Knockout!
A/N: Previously - Part I >> Part II >> Part III
Hero work kept him busy and exhausted for the weeks leading up to the Asia finals. There were a couple of times he had made it to the park, later than he usually did and often on different days, but you were never there. He supposed that, as it got closer, you would spend most of your time in the gym.
His hand, the hand that had grabbed your wrist, still buzzed tenderly with the memory of you. He wouldn’t admit it, but often times, when he glanced down, he would think back to that moment, how there was some secret in the way you smiled at him. After the bruises on his ribs faded, he still ached from having breathed in your flames too deeply. He had tasted the heat and couldn’t help but dream of your fire.
These nights, Bakugou often woke up drenched in sweat, having felt the ghost of your searing lips on his neck.
These nights, he fell asleep with your laughter tickling the back of his mind, in the foggy seconds right before the night overtook him, right before he could allow himself to sigh out your name tenderly, longingly.
&&
Just as Bakugou saw the link to the interview you had done the other day, Kirishima burst into his room, reminding him that, in his friend group, there was a very strict no-knock policy.
“Don’t just fucking bust in my room like I don’t fucking pay rent here!” Bakugou yelled, throwing the nearest water bottle at his friend.
Kirishima ducked, having expected it, and then immediately jumped onto the bed and made himself comfortable despite Bakugou’s twitching eye of displeasure. When he saw the mouse hovering over the link, he sat up and said, “Oh, shit, is that her new interview? I haven’t seen it yet. Click it, dude!”
“Get out.”
Kirishima ignored him. Of course. “Hurry up,” he said. “I wanna see if she responds to Hassaku Yua.”
Bakugou knew better than to ask. Give Kirishima a centimeter and he took over your whole life, moved into your apartment, and ate half your bento box in the morning because the manly thing to do was share.
But, he had to ask. It concerned you, after all, and he was finding that things concerning you were difficult to ignore.
“Who the hell is Hassaku?”
The name sounded familiar; perhaps he had stumbled on a few of her clips and simply dumped the memory from his mind.
“This kickboxer who has it out for [Name]. She’s always calling her out in the interviews.”
“Shit’s faked,” Bakugou snorted. “Fabricated drama for the audience.”
“Yeah, you’d think so, but, man, Hassaku goes in on [Name] in these interviews, dude. Her last one, she pointed out [Name]’s technical errors and how she would’ve defended against her attacks, which is fine, but then she slipped in a comment about [Name]’s divorced dad? And her thighs, too?” Kirishima shook his head. “It was really bizarre, like, too bizarre for it to be scripted, ya’know?”
Bakugou’s frown deepened into a scowl. A comment about your thighs? Unforgivable — well, the divorced dad comment was really fucked up, too, but shit, your thighs? The same ones that had been suffocating him last night in his dreams? What else was there to say about them other than goddamn? Who was this bitch and why hadn’t you shut her the fuck up yet?
“They call her the Rabid Right because she apparently punches so fast and hard that she’ll make you foam at the mouth,” Kirishima continued. “She just started a year ago at nineteen, pretty late for a kickboxer, but she’s been killing it, man. People are saying Hassaku is the strongest challenger right now against [Name].”
“Bullshit,” Bakugou remarked. “She won’t beat [Name].”
“Yeah, man, I hope not, but the reddit thread’s split fifty-fifty right now.”
Kirishima leaned over and googled Hassaku Yua. A picture of a pale woman with straight black hair tied in a long braid popped up on the screen, triggering a memory from a Top 10 video where Bakugou had seen her corner and pummel a mousy blonde against the rope. He could see why the clip had been considered impressive, but he hadn’t been particularly impressed himself. She was cute, too; her face heart-shaped was accentuated long lashes, so he was sure plenty of people were fawning over her being both powerful and pretty — though he likened her to a she looks more like Deku’s speed type of cute.
That wasn’t to say you weren’t cute, or that your lashes weren’t long, or that you weren’t powerfully pretty, because you absolutely were.
You just also looked like you could rock a man in the streets and in the sheets, and what could be hotter than that?
His thoughts were interrupted when Kirishima, seeing that Bakugou wasn’t going to click play on the video, reached over him again to start the clip. The interview looked to have been staged to make it seem like they had happened to catch you at the gym and asked you for some spare time to answer some questions, but knowing your work ethic, he would’ve absolutely believed that they had to ambush you to get in a couple of minutes.
Bakugou watched you closely. You seemed relaxed, answering the questions with a casual but practiced ease. They didn’t ask anything interesting for the first couple minutes, just the usual probing about how you felt and how you had been preparing for the past couple months and if you felt like you were ready to win the championships a second time. Your answers were light and confident without being arrogant.
Then, the interviewer asked you about Hassaku’s previous interview, and he watched as the corner of your lip twitched imperceptibly. You tried to nod solemnly, but Bakugou audibly snorted at your attempt, remembering your face when you had tried to tell him you didn’t date fans. You were trying to hide an amused grin; you weren’t as smooth at lying as you were at fighting in the ring. Idiot, he thought.
“What?” Kirishima said.
“She’s fucking faking,” Bakugou said. “She thinks Hassaku’s a clown but just won’t say it. Look.” He pointed out the split second twitch of your lip shooting up before you pushed it back down into a careful frown.
“How can you just tell with just that? Maybe it’s a facial twitch.”
“Shut up, I’m right.”
There was also the glint and glow in your eyes, the one he had mistaken for competition, but he kept that tidbit to himself.
“You’re not nervous at all about the Rabid Right’s infamous right hook? Is there anything different that you’re doing now to prepare your defenses against her?”
“Her reputation is impressive; I’ve seen her matches and she definitely fights fiercely. I — I am just doing the very best I can, and that’s all we can ever do. I mean, who knows what can truly happen? Maybe I’ll be forced to retire — who can say?”
“Are you saying that you think Hassaku will be the one to force you to retire early?”
“I’m saying the universe is endless and all we can do is prepare as best we can. But I look forward to a great fight.”
You nodded again seriously, but he thought your eyebrows too furrowed. The lip twitched again, too, just barely, and the amused gleam in your [color] gaze was bright on the screen, though Bakugou was, quite possibly, the only one who could see what that glimmer truly meant. And, if that wasn’t enough to prove to him that you didn’t see Hassaku on your level, your final words being a callback to you yelling at him about meteor strikes forcing you to retire definitely did it.
He rolled his eyes and stopped the video, cutting the man off as he closed out the interview.
“Her answers toward the end were a little weird,” Kirishima noted. “She’s not usually like that.”
No, you were definitely always like that.
“So, she’s not nervous at all?”
“How the hell would I know?” Bakugou asked.
Kirishima raised a brow. “What are the two of you talking about in the park, then, when she’s not kicking your ass?”
Immediately, an embarrassed and angry fire roared in Bakugou’s chest, trailing up his neck and down to his fingers, flickering tiny explosions.
“What the hell did you just say!”
Kirishima only laughed in response, unfazed by his fury. “Yeah, man, I saw you. You ain’t slick, dude. I thought I’d work out with you one morning, and when I got to the park, I find you getting your ass fucking beat.”
“That’s fucking convenient for you to miss the fact that I knocked her on her damn ass first!”
“Nah, I saw you punch her, and then I saw her fuck you up right after.”
“You shitty redhead, get the hell out before I murder your sorry ass!”
Bakugou lunged at him with smoking hands; Kirishima ran out of his room, still laughing and taunting him, sidestepping Ashido making her way to the kitchen. He jumped on the couch and stepped on the walls, leaving dark marks as he tried avoid a snarling Bakugou’s sparking hands.
“Get the fuck back here so I can fucking kill you, asswipe!”
“Why the hell would I do that!”
The fire alarm sounded off. Ashido screamed as the sprinklers were triggered, again, for the fourth time since they had moved in.
&&
The week of K2, Bakugou returned to the park with Kirishima in tow.
He hadn’t expected you to be there.
He hadn’t expected you to be there with someone else, either.
His stomach did a warm flip, but it wasn’t a feeling that lasted long, as a heated annoyance began to take its place as he glanced to the tall man beside you — whatever, Bakugou was taller — and then his irritation turned onto Kirishima who had grabbed onto Bakugou’s arm and was furiously whispering, “It’s her, it’s her — holy shit, it’s her!”
“Chill out,” Bakugou muttered, pulling his arm out of Kirishima’s grasp. “Weren’t you the one nagging me about interrupting her damn training?”
“Yeah, but that was before I was fifteen feet away from getting an autograph.”
“Shut up.” He grabbed onto Kirishima’s arm and forcibly dragged him toward his usual starting line — and then he heard your voice, clear on the wind, calling out to him.
“Bakugou! Hey, Bakugou!”
Fuck, fuck, he didn’t know what to do. He was turning red but he didn’t want neither you nor Kirishima to see the growing flush on his face — fuck, fuck — what was he going to do?
He turned to you, hoping that you didn’t know him well enough to notice. Kirishima would spot it from a mile away and he would never let him live it down; better to take the risk with someone he had only seen a couple of times.
“What’d I tell you about being a weirdo?” you asked as you got closer.
“Stop getting distracted,” he said.
“Oh, please, you big-headed Pro Hero. You are not cute enough for me to be distracted.”
— So you thought he was cute?
“I told you that you could just say hey, you know.”
You were staring at his face intently. When he narrowed his eyes at you, your grin grew bigger.
Fuck, he should’ve looked away. He should’ve just avoided everyone’s gaze.
Mercifully, you didn’t comment on the redness of his face, waving to Kirishima instead. “Hi, I’m [Last, First Name],” you said.
“Yes! Holy shit! I know who you are — holy fucking shit, I can’t believe I’m actually talking to the fucking youngest Japanese kickboxing world champion. You’re amazing; totally the manliest thing I’ve ever seen. Can I get an autograph? Uh…shit…” Kirishima patted himself down, looking for a pen and paper.
You laughed and said, “That’s nice of you to say. I don’t have a pen either, but would a photo do?”
Kirishima gaped at you for a second as though he were processing your words and the situation to make sure he hadn’t imagined it. Then, a wide smile spread on his face and he pulled out his phone. “Hell yes!” he exclaimed.
He pushed through Bakugou to get closer to you; if he noticed the annoyed twitch and the aggravated growl, he didn’t care. You caught it, however, and when Kirishima was fumbling with his camera, you winked at Bakugou who in turn glared at you sharply before looking away. Out of the corner of his eye, in a seething annoyance, he saw Kirishima throw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in for a close selfie.
“Thanks!” Kirishima exclaimed, grinning excitedly and stupidly at his phone as he sent it to their group text.
“Looks good,” you said. Then, looking over to Bakugou you asked, “Did you want a photo, too?”
“Fuck no,” he growled. “Come on, shitty hair. We’re not here to fanboy at [Name] like fucking Deku.”
“Ah, I see,” you nodded as he turned away from you. “I guess that means you don’t want my number either, then? I mean, that’s what I came over here for, but since you think I’m so distracted…”
Fucking.
Christ.
“Hmm, alrighty, Bakugou, have a good workout then —”
He gritted his teeth. “Wait.”
When he turned back to look at you, you were staring at him expectantly, a brow raised, a smirk on your lips, that same amused glint in your eyes. Kirishima snickered from beside him, and if Bakugou wasn’t reaching for his phone, he would’ve set his friend on fire — not from his exploding quirk, but from the sheer willpower of his hate.
“So you do want my number then?” you said teasingly.
“Either give it to me or don’t, shitty woman! I’m not gonna fucking beg!”
You did.
He held his phone while he ran.
&&
“Holy shit, dude,” Kirishima began when you were out of earshot, “you might actually have a chance with her.”
“Shut up and run.”
“She was digging you, bro.” He smacked his back in an approving, hard clap.
“Shut up and fucking run, Kirishima.”
&&
Later that night, Bakugou had texted you his name so you could have his number saved. You sent back a thumbs up emoji, and that was the end of that.
Well, you were were five days away from the start of the two-day fighting weekend. You didn’t have time to converse with him, and there was no way he was going to start a conversation.
Still, as he fell asleep, he wondered if there was something he could say, or something he should say.
&&
On Thursday night, the group took out Yaoyorozu as thanks for agreeing to host their finals viewing party; Jirou tagged along per Kaminari’s invitation. The group was chatting excitedly about the food they had ordered, how their hero gigs were going, and every now and again the conversation was interspersed with you, as Yaoyorozu had asked what exactly the viewing party entailed and why did they decide to do it. Kaminari talked about your first run-through of the championships, how you broke down the Russian finalist’s defenses, and Sero retold Bakugou’s meeting with you.
Bakugou himself was faced away from the group, glaring at the legs of the table across the room as though he wasn’t paying attention, though he was actively listening and pointedly ignoring Kirishima’s knowing grin.
“She sounds incredible,” Yaoyorozu remarked. “Bakugou, what was it like fighting her?”
Exhilarating. Awe-inspiring.
Intimidating, even.
All these years of hero training and, when his quirk was taken away, he couldn’t keep up with you. You were simultaneously terrifying and rousing; you could stand on equal footing with many quirked fighters, and he believed you could defeat many of them as well.
And you were surprisingly down to earth about it all. You exuded confidence, a self assurance that one couldn’t question even if they didn’t know your reputation. You weren’t cruel with your moves, nor were you condescending with your win, nor were you bitter when you fell. Fighting you had been enjoyable.
But he simply said, “Fine,” and when the rest of them complained, he told them to shut up and that they could challenge you next time, which led Kirishima to his story about how he got the selfie with you.
At least he was nice enough to leave out the fact that Bakugou had gotten your number.
&&
Bakugou had forgotten his phone on the restaurant table when he had stalked off to the bathroom. When he came back and flipped his phone over, he saw the missed call attached to your name — and then he slammed his fist against the table.
“You’re fucking shitting me!”
With his cell phone in hand, he stomped toward the exit, immediately swiping to call your number back. Everyone stared in confusion at his outburst — everyone except Kirishima calmed the others as Bakugou left the restaurant.
The phone rang, and rang — and you didn’t pick up.
“Shit,” he muttered, hanging up before the voicemail activated.
He leaned his head back against the side of the building.
Would it be bad to call a second time? Was that too needy?
— Fuck it.
He called you a second time, and just before he crushed his phone in his hands at how many rings he had to listen to, he heard your voice.
“Hey, weirdo.”
He bristled. “I’m the weirdo? Why the hell’d you call?”
“No particular reason.”
There was a beat of silence.
“You alright?” he asked gruffly.
“Aw, you’re worried about me? That’s cute.”
He growled into the speaker. “I’m fucking hanging up.”
You laughed; the sound was warbled through the phone, but still oddly pretty. He didn’t make a move to hang up.
“I just got back from the park and thought of you. Figured I’d give you a call.”
Bakugou looked at the time: 9:13 PM. As expected of your work ethic.
“You nervous?” he asked.
“Hmm. A little, I guess. That Hassaku’s looking good.”
“Whatever. Fuck her,” he grunted. “You don’t even believe that.”
“Uh huh, and how do you know that?”
“I saw your interview.” Before you could tease him with this new ammunition, he quickly said, “Kirishima made me watch it, the shitty redhead you took a picture with the other day. You were pretty much laughing at her during that interview.”
You laughed now, loud and with your whole body rocking the phone. “You caught that? Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure I’ll beat her, but I don’t like to be too big-headed. You never know when one of these youngin’s knock your lights out.”
Bakugou snorted. He couldn’t quite tell what you were feeling. You seemed a little nervous, but at the same time, you sounded pretty sure of yourself. He didn’t think you were having second thoughts. Maybe you just needed someone in your corner, telling you that you had it in the bag just as a second reassuring presence.
Was there no one else in your corner?
“You’ll kick their asses,” he said.
“Right, or you won’t take me out to dinner.”
“And I lose a shit ton of money.”
You gasped. “Oh, god, no, Bakugou! You shouldn’t have betted! I was kidding — the games are rigged. I was paid off to lose the final round against Hassaku!” You almost had him for a quick, split second. When you had finished your ridiculous statement and snorted out a giggle, he rolled his eyes.
“You don’t have anyone else to fucking bother?” Bakugou snapped.
“Mhm, a couple of people, but they’re swamped with work right now, so that just left you,” you replied.
He scratched at his cheek, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Around the side of the restaurant, hidden from passersby and his friends, he let a small smile grace his lips at hearing you say he was one of the people on your list to call if you felt…off. Or maybe just a little lonely.
“Wow, I’m your fucking third option. Excuse me if I’m not jumping for joy.”
“I gotta make you work for it, you know. If I make it too easy, you’ll lose interest.”
“Who said I was friggin’ interested in the first place?”
“Hmm…. Aren’t you?”
He could see your mischievous smile in his head.
“…Yeah, so what?” he grunted.
The front door of the restaurant opened and footsteps came around the corner: Kirishima came to search for him.
He gestured him to come back inside, saying, “Hey, Bakugou, food’s here.”
“Oops, guess I was bothering you, huh?”
“It’s fine.” Bakugou nodded at Kirishima, waving him off with an uninterested hand. He turned away so he couldn’t see the other grinning at him.
“Nah, I’ll let you go. Have fun with dinner.”
“I said, it’s fine.”
“Don’t be a weirdo and go eat with your friends. I’ll talk to you later.”
He couldn’t help the smug repeat — “You’ll call me later?”
“Ha! And that’s my cue to go. Night!”
He didn’t respond, listening to you breathe out a small snicker and then hang up the phone. Bakugou waited out in the dim light for another couple minutes, wondering if the phone would buzz again in his hands, wondering if he could resist the urge to call you back, to ask what you were doing tonight, if he could come over — if you wanted him to come over. The phone didn’t ring, and he didn’t call back or send you a text. A couple of minutes later, Bakugou pocketed his phone and headed back inside the restaurant. As he ate, he ignored everyone’s curious gazes.
&&
It was two and a half hours until the start of the K2 Asia Championships Finals.
Bakugou was out grilling. Kirishima was supposed to be helping, but he was being more of an aggravating hindrance, harassing him for details on you instead of doing flipping meat or plating cooked pieces. He wouldn’t let the phone call go, but Bakugou’s mouth was sealed tight — metaphorically speaking, of course, because he was swearing a good deal.
Jirou had come early to help Kaminari buy last minute items per Yaoyorozu’s instructions; Ashido and Sero stayed back to help decorate and set the food and viewing area up. Yaoyorozu had a movie room with a big screen TV and several of the most comfortable chairs set on top of the fuzziest rug. It was a good idea to ask her to host, but Bakugou would never admit that.
At the hour mark, people starting coming in.
He checked his phone, but you hadn’t called or texted him. He didn’t know why you would, but he checked anyways.
And Kirishima knew, because he annoyingly hovered over Bakugou’s shoulder every time he pulled his phone out.
“Just send her, good luck,” Kirishima urged. “You’re a man, yeah?”
“Who even asked you, shitty hair!”
It was fine. Expected, even. He didn’t need to send any text message because he knew that you had bigger things your mind. The finals was about to start and you were the second match lined up; you didn’t have time to send him a message, not when you were prepping your mind and body.
But he still checked every ten minutes, and Kirishima hounded him every fifteen.
&&
With ten minutes until the start of the K2 Asia Championships, the food was done, the ex-class had arrived, and everyone was excitedly catching up. No one had ever seen kickboxing matches that had banned quirk usage. Deku had seen a couple matches of quirked battles because he was a fucking nerdy fanboy, and Mineta sometimes googled pictures of muscular thighs and asses that would lead him to that side of the internet, but other than Bakugou’s own group of friends, everyone had really arrived to simply spend time with each other.
They eagerly took pictures, gushed about their hero work, about what it was like with so-and-so and if they were scared about who-not and what-not.
Everyone except Bakugou, who couldn’t give a flying rat’s ass about everyone else. He was sitting on the middle couch in front of the TV that was showing previews and sponsors for the K2 tournament. In his hand was a cold beer, opened but full, and in his lap was an uneaten bowl of rice and barbecued beef. His leg shook mindlessly as he waited.
He didn’t hear Deku come by and greet him, standing there awkwardly when Bakugou didn’t respond. He tried to clear his throat, but Bakugou continued to stare at the screen, and it wasn’t until Kirishima clasped him on his shoulder and taking a seat down beside him that Bakugou was pulled from his thoughts, looking between an amused, shitty redhead and a confused broccoli-haired nerd.
“What?” Bakugou growled.
“Sorry, Midoriya. Bakugou’s zoning out because he’s a little worried for his girlfriend,” Kirishima said.
Bakugou yelled, “I’ll fucking kill you,” and attempted to lunge for his friend, but Kirishima seemed to have expected it as he quickly scrambled out of the way. Deku was able to grab the bowl falling out of Bakugou’s lap; a few food bits had fallen to the floor, but nothing Deku couldn’t clean.
“Kacchan? You have a girlfriend?” Deku asked.
“Why the hell do you sound so fucking surprised?” Bakugou snarled.
Deku turned red, immediately flustered even after so many years. “No — I was just — I just didn’t think you were interested in that kind of, um, stuff.”
“Don’t talk like you know anything about me, nerd. And she’s not my fucking girlfriend!”
Everyone had already been gathering their plates and cups and heading over to the seating area, but the moment the word girlfriend was heard in the same vicinity as Bakugou, they immediately sprinted over, gasping about who it was and why he hadn’t told people yet and how it wasn’t at all fair — that last one was surely that loud ass runt.
Abruptly, the K2 logo came onto the screen, interrupting the commercials: it was starting. Kirishima was excitedly telling everyone about Bakugou’s first encounter with you, despite his very aggravated and very loud, “Shut the hell up and don’t spread my goddamn business, Kirishima!” When your face came onto the screen as the host introduced the contenders, Kirishima excitedly pointed you out, beginning to gush about your fighting history rather than the park encounters.
After a second of staring at your face on the television, Bakugou grabbed his phone and thought, fuck it, and sent you a text message.
You better kick some ass.