side swallowing his entire arm in a web of damage. 

You remember the news. The war. The day the UA students fought like hell and how he almost didn’t make it. His body tells a story. They didn’t make him flawed, they made himart. 

Before you realized what you were doing, your fingers reached out. Curious. Brushing lightly over the rough texture. It was coarse beneath your fingertips, warm and real. You stepped in even closer, drawn in by something magnetic. 

He didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t flinch. But his breath quickened, deeper heavier breaths. He stayed still in anticipation. You could feel the beat of his heart. You grounded yourself in the proof that he was here. 

And suddenly it registered, how intimate the moment had become. Like your body moved first and now your mind was scrambling to catch up. You flinched. “Well!” you blurted, far too loud and clumsy. “I’m off to bed! Goodnight!” Before he could respond, you spun on your heels and marched to your bedroom, shutting the door a little harder than necessary. 

Bakugou let out a sharp, frustrated groan. He rubbed a hand down his face, casting a glance down at himself, scowling at the problem you left behind. 

“This is getting fuckin’ annoying.” he muttered, adjusted himself in his shorts with a low growl.

Inside your room, you collapsed backwards onto your bed, arms side like a starfish, eyes fixed blankly on the white ceiling. You laid there blinking up at nothing, your mind shut off. 

Then, like a dam of  breaking of awkward moments. The moment replayed on repeat. The feel of his skin under your fingertips. The rise and fall of his chest. The heat from his body. 

Your stomach flipped and you grabbed your silk pillow, pressing it over your face to muffle the small frustrated scream that escaped. “What the hell was that?!”

You flopped onto your side, exhaling hard, willing yourself to shake it off. But your eyes drifted to the tablet sitting on your nightstand. You stared at it for a moment, internally debating.

Don’t do it. 

You did it. 

With a resigned groan, you grabbed the tablet and opened the folder of the photo shoot. 

The images burned bright as you swiped one by one. 

The way he held you, almost possessive. The way his eyes locked on you like the cameras weren’t even there. There was tension seen in every pixel. Like you and him existed in a world separate from that around you. The media hasn’t exaggerated, it was impossible not to see it. 

You bit your lip as you chewed on a nail. 

It’s no wonder everyone’s obsessed. Because people love a fantasy. 

And maybe that’s all this was. Just another fantasy. 

You heard his voice echo in your head. “People are reading too damn much into some stupid photos.”

Maybe he’s right, maybe people were reading too much. And maybe…you were too. 

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Ten

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it. 

Notes: Cross posted on ao3 Writing this is hurting my back so much. I'm downing ibuprofen like skittle's. Rating: 18+

“Seems this man has a quirk that lets him move in the shadows. Probably how he got past the security.” A police officer reported. “We went to his apartment and found months worth of photos. He’s probably been following her for a while.”

Bakugou glanced over your direction, making sure you were too far away to hear. He didn’t want you to know the terrifying truth. You were sitting at your dining room table, wrapped in a blanket and sipping on a steaming mug of chamomile tea. You looked small. Defeated. 

The idea of a predator lurking near you for months coiled in his chest. His blood boiled with rage. A sick, sour weight settles in his gut with anger, but also something sharper, disappointment. 

“Keep that asshole locked up for good.” The officer nods at Bakugou before heading off. 

Bakugou stands in front of you, crouching down so he's at eye level. “This won’t happen again. I promise.”

You looked deeply in his eyes, there was a fire burning brighter than the red of his irises. You completely and utterly believed him. A level of trust that settled so deep inside you felt safe for the first time in a long time. 

“I keep a go-bag in my car, I’m going to grab it and come right back”

Bakugou placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, grounding you. You simple nod in response. By the time he returned, a black and orange duffle bag slung over his shoulder, all the officers and guards had cleared out. The room finally felt quiet again. You watched as Bakugou dropped the bag onto the floor and practically collapsed onto the couch with a heavy sigh, his head falling back against the cushions. 

There was a long pause before you finally spoke, your voice dry and light.

“Who the hell keeps a go-bag in their car?” The question caught him off guard, mostly because of how casual it sounded after everything that just happened. He blinked, then let out a breathy small laugh. 

“Any good hero with any damn sense.”  He had a smuggish smile. “Red Riot learned that real quick when we had a three day mission. He smelt like ass by the second day.” 

You let out a small laugh you didn’t realize you were holding in, then hummed in approval. But your light expression faded again for just a moment, like the weight of the night started to creep back in. Bakugou noticed instantly. 

Before he let you fall deeper into that hole, he slapped his hands on the couch cushions and stood up like a man on a mission. 

“You gotta be starving. Get the feelin’ you haven’t eaten all day.” He headed for the kitchen “C’mon, I’ll make you somethin’” 

You followed behind with curiosity. “You know how to cook?”

“Course I do. What, you don’t?” He swung open the fridge door and immediately his face dropped like he was personally offended, blinking at the near empty shelves. 

“Yeah…course you don’t.”

“What?” you defended “My private chef takes care of all that!” Bakugou pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed about useless rich girls.

He exhaled, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I’ll order us somethin”

“Or…” you stepped closer, eyes wide and pleading “We could go to the store. Make it a little adventure”

Bakugou paused, eyes shooting you a concerned glance. “You seriously wanna go out? After tonight?”

You looked down as your fingers played with the hem of your shirt. “I just…need a little fresh air. Don’t want to feel trapped.”

He hated the idea of you being so exposed in the open. If it were up to him, he'd lock up every door, board up the windows, and keep you inside forever with him guarding the place. But you weren’t his to keep, not meant to be caged in. And that was too selfish of an ask.

There were a few seconds of hesitation until he sighed. 

“Fine, but you’re stickin’ by my side the entire time. Don’t need some creep gawking at you, slowing us down.”

You looked up and smiled with a sharp nod “Deal.”

You walk out of the kitchen and down the hall, stepping into your bedroom. The second the door door clicked shut, your legs buckled under you. You collapsed to the floor, curling into yourself as everything came flooding in. The adrenaline finally subsided and now all thats left was the anxiety. Your chest heaved in tight, shallow gasps. Your mind spiraled with images of the intruder, but not just this one. Of all those that have stalked you in the past. Made you feel unsafe and vulnerable. You bit down on the back of your hand to muffle the sobbing. The pressure left deep crescent shaped marks in your skin, almost enough to draw blood. But you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t let yourself fall apart. For now, you were safe. But what about later, when Bakugou leaves? What happens when the locks, cameras and bodyguards prove useless again?

You craved solitude, a place where you could not be Pulchra. But now the thought of being alone felt like an open wound. 

Your breath hitched as you took in three deep shaky breaths. Slowly your heart came to an even rhythm as you forced it all down. 

Finally, you push yourself of the floor, legs trembling as you stumble towards your dresser. You grabbed the first three things you could find that looked comfortable enough. Leggings, some old band t-shirt, an oversized cardigan, baseball cap and large sunglasses to hide your swollen red-rimmed eyes. You gave yourself a lookover in the mirror. You looked terrible, the image of Pulchra nowhere to be found. All that was left was a scared girl pretending to be okay. 

With a few quick slaps to your cheeks you brought back some color, forced on a smile and pulled back your shoulders. 

When you stepped back into the living room, Bakugou glanced up the moment you appeared. He takes you in, letting his eyes roll down your body. He’s gotten to see so many sides of you today. He wonders how many people get to see you like this, stripped down of your usual polish and left with something real. 

“Ready?” You ask with a forced pep in your voice.

Bakugou nods and puts on his own casual disguise. A black pull over hoodie with the hood up and washed out denim jacket over it. Bakugou grabs his car keys and leads you out the door. 

Outside was a sleek black sporty Porsche that beeped when he unlocked it. To your surprise, he opened the door for you and gave you a knowing smirk when he could tell you were impressed. 

The car ride was quiet. You leaned your head against the glass of the window and watched the neon lights of the city go by. Bakugou kept looking over at you, hands tightening around the steering wheel, wanting to say something. Anything to lighten the mood. 

Should he play music? No, his music would probably scare you. 

The weathers nice, maybe talk about that? No, too lame. 

“What's your favorite dish? Maybe I can make it. ” Good job Bakugou, something simple. 

You pick up your head and tap your cheek a couple times, really thinking of all the things you enjoy. Food being one of your favorite subjects. 

“Mathéo makes an amazing beef wellington with béarnaise sauce”

Bakugou rolled his eyes so far back he nearly saw his skull. He considers turning around now thinking it will be impossible to please a spoiled rich girl. 

“Well I ain’t Mathéo princess, and it's 1am. We’ll have to stick to convenient store ingredients.” 

The engine roared as it came to a stop. The neon “24/7” sign was bright against the night sky. Again, Bakugou opened the door for you. He watched carefully as you stepped out. He followed closely behind like a security dog staying alert of anyone nearby. 

The door of the store chimed as you stepped inside. The fluorescent lights burned too bright for this time of night. Or…morning? 

You tugged on your cardigan sleeve over your hand, fighting a yawn as you wandered the aisles. Bakugou grabbed a basket and pulled on you by the arm into the direction he needed to go. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve been to a convenient store.” You looked over all the brightly colored snacks. 

“I’m sure it’s been a while you’ve been to any store that doesn’t just sell clothes.” 

You shot him a pouty glare that made him crack a small smile. 

“I could probably make something pretty decent if you actually had food in your fridge.”

“I have food!”

“Wine and cheese isn’t a meal, idiot.” You huffed at his comment. 

Bakugou walked down the aisles, grabbing mushrooms, eggs, chicken, green onions and everything else he needed. You followed closely behind, amused how serious he looked picking out groceries. He examined every item looking for the very best. Like making dinner was another mission and he’d be damned if he failed. 

When Bakugou gathered all the ingredients, you added a brightly colorful bag of candy on top and gave a sickly sweet innocent smile. “In case of emergencies.” 

“A candy emergency?” Bakugou raised a brow.

“Exactly.” 

Bakugou put the basket at the register counter where an overly peppy college student eagerly rang up the groceries. Before you could even grab your purse, Bakugou was already swiping his credit card. 

“Wow, making dinner and paying for it?” You said in a teasing sultry tone. 

“Don’t get used to it.” 

You gently shoulder checked him and looked up with a bright genuine smile. His chest got tight and he knew at that moment, he would do anything to keep you smiling.

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Nine

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it.

Notes: Cross posted on ao3. This series is sponsored by Adderall, Coffee and Mountain Dew.

Rating: 18+

It didn’t take long for your nerves to start to settle. As long as Bakugou was here, you felt safe. 

Bakugou was walking around your penthouse, looking for clues. But also because he was just so fascinated by how you lived. Big luxurious bed, a closet bigger than most apartments, massive windows that overlooked the city skyline, huge kitchen and multiple bathrooms. The whole place was clean, not a single knickknack or photo. There were a few magazines with you on the cover, probably ones you were actually proud of. But the whole place looked like you could pack it up any moment and leave on a whim. It felt familiar to him. The ability to leave everything all behind. The only thing that had personality were the half read books you had on almost every table and candles scented as baked goods scattered about. 

You called out his name from your closet. 

Inside you stood before a full length mirror, your fingers fumbling with the back of your dress. He paused in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame and the other curled tightly at his side. For a breathless moment, he watched you. Really watched you. You’re a living work of art, the kind of beauty only found in the finest museum to be admired from a distance, but never to be owned. 

Not mine, he thought. Never mine. 

“Can you help me with this?” you asked, frustration in your voice. “I swear they design these dresses after straightjackets.”

Bakugou felt a sensation so rare it startled him. He wasn’t the type for halter, not in battle and definitely not with his hormones. This wasn’t something he could muscle through. This was delicate, dangerous territory, and no amount of training could prepare him for the battlefield of his own restraint.

Still, he crossed the room until he stood behind you. Close enough he could catch the faint scent of your perfume. His gaze roamed the length of you, lingering at the dip of your waist and the curve of your breasts. 

He nodded once, but you couldn’t see it. You could only feel the shift in the air, the way it thickened, heavy with things unspoken. His fingers hovered near your skin, knuckles brushing against your spine in a whisper of contact that made his chest tighten.

He touched you, fingertips grazing the small of your back. His hands were steady in battle, unflinching under pressure, but here, they betrayed him. Here, they trembled but just barely.

He found the first button and undid it carefully, as if disarming a bomb, terrified that one wrong move would set off something he couldn’t contain. The fabric loosened, sliding against your skin. The neckline dipped lower, one sleeve slipping down your shoulder with an intimacy that made his breath catch.

He moved to the next button. The dress slithered down pooling at your hips. You drew one arm over your chest, a weak attempt to stay modest. Bakugou looked at your reflection in the mirror, the way your neckline dipped, the curve of your waist, and the way your bare skin begged to be touched. He looked away, feeling the guilt of wanting. 

He exhaled slowly and shaky. You shivered at the feeling, so subtle it was almost missed. But he saw it, felt it. 

He clenched his fists, fighting the primal urge to close the distance, to let his hands wander. For now he would be good. Careful. For now he’ll just remember this moment and the vision before him. 

“Thank you” you whispered. “Yeah” he said as he walked out the door, letting you finish the rest. 

When you emerged from your room, Bakugou nearly choked on the sight before him.

You were a vision, but not the kind he was used to. Gone were the designer dresses, and polished perfection. A stark contrast from moments ago. Instead, you stood there in an oversized hoodie with a stupid cartoon on the front that swallowed your frame, tiny shorts peppered with embroidered strawberries, and a pair of fuzzy socks that slouched at your ankles. You looked utterly ridiculous. Human. And god, he loved this version of you even more. 

“Tea?” You asked already prodding over to the kitchen. “Sure.” Bakugou plops himself on the couch with a heavy sigh releasing the tension he didn’t realize he was holding and rested his elbows on his knees with his face in his hands. 

When you returned, you pressed a warm mug into his hands, and for a few minutes, the two of you sat there, side by side, drinking in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy, either. It was the kind of silence heavy with words neither of you knew how to speak yet. A silence full of everything unsaid.

You took a long inhale through your nose, the air catching just a little. Then, you cleared your throat.

“Um… about the interview…”

Bakugou's eyes snap to you, searching for a sign of what might be coming next. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, he waited in silence until-

CRASH

In a flash, Bakugou was up, the tea spilling from his cup and shattering against the floor. His hand clamped around your wrist, dragging you down behind the couch with a force that made you stumble, made you gasp. He pressed a finger to his lips, mouthing, Get down. His palms sparked small, crackling bursts of smoke and fire sizzling from his skin.

Your heart thundered in your chest as you crouched, slapping a hand over your mouth to smother the cry rising in your throat.

“You BITCH! You’re supposed to be MINE!” The voice was a grotesque snarl, echoing through the open space, impossible to pin down. It was everywhere but nowhere.

Bakugou whipped his head all around, looking and listening for any signs of the intruder. 

“Get out here you chicken shit!” Bakugou yelled. 

“Why him? WHY? Don’t you see how he doesn’t care about you like I do?” Bakugou's palms popped louder with small explosions. 

“You’re a goddess, my Pulrchra! You deserve someone who really loves you!” 

The body of a man materialized from the shadows. He was holding a knife and began charging straight at Bakugou with a wild, desperate scream.

But Bakugou was faster.

With the reflexes, he sidestepped, twisted the man’s wrist until it snapped, and slammed him hard into the floor with a deafening boom. The explosion rattled the furniture, shook the windows. The explosion could be heard from several floors. 

The intruder crumpled unconscious, a thin smear of blood trailing from his mouth and forehead. But not enough to kill him. Just enough to ensure he wouldn’t get up again anytime soon.

You peeked out from behind the couch, trembling. Before you could even think to move, Bakugou was there, gathering you into his arms, holding you so tight you could barely breathe. His chest heaved against yours, heart beating loud.

You broke, tears spilling down your cheeks as you clung to him. You pressed yourself closer, as if you could crawl and hide in his strength. His hands framed your face, warm thumbs brushing away the tears, his touch frantic, desperate.

Without thinking, he kissed your forehead, your cheeks, quick, uneven, feverish, as if he could erase what had just happened.

“You’re safe,” he murmured, voice thick, hoarse. “You’re okay now. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

The door burst open behind you. Security guards spilled in, weapons drawn, faces pale and wide-eyed.

Bakugou didn’t flinch. He didn’t loosen his hold on you for even a second.

“Call the cops,” he barked without turning. “And restrain that bastard before he wakes up.”

You barely noticed the commotion around you. Bakugou’s arms stayed locked around you like a shield. He didn’t let go. Not even when they hauled the man away in handcuffs.

Not even when the danger was gone.

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Eight

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it.

Note: Cross posted on ao3 Rating: 18+

You woke up early, wearing an oversized knitted sweater and the fuzzy shorts. In the kitchen was a perfectly curated balanced breakfast and a small espresso made by your private chef, waiting for you on your marble table. It was a french cuisine this morning. The portions were small, barely enough to fill your hunger. Which meant only one thing…whatever they had planned for you to wear today would be tight and revealing. 

As you sipped on your espresso, your fingers played with the small black and orange card with Bakugou's number on it. It’s been about 5 days and you still haven’t called or texted. What was there to say? 

“Hi friend- I know I read all of this wrong and you think our time together was stupid, but I think I actually like you??” Hell no!

You thought of a hundred things to say. Even typed most of them out. But you never had the nerve to send any. So now the card sits on your counter acting as a souvenir of what once was. 

The beeping of your security keypad echoed, drawing your attention away. When the doors swung open, Jun walked inside carrying a long golden dress wrapped in a protecting film. “Darling! You’ll simply be the bell of the ball tonight with this gown!” Jun sang. 

He strutted like he owned the place and you mindlessly followed towards your dressing room, which was more like its own separate apartment store full of every fabric and jewel to exist. Jun hung up the dress and carefully removed the plastic. It was a long, body forming, strappy dress that flowed like molten gold. The dress looked overly complicated on the hanger which always meant one thing. There would be a lot of skin showing. Your fingers played with the soothing sensation of the fabric, feeling the luxury of real silk. 

Tonight was the Venus Charity Gala, a yearly event where all the top actors, models and celebrities show up in the most couture on theme ensembles. 

“This is great, Jun.” “Oh honey, it’s better than great. It’s perfection. It’s magnetic.  You and Logan will be walking dreams!” 

“Logan?”

“Yes Sweety, didn’t anyone tell you?” 

Your face dropped. 

“Oh my. Well! Logan Rivera will be your sexy little arm candy tonight. His reputation as an actor is skyrocketing. The media is claiming he’ll be Japan's next hottest man of the year!”

You know all about Logan's reputation. But it’s one so well hidden from the public, only those in the industry know what he’s really like. He uses his fame and money to convince up and coming models or actors that he can make them celebrities. As long as they sleep with him. But it’s those girls who wake up beaten and bruised, forever tortured by the memories of Logan Rivera. 

You’re sure your manager and the rest of the team who own your brand know all of this. But they don’t care, all that matters is the articles the next day.

“Hair and makeup will be here around three to get you all glitz and glam. So be sure to lay off anything salty or sweet until then, yes darling?”

You tried your best to give a genuine smile “Yes, thanks Jun.” 

***

Bakugou did what he did best when he needed a distraction- blow shit up. Training dummies, punching bags, even interns. Nothing or no one was spared. He doubled his patrols, took on extra missions, took every opportunity to blow off some steam. If he kept his body moving, you would stay off his mind. 

With every buzz or ring of a notification on his phone, there was a small flicker of hope before it crushed him. Each time it wasn’t you, which was everytime, made the silence a little deeper. This feeling was driving him crazy.  

You drew the line of friendship, made it cut and clear. After everything, the relentless flirting, the touches that lingered a bit too long and the way you looked at him with longing. You chose distance. He should’ve seen it. It was all PR shit for glossy headlines and tabloid feeds. 

He’s not sure if it's his pride being shot that pisses him off, he’s never been rejected before. Girls always come easy to him. Or if it's worse. He actually fucking cares about you. 

Bakugou finished suiting up into his hero uniform ready to patrol his sector for whatever villainy may be stalking the streets. He’s hoping, begging, for some idiot to try him today. Give him an excuse to let loose. 

“Hey, man! You see Pulchra will be at the Venus Charity Gala tonight? Bet she’s going to look sooo hot!” Denki said in passing with a huge smile on his face. Bakugou was about to blow smoke from his ears, just hearing your name. “Who fuckin’ cares? Just some dumb dress up show.”

He didn’t stick around long enough to hear Denki’s response. He didn’t want to hear it.

Patrol was painfully uneventful. Not even a simple purse snatcher or carjacker. Just quiet streets and too much time to think. 

He took a turn down a street he usually avoided and immediately regretted. There you were, or at least a towering billboard of you. Some advertisement for high-end makeup brand. Your eyes stared down at him, wide and bright. Lips curved into a carefully practiced smile. 

“Tsk, whatever.” 

He turned away and walked in the opposite direction back to the agency. It was nearly 6pm by the time he got back and stripped off his uniform. There was an itch gnawing at the back of his mind. His phone was burning a hole in his pocket, telling him to check the news, just once. With a frustrated growl and slamming his locker enough to break the hinges, he yanked his phone from his pocket and typed in “Pulchra Venus Charity Gala” into the browser.

Instant regret.

The screen lit up with a flood of images and video clips. There you were, standing on a red carpet and flashing cameras, dripping in a gown that looked like it was poured on your skin. 

Your hair done up into a loose updo. The liquid dress that cascaded on one shoulder and left the other bare. Opulent gold fabric swept across your chest and crossed back around to your waist until it fell into a long train with a high slit. The dress was tight forming and left little to the imagination. Your chest and midriff barely covered and your ass perfectly sculpted in the clinging fabric. The media described your look as “sexy, daring, and unpredictable.” 

His body tensed as he watched you through the screen. But it wasn’t anger, it was something darker. The kind that pulsed as blood rushed. Made the mouth dry and mind hazey. Then he saw him. 

Some polished asshole with slicked back hair, sculped jaw line and a smile that won awards. Logan Rivera. Some actor pretty-boy he’s never heard of. 

Bakugou’s stomach twisted as he watched you lean into the bastard, hand resting on his chest and smiling at whatever stupid shit he had to say. The media gushed over how perfect you looked together. He wanted to break his phone. 

But against his better judgment, he tapped on a livestream clip.

You looked at the camera with a perfect smile and eyes that dared the world. They drew crowds in, pulled by desire. 

A press reporter came up to you with a mic, craving a story.

“Pulchra, what about 15th hero Dynamite? Have you turned in hot-headed hero, for hot and handsome?” 

Bakugou didn’t want to hear your answer. He closed the browser, locked his phone and slammed it on the bench. 

Fucking waste of time. 

***

The gala was all reds and golds. Flowers spilled from ornate vases and marble fountains flowed with liquid gold. Sparkling crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, refracting small beams of colors in all directions. Silk dancers floated from the ceiling, circling around the audience. Classical music playing modern songs could be heard from every direction. 

Only a few photographers were allowed inside the venue, a true mercy,  but that didn’t make them any less of vultures. They cataloged every glance, touch and whisper. 

After two flutes of champagne and a few stiff uncomfortable dances with Logan, he drifted away. You didn’t entertain his flirtatious comments and pulled away when his hand crept too low. Eventually he got bored and latched himself onto a group of young, entirely too young, models with bright eyes and empty smiles. 

Good. 

You hadn’t wanted a date to begin with. It was your PR teams idea in the first place. Something about optics and perception, staying ahead of the tabloids. Logan was nothing more than a calculated move in a finely tailored suit.  

The room was packed with familiar faces from the industry, but despite the size you felt claustrophobic. Heat building from the weight of too many bodies in designer clothes. The air reeked of a mixture of expensive perfumes and desperation. Everyone hid behind perfectly blended foundation, hollow jokes, veiled insults and dull flexing of success. At every corner were whispers of scandals. 

You were speaking to a new starry eyes model who's only been in the industry for a few months. The only reason she's even at this event is because of some big name actor she's sleeping with. She was going on and on about this fad diet she's on. The kind where there's more risk than reward. But you know if she doesn’t do it, she’ll lose her contract. She changes the subject to you, how she looks up to you. How you’re the reason she began modeling. You feel guilty everytime someone says you’re their reason for getting into this shit hole of an industry. You don’t want to be responsible for their misery. The more she spoke, the more her voice faded away. The music turned to a high pitch ringing. Your pulse quickened, muscles tensed.  You began to feel cold and exposed. There was a shift, like eyes were on you. Not in the usual kind you expect from an event like this. 

You whipped your head around and found an unfamiliar face staring at you from behind the tower of champagne flutes. There was a look in his eyes. A fixation. An unblinking predatory fixation. 

The young model called out your name a few times but her voice fell of deaf ears. It's not till she grabbed onto your shoulder, did you blink and the sound of music and chattering of voices all came flooding back. 

“S-sorry” 

You tried to smile, refocus on the young model in front of you. You forced laughter and small talk. But the way the man's eyes burned into you kept replaying, keeping you frozen in fear. 

You finally got the courage to glance back, but the man was gone. You looked all around and he was nowhere to be seen. 

You spent the rest of the event entertaining other celebrities with your charm, laughed off flirtatious comments and discussed new work opportunities for some product you couldn’t care less about. 

But despite all the drinks, conversion and fake smiles. You couldn’t get your mind off that man. You decide to slip out of the party early without notice. 

***

Back at your home, before you even had a chance to slip out of your dress and into something comfortable, you found an envelope laying on the floor of your white marble. Your heart began to race and your palms sweat as you reluctantly picked up the unmarked envelope. Your hands shaked as you ripped it open.

Inside were photos of you alone in your penthouse from this morning, eating your breakfast. From the angle of the photos, it appeared to have been taken from your balcony. And being on the 33rd floor, only added to the terror. 

Moments later your phone chimed and you nearly jumped at the sound. You looked at your phone only to see a text from an unknown number. 

UNKNOWN: 

You looked beautiful tonight. The fear only made you that more enticing. 

Without a moment of thought, you instantly ran to where you kept the card Bakugou gave you and called the number he scratched on the back. Tears ran down your cheeks and the air thickened in your throat as the phone rang. 

“Who is this?” “Can…can you come over?” He recognized your voice instantly and the way it shook. 

Bakugou grabbed his keys before you even finished your sentence. “I’m on my way.” 

You texted him your address with shaky fingers and the keyword for the front door security to let him in. 

What you considered your fortress now felt like a cell of granite and glass. You sat on the kitchen floor, crying into your hands. A half empty bottle of wine next to you. You were still in your dress, but your hair now undone and lightly tangled. 

Not even ten minutes later you hear three wraps on your door. The sudden sound scares you but you scramble to get up. As soon as you open the doors, you wrap your arms around Bakugou's chest and cry enough to dampen his black shirt. He grabs your shoulders and pushes you back enough to get a good look at you. 

“What happened?” Concern and anger written all over him. 

You move aside and let him follow you in. He kicks the door shut behind him and scans the room like it was a battlefield. Cataloging exits, shadows or any points of weakness. He noticed the number of locks on each door, the monitoring cameras in every corner and the security system screwed to the wall. 

“You said come over” his voice low “So. What happened?” 

You didn’t answer right away, just gripping onto the skirt of your dress. Your makeup had been smudged and your hair tousled. You looked small. 

Silently you handed him your phone with the unknown numbers text. 

“You block the number?”

You nodded and your hands shaked. 

“Thats…not all.” 

Next you handed him the envelope and when he looked at the photos inside he felt his blood boil. Right away he knew this wasn’t some average stalker. This was someone who managed to get past security and avoid the systems you have in place. 

“You have access to your security cameras?” 

You nodded and handed him a tablet that had all camera recordings. As he reviewed the videos, you sat on your couch and wrapped yourself in a blanket. 

There was nothing in the recordings. Not even a shadow. His fists clenched. When he looked up he saw you shaking and trying your best not to cry. 

“You tell security about this?” You shook your head. You kept security guards to a minimum, preferring not having someone always breathing down your neck. “They’re used to crowds, eager fans, but not this. You’re the first I called.” 

Bakugou let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. He sat next to you, close. He was warm. Present. 

“I see how people look at you. You can’t live alone and not have 24/7 patrol watching over you.” “I know!” You were too loud and too sharp. 

Then quieter “I know.” 

Silence fell between them. 

“Everyone thinks they own Pulchra. They think I belong to them. So I chose this solitude. The silence. I wanted freedom.” 

Bakugou's jaw flexed and he inched a little closer to you. 

You leaned against his, resting your head on his broad chest. He let you. 

“I’ll keep you safe.” Bakugou stroked your back with his thumb, fire burning in his eyes. 

“Will you stay with me tonight?” You looked up at him with pleading eyes. A look he could never refuse. 

“Of course.”