omg prompt 12 with Bakugou being the one who ends up hitting todoroki with his shoe
with pleasure dear!! i’m happily drowning in all this todobaku uwu
tdbk: [12] you kick a ball and your shoe flies off, hitting them in the back of the head.
soccer au? soccer au
*
“Take the shot! You can make it!”
“Block him!”
Bakugou kicks the soccer ball and it sails over Monoma’s head, rocketing straight into the goal like there’s a magnetic force pulling it there. His team goes wild collectively, their cheers overwhelming the groans of the opposition.
The only one who isn’t upset is Monoma, who storms across the field on a warpath. “Bakugou Katsuki, you damn hack!”
Kirishima rushes to step between them. “No fighting, guys! Come on: that was a fair point.”
“But the ref has been making bad calls all game.” Monoma glares pointedly across the field before shoving Kirishima aside to jab a finger into Bakugou’s chest. “One more, score be damned. Whoever makes this goal is the winner.”
“Fine. Delay your loss all you want.” Bakugou pushes past him. “I’ll make as many goals as it takes.” Maybe he’s only smirking to piss Monoma off—and it works like a charm. He clicks his tongue and goes to join his team, eyes blazing.
“Did you really have to provoke him like that?” Kaminari grumbles, taking off his goalie gloves to wipe sweat from his forehead.
“Yeah.” Bakugou taps his cleats against the goal, shaking off the mounds of dirt. “When they get angry, they get sloppy. I’m just playing the game.”
“You’re in a bad mood, though,” Shinsou points out after handing Kaminari a water bottle. “Is it because of the refs?”
“They’re definitely shitty. I like to win off skill alone, not off bad calls by blind dumbfucks.”
“Well they’re swapping them this round, so make it count.” Shinsou jogs back to the center of the field, wiping dirt from his hands. They’re all covered in it after playing for so long. It’s taken hours just to secure a 1-point lead.
“I’ll get it past Awase,” Kirishima says as they take the field. “It’ll be your job to score the last. Monoma will mark you.”
“Don’t worry about me. Take care of their sweeper.” Bakugou claps him on the shoulder before taking his position. There’s the distant rumble of thunder on the horizon, promising a rainstorm. It matches the heavy hammering of his heart: This game decides who goes to the championships, and no way is he losing to that bastard Monoma.
The whistle is blown, and Bakugou lunges into action, leering the adrenaline fuel him. This is the only point that matters—the point that will secure their team’s future.
“Pass it, Sero!”
The ball spirals through the mud, and Kirishima shares a look with Bakugou. Its time to strike, his face is saying. Call for the ball, and it’s yours.
Bakugou nods silently. The ball is in his grasp in a second, so fast that the other team lets out surprised curses. The only thing standing between him and the goal now is a scowling Monoma.
“Scared to make the shot?” he taunts, eyes flicking from Bakugou’s face to the ball. “Aren’t good enough without blind refs, huh?”
“Ha. Careful, or your voice might start shaking,” Bakugou replies, tapping the ball back and forth with his heels. “You already knew the outcome of this game, juts like everyone else here.”
The insult is enough to finally drive Monoma over the edge. He sprints at him with an enraged yell. Bakugou kicks the ball high, rushing past him and leaping skyward. His left foot slips, but the other manages to make solid contact: The ball spins toward the highest corner of the net, just out of the goalie’s reach.
Bakugou’s shoe goes with it. He nearly face-plants trying to avoid sticking his foot in the mud, tracking the cleat with his eyes in favor of watching the ball sail into the goal. Among the overwhelming cheers of his teammates, he watches it fly into the stands.
To his great horror, it smacks a spectator straight in the head. The boy stumbles, falling to his knees on the bleacher steps. It’s impossible to hear over the deafening cheers, but he probably yells something along the lines of, What the fuck? as he picks up the runaway shoe.
“Shit,” Bakugou mutters under his breath. He starts to cut a path across the field, but his teammates have surrounded him in a mass of joyous hollering.
“Bro, did you see your cleat go freakin’ flying?” Kirishima snorts—the only one to notice his predicament. “That was awesome, and you should’ve seen the look on Monoma’s face when you—“
“My shoe, Kirishima,” Bakugou interrupts, cutting his eyes over to the stands pointedly. “I need to get it.”
“Oh, right.” He lends Bakugou an arm, shooing the others away. “Shoeless Captain coming through! Go get some water, you guys.”
Kirishima helps him past their chattering teammates and toward the bleachers, where the celebration is in full force. They have to battle past several congratulatory spectators just to get to the first row of seats. Bakugou searches for a flash of red and white hair among the crowd: the only glimpse he got of the unfortunate stranger.
The fact that they won the game somehow isn’t sinking it yet, and it won’t until he has his cleat back. It’s stupid, but it feels like that’s the sign of victory: his old, muddy sneaker that made contact with the winning ball… And he probably needs to make sure that guy is okay, of course.
“Hey, is this yours?” Speak of the devil: someone is leaning over the metal railing above, holding Bakugou’s shoe in his left hand and rubbing the back of his head with the other.
“Kirishima, I’m good on my own now,” Bakugou mutters quietly, barely able to string the sentence together. What he really means is: Get the hell away so I can collect my shoe from this fucking gorgeous stranger.
And holy shit is he gorgeous. His hair is like cherry and vanilla and his face is all soft and he’s got long eyelashes and—and the list is way too long to name off.
“Eh? Oh, uh, yeah. Okay.” Kirishima gets the hint and disappears back onto the field, where he’s quickly swallowed up by the wave of celebration.
“So.” The hot stranger leans over farther, but he still doesn’t give back the cleat. “Are you going to apologize for hitting me?”
“I wasn’t aiming for you. Obviously I wouldn’t do that,” Bakugou feels the need to clarify. “But sorry.”
Shit, he’s a mess. He just brought his team to the championships, yet all the bravado from the field is gone. When locking eyes with a walking sex god that he’s just hit with his fucking shoe, Bakugou suddenly loses all higher brain function. He must be staring, but god, how could he not stare?
“Crappy apology, but I suppose I’ll have to take it.” The stranger’s eyes move from Bakugou’s face to the cleat and back. “Ah… it’s you. You just won the game, didn’t you? Does that mean I’ve been blessed with luck by this shoe?”
Bakugou can’t stop himself from smirking, finally regaining enough sense to say, “Yeah, maybe so. Or it could be that I’m the lucky one—to be meeting you, that is.”
He can’t stop talking, but at least his flirting game is on-point—just like that last goal.
God, everything is spiraling so incredibly far out of control. Bakugou just wanted his shoe back, but if this guy will keep looking at him and talking and blushing, well… he can hold it for as long as he fucking wants to.
