Chapter Text
and with every rule you break...
The music of the city is muffled from where he is.
Commotion fills the lot: the loud ringing of voices as people barked orders at one another; the constant whir of machinery lifting and carrying pallets of wrapped products, either into long trailer beds or back inside the warehouse’s multiple opened garages.
He stands behind a large retailer warehouse, leaning against the side of an old commercial truck. The company’s name has long since been washed off the side of the trailer, the vehicle a nameless remnant of its past life.BakugouKatsukilistens to the lively environment with a distracted mind, the natural thrum of the city’s busy afternoon commute muted underneath his active surroundings. As visually entertaining his environment is, more interesting things cloud his mind.
Particularly involving his boyfriend and tonight.
Tonightwas an occurrence that was so rare, blue moon sightings were more frequent than it.Bakugouwas leaving work four hours early, leaving him with the entire evening to his boyfriend.
And, because perhaps God would be extra merciful for him today, he might have the opportunity to take the rest of the week off too, though this solely depended on the mood of his hag of a boss.
But Bakugou was feeling lucky this afternoon. Besides, he damn well deserved a break after all the work he put into this job. Over seventy hours of non-stop work, for the last nine years of his life.That old hag better let me take the week off. He wants to see his boyfriend at a normal time for once.
Opportunities like this were slim-to-none, Bakugou hardly ever seeing the college student when he stumbled into their little shared apartment at odd hours of the night, sometimes coming home at the same time the redhead was leaving for class. Bakugou’s unorthodox schedule of extremely late-night to early morning shifts often leading to numerous nights of arguments and frustrations, putting a constant strain on their relationship.
But not tonight. Bakugou was going out of his way to make this evening special for the one person he cares about in this world, simply because he deserved it.
A sap a certain someone would call him, but he begs to differ.
He was f*cking tired of coming home between the hours of twelve and five every morning. And so,Bakugouplanned on getting off at four o’clock sharp—pm. What he had to do for today should last no longer than an hour and a half at most, so he could end his shift early and be done for the day.
If he’s being honest, it shouldn’t last any longer than one hour. But people were faulty and selfish creatures, who weren’t considerate of anyone else’s time or feelings but their own.Where the hell are these f*ckers?
Through his desirous thoughts of this evening, Bakugou had kept a keen eye on his environment to know something was up. Workers swarmed the retailer warehouse like an exposed ant bed, their bright orange vests moving from trucks to machinery inside wide garages in a repeating pattern of loading and unloading.
And that was all he saw—just a bunch of workers. He didn’t see the three men who he and his partner were scheduled to meet at noon anywhere in the vicinity, and it was beginning to piss him off. The sun was beaming down on him from where he was, sweat collecting under his arms and drenching lines down his back under his black hoodie. It was only the beginning of March, the spring season barely starting, but temperatures were already hiking into the eighties.
I’m gonna kill these f*ckers, Bakugou grumbles to himself as he raises his wrist to eye-level. It was almost three, pushing to the end of his shift, and these bastards still hadn’t arrived.
Underneath the time, he notices a tiny text icon on his smartwatch’s screen. He digs into his pocket, pulling out his phone and unlocking the dark screen to an image that rivals the bright sun. The corners of his eyes crinkle at the sight, his irritation already starting to ooze from him.
A beautiful man with luscious red hair takes over his entire screen, his toothy grin pulling Bakugou’s eyes to a stunning face and gorgeous eyes that remind the blonde of smooth red wine. A tiny scab line stretches from his right eye to just underneath his dyed brow. Bakugou loved that little scar; he loved kissing it in the morning, in the evening, and especially when a pout pulled at his brows. There was a sliver of dark red bedsheets behind the man and in the corner, right along the edge of the frame, he could make out the outline of his leg clad in a pair of black joggers. A tiny puppy stretched out on top of the redhead’s bare chest, his black and brown head and small white snout buried under his chin, fast asleep.
Bakugouremembers watching his boyfriend steal his phone right from him and taking the picture—along with several more—before he was able to snatch it back. It had happened on a day much like the blonde was hoping for this evening; he had come home at a reasonable time and was able to spend it with his boyfriend and their newly bought puppy (Bakugoudidn’t want him at first, but he quickly grew to love the little troublemaker).Bakugouhad deleted almost half of the selfies the man took, but he fell in love with this one and saved it as his lock screen as a form of stress-relief and a remedy to soothe his temperamental nerves. It doesn’t beat getting a chance to see that award-winning smile in person, but that wasBakugou’sbusiness—and only his business alone.
He opens the text notification partly covering the redhead’s beaming smile. His fond expression deepens.
From: Baby
Still coming home early??
Sent at 2:30 pm
f*cker changed his name again, Bakugou thinks, counting the three heart emojis after the name in fond amusem*nt. He raises his phone higher so the facial recognition could unlock the screen and just as he’s going to reply back, he hears the gentle wham of the truck’s driver-side door opening and closing.
Bakugou locks his phone and wipes the affectionate look off his face, but he's a second too late. “What’s got you smilin’, bro?”
Bakugoufaces the approaching man with a sharp scowl. “I’m not smiling. And what did I tell you about calling me that?”
“Can I call you Kats instead?”
The nickname resurfaces the image of his lock screen and colors the tips of his ears and the back of his neck red. “Call me that and I’m breaking your f*cking long ass legs.”
He wasn’t exaggerating about the other’s legs. The man walking around the front of the truck was nothing but height. Tall and lanky, his body consisting of tattooed arms and ridiculously lengthy legs trapped under a black t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. The sleeves came to an end above his biceps where both of his sleeve tattoos began, thoughBakugouhad seen him shirtless enough times to know the true ending of his tattoos were underneath his jaws. They covered his pale skin in lines of black and vibrant ink. On his left arm,Bakugousaw the cliché design of skulls and roses, some phrase written underneath the falling red petals that he couldn’t remember and never bothered to. What was hidden underneath the sleeve of his shirt was a portrait of a woman’s face surrounded by the same rose petals, starting on his shoulder and reaching behind it. The woman was of no one in particular; just some nameless black-haired beauty with a sultry gaze partially covered by a lock of wavy hair. On his right arm, a black snake traveled to just below his elbow, the obsidian scales a sharp contrast to the colorful and floral Japanese-styled background it was inked upon.Bakugoucould see more spots of color underneath his jaws where the floral design continued.
“Aww, but your boyfriend gets to call you that.”
“Yeah, and it’s staying like that, Soy-sauce.”
“I can’t call you by a nickname, but you get to call me Soy-sauce. Thatain’tfair.”
“Go cry about that sh*t somewhere else. I don’t give a f*ck.”
Soy-sauce, as he was affectionately called, huffs a chuckle over his lips while stretching, pulling the hem of his shirt a few centimeters from his waistband and revealing more tattoos across his skin. He takes his hand through his hair after stretching, running his fingers through the stylized cowlick he gelled his oil-black hair in. The sides of his head were shaved into a closely shaven fade. “They still haven’t come out yet?”
Bakugou huffs,“No,” and crosses his arms after shoving his phone back into his pocket. “I don’t know what’s taking these bitches so f*cking long. I’m tired of waiting out here in this f*cking sun.”
“Well, you are the one wearing a hoodie in eighty-degree weather.”
Soy-sauce doesn’t flinch underBakugou’sheated glare. The man had a relatively young face, just shy of the age of twenty-five, but his voice was a deep baritone that people often mistook him for being someone ten years older.Bakugousnarls at him to f*ck off and the other’s eyes sparkle with amusing mirth, laughter twinkling inside of his black irises.
“I agree though,” he says as he walks over to the blonde and leans into a spot five inches apart from him, “They should be out here by now.”
Bakugougrumbles, pushing himself almost an entire foot away from the man, “They need to hurry the f*ck up. I don’t have all day.”
“Is this about your special date tonight?”
His thin black brows wiggle suggestively at him, andBakugouthreatens to reduce his height with his hands once again. “S’nota date anyways,” he says after, turning his head away. “Mind your f*ckin’ business.”
“How is Kirishima by the way?” he asks, doing the exact opposite of what the other told him to. “He’s still majoring in journalism?”
“I just said mind your f*ckin’ business, asshole,” Bakugou spits while he tugging up the black sleeves of his hoodie, hoping to expel the heat collecting above his skin (why the f*ck did he think it was a good idea to wear a hoodie today?). He had his fair share of tattoos, though his skin wasn’t completely inked with them like the annoying man beside him; a full sleeve that came down to his knuckles, a chest-piece, and then the top of his back. His right sleeve was a face of ancient sculpture separated into three sections: the top half of was half the eyes and curly hair, inked in gold. The middle part was a blue skull, tiny crevices colored gold to add definition. And the last part was from the chin down to the middle of the neck and the rest of the curly hair. Deep blue lines dripped off the frayed ends of the sculpture’s neck and down his arms, which his pulled back hoodie sleeve revealed. They dripped onto a gold skull on the back of his hand, pouring through the black eye sockets and soaking between its teeth with a skill of realism that only an experienced tattoo artist could achieve. The last of the drips bled onto his right knuckles.
His other two tattoos, hidden underneath the hoodie and the shirt he wore underneath, were of much simpler designs: a small Libra constellation over his heart, the date 10/16 written below in Roman numerals. Somewhere fifty miles closer to the city’s university, his zodiac’s constellation was across another’s heart, his birth date in Roman numerals above. Concluding his inked artworks, a ram’s skull inked in blue was tatted across his upper back, the horns stretching to the backs of his shoulders and dripping in golden blood.
Soy-sauce says, “I just want to know what he’s been up to, that’s all.”
Bakugou is about to ask him why is he so interested in knowing about his boyfriend right now but the man turns his head, his black eyes sharpening with alert.
“They’re here."
Finally, Bakugouscowls.
Both men straighten their backs as the group approaches them. They don’t move out of the way of the workers, the workers parting for them instead as if they were a group of royals in a gathering of peasants.
The sight makesBakugou’supper lip twitch.
They clear the wide distance between them in equally measured strides, coming to a stop six feet apart. “Bakugou, Sero.”
The man standing in the middle speaks first. He’s tall, but not freakishly tall like Soy-sauce. More aroundBakugou’sheight, if not a few centimeters taller. In terms of color, his hair was similar to Soy-sauce's, but whereas his shone in a deep and rich black,Bakugoucould see traces of brown adding a richer sheen to the unruly strands. And unruly they were; it was like the man had never seen a brush or comb before in his life, choosing to neglect the hair tools in favor of this abhorrently wild mess of curls.
The man extends his hands in greeting, but only one was taken.Bakugouopenly glares at the man for two reasons: 1) he made them wait for forty minutes (in the f*cking sun) past their scheduled time, and 2) for reasons that were personal to him—he didn’t like people. He never made it a priority to be cordial with business partners; they could turn on you when you least expect them to, and so you always had to be on your guard.
And there was something in the man’s dark eyes that had every nerve inside his body buzzing with high alert.
Sero says he’s paranoid;Bakugou’sbeen in this game long enough to know this was how their world worked, and it saved their asses countless times before.
“I would like to apologize for having you two wait,” the man explains, his head nodding in a slight bow, “Something unexpected came up and I wanted to take care of it before it got worse.”
“That something wasn’t our product, was it?”Bakugouasks him. The man—he heard Soy-Sauce say it, but it immediately vacated his brain—shakes his head. “Of course not.”
“Good, because you f*ckers are on thin ice with me already. Having me wait out here like some goddamn idiot,” Bakugou growls between scowling lips. The dark-haired man nods. Like he truly understood his annoyance. "Once again, I apologize. In the future, I’ll make sure something like this doesn’t happen again.”
“It better not, or I’m terminating this f*cking contract. Now let’s go, we’re already behind schedule.”
The other two men behind their leader give each other raised looks. “I wasn’t aware a dog had that type of power,” Bakugouhears one of them mutter to the other with an amused sneer, and he steps towards him, his eyes a blaze of sudden and intense flames. “You want to say that to my f*cking face, bitch?”
“Katsuki,” Sero warns him.
The man challenges his fiery look with an even tighter sneer, andBakugou’sright hand twitches.
“Now, now, men,” the dark-haired leader says, his hands clapping in time with his words in an attempt to dissolve the suddenly hostile environment. “Let’s not start a fight. We have some business to get to.”
“Damn right we f*ckin’ do,” Bakugou says with a heavy growl. He doesn’t back down, however. “You better tell these worthless extras who thef*ck they’re messing with before I do.”
“Yes, of course,Bakugou. Come on now, let’s get started.”
That’s my f*cking line, the blonde growls under his breath. He still has his eyes on the one that bad-mouthed him as they were led across the lot closer to the giant warehouse, entering the massive building through one of its many opened and busily-packed garages.
Inside, the space was immense; metal shelves stocked full of plastic-wrapped products were lined up in long rows, going all the way to the very back of the building. Aisles of toilet paper, paper towels, detergent bottles, cleaning supplies, and other retail products were stacked one on top of each other, stretching to the ceiling in tall columns. They were categorized into different sections with workers walking in between the aisles, holding clipboards in their hands, and checking off things while other workers carried off pallets to be loaded into trucks. The atmosphere was just as lively as it was outside, bustling with nonstop activity of men and women in uniform working through their shifts.
Bakugou and Sero were led out of the way of the retail workers through a door, taking them to a quieter and less busy section of the warehouse. There were still shelves full of bundled products here, but not as many workers were present.
An extra storage space, Bakugouthinks while sticking the details within the large room to his mind in an imaginary map. He and his partner are taken down an aisle of paper towels and gallon bottles of bleach to a plastic table placed against the warehouse’s back wall. There aren’t any chairs around, forcing them to stand asBakugouand Sero went to one side and the three men stood on the other. A metal desk lamp provided them with abundant light.
“Our product,” Sero prompts once they’re all around the table.
The dark-haired leader smiles.Bakugouforces his body to keep from shivering at the gesture.
“The money first.”
“Our product first,” Bakugou demands. “You know how this goes. We ain’t paying sh*t until we see and check the quality.”
“It’s good, I can assure you,” the leader says, an edge of a boast around his words, but the hard look in Bakugou’s eyes leaves no room for argument. He turns to one of his lackeys, nodding at the man, and Bakugou meets the other man’s dark gaze before he’s retreating from the table. He watches him until his back disappears around a corner.
“I see you guys aren’t taking any chances,” the leader says after a while.
It’s Sero who answers. “I hope you can understand. We’ve gotten ripped off in the past with pretty sh*t quality, so now we just play it safe.”
“Tragic,” the man says with a slow nod, a look of understanding in his gaze. “I understand where you guys are coming from, but do take my word for it-”
Bakugoucuts in, “People that normally say that sh*tareeither lying or trying to kiss ass.”
The man’s smile is on his face again, broad and devilish. “Believe me when I say thisBakugou, that my cocaine will be the best thing you ever get your hands on. Your boss will be glad to be in business with me after she sees it for herself.”
Bakugou fights the urge to rip his disgusting smile off with a silver bullet, only because he knows the consequences are not worth the action. “You’re really hyping your sh*t up,” he says, a sneer curling across his lips. “For your sake, it better be good.”
The edges of the leader’s lips almost reach his eyes. The man that left returns, carrying a bulging black duffel bag in his large hands. He drops it onto the table, the bag landing with a heavy thump, and drags the metal zipper down its center in a vertical line, pulling open the black flaps.Bakugoucan several light brown packages inside the bag and watches the man’s hand reach in and pull one out before handing it off to Sero, who’s arm is already reaching across the table to retrieve it.
“Since you have so much faith in your quality,” he says, his tone casual as his other hand slips into his back pocket, the two men watching him closely, “you don’t mind if I give it a little test then?”
“Of course not. You said you won’t pay for anything without checking the quality first.”
The man opens his hand out in a small swing and slight bow. “Be my guest.”
Sero’s smile is as honest as a fox. Pulling a small pocket knife out of his back pocket, he cuts a small hole into the brown plastic and puts the knife on the table, sticking his pinky inside the tiny entrance. A small scoop of white powder sticks to the minimal centimeter of skin and he lifts it to his nose, inhaling the minuscule amount. Some of the product snows onto the table, and the rest is spread over his gums.
Everyone is awaiting his reaction under a tense silence, Bakugou especially. His face expresses neutrality, trained to be disciplined in situations like these, but there are internal tremors still present underneath his skin waiting on the taller man to open his eyes.
When he does, forty seconds later, Sero’s smile is huge.
“Well?”Bakugouimpatiently prompts.
“f*ck, yeah. He’s not lying, it’s good. Real good.”
“I told you,” the leader says with a grin matching Sero’s. “Colombian co*ke, 95% pure. Nobody else has it.”
Sero whistles at the high number; Bakugou curses. He was right about that. None of their previous dealers even came close to that number. That’s probably why the hag was so desperate to get a hold of this f*cker.
As Sero pockets his knife and hands the package of cocaine back, the man repeats in a placated, yet slightly urging voice, “Now, our money.”
Bakugoustares at the man for ten long seconds, the other holding his gaze unblinkingly before he’s turning to Sero.
“Get it,” he orders him, a quick nod with his chin jutting forward. The other walks away, leavingBakugouwith the three men.
Silence stretches across the table.Bakugoufeels uncharacteristically antsy. He’s done this exact type of thing so many times now that he’s lost count, but the uneasiness of waiting never truly goes away. He didn’t hate it, his wariness keeping him focused in case things went awry (rarely did they ever), but it was aggravating feeling his hair, prickled to their highest lengths, chafing uncomfortably underneath his clothes.
What made this period of waiting worse was the man standing across from him, currently staring at him with that eerie f*cking smile. Bakugou kept his eyes on all three of the men, but it was the leader who he paid the most attention to. His smile hid too many things and yet was so open, and Bakugou didn’t trust that. He didn’t trust the look in his dark brown eyes, like the man was hiding something from him. He didn’t second guess Sero’s judgment—they’ve been partners for more than ten years now as of today—but something about the man’s expression made him feel like they were getting gypped.
Next time, Soy-sauce is the one staying behind while I get the money, Bakugousays, a reminder for the future.
“Bakugou,” the leader was talking to him now.Bakugouscowls in a habitual response. “How’sNemuridoing?”
His shoulders turn rigid, his blood subtly chilling at how freely the man spoke his boss’s name. “Only her close friends can call her by her first name,” he says, a warning growl clipping the end of his tone, “She’s Lady Kayama to you.”
“Are we not considered close friends?”
“f*ck no.”
There was no trace of hesitation in his voice, catching the leader off guard. “You are nothing but a business partner. This relationship is strictly business.”
Bakugouhears soft chuckles coming from the other two men beside the leader, but the man in the middle talks over them. “Ah, I see,” the bastard has the nerve to look dejected when he said that, like he was actually hurt by that statement, “I was under the impression we were friends. Well, that’s my fault—how is Lady Kayama, then?”
Bakugou wants this man to shut up. More importantly, he wants Sero to hurry the f*ck up with the money. “Don’t concern yourself with her."
“You’re quite protective of her. She must mean something to you then.”
Again, more chuckles from beside the man. "Yeah, that’s his bitch. And he’s her loyal dog.”
The black barrel of a Glock-19 points towards the man’s mouth. Bakugou had drawn the handgun in one fluid motion, the action so smooth it was invisible. Years of handling the weapon since the age of 16 blessed him with that skill, as the other men were a whole five seconds late into drawing their weapons.
There were now two guns pointed at his skull. “If I hear another word come out of your mouth,” he says, his gun aimed at the one who’s been mouthing off at him since they were outside, “I’m going to replace every single one of your f*cking teeth with a silver bullet. You got that?”
“Aww, is Lady Kayama’s dog gonna bite me?” the man sneers, venom lacing around the older woman’s name, and Bakugou throws the expression back, just as wicked. “Trust me bitch, you don’t want my teeth around you. When I bite, I don’t let go.”
A sinister grin peels his lips over his stained teeth. The air is thick and drips with tension; all it took was one wrong move, one misplaced glance, one simple word, and bullets were going to fly.
Sero had returned to the group with a similar black duffel bag in hand and gasped at the sight of drawn weapons. “Whoa, what the hell’s going on here?”
“Hurry up and give these sh*theads the money so we can get the f*ckouttahere.”
Bakugou doesn’t lower his weapon as Sero drops the hefty bag onto the table, and neither do the other men. The leader watches the taller man zip open the bag with a calm expression, not at all fazed at the guns pointed around his head. Pulling the bag open, crisp green one-hundred-dollar bills are revealed, held together by blue tape and arranged neatly inside the bag.
“Fifteen mil,” he says, pushing the bag of cash across the table.
The leader tugs it the rest of the way towards him, his eyes sparkling at the wealth. He takes apart the blue tape and spends the next three minutes counting each crisp bill, much to the annoyance ofBakugou. At his irritated huff, the dark-haired man gives him a look that reeks of faux innocence and says, “I let you check the purity of my product. It’s only fair you let me count out the payment.”
It ain’t that. You’re checking for counterfeit. You bitches think we’re ripping you off.
He’s making a show of counting the bills, even with a gun trained close to his face.Bakugougrinds his molars into fine dust, agitation leaking inside him like gasoline to an approaching flame, a spark soon about to explode. He’s taking each bill, rubbing the cotton paper between his fingers as he counts them down to the last one hundred.
Thankfully he only does it for one stack, dropping the loose green bills back into the bag and zipping it back up.
He then gives him his eerily charming smile. “Alright boys, that concludes our business here. Lower your weapons and get the rest of their product so they can get home.”
It’s only after they lower and put away their guns that Bakugou does the same, clicking the safety on and shoving the barrel in the back of his pants.f*cking finally, they can get back, this taking unnecessarily too long. This was overtime now. He and Sero leave the table after the men, Sero grabbing the duffel bag full of cocaine to take with them.
They’re led out through an exit inside of the part of the warehouse they were and led through one of the loading docks where workers still carried products in and out of trucks. There’s an empty dock waiting for them by the time they come outside, their product getting wheeled in by large metal platform dollies. Sero leavesBakugoua second time with the other men to get their truck, returning a few short minutes later and backing the trailer into the docking station.
Once the trailer doors are opened, men and women get to work. Pallets of large detergent bottles wrapped in clear plastic are pushed into their truck and stacked together, the co*ke concealed inside. They work diligently, the entire process taking no longer than thirty minutes. It’s down to the last pallet, and as soon as it's loaded inside Sero pulls the trailer doors closed and locks them together. Bakugou climbs into the passenger seat, the taller man taking the seat behind the wheel, and they leave the warehouse’s garage without a second look back.
On the way back to their warehouse, Sero drove on lesser-populated streets, avoiding the public roads to lessen the chance of getting pulled over by the cops. The drive back is quiet, the music playing from the radio barely heard over the truck’s loud engine.
Bakugoueyes were staring onto the roads ahead, but they were unfocused as he was in deep thought, Sero the same way. This was normal for them. They hardly ever talked after a transaction, using the quiet time they had to mull over words that were said during the encounter, go over body language, pick apart any clues that could lead to being taken advantage of.
For Bakugou, he was still pissed off that they were forty minutes behind schedule. Not to mention getting insulted by two complete extras.Just who did those f*ckers think they were, talking to me like that, he asks to no one but his own mind, the space between his eyes furrowing into a tight scowl. He should have put a bullet in the guy that was calling him the hag’s bitch.
Right in his ass.
“Hey, so, what was that all about?”
Sero’s sudden question pulled him out of his ill-mannered thoughts. “What.”
“Those guns. I leave for one second only to come back with everyone about to shoot each other. The hell happened while I was gone?”
“Nothing,” Bakugou answers brusquely. “I’m pretty sure that was something, bro.”
“Don’t f*cking call me that.”
“What’d you think happened to them earlier?” Sero switches the subject, ignoring the lethal snarl in the blonde’s throat. “Who f*cking knows,”Bakugouanswers as a sharp vibration spreads across his left thigh. “Probably switched our product with some sh*ttier version and was trying to fix it before we got there.”
“Imagine,” Sero scoffs.
Bakugoulooks at his watch, frowning at the caller ID he sees on the small screen. He grabs his vibrating phone, quickly sliding the green button across the larger screen and pressing it to his ear.
“What?”
"Hi, baby!”
Kirishima’s voice is cheery like the late afternoon sun and just as loud, shooting straight through Bakugou’s eardrum and into his brain. He’s pretty sure Sero heard him and he glances out of his peripherals, hoping that the truck’s engine was loud enough to cover his bright voice.
A crooked smile on the man’s lips confirmed that yes, he definitely heard his voice and knew exactly who was on the phone. “sh*tty-hair, I can’t talk right now.”
“Why? Are you still at work?”
“Yes, I’m still at work.”
“So that’s why you didn’t text me back. Ugh.”
Bakugoucan see the pout pushing his bottom lip in that cute way when he gets upset at something. He almost smiles at it, but then he remembers who’s sitting next to him. “Listen, I’ll call you back after I’m done.”
There are voices on the other side. Two of them from the sounds of it: another man and a woman. “Fine. I’m heading to class anyway. You better call me back.”
“The f*ck? I will, now bye.”
“Bye. Love you.”
Bakugouhangs up first and drops his phone next to his leg. It vibrates before it hits the seat cushion, the same caller ID on the screen.
He answers the phone. “What the f*ck?”
“You didn’t say it back!”
“sh*tty-hair, I swear to God—”
“You never hang up without saying it back. C’mon, Kats.”
That’s because no is around me when I say it, hair-for-brains!
Bakugou can feel Sero’s presence growing larger beside him, the man’s urge to tease him getting more and more potent. Kirishima is still on the other end, patiently waiting for his three words.I’m going to kill him, I swear.
“Hello?"
f*cking—! “Ugh, ok, whatever. I love you, now don’t call me back.”
“See? I don’t get what was so hard about saying it back. Talk to you later.”
Bakugou hangs up again, dropping his phone in the same spot. It doesn’t ring anymore. Bakugou glares at the other man with a hard look, challenging him to say something.
Sero only asks, “Your boyfriend?”
“What the f*ck do you think?”
He doesn’t say anything else, butBakugoucatches the twitch in his lips, suppressing the urge to make a snide remark.
The ride back to their warehouse is uneventful and blessedly quiet after that.
They arrive at the warehouse, ten minutes late because Sero had pulled into a gas station to take a piss, and backed the truck into an opened loading dock, people already coming out of it. Once the trailer was secured, Bakugou and Sero hopped out of the vehicle, Bakugou immediately barking orders at the people standing around. “Hurry up and get this sh*t out of here. I want it ready to go by Friday morning.”
A droning chorus of "Alright” answers his retreating back on his way to his boss’s office. He doesn’t stay behind to assist, wordlessly leaving the leadership position in Sero’s hands. Bakugou walks through the rest of the warehouse with a slouched back and unhurried gait, passing by women and drug mules getting ready to work. He reaches a set of stairs and ascends the metal steps to the second floor of the large warehouse, the cemented floor taking him to a dark metal door in a hidden corner. He raps his knuckles across the cold surface once before pushing down on the brighter metal bar, swinging the door open on its creaky hinges.
The office is simple. A computer desk, computer chair, and a few shelves make up the furniture in the tight space. A wide monitor sat on the edge of the desk, the wireless keyboard a few inches away from the screen. Papers of various documents were scattered around it. The room was more of a means of keeping track of numbers than anything else, so it wasn’t lavishly decorated like his boss’s main office back at her club.
Speaking of her, Bakugou saw the woman typing away at the keyboard with her long and red lacquered nails. Her eyes, an icy blue that made even the toughest of men flinch, were glued onto the screen, protected from the blue light by a pair of black-framed glasses designed to protect against the constant exposure. Hair pours from her scalp in a waterfall of obsidian over her shoulders and down to the mid-regions of her back. The long strands glimmered like oil underneath the room's lights; a vibrant contrast to the vermillion designer dress that hugged her curves like a second skin.
Her hands were a white blur above the black keys, her cerulean gaze matching that speed as they scanned line after line of whatever she typed on the screen.
“Kayama.”
No response.Bakugou’slip twitched into an agitated curl.
“Kayama,” he tries again.
His only response was a strand of hair falling in front of her clear lenses and her brushing it behind. She resumes typing immediately after.
“Oi, hag!”
Blue eyes glance over the monitor after what felt like hours. Her fingers come to an abrupt stop only to resume once more; however, plump lips painted in a mauve nude purse together and twist in mild annoyance before they part to speak.
“You know that isn’t what you call me,Katsuki.”
“Well, you wasn’t answerin’ when I called your name the first forty f*cking times.”
“You see that I’m busy with something,” Kayama motions to the monitor with a glance. “Did you finish?”
“Yes,” Bakugou says, his voice short, “we just got back. Soy-sauce and the other sh*theads are getting it ready to be delivered on Friday.”
“No problems with our dealer?”
Yeah. His smile was f*ckin’ weird.
“Other than the fact that he was running late, no.”
“Why?”
“He never explained, only said that ‘something came up’ and he wanted to deal with it before it got worse.”
Nails clicked across a keyboard for a few seconds of silence. “Good, then.”
Blue eyes slid back to the monitor, much to the blonde’s annoyance. He wasn’t done yet. A rather curt scoff grabs Kayama’s attention a second time and the womanshootsa sharp glare through her clear lenses. “Is there something else you need?”
“Yeah,”Bakugousays, not even bothering to hide the brusqueness in his voice. “I’m taking off early.”
“Says who?”
“Says me. Soy-Sauce will be the one in charge until I come back.”
Kayama’s fingers leave the keyboard. She pushed her body away from the computer and settled in the center of her desk, folding smooth white arms over papers. Her eyes were hard and calculating as they landed onto Bakugou, but it didn’t give him any sort of fear or intimidation, only relief that now the old bitch was finally paying attention to him. “And when do you plan on coming back?”
“I don’t f*cking know,” he shrugs, “Next Monday, I guess.”
“That’s seven days from now.”
“I know.”
“And you want to leave Hanta in charge for those seven days.”
“He’s an idiot, but he knows how to run sh*t while I’m away. I trust him.”
The older woman’s long hair shuffles loosely across her red shoulders as she shakes her head. “You’ll come back Saturday morning.”
“Hell no! Monday.”
“You’re not leaving the warehouse for a week, Katsuki. Saturday morning. You will be here.”
“I think I more than deserve a week off from breaking my back working at this sh*tty warehouse.”
“I thinkyou should remember who gave you this job at this sh*tty warehouse and that without it, you’d be dead.”
Kayama has the audacity to smirk. His deep scowl strengthens the smirk on her brown lips.
“You will return Sunday morning then.”
“Bull-f*cking-sh*t—”
“The next time I move the date up, I’m cutting your paycheck.”
Bakugou’smouth opens and falls like a fish above water, and then permanently seals with a vulgar twist of his lips. “I’m still cutting your paycheck, just for calling me a hag earlier.”
“You bitch—”
“And now you’re done another hundred. Keep it up, and I’m going to start paying you what I pay the mules.”
You goddamn, ugly ass, motherf*cking—
“Whatever.”
He turns away at Kayama’s tilting lips and started heading for the door. “Have a good rest of the evening, love.”
“f*ck off.”
Bakugou shuts the door behind him on her cackling. The old bitch pisses him off to no end, but she’s done more for him in the last nine years than his own mother did in his entire life. He should be grateful the older woman was letting him take a long break. Honestly, Bakugou was expecting more of a fuss from her.That old hag. She must’ve been in a good mood today.
He didn’t think about the couple hundred dollars he lost from his paycheck. What were $200 dollars gone? Bakugou still made more than the mules and prostitutes under him.
He passes by Sero and a group of men lounging on folding chairs outside of the warehouse’s opened entrance. They had finished unloading the truck and was taking a break out in the shade of the opened garage, enjoying the warm elements.
“Leaving already?” one of the men asks as Bakugou walks by them.
“Yeah,” Bakugou says, turning to then nod at Sero, “Soy-Sauce is in charge until I get back. Don’t call me for sh*t unless we’re getting raided or some asshole is tryna rob us. I’m f*cking serious too.”
He throws this at Sero who looks back at him with raised hands. “Alright man, sheesh. I’ll take care of things while you’re gone.”
“You f*ckin’ better, or I’m killing you when I get back.”
“When are you coming back?”
“Whenever the f*ck I walk in.”
He continues outside. Sero yells at his retreating back, “Have fun with your baby tonight!” and Bakugou rounds on him so fast, his vision spins. He’s screaming expletives too vulgar for a child to hear, much to the joy of the other men and the absolute angered embarrassment of him. Because of course, of course, he had to see the contact on his phone. I’m changing it the minute I get back home and beating his f*cking ass when I see him, Bakugouswears.
In retaliation, he shouts back, “At least I have someone to come home to and I’m not beating my dick every night like a f*cking loser!”
Sero and the others laugh harder.
Bakugou leaves them with his middle finger raised high, the bluebird sky a beautiful backdrop to his retreating gesture. Even still, his face glows. Yeah, someone’s waiting for me at home. I’m not like you single f*ckheads.
He walks across the lot under the beaming sun to his Audi r8 parked under the shade of a nearby building. The luxurious sports car waits patiently for him, a quiet beast gleaming in neon orange and shining black armor. Its glorious luster pierced through the building’s shadow, cutting across the eyes of anyone who dared to glance at it without permission. A gift from himself to himself at the young age of nineteen, right around the four-year mark of his career. The car was a representation of everything that made him Bakugou Katsuki: bold, flashy, andloud.
Bakugou slips the fob from his front left pocket and unlocks the driver's side door, watching the orange door slide upwards. The interior, like the exterior, was customized in black and orange; the leather seats were designed bright orange with black accents, and the dashboard was entirely black, saved for the volume and channel knobs and buttons that were in soft silver. The steering wheel’s center was a brighter orange, almost bordering on yellow, with the leather handles dipped in deep obsidian. The four silver rings in the middle gleamed in ostentatious luxury.
Bakugoupresses the engine’s button, coaxing a deep purr out of his car as it comes to life. He presses a button on the right side of his steering wheel next, automatically closing his car’s door. The door comes down slowly, a barely audible click that’s muffled under the thrum of the engine. He drops his keys and phone into the black cup holders and pulls out his Glock from the back of his jeans, punching open the glove compartment to shove it inside and snapping the door shut.
One hand on the orange gearshift, he yanks it down to the red R and backs out in a fast reverse.Bakugouis clicking his seatbelt on while throwing the car into drive and speeding out of the parking lot on screeching tires, already pushing fifty when he’s on the streets.
His entire evening was now officially free.Bakugoudidn’t have much to do as far as preparations when he got home, having already done everything well in advance. There was a dinner reservation he andKirishimaneeded to get ready for by 7:30 at his favorite steakhouse, and then they had two tickets at nine for a romcomKirishimahad been begging his ear off to go see for the last three weeks.
And all of this was only for today.Bakugouhad some other ideas for them later this week.
A yawn parts his jaws in a wide gape.Probably gonna take a nap first when I get home.
True to his word,Bakugoucalls his boyfriend back. He does so as he’s cruising on the highway back to their apartment, his cruising speed nearing 85.
Kirishima picks up on the second ring.“You finally done?”
“Mhm,” Bakugou hums, swerving in between two slower cars. “What about you? You still gotta another class, or are you finished?”
“I wish, but I still have one more class.” There are muffled noises in the background on top of the heavy shuffling of Kirishima’s shoes. Bakugou guesses he’s walking to that class right now. “It ends at around 5:15 though, and he usually likes to end it ten minutes early, so I’ll probably be out soon.”
“He better.”
“Yeah,” Kirishima sighs into the phone, “Professor Aizawa is pretty cool.”
“That’s the one that always falls asleep when you guys are taking exams, right?”
“Yeah, but he’s somehow still able to catch you cheating. I don’t get it, he’s like a superhero for academic integrity or something.”
“Maybe don’t be a f*cking idiot and cheat then, dumbass.”
“It was only that one time and he allowed it, just to prove a point! You know I would never cheat, man.”
Bakugou passes a long diesel truck while scoffing under his breath. After a few seconds of silence, Kirishima asks him,“So, were you able to get the rest of the week off?”
“Yeah,”Bakugousays, “had to f*cking haggle with the bitch. She wants me back Sunday morning.”
“That still isn’t that bad. You got the rest of this week off, at least.” Bakugou can hear the smile in his next sentence, “And you were able to leave early today. That’s a huge win.”
The redhead was right about that. AsBakugoudips out of the way of an incredibly slow-moving car (f*cking old ass man behind the wheel), he asks him, “You ready for tonight?”
“Oh my god, am I? Kats, you have no idea how close I am just to skipping this class and going home right now. If Aizawa wasn’t going over our ten-page paper today I would have already left.”
“Yeah, you better stay your ass in class.” BecauseBakugouwas a responsible boyfriend (it definitely wasn’t because he didn’t want to help him out when he got stumped. Like he knew anything about f*cking rhetoric).
“Ugh, I know, but I miss you, babe! This is like, the one chance we’re gonna finally see each other without one of us leaving for work or school. I was trying to tell Denki and Mina that today at lunch and like, Mina understands, she always gets where I’m coming from, but Denki?”
Kirishima’sexasperation was clear through his speakers. “I love him so much, but it’s like talking to a goldfish sometimes. He’s like, ‘if this is such a big deal to you then why hasn’t he done this earlier?’ and I’m like, dude, we've tried, it's just that his job is not like a regular one. He just can’t request time off that easily.”
“You’re giving a goldfish too much credit,”Bakugoucomments. “They have a much higher IQ than that idiot you call a friend.”
Kirishima was right, however. The number of times he’s tried requesting days off nicely, only to have that request denied, were too many to count on both hands. Even with his high position, he was kept from taking too long of a break, always being needed at the warehouse for something.
Bakugou is blessed with Kirishima’s laugh, a full and hearty guffaw that swells deep inside the hollows inside his chest, sending rippling warmth coursing through his body. He loved hearing that beautiful sound and made it his mission to bring it out of him at least five times a day when he had the chance. God, he’s turned you into a giant sap,he hears Sero’s voice in the back of his mind.
Maybe so.
“Right after I said that,” Kirishima says, tuning him out of his thoughts, “he wanted to know what type of job demanded so many hours like that.”
“What did you say?”
“A retail job that pays over a hundred grand a year. He’s still begging me to tell him the name of the company and I’m like, ‘dude, I can’t’.”
At this,Bakugoulaughs. He still found it hilarious thatKirishimatold his posse he worked at a demanding (emphasis on demanding) retail company. “He won’t even last a minute—no, a second doing what I do. I’d give him and Raccoon-eyes less than an hour before they gave up.”
“Hey now, Denki I can understand, but Mina? That’s the toughest girl I know—not that she would ever do what you do. But still! Don’t go dissin ’ them, they’re my best friends and the only people I have on this campus—well, and T.”
“You stillhangin’ out with that vegan f*ck-face? I thought I told you to stay away from him.”
“Okay, one—he is not vegan, he’s vegetarian. And two—I thought I told you that there’s nothing for you to be jealous of. We’re only friends, and last time I checked,friends can hang out with other friends.”
“Every time I see him around you, he’s always staring at your ass. You know how much I f*cking hate that.”
“Okay, now you’re just being paranoid for no reason—”
“It ain’t paranoia!”
“It is paranoia because Tetsu is trying to get with one of the cheerleaders, not me. So you can stop being jealous of him because there’s nothing even close to romantic between us.”
There better not be, Bakugou barely growls beneath his teeth. He hated that silver-haired bastard more than anything in the world and wished that his boyfriend would just f*cking dump him behind for someone equally less annoying and invasive. But he won’t, because those two have been friends longer than he’s been with Kirishima, and no, Bakugouwasn’t jealous because of that—he's just wary to the point of aggression.
"Hey.”
“What?”
“This isn’t gonna be a repeat of last time, is it?”
Last time.
Bakugou’sfingers twitch into a tight grasp around the wheel. “No,” he says, both to the man on the other end and to the memories brimming to the surface in his mind, bringing up hostile words and heated moments, ofKirishimathreatening to leave him—
“Why the f*ck would you ask that?”
“Because I don’t want a repeat of last time.”
“Well you’re not getting one. I already told you, I got today and the rest of this week off. I’m not doing that sh*t again, alright?”
His words take on a harsh finality at the end that leaves a sudden bitter tension in the once relaxed atmosphere.Bakugoushould have expectedKirishima’sdoubting. After all, he was the reason why the redhead was so hesitant about these things. Breaking promises left and right, lying to him, all of it was his fault.
But I’m f*cking trying here, Bakugou says to himself with a creased brow, trying to do what I can around this f*cking job. So give me a f*cking break.
Kirishimahums an “okay,” and for a long time, there’s a deafening silence that makes Bakugou’s skin crawl. Thank god the silence was shattered twenty seconds later, Kirishima’s incessant need to talk being Bakugou’s saving grace from the guilt eating away at his stomach. “Let me tell you what happened to me and Mina in world history beforeAizawa comes in.”
His story took the entire drive home to finish because Kirishima wasn’t the type to tell a story from point A to point B. He told his stories like they were novels, starting with the main character (so he and Mina), introducing the side characters and the setting, and taking thirty minutes just to reach the rising action.
But Bakugou listened anyways because that was his boyfriend, and he’s put up with his inability to tell stories for three entire years. The story got rid of the stifling atmosphere, returning it back to its bubbly and light disposition. He chuckles at the appropriate times, agrees with the man when he made an argument about whether his choice was right or not, and got angry on his behalf when someone had crossed him for whatever reason, that someone being their history teacher.
By the time he was driving past the sign of their apartment complex, Kirishima’s story was coming to an end.“So yeah, f*ck her basically, because we didn’t even do anything wrong. We just walked into class—and I mean literally Kats, like as soon as it was time for class to start, we were walking in the door—and she yells at us to take a seat. Like we were literally just about to do that! You don’t have to yell at us, lady!”
“I would’ve told that old hag to f*ck off and die,”Bakugousays as his car cruises—at a much slower speed this time—to Building C. He drives up to his usual parking spot and sits the car in park, letting it run idle while he continues talking. “Like get off my f*cking dick, I’m already in this goddamn sh*tty ass class.”
That merry laughter fills his ears again. “I know you would’ve. You actually came to mind when that happened. I was like, ‘man, if Kats were here right now, he would have gone completely off.’”
A short bark of laughter leaves Bakugou in a quiet puff of air.“Okay, I have to go now, he just walked in. I’ll see you later tonight.”
“Alright,”Bakugoutells him as he shuts the engine off. He presses the button for his door again and it slides up, slow and majestic. Like a king preparing to make his entry. “See you when you get here.”
“'Kay, bye. Say hi to our son for me when you get home.”
Bakugou thinks Kirishima is going to hang up first, but like clockwork:“Love you.”
There isn’t a reason for him to not say it back. Soy-Sauce isn’t around, nobody is close enough to hear him. A hint of a smile graces the edges of his lips.
“Love you too. You better come home soon, or I’m beating your f*cking ass.”
Kirishima hangs up with mirth, leaving Bakugou to bask in the afterglow of the words. Taking out his gun from the glove compartment, Bakugou gets up out of his car and closes the door shut behind him, hiding his gun in the back of his pants. He heads for the apartment’s metal stairs, bypassing a mother and her son coming down along the way. The woman flashes him a smile, but it goes unnoticed. She rolls her eyes with an exaggerated breath.
f*ck off, Bakugoutells her.
He takes the stairs in long strides, breathing right on the outskirts of heavily when he reaches the third floor. Climbing three flights of stairs wasn’t an easy feat when you were tired. On especially heinous days, it felt like he was scaling Mount Everest. There was nothing worse than trying to walk up three flights of stairs after narrowly avoiding death.
Bakugouturns down a narrow walkway. On one side of him, openings lead to small hallways where the homes of his neighbors reside. Sometimes he could hear children screaming and loud music behind some of the closed doors and thought of the many times he wanted to file for a noise complaint. On the other side, a metal railing protects him and gives him a view of the other apartment buildings and the rest of the city. Lights alongside buildings were coming on as the reddened sky continued to darken, twinkling close to the ground like fallen stars.
Bakugou comes up to the last hallway along the path and turns into it, stopping at the door numbered 563.
He pulls out his fob again, separating the faded brown apartment key from his car key and sticking the grooved metal into its designated lock. At the rustling noise and faint click, a chorus of barking starts up. Bakugou turns the key all the way, unlocking the door with a louder click and pushing it open, his hand still attached to the key.
He’s greeted with a noisy welcome from their "son"—an eleven-month-old Rottweiler-pitbull mix. His coat shines in a mix of black and brown like his Rottweiler lineage, with splashes of white around his muzzle, chest, and paws, giving him the appearance of wearing socks. Kirishima had wanted to name him after that, but Bakugou quickly stepped in and saved him from the fate of the cutesy name, choosing instead to name the Rottie-pit after the greatest character ever created in the Marvel Cinematic Universe—Killmonger.
(That didn’t stop Kirishima from calling him Socks.)
Killmonger was a black and brown ball of energy around his legs, his barks going from deep and powerful sounds to puppyish whines and yaps. He hops on his hind legs, pawing at Bakugou’s waist with large front paws as the other tries to get through the door. “Yeah, yeah, I’m home early, it’s a goddamn miracle. Back the f*ck up and let me in, mutt.”
Bakugoushoves himself through the short and narrow hallway trying to get past the puppy, dropping his wallet and keys into a small bowl on a table at his left.Killmonger’stail is a hammer on and between his legs as he lets him somewhat take off his boots to leave by the table’s legs. “No! Don’t you f*cking take them—get over here.”
He stops the puppy from sniffing around his shoes, snapping his fingers to have him follow behind as he makes his way further into their home.
Their place wasn’t much. Many people had this idea that drug-dealers lived in fancy penthouses and expensive mansions, and some did—his boss certainly fit that stereotype. ButBakugou, while he made enough to afford that type of luxury living, kept to the smaller options for right now, choosing a one-bedroom two-bathroom apartment that was closer to the school for him andKirishimaand their large puppy. The living room was the second largest room in their apartment, second to the master bedroom. Beige carpet began where the hallway’s wooden flooring ended and came to a stop at the tiled kitchen floor. The furniture was simple; a gray sectional couch fitted for apartment-living took up the most space, and in front of it was a wooden coffee table with a glass counter that held two remote controls for the TV. A couple of small dressers and shelves with minimal décor added to the homey feel of the room.
Bakugouwalks past the outskirts of the living room withKillmongerin-tow, passing their barely used dining room and going into the hallway. There’s a door leading to the guest bathroom on his right, another door across from it leading to a closet where the AC unit was stored, and at the end of the hallway was the bedroom door, wide open and the room inside dark.
He cuts on the lights, turning the ceiling fan on as well. Bright yellow light fills the room, washing over a king-sized bed, several wide dressers, and a sizable dog bed pushed against the wall.Bakugouheads over to the nightstand on the left of the bed and pulls open the bottom drawer, dropping his gun inside and then pulling out the top drawer as he shuts the bottom one.
Bakugoucan hearKillmonger’sexcited huffing next to him as he pulls out a silver and black retractable leash and a black harness. “C’mere,”Bakugoudirects, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
Killmonger’sentire body wiggles towards him. “Sit.”
He does, andBakugouslips the harness on him.Killmongershoots back up and runs to the door raring to go,Bakugouyelling at him to bring his ass back. “Your leash isn’t even on yet! Get back here.”
He sees the dog’s body disappear around the corner of the entryway and his paws thumping on top of the carpet.C’mon! Killmongerbarks at him from somewhere in the house, earning a light scowl in response from the blonde. “God, you’re just like sh*tty-hair. Always ready to f*cking go.”
Bakugougets up and follows the dog out of his room, shutting the light and ceiling off behind him.Killmongerwas on the couch when he entered the living room, his front paws standing on top of the cushions.Bakugoucould hear how hard his tail was hitting the sides of his stomach. “Alright, alright, I’m f*ckin’ coming,”Bakugousays with a roll of his eyes.Killmongerjumps off the back of the couch, completely ignoring his “No!” and racing him to the front door, yapping and pawing at the white wood.
“Stop scratching the door and get over here! Jesus, did sh*tty-hair not take you out when he came home today? You’re bouncing all over the f*ckin’ place,”Bakugouasks after yelling at him for jumping on the door again.
Killmonger answers him with more excited yaps. “Come, here,” the blonde orders with a piercing snap after putting on a pair of old running shoes. The dog bounds towards him, bumping his large head into his knees and walking around him as Bakugou is nearly knocked over. “f*ck—keep still. Don’t you groan at me either.”
Killmongermade a litany of sounds to express his emotions. His groans, often coming deep from within his chest, always came about when he was being held back to get leashed. Because he wasn’t able to move his body, he expressed excitement through deep and rumbling groans that could have been mistaken for growls if the person didn’t know any better.
Once he was leashed,Bakugougrabbed his keys and headed out of the apartment,Killmongerracing out of the door first.Bakugoutook him for a long walk, stretching from the apartment complex to the gas station at the end of the block and then heading for the neighboring cemetery. The three-and-a-half-mile walk was concluded at the park, whereKillmongergot to see kids hanging out after school on the swings and playsets through the metal fence. Their high-pitched screams and shouts had his folded ears perked, andBakugouhad to gently tug on his leash to get him to keep moving.
He gets to an area of the park where a group of teens played a game of basketball. Killmonger tugged on the leash to sniff at a bush, so Bakugou lets it extend and watches the pick-up game while his dog uses the bathroom.
A child screams, drawing his light brows in a scowl.Bakugouspends nearly ten minutes watching one child miss five consecutive shots in a row before he hears licking and deep breathing at the end of the leash.
Killmonger was licking a spot on the ground.f*ckin' piss fetishist.
Bakugou pulls the leash once, and then again with a stern“Let’s go.” The added command works effortlessly. They head back to the apartment andBakugoureleases him after he closes and locks the door, tugging off his shoes and leaving them next to the table. He carries the harness and retractable leash to the bedroom with the puppy trotting after him, breaking away to drink from his filtered water dish in the room whileBakugoudropped the dog equipment back into their previous location.
He’s completely drained after the forty-minute walk. Pulling off his hoodie,Bakugouthrows it somewhere on the bed and heads to the kitchen to grab something to eat before he inevitably crashes on the couch. There’s barely anything in the refrigerator; a sign that one of them needed to go grocery shopping soon.
f*ck, Bakugou groans after closing the silver door in disgruntled disappointment. He moves to the pantry at the end of the kitchen and opens the door, scanning the shelves of cereal boxes, different spices, and snack foods before landing on a package of spicy ramen noodles at the bottom. It’ll have to do.
He grabs a red pack and tosses it onto the counter on his way to heat up the stove and grabs a pot from one of the cabinets underneath. After filling it up with water, he sets it on the warming stovetop and steps into the living room to let it boil, passing up Killmonger that was chewing on something red at the end of the couch.
Bakugoupays him no mind. He picks up the smaller remote on the coffee table and turns on the TV, then grabs the longer remote to flip through the channels for something to watch. His water’s erupting into fat bubbles inside of the pot when he finds something mildly interesting to eat and fall asleep to, and he leaves the puppy chewing on whatever was in his mouth while he goes and prepares his late lunch.
He walks back into the living room with a steaming white bowl and chopsticks in his hands, andKillmongerabandons the red toy when the sharp aroma of artificial spices hit his nostrils. “Oh no, back the f*ck up,”Bakugousays when the dog settles directly between his knees after he sits on the couch, “you’re not having any of this. I’m not cleaning up your diarrhea again.”
Killmonger’s pink tongue flashes over his tri-colored lips.“No.”
He’s looking at him with his infamous puppy-dog eyes that work like magic on his boyfriend, but it doesn’t do jack sh*t for him. Bakugou lets him stare while he slurps up hot and spicy noodles. He hears another one of Killmonger’s expressive sounds: a groan with a whine clipping the end of it.
“Go back to chewin ’ on whatever the f*ck you were playing with,” Bakugoumumbles around a mouth full of hot noodles. The dog didn’t move, and he doesn’t expect him to. He rarely listened to orders when food was suddenly involved.
Bakugou drinks the juices that remain of his ramen and drops the wooden chopsticks inside the empty bowl, pushing it to the center of the coffee table.“No,” he stops the dog from trying to reach the white bowl, and after a minute of longingly staring at the ceramic glass,Killmongerreturns to the red object he was chewing on.
Bakugou watches his mouth surrounding the red thing, and then he looks at the TV.
Very quickly, his eyes snap back to the dog’s mouth. “What do you have in your mouth?”
Killmonger was shaking his head when he asked him that question and stops long enough to let his eyes hone in on the object in question.
It was a shoe—Kirishima'sshoe.
His f*cking abysmal red croc.
The pit mix went back to shaking his head with the shoe inside his mouth. Bakugou watches him, a long internal debate settling behind his eyes, weighing the current pros and cons of the situation.
The pros (at the current moment): he will never have to see those shoes again. So, he thinks, I should let him destroy it, and then just throw away the other shoe and tell sh*tty-hair that his favorite dog chewed up his favorite shoes.
But (there always was one), that would be enabling the dog’s bad habit, and he and Kirishima were currently working on correcting that habit. Which led to another major, most important con: if he chewed on his shoes, then the dog might move on to his pairs, and he had a valuable pair of slides that if the puppy even thought about touching, he was getting shipped off to the nearest shelter (as if that would happen, Kirishima would kill him.)
So, with a grumbled curse, Bakugou gets up and snatches the ugly shoe out of the dog’s mouth, sharply snapping“No,” as he did it. The croc was wet with dog slobber and there were tiny holes perforated in the rubber material. A few of the buttons were missing too, probably lost somewhere in the house. “sh*tty-hair’sgonnacry when he sees what you did with his shoe,”Bakugouwarns the smiling pup.
Because he was petty, he placed the shoe on the kitchen bar table whereKirishimawould see it once he came home.
Bakugou grabs a thick red and black chewing rope with frayed ends from relentless games of tugs-of-war for the dog to chew on instead. Killmonger latches onto it immediately, getting a quick game in before Bakugou releases it and flops back onto the couch.
He settles on his side, pulling his phone out from his back pocket to check for any notifications before sitting it on the arm of the couch. He thinks about getting up to get a blanket from the bedroom, but the cushions are already conforming comfortably around his body, and it wasn’t that cold in the living room for him to need a blanket. He was content on the couch, watching whatever show he had put on the TV.
Watching wasn’t the right word—he was actively seeing it, but the picture wasn’t registering in his mind. His vision grew fuzzy at the corners, and each blink of his eyelids moved slower and slower, the drag falling heavier than the first. He knew he was tired, but it didn’t hit how tired he actually was until he was stretched out on the couch, and now it was on him, swaddling him in a thick and heavy blanket around his body and eyes.
Bakugou still had three hours left before he had to get ready for tonight, and sleep had been in his plans for today, so he let himself slip into the welcoming darkness. Killmonger joins him on the couch with his toy, curling next to his ankles to chew on the rope and occasionally lick his feet.“Stop, you f*ckin’ foot fetishist...”
He has to say it a couple of times and rearrange his feet before the dog gets the memo and strictly chews on his toy. Bakugou has one final thought before he’s unconscious, and that’s about what Soy-sauce and the others were doing now that he was gone.Probably sh*t.
He thinks nothing else of it.
Bakugouis dead to the entire world in less than ten seconds; he doesn’t even feelKillmonger’swet snout on his ankle. He sleeps for a solid hour, his snores reverberating inside his chest and filling up the living room, muffling the drone of voices coming from the TV.
At an hour and thirty minutes, vibrations suppressed by cushions and sleep go off above his head.
Bakugoudoesn’t hear them. They ring three times before going off, and then they come back again, an octave louder.Bakugouhears them, but he doesn’t move to cut the sound off.
His phone goes off a third time, and it’s louder. Bakugou growls at the sound, but he still doesn’t move to turn it off or see who was calling him.
When it goes off the fourth time, he grabs the phone with a harsh swear that even startles the dog. He doesn’t check the caller ID before he smashes his thumb across the green button.
“Who the f*ck is this,” he growls, the dregs of sleep still caked around his voice.
“Katsuki, what the hell! I had to call you five times before you picked up.”
He only heard four rings—who the f*ck cares. “What the f*ck are you calling me for, Soy-sauce?” Bakugou rubs the sleep in his eyes, blurring his vision just slightly. When he glances over at the clock beneath the TV, he’s annoyed to see that it was only five and his boyfriend still hadn’t shown up yet. “I thought I specifically said not to call me unless it was for an emergency—”
“This is an emergency!”
Bakugou’s words cease on his tongue, the gravity in Sero’s voice waking him up quickly. He's made aware of the chaos in the background—loud voices, lots of movement, a woman barking orders. “The f*ck is going on over there? Is it a raid?”
“No, it’s different from that. One of the mules brought somebody over to the warehouse and he’s staying in one of the empty rooms right now—yes, I got him on the phone!”
The woman that was barking orders in the background was now shattering Bakugou’s left ear.“Katsuki, get your ass over here, right now.”
“Whatever’s going on at that f*cking warehouse, Soy-sauce can handle it. Leave me alone, hag—”
“If you’re not here in the next fifteen minutes, I will make the next month of your life a living hell. Get. Over. Here. Now.”
"I'm on my break-"
Kayama hangs up and Bakugou screams. “f*ck! I can’t leave for one goddamn minute without something going wrong or that f*cking bitch bothering me. God, dammit!”
This is exactly what he feared would happen.
He gets off the couch, Killmonger startled by the fast movement. He’s hurrying after him into the bedroom, watching with a slow swing of his tail as Bakugou pulls his gun out from the bottom drawer. “Move, Killmonger.”
He’s in the hallway next, shoving his socked feet back into his boots. In the back of his mind, he thinks about leaving Kirishima a note.Maybe a text would be better-
His phone's almost painful spasming against his leg pulls him out of his thoughts and down to the unknown number calling him again. "I'm on my f*cking way, stop calling me," he snarls and hangs up before Sero can say anything. Whatever's going at this f*cking place, I'll get it done before he comes home.
Bakugou slams the door behind him, the wood rattling from the heavier than normal force.
“Alright dude, have fun on your date tonight.”
“Bye, babe!”
Kirishima waves at the retreating figures of Kaminari and Ashido heading to their cars before he turns for his. Aizawa had kept them right until it was time to go, answering questions about the requirements for their final paper. While it was a much-needed session for all of them, Kirishima was peeved that it had to be today the man decided to keep them until the curfew.
Hope he isn't mad when I get there, Kirishima thinks, and then with a chuckle, he’s never gonna let this one go.
Underneath the increasingly reddening sky, a majority of the parking lot was empty, most of the commuters having left the campus already. The only cars that remained in the large lot belonged to the students attending the nearby nursing hall and the dance and theater building—Ashidobeing the latter—and students who refused to park any closer to the campus—him andKaminaribeing a part of that group.
He unlocks the backseat of his red Wrangler, tossing his backpack across the brown seats. Bakugou had been trying to get him to trade the old thing in for a new one, but Kirishima didn’t see what the big problem with it was. Sure, there was a dent in the front of it when he hit that woman’s car in the gas station, andyeah, there were a couple of scratches on the side because he can’t really park for sh*t, but it still ran fine! It wasn’t like Ashido’s Camry—that poor thing was just waiting to kill over on the side of the road.
He jumps into his car, shoving the key into the ignition. I should call him.
At the sound of the engine revving to life, Kirishima shakes his head.Nah, he’ll just get mad wondering why I’m calling him when I’m coming home. He’s probably asleep anyway.
He sends him a text instead, dropping his phone onto the passenger seat afterward. His green tassel from his high school graduation shakes underneath the rear-view mirror as he backs out of his parking space, swinging into smoother motions once he pulls out of the gravel parking lot. Music from his favorite Spotify playlist plays during the short drive back home, and he’s turning into the complex, heading towards the mailboxes first before going to Building-C.
A quick look in their numbered box confirms thatBakugoudidn’t check the mail today, so he grabs the stack of envelopes and fliers and drops them next to his phone once he gets back in his car. He finally drives into Building-C's parking lot, pulling into his usual spot next toBakugou’scar.
The Audi isn’t there.That’s weird.
Kirishimagrabs his phone, unlocking his screen with his finger and going to his messages.
To: My Future Husband
Omwhome
Sent at 5:25 PM
Bakugou didn’t even read it. That wasn’t a big issue; however, his car missing was. He might be at the store.
Or he left you for that job again-
Kirishima puts an end to the growing anxiety before it could develop into something else. He reaches behind him to grab his backpack and grabs the mail in the passenger seat next, slinging the black bag on one shoulder at the same time he slides out of his car. The anxiety is still present in the back of his mind like a constant drip of cold mercury, poisoning his brain with skeptical and negative thoughts of the other man lying to him.
He slams the door, harder than usual to push down on the negativity brewing in his mind. As another distraction, Kirishima shuffles through the mail on his way to his apartment.
There was a notice from a restaurant, something about catering now being available; a few coupons from a couple of stores Kirishima hadn’t had the time to go to in a while because of senior crunch-time. The last item was a postcard from the vet reminding him about Killmonger’s next appointment for heartworms.
He’s in front of his door when he flips to the back of the postcard, frowning at the dates. I can probably make that, he thinks, reminding himself to put it into his calendar. Or maybe Kats can take him if he can get off work early again.
He raises his hand holding his school’s lanyard, separating his apartment key from his car keys and school ID, and sticking the former into the lock. Excitement goes off behind the door in a flurry of barks, muffled behind the white wood. Kirishima’s excitement is just as palpable, swinging open the door with a wide grin across his face.
Killmongermatches him with the same expression. “Socks!”
He’s moving at the sound of his nickname, bouncing up and aroundKirishima’swaist. “Hi, baby! Did you miss me—wait, wait, don’t knock me over, let me get in the door first,”
Killmongerbarely moves from his spot asKirishimapushes himself inside to shut the door, his entire body moving like his blur of a tail.Kirishimadrops his keys and wallet into the bowl and the mail next to it, toes out of his shoes next, and then he’s opening his arms to the elated puppy. “Socks, up!”
Killmonger jumps into Kirishima’s awaiting arms. “Good boy!” his praises turn into coos as he’s showered in a multitude of wet kisses. Every day, the puppy seemed to gain another inch and put on a few more pounds. He and Bakugou knew that the pit mix was going to grow into a huge dog; his large paws were an indication of that.
But that wouldn’t stopKirishimafrom picking up and carrying him around like he was still a three-month-old puppy. It’s one of the reasons why he hits his campus’s gym so often; he wants to never stop holding his fur-baby, to be able to pick him up and hold him close to his heart, where he belonged.
Killmonger thumps his tail against Kirishima’s backpack, his left side, and along his arm in a frenzy of excitement. “Did you see daddy today,” he asks the puppy. His eyes did a full sweep across the empty living room while an answer from the puppy came to him, in the form of a wet lick along his jawline.
"Well, he definitely was here,” Kirishimamuses aloud when he sees an empty white bowl sitting on the coffee table. The TV was on, too. A confused pout pushes out his bottom lip as he makes his way to the short and carpeted hallway, bypassing the kitchen and the bar counter.
Red catches his peripherals.
“...no...”
Killmonger’salmost dropped onto the floor, but he manages to land on his feet. Pain is etched deep into the lines onKirishima’sface at the heart-wrenching sight on top of the counter.
His red croc, more holes chewed into the shoe than normal, with half of the buttons missing.“ Killmonger ...”
The puppy’s happily wagging tail slows and falters. Grabbing the destroyed shoe,Kirishimaturns his body and looks down at him, and the puppy looks the other way. “Killmonger, look at me.”
He does, slowly. “Why did you chew up my shoe?”
Killmongerlooks away again. His tail barely moves from behind his legs.
“You have a thousand and one toys that your dad and I bought you—expensive toys that cost almost forty dollars—and you chose to destroy my shoe. My favorite shoe.”
Killmongercloses his mouth. He looks up without moving his head, guilt swimming in his dark chocolate eyes.Kirishima’sheart pulls at the sad look, but he toughens himself up, determined not to let his emotions be swayed by the inexplicable skill of his son’s puppy-dog eyes. “I’m very upset, you know? I love you so much, but I have to punish you.”
The puppy takes a seat, his head still hanging. It’s a sad, pitiful look, and Kirishima almost doesn’t want to do it to him, buthe has to. He can’t let this bad behavior go unpunished.
And so, with a deep, painful sigh, he says, “No more rawhide chews after dinner for a week, and you’re grounded from sleeping in the bed with us tonight.”
Kirishima throws his ruined shoe in the trash and walks into the bedroom, his dog trailing behind him. It hurts, but it had to be done.
Turning the bedroom lights on, Kirishima drops his bag by the door, careful about his laptop inside, and walks over to the bed, taking note of the black hoodie strewn over the comforters. He’s been here, then, he hums, sitting next to the sleeve.
Killmongerwalks over to him, sitting his head onto his thigh. “I know it hurts baby, but you did this to yourself. Next time, you’ll learn not to chew on mine or your daddy’s shoes, okay?”Kirishimagrabs his face and leans forward, pressing a tender kiss to the top of his head. “If it makes you feel any better, I’mgonnayell at Kats too, because I know he was the one that probably told you to chew on it.”
He scratches lightly behind his folded ear before pushing himself off the bed, movingKillmongergently aside in the progress. “After I take a shower, I’ll feed you, and then we’ll go for a walk, okay?”
That works in cheering the puppy right back into his previously happy state. Kirishima returns his grin and turns to the en-suite bathroom, heading for the showers.He should be back once I'm ready, he hopes, turning the hot water knob first.
He ignores the tight clutch of his stomach after the thought.
Kirishima takes a long shower, washing the day’s grime off his body and out of his hair. He walks out the steaming shower once he’s done and into the even steamier bathroom, wrapping a towel around his dripping lower half. He dries off his conditioned hair with a white towel and then a blow-dryer, and then he walks back into the bedroom, a wet footprint trail leading from the bathroom to the dressers, where he towels off the rest of body before slipping into a clean pair of underwear, and a lighter trail tracking into the walk-in closet, where he digs through his side for his evening attire.
Bakugou hadn’t come back home while he was in the shower and still hadn't arrived yet. Kirishima raises the volume of the TV to ignore the gradual spike of stress in his mind, instead actively engaging the worrying organ into watching the show he had chosen. He applies lotion and deodorant to their appropriate areas before dressing into his evening attire:a pair of tight jeans that brought out the fullness of his ass and thighs and a cotton button-down dress shirt, the fabric light blue like a pair of washed-out jeans with the areas over his collarbones faded gray. He rolled his sleeves up in the bathroom vanity, pinning them in place above his elbows, and loops a leather belt around his waist, completing the look.
Simplistic, but still classy.
Next is his hair, which is a ten-minute progress of figuring out what he wants to do with it. He chooses a style that’s completely different from the usual, the one that earned him the affectionate moniker sh*tty-hair, as well as a slew of other equally affectionate names, for a simple look—half down and half-tied up in a neat bun. He pulls out his bangs with the thin endpiece of a comb, combing them down his face and then combing the rest of his hair over his shoulders.
Makeup is right after, courtesy of his friendAshido. He hides years of acne scars and dark spots behind a light coat of concealer and applies eyeliner, mascara, and a thin coat of lip-gloss to the best features on his face. The transformation his eyes go through, going from their normal rounded shape to an alluring, coquettish slant is startlingly and at the same time so mesmerizing to behold. The power a tube of liquid eyeliner and a black wing has.
He puts on his jewelry, which isn’t much, just a pair of diamond studsBakugoubought him during the first months they were dating each other. He chooses his Apple watch over a bracelet, a birthday gift that came with the phone sitting on his bed—all from the same man.
“Is he like, your sugar daddy now?” he remembersAshidoasking him when he showed off his new gifts. The corners of his lips crinkle at the memory.
He finishes up with a spritz of cologne (Burberry, an anniversary gift), and he’s ready.
Bakugou still isn't home.
He’s feedingKillmongeran hour before his usual dinnertime and takes him out on a quick walk around the complex. He gets compliments from other residents taking their canines out, one asking him what the occasion was for tonight. “Date tonight,”Kirishimaanswers, a smile on his face, “I’m just waiting for him to come home.”
He doesn’t. It’s thirty minutes until they have to be at the restaurant for their dinner reservation, andBakugoustill isn’t home.
Kirishimasteels himself with a rocky breath as he goes through his phone, scrolling through his contacts toBakugou’sname. The man still hadn’t responded—or even looked at—his text.
He doesn’t pick up the first time he calls him, so he tries again.
When he picks up, Kirishima hears a light curse before a hard“What?”
“Where are you?”
It wasn’t supposed to come out like that, but the words left his mouth before he could change his tone. He hears more swearing, followed up by a chair scraping a floor and fast shuffling.“sh*t—you’re home already?”
“Uh, yeah? It’s almost seven. Didn’t you get my text earlier?”
“You texted me?”
Kirishimasucks in a deep breath, closes his eyes, and exhales. “Yes, I did. Where are you?”
“f*ck. Listen, I have to go—”
“Wait a minute," Kirishima cuts him off, and Bakugou curses again. At the same time, the redhead hears a woman’s loud voice screeching in the background. Please don't tell me he's there."You're at the job again, aren't you?"
“Look, this isn’t the best time. I’ll call you back once I’m done.”
“With what? I thought you said you got off work.”
“I can’t tell you,” Bakugou answers him shortly, Kirishima’s head jolting at his tone. “And I did, I just—something came up, alright? I have to go back, but I'll call you when I'm done.”
“Katsuki—!”
The line goes dead just before the woman’s voice shouts something else. His phone falls away from his ear, his other hand tightening into a balled fist and then popping the bones inside his knuckles. It’s fifteen minutes after seven, andKirishima’shead drops to the back of his neck, his eyes shutting in a frustrated intake of air.
I knew this was going to f*cking happen.
