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The second-year internships were a huge question, not just to the class, but also to the institute of U.A. as a whole.
It wasn’t so much as a... volunteer service for various hero agencies. Of course, there were benefits that accompanied taking on interns from various hero schools, namely tax deductions and government funding, but the majority of agencies set aside a select number of applicants they would accept and...that was that.
A few agencies would send customized letters to a select few, either individuals who had quirks that fit their area of specialization (based on what student’s decision to list in their own personal statements), or more public heroes. The U.A. sports festivals were the main reason various agencies had eyes on the hero students, but beyond that, the letters of inquiry were still fairly bland.
Agency letters were painfully professional. Cover page with the official notarized seal per agency. Internal formal request letter detailing the address of agency building (sometimes changing for larger companies), offered date slots (normally two or three weeks you could select), and listed housing opportunities that may or may not be sponsored for you. It depended on how much monetary gain the agency brought in on regular- some of the big shot agencies would sponsor an apartment for the duration of your internship, others would provide listings that were discounted due to the internship program. Sometimes, particularly for the lesser-known agencies, a hero in question or a coworker would house the student temporarily and be compensated at the end for the expenses of food and board. Often, particularly for the big-name famous agencies, you would have to pay some amount out of pocket.
When Bakugou interned with Best Jeanist ( what a nightmare ) he ended up biting the bullet and having to cough up a fair amount of pocket change. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t afford, but it was enough to leave him bristling about the entire ordeal. Bakugou heard that Round Cheek’s past intern paid for her room and board, operating an entire barracks system for summer camp programs, and ended up paying her at the end. Bakugou wondered if it was one of the main reasons she went for such an obscure hero (what was his name? Gunface?), but she did come back with a decent kick in her step.
Internships were a big deal because you could either learn a ridiculous amount (like a certain someone fucking did ) or shit-nothing, like Bakugou.
He took everything Best Jeanist said and casually lived to spite every second of it. Fuck him and his ideas, even that the man was higher on the hero bracket since All Might retired, Bakugou didn’t give a shit. Maybe someone like the class-president robot-moron would benefit, but the entire ordeal was a waste of time.
That was why Bakugou was heavily contemplating the ordeal for the second time because internship requests were piling in and he now had a pretty big stack from the U.A. filtered institution mailbox. Fuck, some of the letters weren’t even addressed to his name, instead focused on his student ID.
“You get any good ones?” Kirishima asked, looking through his own list of potential internships. His would be the third, already the teen was counting on heading back to Fatgum.
‘It’s not like all of us can get in the middle of a fuckin’ Yakuza mess,’ Bakugou thought a tad scathingly. The letter for him, from some know-nothing agency in a butt-fuck random town, crumpled in his hands. “Fuck off.”
Kaminari cackled, looking thrilled with his meager stack of paper. “He’s probably going to pick the highest rank he’s got!”
“Oh, true,” Kirishima said thoughtfully. “Didn’t you have Best Jeanist last time? That’s pretty hard to top, bro.”
‘Like fuck,’ Bakugou thought, snarling out something as he sorted through papers. Nothing, nothing, crap, nothing. He noted, a tad pleased, that there was no repeat invitation back to Genius Office.
They spent the last hour of the day sorting through stacks of papers, some idiots cooing over invitations from reject heroes or agencies that scouted them clearly based on a quirk registry. If they were actually being smart, countless quirks would have paired better with other heroes. The ponytail-chick, for example, would have worked stupidly well with Shitty-Hair. Fatgum or whatever had a similar quirk after all.
“What are you thinking, Blasty?” Mina asked, nearly falling out from her chair. “Did you get anyone cool? Are you traveling somewhere fun?”
He did get an invitation from America, all expenses paid, but he didn’t have any thought of leaving the country. Bakugou leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and flipping her off without a word.
“Maybe he has someone else in mind,” Jiro said thoughtfully. “It isn’t rare to just...ask someone in particular.”
“Like you and Mic-Sensei?” Mina teased, causing Jiro to flounder over her words, looking thoroughly frazzled as even Aizawa opened one eye curiously.
Bakugou wouldn’t admit it, but his options weren’t good. Sure, he had more requests than anyone in the class (ignoring the freezer burnt disaster, and Deku ), but nobody had stuck out to him strongly. He had all expenses paid, all housing paid- hell a handful of agencies were willing to pay him. They were all the same boring trademark paper, notarized and stamped tidy with bold font and fucking dotted ‘i’s. It was boring, nauseatingly dull.
When they sorted out of class, clutching folders and business cards, chatting annoyingly loud all the way back to the dorms, Bakugou still felt torn. He could go for the top ranking. Endeavour Hero Agency did send him an invitation (nothing more than housing paid for), but his internship with Genius proved that rankings were shit. He could go for someone with a more compatible quirk, or someone he could actually learn from, but he doubted anyone would willingly let him tackle moron villains.
They filed back, the idiot squad still struggling over internship papers as Ponytail helped out the best she could. Earjack, fretting on her laptop with flushed cheeks, apparently needed help in structuring a single fucking email.
“You okay, man?” Kirishima asked him, watching as Bakugou pointedly poured a glass of water and chugged it down in one go. “You’re looking...annoyed.”
“Fuck you,” Bakugou growled, pouring more water just to make a point. Kirishima settled into the nearby chair, eyebrows crinkling.
“Are you worried about your internship?” he guessed, looking far too smug when Bakugou glared around his cup. “Don’t worry! You’re like, super strong and there’s no way you don’t have enough requests.”
“‘S not the point,” Bakugou grumbled. “They’re all just...fucking shit.”
Kirishima mouthed along, clearly not understanding. Bakugou slammed his empty glass into the sink, staring at the metal faucet frustrated. “They’re all just, shitty nobodies!”
“You going to send in a request then?” Kirishima asked, rolling with it easily. “That’s cool. Nobody would turn you down, man!”
“Of course they wouldn’t,” Bakugou growled. “I’m fucking amazing.”
Yet, it still bothered him. Evening crept up, Deku returning with Iida, hauling the daily boxes and mail shipped to the U.A. mailbox. Whenever Bakugou’s mother sent him new shit, just for security reasons, it always was held where the faculty could double-check for dangerous substances.
“Koda-san!” Deku said, “there’s a letter here for you! Oh, and Mina-chan-.”
“Thanks, Midoriya!” Mina cheered, hopping up from her mess of papers and glitter pens. “Ooh, did Blasty get a letter too?”
Bakugou snapped his head around, lip curling up as Deku fumbled with the stack of papers. He offered one letter- which Bakugou grabbed so fast it crumpled in a corner.
“Thanks, man!” Kirishima said, watching as Bakugou read over the return label.
“The fuck?” Bakugou blinked, wracking his memory as quickly as he could. “Who the fuck lives in Fukuoka?”
Kirishima looked taken aback. “In Kyushu? That’s like the other side of Japan!”
Bakugou couldn’t think of anyone over in that area. He sure as hell knew his mother wasn’t running any shoots down there, let alone send him a goddamn letter.
But it was handwritten in a shit handwriting, all jerky and fucked like Dunce-face. Still legible, but not anything he recognized.
“Is it fanmail?” Kirishima asked.
“Fuck no,” Bakugou shot down instantly, peeling open the sealed envelope. “U.A. scans for that shit.”
“Maybe it’s support?” Kirishima offered.
Bakugou pulled out the letter- was that fucking printer paper? He started to read, eyebrows scrunching over each word. He read the letter twice, just to make sure he actually understood what was printed out across the entire sheet. No italics, no fancy titles. No offers for money or housing or fucking job offers.
“Oi, Deku!” Bakugou shouted, eyes meeting startled green. “How often do fucking heroes contact students for internships?”
Deku looked startled, floundering a tad under the attention. “I- uh- never?”
“Huh,” Bakugou said, reading over the letter again.
“What?” Kirishima gaped. “Did a hero mail you a letter?”
Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Fuck no. I think that bitch Miruko-whatever sent me a fucking death threat and her number.”
Bakugou was thorough, he was fucking smart. There was a reason he kept his ranking high in class, so there was no way he’d let a single fucking letter change his mind.
But...the letter was doing a damn good job of it.
He had offers from all over the country, and even beyond the borders. Some hopeful agencies in France, a couple in the pacific islands, even America threw their pitch in. He had requests from downtown Tokyo, a fully drafted report from Endeavour Agency which already presumed he’d accept. He turned that down just for their sheer fucking audacity.
He didn’t know much about Miruko, but he knew she was top ten. He couldn’t think of her location or her agency- which a quick internet search revealed was because she had no agency. She was hired and employed directly from the hero commission, which meant she took on commission work and hopped from place to place depending on who needed it. She didn’t have any home turf, but apparently her return address said Fukuoka. Another quick search said that Fukuoka was well within the Hawks hero agency, which meant the fucking number 2 hero needed help with something.
Bakugou could consider Endeavour, but the man already was on thin ice with what Bakugou remembered overhearing. He knew assholes, and although he could learn something from such a powerhouse, he didn’t like the bastard.
Hawks wasn’t compatible with Bakugou, the idiot was focused more on speed and long distance which was peachy- not to mention the Hawks agency only took on one intern at a time and Bakugou overheard something about the bird-head saying he was heading there.
But, if the rabbit-chick was kicking around on the number two hero’s turf, well, there had to be something down there for Bakugou to punch.
‘Besides just her face’ Bakugou remembered, glancing at the letter. The sheer stupidity of it- the bitch had crossed out a fucking typo with a ballpoint pen and scribbled in the correct word over it.
...Yet...she had sent him something. She sent him a letter addressed to him personally. Not to the U.A. internship mailbox, or through the staff. The idiot thought she could send him something in the post and he’d care enough to actually read it.
Bakugou Katsuki, and she even spelled it right. If she fucked that up, Bakugou would have burnt it right then and there.
Saw you on tv. Shitty pledge you’d win.
“Oh fuck off,” he growled. He made that pledge because he knew he’d beat all those losers. He would have too if someone had given him a fair fight!
Which, this random rabbit chick noticed, because she then wrote down: Bummer of a copout. Really wiped the floor but sucks when nobody fights back.
Hit me up and I’ll crush your head with one kick.
Bakugou jammed the meat of his hands into his eyes, calluses scraping along his cheekbones. He really didn’t need this shit- there wasn’t any paperwork or official forms. This bitch didn’t even have an agency.
Bakugou had gotten shit over the years, claiming he attacked too hard or went too vicious at things. The amount of spam and hate mail after the sports festival was the reason U.A. filtered external mail. He didn’t regret knocking Icy-hot into the ground, bashing his skull because the idiot refused to fight. Nobody else had ever agreed with him, nobody else had ever seen his side.
Except this weird chick, who (according to the internet) had one of the highest arrest rates and coincidental hospital admittance rates for criminals.
Bakugou looked back at his internship offers, then back at the letter.
Best Jeanist once claimed that Bakugou would be a shit hero if he wasn’t nice or something crap like that. Fuck that, Bakugou would be the best and nobody could stop him.
“Fuck this,” Bakugou grumbled, grabbing his phone and flipping it to the dial-pad. At least the bitch hadn’t made her numbers fucked up too. The area code for Fukuoka was different, but it wasn’t long or (god forbid) needed a special dialing code.
It rang on and on. Bakugou ground his molar with each grating noise of her not picking up. On and on, until it clicked to voicemail with an unexpected deep recording. “Oi, leave a message. Better not be a waste of my damn time!”
It chimed a pleasant beep, so unexpected Bakugou was caught off guard. He could respect a voicemail like that. He...actually really liked a voicemail like that.
“Oi,” Bakugou snapped back into his phone. “You fucking send me a goddamn letter? Who the fu-.”
The phone picked up alarmingly fast, cutting him off mid-word. “Well excu-use me for hating paperwork! You have any idea how long that shit takes to do? An official request? Fuck that- I don’t even know my computer password, you do the paperwork, you twerp!”
Bakugou floundered, recovering after a solid second of silence. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously calm. “What did you just say?”
Miruko (he guessed) huffed on the phone, fumbling with it or something. “You fuckin’ deaf? Need me to get a damn interpreter to sign out how much of a pain you’re making my life?”
“You sent me a letter!” Bakugou roared, vision twisting red. “You’re making my life a fucking pain!”
“Okay, look kid, you can point fingers all day-” she said, voice distorting through another minor scuffle, “or you can just let me know right now if I’m wasting my damn time. I don’t even take intern- oh for fucks sake- can you please just fucking stay down!”
Bakugou jolted slightly, surprised by her shouting. She ignored him, pulling away her phone to shout a tad more muffled at something on her side. “I will rip your goddamn legs off, and shove them up your ass! You think this is funny? How ‘bout you try talking when I kick out all your goddamn molars! You wanna eat through a straw th’ rest your life? You want me to kick apart your fucking ribs, grind ‘em up and make you drink that shit? No? Then stop fucking laughing!”
A pause, which Bakugou was now very invested in listening to. He heard more cursing, a low muffled voice of whoever Miruko was talking to before the hero said a very annoyed, “fuck you, buddy. I’m on a fucking call, tell the doc I say hi-” then a suspicious crunch that Bakugou heard cleanly through the receiver.
Another pause, then Miruko was back with a slight breathless laugh to her voice. “Sorry ‘bout that. Had to kick a fucker through a wall.”
Bakugou chewed on his lower lip. “Just a wall?”
A pause. “...Maybe off the third floor. Fucker deserved it anyways.”
Bakugou could agree to that. “Oi, why did you fucking want me if you don’t do shitty interns.”
Miruko hummed low, sounding much calmer as she caught her breath. Distantly, Bakugou thought he heard a siren on her side. “Thought you’d be fun. I don’t want a fuckin’ brat, but Keigo keeps talking on and on and it’s so annoying.”
Bakugou snorted. “You sending me a letter on cheap-ass paper is a real shit selling point.”
“Why don’t you say that to my face, brat! I’ll bash that smile off it real nice!”
“Try me, bitch!” Bakugou said. “I’ll fucking blow your hair to ash!”
A pause, then Miruko laughed.
She said, nearly thrilled. “Oh, you’re crazy! I like you! You want in, kid? I’ll let you break some bones or something!”
Bakugou looked at the offers on his bed then flipped the nearest one (Endeavour’s) over and grabbed a pencil. Hastily jotting notes on the blank back, he asked. “Are you actually in Fukuoka? What’s even down there?”
“Meh, lots of idiots,” Miruko said. “I got into Hawks’ gym. Real nice place, could take you there and mess up all his presets. Change the radio station, drive him real up the wall.”
That sounded tempting if only to piss someone else off. “What about board and shit? Fukuoka is on the other side of Japan.”
Miruko hummed again. “Eh, you could stay with me I guess. I’ve got a couch, but if you touch my beer I’ll break your spleen. You like noodles?”
Bakugou wondered distantly if this was even happening. “They’re shit. You put crap into you, you get crap performance. You get only organic shit, you hear?”
“Oh, we’re gon’ get along swell,” she laughed. “Tell ya’ what. I’ll split my earnings. You take out a shithead, you get the funds. We split it if you need me saving your scrawny ass-.”
“Fuck off, I’m strong as fuck.”
“Want me to break your neck with one leg?” she challenged. “500 yen I beat you arm wrestling.”
“You’re on,” Bakugou said. “Send me the fucking forms and the right ones. If I need to do this shit, you better not mess up.”
“Oi, watch your fucking language,” she snarked back. “ What’s your email, punk?”
The train lines running to Fukuoka were a pain. Bakugou spent all of a day hauling a bag on his shoulders, listening to music and swapping lines back and forth until finally, he watched city scenery change into mountainous ridges and part for the ocean coast.
The train station was easy to navigate, from there Bakugou had to suffer a short walk to the nearest trolley station near the Naka River, catching a line towards the GPS address he had been given earlier. Nobody asked him questions or wondered who he was. It had been ages since he could walk around outside U.A. and nobody knew his face- not since Kamino.
The beaches on the horizon glimmered brightly. Everything was warmer this far south, something he was glad to know when packing. He didn’t have that much space, considering he had to haul around his gauntlets in a U.A. provided case. Even then, it weighed a ton.
He was more than exhausted when he dragged himself along the sidewalks now past the metro lines. He walked further out from the city towards a residential district that reminded him a bit of his old house. A quiet place, with short apartment buildings only two stories tall and each with a yard or garden plot.
Checking the address one more time, he jerked the metal gate open with his shoulder before dragging his bag up to the steps. It was more private than he expected, a tad more domestic than a normal hero salary.
He knocked on the door with a heavy hand, not impressed when nobody answered. Slamming an open palm against the door, he raised his voice and shouted, “Oi! You fucking home?”
Something clattered inside, heavy feet and then the door was swinging open dramatically. Bakugou squinted at her, the interior of the house darker than he thought considering how cheery bright outside was.
“You made it!” Miruko said, much shorter in person. Hell, was she taller than Round-cheeks even? Practically coming up just past his jaw- except her ears which were nearly as tall as he was. “Look at you! You look like a dog fucked a dandelion.”
Bakugou’s lip curled slightly. “Are you even fucking tall enough to ride a train?”
Miruko tilted her head, ears flapping to the side. Her grin was sharp, a slightly feral look in her eyes seemed wickedly familiar. “I tend to break things I ride, brat.”
Bakugou wasn’t going to touch that. She threw her head back with a cackle, sharp canine teeth flashing as she let him inside. Her house was...nice. A tad barren, but decorated in dark earth tones and gentle glow lighting. Everything was arranged softly, no pictures on the walls but plenty of minor holes from a fist or what looked like a foot kicking through the plaster.
“Ignore them,” Miruko advised, ignoring his bags as she flopped back on the generously sized couch. “ ‘was watchin’ that uh, show where morons have to like, make clothes out of drapes and stuff-.”
Bakugou looked at her in disbelief, trying to see if she was joking. She didn’t look like it, in fact, she was glaring slightly in a wordless challenge. Jaw lifted slightly and her eyes narrowed. ‘Try me,’ she seemed to demand.
Bakugou didn’t let that challenge stand. “You mean the one with the host who is a bitch and shaved half her head?”
Miruko’s ears slumped down, she looked thoroughly shocked. “You know that?”
“That bitch shaved the front half of her head, of course, I know that show!”
Miruko looked speechless. She surveyed him, critically looking at his pants and plain black shirt and plain hoodie. Nothing to affiliate him with U.A., and nothing to suggest any preference for clothing.
“Fine…” she said skeptically, “...what season was best than?”
“Three,” Bakugou said without hesitation. “When they had to make those shoes out of like, paper bags?”
“Yes!” Miruko nearly screamed, kicking to her feet in an acrobatic display of core strength. She perched on the back of the couch like some sort of animal, twisting to stare at him eagerly. “And they voted off Mia!”
Bakugou’s eyebrows raised as Miruko stewed for a few seconds before her eyes flickered to one hole in the wall suspiciously close to the couch. “Mia was the best of them, those fucking morons don’t know a shoe if I shoved one up their ass.”
Bakugou barked a single laugh, genuinely not anticipating this turn of events. “Okay, fine. Where do I put my shit, you rat?”
“I’m a rabbit, you slut,” she said easily. “Anywhere you want, but not in front of the fridge or I’ll step on it, and break your things and you’ll cry.”
Bakugou clicked his tongue. “It’s nitroglycerine, bitch. You’ll lose a fucking leg.”
Miruko shrugged one shoulder, so Bakugou settled with kicking his bag into the nearest closet and dropping awkwardly onto her couch. It was obscenely comfortable, the kind of couch that would cost a ridiculous amount and need to be custom, which it looked like it was. Half of it had no back and instead sloped upwards like a spoon.
“So,” Miruko said leisurely, looking at the television which had another horrible fashion show on. “Bakugou Katsuki. The beast of U.A. himself. Heard about you, well, kinda.”
Bakugou ground his teeth together, Miruko clicked her tongue scoldingly. “Stop that shit, no wonder you’re tense if you’re breaking your damn jaw. You need to relax a normal way! Punch a fucker!”
Bakugou looked at her dubiously, “ehh? Who the fuck am I supposed to punch! You dragged me here!”
Miruko frowned, then looked at her phone thoughtfully. “...I mean…. maybe Keigo’s busy…”
“Who the fuck is that?” Bakugou growled. “Your boyfriend?”
“Oh fuck no, I’m too gay for that shit,” Miruko cackled, looking thrilled by the thought. “He’s a twink with the brainpower of a chicken nugget. Bitch got stuck in a fuckin bounce-house yesterday. The deflatable kind, yeah? Tore it up and got all tangled and was shrieking for help. Hilarious fucking thing you’ve ever seen.”
Bakugou spluttered, Miruko nearly howling in laughter as she draped her arms along the back of the couch. Her grin tilted sideways, teeth gleaming in the low light. “Fine fine, calm your tits. So, you’re my intern for a while.”
Bakugou crossed his arms, kicking his long legs up until they nearly brushed her thigh. “Tch, like that’s new.”
“I’m just thinkin’!” she defended, ears twitching slightly on her skull. “Like, I don’t know what normal interns do. Like...paperwork an’ crap?”
Bakugou glowered. “I’ve done enough of your crappy paperwork. Your handwriting looks like a toddler did it.”
“True,” Miruko agreed easily. “Who did ya’ intern with before?”
“Best Jeanist.”
Miruko’s jaw dropped, her eyes widened in clear surprise. “No, no. You- you interned that sack of wet socks? Oh, oh hun.”
Bakugou ducked his head, huffing through his nose loudly. “Dick paraded me like a fucking show-pony.”
“Oh no,” Miruko repeated, sounding more apologetic by the second. Normally Bakugou hated pity, but the low simmering timbre of rage distorted her voice just enough that just this once... he’d let it slide. “That- gah. He once told me to cut my hair! Fuck you, ain’t nobody tells me what to do!”
Bakugou nodded along, Miruko dissolved into a furious rant. “Like- tellin’ me to cut my hair? Tellin’ me to put on those goddamn jeans. Bitch, I would love to see you kick a fuckin’ hole through concrete!”
“Dick made me wear the pants.”
Miruko threw her head back until her ears were brushing the drywall and her neck was on a pillow. She roared a soundless noise of pure frustration: “ raargh!”
She stayed like that for a short while, a commercial tinned quietly from the television in the corner. She lifted her head, crossed her legs (which made her kick Bakugou’s left leg off the couch) and said determinedly: “My name’s Rumi. None of that senpai shit, I did my time in school and never going back. What’s your hero name?”
“Don’t have one yet. They wouldn’t let me have Lord Explosion-Murder-.”
“What? What? That’s freakin’ awesome. Tell me who I gotta kick, is it the mouse-principal? I’ve never liked that guy...Rabbit to rodent, ya’ know?”
“All right,” Miruko said, cocking one hip as she looked down at their villain of the day. Already, this internship was better than his last. “So, you got an idiot all tied up, waitin’ for the police, and he’s got a buddy hidin’ somewhere. What do you do?”
Bakugou frowned. Every ethics class and legal action filtered through his head. Knowing what he should do from a textbook never matched with the real world. “How dangerous is it?”
Miruko shrugged slightly. “Bitch was peepin’ on that nearby kid’s school. I don’t know if its child napping or just the kids themselves-.”
Bakugou removed himself from where he leaned against the wall. There was nobody around, no cameras or witnesses. The idiot had binoculars and was holed up in a closed park, clearly warning not to trespass. Being here already was a crime, but peeping just made it worse.
“Oi, fuckface,” Bakugou said harshly. Their hostage twitched and glared back silent. Bakugou cracked his neck with one twist of his head. “Where’s your buddy?”
“Fuck you,” the guy said.
Bakugou thought about it and calmly stomped on the man’s groin.
“Yeah! Show ‘em!” Rumi howled, fist-pumping the air in delight. “That’s my boy!”
Bakugou grabbed the man’s shift, hauling him up so he hung awkwardly from his kneeling position. “Need me to punch your face, refresh your brain a little?”
The man had tears in his eyes from the sheer agony of a crushed dick. “I- he’s-.”
“No no,” Rumi swept in fast. “Not the face, too obvious. Doctor’s get real pissy if it’s cosmetic, and make’s ya’ look bad later. Kick his junk again!”
“He’s on Takowa street!” their hostage screamed in terror. “I swear! Oh god please don’t-.”
Bakugou dropped him, the man instantly curled up fetal to try and protect his sensitive lower belly. Bakugou rolled his eyes, big deal. Anyone who couldn’t handle a kick to the groin wasn’t ready to deal with heroes.
“I’ll tie him to the tree there,” Rumi said, fishing around for thin wire that would easily circle the plastic tied wrists and tree diameter. “You can fly, just follow me and I’ll show ya’ the ropes!”
Bakugou would normally argue that he already knew what he was doing, but Rumi was paying him for making her life fun. Less than 24 hours of meeting her, Bakugou had already captured a perv, interrogated him, and now would have an arrest.
Rumi took off with a single firm kick, using the metal fence as a vaulting post to propel her higher over the nearest convenience store, which she used to get onto the roof. Bakugou wasn’t used to actively maneuvering with his quirk outside of combat situations- now he had to think of property damage and powerlines.
“Pretty hard, isn’t it?” Rumi asked with a devious gleam to her eye. “Stay the hell away from public walkways, those things are weaker than a tree. Really annoying havin' to explain that shit-show. Oh look!” she said. She lifted one arm, pointing down through an alley where there was yet another park, and a nondescript man reading a newspaper while anxiously checking his phone.
“What a bitch,” Rumi said sadly. “Walkin’ around in public with that haircut.”
“He looks like a goddamn ostrich,” Bakugou contributed, feeling...thrilled. “Think I can take him out with one punch?”
“Nah, see that bench he’s on?” Rumi pointed, tracing the metal structure which circled a large oak tree. “Those things are secured under the ground. You punch ‘em sideways and you’ll break the ground. Then, bang, there goes your payday.”
Rumi looked around, ears swerving as she began to adjust herself to hop to another building, one higher with an accompanying skylight. She was sure to stay away from the glass, even more alert now they were nearly right over the target. Bakugou landed next to her, heavier on his heels but no less professional.
“I’ll kick him out,” Rumi said quickly. “Watch, if you hit ‘em by the base and knock them down, then they’ll drop like a fly meeting my fist. Next bitch we find, you can kick them out!”
“Oh hell yes,” Bakugou growled, watching as Rumi gave herself a running start, vaulting over the lip of the building with one twist, before jackknifing down with a four-toed paw smashing right into the upper shoulders of their foe.
The man dropped instantly, crumpling like nothing and Rumi landed on his back with all limbs spread. She looked up at Bakugou, long hair settling and red eyes flaring with bloodlust.
Bakugou thought, very dazed, ‘Holy fuck.’
The next arrest was across town, one that Miruko pointed out with her radar-focused ears and instinctive ability to spot sudden movement. A carjacker, trying to haul a poor man with the head of a rhinoceros out of a rather boring sedan.
“Go for it!” She cheered, smacking one hand between his shoulder blades in motivation. He flipped off the building, rotating head over heels instead of Rumi’s leg directed spin, and smashed downwards with one extended hand on the idiot’s neck.
The hit didn’t knock the thug out, but the hard smash into the sedan’s front hood sure did. The thug slid onto the ground boneless, the rhino-headed pedestrian gaped, and Rumi landed nearby to politely lose her mind laughing on the pavement.
“You fuckin- you fuckin bashed his head into the car!” she cackled, smacking her hand on the ground. “You fucked up the car!”
“Oh shut your mouth you bunny-faced-bitch!”
The pedestrian warbled out a shaky, “M- Miruko? The- oh. I- thank you so much-.”
“Nah, none of that,” Miruko said, hopping to her feet to climb up Bakugou and wrap one meaty bicep around Bakugou’s throat. Now in a headlock which was casually supporting her entire short body, she said cheerily, “sorry about the car! My lil’ intern still learning how to jump through the hoops!”
“Oh, no worries, honestly!” the man said, looking flushed by her presence. “I- thank you so much Miruko-san! And ah…”
“My little asshole,” Miruko provided and kicked Bakugou in the hip when he tried to blast her away.
Miruko was a rabbit in all senses, which generally meant her taste buds were oriented towards vegetables. She kept cheap beer in the fridge next to spinach smoothies, organic produce, and too many carrots for Bakugou’s state of mind.
She didn’t mind when he went feral in her kitchen, claiming she would mess up anything he made and she let him do whatever as she sat on top of the fridge, chomping away on a carrot.
“Y’know,” she said, garbled around carrot chunks. “Most brats tend to stare at my legs before they start sayin’ I fight pretty well.”
Bakugou scoffed. “You’re a good fucking hero. Only a misogynistic douche would think gender means shit or a sexist perv.”
Miruko hummed, nodding along. “Jus’ saying. When you first called, I didn’t think you wouldn’t just...not give a shit.”
Bakugou chopped bits of pepper a tad more aggressively. “I want to be the best. I’ll do whatever I need to make sure that happens.”
“Meh, fair,” she said. “I really hate teams. Means you’re too damn weak to fight on your own. I hate sidekicks, only slow me down.”
Bakugou looked at her with a venomous sneer. She chewed on her carrot contemplatively. “But you. Well, you’re going to hate that stupid sidekick period when you graduate. Get stuck doing other people’s shit, trying to shine in a spotlight when everyone tells you you’re too new.”
“I’m not weak,” Bakugou snarled, dumping vegetables into the Wok pan and setting the flame on high. He wiped his palms hastily, making sure no sparks caught and ruined everything. “I’m not a washed out-.”
“Uh,” Rumi cut him off, “you kinda are weak. You got kidnapped, like, that’s the definition of weak. Had to throw a full rescue mission to get you back. You’re lucky I was off in Hiroshima, else I would have knocked sense into you myself.”
Bakugou swallowed, refusing to let the furious expression on his face falter. “I am not-.”
“Yeah, you are,” Rumi said bluntly. “You’re a weak-ass piece of shit with a bad temper. But you know what? You ain’t got nothing on me!”
She hopped down, spreading her legs so wide that both hind feet caught the edge of the kitchen counter, her upper body towering over Bakugou as she sneered right in his face. “You think you’re hot shit? When you ain’t. Joining a team is for weaklings, and you’re a bitch if I’ve ever seen one. But surprise, blast-twerp, you got potential and I like that.”
Bakugou said in a low seething grumble, “are you threatening me?”
Miruko flashed her fangs, “you’re a weak kid. But when you’re done with that textbook crap, then we’ll talk.”
Rumi wasn’t a bad person. She was harsh, crude, incredibly aggressive, but something about her was easy to understand. She was straightforward, had strong opinions, but was still willing to hear him out and add her thoughts to it.
It was miles better than Genius Agency, hell, it was miles better than even the morons at the dorm. Her couch was comfy as hell, she had all the healthy snack food he could possibly want, she didn’t get pissed when he screamed that the television was shit, and she actively tried to steal his water bottle with her foot.
“Cut that shit out!” he snapped, lifting his arm to get the bottle away from her wiggling toes.
“Make me, bitch,” she said, cackling as he tried once more to raise his bottle higher. She simply lifted her leg, bracing her calf against his forearm. She pushed, trying to force his arm down, and he resisted. Bakugou grunted as her sneer slipped and she concentrated with quivering muscles.
“Bitch, let me have a sip!” she said, demanding as she let loose the force of a small car.
He resisted, relying on the years of enduring explosion recoil. “Get your own drink you thirsty hoe!”
“Bite me!” she grunted, eyebrows furrowing. “Water’s only good...if it...isn’t yours!”
They tussled, leaning into each other with enough body weight for them to drop the water bottle, and get tied up in the strangest wrestling match of Bakugou’s life. At one point, Rumi growled and snuck her other foot in to wiggle pointedly against his ribs. Bakugou, immune to any ticklish sensation, recognized she was playing dirty and threatened to spit on her face.
“Don't you fuckin-,” she gasped, eyes widening as Bakugou hacked loudly. “No, no. Aw no- fuck- get that shit away from me!”
“Don’t take my water!” Bakugou shouted, Rumi shrieking and using her one leg to try and kick him well off the couch.
“Try me, you twunk!” she roared, throwing her body weight so hard, the couch below toppled and ejected them both onto the floor. Water bottle long since forgotten, they stared at each other in dumb surprise. The television rattled on, vegetable stir fry forgotten.
“You and me,” Rumi said dead serious. “Right now. Arm wrestle. Loser takes the first shift tomorrow.”
Bakugou glared, already setting his elbow on her floor. “We don’t even have shifts.”
“Tomorrow I’ll show you hero shifts, and standard signs we use on the field,” she said without missing a beat. “Let’s see if your muscles are really as big as your ego.”
“Oh, it is on.”
(Bakugou one, so Miruko threw him into a wall and made a new dent in the plaster).
Rumi escorted him once more in public, through the streets towards the big flashy building of Hawks Agency. Bakugou knew about the agency, and the man himself, but he wasn’t that big of a fan.
What he was interested in was the advanced gym and fitness setup that Miruko had been boasting about the night before, after Bakugou asked how she got her Achilles flexible enough for some of her springboard kicks.
“He’s got all the toys,” she said, waving to the front desk lady who clearly knew the Rabbit Hero but had no idea who the orange and green goblin was following her. “You’ll love it. Lots of space, big air stuff.”
Bakugou was skeptical, but the more Rumi talked, the more excited he became. He had seen the machinery and scenarios that U.A. provided for students, but the training facility for an active hero was completely different. Rumi didn’t have an agency; either she was granted access to training facilities in any city she was housed in, or she made it a point to use the best one around.
“Alright, lets see what you’ve got!” Miruko roared, bounding across the open scare arena no bigger than a very large training hall. The walls were made of a dull gunmetal colour, yet clearly not metal. Bakugou had never seen it before, but Rumi was already rocking on the balls of her feet.
“Listen here,” she said, ears tall and prickled. “This room? Go full out, this place top of the line. I haven’t managed to break it yet, but not my paycheck anyway.”
Bakugou crossed his arms, gauntlets clicking against one another loudly. “You want me to beat the shit out of you?”
“I want you to try ,” she mocked with a feral smirk. “Hun, you won't get close. I wanna see that move you’ve got, that missile hit from that cheap-ass-win.”
Bakugou recoiled as if struck. “You want me to hit you with my howitzer?”
“Sure,” she said, mouthing the word to gain familiarity. “Reminds me of my Luna Ring, ‘cept sideways. How you get the twist right?”
Bakugou cracked his neck and considered her. “Gotta keep the rotations through my whole body. If you stiffen up, you’ll just fucking fall.”
Rumi made a noise of contemplation, kicking a couple times to warm up before leaping upwards in a gentle spinning hook kick. She landed on the pads of her paws, thinking before jumping into a spinning double hook kick with both legs.
“No, like this-,” Bakugou grunted, rolling his shoulders and jumping through a partially clumsy rotation. He was used to having much more momentum, starting from a standstill was much harder.
Rumi had her head tilted, one glove lifted to hide her mouth behind a thoughtful look. “Like...a flyaway but... sideways?”
Bakugou gawked, “what? No! I ain’t tumbling like a fucking moron!”
“Well excuse me!” Rumi said, “I only know kickboxin’! I don’t do spinning!”
Bakugou rubbed his face with one heavily gloved hand. “For fucks...It’s just spinning!”
Rumi scowled, jumped and tried again, this time rotating so badly she collapsed backward onto her shoulders- which she corrected by springing back to her feet.
Bakugou didn’t laugh, but she still glared even as she failed three more attempts.
“Okay,” she said angrily. “This isn’t happening. Lemme kick you to feel better.”
“You can try,” Bakugou mocked her words from earlier, causing her to match his feral grin.
Bakugou learned that Rumi was right.
He was weak because despite how strong he was, he was still a student.
Rumi wasn’t just a badass, she was the number five hero. There was a reason for this, and better yet she was a solo hero.
Bakugou had fought All Might before, but that was a mess and left him unconscious in a medical bay. Rumi had no handicaps, but she had a vastly incomprehensible knowledge of her own strength, which left Bakugou bruised and sore but never with broken bones.
She was a cruel teacher, able to rabbit kick him repeatedly in any openings before he could correct them. He dropped, clutching his stomach and spewing bile on the ground as she cackled maniacally.
“That all you got?” she roared, pacing back and forth as she smacked her gloved fists together like an MMA fighter, “that all you got?”
“I’m not done,” Bakugou wheezed through his clenched teeth, “until I’m pissing blood.”
Miruko cheered, leaped back onto four legs, and sprang at him with enough speed to leave him whirling. For every punch he landed, she managed four more. Every time she kicked off the walls, the air itself rattled with the power of her legs.
‘She could kill me,’ Bakugou realized as his knee burned with exhaustion. ‘She could kick me and break me like a grape.’
He swung around, blasting hard enough to limit her field of movement to only one side of him. She took advantage, sliding under his swing on her back before striking upwards with twin hits to his bicep, nearly throwing him to the ceiling.
“Gotta move faster, pipsqueak!” she laughed, grabbing his ankle and yanking him to the ground. She contorted, knees pressing into his kidneys and ears tickling his forehead. “Or are you really just full of shit?”
Miruko was pure muscle, but she didn’t entirely understand his quirk. If she did, she would have pinned his hands to his skin instead of just to the ground with palms facing upwards. He gritted his teeth, body burning as she pressed him harder into the ground. “Fuck off!”
“Prove how tough you are!” she demanded, “show me you aren’t weak!”
Bakugou saw red. It took only a thought to realize her position- just over his back and legs on his lower spine. His hands, uncovered and still viable weapons, detonated a loud burning explosion.
He felt her leg go with a shrill cry of surprise- the heat hot enough to burn what leg hair she had. Bakugou forced himself up, grabbing her behind his back in a reverse pin before detonating away from them both to force inertia to comply.
Rumi shouted something that was swallowed by the roar of fire, the recoil jerking them up as Bakugou twisted like she failed to replicate, and smashed them both into the floor mats.
She crumpled and rolled away, groaning low in her throat. Bakugou was seeing stars, his neck and back aching from the horrible backward aberration of a howitzer.
“Fuck me,” Miruko moaned, stumbling to her knees before sitting soundly on her butt again. “Alright, that- fuck, that got me. Jesus, did you just suplex me?”
Bakugou also sat on the ground tiredly. “D’unno how to suplex.”
“Huh,” Rumi grunted. “Show me how to do that- that fuckin crazy bullshit. Suplex ‘re easy. Lemme just...wait ‘till ‘m not seeing stars.”
When she recovered enough to stand and not wobble, she walked him through a poorly instructed suplex. Namely how to grab someone, hike them up and bend in half to smash them into the ground. Bakugou said he’d try it next time he had training, to which Miruko said he could try it out on the next purse-snatcher instead. It sounded fine to him, and Miruko demanded he pay for ice cream as retribution.
They got back home to Miruko’s place, sore and aching. Namely, Bakugou, who was lugging behind his gauntlets with a sagging grip.
Miruko was still sore, grimacing and rubbing her temples subtly. “You’re so loud,” she groaned quietly, looking every bit as miserable as a migraine entailed.
Bakugou flipped her off, lobbing his stuff into the closet as he slumped down onto the floor against the fridge.
Miruko, who looked too tired to bother out of her hero costume (which was sporting some severe burns along the front) as she grabbed an ice pack to put over her forehead.
“Oi,” she grunted from under closed eyes. “Give me your shirt.”
Bakugou didn’t bother to open his eyes either. “Why?”
“Because you burned the hell out of mine, an’ I don’t wanna crawl to my room. Shirt, gimmie.”
Bakugou could imagine all his classmates freaking out in the same scenario. The famous Rabbit Hero, demanding he strip then and there in her kitchen.
Truth be told, he couldn’t give a damn. He shrugged off his shirt, thankful to be rid of the metal neck guard and free some of his aching muscles. He tossed his shirt over, stinking of nitroglycerine sweat, which Miruko grunted as she caught.
He had no desire to watch her change- in honesty he hadn’t ever an interest in anyone. The fact he wrecked Miruko’s costume and she wanted new clothing seemed reasonable. He was larger than her, so his shirt would fit. Reasonable.
“Thanks, bitch,” she grunted affectionately, nearly dwarfed in his tank top although it showed off her arms well enough. “You smell like a snack, not my type though.”
“Same to you,” he grunted, considering how far away the couch was to collapse on, “‘M gonna pass out.”
“Fair,” she said tiredly. Bakugou dragged himself to his feet, kicking off his combat boots and letting his pants sag. The couch was calling to him in a siren song.
Bakugou opened his eyes and stared. He couldn’t process, entirely unable to think. When his mind refreshed, restarting its basic applications, the only thing he could think was: ‘oh...oh no.’
Mouth dry, Bakugou managed a hoarse, “Bitch, why is there a dude passed the fuck out on the couch?”
Rumi made a wordless noise of frustration from the kitchen. “How should I know! What he look like?”
Bakugou swallowed dryly. “He...uh.”
“Bitch, what’s he wearing!”
Bakugou repeated a tad numbly. “A towel.”
“... only a towel? The fuck?”
He heard Rumi get up and walk over, her normally light footsteps fell heavy. She had the icepack held between her ears, a drop of water running down her jaw. She looked down the back of the couch, noticing the conundrum without any massive degree of surprise. “Aw naw, not my purple ones!”
Bakugou looked down and then quickly averted his eyes. The snoozing stranger was indeed, wet from a recent shower, and had only one of Rumi’s purple fluffy towels low on his hips.
Rumi scowled tiredly, poking the snoozing figure’s cheek. They snored a tad louder, face burrowed into a pillow and one arm over their eyes. Blonde armpit hair and blonde hair with blonde hair also-
‘Nope,’ Bakugou thought determinedly. ‘Nope, not going there.’
“Aw, don’t mind him,” Rumi grunted exhausted. “This is a stinky little bastard, my fuckin’ chicken thief.”
“Why is he naked?” Bakugou asked, voice slightly hoarse and very off-kilter.
“Why should I know?” Rumi bemoaned. “He’s an idiot. Fucker’s got clothes in the closet but no, passes out on my couch with his bare ass dirtying up the place. Oi! Wake up!”
The man didn’t wake up, so Rumi walked slowly towards the nearest pantry with stiff movements. Muttering under her breath, she plucked a wire and plastic fly swatter off the inner door and returned, winding back before slapping the man’s stomach with a painful thwack!
“W- fuck!” the man said, hissing and curling fetal with hands clutching his flushed stomach. “Did you just whip me?”
Rumi, completely deadpan said: “naughty boys get the smack.”
The man flipped her off, groaning and rubbing his stomach with gentle fingers. Bakugou averted his eyes, feeling very embarrassed by being there. Especially when the man sat up, looking thoroughly perplexed by Bakugou even being here.
“Uh...Rumi?” the man asked, looking for the rabbit, who had returned to the kitchen to hang up her flyswatter. Bakugou stared at the stranger, who offered a very confused wave and gestured to Bakugou awkwardly. “So, uh...what happened to your shirt?”
“Me happened, bitch,” Rumi said, now returning and obviously wearing Bakugou’s shirt. “What happened to your face?”
“So mean,” he pouted dramatically. “You’re so mean. And apparently robbing cradles. Rumi, like, how old is this twi-.”
“Nope,” Rumi said abruptly. “You’re the only twink here, can’t deny it. Not gonna change anything. And he’s…” Rumi paused, looking at Bakugou blankly.
“Seventeen,” Bakugou supplied hoarsely. He had his birthday before anyone else in his class, the rest were still sixteen.
“Huh, I guess that isn’t that bad,” the man said thoughtfully. “I thought you were gay though.”
“I am so gay,” Rumi assured him with a pat on one shoulder. “Now get your bare ass cheeks off my fucking couch.”
“I’m in a towel!” he whined, pouting his lower lip.
Rumi rolled her eyes, offering one fist which the man cowered away from with a shrill eep!
“So, what’s with the uh…” the man trailed off with a slight gesture towards all of Bakugou.
“Taught him how to suplex!” Rumi said, perking up although looking noticeably tired. “Bitch tried to break my neck. Almost died, then he almost died. Pretty fun.”
They blinked. “That’s….Rumi, you...you haven’t almost killed someone since like, that one Volleyball team-.”
“Okay, you’re wrong,” Rumi said. “Because, as we have stated previously. I am gay. You are also gay. And he-...”
Rumi and the man both stared at Bakugou, who felt entirely too warm despite not having a shirt. He stared at the holes in the drywall, determinedly not looking at the practically nude incredibly buff...kinda rugged-.
“Oh that’s the look of a gay crisis,” Rumi said surprised. “The fu- no. no.”
Rumi clutched here ears in dismay. “ No, oh come on. You can’t be havin' a damn gay crisis over this fuckin mess-.”
“Hey!” nude-moron whined. “You said I was a snack!”
“I called you a fuckin chicken wing that doesn’t mean you’re a snack!”
“She’s so mean,” he said, offering one hand and looking entirely nonchalant with the entire odd meeting. “I’m friends with this sadist. Sorry, I didn’ meet ya’ with clothes, but who needs clothes! Clothes are overrated-.”
“If you say that again, I will kick you out of my house,” Rumi said. “Don’t test me, Keigo. I love my goddamn fashion.”
Keigo, apparently, quickly fixed his error. “I mean we all love clothes! Awesome stuff! Real fan of uh, crocks.”
“Oh for the love of…” Rumi groaned, storming off to look for beer. “An’ get your ass off my couch, Keigo! We’re watchin’ new clothes drama!”
Keigo perked up, rolling his shoulders to sit crossed legged sideways super clumsily. Bakugou still averted his eyes, trying his best to not flush.
“Ooh, a new show? What is it?” Keigo asked, looking very thrilled with the development. “Clothes drama? The show with the one judge with a shaved head-?”
“Naw,” Rumi said, hopping over the couch to drop next to Keigo leaving the only available spot for Bakugou next to her still shower-clean friend. “This one is like, shitty wedding dresses.”
“Oh my god,” Keigo said, completely dead serious. “I love this show.”
Rumi reached over, dispersing the beers. For once, Bakugou accepted it numbly and took his seat. Keigo’s leg was warm, and his equally bare torso was far too close.
Beep beep, red alert, Bakugou’s brain went off. A little siren pinging around. Warning!
“Yeah, Kat showed me,” Rumi said, tipping her bottle to Bakugou in a toast. “Oh! He’s my intern.”
“ What?” Keigo gaped, looking entirely gobsmacked. “You- Rumi? You hate interns-.”
“No, I just think teams are bullshit,” she corrected.
“Then what do you call this?” Keigo said, using his hands to emphasize all of Bakugou.
Rumi sipped her beer and said calmly: “don’t you talk to me, or ma’ son ever again, or I’mma para yeet you out my window.”
“How much did you pay her?” Keigo asked, whipping his head around so fast little specs of water splashed on Bakugou’s face. “How the hell -.”
“She’s paying me,” Bakugou defended sourly. “I- she gave me her number-.”
“But you’re gay!” Keigo whined in dismay, clutching his wet blonde hair.
“We’re all gay, I think,” Rumi said dryly. “Stop being all dramatic, I know it’s hard for you, you showbird.”
“Oi!” Keigo argued. Something touched Bakugou, causing him to jolt in surprise and nearly fall off the couch. Coincidently, shifting forward may his leg smack into Keigo, who made a shrill squawk which had Rumi laughing.
Bakugou said eloquently, “the fuck?”
Because apparently Keigo had fucking wings. Big red wings that suddenly explained why half the couch had no back to it, and all the bird jokes and-.
“Holy shit,” Bakugou said dumbly. Hawks, fucking Hawks, sat up preening, dripping water because he passed out on Miruko’s couch after using her (admittedly badass) shower, clothed in a fluffy purple towel. “Holy shit.”
“Yes, yes,” Hawks said, clearly pleased with himself. “Hi there-.”
“You’re a dumbass,” Bakugou said, and crushed Hawks’ hopes and dreams and coincidently, had Rumi choking on beer and laughter.