P U T T H E M E A T O N M Y B O N E S
C H A P T E R O N E
-tripped on my stepping stone-
The first day of classes at this shitty-expensive university reminded Katsuki a lot of his first day at U.A. Most hero classes started off with an assessment of their quirks—all but one, that is. Yamazaki’s idiotic Intro to Rescue.
Their task for today was to regulate damage control while simultaneously helping civilians make it to the ‘safe zone’. Bakugou could begrudgingly admit that this wasn’t an area that he shined in like his fellow classmates. But, all things considered, he didn’t think he did half bad. The nature of his quirk was destructive, but he’s spent years honing it to help and protect as well as fight and destroy. He still wasn’t perfect by any means, and there was a lot of carnage of the makeshift cityscape as a result.
So when Yamazaki asked to see him after class, he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the conversation they’d have.
“Fine,” He muttered to his professor, crossing his arms and glaring at the other students who were pointing at him and whispering back and forth with each other. He flipped the bird to every single one of the fuckers, pairing it with his prettiest sneer. Yamazaki waited patiently for the students to trickle off the training grounds and turned to Katsuki only when they were alone.
“I’ve heard all about you, Bakugou,” Yamazaki declared, brushing fingers through his hair that was as navy blue as his astral projections. He glanced down at his clipboard, no doubt assessing Katsuki’s worth using some shitty numbers and calculations, “Your acceptance into this institution hinged on your letters of recommendation. Imagine our surprise when not only Eraserhead endorses your studying to become a hero, but All Might as well. It’s not everyday that such prestigious heroes recommend anyone to any hero university ever, considering that all the notable heroes study for their license exam in high school.”
Katsuki bristled, really not liking this conversation.
“Am I too noteworthy for you then, asshole?”
“On the contrary,” Yamazaki disagreed with a fake sort of pleasantness that was getting on every single one of Bakugou’s nerves, “I’m not impressed by a punk kid who got kicked out of the best hero school the world has to offer on the premise that he was too aggressive and violent. Your performance in class today has only cemented what I already knew: you’re not cut out to be a hero. Makes me wonder what delusion the very teacher’s who agreed to expel you were envisioning when they wrote your endorsements.”
Katsuki knew what Yamazaki was doing—and that pissed him off even more. There were a thousand insults at the tip of his tongue, but he kept his mouth shut—it took the willpower of his entire being to do so. His teacher was trying to get a rise out of him, to unleash the anger that constantly sat in his bones, trying to summon it to his blood and turn all that potential anger into something kinetic and destructive like so many assholes before him. Katsuki could read between the lines—if Bakugou wasn’t cut out to be a hero, then he must be cut out to be a villain.
“Do you have anything to say to that, Bakugou?” Yamazaki asked in that disgustingly sweet, fake voice.
The fact that he couldn’t speak made him even angrier. He felt manipulated and weak. Like his professor was purposefully pushing every last one of Katsuki’s buttons just to watch him squirm and suffer. Like he was being looked down upon.
Katsuki forced his head side to side, knuckles turning white with how hard he was clenching his fists.
“Anything at all?”
“Nope,” Katsuki bit out, proud with how well he was holding back the floodgates of wrath, “Was there anything else you wanted to talk about, Professor?”
Yamazaki’s beady eyes assessed him for a moment longer—Katsuki wondered what he must have looked like. There was a fiery rage burning just behind his ribcage, but he was doing everything within his power to not let it show outwardly. What sort of opening was this asshole looking for, and how long could Katsuki hold out?
“That was it,” The bastard professed, “I’ll be seeing you on Wednesday.”
Then the blue haired fucker turned and walked to the lockers.
Katsuki waited a good five minutes before stomping after him, stripping out of his uniform and angrily getting dressed back into his street clothes. He slammed his locker shut using all the energy his muscle could muster up, and the slam it made against the metal was satisfying enough to the blonde that he could wait just long enough to make it to that trash fucked beach to unleash his fury. He was glad that campus wasn’t far away from that makeshift dump.
When Bakugou was kicked out of U.A. he remembered that fucking beach where sunken debris and shit comes in with the tide—he blew up a lot of shit there that day when Aizawa told him he was expelled. It became therapeutic to the blonde, and he’s been going there ever since. Might as well take out his anger doing something productive, after all.
He pushed his body forward, practically sprinting to the beach. What he saw when he got there had him reeling.
There was a green haired dweeb in an All Might shirt carrying a fridge on his shoulder like it didn’t weigh a damned thing. On his fucking beach. It was essential for Katsuki’s little therapy sessions of blowing shit up for him to be alone. Just Katsuki, the trash, and his motherfucking fists. No green haired nerds bench pressing fridges for fun.
“Hey,” He yelled, startling the green haired bastard. Up close Katsuki noted that the dweeb was actually older than he originally thought—he was probably in his early thirties if the crinkles around his eyes were anything to go by. His green hair sat atop his head in wild curls, and everything about his features screamed innocent and defenseless despite the large appliance he was toting around like a duffle bag, “The fuck are you doing?”
“Er,” The stranger annunciated beautifully, adjusting his grip on the fridge, “Cleaning this beach?”
“The fuck you are!” Katsuki disagreed, fists smoking and he was this close to blowing his fuse, “I saw it first, get your own shitty beach to clean.”
The man regarded his steaming hands with a quirked eyebrow.
“No,” He said, amused.
“No. I’m not leaving—I’m going to help you clean this beach.”
“I don’t need your fucking help!”
The man sighed, “Look you can stay over here and unleash your obviously pent up anger, and I can go over there and do my own thing—we both win. In the end we may even walk away as unlikely friends.”
The rage was beginning to boil over and Katsuki had to put a stop to it pronto. “Fucking fine!” He screeched as he unleashed one of his bigger explosions onto a sizeable heap of trash. It obliterated everything it touched, and Katsuki breathed in the smoke with flared nostrils. Ash rained down around them and the satisfaction of destroying something like that washed over the blonde like an elixir. He glared at the green bean, who was now staring at what used to be a pile of junk with awe in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something, but Katsuki beat him to the punch, “Don’t talk to me.”
The bastard closed his mouth, shrugged and wandered over to the other side of the beach to begin crushing appliances and old shitty cars with his bare hands—which was kind of freaky but also kind of hot. Katsuki wasn’t in the mood to dwell on that, so he promptly got to work setting fire to this place.
With each explosion that left his hands he could feel the stress and rage that had been eating away at his insides trickle out into the ash and smoke around him. He wasn’t exactly sure how long he and the green haired bastard stayed there wreaking havoc on this dump, but Bakugou didn’t relent until the sun started drifting closer to the horizon.
When he decided enough was enough, he was panting and the muscles in his arms were screaming at him. There was sweat pooled on his brow and he lifted up the bottom of his shirt to wipe at it. When he lowered it down to wipe at his jawline, he glanced over at the dweeb. He expected for the stranger to be focused on being a human garbage disposal, but instead Katsuki caught him checking him out.
“Got an eyeful, green bean?” He called over to him.
The bastard didn’t even look ashamed, but did have the courtesy to lazily trail his gaze back up to the blonde’s eyes instead of his exposed stomach. His glazed-over stare sharpened, and the bastard smirked at Bakugou, winking.
Bakugou dropped his shirt and flipped him off.
“Fuck you,” Katsuki grit out, albeit not as aggressively as earlier since he managed to tame his anger.
The idiot just smiled, wiggling his fingers in a wave with one hand and crushing an old television with the other.
That shouldn’t be attractive.
“Hope we can do this again sometime!” The fucker called after him as he began to walk away.
“As if,” Katsuki yelled back.
Upon checking the time, Katsuki discovered that he had a couple of hours before he had to be into work. He’d moved out as soon as he graduated high school and had been living in this part of town for a couple of years. He started working, then, when he turned twenty-one, traded his shittier job for a slightly less shitty job as a bartender at a place near campus. Girls and even a few guys would tip him handsomely if Katsuki could heckle them into buying more drinks and smile prettily enough. All in all, it was a pretty good set up. Paying rent and buying food was still a little tight, but he managed.
Katsuki jingled his keys as he approached his apartment. He eyed the parking spots reserved for their apartment and noticed that Shinsou’s black motorcycle was parked outside. He went to the mailbox first, rolling his eyes when he saw that his bastard roommate was too lazy to pick it up himself, then he stomped over to his apartment door and unlocked it.
“What’s up, fucker?” He greeted Shinsou’s fluffy cat, Voldemort, while flicking through the mail.
“Oh hey, Bakugou,” Shinsou replied from his spot on the couch. He was sprawled out across the entire thing, a pencil between his teeth and papers in his hands, “Not a lot, just reading through this year’s curriculum for my classes. You?"
“Was talking to Voldy, asswipe,” He flung all of Shinsou’s mail at his face, “But since you asked, life is bleak and people are fucking annoying as ever.”
Shinsou lowered the papers onto the coffee table, not even flinching when his mail smacked his face.
“Lay it on me, man,” He suggested, trying with all his might to hold back his amused smirk since he knew how much it pissed Katsuki off.
“When did you become my fucking therapist?”
Shinsou shrugged, “You’re the one proclaiming life is bleak. Usually people elaborate when they assert such things.”
“What is there to elaborate on? Life is bleak. It just is.”
“Whatever, man,” Shinsou placated, “You gonna make it to practice tonight?”
Shinsou had been on the school’s hero sports team since he started at this university years ago; Katsuki had tried out over the summer and made it on easily. Since they started practice a couple of months ago, Shinsou was often paired up with Bakugou since he was one of the few that could handle his abrasive attitude so easily.
“Nah, bro,” Bakugou responded, petting Voldemort behind the ears, “I have to work tonight. Sorry. I know it sucks for you when we can’t train together.” Every other week they had two on two battles with different universities, and Katsuki and Shinsou surprisingly made a good team. Probably because Bakugou liked that Hitoshi was unafraid to use his quirk on him if he was becoming too hot headed and stubborn.
The coach was pretty understanding of his situation and was okay with him missing practice to work as long as Katsuki informed him ahead of time, but he still felt like a piece of shit for making Shinsou have to train by himself.
Shinsou shrugged, “I understand. You’re working your ass off to pay your way through college. Nothing wrong with that.”
Katsuki scowled at the cat, which fell onto his back and was swatting his paw up at Katsuki’s dangling finger. Bakugou agreed with Shinsou, but wouldn’t openly admit to his roommate that sometimes his efforts never felt like enough. He ran himself into the ground most days just to pay for rent, tuition and food—all the while an obnoxious voice was at the back of his head telling him that if he had just gotten over his anger management issues when he was a kid, he wouldn’t be in this shitty situation. Now he had actual classes on top of all of his other responsibilities—he felt like he was gonna die.
“Thanks,” He grumbled to Shinsou, because he was trying to be more honest with how he felt. Particularly when it came to feelings of gratitude and affection. Aizawa told him that doing so might help with his inferior complex. It pissed Bakugou off to no end when the shitty bastard ended up being right.
Bakugou’s ringtone cut through the awkward silence—neither one of them really knew how to act or what to say when Katsuki was being sincere like this—and the blonde dug through his pockets and lifted it to his ear.
“What?” He growled into the receiver.
“Bakugou!” Shitty Hair’s annoyingly cheerful voice sang into his ear, “Wow. It is always a pleasure to hear your grumpy voice! How are you doing, man?”
Bakugou rolled his eyes. When he was kicked out of U.A. he tried cutting all ties with his old classmates—wouldn’t respond to their texts, wouldn’t go to their stupid birthday parties when he’d get an invite in the mail, none of that shit—but when all of his other classmates gave up, Kirishima persisted. When half n’ half and ponytail girl sent Bakugou an invite to their wedding in the spring, he was just as determined to skip out on that just like everything else. But Kirishima tracked him down, forced a suit into his hands and somehow convinced him to come along.
“We all miss you, Bakugou,” The redhead had told him. Bakugou was incapable of wrapping his head around it—they really missed the angry jackass that didn’t last three months at the greatest hero school the world has to offer? He realized that day that he was scared of what they all thought about him. And fuck if he didn’t face his fears head on. He also realized that day, for the most part, none of them looked down on him and it was his own insecurities making him feel like shit.
“I’m fucking fantastic as always, asshole,” He told Kirishima, a small trickle of the appreciation and fondness he felt for his friend escaping into his response, “What the hell’re you calling for?”
“The gang is all getting together tonight for drinks and Mina lost a bet so she’s paying. You coming?”
Katsuki grunted, “Can’t. Gotta work tonight.”
“Aw,” Eijirou whined, and Katsuki imagined that if they were speaking face to face that he’d have a pitiful frown on his usual smiley face, “You’re always working, Bakugou!”
“Yeah well, I got to pay my damn way through college.”
“I know, I know. But you never let us visit you at work—when else would we even be able to see your cheery face?”
“I don’t let you visit because you’re all a bunch of nuisances!”
“Don’t let Todoroki hear you say that!” Bakugou heard Kaminari’s voice yell. It was muffled and Katsuki barely was able to understand him, so the blonde assumed that Kaminari and the other fuckmunches were probably huddled around Kirishima as he was talking on the phone with Bakugou.
“Half n’ half is there with you?” Katsuki inquired, standing up and trailing over to the fridge to peek inside, “Now I really don’t want you to visit.”
“Don’t you and Shouto train together sometimes?” Kirishima asked, voice dripping with curiosity.
Katsuki’s eyebrows furrowed—it’s not like either Bakugou or Todoroki approached the other with the desire to train together. They just happened to go to the same gym, and the icyhot bastard was a challenging opponent. So what if they sometimes go out for lunch afterwards?
Shinsou snickered from his place on the couch.
“You guys go out to lunch!?” Kirishima exclaimed, sounding affronted, “Why don’t you guys ever invite me?”
Fuck, he’d said that out loud.
“I make you food all the damned time, you leech,” Katsuki argued, slamming the fridge shut when he saw there was nothing appealing to eat, “I need some fucking good tips tonight, and you assholes will scare off everyone—you’re all too much of a riot when you’re drunk.”
“We’ll be good, we promise!” Mina’s shrill voice insisted in the background.
“Please, Bakugou? Pleeeease?”
“Fuck!” The blonde bit out, “Do whatever you want! I don’t give a fuck!”
There was a chorus of excited ‘yays’.
“I got to get ready to go,” Bakugou growled, “Try not to make complete asses of yourselves tonight.”
“Bye, Blasty!” They all sang. Bakugou promptly hung up on them.
Katsuki stormed out of the living room.
“Have a good night, Bakugou!” Shinsou called down the hallway. Katsuki answered him by slamming his bedroom door as hard as he could.
That night at The Bar was slower than it’s ever been in Katsuki’s entire time working there. He was honestly kind of glad that his friends were going to swing by at some point and lighten up the dead ass atmosphere.
He was drying off a rack of wine glasses with a towel when a familiar voice greeted him from the other side of the bar.
“I knew I recognized you from somewhere!”
Katsuki glanced up, red eyes meeting big ass green ones.
It was the fucker from the beach, and he wasn’t alone—the bastard had his arm wrapped around a brunette’s waist. Katsuki immediately took note that her eyes were as big and round as freckles’ and that she was short and cute and looked like she wanted to take on the whole damn world.
“Green bean,” Katsuki addressed the dweeb with a smirk, forcing an air of politeness in his tone, “What can I get for you?”
“Ah,” The green haired man started sheepishly, as if forgetting that he was at a bar, “Two margaritas, please.” He offered the blonde a bill that was folded between his middle and pointer fingers.
Katsuki nodded, took the money and set to work fixing their drinks.
“What’s your name?” The girl asked, sitting down at the bar with green bean as the blonde mixed an array of flavors into their tequila.
Katsuki froze in his ministrations, glancing up at the girl in surprise. Honestly he was a little put out to see that green bean and angelface were obviously together, but, staring into her brown eyes, he couldn’t decide which one he was jealous of. They were here trying to have a fun night out together, and he wasn’t exactly expecting them to strike up a conversation with him.
He looked back to the drinks, sliding them across the bar to the pair.
“Bakugou Katsuki,” The blonde replied as he punched in buttons to the cash register, placing the green bean’s money inside and counting out his change. He slid that to the bastard too.
“Katsuki?” The girl repeated. Bakugou’s eyebrows disappeared behind his spikes, surprised that this girl was forward enough to address him by his first name so quickly. She smiled at him, the low lighting creating shadows across her face that were almost as captivating as her face itself. “My name is Ochako. Izuku here was telling me that he met a really cute guy with a furious temperament today at the beach.”
Katsuki’s eyes widened, and he tore his gaze away from her and to the green haired bastard—Izuku, apparently. Just like before when he caught the idiot checking him out, Izuku didn’t look ashamed whatsoever. He just brought his drink to his lips, and winked.
“Was he?” Bakugou questioned without breaking eye contact with the green haired man, not really knowing what the hell kind of thing was happening but surprisingly wanting to investigate more.
“You already caught me checking you out,” Izuku said, “No point hiding it. I thought I recognized you as the hot as hell bartender here, and I had to bring Ochako to meet you too.” Ochako hummed, leaning back and trailing her eyes up and down Katsuki’s body like she was assessing whether or not she agreed with Izuku’s proclamation that he was ‘hot as hell’.
“He’s not as angry as you said he was, Izuku,” She said as her eyes finally settled on Katsuki’s intense gaze.
“You’re flirting with me,” Katsuki stated bluntly, glaring at the pair of them and returning to his task of buffing glasses. He couldn’t help but shoot daggers at them; people mentioning his anger management issues just made him perpetually pissed off, “Both of you.”
“Bingo,” Ochako chimed, sipping at her drink.
Katsuki snorted, “I’m flattered. But you’re both bright-eyed angel fuckwits who don’t want a thing to do with me. Trust me.” His next statement was meant more for the green haired bastard, “I was blowing shit up at the beach for a reason. To not fucking pulverize someone. You want someone like that in your life, even if it is for one shitty night?"
They regarded him lazily, considering his words.
“You in school?” Izuku asked, ignoring Katsuki’s rant.
“I go to the university across the street.”
“What are you studying?”
“You saw my fucking quirk,” Bakugou growled, “What do you think?”
Izuku smirked, “Hero course?”
“If you want to be a hero bad enough to pay the ridiculous fees these universities charge, how bad of a person could you be?”
Katsuki’s eyes narrowed at the man, “You don’t know a thing about me.”
Izuku’s determined twinkle in his eyes didn’t waver for a second at Katsuki’s angry tone or at his murderous gaze. “Bakugou Katsuki, huh? You scored higher on the U.A. entrance exam without gathering any rescue points than anyone ever had before and that title still remains—you were expelled three months into your first year for being an aggressive asshole.”
The glass Katsuki was gripping exploded in his hands, not even by the use of his quirk but by the angry grip he kept on it. Shards of bloody glass fell onto the bar top, and the blonde didn’t even care that he’d just cut himself. He was seething.
“How the fuck do you know any of that?”
Izuku calmly stole Katsuki’s bar towel from his hands and pressed it against his bleeding palm as he offered his explanation, “That was my first year teaching at U.A.”
“Who the fuck are you?” He demanded, wrenching his hand out of Izuku’s grasp and applying pressure to his hand by himself.
Izuku only smiled.
Katsuki snarled, “Okay, bastard. What do you want from me?”
Ochako rolled her eyes, “I thought we already made that clear.”
Katsuki glared at her, grabbing another towel to clean up the mess of glass on the counter, “A fuck?”
“A date,” Izuku corrected.
“A date,” He repeated incredulously, “Hold my hand and walk me home type of shit?”
Ochako nodded, eyes shining with sincerity, “Izuku kind of just dropped a bomb on you, I know. But we promise that we don’t mean you any harm. We would like to get to know you more.”
The whole thing sounded suspicious to Bakugou.
“But you don’t want to fuck.”
“That’s not what I said,” She amended, “That can come later, if you want. But for now: a date.”
“Only if you tell me who the fuck you are,” He said defiantly.
Izuku considered this for a moment, staring into Katsuki’s intense red gaze with a look just as determined and powerful. Just as he opened his mouth to answer Katsuki, the bell at the front of The Bar rang and Bakugou’s rowdy friends stumbled through the door.
“Bakugou!” Kirishima exclaimed, running towards the bar excitedly. He sat down at the bar, slamming some money onto the counter. Kaminari and Ashido were right behind him, and when Katsuki glanced back at the door he saw Todoroki, Yaoyorozu and Sero making their way over slowly. Kirishima glanced over to the couple to his right, eyes widening, “Midoriya-sensei! What are you doing here?”
Izuku smiled, placing a hand on Ochako’s shoulders, “Even teachers can go out drinking, Eijirou.”
“You remember my name?” Shitty hair sputtered, a dusting of pink spreading across his cheekbones.
“Of course,” Green bean stated happily, “You were one of my best students.”
“What about me, sensei?” Mina bellowed, slinging an arm around green bean’s shoulders, “I was one of your best too!”
Izuku chuckled, and Katsuki had to admit the deep vibrato was alluring in so many ways. “Yes, Mina. All of you were fantastic.”
“It’s been so long! Why haven’t you invited me over to check out your agency?”
Ochako chimed in, “You’re welcome to visit whenever you’d like, Mina. You should know that already.”
Mina squealed upon seeing Ochako, “Ochako! My favorite classes of Midoriya-sensei’s were always the one where he brought you in to help! You kicked all of our asses! It was awesome!”
“Midoriya-sensei, Ochako-sensei,” Todoroki greeted as he and Yaoyorozu made it to the bar, “It’s been a while.”
Sero rolled his eyes, “Your agencies are right next door to each other, Shouto. Didn’t you team up with them last week?”
Katsuki’s eyes widened upon hearing this—he wasn’t a nerdy shit when it came to pro heroes like a lot of his classmates had been and now are, but he paid attention enough. He’d watched the incident Todoroki had been involved with on the news as it played on the television at The Bar. The number one hero had come in to help Shouto fight off the villain and the number six hero had been set helping direct civilians away from the conflict. These two dweebs couldn’t actually be such famous heroes, could they?
Shouto shrugged, “I see all of you more often.”
Yaoyorozu lifted the bottom of her shirt and used her quirk to procure a fake daisy, handing it to Ochako with a smile.
Ochako squealed, taking the flower and tucking it behind her ear, “Izuku, your former students are so polite!”
Izuku chuckled, “When they’re not being little shits, yes.” He sighed, glancing back at Katsuki and slipping a couple of bills and a slip of paper across the bar to him. Katsuki, feeling a little numb and confused, could do nothing but accept it. He watched, mouth agape as Izuku and Ochako began pulling on their jackets. They addressed Bakugou’s shitty friends, “I think it’s time we got going. Don’t have too much fun tonight.”
“Right back at you, Midoriya!” Kaminari said, wiggling his eyebrows at the couple.
Katsuki rolled his eyes. Good to know that Pikachu still had the same shitty sense of humor.
“Nice to officially meet you, Kacchan,” Izuku told the blonde, winking at him. Ochako smiled his way before slipping her hand into green bean’s and walking with him out of the bar.
Katsuki’s friends gaped at the entire echange.
"Kacchan?" Todoroki repeated, voice dripping in confusion.
“Dude,” Kirishima said, “How much did he tip you?”
Katsuki glanced down at the hand not covered in blood, “Two-hundred bucks.”
Sero whistled low.
“What’s this?” Yaoyorozu asked, stealing the slip of paper off the bar before Katsuki could protest. She unfolded it, eyes widening, “He gave you his number, Bakugou! He even drew a winky face next to it!”
The boys of the group, sans Todoroki who’s facial features remained contorted in confusion, whooped and hollered.
“Get some, Bakugou!” Kaminari cheered.
"Are we all going to ignore the fact that Bakugou just let someone call him Kacchan?" Todoroki inquired again—and was ignored again.
Bakugou yanked the paper out of Momo’s hands.
“Shut the fuck up, all of you,” He said furiously. Although the threatening look he was trying to portray was diminished by the blush that was taking over his entire face.
As his friends settled down and began ordering their drinks, Katsuki ran his cut up hand underneath the tap—washing away the blood. He wished the memory of those damned big ass eyes of Izuku and Ochako’s would wash down the pipe as well, but no such luck.
He tucked the cash and the phone number into his back pocket and returned to the bar to cater to his obnoxious friends.