Archive of Our Own ^beta

The dude on the webcam is hot. And that’s all it is.

At first.

Trim waist. Defined pecs. Muscular arms, and strong, slender hands, all covered in an endearing blanket of freckles. Based on the recorded videos, he doesn’t show his face, but Bakugou gets it. God knows he wishes he hadn’t named his account on this site kaboomking420.

Anyway, the guy is hot enough that Bakugou doesn’t need to see his face. He’s not exactly on this site to check out the straightness of these camboys’ teeth.

On screen, the guy is kneeling on his bed almost modestly, palms resting lightly on his knees. He’s in shorts and a tank top that inexplicably reads T-SHIRT, and his “Hi, everyone,” spoken with an ever-so-slight tremor, sparks something in Bakugou’s chest. Like anger, but more futile, directionless. Like in his rage dreams when the harder he tries to fight, the slower and weaker he becomes.

Why the fuck are two small, soft words from this freckled camboy making him feel that way?

The camboy shakily offers to take some clothes off for a paltry number of credits. Bakugou throws in for it. The guy strips off his tank top, baring brown nipples and beautiful planes of freckled skin. Bakugou has never given much thought to freckles before, but he has learned just now that he is into them.

Then Bakugou’s eyes catch on something else. Something that makes him huff a laugh, even as he’s unbuttoning his pants. He lifts his hands to his keyboard.

nice all might figures

They’re lining the wall behind the bed, obviously meticulously arranged. At the ping of Bakugou’s message, the guy pauses. His shorts are half off, revealing shimmery green panties underneath. If his face were visible, Bakugou would probably see surprise splashed across it.

“O-oh!” he stutters, twisting to look over his shoulder. “Yeah, they, um… they’re kind of everywhere, haha. I don’t have a better place to record…”

The fuck? Does this guy think he was being sarcastic?

i meant it dumbass
 i had the silver age one growing up

“Really?” the guy breathes eagerly. He shuffles over to the display shelves across the bed, which Bakugou realizes with a snort is outfitted with red-and-blue official All Might sheets. This camboy is a fuckin’ nerd. “This one is one of my favorites! The circle design on the chest is deceptively simple, but if you look really closely at it you’ll realize that it symbolizes—”

The chat starts to go crazy.

take off ur panties!!!11

can sum1 plz kick kaboom 

dude stop tryin gto chat him up he’s not going to go for it smh

U SHOULD FUCK THE ALL MIGHT TOY!!!!!!!!

“Oh! Sorry, everyone!” Bakugou can imagine flushed cheeks, an embarrassed smile. He wonders what this nerd’s face looks like. There’s no way it’s as nice as the rest of him. “I got a little carried away, haha… Where were we?”

It devolves after that. The guy palms himself through his panties until he’s straining against the polyester. Bakugou has his own dick out practically before he knows it. The guy is strangely cute, yet unassuming. Bakugou has watched lots of porn—it’s the most efficient way for him to get off, and he’s a busy guy—so he’s seen the affected “uwu” baby vibe before. That’s not what this is. This is something more authentic, less purposefully sexy. This is the camboy—the camboy, as in, he does this professionally—asking doubtfully whether his panties look good even when they ride up his shapely asscrack. This is the guy reflexively apologizing to his bottle of lube when he knocks it over, for fuck’s sake. The hell is with this guy?

finger urself!!!!

Abruptly that’s all that Bakugou wants to see.

“Finger myself?” He sounds almost surprised. The hand around his cute dick (yes, even his dick is cute—don’t fucking ask) stills. “I— I have little hands, though, it’s, ah… it’s hard for me to reach…”

ill finger u myself bb

bet you’d like to have my dick instead

FUCK THE ALL MIGHT TOY!!!!!!!!

Bakugou grimaces. This is the downside of this website: all these fucking extras. Setting his jaw, he pounds out a message so they can get to the fucking point, his keyboard clacking.

how much you want for it

That’s what this song and dance is about anyway, right? Getting more money.

But—“Oh,” the camboy says, like it hadn’t occurred to him. Bakugou rolls his eyes. Seriously, what is with this guy!? “Ah, hm, the thing is, I, um… that feels very good for me, and I don’t think I’ll, er, last very long, once I…”

Bakugou’s ashamed to say the song and dance is working.

Without fanfare, he drops 500 credits in the chat. If this camboy isn’t an idiot, he’ll ask for more than that, but at least Bakugou can get this moving.

there
that enough?

“O-oh, I actually didn’t mean it like that, but… um, maybe for another few hundred…?”

“Not a total moron,” Bakugou says, begrudgingly pleased, as he watches the rest of the losers chip in.

“Thanks, everyone,” says the camboy cheerfully, when another 250 credits are dropped. He reaches for the lube, and Bakugou takes himself in hand, ready to see just what this camboy’s got.

***

And. Wow. Okay, that—

That actually was pretty fucking great. Maybe this guy knows what he’s doing after all.

Breathing hard, Bakugou tucks himself back in his boxer briefs, his rapid heart rate gradually slowing. On screen, the camboy is in a similar state, twitching and trembling, his toes clenching under his ass. It’s strangely cute. This guy’s whole thing is, to the maximum possible effect, cute. And Bakugou doesn’t use that word lightly.

With a few efficient keystrokes, he leaves a good tip, even better than his usual. It pings along with the rest of the bozos in the room with him. Weakly, the camboy pushes himself up to look over his shoulder.

“Th-thanks, everyone…” he breathes, utterly fucked out. Bakugou can hear a thin smile in his voice. He’s putting on a happy face even though no one can see it.

Bakugou closes out of the window, but not before making a mental note of the camboy’s handle.

DEKU.

***

The next time Bakugou finds himself on the camshow website, it’s after a long day approving (or, more often, rejecting) designs for this stupid Dynamight-brand underwear line that his agent convinced him to do.

(“I don’t wear fuckin’ bras, how should I know what’s a good design?”

“Dynamight-san, please, we need to finalize the designs before HeroCon, and you haven’t seemed to like any of the designs we’ve shown you so far…”

“Yeah, because I’m not a sexy hero, I’m a cool hero! People should be afraid of me, not wanna fuck me!”

“Dynamight-san, per-perhaps, they can be both …”

“And ain’t you s’posed to be experts, anyway? What d’you need my input for!?”)

That’s him trying to be nice. It’s exhausting.

So he flings himself down at his desk. Jerking off often starts angry for Bakugou, and today is no different; he punches in the URL for the site and is bitterly perusing the live offerings before he sees it.

DEKU. Live.

“Who the fuck calls himself Deku,” Bakugou snarls, palming his soft dick with annoyance as he clicks on it.

Sure enough: All Might-brand sheets, freckled skin, scarred right hand lightly circling his cock. He’s a lot further along this time than he was last time Bakugou joined the stream, already riding a dildo while he gasps. The fact that Bakugou feels late to the party just pisses him off even more.

golden age was the best & don’t even try to argue

He says it without caring how probably inappropriate it is to start an argument like this with a guy who has a dildo up his ass. Some idiots in the chat tell him to fuck off, but he pays them no mind. He’s watching the camboy.

He must be alerted by all the pinging—or else he just needs to catch his breath—because he pauses.

“Oh, it’s you again,” comes the kind, slightly reedy voice. “Ka— Ka-something. Sorry, um… I can’t read it from far away, aha. Welcome back.”

Bakugou growls and rolls his eyes. Fuckin’ nerd, acting all nice for show.

“I love all ages of All Might, to be honest,” he goes on, circling his hips lightly, though nobody fucking asked him. Deku, Bakugou reminds himself with a sneer. His name’s Deku, and that’s very fucking apt. “I just like Silver Age best for the simplicity of the design, and I remember where I was when I first saw it, a rescue was playing on a TV in a store window—”

golden age was the best.
it’s right there in the name. GOLDEN age.

To his shock, Deku chuckles, and it sounds almost… fond? The fuck. “I can’t argue with that,” he concedes, rocking on the toy still buried inside him. “It’s, ah... personal preference, I suppose. Agree to disagree?”

Bakugou scoffs loudly. Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t know the meaning of the phrase agree to disagree. But he does realize Deku doesn’t put on this stream to argue with people whose names he doesn’t even know; he’s trying to do his job. So he decides to let it go—for now, anyway.

whatever

Still, he’s too wound up from the day to settle down quite yet. His eyes dart over the screen rather than focusing on the very hot, albeit wrong-headed, man with the dildo in his ass. It’s not that that’s not appealing, it’s just… there’s something about this guy that makes Bakugou want to engage with him in a different way. Tease him or something.

It must be the fact that the wall above his bed is absolutely dripping with All Might merchandise.

Bakugou gets it, to some extent. He grew up a huge All Might fan, too. He recognizes a few of the figures, including that Silver Age one Deku seems so obsessed with, because he had them as a kid. Although, as he glares at the meticulously arranged paraphernalia, he realizes one practically ubiquitous All Might fanboy element is missing.

Where’s the figure from that one movie he did? Age of Heroes? Bakugou remembers lining up in front of the theater early with his mom, practically bursting out of his skin at the excitement of the doors opening. Remembers wearing the stupid hero costume he designed for himself back then (and fuck his old hag for letting him go out in public looking like that). Remembers at the kiosk being handed both the tickets and the figure of All Might in his movie-exclusive costume, tearing it out of its packaging, gripping it in his sweaty hand as he bounced in the plush theater seat.

Lame, yeah. He was a kid. Kids are lame.

But basically every kid he knew growing up had this same figure. Everyone saw that shitty movie, and they handed them out at the doors if you saw the ultra-high-def, 3-D, surround-sound version. With how big an All Might fanboy this guy is, Bakugou can’t believe he wouldn’t have seen it, too. He probably camped out overnight or something. Bakugou saw kids like that at the theater he went to, all hopped up on adrenaline like he was, some of the bigger kids tussling with each other, bullying the little ones for cheap thrills; others crying or throwing fits when their parents’ credit cards didn’t go through since that shit was expensive back then— 

Deku lets out a keening moan, and Bakugou promptly forgets about all of that. He’s on his back, legs spread with one hand hooked under a knee, the other, gnarled and scarred, lightly stroking his slick cock. His freckled chest is heaving and flushed almost down to his belly button, his abs are twitching, and he’s squeezing the head of his cock like he’s trying to stave off orgasm.

Then the buzzing starts.

“O-oh, hnn—” The sound that squeezes out of Deku’s throat makes Bakugou’s dick fucking throb. His ass is visibly clenching around the vibrator, his thighs trembling as the hand on his dick goes still, forgotten for the moment. Bakugou catches a glimpse of a dark purple remote in the other hand, and then he sees the rest of the chat.

It’s full of people dropping credits, all of them adding up to almost 1,500 total for the night so far. Bakugou recognizes the behavior—rapid-fire payment to a specific threshold. It means Deku offered something in exchange for meeting the milestone.

Based on the way the vibrator in his ass has him shuddering on the bed, Bakugou doesn’t have to guess what it was. As he pulls out his own hardening cock and begins to stroke, he realizes he’s actually kind of pissed he didn’t get to throw in for it.

With a strangled moan, Deku slowly, shakily slides the hand from his cock to under his other knee. He holds himself apart for the camera, his hole clenching arrhythmically around the buzzing toy.

talk to me baby, tell me how it feels 

For once Bakugou couldn’t agree more with these perverts. He’d love to hear Deku try to talk while overwhelmed with arousal.

“S-sorry, ngh,” Deku stammers, his toes flexing, ankles loose. Bakugou’s not a foot guy, but there’s something about this guy’s everything that compels him to notice. He’s so cute, it makes Bakugou want to smash his computer screen. “It feels, ah, so—so good, so big inside me, hnn…” He shifts, lifting his hips, and that must hit a better angle because he lets out a full-throated moan that has Bakugou’s fist flying over his dick.

Fuck, this guy sounds amazing. Bakugou wonders if he could make him make that noise for real.

bet i could make u scream like that irl baby

Shit, that’s creepy to read on the page instead of his head. Fuck these perverts. Fuck the fact that this Deku guy is so hot he’s making Bakugou just as stupid as they are.

If Deku sees the message (or the many others just like it), he doesn’t acknowledge it. He just continues moaning and trying weakly to describe what he’s feeling. It doesn’t take long for the chat to start clamoring for him to turn it up.

“T-turn it—hahh—up?” Deku pants, but his scarred right hand is circling the base of his cock, brushing over his smooth balls almost absentmindedly, like his body wants more. “Hm, maybe for another, hnn, two-fifty?”

Bakugou puts all 250 in himself.

There. Now he doesn’t feel like he missed out so much. He wrings his cock with a satisfied smirk, ignoring the lol ok go off i guess he gets from some loser.

Deku gasps when the ping sounds from his laptop. “W-wow, that was fast. I wasn’t expecting you to—”

turn it up

“Oh, right.” He fumbles with the remote in his shaking hand. Then the buzzing kicks up a notch, and he lets out a strangled moan, curling in on himself as his thighs start to shake. “O-ohh, fff— hnng, oh god…”

For some reason, the fact that Deku almost cursed and stopped himself has Bakugou’s blood thumping in his ears. He twists his wrist over the head of his dick, leaking precome, as his breathing begins to labor.

fuck urself w it don’t just let it sit there

Fuck, this extra has a lotta good ideas. Bakugou hates that. Curling a lip at the screen, he moves his hand faster over his cock, electricity beginning to spark in his veins.

Slowly, trembling, Deku starts to move. He doesn’t reach down with his right hand, even though it’s clearly his dominant one. No, first he painstakingly shifts the remote from his left to his right, and then slides his left hand down to awkwardly grip the base of the vibrator. He pulls it out and jerkily shoves it back in, treating them all to a strained moan that has Bakugou forgetting all about which hand is doing what.

“Hrngh, like—like this?”

“Yeah, like that,” Bakugou says roughly. He ignores the chorus of pings from the others answering Deku’s question, too; his dick is practically pulsing in his hand as Deku’s legs start to shake.

“Ahh—hnn!”

His chest is heaving, flushed ruddy past his pebbled nipples, his freckles blending more easily into his blushing skin. He arches, begging to have hands on him, and Bakugou boils. If he was there, he’d shove Deku back down to the bed, press his palms and bruising fingertips all over him. Or else he’d yank him against his own body, thrust hard into him at just the right fucking angle to make him scream…

“Oh god,” Deku whimpers, shifting restlessly against his silly All Might sheets. His abs tense and release, his cock forgotten and drooling against his skin.

“Fuck yeah,” Bakugou murmurs, hand moving faster. His eyes are dry from staring so intently, but he can’t bear to tear them away.

“God, I—” Deku jerks one knee tightly against his chest, his hand becoming a blur on the webcam as he fucks the toy even faster.

“Fuck yeah.” Bakugou’s salivating, his dick straining in his hand.

Deku sucks in a breath, sheets swishing. He must be thrashing his head from side to side. His thighs tense and hold and pulse, muscles twitching as he thrusts the toy clumsily, off-rhythm. “Oh god, oh, oh—hahh!”

“Fuck, fuck—” Bakugou’s eyes clench shut, his heart leaping to his throat as he comes with a guttural groan all over his fist.

Bakugou opens his eyes when the chorus of tips starts pinging. On screen, Deku is still quivering, his chest rising and falling heavily.

HOT HOT HOT WOW

daaaaamn bb would u cum on my dick liek that? i wanna c it

hot thank you

that was sexxy af thx deku ;)

hey how come you don’t have the aoh figure

His question is quickly buried in the slew of praise. Blearily, he scowls at the screen, not even sure himself why he asked. It’s not worth it to type it out again. He’s not so pathetic.

Deku forces himself onto his elbows. The come painting his accordioning stomach shimmers as he shifts. “Thanks, e-everyone,” he says weakly. “I-I’ve never used something like that, um, on cam before, anyway… I hope you, ah, enjoyed it, as much as I did.”

He sounds so fucking sweet and shy about it. It pisses Bakugou off at the same time as he’s utterly charmed, which pisses him off even more. He wants to scream, You just came all over yourself on camera, why are you acting like you’re surprised about it!? 

“Oh, and Ka— ...er…”

Deku is leaning in towards the screen, his flushed chest and a dusky brown nipple hovering inches away from the camera. Bakugou wants to pinch it.

“Ka-Ka… chan. Kacchan.” Deku giggles slightly to himself as he says it. “Ah, I hope you’re alright with that, your full name is a little, um, long…”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, sighing. As if he hasn’t heard that from every marketing team ever. “Do you mind if we simply call the line Dynamight? Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight won’t fit on the waistband…” 

whatever

wtf asshole

lolololol what a fuckin charmer just tip him and go

SHOW UR HOLE DEKU!!!!!!!!

Deku wrings his hands. “Ah, well, if you don’t like it, I can—”

i said it’s whatever, i don’t give a shit

More idiot extras weigh in on how shitty his attitude is. He flips off the screen.

“Oh, okay, if you’re sure… Kacchan.” Deku chuckles a little self-consciously and gives a shrug, wringing his hands. “There’s nothing particularly, ah, interesting about why I don’t have it… it’s just that the Age of Heroes figure is extremely rare. I, um… wasn’t able to see the movie when I was little, and they stopped making them after the movie left theaters, so the price has gone up—”

As Deku talks, the other two dozen or so users, one by one, exit the chat. Deku grows more visibly anxious with every notice that so-and-so has left the stream, picking at his nails, shifting around on the bed, until he finally lets out a sigh.

“Ah… this isn’t very interesting, is it…”

“Hah? Fuck are you—” Bakugou bites his tongue, a wave of embarrassed anger rolling over him. The fuck kinda idiot forgets they’re not even talking to the person? He shoves up from the slouch he’s fallen into and draws himself closer to the keyboard.

i fuckin asked didn’t i??
fuck these idiots

Softly, almost surprised, Deku laughs. One hand lifts off-screen, clearly covering his mouth. “You’re… you’re definitely a, um, unique subscriber, Kacchan.”

Bakugou huffs throatily. Kacchan. Normally he’d hate shit like that, but… it sounds okay coming out of the camboy’s mouth. Kinda warm. Teasing. It makes him feel like some grade-schooler, like it’s something he’s been called for ages and just can’t shake with some people.

no shit, i’m 1 of a kind

Deku chuckles. “Ah, well… anyway, I should, um, get cleaned up,” he says. “I guess I’ll, uh, see you next time? If you’re subscribed, I think you’ll get an email—”

hold up idiot i haven’t even tipped you yet

“O-oh, right! Sorry.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. This guy apologizes for forgetting to ask for money. Ridiculous. He drops an even bigger tip than last time, trying to compensate for the fact that he didn’t participate in the early stream, plus kept him long asking about stupid shit.

there. 1 step closer to that aoh figure

“Aha, wow, th-thank you! This is… Even though I rambled at you…?”

i told you, i fuckin asked
wouldn’ta asked if i didn’t want to know

“Okay, if you’re sure…”

i’m always sure

Deku’s neck tilts, and Bakugou can imagine he’s cocking his head at him curiously. The camera still cuts off just below his chin. In the momentary quiet, Bakugou fucking burns to know what Deku looks like.

“That must be nice,” Deku finally says. “It was good talking to you, Kacchan. I need to, ah, get cleaned up now, so…”

yeah later

Bakugou signs off as Deku is reaching toward the webcam. The last things he glimpses are a strangely scarred palm and a strong, freckled chin.

***

Purely out of curiosity, Bakugou checks eBay. He nearly chokes.

Those Age of Heroes figures are going for upwards of ¥800,000! What the fuck!?

He scrolls a little longer, just to check, but yeah, that’s pretty much the price. Damn, fuck his mom for giving his to his shitty younger cousin; Bakugou coulda used a cool eight hundred thou when he was getting started in the hero business. Shit, even as it is he’s not made of money. He’s still barely recognizable to the general public. That won’t be the case for long, of course, but for now…

He closes the tab with a bitter scowl. Disappointment is unfamiliar to him, as a rule, but this tastes even sourer than usual. And the worst part is, he doesn’t fucking get why.

***

It becomes routine, watching Deku’s stream. He doesn’t do it every night, but Bakugou, a creature of habit, learns his schedule. He also learns a lot more about Deku. The camboy still painstakingly hides his face, and Bakugou begins to crave it. Sure, he can piece some things together. Based on the rest of him, he’s probably got dark green hair and freckles for days, but that’s pretty much it. Maybe his face sucks, but Bakugou somehow doubts it.

So, perhaps to compensate, Bakugou begins collecting other pieces of information, gathering them greedily like a dragon with its hoard.

First, Deku hasn’t been doing this long, only a few months. Not exactly a surprise, given his general demeanor and obvious lack of polish, but nevertheless it begs the question of what led him here. What was he doing before three months ago?

Second, Deku’s right hand is fucked up. He never says anything about it directly, but it’s obvious from how he holds it, how he avoids moving it in certain ways. Not to mention it’s scarred and gnarled as hell. Bakugou has seen less horrifying scars on pro-heroes. He wonders if it’s connected to him starting cam work, but even Bakugou knows it’s intrusive to ask, especially with the other dozens of idiots watching simultaneously.

The final thing he learns… Deku has a post office box.

It’s on his page, along with a link to his “wishlist,” which is dead. It must be part of the base profile or something, and he just never bothered to fill it out. The P. O. box appears to be legit, though, even though Deku has given his followers no idea what to send him.

That’s fine. Bakugou already has one.

It takes a week or two before it happens. Deku is comfortably clothed and sitting at the edge of his bed, one leg drawn up. A small box is nestled in his lap.

“Hi, everyone,” he says, giving a little wave. “I hope you’re all doing well.”

Bakugou snorts. He always opens like this, like he’s sending a transmission home from the front, not trying to entice internet randos to beat their meat.

“Today, I had a surprise waiting in my P. O. box! So I thought I’d—oh, yes, thanks for asking! I do have a P. O. box. I guess I should, ah, share the address… It’s, um… Wait, I have it here somewhere…”

it’s on his page fuckheads

“Ah, thank you, Kacchan,” Deku says, sounding relieved. “That’s right, you can find it on my page.” He lifts a knuckle to his chin and begins to mutter, “But I should probably make it easier to access, shouldn’t I? Maybe I could add it to my sign-off…”

Bakugou sighs. This muttering is another thing Deku seems to do regularly, especially in the initial moments of his stream; he gets lost in his own head, talking himself through some problem. Bakugou isn’t used to being ignored. If someone did it in person, he’d probably be audibly grinding his teeth—definitely would have blown up when he was young enough to actually be called “Kacchan.” 

But he’s on the other side of a screen. Simply one of many, even though he’s the only one who’s gotten a nickname.

He's stupidly pleased about that.

you gonna open the box or what

“Oh, right! Sorry, everyone, I got a little, ah, carried away, there. Yes, I thought I’d open the gift on stream! Um, thank you to whoever sent it, by the way,” he adds, just before slicing the packing tape with scissors. He pulls open the flaps and—

There’s a light huff of what could be laughter.

Bakugou’s chest swells with satisfaction. Yeah, that’s fuckin’ right. It’s a good joke, and Deku fucking got it.

“Okay, which one of you did this?” Deku giggles as hands reach into the box and pull it out, the thing that Bakugou saw on some dumbshit website Kaminari sent to their group chat.

The All Might dildo. 

It’s red, white, and blue, clearly modeled after his Golden Age costume. It doesn’t say All Might on it, of course—it’s not official merch or anything, though that would be hilarious—but the effect is clear.

And anyway, as if there was any doubt, the name of the thing is Number One Dildo.

Bakugou decides not to say outright it was him. It’s obvious enough, anyway, and he thinks Deku knows. The chat is going crazy, making lewd comments about how Deku can finally know how it feels to fuck All Might.

“Aha, I suppose that’s true.”

as if all that could fit in his uniform, idiots

“Kacchan…” chides Deku, half-laughing. He turns it over in his hands almost thoughtfully. Coyly, he suggests, “Maybe he’s a grower.”

“Tch,” Bakugou scoffs. It’s as close as he gets to laughing. Fucking All Might isn’t the joke Bakugou was going for, though of course these dumb perverts would think so. Bakugou meant something more like, Isn’t it stupid that this exists? Or maybe, You collect this shit, right? Here’s something else for the display case.

“I guess you all probably want to see me, ah, use it, right?” Deku says. Instantly, the chat goes crazy. “Ah, okay then! I just have to go, um, wash it first. Be right back—” He disappears off screen, his freckled thighs flashing before the camera.

And this… actually isn’t what Bakugou had in mind when he bought the toy, and he’s only now realizing how weird that probably is. He’d just thought it was funny, that Deku would get a kick out of it. He didn’t mean to imply that Deku should use the thing, and on stream, no less. He feels kind of shitty now, like he put him on the spot, especially when he knows Deku’s right hand is fucky at the angle he’d need to use the damn thing. 

Plus, a sour part of him is growling that it was his gift. These other losers shouldn’t get to see Deku using it.

All of that is fuckin’ stupid, though. Deku’s just doing his job. It’s good business for him to fuck himself on stream with something a subscriber bought him. It’ll make more people buy him more things, so he doesn’t have to spend his own money on them.

Bakugou tells himself this.

Once Deku sits back down and sets the toy within view of the camera, he proposes the first payment goal. It’s quickly met, Deku strips off his shirt, and so it begins.

YEEESSSSSSSS!!!

Bakugou sighs.

FUCK THE ALL MIGHT TOY!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Fuckin’ A,” he growls. This dude is so fucking obnoxious. He shows up for every stream, and Bakugou hates him. Has no one taught him how to turn off fuckin’ caps lock?

One small mercy is that Deku is largely ignoring him. He’s getting better at that—not engaging with the super-weirdos—but there are still moments when he clearly gets flustered, which then leads these assholes to try even harder to get a reaction out of him, as if they’re making some kind of connection or something. Pathetic.

hey fuck off creep

I HAVE JSUT AS MUCH RIGHT TO BE HERE AS U DO
IVE BEEN WANTING HIM 2 FUCK AN ALL MIGHT TOY 4 WEEKS

no shit asshole

YEAH THATS IT DEKU LUBE IT UP
STRETCH YOURSELF ON IT

“Ugh.”

I BET ITS MODELED AFTER ALL MIGHTS DICK
ITS GONAN BE LIKE YOUR FUCKING ALL MIGHT HES SPLITTING YOU OPEN

“Goddammit, shut up, fuckin’ Toy Story!”

ARE YO THINKING ABOUT ALL MIGHT, DEKU?

“All right, that’s it,” Bakugrou snarls. He slams a few keys, the mouse, and fuckin’ BAM.

A chiming noise rings out, distinct from the pings of people dropping credits in chat. In an instant, the window changes. The video’s border shifts, the chat wipes clear, and all that’s left is Bakugou’s screen name with the words, PRIVATE ROOM, emblazoned across the top.

“Wait, what—!?” Deku yelps. In a flurry of movement, his chest is taking up the screen. One arm flaps as though he’s frantically clicking his mouse.

chill
i paid the amount for a private stream

Belatedly, Deku falls back to perch on the edge of his bed. “You what?” He sounds stunned.

Bakugou sighs, cracking his knuckles in frustration. He summons all of his public relations training to remind himself he’s not mad at the civilian (Deku). It’s that villain (all-caps asshole, Toy Story).

you have that feature activated
if someone pays a certain amount it automatically goes private

“Oh.” Deku’s hands find each other, the left massaging at the gnarled right. “I didn’t… I guess I just never changed it, I never expected anyone to—”

yeah well i got fuckin sick of toy story

That seems to snap Deku out of whatever shock he’s in. His shoulders curl forward in a chuckle. “‘Toy Story’…? Is that what you call him?”

i’m not gonna call him whatever shit he tries to call himself
some big dick bullshit

“Ah, I’m sure he’s harmless…”

Bakugou scoffs.

“Anyway, um… the toy…”

Oh, right. Bakugou sits up from his customary slouch at his computer.

Deku is holding it in both hands, one side of his neck flexing like he’s cocking his head curiously. “Was that you, Kacchan?”

“Tch, as if it would be any of those extras,” Bakugou grumbles.

as if it would be any of those fuckers

He’s trying not to say extras anymore; his manager told him it was offensive. So now he just thinks it. Another part of his stupid P.R. training.

“Ah, that’s what I thought,” Deku says. It’s hard to interpret his tone. Bakugou’s learning he might have to bother with shit like interpreting people’s tones. “So, did you not want anyone else to, ah, see me use it?”

He blinks in surprise, a lip curling back. “Hah?”

the hell? no
how was i supposed to know you’d use it on stream!?

“Well, why else would you get it for me?”

Bakugou grinds his teeth. It’s the obvious conclusion, but still… 

some friends sent me the link and i thought you’d laugh
not my fault you didn’t get the fuckin joke

“Oh.” Deku folds a leg underneath him, a hand cupping one freckled ankle, his thumb resting in the delicate hollow. “You got it because… you thought it would make me laugh? You—you saw it and you thought of me?”

Bakugou’s scalp is itching with frustration. Yeah, that’s basically what happened. So what?

i fucking guess

“Oh.”

This whole thing is a goddamn disaster. That’ll teach Bakugou to think of others.

never fucking mind though

“No, no, Kacchan.” There’s a flurry of movement as Deku yanks up his other ankle and crosses his legs on the bed, leaning closer to the screen. Bakugou catches a hint of a strong neck, a freckled chin, but no more, although… Can you tell someone’s smiling from just the cut of their jaw? “I didn’t mean… Um, thank you? I just assumed that whoever sent it would want to see me use it on stream…”

well, it is your fuckin job
not your fault

“Aha, that’s true.” Deku’s thumb taps on the hollow of his ankle, his fingertips splaying over the gentle tendons of his foot, and Bakugou seriously doesn’t have a thing for feet, okay, it’s just this guy for some reason. Maybe it’s the fact that he can’t see his face. He’s forced to focus on weird shit instead. “Um, but… do you?”

?

“Want to?”

????

“See me use it, Kacchan,” Deku sighs, as though Bakugou’s the one trying his patience.

Bakugou glares at the screen, unsure whether the heat blooming in his tensed neck is from frustration or something else. “Well, why didn’t you—” 

why didn’t you just fuckin say that then!?

“You’re the one who paid for a private room. I think I can be excused for assuming you’d know what I was talking about.”

already told you
was just meant to be a joke

“Really?” If Deku sounded doubtful before, he sounds utterly unconvinced now. As if Bakugou would fucking lie! He takes to the keyboard in a flurry of fingers.

look, i want a private show with you, you’ll fuckin know it, all right?
& it won’t be in the middle of a regular stream
i’m not some asshole keeping you from making your damn money
you’d make nearly this in a regular night, this ain’t worth special treatment
charge more, shitty deku

Bakugou practically flings his hands off the keyboard. They’re starting to sweat, the way they do when he’s incensed. He reaches for the wipes he keeps by his computer, scowling.

“Charge more?” Deku sounds thoughtful. “You think I should?”

“Fuckin’ said so, didn’t I?” Bakugou growls back, scrubbing at his damp palms. Deku should know by now that he—

“Ah, that’s right, you hate repeating yourself,” Deku murmurs, and Bakugou settles back against his desk chair, mollified. Deku’s hand lifts to thumb at his chin, barely visible. “I suppose I could charge more. I never thought I’d get this many subscribers, or that this would be so lucrative, but I haven’t revisited my prices in a while…”

Tossing the used wipe in the trash, Bakugou lets him ramble. Deku should get more money. His prices are stupid low. It’s why so many loser extras are subscribed.

“Wait… Kacchan.”

Bakugou jerks his head up. “Hah?” he barks.

Deku can’t hear him, but nevertheless he goes on, “If you don’t want to see me use the toy, what do you want to do with the time you’ve already paid for?”

That’s when Bakugou notices the countdown timer. It’s clearly ticking down from thirty minutes, currently somewhere around 22:30.

whatever

Deku’s finger taps on his chin. “Is that a dismissive ‘whatever’ or a ‘whatever you want’ whatever?” Before Bakugou can explode his keyboard in annoyance, Deku laughs. “Just kidding. Knowing you, I’m gonna assume it’s a little bit of both.”

“Tch. As if you know the first thing about me,” Bakugou grumbles, tossing his soiled wet wipe aside.

“Although I suppose I shouldn’t say that,” Deku amends with a sheepish shrug. “I don’t even know what you look or sound like. What you do for a living…”

“Yeah, and you fuckin’ won’t.” A shake of his head clears the strange longing in his chest, and he reclines in the chair, propping his bare feet up on the desk. “Last thing I need, some camboy telling everyone what Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight gets off to.”

On screen, Deku picks at a fingernail before he angles his freckled shoulders toward the All Might dildo, discarded on the bedspread. Bakugou hears his intake of breath, as though he’s about to speak, but he stays silent. An itch crawls up Bakugou’s spine.

With a huff, he drags his keyboard over.

so how’s it compare to your usual?

“Huh? Oh, you mean my other, ah, toys?”

no need to be delicate about it, camboy
what you think? intimidating?

Deku chuckles, pulling the dildo into his lap. It’s definitely All Might-sized. Bakugou thinks he can hear the sly smile in his voice when Deku says, “Intimidating? Kacchan, I started this stream for a reason…”

Heat coils in Bakugou’s gut. He thinks back to that first stream he joined, when Deku was asked to finger himself.

“That feels very good for me, and I don’t think I’ll, er, last very long, once I…”

“Fuck,” Bakugou growls through gritted teeth. Fuck this stupid camboy and his freckled thighs and scarred hands and smiling voice, just off-screen. Fuck the fact that apparently just being fingered feels very good for him and he might not last— 

well if you wanna use it i won’t fucking stop you

But Deku only laughs, setting the toy aside. He tucks his scarred right hand between his thighs, like it’s cold or something. Dildos probably kinda suck to use, with how stiff his hand always seems.

Deku should have someone else use it on him, instead.

The idea flares heat inside him, his dick pulsing in his shorts. Fuck, he’s so conditioned to come while watching this guy that just the sight of those stupid All Might sheets puts horny thoughts in his head.

how do you get yourself off when you’re not streaming

“Huh?” Deku seems surprised by the question. Maybe he was lost in thought. Probably thinking he needs to do laundry or some unsexy shit. “O-oh, you… you wanna know how I, um, masturbate?”

“masturbate”???
that the kinda dirty talk these perverts are paying you for??

Deku lets out a breathless giggle. “Oh, ah, what should I say? Jerk off?”

yeah tell me how you stimulate the glans of your penis
until you achieve orgasm

“K-Kacchan!” Deku’s hand lifts to cover his mouth, his head whipping to the side so he doesn’t laugh straight into the microphone. With a jolt, Bakugou catches a sliver of jaw line, maybe the barest hint of an earlobe framed by a green curl.

Shit, he has curly hair. Bakugou presses down harder on his cock, grinding it against his thigh. That’s… that’s fuckin’ cute.

“Well,” Deku says, a smile in his voice, “first, I retract my foreskin from the engorged, ah, glans…”

“Ff-ff—” Bakugou nearly bites through his tongue, he’s trying to hold in the laugh so hard. It’s bubbly carbonation in his ribs, almost scratching his throat as he shoves it down. When he finally manages to suppress it, he has to free his erection from his shorts and wrap a hand around it. “Stupid,” he grumbles at everything as he begins to stroke.

well fuckin in SPITE of the clinical goddamn dirty talk
i’m horny as fuck right now
so i’m gonna fuckin “masturbate”

Deku pauses. “Oh, really? But I’m not… Should I do something…?”

Shit, that almost makes Bakugou laugh, too, even as he jerks himself. Get this camboy alone and he forgets how to cam.

do whatever you want
you horny too? you’re probably used to getting off like this now

“I mean…” Seemingly subconsciously, Deku kneads at his messed-up hand. “The thing is, I doubt it would… What I mean to say is, it wouldn’t be particularly, um… interesting to watch, if I…”

Bakugou could say the fucking same, he thinks as his eyelids flutter, his head falling back against the chair’s headrest. His fist is working over his cock, red and rock-hard in his grasp and not at all far from coming. Should he hold off? If Deku’s actually going to join him, he will, but he’s not counting on it… 

 i don’t give a shit
do what feels good, don’t worry bout how it looks

“O-okay… Okay!” Deku seems to find his enthusiasm. Bakugou slows his own movements as he watches Deku palm himself through his cute cotton shorts. Within a minute, he’s pulling his half-hard dick out over the waistband and dragging fingertips over it, making breathy little noises that have Bakugou’s pulse pounding in his ears.

“Not interesting, my ass,” he grumbles.

When Bakugou thinks he’s recovered enough stamina, he returns his hand to his cock, practically pulsing. On screen, Deku is doing the same, one hand cupping his balls as he vents quiet noises, nowhere near the dramatic moans he lets loose on a normal stream.

So now they’re just… jacking off. Together.

The thought has heat rushing in Bakugou’s veins, flames pooling in his gut. He’s so fucking close already, and Deku’s only just started but when his unscarred hand slowly, shyly skates up his shirt to tweak a nipple, Bakugou can’t help it. He comes all over his tight fist with a shuddering groan that doesn’t quite cover up the deliciously quiet gasp Deku makes as he pinches his tit through the fabric.

Blearily, Bakugou watches him finish. It doesn’t take long, his orgasm’s approach belied only by his rapid breath and the flex of his thighs rubbing against each other. He’s still fully clothed when he spills onto his scarred knuckles.

It’s one of the sexiest things Bakugou’s ever seen.

***

The next time Bakugou joins the stream, Deku greets him with a cheery, “Hi, Kacchan!” that has a flush zinging over his skin.

Deku seems sprightly today. Excited. Not even the shitty extras grumbling about Kacchan’s private stream stunt seem to get him down. It doesn’t take long for him to reveal why.

“I have something fun to show you all today,” he announces, nearly bouncing on the bed. “It’s brand new, but I think you’re all really gonna like it. I… I really like it…” A coy note creeps into his tone, lighting up Bakugou’s blood. “Anyone wanna guess?”

The extras all slobber out some theories. After a few seconds, Deku hums teasingly and says, “Hm… well, I guess I could just show you all… for some credits, of course.”

So fucking suave. Bakugou’s gotta admit he’s impressed. He throws in to tip them over.

“Ah, thanks, everyone!” Deku chirps, turning as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants. Slowly, tantalizingly, he pulls them down over the swell of his hips to reveal his thick, freckled ass is bare beneath the pants, bracketed beautifully by the bands of a charcoal gray jockstrap. They cut over his trim hips and under the swell of his ass cheeks, and Bakugou abruptly, fiercely, wants to dig his thumbs into the creases there and spread them apart.

But it seems like the extras in the chat have a similar idea, so he doesn’t say anything.

“How does it look?” Deku asks, one arm bent to splay a hand on his lower back. He twists, showing off how his muscular waist gives way to thick curves. His ass is amazing, but his thighs are what has Bakugou salivating right now. Thick with muscle, sprayed with brown freckles, perfect for wrapping around Bakugou’s hips or spreading over his shoulders. Fuck.

let’s see the front

It’s about as much as Bakugou allows himself to act like these other jagoffs.

“The front, Kacchan?” Deku repeats. That flirty tone curling around his nickname has Bakugou’s mouth going dry. “What do the rest of you think? You, ah, wanna see the front, like Kacchan?”

A chorus of hell yas pings out.

But Deku doesn’t turn around yet; he runs a finger teasingly under the burnt orange waistband, baring a tantalizing hip bone. Wow, he’s getting good at this. “Hm, I don’t know… maybe for, ah, fifty more credits?”

To Bakugou’s annoyance, he’s too slow to donate the full amount himself. With a huff, he decides that he’ll make it up later. They’re just getting started, after all.

“Thanks again, everyone!” Deku’s fingertips are still sliding along the waistband. He seems to be feeling himself in these new duds, and Bakugou hates to admit that it’s excruciatingly charming. “Well, then, without further ado…”

With an extra little hip shimmy, Deku turns to reveal the front of the jock. It perfectly cradles his semi-hard dick, accenting his freckled, muscular thighs. The slight trail of green hair leads temptingly down to the charcoal gray waistband, embroidered with burnt orange text that reads, in bold, all caps:

DYNAMIGHT.

~*~*~

“Ow, ow, owww.” 

The stylus falls from his cramping hand with a light clatter. Cradling his right wrist, Midoriya flexes his fingers, trying not to listen to the way the tendons pop and drag against the bones. It’s bad enough having to look at his injured hand; the sounds that accompany it are stomach-turning.

“Midoriya-kun! Please do not overexert yourself, but I must know when you will have those panels to me!”

The familiar, eager voice booms from the entryway to his cubicle, and it sends Midoriya’s stomach sinking into his shoes. He plasters on a smile and swivels in his chair. “Ah, Iida… -san,” he says belatedly. “I should have them to you by tonight.”

His supervisor and erstwhile school friend stands ramrod straight, as usual, in the entrance to his cubicle. Midoriya thinks he detects some tension in the corners of Iida’s eyes and has to bite back a sigh. Things have been strange between them ever since Iida received the promotion to a supervisor position at their manga studio. Midoriya had originally been a shoo-in for it, but that was before… 

He can’t help but flex his sore hand.

“As expected of Midoriya-kun!” Iida says with a strained smile. His blue eyes dip briefly to the hand cradled in Midoriya’s lap and then snap back up. “I will expect them sometime tonight, then. And I suppose the promotional materials for the convention are also—”

“Yes, Iida-san, they will be ready well before booth setup.”

“Ah, of course,” Iida breathes, almost on top of Midoriya’s weary statement. There’s something stolid yet pleading in the set of his mouth as he leans in closer, quieter. “You understand I must ask, it’s to report to—”

“I understand.”

Iida pauses, then straightens. He lifts a hand decisively. “Thank you for your time, Midoriya-kun! Please do not hesitate to ask for help!”

Midoriya offers a shaky smile as Iida speeds away from his cubicle. “Thanks, Iida-san,” he says quietly, turning back to the tablet propped up at his desk. The panels he’s supposed to have finished by the end of the day are still woefully underprepared, and his hand is sore and smarting just at the thought of picking up the stylus again.

Sighing, Midoriya wiggles his stiff fingers and reaches for it.

***

The next night, with his aching hand and weary eyelids, Midoriya is in no mood for a stream. Yet waiting at his door is something that puts a spring in his step as he pushes open the door to his studio apartment.

Mere minutes later, he’s nearly naked on his bed, spinning to show off the way the front of the official Dynamight-branded jockstrap cups his cock. He’s glad—not for the first time—that he does not show his face; he’s burning at the simple thrill of wearing this.

It’s pro-hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight’s first official merch, and Midoriya preordered it as soon as he was able. It was so hard to choose which piece to buy—he couldn’t afford to buy absolutely everything, the way his collect-them-all brain desperately yearned to—but the jock strap seemed the sexiest. And now he’s wearing it! He’s feeling the soft, moisture-wicking fabric against his skin, the elastic resting just below his ass cheeks… He can almost imagine that Dynamight had spun it on his index finger, his signature sneer on his lips, before letting the jock fly across the room to hit Midoriya in the chest.

“Put that on, nerd,” he’d growl. “Gotta see how the goods look for real.”

With a shiver, Midoriya runs a fingertip beneath the waistband. He’s showing off for his followers, sure, but he can imagine it’s for Dynamight, too. Can imagine Dynamight is sitting in the corner, off-camera, his arms crossed over his bulging chest and a hot curl to his lip as he watches Midoriya bend over and spank his own ass with a gasp. His cock would be filling out obviously in his baggy black pants, but he’d ignore it, like Midoriya wasn’t worth touching it for. Not yet, anyway.

He shivers at the thought. He’s followed Dynamight’s career for years, ever since the sports festival Dynamight’s first year at U.A., before he even was Dynamight, and the hero has only grown more and more into Midoriya’s personal wet dream.

Or maybe he dictated Midoriya’s wet dream himself. It’s hard to say, when Midoriya’s heart has thumped this hard since the first time he laid eyes on the future pro-hero.

Ping! Ping! 

Reluctantly, he drags himself from his fantasy to realize his followers have more to say than just their typical praise.

is that dynamight? lol cant believ that guys doing underwear what an asshole

those look so good bb i wanna take em off u ;)

dynamight suxxx

what tf is dynamight?

Midoriya lifts his eyebrows, his fingertips playing along the embroidered text of the waistband. He wasn’t expecting any reaction to the underwear line he’s wearing, really, but maybe he should have realized his subscribers would be surprised by merchandise from someone other than All Might.

“Oh, ah, Dynamight is a new pro-hero,” he says. “Well, technically his name is Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, maybe that’s more familiar… He has an Emitter-type Quirk, called Explosion! He secretes an explosive substance from the sweat glands in his palms—”

GREAT EXPLOSION MURDER GOD wtf this dude sounds ridiculous lmao fuckin pro-heroes

u pretend hes fucking u deku? ;) ;) bet i have bigger dick than dynamite

@dickinaround ya the guy is an asshole u should see his interviews lmao he literally calls people EXTRAS
and @ur_daddy u prob do lol he def has a tiny dick with that attitude

“I don’t know about that…” Midoriya tries to ignore the blush rising to his cheeks. Dynamight’s dick certainly isn’t tiny when he imagines it. “And I think it’s kinda funny when he calls people—”

like you’re the goddamn expert on dick size, shitty pervert

“K-Kacchan…” Of course Kacchan would weigh in on this. He has so little patience for Midoriya’s other subscribers, and although Midoriya appreciates everyone who contributes, he has to admit there are some he likes more than others.

Like Kacchan.

It doesn’t make much sense. Deku knows that. Kacchan is abrasive and argumentative, brash and dismissive of most everyone, it seems. But he’s also straightforward and… respectful, in weird ways. He never tries to wheedle more out of Midoriya than he is willing to give; he’s generous with his tipping; and he’s even an All Might fan, or at least he was when he was younger. It doesn’t seem personal when he argues with Midoriya, it just seems like Kacchan’s default mode of conversation. Like Kacchan is treating him the way he would treat anyone in his life, rather than some blowup doll for him to pin his fantasies on.

Even though that one time, on private stream… Midoriya flushes just to think of it. How was jerking off—completely clothed and nearly silent, knowing that this faceless, silent stranger was doing the same on the other end—one of the most erotic experiences he’s had as a camboy?

He knows it’s all in his head. He knows it’s probably because he’s new at this cam thing. Hell, he even knows a lot of his fondness toward this stranger is probably his own doing! After all, Midoriya gave him a nickname. When Midoriya thinks of his full username—kaboomking420—it doesn’t feel the same.

Kacchan, though… Kacchan is his favorite.

look out everyone, white knight kacchan is here to protect the camboy 🙄

lol pathetic

kacchan is prob a dynamight fanboy too, fuckin kaboomking lmao smh

u look so good baby would u finger urself for 500 credits? ;)

DEKU WHO DO U WNAT 2 FUCK MORE ALL MIGHT OR DYNAMIGHT?????

Toy Story. Midoriya has to stifle a laugh. He could ignore the question—ignore it the way he often pretends not to have seen requests to finger himself, so achy with his mangled hand—but they probably know he’s noticed it by now. “Ah, well,” he allows, “I suppose Dynamight is closer to my age range…”

WHO DO U THINK HAS A BIGGER COCK????????????

bend over for us deku lets see ur tight little hole

dude AM is like 8 feet tall you really think he has a baby dick?

He has to fight down another laugh. Wow, if Midoriya had known this piece of underwear would have his chat like this, he’s not sure he would have worn it on stream. It’s a little hard to feel sexy with his followers arguing. Should he… step in? Get them back on track? It’s not like he makes money if they’re just talking to each other.

hey assholes shut the fuck up about your inane playground bullshit & look at the hot camboy on your goddamn screens for fuck’s sake!!!

“Kacchan,” Midoriya murmurs gratefully. He hopes the relief in his tone doesn’t get picked up by the microphone.

lol u mad

his attitude’s worse than dynamite’s tbh 

KACCHAN I AM TRYING 2 HAVE A CONVERSATION!!!!!!

oi deku ignore these fucks
i’ll give you 1,000 credits if you can get your dick wet enough that it shows through the jock

Midoriya’s heart gives a heavy thud at the image. He goes still, his cock—previously nearly completely flaccid—beginning to fill with interest. “You…” he says, brushing his thumb over the front of the jockstrap, “...you want to see me… get wet?”

From the flood of yeses, it sounds like the rest of his subscribers agree. Midoriya smiles, knuckles sliding over his hardening cock. Of course Kacchan would focus everyone back on the purpose of the stream. Somehow.

“Ah, well, in that case… I’ll have to tease myself quite a bit,” Midoriya says thoughtfully. One hand slides between his ass-cheeks while the other runs up his ribs to circle his nipples, not yet touching. “What do you think, everyone? Should I start up here, or… down here…? Vote with your credits…”

Nipples win. Kacchan adds a large sum to it right as Midoriya is closing the voting to push it over the top. His face is warm, his dick hard and honestly already a little damp. He wonders if Kacchan is thinking of their private stream, too.

***

Midoriya doesn’t go home a lot these days.

He mainly sends money in the mail for his mom to pay off the debt his dad left them with. He hopes that can be a surrogate for his presence. Knows it can never be.

When he does go home, he remembers why he loves his mom. She’s kind, warm, caring, somehow always trying to wrap him entirely in her much smaller frame like she can protect him from the world. He also remembers why he left. The cramped apartment has too many memories. Memories of watching All Might videos at his desk.

“It’s fine! Why? Because I am here!”

Memories of dreams he had for himself. Memories of being told those dreams could never come true. 

Midoriya wonders when those words, All Might’s words, began to lose their meaning to him. When he started to realize that some things wouldn’t be fine. Could All Might erase his father’s disappearance? His debt? His cruel, drunken snarl that Izuku not only never would be a hero, but never could be, either? 

When Midoriya was convalescing, he often wondered—childishly, bitterly—if All Might could heal his shattered hand, the one that had drawn countless heroic All Mights over the last two covetous decades.

Of course, some things are beyond even All Might.

Yet he keeps his collectibles. Displays them prominently, like talismans. Hungers for even more, as if he can afford them. New All Might merchandise has long been the only frivolity he allowed himself, but seeing his mom again reminds him of the cost of that indulgence. Reminds guilt to twist in his stomach over that orange-and-charcoal scrap of elastic that made his heart howl with a self-satisfied joy.

Dynamight is not All Might. He doesn’t fit Midoriya’s rules for himself, but he can’t help it; Dynamight is fresh, so dewy and dissimilar from any hero Midoriya’s watched, wide-eyed with wonderment. If All Might made his heart swell with safe surety, Dynamight makes it flutter with danger. With determination. With desire.

When he gets back to his studio apartment, Midoriya puts on the jockstrap again. Determinedly, he palms himself through the fabric, teases himself until his precome bleeds a wet spot into it. Imagines Dynamight’s rumbling growl telling him to do it.

“Ignore what those fucking extras have to say,” he’d thunder at him, pressing him into the mattress, one dangerous palm splayed over his sternum. It’s the same thing he always says, running on repeat in Midoriya’s mind. “Do you want to be a stupid, worthless person your whole life?”

“N-no,” Midoriya stammers back.

And Dynamight’s lips curl back, baring his perfect, blunt teeth, with cruel glee. “Prove it.”

***

The packages arrive pretty regularly now, but the one he pulls out of his P. O. box today looks different from the others.

It’s small and plain, no branding on it, as though someone packaged it themself rather than ordering it straight from the website. It looks like a gift from a friend, yet it arrived at the P. O. box he only uses for camming. Kacchan was the first to make use of that, but since then he’s received more gifts from others. Vibrators, butt plugs, even a pair of emerald-green nipple clamps, which he plans to use as a surprise when he has a bit more time to dedicate to the stream.

So, not any time soon. Not with work the way it’s getting.

When he gets home, he checks his messages on the website. Normally, his followers will take credit right away, asking him to open it on the stream, but no one mentions having sent a package. He turns back to the unmarked box with curiosity.

Typically, he would wait for a stream, but… something urges him to open this one himself. He can always reapply the tape, anyway, and just pretend, if he really wants to.

He slices through the packing tape, opens the flaps, and—

“Oh—oh my goodness!” he gasps in excitement, reaching in to pull out bundles and bundles of—of Dynamight underwear.

Not just jock straps, but briefs, boxers, boxer-briefs… bikini-cut panties, thongs, boy shorts, even a few bras. It’s the entire Dynamight line! It’s everything he would have bought, if guilt hadn’t eaten away at him at the very idea—and somehow it’s here anyway.

Heart singing with joy, Midoriya feels his face split into a smile. He pulls every last piece out and meticulously lays them on his bed. They litter it like tiles of a mosaic, and he surveys them with the greedy satisfaction of a collector. His heart swells.

All of this must have cost a fortune. And he has no idea who it could be from.

***

“Oh! So, um… I wanted to let everyone know that I might not be able to stream quite as often in the next few weeks.”

He barely remembers to say it, actually, even though it’s been hanging over him for days. Amazing how a long session of edging will simply erase all thoughts from his head.

Predictably, he gets several messages of disappointment, along with many of his more polite subscribers simply thanking him for letting them know. The majority simply tip him and log off, as per usual.

One person is silent. Midoriya tries not to fixate on it.

He has no choice at this point, really. The weeks are beginning to speed by, in the lead up to the convention. He’s tried to keep up his regular streams as long as possible—he’s come to rely on the extra income—but now he can think of little other than merch, promotion, recruiting… along with the ever-present need to finish new panels that he’s always behind on. He knows it’s time for him to focus on his full-time job, even if the streaming is sometimes a welcome release.

Even if the mystery of who gave him the entire Dynamight set still remains.

He hasn’t worn any of it on stream, not after the last time. He’d had no idea just how many Dynamight detractors subscribed to him. Dynamight is amazing, absolutely Number One Hero material and it’s obvious to Midoriya—so obvious it twists in his gut to hear others say otherwise. So he doesn’t wear the underwear, doesn’t even mention it beyond thanking “an anonymous subscriber” for the gift of “a matching underwear set.” He was kind of hoping the person who sent it would take credit, but no one has. Perhaps they want to be anonymous, too.

***

Time passes. With one week left before the convention, Midoriya receives another package.

It’s huge.

Midoriya nearly trips multiple times as he carries it up the narrow white staircase to his apartment. It bonks against walls, the steps, even against his nose once, until he manages to emerge from the stairwell and arrive at his front door.

At least it’s light, he thinks as he shifts it to one arm to fish his keys out of his pocket. Strangely light. A corner catches on the door frame with another hollow sound as he drags it into his apartment.

He sets it on his bed and stares at it curiously, his chin in his hand.

Finally, he sighs. It’s with a strange melancholy that he retrieves a pair of scissors to open the box. He never expected to actually enjoy doing the cam thing, but he does miss it in an off-kilter way. At the very least, it was nice to have the excuse to get off in imaginative ways. Not to mention the extra income.

Plus, the people were nice. Well, maybe just one person in particular. And maybe not nice. At least, not in the traditional sense.

Midoriya shoves the thought aside as he presses the scissor blade to the packing tape. Then he hesitates. His subscribers do seem to prefer it when he opens their packages on stream, plus it inspires others to buy things for him. Just one more thing he can attribute to Kacchan’s influence.

At the very least, he should check if any of them have tried to contact him since the last time he was on, he decides. It has been a while.

When he logs into the app, he has 22 messages awaiting him. It’s briefly overwhelming. He considers closing out but then catches sight of a familiar name, the message sent mere hours before.

kaboomking420
hey i got a notice that some shit i bought you arrived so check your po box

A buoyant affection bubbles up in Midoriya’s chest at the sight of the silly screen name. He really is fond of Kacchan.

DEKU
I actually just got it! There was no note so thank you for telling me it was from you!
Let me know if you’d like me to open it on stream. :)

He doesn’t expect a response right away, but he has only just turned away from the laptop when he hears a familiar ping. He whips back around, far too eager.

kaboomking420
yeah no shit there was no note, i don’t want my real name on receipts or whatever

“Oh, right.”

Midoriya wonders idly—and not for the first time—what Kacchan’s real name is. What Kacchan looks like in real life. He likes to think he’s young. Tall. Handsome, or at least not ugly (though he’s handsome in his mind—he has to have something backing up that fierce attitude). But Midoriya doesn’t need him to be chiseled like pro-hero Red Riot, or beautiful like pro-hero Shouto. He knows he himself isn’t anything special. He’d just like to think that Kacchan is someone who, in real life, he could see himself— 

Forcibly, he shoves those thoughts aside. It’s stupid to be romanticizing any of his subscribers. Honestly, Kacchan would probably be the first person to tell him that.

kaboomking420
& no, i don’t want you to open it in front of those losers
i wanna pay you for a private stream

Midoriya’s eyebrows leap up his forehead.

“Ka— Kacchan wants a private stream?”

His heart pounds as he begins to knead subconsciously at his injured hand.

“A private stream… I wasn’t planning on doing any, but it would be good, a time-efficient way to earn the same amount that I normally would in a full stream in less time and with less fuss. Kacchan already suggested I charge more for those, so he probably would be happy to pay even more than he did the first time, and if it’s private, I could probably choose the date and time to work with my schedule—”

kaboomking420
oi nerd you still there??
tell me now if it’s a no, don’t gotta let me down easy
i know you got a fuckin life outside of this

DEKU
I’m here! Yes, that sounds good! What days work for you?

In the work of a few minutes, they’ve settled on a date and time. Kacchan clearly knows his own schedule like the back of his hand, and it’s also clearly packed. Midoriya wonders what he does for a living. Obviously something lucrative, if he’s willing and able to pay for a private stream.

DEKU
Okay, great! :) I’ll see you then!

kaboomking420
yeah
oh & deku
don’t open it until the stream

***

Midoriya doesn’t.

He knows he could. Maybe should. If it were almost anyone else, he would, just to make sure it’s something he’s willing to use, but Kacchan is different. Whatever it is, it could just as easily be a joke as a sincerely bought sex toy.

He does shake the box a few times out of curiosity, but there is no rattling. It’s just very light. Soundless.

When the day of the private stream arrives, Midoriya barely makes it home in time to get ready. He changes from his simple, blocky suit into more relaxed clothes, shorts and a tank top, his heart pounding with anticipation as he pulls up the website and activates his camera.

Kacchan is already on, immediately present as soon as the stream starts. He can’t help how his hand lifts to give a little wave. “H-hi, Kacchan!”

hey

Midoriya’s throat catches, his fingers twitching in midair. He’s abruptly aware that he has no clue how to start this. “Um… how are you?”

???
fuckin great how do you think i’m doing

The giggle bubbles up as easily as it always does, his raised hand lifting to cover his mouth. Midoriya doesn’t know why he finds himself so charmed by Kacchan but he can’t deny that he is.

“That was a strange question to ask, I suppose,” he concedes, his eyes sliding from the screen to the box he has beside him on the bed. “Ah, I haven’t opened your gift yet.”

good

“I have no idea what it is, to be honest. Usually the packages I get at the P.O. box are a lot smaller.”

fuckin typical
what kinda shit are these perverts sending you?

Midoriya laughs. “What do you think, Kacchan? I’m a camboy. Most of my subscribers don’t send me dildos as jokes.”

no shit, i’m 1 of a kind

It’s not the first time Kacchan has said it, but it’s the first time Midoriya finds himself nodding in agreement. “That’s for sure.”

glad you finally see the light
now are you gonna open the damn thing or not

“Oh, right!”

He snatches up the scissors and drags the box halfway into his lap. It goes easily and noiselessly, like it’s filled with air. What is it? he wonders, not for the first time. Lingerie? But then why the enormous box? 

He slides the blades through the packing tape, his anticipation building. Finally, he manages to pry open the long flaps of the box. He can’t suppress the breath he sucks in through his teeth.

It’s—a body pillow.

A body pillow with Dynamight printed on it.

Midoriya’s breath catches. This—he didn’t even know this existed. How did he not know!? He thought he had his thumb on the pulse of any Dynamight merch—that’s how he was able to order the jockstrap as soon as it was available—but this… How could it have escaped his notice?

Silently, he plunges his hands into the box to drag it out, pulling off the plastic wrap to bare Dynamight’s sneering face to the air. He’s drawn but it’s a perfect likeness, somehow; the artist captured the cruel glint of his perfectly white teeth, the greedy sheen of his gaze that makes Midoriya’s stomach lurch off-balance.

Belatedly, he realizes Kacchan is pinging him. He wrenches his gaze from Dynamight to his screen.

oi whaddaya think
you’re a fan of this guy right?

“Y-yes,” Midoriya stammers, his heart in his throat. He can’t stop his eyes flicking to the body pillow. On second view, Dynamight looks… so debauched. His hero costume ripped to shreds, his large pecs straining against the tatters of fabric. Midoriya’s gut clenches, heat flickering. “Ah, Kacchan, this is… where did you find it?” he asks, trying to keep his voice light.

same as i found that all might dildo, 1 of my stupid friends sent me the link

“O-oh…” Then it’s probably a joke, Midoriya tells himself. Tries to tell the arousal that’s begging to be tended to as his gaze falls on Dynamight’s hand, cupping his crotch obscenely. “A-are your friends pro-hero fans, as well?”

guess you could say that

Midoriya wonders what that means. He finds he can’t be bothered to examine further right now. He had already been prepared to play with himself tonight, and the sight of a wanton Dynamight in his bed—even if it is only drawn, even if it is only a joke—is really doing something for him.

“I see,” he forces himself to say, trying to smooth out the quaver in his voice. “Well, thank you, Kacchan.”

you like it?

Very much, yes. Too much, maybe. “Oh, yes! It’s a very, ah, funny joke…”

oh so it’s a joke then

Midoriya’s heart flutters. “What… what do you mean? Did you not mean it as a joke?”

fuck no i got it so you could hump the shit out of it

It’s odd to have a laugh punched from his chest at the same time as heat floods his body, but that’s just what Kacchan does to him. He’s so busy trying to cover his wheezing that he has to squint through watery eyelashes at the furiously pinging messages Kacchan is sending.

don’t fuckin laugh
i mean i guess you can cuddle it to sleep or whatever the fuck but
i saw you in that jock, you were feelin yourself cuz you got that guy’s new shit
& i know your hand’s all fucked up so

That surprises the laughter out of Midoriya’s ribs. He straightens, cradling his wrist before he can even think to conceal it. “My—my hand? You noticed that?”

yeah no shit it’s scarred to hell
the fuck you do to it? get it caught in a wood-chipper?

A shade draws over Midoriya’s heart. He flexes his hand, embarrassment and hopelessness twisting within him. “Ah, it’s… a long story,” he says eventually, writing a teasing smile into his voice. “And not what you paid for, Kacchan.”

whatever

That’s Kacchan letting it go, Midoriya knows by now. So he decides to let it go, too. Or try, anyway, the way he has for the past six months. Besides, a creeping curiosity remains.

“I, ah, actually got… some other things… in the mail,” he says haltingly, toying with the hem of his tank top. His face is flushed hot for some reason. Why is he embarrassed to ask Kacchan if it was him?

oh yeah?

That’s an unusual response for Kacchan, isn’t it? More coy than usual? Is it because he already knows Midoriya received something else? 

“Y-yeah,” he says, ripping the tank top over his head in a rush. The air it kicks up feels good against the back of his neck, his hair surely an unkempt nest.

what kinda things?

Is he teasing? Smug? Midoriya wishes he could hear his voice. Wishes he could interpret it. Wonders if it’s as gruff and gravelly as he imagines, like the boom and crackle of a firework over a dark ocean. The thought shivers down his spine.

“You know. The usual.” He hooks his thumbs into his waistband, careful with the right one, and gently begins to tug, shimmying his hips nicely. He’s already half-hard in his briefs, and he makes sure Kacchan knows about it. “Dildos, vibrators… some, um, nipple clamps, even.”

you like having your nipples played with

It’s not a question, and that fact zings down Midoriya’s spine, splitting at his tailbone to streak into both his heels. He rocks onto his ass to kick his shorts over his ankles, knees sliding against each other. He’s catching his breath as much as he can.

“Yes,” he admits quietly. “You knew I did, from that time I wore the jock.”

yeah

It’s neutral on the screen but wistful to his ear.

“I do a lot of stuff on cam, though. How did you know?” How did he know what was real and what wasn’t?

saw you touching them that one time
through your shirt

“Oh. Right.” There’s no magic in that, Midoriya tries to tell himself. His heart remains convinced, it seems.

so what else did you get? what’re these losers buying you

Chewing a smiling lip, Midoriya idly palms himself through his briefs. He wishes he’d thought to wear the Dynamight ones he has, to surprise Kacchan. “Ah, well,” he hums, trying not to let on how desperate he is for Kacchan’s confession, “I did get a few more of that line of underwear. The Dynamight ones, you know.”

It seems like it takes Kacchan longer to respond. It does. Or is that just in his head? Because the answer is only,

you really like that guy huh

“I…” Midoriya bites a lip, brows twitching together. It’s not an answer. Not the one he wanted, anyway. His heart sinks. “Yeah, he’s… I mean, he’s amazing.”

Another maybe-eternity later:

why don’t you tell him to his face

It takes a moment—a moment in which Midoriya nearly breathes a longing, I wish—before he catches Kacchan’s meaning. With a blushing gasp, he whips his gaze to the Dynamight in bed with him, leering back his way.

“K-Kacchan!” he hisses, embarrassed at the thought.

what?
i’m sure he’d appreciate it
go on
tell him how “amazing” he is

Each ping is a nudge at his back, prodding him forward.

Should he? Will he really?

Mouth dry, blood thrumming, he crawls across the bed. After a breathless moment’s hesitation, he plants his hands on either side of the pillow. Haltingly, he leans over it, his stomach fluttering. Dynamight gloats up at him, brash and unrepentant in spite of the state of his costume. 

“Dy—Dynamight-san,” he stammers to the unfazed, fabric face. His own is on fire.

There is no ping from his computer, so he swallows dryly and tries to summon the wherewithal to make this sexy. Is this hot to Kacchan? he wonders helplessly. It can’t possibly be, but he still hopes so.

“I… I think you’re amazing,” he murmurs at length, and the words shiver up into the back of his neck. He’s so hard, pulling at his briefs. “You’re so, ah, strong, and smart, and your Quirk is… is just incredible. You’re absolutely going to be the new Number One Hero.”

There’s still no ping from his computer. Is Kacchan still there? He lifts his burning face toward the laptop, relieved to find it’s still out of view of his webcam.

“H-how was that, Kacchan?” he asks, a little out of breath and hoping to make it from laughter. “Do you think Dynamight-san heard me?”

The ping is belated this time, and there is no mistaking it, the message arriving on delay:

i bet he did

***

Midoriya comes all over Dynamight’s bared tits. The simple sight of his come streaking the perfect muscle rips a hoarse moan from his open, shuddering mouth.

Afterwards, Kacchan is terse, as usual. Midoriya, red-faced and panting, wonders if Kacchan is as embarrassed as he is about what he just did. He wonders if that made it even better for Kacchan, too.

When Midoriya gets into bed for real that night, he tosses and turns for a long time before settling in. Even when he does drift off, images of Dynamight fade in and out behind his eyes. Angry. Triumphant. Lips curled back in a smug smile. 

Ignore what those fucking extras have to say. Do you want to be a stupid, worthless person your whole life?

No, no, I’m not, I-I wasn’t…!

He jolts awake in a cold sweat, heart thudding against his ribs. His hand aches terribly, twisted beneath him. With a groan, he levers himself up to fumble for his painkillers and a glass of water with his bumbling left hand. He sighs when he sees the time, the night already nearly gone and him with so little sleep. HeroCon is mere days away, and he has so much work left to do for the company. He can’t afford a sleepless night.

He falls back to bed with a sigh, his elevated heart rate subsiding. He stares up at the blackness of his ceiling.

Only days left until HeroCon.

Only days until he’s face to face with the real Dynamight.

The thought shoots a shiver of shame and excitement up his spine. To think, he’ll get to see the explosive pro-hero in person for the first time in years of following his career. And it’ll be after he rubbed himself off on the hero’s likeness. Midoriya’s face flushes hot before he tries to shove it down.

At least he can rest assured that to Dynamight, he’ll be simply another extra.

~*~*~

It’s finally here. The annual Official Pro-Hero Convention of Japan. Nickname: HeroCon.

Bakugou hates this shit.

Hands down, the worst part of being a pro-hero is putting on a happy face for the fans. He sucks at it—always has—and Bakugou hates sucking at shit.

Bakugou’s not proud to say it, but it’s worse today because it’s been so long since he really got off. Sure, he can jerk it just fine without that camboy, but every mediocre orgasm just reminds him of the meteoric release that resulted from watching Deku hump that fucking body pillow. From watching Deku whine and whimper and whisper how amazing he is, how incredible, how he’s gonna be number one.

Fuck, just the memory has heat glimmering in his gut. And now—with Bakugou sat at the head of a long line of pro-hero fans waiting eagerly for autographs from up-and-comers like Dynamight, Shouto, and Red Riot—is not the fucking time.

“Thanks so much, Dynamight!” a preteen boy gushes, taking the signed headshot from him with stars in his eyes.

Forcefully, Bakugou steers his thoughts back to the task at hand. “No problem, kid,” he responds gruffly.

“Could… could you say it?” The boy is almost shy about it, despite the gleeful glint in his eye. “Your catchphrase?”

“Hah?” Bakugou sneers, crossing his arms. “Catchphrase? Why’n’tcha go off and die!”

A smile explodes across the boy’s face. He pumps a fist in the air. “Yeah!”

Bakugou tries to hide his smirk as he watches the boy’s mother wearily usher him away. He reaches for the stack of headshots beside him, readying his pen.

Yeah, he sucks at dealing with people. The one consolation is that most of his fans like that he sucks at it.

He’s been at the autograph booth for almost an hour—his daily socialization allotment nearly used up—when a person approaches with an unfamiliar sheet of paper clutched in his hands. “Ah, Dynamight-san, if you could, um, sign please…”

That voice… so familiar.

“Hah?” Bakugou squints up, but the guy in front of him is a stranger—demure in white shirtsleeves, blushing yet utterly unknown to him. Bakugou must recognize his voice from someone else.

“If you could please sign my, ah—my artwork, it would mean… so much,” the guy goes on, the flush overtaking his youthful face, his chin tilted just so… 

The fuck…? Bakugou squints at him, tipping his head curiously. Does he really not know this guy? There is something so familiar, something just left of center when he looks at his face, but…

No. There’s nothing there.

“Pass it over,” he grunts. “That’s the point of this whole shit, isn’t it?” 

“Ah! That’s true, thank you!” Respectfully, the guy inclines his head and holds out the paper with two hands.

Both freckled. One scarred.

Bakugou’s breath catches, his vision tunneling. That hand, dotted with freckles, strong but patchwork, as though pieced back together in a mismatch… that mangled hand, he knows it, would know it anywhere— 

“Dynamight-san…?”

And that voice, he did know it, he did…! 

It’s—! 

Instantly, Bakugou snatches the paper from the guy, his throat dry. “What—” he croaks, has to swallow. He can’t bring himself again to meet the guy’s eyes, eyes he’s never seen before, eyes that have never seen him before— “What name you want?” he asks gruffly, trying not to let his hand tremble as he reaches for his pen.

“Izuku is fine!” he says. “It’s spelled with the kanji for—” 

But Bakugou’s brain is already supplying it for him. It’s clicking, the wordplay, fitting like a plug in a socket. The pen glides over the image almost unbidden, while internally Bakugou feels both blank and whirring.

IZU—KU.

“Ah, yes, that’s it!” he says, sounding pleased. “I should have expected nothing less of Dynamight-san.”

Bakugou’s heart thuds in his throat. He still can’t bring himself to lift his head, so as he raises his pen he looks instead at the artwork in front of him. He’s never seen it before, unlike most of his promotional images. This picture makes him look more heroic than most of his official merch. It’s him, flying through the air on his own explosive propulsion. Wind blows back his hair, murderous joy sparks in his eyes, a demon’s grin slashes across his face.

It’s… good.

“You drew this?” he asks blankly. It’s so good.

“Y-yes!” he chirps, clearly surprised. 

Bakugou stares at it some more. He doesn’t know shit about art, but… it really is good. “You an artist or somethin’?” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his manager look at him sharply. He’s spending too much time on one person, but he can’t care about it.

“Ah, well, I like to think so…”

“Hah?” Annoyance jerks Bakugou’s head up without his permission, and his eyes lock with startled green, hooked there. “Did you draw it or not!?” 

Deku blinks back at him, and his face is freckled, and fresh, and framed by forest-green curls, the way Bakugou knew it would be. Confusion, admiration, embarrassment, surprise—they all may as well be scrawled across his skin, and Bakugou realizes suddenly why he doesn’t show his face on his stream. It hides nothing.

“Ah, y-yes, I drew it,” he stammers, wringing his hands. A gesture Bakugou has seen countless times. It has his stomach mirroring the motion, twisting in knots.

Should he—should he say something…? 

“Tch,” he grunts, ripping his eyes back down. He clicks his pen irritably. “Then you’re a fuckin’ artist, ain’t you?”

His manager takes a step closer. “Dynamight-san…”

“I know, all right!?” he barks at her, turning back to Deku. “Sorry,” he grumbles. “’Mnot supposed to swear at civilians.”

A stifled giggle. He knows it so well, so fucking well. “It’s all right, I don’t mind.”

…Kacchan…

“Well, I, ah, don’t want to take up your—”

“Oi…”

Deku shuts up, his teeth clicking together. His reaching hands fall away as Bakugou taps at the first character of his name on the page.

“This character,” he says quietly, trying to keep his voice steady despite the tension in his jaw. “It could be read… in another way.”

Does Deku understand? Does he gasp, or is it simply the clamor of Bakugou’s own thoughts screaming in his skull?

“It… it could be read…” He has to stop, his mouth going dry. He licks his lips, clicks his pen, and, his heart pounding, presses the tip to the paper.

D—E—K—U.

They are both silent as Bakugou lifts the pen. He feels out of breath, looking at it. At those four letters. Written in English, just like on the website.

Does Bakugou want to have done this? Does Deku?

“I—”

“Just another reading of it,” Bakugou interrupts smoothly. He casts his expression into a scowl as he peers up at Deku, whose face has gone white with shock. His hands are clasped together before his chest, the scarred one cradled in the other. He gives a weak smile when their eyes meet. “Anyone ever told you that?”

“I—yes,” he says uncertainly. Bakugou can read the warring thoughts in his green eyes like flashing lights on a marquee. Uncertainty. Nervousness. Confusion. “Yes, ah, I’ve… I’ve heard that before…”

“Kind of a shitty nickname,” Bakugou goes on, scrawling out his typical message to fans (“DIE!!!”—his signature).

“Oh, I don’t think it’s so bad.” There’s something mischievous in his voice, secretive.

It makes Bakugou think he doesn’t get it. And that makes him grind his teeth. Guess he’s gonna have to really spell it out for this guy.

“Yeah, there are worse names to be called,” he says irritably, gripping the pen even tighter. He brings it back to the paper once more, pressing so hard he nearly tears through it. “For instance, I have one that I just can’t shake with this one guy. ’Sannoying as fuck. It’s just him who calls me it. And the worst part is,” he says, sitting back almost breathlessly as he throws his pen down to the desk, “I’ve never even met the guy.”

He splays his hand over the entire piece of paper, spins it back to face Deku, and shoves it at him. He bares his teeth in a sneer.

“Whaddaya think, Deku? How’s that name strike you?”

This time, Deku really does gasp. With trembling hands, eyes trained on the signature, he reaches out to grasp the sheet of paper. He lifts it to his face, the fluorescent overhead lights bleeding through so Bakugou can see his own scrawl, written in reverse, at the same time as it leaves Deku’s mouth:

“K-Kacchan…!?”

~*~*~

Midoriya’s face is still frozen in shock when one of the line-wranglers ushers him away from the table.

Dynamight is—Kacchan is—Dynamight.

It’s not until he’s been led nearly to the entrance of the signing hall and is plodding back to his company’s booth in the merch hall that it truly hits him.

Panic. Horror. Humiliation.

His favorite active pro-hero, and he has seen him naked. Naked, and hard, and nearly crying from the need for release.

Oh god.

Midoriya stops in the center of the convention center’s hallway, unable to go on. People mutter angrily as they peel around him, but he can’t bring himself to put one foot in front of the other.

Dynamight hasn’t just seen him naked. He’s seen him hump a body pillow with his likeness printed on it.

With a horrified moan, he buries his face in his hands. If he didn’t have a full shift at the company’s booth in the merch hall, he would go back upstairs to the room and simply lie facedown on the floor, but alas, he has to relieve Iida.

His only consolation, he tells himself with something like optimism, is that at least he’ll probably never have to see Dynamight again

***

“So you really are a fuckin’ artist.”

Midoriya’s breath leaves his body. 

It’s hours later, and Midoriya had only just stopped thinking about the fact that he came on a body pillow of Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, who is currently standing before Midoriya’s company’s merch booth, a baseball cap pulled low over his brow to cover his distinctive hair. He’s avoiding his gaze, looking at him only obliquely, his ruby eyes skittering over to Midoriya and away again. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his slacks, his muscular shoulders nearly at his ears.

“You got any more’a those prints?”

“H-huh?” Midoriya stammers.

Dynamight jerks his head to the booth’s display, his lips set in a hard, unhappy line. “I don’t see it. The one I signed.”

Midoriya knows his mouth is agape, but his brain is refusing to make the connections needed to understand what Dynamight is saying. “A-ah… Oh, the, um…?”

“Tch.” It sounds both dismissive and amused at the same time, and that sound, it… it makes so much sense to Midoriya’s ear. They’re beginning to overlap in his mind, the images of these disparate men who are somehow the same. Pro-hero Dynamight from his TV screen, subscriber Kacchan from his laptop… and this man, looking at anything but him, clearly uncomfortable and angry about it.

So many names for the same person. Civilian name: Bakugou Katsuki. Hero name: Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight. Nickname: Kacchan. Screen name: kaboomking420.

“Your birthday!”

Midoriya nearly slaps a hand over his mouth. Dynamight’s gaze slides to him, his lip curling in surprise. “Hah?”

“It’s, ah… your screen name,” Midoriya says quietly, wringing his hands. “I just realized. It’s your birthday.”

Dynamight stares at him in silence for a long moment. Then he snorts, his shoulders hunching. “You really are a fanboy, aren’t you.”

Embarrassment washes over Midoriya, the shaky smile falling from his face. “Ah… yes,” he says quietly. “But you already knew that.”

Quiet reigns. All Midoriya hears is the loud hum of the crowd in the merch hall and the thudding of his heart in his head. Because Dynamight certainly does know Midoriya is a fan. Is he remembering that private stream, as well, even more mortifying now that he knows who was on the other side of the screen?

“I… I think you’re amazing…” 

The memory shivers over his skin, electric, standing his hair on end.

He steals another glance at Dynamight. He’s frowning at something hanging above the booth, seeming lost in thought. Midoriya half expects Dynamight to walk away, but he lingers silently, peering at the manga they have for sale, at the covers they’ve gotten blown up to poster size.

“So this is where you work.”

It’s not what Midoriya had expected him to say, after the stretching moments of silence. He swallows and nods nervously. There’s no use hiding it. “Yes.”

“But you fucked up your hand. So…” 

Leave it to Dynamight to connect the dots so easily. He nods again. “Y-yes,” he agrees, flexing his fingers subconsciously. “So I had to.”

Dynamight grunts, returning his impassive gaze to their wares. “You like it, at least?”

A flush spreads over Midoriya’s face. “Some of it, yes,” he admits. “Some of… the people…” 

The admission hangs in the air. He wonders what Dynamight is thinking right now. 

“You’re good.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise, his lips parting. Dynamight is staring at one of the covers that Midoriya drew, long before his injury, but he could just as easily be talking about camming. Midoriya supposes it doesn’t matter, really. Maybe he means both. Dynamight is a man of few words, and so is Kacchan.

“Th-thank you…” 

“’S’important to do what you’re good at.”

Midoriya nearly laughs. It’s such a Kacchan thing to say. Such a Dynamight thing to say. He’s heard him make similar statements in televised interviews, albeit not quite as nicely.

Dynamight—Kacchan—Dynamight and Kacchan, one and the same, which means… 

“What’re you smiling at,” Dynamight asks, his voice a begrudging grumble.

“Honestly, I can’t believe it was you this whole time.” Distantly, Midoriya is surprised by his own candor, but he’s more interested in Dynamight’s reaction—the way his lips press together in a tight line. It’s an expression he hasn’t seen before, in all the footage he’s watched on late nights. Dynamight still doesn’t seem to want to meet his gaze, so Midoriya is free to look all he wants. 

“D’you ever guess?”

Midoriya shakes his head. “No. No, of course not. Why would I ever think…?”

“Tch, I dunno.” He shrugs jerkily, like he’s trying to shrug off a fly. “Sometimes I thought I was too fuckin’ obvious. With my name, and the body pillow, and—”

Understanding creeps up into Midoriya’s brain. “The underwear,” he murmurs, eyes widening. “None of the tags were on… Prototypes…?”

Dynamight nods tightly.

“And your friends,” Midoriya goes on. “They were always sending you silly pro-hero things. That… that pillow.” He can’t help the blush on his cheeks. “Making fun of you?”

“Fuckers.” Midoriya thinks he sees a flush rising up Dynamight’s corded neck.

“And when I asked if they were pro-hero fans, you said—”  

“Yeah, that’s the shit I’m talking about,” he growls, hands shoving even deeper in his pockets. “Fuckin’ obvious.”

He’s still looking everywhere but at Midoriya, currently glaring heavily at the company’s mailing list signup sheet. He’s just as uncomfortable as Midoriya is, he realizes, even if Dynamight’s reaction is to hunch up and lash out while Midoriya’s is to smooth over. Because there is no script for the kind of relationship they have, so what exactly are they? Hero-and-fanboy; camboy-and-subscriber; stranger-and-stranger… none of which Midoriya exactly wants them to stay.

So, with a nervous yet decisive smile, he thrusts out a hand, his healthy one. “Midoriya Izuku,” he says.

For a moment, Dynamight regards it suspiciously. Then he suddenly seizes it with his own, his grip tight and hot. “Bakugou Katsuki.”

“I know.”

“Tch. You would.”

Midoriya smiles as their hands disengage. His tingles as it falls back to the cloth-covered table. He just shook hands with Dynamight—with Bakugou Katsuki—with Kacchan—whose hands have saved hundreds.

“Dynamight-san. Er, Ba—Bakugou…” 

The man stares at him, unamused. “Deku,” he drawls purposefully.

Midoriya smiles even wider. “Kacchan. Would you like to get some coffee or something?”

***

Kacchan can’t simply get coffee; he’s a pro-hero, and they’re at a hero convention. But it’s okay, because Midoriya can’t get coffee just then either, not until Iida comes back to watch the booth. Instead, they exchange numbers and part ways with plans to meet up at some point that evening.

It’s not until hours later that Midoriya returns to the room the company booked for him and Iida. It’s not meant so much as a place for them to sleep as it is storage for their merchandise throughout the four days of the convention. On a flight of fancy, Midoriya also brought his own portfolio, which lies among the stacks of recruitment materials on the coffee table. He doesn’t exactly know what he was hoping for—to show it to other companies? Find freelance work? So far the only use for it he’s found is to have Kacchan sign one of his prints.

Kacchan…

It feels like only moments between when he texts Kacchan and when he hears a knock at the door. Midoriya’s heart thuds against his ribs as he turns from the boxes of manga and paces over to put his eye to the peephole.

Blond hair, broad shoulders. His breath catches. It really is Bakugou Katsuki standing on the other side. Midoriya still can barely believe it.

He takes a step away, a hand to his chest to try to steady his breathing. It’s only Kacchan, he reminds himself sternly. Just because he’s touched himself countless times to the thought of the pro-hero on the other side of the door doesn’t mean that he has to do anything about that.

On the other hand, the pro-hero on the other side of the door has also seemingly touched himself to the sights and sounds of Midoriya multiple times.

The idea sticks like an arrow to the gut, punching the air from him. He grips his shirt in a tight fist, mouth going dry. How did he not think of that until just now, with Kacchan waiting for him to open the door to his hotel room? How did he not think of the possibility that Kacchan might want him as much as he wants— 

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head decisively. “Kacchan never even saw your face before today. He had no idea what you really looked like, so there’s no reason that he would want to—”

BAM BAM BAM!

“Oi, Deku! You in there?”

Midoriya lets out an eep!, leaping back from the door. He tries once more to calm himself, takes a deep breath, and reaches for the door to throw it open. “H-hi!”

Kacchan’s raised fist falls back to his side, his eyes widened in surprise at Midoriya’s sudden appearance. He quickly seems to school his expression back to impassivity. “Hey,” he grunts. “You ready for that coffee?”

“Yes!” Oof, too eager.

“Great.” Kacchan lifts an eyebrow at him. “So you gonna invite me in or what?”

Midoriya blinks, a blush fighting to overtake his cheeks. “O-oh, here?” Kacchan wants to come into his room? His hotel room? He looks over his shoulder at the mess, boxes and folders strewn everywhere. “I didn’t exactly prepare…”

“Well, I can’t exactly get a coffee in peace downstairs, can I,” Kacchan drawls, shouldering his way past Midoriya and into the room.

“That’s true,” Midoriya agrees nervously, letting the door close. It catches in the latch, shutting him in the room with only his favorite pro-hero—his favorite subscriber—for company.

Kacchan doesn’t stray far from the entryway. He stops by the kitchenette, surveying the mess of product cast about the room. Midoriya shuffles behind him, stealing wary glances. He can read tension in every line of him. Is he nervous, too? Does he even want to be here? Is he regretting his decision not to completely ghost Midoriya?

There’s no use agonizing over it, Midoriya decides. Quickly, he scurries around Kacchan’s broad shoulders to pull the room’s coffee-maker down from the shelf above the sink.

“Ah… shall I?”

Kacchan grunts at him noncommittally, so Midoriya decides to busy himself with making coffee. 

“How do you like it?” he asks cheerfully.

“I don’t.”

“What!?” When he turns, Kacchan is stepping around some of the open boxes, studiously touching nothing. “You don’t like coffee?”

“Nah.”

Midoriya stares at him in something like horror. “Then… why…?”

Kacchan shrugs. Picks something up from the coffee table and turns it over, silent. The streetlights streaming in through the window catch on the swell of his bicep.

Midoriya whips back to the coffee-maker. “O-okay,” he says. “I guess I’ll… for myself, then.” 

Kacchan says nothing in response. His heart pounding louder, faster, with every breath, Midoriya sets the pot in the sink to fill—

What is Kacchan doing?

—opens the single-serving packet of pre-ground coffee—

What is Kacchan looking at?

—empties it into the filter—

What is Kacchan thinking?

—shuts off the water and pours it into the coffee-maker, the trickle loud in the silence of the room—

What does Kacchan want?

He slides the pot home and turns on the machine. “Will you have some when it’s done, at least?” he calls over his shoulder.

“Depends.”

The gruff voice is just behind him. Midoriya jolts in surprise. Fragrant, bitter grounds spill across the counter, skittering everywhere.

“Tch. As if this room wasn’t filthy enough.”

Headily, Midoriya laughs, his neck prickling as he hurriedly scoops the grounds into a pile on the counter. “Ah, so you noticed,” he jokes breathily, his brain whirring. “I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t expec—and if you don’t like coffee, then why did you—I mean, what did you want to—?”

“Deku.”

A hand lands on the edge of the counter by his hip. Midoriya freezes, heat radiating at his back. Kacchan isn’t touching, but Midoriya can still feel his presence like a physical thing.

“Izu… Izuku.”

Midoriya’s eyes flutter shut, his head bowing helplessly. Kacchan’s breath is light against the nape of his neck.

“I wanna…” Kacchan’s voice is a rumble, resonance that rattles Midoriya’s lungs. “Wanna fuckin’... talk to you and shit, but…”

His other hand grasps the counter, making Midoriya gasp. Kacchan’s boxed him in between his sinewy forearms, between his tensed knuckles, yet he doesn’t touch, must be maintaining mere inches between his chest and Midoriya’s trembling shoulder blades. Amazing how they’ve never touched but to shake hands, yet the sheer physicality of the hero behind him is still overwhelming, overpowering… 

“I’m fuckin’ trying, here,” Kacchan breathes, the strain of his jaw audible, centimeters from the shell of Midoriya’s burning ear. “But I wanna… feel like I needta… can I just fuckin’…”

“Yes,” Midoriya bursts out, eyes squeezed shut. “Yes, please, I—”

But Kacchan is already collapsing over him, engulfing him totally in his heat. A chest presses against a back, hips pin hips, and most of all a hand grips a jaw, turns a chin, and lips claim searing, gasping lips.

Kacchan’s mouth is hot, so hot on his, mismatched and immediately moving. Midoriya’s neck is wrenched to the side, twisted up to Kacchan’s face, desperate, aching, already moaning, half into the open air.

The hands on him are not gentle, and Midoriya doesn’t want them to be. They never have been, in any of his fantasies. Fingers pluck at a nipple, and he whimpers, swimming in the answering, triumphant growl Kacchan lets out into his ear.

“Fuck, you sound even better in person,” Kacchan breathes against his neck, sucking merciless marks there as Midoriya trembles in his arms. “Deku…” 

Midoriya nearly shouts when Kacchan undoes the buttons of his slacks to get a hand around his cock—

“I knew you’d be cute,” Kacchan goes on, pumping Midoriya’s leaking dick. “Knew you’d have these freckles, this fuckin’ hair…” He buries his nose in the curls behind Midoriya’s ear as though to emphasize his point, his tongue licking a big stripe behind the shell as he squeezes his fist. When Midoriya moans again, a hand gripping Kacchan’s forearm to keep his balance, Kacchan fucking laughs, a giddy sound of triumph. “Fuck yeah,” he pants, “I knew it, I knew it, you’re just like I knew you would be, Deku…”

“So—hnngh,” Midoriya whines, melting when Kacchan shifts to release his own hard cock from his pants, grinding it against Midoriya’s clothed ass, and it’s not tiny, it’s not tiny at all. “So are you, K-Kacchan…!”

Kacchan makes them both come just like that—Midoriya, pinned against the kitchenette counter, his come spattering across the laminate; Kacchan, leant back just enough to catch his own in a sweaty, shaking palm—before the coffee has even finished dripping into the pot. 

When Kacchan pulls away, Midoriya nearly collapses to the floor. He saves himself the embarrassment by hooking an elbow on the counter as he twists to face Kacchan.

The man behind him looks nearly as wrecked as he feels, with an added dash of shock coloring his face. His pupils are wide, his chest heaving, one hand cupped awkwardly and pooled with semen. When Midoriya’s eyes fall to it, he can’t help the laugh that bubbles to his lips.

“At least we’re right by the sink,” he chuckles breathlessly.

Kacchan blinks at him, then cuts his eyes away, his cheeks reddened. “Tch.”

~*~*~

The atmosphere as they clean up is, thank fucking god, much more comfortable.

Maybe it’s the nature of their weird-ass relationship, Bakugou thinks. Maybe they needed to get this out of the way, to acknowledge the raw attraction between them first, before they could actually talk. Bakugou doesn’t fucking know what it is; all he knows is that he’s not trying to climb out of his own skin anymore at the sight of Deku’s big green eyes and freckled face, and for that he’s relieved.

Deku really does look just the way Bakugou pictured him. Infuriatingly cute, every emotion splashed across his face for anyone to read. It’s almost painful to look directly at him, though Bakugou doesn’t exactly want to look anywhere else, either. He satisfies himself by moving throughout the messy hotel room, examining the boxes and boxes of shit while Deku pours two mugs of coffee.

“Shall we sit?” he asks with a smile that crinkles his eyes.

Bakugou scuffs the toe of his boot on the carpeting. “Whatever.” He throws himself into the armchair of the seating area, accepting a warm mug as Deku sits on the loveseat diagonal from him. He watches eagerly while Bakugou takes a sip.

“How is it?”

“Tastes like shit,” Bakugou tells him honestly, his lip curling in disgust as he deposits the mug on the sliver of empty coffee table space not taken up by piles and piles of folders.

Deku sighs, chagrined. “Well, I suppose you did say you don’t like coffee,” he murmurs. He sips his own mug and stiffens. “Blech. Never mind, you’re objectively right.”

Bakugou chuckles smugly as Deku’s eyelids twitch shut at the taste. He pulls one of the many folders, a green one instead of beige, into his lap and begins flipping through it, studying the comics there. Bakugou hasn’t read comics since he was a kid, but they look basically the same. Cooler, though. These ones are, at least.

“O-oh, Kacchan, ah, that’s—you’re—” 

Ignoring him, Bakugou turns a page over and finds something he recognizes—him! “Shit, this is your stuff!” he exclaims excitedly, leaning forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees. He plops the open folder on the table, leaning over it to stare.

Fuck, Deku draws him looking cool.

“Oh, I don’t—” 

“Which probably means…” He flips impatiently through the next few pages, most of them of All Might, some smaller sketches of more minor heroes. Bakugou pretends he doesn’t see the one of Shouto. “Haha! Here it fucking is!” he declares when he finds it, rapping his knuckles on the image triumphantly. The one Deku had him sign. Clearly a different copy of it, since his signature is absent. “This is what I’m talking about!”

Deku tilts his head, a nervous smile tugging at his lips. “H-huh?”

“This. You drew this, right?”

Deku’s fingers twitch, a hand reaching for the folder. “Aha, what… what gave you that—”

“Don’t play coy with me, Deku, this is the same thing you had me sign. You said it was your artwork, so don’t fucking lie.”

Deku sighs, though his hand is still outstretched, as though hoping to slide the folder away from Bakugou. Fat fuckin’ chance! “Fine, yes,” he admits. “Yes, I drew it. What do you want to know about it?”

“Can I send this to my manager?”

By the way Deku flinches back, Bakugou may as well have set off a Howitzer to his face. “W-what!?”

“I hate the branding they try to give me. This,” Bakugou says, jabbing a finger at the print of him flying through the air, heroic and happy as fuck about it, “is what I want. This is how I feel when I’m working. This is how I want people to see me. I want this to be my brand, not whatever sexy-ass shit they’re tryna make me into. I’m a hero that wins. I’m gonna be number one, like All Might. If I fuck, it’s nobody’s business but mine. And… yours, I guess,” he adds as his eyes cut back down to the folder before him. He pretends that his neck isn’t flushing.

After a few long seconds, Deku seems to find his voice again. “Y-you want to make my art your official branding?”

“Yeah. Obviously they’ll pay you for it. I don’t know how much, but I’ll make sure it’s worth it for you.” When Bakugou looks up. Deku’s jaw is working, but no sound is coming out. Bakugou raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know shit about this stuff, but they’d probably wanna see what else you could do, too.”

“What else?” Deku squeaks, looking dazed. He flexes his scarred hand, wincing down at it. “I, um, I don’t know—I mean, I can’t work as fast as I used to, ever since I—” 

“Yeah, the fuck happened?”

Their eyes meet, and this time Bakugou doesn’t look away. He can read all of Deku’s thoughts right there, in his stupid-big eyes, like a projector screen. Surprise, hesitation, resignation.

“Well…” he sighs, a small, rueful smile lifting his lips. “I suppose we really are getting to know each other, so… First of all, I…” He closes his eyes, shuttering them against the dull pain Bakugou can read there. “…am Quirkless.”

Quirkless? Bakugou sits back. It’s practically unheard of in this day and age. The last time Bakugou heard of someone being Quirkless, he musta been in, like, middle school. This guy belongs on an endangered species list. Still doesn’t exactly explain the hand, but Deku isn’t done.

“I always wanted to be a hero, like All Might,” he goes on quietly, shamefacedly, his shoulders drooping. “But my parents—my dad especially—always told me it was impossible. Then I… ah, something happened, and s-someone told me I shouldn’t give up on something just because it would be hard.”

“Good advice,” Bakugou grunts.

“Yeah, you would say that,” Deku chuckles, almost to himself. “So I started doing martial arts. Um, boxing, mostly.”

“Was wondering what a manga artist’s so fuckin’ built for.”

Deku laughs again, his cheeks flushing lightly. He kneads at his hand, a thumb digging gently into the meat of it. “Yes, that was the training. I was going every day for a while, getting ready for actual bouts. But my hand, I… hit it wrong. I fractured my metacarpal, but I didn’t realize, I thought it was just bruised or sprained or something. So I’d wait, take a few weeks off until it felt better, and go back to the gym. Hit it wrong again. By the time I finally went in to have it looked at, I… I could barely hold a pen.”

Bakugou’s palms tingle. He clenches them, his stomach twisting. His own hands are invaluable, precious, but at least his dexterity with them is not essential. Not like a fucking artist.

“They had to do surgery,” Deku says sadly, running a thumb over the back of his hand. In person, it’s finally clear that the scars are surgical, though the misshapenness of his hand can be from nothing other than repeated injury. “Ten months later, here I am.” He gives a shrug, lifts his sad face to Bakugou, giving a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Weak, stiff, easily tired. So I don’t know if… I mean, even if you wanted me to, I probably couldn’t—” 

“I’ll figure it out,” Bakugou mutters. His heart fucking hurts, and he wants it to stop. “I’ll fucking… Oi.” He shoves a finger in Deku’s face. “Don’t let anyone tell you you can’t do something, dumbass. Even if that person’s you. In your case, maybe especially if that person’s you. All right?”

Deku doesn’t say anything. He only stares at Bakugou, his eyes widening, his hands fidgeting in his lap. With a scowl, Bakugou turns back to the folder and flips the page again. More All Might. All Might, All Might, All Mi— 

He freezes.

It’s… him. Him, about ten years younger, in the shitty old hero costume he made himself before he even got into U.A. The one he wore to see that stupid All Might movie. The one he… 

He whips his head up to Deku. He’s looking back, his expression unreadable. Bakugou lets his eyes fall back to the drawing.

“How did you…?”

He swallows his words, riveted to the drawing before him. Kid-him is standing, feet spread apart and hands sparking, eyes delighted and murderous. And sprawled on the ground behind him, there’s another kid—a kid that kid-him is saving, and it’s—Deku. Scrawny and bug-eyed and wild-haired and he knows him, he knows that kid. 

“Th-that someone,” Deku whispers beside him, stammering, “who told me to keep doing something, even if it was hard. I… I kind of paraphrased. What he actually said was, ‘Ignore what those fucking extras have to say.’”

Bakugou’s eyes fall shut. Memories play behind his eyelids like some moth-eaten film strip. 

Lines and lines of children, dressed in All Might merchandise. A rawboned scrap of a boy in tears because the ticket counter told his mom their card was declined, begging them to try again. The palpable agitation of a group of older bullies leering behind them, waiting until the little kid’s mom stepped away to call the credit card company to shove the kid to the ground, tell him to get lost.

And Bakugou, just as annoyed, more so, explosions popping in his gloved fists as he snarled at those asshole extras to fuck off and die. He wanted to see the movie, too, dammit! And so he stepped in. Saved someone, almost as an afterthought, and barked something at the useless crybaby nerd at his feet on the cement… 

“‘Do you want to be a stupid, worthless person your whole life?’” Deku murmurs. “...he said.”

Bakugou’s hands clench, his vision trained on the page before him. He never thought he’d see these eyes ever again, the ones that gazed up at him in tearful awe, but here they are, on the page. This is the kid, the first kid he ever saved, even if all he was doing was beating up some bullies, and the saving was secondary.

Deku.

Deku…!

“Your screen name,” Bakugou says, his teeth gritted. His fists are shaking in something that Bakugou traditionally recognizes as rage. “What kinda sick fuck names themself ‘Deku’? After you fuck up your hand like that!?”

He slams the folder back down on the table, his mug rattling against the glass top as he leaps to his feet. Deku’s eyes widen in shock when Bakugou grips his shirt and hauls him up, too. Up to his face. “K-Kacchan!?”

“You’re not a ‘Deku’, all right!?” he roars. “You’re not. I’m tellin’ you—” 

Bakugou kisses him. It’s brutal, but it’s all he can think to do. Deku struggles a little but stills when he gets his feet under him, his mouth moving gently against Bakugou’s. When Bakugou pulls back, Deku’s eyes open halfway, hazy and confused.

“I’m showing your shit to my manager,” Bakugou tells him, lips still brushing. “I’m tellin’ her this is what I want. I don’t want anyone else. Doesn’t matter how long it fuckin’ takes you, because you’re the best I’ve ever seen, and I only want the best. Got it?”

Deku’s eyes bounce back and forth between his. Bakugou thinks he’s trying to read between the lines of what he’s just said, but even Bakugou himself doesn’t totally know just how far those words extend. All he knows is that they’re true.

Finally, Deku smiles. His hands cup Bakugou’s fist, only loosely gripping his shirt by now. “Okay, Kacchan,” he breathes, his green eyes huge and growing damp. Bakugou kisses him again, gentler, and Deku melts against him. 

“And,” he says, when he pulls back, and Deku’s looking at him once more like he’s amazing, incredible, one of a kind, absolutely going to be Number One (which he is), “I don’t care if we have to break down the door. We’re getting my Age of Heroes figure back from my shitty stupid little cousin, and it’s going on your stupid-ass shelf, you fuckin’ nerd.”