Recognition pt.3
(Pro-Hero Bakugo Katsuki x Reader)
This chapter is longer than the past two for plot development (and compensation for not uploading this as promised last week); Chapter 4 should be shorter than this. I highly recommend listening to Safety Net by Ariana Grande while reading this fic because the song meaning relates to this chapter.
Let me know if any of you guys wants to be added to a tag list!
For Chapter one, two, three, four, five, six, seven
“My migraine would always come back even though I would take pain killers,” your patient grew worried, “It would show up every now and then.”
You skimmed through the medical assistant’s notes on the patient monitor. “We can’t have you taking a lot of painkillers per day because it will affect your kidneys.” You turn your attention to the patient, “I’ll refer you to a neurologist. For now, please avoid anything that heightens your stress, as it will increase your cortisol levels, which means your migraines will most likely return.”
After five doctor visits later, you’re already weary, and it’s only been three hours since you clocked in. It’s only gonna get busier, you sighed, adjusting your white coat to your liking. It wasn’t lost on you that you’d agreed to let a student from U.A. shadow you today, so you have to trek your way to the main hospital, shaking your head at the thought of postponing it. You’ve already held off on this request twice now, reasonably so.
But this time? There are zero excuses for moving the student’s request to another date. Besides, you have a meeting with the One for All Hero, Deku. It’ll be great exposure for the overzealous kid.
Once you leave the clinic with the expensive leather handbag you bought as a self-care treat last week, you don’t waste time entering the public transit and looking for a bus seat. It wasn’t crowded compared to the early morning rush hour, so it was easy to find a spot to put your ass on. While the bus halted at a stoplight, your thoughts drifted to your relationships with the esteemed heroes. Crazily enough, most of them have told you to just address them by their names. You were with Yaoyorozu last weekend at a tea ceremony; Hatsume even called upon you to give insight about her new ‘baby’. They all seem to warm up to you despite your initial concern about fitting in.
As if on cue, the brooding blonde immediately entered your mind. Your interactions with him are nothing but curt and work-related. You internally admit that he’s intimidating, but you don’t let it show, and instead, you try to match his intensity. You’re not a pushover, and you’d rather count all the sand particles on the beach than let him have the upper hand.
Though…even if it’s just work-related, you enjoy this man’s company. Would Dynamight even want me to call him by his name? “No. Stop it. Don’t even think about it.” You whispered to yourself, cutting the thought short; the older man sitting across from you stood up once the bus stopped and moved to a different seat.
You don’t have the luxury to indulge in romance, and you can tell that he doesn’t either! Other than being a physician, you’re also shouldering familial duties and other responsibilities. To put it simply, you don’t have time for a distraction .
Eventually, you made it into the hospital on time, seeing the kid you chose to have under your wing, waiting and excited. The kid’s name is Katsuma Shimano—very diligent, following your every move, and muttering from time to time as you both walk down the sterile hospital hallway.
“Ok, so here’s where things get a tad bit complicated in my case,” you say, “We’ll meet the number four hero to discuss a few things here!” The kid’s eyes lit ever so brightly at that. You pulled out your phone to check a string of messages from the freckled hero, “Scratch that, we’re meeting him at….Dynamight’s Agency...?”
“Oh! My older sister looks up to Dynamight!” he beamed, “Can’t wait to tell her this!”
Thank God—or whoever’s up there—his agency’s not far away, but dammit, you’re starting to regret wearing your mini heels. Your feet are hurting, and you know it’s gonna develop a blister by the end of the day. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself because instead of switching into sneakers in the physician’s locker room, you just gritted through it even though the signs were being thrown at your face.
Upon entering Dynamight’s office, you marveled at how sleek and minimalist it is. A high floor with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a skyline view that reminds everyone who's really at the top. The natural light hits sleek, matte-black walls, and the concrete floors are softened by a Persian rug that costs more than your condo rent. Every piece of furniture has a purpose; No clutter, no excess. Just bold lines, cool tones, and quiet confidence.
“Oh, Doc—hi!!” Midoriya’s voice is gentle for a man who managed to beat Shigaraki with insane, borderline violent fight tactics. Standing behind him is the AirCon Hero: Shoto and the man who was in your thoughts a few hours ago. All three are clad in their sleek hero costumes. Shimano was practically beaming
“We hope we’re not bothering you three, I came here to discuss a little bit about Dek—uhm—Midoriya’s inquiries,” you greeted.
“Shit better be quick.” Dynamight rasps, arms crossed.
“It will be, Dynamight.” You hand the manila folder to Midoriya.
Well, the discussion wasn’t quick. Midoriya had question after question that you answered diligently. You don’t blame him, though. He just wants things to be thorough. “Doctor,” Midoriya speaks again, “Thanks for helping Ochako. She told me that you were the woman who gave her advice and treated matcha at the cafe shop months ago.”
That confirms your suspicion. “I—well. It’s nothing!” you wave it off, “I’m just doing my job. Her quirk counseling has helped a shit ton of kids. Excuse my language.” by the minute, your feet are screaming in pain, “It’s the least I can do.”
“Tha’s enough.” Dynamight interrupts, “I don’t got all day chit chattin’.”
Everyone stepped outside his agency. Shimano was talking with Midoriya, and Todoroki was standing next to Midoriya, throwing a few words here and there. You’re just letting the kid have his moment with his hero; It’s obvious that he looks up to them, especially Midoriya.
“Oi.”
You whip your head to the blonde. What could he possibly—
He stared ahead, “Stop bein’ fuckin’ stubborn and your feet will thank you.”
The lazy, golden breeze swishes under the clear, sunny sky, brushing against your skin with a barely-there touch as you stare at him, eyes wide, “How did you even—”
“Doc,” Todoroki’s voice cuts through the interaction, “I was wondering if the medical files for my late brother, Touya Todoroki, are fixed.” His voice is calm and even. “I can visit your office tonight after my night patrol.”
“Sure.” You nod, “My office is on the third floor. If I’m not there, I’ll be in the emergency room doing my rounds and helping other injured heroes, if there are any. Just tell the front desk that you’re there to see me—that is, if they’re being tough on you, but I highly doubt that. You’re the number two hero.” You chuckle, unnoticing how the blonde’s demeanor shifted just a fraction, “If I’m not at the two places I told you, just have them page me.”
That night, you were waiting for Todoroki to show up in your office. “Are you waiting for loverboy?” Miyano leans by the door frame, smirking, shoulder bag slung over her shoulder. “The number two hero?” You laugh, putting your files in the office storage file, “He just wants to clarify about the medical files.”
She makes herself comfortable, plopping down on the chair across from your desk, “Oh, come on. You’re literally exposed to these fine ass people and you’re telling me nobody caught your eye? Not even the number two hero?!!? He’s one of the prettiest men out here.” Someone did catch my attention, you bit your lip, before saying, “Nah,” closing the drawer, standing up to face your friend, “You know I—” “Don’t have the time to do romance. Blah blah blah.” She rolls her eyes, finishing the sentence, “No offense—actually full offense, you’re one of the most capable people I know, but you don’t give grace to yourself. It’s so okay to rest and live your damn life by allowing yourself to feel and shit, but no matter how much I say this to you, you wouldn’t even follow.”
“You done talkin’?” Dynamight’s voice made you and Miyano jolt in surprise, not expecting a third person to intervene. Let alone Dynamight of all people.
“D-dynamight?!” you’re incredulous, “What are you doing here?”
“Patch me up,” he says flatly, clad in his summer hero suit, crossing his strong arms.
Miyano quickly stood up and excused herself, mouthing a ‘good luck’ to you before doing a curt nod to the explosion hero who just narrowed his eyes on her. You blinked, “Patch...You up?” Your eyes searched for any signs of severity. “There are nurses out there who could help you with that in the emergency room.”
He clicks his tongue, “Those extras are too busy gossiping shit that I don’t give a fuck about. M’ not boutta turn this hospital upside down just to look for one when I can just go to you,” he grunted, sitting down on the chair where Miyano once sat, “You gonna do your job or not?”
“Might as well,” you sighed, putting on your disposable gloves as Dynamight scrutinized your office. He noticed the quirky collectible is perched underneath your monitor, and scattered papers on the desk. A picture of your family on a shelf, another ridiculous collectible next to it, and a mini pot for a plastic plant; Your office breathes personality in a subtle way—a glimpse of you outside of your occupation. But, out of everything he saw, one stood out: Melatonin pills.
“You take melatonin?”
“Uhh yeah, trouble sleeping,” you point at the wound, “this is not even severe.”
There was a beat of silence before he responded, “Not gonna rest without knowing it’s not gonna cause a damn headache. Severe or not,” he rasps, taking in the bags under your eyes, a misplaced strand of hair, slouched shoulders, fingernails getting shorter—you’re stressed.
You grabbed the first aid kit on top of your office storage file, used a cotton swab to get the ointment, and swabbed it gently on his bicep.
“Did Icyhot visit you?” Your hand stilled, eyes flickering to his, “Icy…hot?”
His eye twitched, “Who the fuck has ice and fire quirk?” “How the hell would I know that you call Todoroki that?” you retort, throwing the cotton bud to the trash bin, but it didn’t land, side-eyeing the man who just smirked.
“Common sense.”
You picked up the cotton bud and threw it in the trash. “Yeah, whatever, Dynamight. He messaged me earlier that he won’t be able to come, so he’ll just drop by tomorrow afternoon.”
“It’s Bakugo.” The atmosphere was still that you could hear a pin drop. You looked at him as if he had grown another head. “Listen here…Bakugo,” you say his name slowly and carefully. It rolled off your tongue right, but you shoved this thought down in the depths of your subconscious. Those crimson eyes that are always indifferent and calculating are now replaced with something else, but you couldn’t quite pinpoint the what about it is different for the life of you. “What happened to the saying, ‘don’t bite the hand that feeds you?’. I’m the one patching you up. You know I could’ve just said no and made your life miserable over some minor wound.” You raise a brow, gloved hand on your hip.
He snorted out a laugh, “You already patched me up, though.”
“Just saying, smartass.”
That interaction sticks with you more than you’d like to admit, creeping back whenever the night turns quiet. You end up lying there, shooting death glares at the ceiling like it’s the one that planted those looming thoughts in your head. Hell, it got to a point where it spills whenever you’re taking breaks from work. “It’s just the bare minimum. Chill the fuck out,” you grumbled, rubbing your temple, blue refractor glasses slowly slipping to the bridge of your nose as you’re deciphering another image. He only told you to call him by his name. It’s never that serious, so what difference does it make? You let out a sigh you didn’t know you had, clicking save on a spreadsheet filled with numbers of thresholds of a liver.
“Crime rates had plummeted, but we cannot be complacent,” the serious newscaster’s voice on the flat screen engulfed in your condo’s living room. “There has been an uptick in people pursuing healthcare, and growing problems within the system that affect everyone,” it panned to a brief report about it, grabbing your attention. It brought up how society has heroes who save lives, but it could only go to such an extent—the pro-heroes can’t save the sick.
“The health department launched a new sector that’s as important as the hero sector, the Medical Unit,” the reporter says, as the camera shifts to the head doctor of Japan’s health department, Dr. Charlie Hong, who briefly talks about the medical unit and its importance. In addition, he also introduced three representatives, disclosing names—You, Dr. Kim, and Dr. Yuna—for the media. This earned you a string of multiple congratulatory messages from friends and family, international and local. The reporter beams, “We call these three capable women Charlie’s Angels!”
“Great, now we gotta deal with the public,” you grumbled, sipping on hot tea that Yaoyorozu recommended before bedtime. You suppose it’s for a good cause, easing the general public’s growing concerns about the healthcare system, further improving it, but at the same time, it’s a flame to a moth—not the good moths, that’s for sure.
-
“Charlie’s Angels? Really?” You scoffed.
“Oh, come on! It’s fun! Maboromicamie told me that it’s ‘cunt’, which is a great thing!” Kim mused, “It definitely makes us less intimidating to the public and more warm.”
Yuna merely responded while the three of you walked briskly down the wide corridor that led to the conference room, heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floor. The hallway is lined with tall, frosted-glass windows that let in soft natural light, casting long shadows across the muted gray carpet runners. Potted plants in modern ceramic planters stand at even intervals, giving the space a touch of greenery amid the cool, professional palette. A distant hum of conversation grows louder as the women approach the conference room doors, which stand open beneath a bold banner marked “Medical Unit.”
You paused right outside the door. “Is something wrong?” Yuna asked, her bangled hand on the door handle. “We can let the PR team know that we’ll be running a little late?” Kim suggests, smiling softly, but that doesn’t erase her growing concern.
The entire press is there, practically salivating for inside scoops, new information, and possibly trying to exploit blind spots to weave a false narrative that could divide public opinion for the sake of views. For all your confidence and bravado, your heart started to race, a slight tremor on your hand, but you shut it down before it could get worse. Focus. You stared at Yuna and Kim, “S’ fine. Just preparing for a quick little 3-second breather before we crush this thing.”
“That’s the spirit!” Kim beams, “We can do this!” raising her fist in the air. Yuna opened the door, and the three of you were met with flashing lights, just beyond, rows of chairs and a long panel table awaited, lit by overhead spotlights that shone down from the high, grid-like ceiling. People watched as you three made your way to your seats at the front, the mic placed on the table in front of your faces, you mastered the art of concealing. After all, showing any doubt, even just a fraction, will lead to a negative outcome, especially when you’re a representative in the Medical Unit. Needless to say, it was chaotic, you tried not to blink too much from the camera flashes so that they won’t release a damn picture of you with your eyes closed and a demeaning caption on it. Worse, become an internet sensation for the wrong reason.
“Good work, our lovely doctors!” The PR manager cheered, reading the public forums on the tablet. It honestly felt like the three of you are just mere celebrities who got famous overnight, and not physicians who work through the bone. “Up next, a meeting with the Prime Minister of Japan at 首相官邸 (Prime Minister’s Office). Our schedule is packed for the week ahead! Now let’s go go go!!!”
When you're busy, time flies by, you rarely have the time for yourself, solely focused on work. You looked out of the window of your humble home, the moon nowhere to be seen; stars hidden by the clouds. A subtle mist from an essential oil diffuser gently wafts through the air, filling the space with calming notes of lavender and eucalyptus that relax the mind and body. You always tout yourself as a strong individual, raised by strong-willed parents, and the unbreakable under pressure.
But sometimes? There’s a fraction in your heart that aches for you to let your guard down—an inner voice that wants you to fully experience what it feels like to break out of your skin-tethered iron armor you’re always adorned with; where you don’t have to be strong all the damn time; where you can sit on a bench without thinking about your responsibilities. Even though you give time for yourself, you still feel restless. It's an itch that no matter how much you scratch it or apply a massive amount of itch cream, it will always be prominent.
You glanced at the sentence you wrote in your journal notebook: If not now, when?
Uncremeniously, a tear slowly trails down your cheek, but you wipe it away with haste, “I’d better head to sleep. Tomorrow’s the last day of this damn public shit and I can finally rest on Saturday or maybe hone my quirk fighting skills and self-defense at the gym or something.”
The following evening, you’re at a pro-hero meeting as the only physician since Kim and Yuna are tasked with different things, respectively, with an energy drink in hand because coffee’s just not doing you justice for the past few days. It wasn’t overlooked that you downed three fucking energy drinks. It also didn’t help that you’re being wrung out by question after question, which you delivered to the best of your abilities, of course.
Maboromicamie’s compliment from three days ago infiltrated your inner thoughts, “Babes, you’re so in your boss bitch era.” I mean, hey! She’s not wrong, though, you smirked at the thought. While Hatsume spoke of logistics, typical hero stuff, your phone vibrated, and you felt your heart sink as you briefly read the message…
Kim (Medical Unit): They ran out of your favorite snack. Sorry girl :[
Are you fucking kidding me?! Your hands tightened around your phone, and the urge to lash out pulses through your veins. You sent a message back:
YOU: What the hell do you mean that it’s fucking out?!?! The clerk told me literally two days ago that they’re restocking? WTF.
It’s as if everything—stress, fatigue, and disappointment—collapses all at once, a tidal wave crashing down with no warning or mercy. Logic slips away, replaced by a raw, desperate need to break free from the suffocating pressure, even if it means losing control. You felt your head heat up, and a tension headache began to form. This was the final thread to your overworked self, but you felt a light tap on your shoulder.
“Doc?” Hatsume’s voice yanked you back from hell, jolting you out of your haze.
….everyone is staring. The air feels thick, the silence heavier than before. Dozens of pairs of eyes locked on you, expectant and curious. The room feels suddenly smaller, the weight of all those gazes crushing, caught in a spotlight where you either want to vanish or hold yourself together. The crash you’d been fleeing now feels all the closer, but for a moment, you’re forced to stay grounded—visible, exposed, and completely on display.
“Ah, right, can you repeat what you were saying? I didn’t quite catch that.” you chalked up some stupid ass excuse. You were honestly glad that they didn’t press further, or you were going to drop a damn nuke on this building. Eventually, the meeting wraps up, your social battery flatlines, and all you want to do is take melatonin and sleep like a baby. You only gave a quick nod to whoever was nearby, a brisk pace, back straight, head high as if you’re not at the seams.
Typically, you’d just leave through the main doors of Todoroki’s agency like a normal person, but tonight, something gnaws at you to exit in the parking lot—to take a brief detour. Or maybe, just maybe, the need to be alone without having to explain. You took the side hallway, pushing the door open into the parking lot instead.
The night air hit differently here—cooler, heavier. The parking lot stretched out before you, mostly empty, bathed in the dull amber of flickering lights. There were no cars; It was nothing but short of a liminal space. You walked slower, footsteps sounding louder than they should.
You have a different kind of tiredness that seeps past muscle and bone, down into the center of who you are. It was nearly empty, quiet in that strange, echoing way that only late nights can hold.
The silence makes way for your thoughts to barge in unwelcome. The next thing you know, the breath you thought you had under control caught in your throat. Shoulders shook, eye stinging, now in a troubled fetal position by the cemented railing, the fabric at your arm clings, wet with tears you hadn’t meant to shed. Those tears that poured out of nowhere and everywhere all at once.
No one saw. Just the night. Just the silence. Just the parking lot…..
“I-i’m sorry. I know you w-wanted to go home...,” you sniffled, hugging yourself, to comfort yourself. You’re used to it, “I-im strong and i-independent..I can handle it.” Fresh tears trail down your cheeks as you sob, “I-i’ll go home..I just need the strength to pull through again.” You kept talking to yourself, giving words of affirmation and reassurance. You know you’ll pull through, “I-i can’t—” you sniffled, “I can’t show this. You know this…crying is a weak—”
“.....you’re not weak for crying.” That familiar gruff voice echoes in the parking lot, and you catch a glimpse of heavy boots in front of you.
You went still, controlling your shaky breath forcibly. To be honest, you don’t know who to fucking slap, you choosing to be a fucking drama queen by walking down the parking lot like you’re in some telenovela or the damn universe for sending the last person you don’t want to witness you at this state. “M’ just tired, so I chose to do this. I’ll be back up in a jiff.”
“Bullshit. You think I didn’t fuckin’ hear you crying at my agency’s parking lot? Or the fact that you downed three fuckin’ energy drinks like that shit won’t fuck up your system?” Bakugo’s way of words is unappealing, but his tone is different. You recognized it immediately—it’s something you also do to people you care about. He’s worried, but is too proud to show it.
For the first time, you have nothing to retort. “I..well—”
“Where do you live?”
With that, you whipped your head upwards at him, red-eyed and flabbergasted. Did he just..? His strong physique blocks the light behind him, casting a shadow. It’s like being saved by some guardian angel, except he’s a pain in the ass. He didn’t respond quickly, looking at you, too, taking in your deflated state. It stayed like this for a beat.
He finally speaks, voice now calm and even, “M’ taking you home.”
Your eyes grew wider, and you stood up fast, your professional attire uncrinkling, wiping away the last remnants of your tears, “No! It’s okay. I can walk home. I can handle myself. The train is five minutes away from the agency. It’s logical to walk there.”
“Walk? At this fucking time? None of the shit you just said is logical. I’ll drive you home—” You try to argue, “I said—”
“Don’t be fucking stubborn, caffeine.”
“Caffeine?! I have a fucking name, dumbass! I just..! Urgh!” You facepalmed, eyes darting at anything but him, “I don’t want to ask for help and be bothersome...” your voice softening just a fraction at the vulnerability.
“Askin’ for help is not being a burden…If you don’t wanna go, then fuckin’ don’t, but don’t act like I didn’t offer.” He walks past you, hands in his pockets, leaving you there standing. He’s right, though…you’re an easy target because you’re a woman and a civilian.
“....wait!” You jog to the man, “Fine! I’ll..I’ll come with you! Just—slow down and walk with me side by side.” You absolutely did not mean to say the last bit, and you expected him to ignore that comment, but instead, he actually stopped and let you catch up to him, until you were both walking side by side on the way to his sleek black sports car—the only car left.
Neither of you spoke as he opened the front passenger’s seat before entering the driver’s seat. You peek behind you, seeing a big ass crash cushion on the backseat. You want to ask, but you’re too fucking tired, just settling with the assumption that it’s for pro-hero shit. He asked for your address before starting the engine, driving off.
The car stops at a red light, “Dyna—I mean—Bakugo..” You look out the window, it’s quiet, but comfortable silence engulfs you both, “thanks for you know…being there,” truth be told, you’re appreciative that he didn’t hover or smother you with pity; instead, he stayed steady—an anchor in that moment. “I just didn’t want you to think I’m weak or anything.” He keeps his eyes on the road, one hand on the steering wheel, “S’ impossible for someone to always have their shit together,” he rasps, “one way or the other, you’re bound to feel overwhelmed. It’s not a weakness to let your guard down when it happens. Hell, that’s real strength.” Bakugo’s voice was contemplative and grounding.
“Didn’t peg you as a guy who’d offer wisdom,” you snarked, a flush of warmth blooming in your chest, “..thanks.”
He just grunts in response, and a restful silence settles between you. You glance out the window again, drinking in the stillness of the empty street and the hush that blankets the city. There’s something about the steady hum of the engine, the faint, pleasant scent of his car, and the way he drives that makes your eyelids grow heavy.
You shifted more comfortably, the tension easing from your shoulders. Your expensive leather handbag sat on your lap as your head rested against the car’s side pillar, right where the seatbelt is anchored.
Throughout the ride, he doesn’t say much, just keeps his hand steady on the wheel. Somehow, that’s enough. For the first time, melatonin isn’t part of your night. And as your eyes close, the world outside feels less heavy.
Taglist: @azzo0 , @paradoliaa , @haruesme
