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Cheeks, you good?
Cheeks, did you get clear?
Cheeks, your quirk isn’t at the limit yet is it?
Cheeks, can you not? You’re not the only hero out here.
Cheeks, you gonna stop by the med tent? You look like shit.
Heavy boots stomped down the hall, the sound muffled by the cheap carpet Mirko refused to replace– likely for good reason as Ochako was concerningly close to leaving impact craters with each step. The short-walled cubicles were mostly empty during lunch hour though a few heads turned her way before quickly snapping focus back to their work, studiously ignoring her just as she ignored the NO HERO SUITS ON NON HERO FLOORS signs she herself had helped hang while stuck on desk duty last fall.
The small breakroom at the end of the hall had no doors, an impromptu remodel required after a few sidekicks had closed themselves in at the holiday party to treat the free-use space like a rent-by-the-hour motel room. It had never bothered Ochako before, but today it added to her irritation, robbing her of the dramatic entrance she’d have liked to make. Instead she settled for sweeping in with a groan and dropping her helmet with a thud on an empty table.
“What the heck is his problem?! It’s not like any of you are perfect!” It was supposed to come out as confident and annoyed, which Ochako hoped was enough to cover the petulance just below the surface.
“Oh, no that’s cool, ‘Chako,”a familiar voice said with forced nonchalance, “my self esteem was getting too high, good call.”
Rolling her eyes, Ochako fell gracelessly into a hard plastic chair with a huff. “Denki, you know what I mean.”
“Actually, I believe my ratings have been over one hundred percent in approval ratings since Midoriya and I went public, so I might be particularly close to per–” The soothing near-monotone of her best friend’s boyfriend would normally have served to soften her scratchy edges, but Ochako was having none of it.
“Shotoooooo, you’re not helping!” She didn’t even try to keep the whine out of her voice this time, dropping all pretense of being a confident pro hero. “Neither of you are helping.”
Leaning over the table, Ochako pillowed her head in her arms with a frustrated groan. It was no one’s fault, well no one in the break room’s fault. He’d always been difficult, even at school, scowling and snapping and being objectively attractive and smart and hardworking. Despite all that, though, she thought all of 1-A had come to a level of mutual respect after… well after everything. But recently it felt like he’d had it out for her for absolutely no reason.
The scraping of plastic legs on linoleum sounded nearby as she caught a faint whiff of embers and frost. “Is Bakugo being hard on you again?”
She nodded without lifting her head, voice muffled against the rough fabric of her suit. “I don’t understand why he’s only picking on me lately. Izuku almost Black Whipped him to the face last week and all he got was an ‘Oi, watch it, Nerd!’ .” She heard Denki snort as he sat to her other side.
“But I lift an entire skyscraper while talking evacuees through their escape route and I get a full on Bakurage about ‘taking appropriate risks’ and ‘not being a space cadet with my quirk’s limit’. And I haven’t spaced out on a job since I was eighteen, thank you very much!”
Lifting her head, she found both heroes, professional adult men in so many ways, staring back at her as blankly as if they were all sixteen again and Ochako had admitted to forgetting an assignment– a mixture of pity and concern she wasn’t too fond of.
“I know, I know,” she cut them off before they could offer their own brands of support. “It’s not personal, we’re all professionals, I know that logically… but it feels bad, personally.”
Denki opened his mouth again, promptly closing it as Ochako burst out, “But he’s on my ass over one single skyscraper?! Come on , I busted past that limit over a year ago!” The echo of her shout hung in the stagnant air of the enclosed office, somehow heavier outside of her chest than it had been in. She let out a long breath. “I don’t mean to yell at you guys, I’m sorry.”
Shoto gave an easy half shrug, “Apology not needed but accepted. It’s understandable to be frustrated. You’re a very good hero, Uraraka, it can feel belittling to have someone be so concerned for your wellbeing like that. For Midoriya and I–”
“I don’t think our situations are quite the same, Sho,” she interrupted with a rueful smile.
“No?” He raised one dark eyebrow at her.
She lifted both her eyebrows at her friend in response. “The last time you confronted someone about their overly… let’s call it ‘attentive’ attitude towards you, you got a confession and a boyfriend. The last time this happened and I confronted Bakugo , he told me my hand-to-hand had gotten sloppy.” She sighed. “He was right, but the months afterward I spent getting slammed into the mat by him were not exactly my favorite. We are definitely not the same.”
“Man, I wish someone hot and dominating with a secret soft side would pay attention to me like that.” Ochako fought a smile at Denki’s plaintive whining. “It’s always ‘where is Chargebolt’ and never ‘how is Chargebolt’.”
The fluorescent lights overhead flickered dramatically with his exaggerated sigh and Ochako let herself smile in earnest, slightly mollified by the attempts to distract her if nothing else. When he put it like that… the ‘bad boy’ of the new hero class barking orders at her could be flustering in an entirely different way, but Ochako wasn’t delusional enough to mistake light professional bullying as flirting. At least, not from Japan’s most eligible, and least interested bachelor.
“Perhaps if you were regularly on time, Jirou wouldn’t have to resort to asking where–”
Shoto’s admonishment was cut off by Denki’s loud protestation as they both got up from her table, gathering the remains of their meals amongst the bickering. Ochako watched them fondly, looking between them, Denki’s pout and Shoto’s small frown, she found a small sliver of peace amidst her roiling frustrations. There was a distinct lack of dark circles under Shoto’s mismatched eyes and an impressive level of control about the current rolling off of Denki in rippling waves. They were good friends, good heroes, and even amidst her own aggravation she was happy to see them happy and strong.
“I’m just saying, someone could notice me for more than my attendance record–” Denki’s voice trailed off as he left, the plain clock on the wall calling out the end of his break… ten minutes ago.
“And I’m telling you she would if–” Shoto paused next to Ochako, eyes solemn. “If you truly are upset at Bakugo’s attentions, you should say something. Surely from one professional to another you could ask him to stop pulling your metaphorical pigtails.”
She wrinkled her nose at the comparison. It didn’t feel like playful schoolyard teasing, there was something too serious about it. Did the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight even do playful?
But her friends were right in their own way. If another hero, especially one she respected for his strength, was asking questions or making comments about her performance, there was likely a reason. She didn’t have to personally like the method of delivery for his criticisms, but professionally she should figure out where it was coming from. Her hand-to-hand was top-tier these days, begrudgingly thanks to him, but that didn’t mean she was too good for growth, no matter what– or who– spurred it into existence.
Shoto was right, though. For all his blustering and teeth gnashing, Bakugo’s constant snipping at her didn’t have the edge of a full Bakurage, either.
“I don’t hate that he’s noticing me,” she admitted softly, “and I’m not against improving myself as a hero. He was right last time, I’m sure he’ll be right this time, too. Sometimes I just wish his attention… I just wish it was for different reasons.” She finished faintly.
A final half shrug had Shoto moving towards the doorway, too. “Maybe it is for different reasons than you think. All you can do is ask.”
All she could do was ask. Ask what?
Bakugo, why are you such an ass?
Bakugo, why do you keep picking on me?
Bakugo, why don’t you trust me to do my job?
Bakugo, why don’t you see how good of a hero I am?
Bakugo, why do you treat me like I can’t take care of myself?
A week and some odd days passed and Ochako still hadn’t figured out a way to confront Bakugo without feeling like she’d burst into frustrated tears. She’d taken on additional combat shifts to keep herself busy, trying to focus on any weak areas there. She’d found nothing lacking in her own performance, which had also done nothing to keep the sharp questions from sticking her at every corner. Each time her work overlapped with Bakugo’s, which seemed far more often than reasonable to her sensitive awareness, pinprick after pinprick of accusatory questions made their way into her headset and under her skin.
It was painfully unfair. When Izuku welled up with emotion people called him brave, when she did it she felt bratty. It was like her teenage self was too afraid to confront a bully– but she’d never been afraid of Bakugo. She’d respected him, sure, but she’d never been scared to talk to him before.
“Every time I think about it, my stomach starts churning like I’m close to maxing out.” Ochako sat cross-legged on the plush couch of the agency-provided therapist’s office, throwing one arm wide to gesture out the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. “And I don’t max out over small stuff like a measly skyscraper, so why do I feel like this about a professional conversation with a fellow professional?”
Miss Sato’s placid gaze remained unchanged. “Do you feel like this is pushing you to your limit in a different sense?”
Ochako chewed on her lower lip as she stared out at the sky, watching the sun begin to slink below the line of tall buildings.
“Yes.” It came out stronger than she expected, leaving her chest feeling hollow. “I’m scared. And I don’t get scared. Not…. not anymore.”
Miss Sato knew all about her. All about her time at UA. It had been one of Mirko, Gunhead, and Best Jeanist’s stipulations across all of their agencies when they took on the new grads. The class of 1-A had all utilized the same therapist on a monthly basis until they became pros and worked without mental health incidents for one full year. It had felt like a punishment in some ways, like she and her classmates were ticking time bombs waiting go off and prove they were too unstable for the careers they’d all given up so much to have. But over time all of them, even Shoto, despite his protestations that he did not have feelings and Bakugo, with all his complaints about the mind fluff bullshit, had complied and ‘graduated’ so to speak from the required sessions.
Now, Ochako scheduled sessions every few months to help keep herself grounded. She wasn’t a space cadet anymore, but it was because she worked at it.
The conversations with Miss Sato had been difficult at first. Not the sharing her feelings or experiences part, but sharing her feelings and experiences with someone who had heard much worse experiences from her classmates had given her pause. It had been an unexpected block, allowing herself to feel her own struggles without diminishing them in the face of someone else’s. It had made her better, stronger. Just like this looming conversation with Bakugo would.
“You’re not scared of villains or of the job anymore,” Miss Sato corrected gently, “but we’ve had a lot of great conversations about fear in here, haven’t we? We’ve talked about how stressful the public eye part of the job can be, and how nerve wracking interpersonal differences can feel.”
Ochako nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, and that’s the part that’s scaring me I think– the interpersonal stuff. Bakugo and I have always had a … I guess I’d call it a mutual respect for each other since way back at our very first Sports Festival.”
“Mmm, have you told me about that before?”
She picked at nonexistent dirt under her nails, knowing Miss Sato would clock it, but unable to stop the habit. “There’s not much to tell, really. We were kids, I was terrified and thrilled to get to go up against one of the best in our class.” The hint of a smile pulled up the corner of her mouth. “I came a lot closer to taking him out than he or anyone else expected. It was my first ever Meteor Storm and it was pretty great.”
“And that was the start of your and Bakugo’s friendship? You almost knocking him unconscious?” There was a flicker of humor to Miss Sato’s eyes and Ochako didn’t miss the gentle upward curve of the therapist’s own lips.
“Something like that,” she said. “Not so much a friendship but… I think he finally saw something he recognized in me that day– a competitor.”
Nodding, Miss Sato typed into her tablet, recording some note about Ochako’s story. In the past, something like that would have sent her pulse skyrocketing. These days, she did much better with worrying only about what was within her control. Like her professional, working relationship with Bakugo.
“So now, years and many events later, would you say you and Bakugo are friends?”
“No, not really.” Ochako’s nose scrunched as she turned her gaze from the city outside to the worn material starting to rub through between the thighs of her jeans. Rubbing the thick pads of her fingers gently over the frayed threads, she weighed the question a moment before responding. “Bakugo’s friends are the ones who don’t take no for an answer like Mina and Eijirou. But we’ve maintained that respect from when we were teens… or at least I thought we had until recently.”
“Because he’s been yelling at you while you’re working?”
“More like questioning me? It just feels like everything I do he’s checking in,” she let out an annoyed huff, the air moving through the bangs she’d grown out and feathered over the years.
“And if he’s questioning you, you feel it’s because he no longer respects you.” Miss Sato stated it like fact, but Ochako heard the question there, too.
“Yes. He’s hot obviously– oh my god,” she flushed at the slip, but Miss Sato merely looked back in a way that almost looked forcefully demure.
“He can be hot and a bully. Some people are into that.”
Ochako felt her ears tinge to match her cheeks, too familiar with the memories of her waxing poetic about all of her coworkers’ various physical attributes and the ways she would like to utilize them after a particularly long lasting truth quirk had landed her in sessions with Miss Sato for nearly a week straight. She’d been mortified, had begged Miss Sato to have a Memory Quirk come and wipe both of them clean from that experience for this exact reason. Her therapist really didn’t need to know that she’d thought of Bakugo calling her a good girl or that she’d once browsed unbranded hero merch for a Momo body pillow.
“I– oh my god. I mean, he’s hot headed but he’s not usually a bully, not to me,” she continued on, wading stubbornly through the mortifying memories to try and keep her head above water in this conversation.
“If he’s questioning me to this level, I’m scared he no longer respects me. It’s been making me question myself– if I’m missing important opportunities while on the scene, if I’m becoming dead weight, or some kind of liability. I love being a hero, but I want to be more than just any mediocre hero.”
Miss Sato did smile at her then, “I apologize for teasing. You are more than just any hero, Ochako. You’re the hero who rescues heroes, remember? You did that, you are that.”
She nodded, teeth worrying over her lower lip again.
“Okay, let’s back up. This happened before, right? Sometime last year? Tell me about that, again.”
Last time had been a fluke, or so she’d thought. Ochako had finally snapped, sitting on the gate of the ambulance’s open back as an EMT wrapped her shoulder in a tight ace bandage. It had been a successful rescue-and-retrieval, not that anyone would know from the way Bakugo was laying into her. The teenage villain had nearly wrenched her arm from her socket, sure, but that hadn’t exactly been her fault. There had been no reason to think the suspect of an unrelated crime would be found in a group of adolescents that had gotten trapped in a crumbling arcade?
It had been embarrassing, being yelled at like she was a student again, especially by someone who had been a student with her. But …. He’d been correct. She’d been caught off guard and her hand-to-hand had been lacking. The incident had happened right around the time she’d pushed past her quirk’s most recent plateau, but it didn’t matter how many tons she could hold up at a time if she couldn’t keep a kid from dislocating a joint.
Miss Sato listened thoughtfully, nodding along, asking questions here and there, and helped Ochako sort through ideas and solutions. Ochako even managed to not ask her if Bakugo had said anything to her about why he was being so frustrating, which felt like very adult growth to her. She’d passed him once or twice in the waiting room, always surprised and impressed to see that he continued with regular appointments, too.
Ochako watched from the street as the warm light in Miss Sato’s office went out, the therapist cleaning and locking up not long after their session had finished. She felt lighter, as she usually did after their conversations, with a new sense of purpose. Her mental space was more organized, but it wouldn’t feel comfortable again unless she confronted Bakugo. And soon.
This needed to be solved before it became a real issue, before his questions and her concerns took up such a constant residence in her head they started to receive mail there.
She just had to look him in the eye and ask.
She would just ask. But ask what?
Bakugo, can we talk?
Bakugo, how can I improve?
Bakugo, has my performance been suffering recently?
Bakugo, are you seeing any fixable issues with my combat?
Bakugo, could we discuss any questions you have for me after missions instead of during them?
After the first question, every other phrasing she’d come up with sat like lead on her tongue, heavy and sour.
She was determined to make less of a scene than they had the last time, though. She knew what was coming, knew that no matter how calm or focused she was, she could face a lot of yelling and some kind of embarrassingly accurate verbal evisceration of her technique in some way. But his behavior had only become more overbearing and she was getting tired of it and the pitying looks she was getting from Denki, Shoto, and now even Izuku.
After her last session with Miss Sato she’d decided, the most logical way to mitigate the fallout would be to wait for a time they could have a conversation without witnesses, and especially without press. She’d planned, lingering over her own reports, using the staff locker rooms to clean up, even resorting to tidying her desk for the first time in far too long until her floor had cleared out entirely. She knew Bakugo would be similarly alone two floors below, holed up at his desk well after hours to use the quiet to catch up on all the paperwork that piled up during his patrol days.
She had a plan in place, she was showered and dressed in soft jeans and a cutoff sweater with an extra layer of deodorant on, determined to be comfortable while making herself uncomfortable. And still Ochako felt like she was walking to her own funeral. At least her ghost outfit would be cute?
She approached the only cube still lit by the glow of a desk lamp, easily able to make out the shock of unruly blonde hair from rows away.
He was bent over a stack of folders, his broad shoulders looking uncharacteristically slumped and rounded, a pair of glasses everyone knew he hated having to use resting on the bridge of his nose. Ochako swallowed once, refusing to notice the sleeves of his henley rolled up to the elbow.
She was mad, she reminded herself. She was mad at him for being mad at her for no reason. It didn’t matter if he was still objectively attractive or that he seemed tired or that she was borderline cornering him. This conversation needed to happen and she couldn’t handle him barking in her ear on missions for a single day more. It was distracting!
She had her list of questions. She had her plan. She just had to stick to it and open the lines of communication in a way that put them both on equal footing for collaboration.
“Bakugo, do you hate me or something?”
She was apparently doing none of those things.
He turned slowly, eyes blinking at her owlishly.
“What the hell are you talking about, Cheeks?”
She regretted the warm knit of her chunky lavender sweater but was grateful for that extra swipe of deodorant as eyes the color of a garnet stone pinned her in place. The open office floorplan was suddenly too restricting, the lack of witnesses too intimate, the soft lighting of the lamp too cozy for this conversation.
But she was here. This was happening. And this time she was going to be the antagonist apparently. So all she could do was continue.
“You’ve been on my ass for weeks and I haven’t done anything wrong.” She clenched her fists at her side, willing her eyes to stay clear and dry. “So what’s your problem?”
“My problem?” His mouth tipped down at the corner and Ochako braced herself for the inevitable volume increase that was about to happen, regretting every choice she had made that brought her here as he stood to his full height.
The smell of caramel enveloping her as he took a step nearer, looking down at her fully as his eyes roved over her face. The silence sat between them, an almost tangible thing as Ochako willed herself not to answer his half-question before he gave a response to hers.
“What makes you think I have a problem?”
She glared back, certain it didn’t have the same withering effect as his, but not allowing herself to care. There was a mission to accomplish, same as when she put on her hero suit. She had to defeat the villain that was his issue with her and rescue whatever shreds of her pride remained after the fact. Sometimes that meant slight compromises.
“You’ve been rude,” she ticked off his offenses on her fingers. “You’ve been second guessing everything I do, questioning my quirk’s limits, and just getting in my way!” Throwing both hands up she was on a roll now. “Just this week you nearly detonated an entire bridge that I had entirely under control!”
“Those freaks were aiming for you, I was–”
“I was well out of their range and we both know it! You just didn’t trust my judgement! So what,” she repeated, chest heaving slightly, “is your problem, Bakugo?!”
“You wanna know my problem?” his voice lowered, one hand reaching up to remove his glasses before he crossed both arms over his chest,“My problem is that you’re incredibly competent and confident so I can never fucking find a way to make any kind of big gesture in the field.”
Her breath stuttered in her chest, warmth rushing to her face at what sounded suspiciously like a compliment. A high compliment. “I– th– thank you? But–”
His frown deepened. “Don’t fuckin’ thank me, Cheeks. I’m literally just getting in your way trying to get you to notice me.” His hands shoved deep into the pockets of the joggers Ochako didn’t notice, either. “Sato is gonna have my ass for this.”
“I–” Ochako put a hand to her cheek. Cool fingers do little to mitigate the heat of her skin, “I’m not sure I follow. I’m good at what I do–”
“Great. You’re great at what you do.” Bakugo interrupted. “One of the best. Criminally underrated considering you do both combat and rescue better than half the pros in the Top Twenty.”
“Thank you?” She’d been prepared for yelling, for clenched fists, raised voices, and for her to eventually end up in tears as he called her a crybaby and told her exactly what she was shitty at. She’d been prepared to stomp all over the nasty old carpet again, to go immediately to the gym, or back to her desk, or to fire off an email for another therapy appointment. There was no way to prepare for Bakugo… complimenting her? She absently wondered if there were security cameras on this floor and if they picked up audio. No one would believe her if she told them this was how this conversation she’d been gearing up for weeks was going..
“I told you,” he growled, “don’t thank me. I’m just saying facts.”
“I– okay.” Her own eyebrows began to knit together, her tone hardening. “So I’m great at what I do, I do the job well, and you’re pissed off at me for it?”
“NO! N-no– I.” Bakugo groaned, tipping his head back and running one hand over his face and into his hair.
Thick and fluffy after his fingers had mussed it further, Ochako wanted to pull on it herself, wanted to tug it until he looked at her again and explained himself. Having his eyes intently focused on her felt like having her chest constricted, but the moment he’d looked away it had been like being dropped into sudden free fall. She stepped closer into his space, willing him to look at her again.
“What does Miss Sato have to do with all of this? You’re not making any sense–” she halted mid-word as her silent request was answered and he turned his gaze back down to her, intent and determined in a new way that made her wish she’d stepped back instead of forward.
“You’re asking too many questions, Cheeks, now I get one.”
Her fingers flexed, stretching wide and curling into fists with each rapid breath. She had half a mind to swing at him, to pinch him, to kick him in the shin, anything to get him to start making sense. Why wasn’t he yelling? Why wasn’t he just telling her what she sucked at? Why did this seem like it was as painful for him as it was for her? “That hardly seems fair when you’ve half answered one of my questions and–”
“Will you go out with me?”
Her mouth shut with an audible click of her teeth.
“Anywhere you want, Cheeks. Ice cream, coffee, dinner, breakfast, all of them in one day. I don’t care, but I’m apparently shit at ‘being attentive’ or whatever the fuck that loser mind fluff extra called it so I’m just gonna come out and ask it and hope you don’t fuckin’ Howitzer Impact my feelings or whatever.” The last bit dropped off into a familiar grumble, his eyes darting to the ground between them in what looked like nerves if Bakugo Katsuki ever experienced nerves.
She was having an out-of-body experience. Could someone gain a sudden onset Astral Projection quirk in their mid twenties? It was easily the most words she’d ever heard him string together at once, and decidedly the strangest combination she could have ever imagined. Not that she’d ever imagined he’d– well of course she’d imagined he’d want to ask her out but she’d never actually hoped he’d–
“Oi– Space Cadet!”
His glare was back on her and Ochako came swiftly and harshly back into her body, the words leaving her in a rush of air. “So you don’t hate me?”
“Jesus Chri–” Bakugo rolled his eyes, the movement confusingly endearing as her heart thudded in her chest. “No, Moonface. I the opposite of hate you and have been trying to ask you out for over a year, you’re just too fuckin’ distracted to notice me.”
“I– okay for one thing I am very focused on my work , just like you are,” Ochako all but shook her finger at him, the full impact of his words floating just out of reach of her gravity. “For another thing, this is a lot of information to process so don’t act like I’m the idiot for not expecting a confession of all things after you’ve been picking on me for weeks!”
She sputtered for a moment, her cheeks warming slightly again. “And Moonface ?! What is that!”
“What?” He had the absolute audacity to smirk at her, leaning into the minimal space between them. “I can’t call you names and you’re too good to have your pigtails pulled on the playground?”
She puffed out her cheeks, a huge inhale the only indication that Bakugo should have been the one to brace for an explosion this time.
“WHY DO BOYS ALWAYS USE THAT AS A WAY TO SAY THEY LIKE A GIRL, IT MAKES NO–”
“WILL YOU LET ME BUY YOU FOOD AND HOLD YOUR HAND OR NOT, CHEEKS?”
She blinked. Her face heated in full and Ochako swore she heard Bakugo curse under his breath. Her head tilted to the side, chest rising and falling rapidly as she caught her breath. “You want to hold my hand?”
He looked down at his feet, red tipping his ears and neck. “I’m not gonna ask you a third time, Uraraka, this has been demoralizing enough already. Just put me outta my–”
“Yes.”
Maroon eyes darted up to catch hers. “Yes? Yes what?”
He said it almost under his breath, like he wasn’t quite daring to hope he’d understood her correctly. It was… cute. Bakugo was nervous. And in this moment with his hair messy, his face red and splotchy, he was a cute boy feeling nervous about asking a girl out, and that might have been the most surprising part of the evening so far. Ochako smiled.
“Yes, I’ll go out with you. Yes, you can buy me coffee and ice cream and we’ll split dinner and probably breakfast, too. Yes, you can hold my hand.” His eyes widened in surprise and Ochako found herself grinning wide enough to push the boundaries on plumping her already-round cheeks.
“When?”
The quiet urgency to his tone took her by another surprise as she regarded him. His shoulders had dropped some of their tension, but it was replaced by a new kind of focus to his gaze, one she hadn’t seen before.
“When’s your next day off?”
He shook his head, “Not for another week. What are you doing right now?”
“Now?” She laughed, “I’m going home Bakugo, I’m in a sweater and jeans and–”
“You look perfect,” he didn’t blink, didn’t smile, didn’t give any indication that what he said was in any way a joke and Ochako felt her heart stutter. “Let me make you dinner. Your place or mine I don’t care.”
“I– why now?”
“I told ya, Cheeks, I’ve been trying to take you out for over a year.” Sentences that had ended in question marks only minutes ago were suddenly being replaced with periods, her logical brain at work understanding what he’d been trying to tell her tonight, what he’d been trying to say for the last few weeks.
Cheeks, you good? Can I hear your voice?
Cheeks, did you get clear? Are you somewhere safe?
Cheeks, your quirk isn’t at the limit yet is it? Are you caring for yourself?
Cheeks, can you not? You’re not the only hero out here. Let me help you? I want to help.
Cheeks, you gonna stop by the med tent? You look like shit. Are you okay? I care about you.
“The last time I got close to asking I got scared and ended up telling you your close combat sucked which resulted in me getting the shit beat out of me on the mat for six months.” It turned out Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight did do playful after all. He grinned at her, a touch of familiar savagery at the corners of his mouth that did warm things in the pit of Ochako’s belly. “And while I have yet to regret being pinned underneath you, I really don’t wanna fuck it up a second time.”
It was earnestness, she realized, that odd new intensity to his look. Earnestness and the smallest hint of insecurity, just enough that Ochako found herself nodding. “Okay, your place, then. What time?”
He reached back to his desk, putting his glasses down and closing the folder he’d had open to work on. “Now.”
“Now?! But you were–”
“Not fucking it up.” He finished for her, nodding. “You ready to go?”
She held out her hand, nodding back.
He looked down at her proffered palm, the red that still lingered at his ears deepening. “You– you don’t have to. I was just–”
“I want to,” she said firmly. “I want you to make me dinner and hold my hand and continue to say surprisingly nice things in kind of rude ways.”
“Oi, I am not–”
“You have been all but bullying me via comms for weeks.”
“I have been trying to show you I care about you!”
“Yeah, I get that now” She rolled her eyes, slipping her hand into his before he could protest further and moved to tug him down the hallway. “Maybe we can work on how you deliver your caring.”
Her wrist pulled her back as she turned to look at Bakugo, frozen in the doorway of his cube.
“Why did you say yes?”
Her forehead creased as she frowned at him. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re smart and thoughtful and interested. Two of those things I already knew,” she said with a shrug. “You were at the top of the class at UA and you always remember details about all of us, even when you use them to be an ass. But being interested is new information…” she grinned at him with a pointed glance to his forearms, “and then that information was paired with those rolled up sleeves.”
Bakugo looked from her down to his bare forearms incredulously. “So you’re saying all I had to do was to tell you I liked you and show off my fucking wrists?”
Ochako shrugged again as best she could with one hand stretched out behind her, fingers twined through his. “Yeah.”
He frowned, unconsciously flexing his fingers against hers in a way that sent her pulse skittering. “You’re not like, nervous about my temper or my quirk or–”
“No,” she interrupted him firmly, tipping her head to one side slightly. “You’re passionate and sometimes loud, but I’ve always kind of admired that. You’re not dangerous, Bakugo.”
She yelped as she was tugged backwards, a foot catching on a hole in the cheap, terrible carpet as she stumbled directly into Bakugo’s chest.
“I know you just said yes to one meal,” he spoke in a rush and her heart raced along with his frantic pace, “but I’ve had a crush or feelings or whatever forever so just give me this one and I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman or whatever –”
He kissed her.
She should have squeaked in surprise like any normal girl or pushed against him in reaction to the sudden movement like any well trained hero. Instead, Ochako let out a soft oh against his mouth and wrapped her arms around his waist, giving him full permission to pour his feelings into her. Bakugo may not be known for his verbal communication skills, but if this was how he wanted to express himself with her, Ochako felt like this was a considerable upgrade from the yelling she’d braced herself for. This was not a first kiss on a first date, chaste and sweet and a little nervous. This was a kiss from a man who knew what he was doing, knew what he wanted, and would have it given the opportunity.
Bakugo cupped her cheeks between two large palms, one thumb sweeping lightly over her temple, pressing his lips to hers with equal parts urgency and reverence. Ochako let herself lean into him, trusting him to hold them steady as she responded in kind, rocking up to her tiptoes, enjoying his bit-off groan of surprise. The thoroughness with which he mapped out the geography of her lips against his had her reeling. She tasted caramel, she felt like a star; all light and heat and cosmic energy.
His hands moved, one to cradle the side of her neck, the other trailing down her shoulder and arm, stopping to lie flat against her waist and Ochako felt a line of liquid fire, tingling and burning, trace its way down her body to follow the path of his fingers. She tried to pull back for the briefest of moments, to catch a breath or find out if her feet were still in fact on the ground at all or if she should wake herself up from what surely must be a dream, but Bakugo chased her, taking the moment for himself to slant their mouths together deeper, his tongue sweeping expertly against the seam of her lips, effectively turning her spine to jelly. She let out a soft noise and felt him grip her tighter, pulling her flush against him. Her body slotted easily into all his available space, boding all too well for activities that were decidedly not dinner or coffee or ice cream or breakfast.
Her senses were overtaken by him. The firm muscle under her hands, the aftershave and burnt sugar in her lungs, the flashes of red eyes and flushed skin just visible told her that against all logical expectation this was real. He nipped at her lower lip and she moaned in earnest, her head dropping back as he continued to her neck. Any attempts at logic utterly ruined beneath the attentions of his tongue and teeth.
“Cheeks,” his whisper against her skin was ragged, sounding as undone as she felt. “You taste like heaven.”
A whimper worked its way up her throat as one final question made its way through the molten, half-formed thoughts in her brain.
Why hadn’t they done this sooner?