👿 Open Post 3

[blastedass]

Open Post

What to hit up Bakugo for some action? Feel free to do whatever here!



Continue a thread from elsewhere. Toss an idea to plot about or build on.
Or just post a starter for a thread or a meme you want and go from there.

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Heart Attacks Suck 💥 for <recilientrioting>

[blastedass]

[ooc: continued from here]


[It's sorely tempting to knock that elbow from his desk and watch Kirishima collapse all over it in a bouncing tumble down to the floor. But he avoided the temptation in lieu of banging him on the head. It's a practiced maneuver after all.]

When the fuck am I difficult?!

[They'll have to talk about where they're heading over to in a bit, once he's done being an irritable rascal over everything Kirishima's saying. Glaring down at him despite that blazing grin shining up at him instead. Saying those things with this kind of fucking face... It's impossible for him to stay mad at him for long, what with those ruby eyes of his gazing from below those ridiculous spikes of crimson hair. Still managing to capture that innocent-yet-mischievious look.]

YOU CALLING ME SUSPECT OR SOMETHING, SHITTY HAIR?!

[What if he socked him right in that dimple of his?! He doesn't, but it's fucking tempting to! Still gets him grabbed and hauled up to get raged at. All explosive gremlin faced and everything! Doesn't matter that he's banging his fist on that hardened sheet of hair and skin; he's still gonna clobber him for being such a cheeky shit about it!

It's only after Kirishima more or less wormed away from him and arched back over the desk, ending up with Bakugou more or less leaning over him in response, that his words finally start to get through to the blonde and ease him back down from the assault. Also because he kind of finished venting on him as well... One of the reasons they get along because Bakugou can pound on him and blow him up and Kirishima can more or less escape from it unharmed. At least he doesn't rip his shirt?]

I meant how'd you fucking get in the school, making shit jokes like that. [But the moment's passed and Bakugou eases off him, letting go of Kirishima's shirt with a husk of material slipping from his fingers. He snorts at him once before leaning back and taking a seat in his chair with a flumping drop that causes it to squeak a bit beneath him. Ugh, this guy can be so fucking tiresome at times. So exuberant and full of energy. And stupidity.] Forget it. Can't believe you're cracking up over that.

[Grade school kid humor. He reaches up and catches Kirishima's arm by the wrist, dragging him over a little to smirk right up into his face.]

Unless you're really just bein a big pervert.

tysm!

[recilientrioting]

... sss-ometimes?
[ Words had to be perfectly chosen when dealing with his close buddy here- good thing Kirishima was so good at it, talking. At least when he wasn't being completely used as a sandbag! His head bumped back at the hits, hardened right eye squinting just out of natural human reaction-- he didn't feel the punches but they still knocked a little vibration into him.

Out of common sense he tried talking around the rough noogies he was being given, speaking up a bit as he tried to wave Bakugo, and his blazing fists, away--] d- dude you're gonna hurt your hand. [ Warily peeking an eye at the other who was still leaning over him, the fist raised as if ready to throttle Kirishima again- buuut, it stopped. See? Easy.]

I'm nooot... I'm just sayin' it's funny that you think I'm difficult. [ Smiling as the area around his eyes slowly dissipated back to it's natural skin, the hardened flakes of hair bristling back to individual hair spikes that actually looked softer soo up close.

Kirishima chuckled a little, lowering both hands as Bakugo slowly pulled back, and plopped down on his own chair. Hands slowly easing down the shirt that had just been clutched in Bakugo's rough paws, gently rubbing away the wrinkles, meanwhile talking down at his shirt with pointed interest ...] well, it's not like I cracked a bunch'a jokes on the freshman interview, dude. I would'a never gotten in, heh.

maybe they just liked me?

[ Smiling biiig, since he knew that's not how it worked- but still! That should be a thing.] hn? whaaat, it was funny!

[ Slowly propping both palms on the desks edge to keep himself there, smiling over to the blond with a toothy smile just as he shrugged-- red eyes lulling over the ceiling a little bit.] I'dunno-- no one ever hears you talking about that stuff, so it was--

[ Freeze.

he tensed, but didn't harden at the touch, since the cause of his tense response was... different. Suddenly it was him hovering over, hunched up top Bakugo, who smeared a grin all over his paler face, smug and meanish like he discovered something he wasn't meant to.

Like this he felt much taller, he had a few centimeters on the blond usually, but this felt better-

Kirishimas eyes a little wider than before, and suddenly he felt a little warm on the face-- a little hesitant as he leaned up and back. Saving face with a small, sheepish smile and an even softer tone. Eyes dropping from that shitgrin down to where Bakugos hand gripped him ever so firmly- ] huh?; no way dude. I was just teasing...

[blastedass]

[GOOD! He wouldn't be pounding him on the head if he couldn't feel ANY part of that! Which probably gave reason to how Kirishima could so intently focus on the paper below while Bakugou beat him atop the head with a rolled up whatever. Plus it lets the blonde vent some of that eternal rage he's got bottled up inside without doing some extreme damage. They work out well together!]

Haaah?! You say something, Shitty Hair?! [He's punched you all over the place and hasn't hurt his damn hand! (Yes he has but hasn't said shit about it cause he's a tough guy.) But at least the attempted wave does fend the blonde off to retreat back to his seat and leave Kirishima's head alone. Don't you dare fucking think you can wrangle him so easily! He simply felt like not beating your brick any further!]

Che! You've got your difficult side. [Adorable and amiable as the redhead is, he's not fucking perfect and he can exasperate people for different reasons. From being too noisy and energetic to being too optimistic or thick headed. Not that anyone's ever gonna give Kirishima grief over that. He's someone they all like to call a friend. (Except for Bakugou, cause he doesn't ever use that f-word.)

Hmph... It's always interesting to watch the hero's Quirk come undone. Seeing those spikes of hair turning from intense needles that could tear apart concrete to something that looks soft enough to run your fingers through, despite the way it stood up in all those ridiculous directs when he had it gelled.

Bakugou finds his eyes taking a wander down to Kirishima's chest when the guy smoothed his shirt down. Fuck, does he even realize how visible the definitions of his pecs are when he does that?]

You were probably too busy being fucking loud and passionate. [And yes, of course they liked him. Everyone ultimately liked Kirishima. Bakugou scoffs at the very idea the redhead questioned the possibility.] Like they couldn't...

[Actually that's part of how it worked. He flicks his friend off anyways and rests his elbow on the desk, chin propped on his palm. Giving him a damn nice vantage point to go grinning at the redhead when he reels him over for the taunting accusation. Hey, what's he gonna think when you're over there laughing at "cum" being part of a word? That's juvenile, but also lewd.

Now he's just waiting to see if Kirishima's gonna deny or admit to that. And don't go thinking you have some centimeters on him just cause you're leaning over him, buddy. He can easily stand up. The way those red eyes drop to his wrist and how red the other boy got on his slightly tanner skin was more or less incriminating evidence. Bakugou traces his thumb across Kirishima's wrist, brushing at the underside and over the two tendons below the heel of his palm.]

So you're not thinking anything dirty when I say I could put some capsicum in your mouth?

All Jokes Aside 💥 for <thundercrashes>

[blastedass]

[ooc: continued from here]

[They say a second can take an eternity and years can pass in a flash. How fucked up is it when those two things happen at the same time? Or does that simply cancel everything out into normal speed... Three years in high school would seem a long time, but after everything that happened in Bakugo's first year of U.A., it feels almost like a blur. Yet he can recall everything so clearly. From the first inklings of villainy rising to the surface to the breakout of war and everything in between. It's sometimes hard to believe that happened in one year, but it had. A battle for the future of society.

And that was only the heroes side. How the hell did the Duelists go from a simple starting year just like any other, and end up throwing down with the fate of every damn timeline crashing into one massive reset falling onto their hands? The implosion of society versus the nullification of their world. Two massive threats, everyone's fates, all decided by the choices of a little Quirkless boy and a Duelist dropout. To say the hero society and Dueling society were the same afterwards would be a fucking understatement. The world changed.

Yet even in all of that, normal life managed to move on. Time for classes. Time for meals. Time for friends. Time for training. Apparently there was even time for Bakugo to bitch across texts at Manjoume on Friday night. The irony of finding someone that's scarily similar to you. Born with natural skill and talent, yet throwing every effort into improving beyond everyone else, proud and irritable with the skill to back up those loud words, standing above everyone else with the intention of pursuing that dream of glory and fame, only to experience one humiliation after another as life decides humbling maturity is the course for you...

Bakugo's watched Manjoume from numerous sources, reading articles online or seeing his duels on television or attending in person to get a first-hand view of his skill. Dueling had never been in the cards (ha) for the explosive hero, having focused his life onto becoming the greatest hero the world had ever seen. But it's hard not to pay attention to the other half of the world. He'd dueled before, even has a few decks that he prefers, yet there are others who are better than him, simply because he didn't set it as his life's ambition. But watching Manjoume is enough to make him wonder... what if.

Friends? Phht. That's a fucking joke. More like rivals from two different paths on the similar walk of life. He even stated he'd graduate before Manjoume and that's tracking along perfectly! U.A.'s graduation ceremony happens a few days before Duel Academy's. Yet a great Duelist and great Hero are only part of who they are. When all that's put aside, they're just two young men in the middle of their young lives. Doing normal human things.

Like eating lunch on the rootop, waiting for Manjoume's choice. Bakugo still lingered on that text, when an apparent joke had turned into what could've been a confession. He gave the Duelist a chance to back out with his dignity, but if Manjoume was telling the truth, about the kind of relationship he prefers... Bakugo's got something important to reconsider.

IF the loudmouth shows up. That's the main question...]

[thundercrashes]

[There's a lot of things that can be said about Manjoume: kind of an asshole (but getting better about it lately at least for some of his friends), rather egostical for a guy whose deck consists of fucking Ojamas (but frankly he's earned that ego by now when these days he can get a huge crowd chanting for Manjoume Thunder), and okay, maybe a bit reckless and stupid sometimes. (In his defense, how was he supposed to know that dueling some weird guy outside his school during night hours would lead to him being brainwashed into a cult for half of second year... or what the cosenquences would be of some other pretty dumb things he's also gotten himself into--)

But if there's one thing that he isn't, it's being a fucking coward. Not when it comes to challenging others to duels regardless of how questionable the odds look for him. Not when it came to getting involved in whatever weird shit that he gets pulled along into with Judai (which probably should have been dealt with by actual heroes, now looking back at how Judai has turned out these days...) and not even when it comes to meeting a guy on the roof for lunch and maybe for other reasons.

A big maybe because while, again, not a coward, Manjoume isn't the type to talk about his feelings without it being like the equivalent of pulling teeth, a sentiment that someone like Bakugo might be able to understand. He certainly doesn't think he could approach this like how he did confessing to his old crush he had years ago, the mere thought of which just makes him cringe from second hand embarrassment. No, he's going to have to try to be cool about this. Act like this isn't going to be a potentially difficult endeavor that he might be putting a lot of emotional weight on. Nope, not at all.

He shows up right on time, stepping out from the rooftop entranceway door acting as casual as possible. He has a rather modest bento box in hand as Manjoume looks around for where Bakugo is, and upon spotting him...]

Oh, good. You're actually here.

[Manjoume somehow manages to sound about the same as ever and totally not surprised (and maybe a little relieved) that Bakugo showed up and was waiting for him here.]

[blastedass]

[You know, maybe if you didn't go out at night to duel some fucking loser, you wouldn't have gotten caught up in something nasty, Manjoume. Even if he's capable of being egged into something stupid by those damn extras he calls classmates, Bakugo's not an idiot enough to take something as ridiculously obvious as that bait. (Then again, this is the guy that got kidnapped by villains. Twice.) Hmph, egotistical doesn't mean dumbass. Unless your Manjoume. Heh heh heh.

But no, he won't call Manjoume a coward. Not only has the guy faced his challenges, even the dumb ones he's caused himself, he's refused to give up and pressed forward to become stronger, better. Aspects Bakugo finds admirable enough to give the Duelist his respect. And tolerance. ("Tolerance" certainly doesn't mean he actually kinda maybe might like him a little bit.) It's what earned Manjoume the curt offer to meet on the roof so Bakugo can hear what he has to say.

He didn't want damn text to be the invite to upgrade their rivalry to something else. No, if Manjoume had something like that to say to him, he can say it to Bakugo's face or shut the hell up forever. Provided he can get the guts up to say those things. He won't admit it, but the explosive blonde knows all about not wanting to say things like that. Sappy, vulnerable, baring words that reveal emotion and thoughts proud guys like them would consider "weak" and not becoming of their tough guy strength. It's hard to be vulnerable around someone, exposing weakness or placing a tender part of yourself at someone else's mercy. No, this is serious and Bakugo intends to face it with the same respect he'd give any confrontation he actually gives a shit about.

He's sitting against the roof fence, a bento balancing on his thigh. Everything within is arranged neatly, but there's a richness to it that suggests someone with a lot of culinary talent made it. From rolled cabbage wraps to seasoned riceballs to spicy kimchi to strips of baked fish and a side of apples and raisins in a subtly sweet and tangy glaze. Bakugo eats well.

Meeting Manjoume's eyes, he simply leans his head back in greeting as he lifts another chunk of cut-off riceball to his mouth.]

I told you I would.

[Wanna kick this off poorly and insinuate he's a liar or backs out of his promises?]

When Cats Date 💥 for <personachords>

[blastedass]

[ooc: continued from here]

~ 0 ~

[How the fuck did that happen? Just one random fucking text at night and it turned into a date. Obviously not the first time Bakugou and Shinsou texted, but apparently plenty of pent-up feelings went by without admission before finally popping out all of a sudden that night. And it went so smoothly too. Chat chat chat date plans. What the fuck? Bakugou read over the conversation a few times afterwards, just to try and see its progression. He seriously got along that well with Shinsou? ... That or those silent thoughts and feelings towards him had enough of Bakugou's wall of shit.

He's got a boyfriend now.

Took several minutes to let that thought sink in. This is their first date, but he always told himself he'd never date anyone he wasn't interested in or didn't know enough about to realize he wanted it long term. Anything else was a waste of his damn time. If anyone told Bakugou he'd be dating the purple-haired annoyance he saw for the first time at the Sports Festival, he would've slugged them in the stomach and left with a scoff of pure dismissal.

Guess fucking what. That purple-haired annoyance was no longer an annoyance. But someone Bakugou respected and apparently liked. From his determination to his strength to his Quirk to his prowess to his improvements. Shinsou built himself into a hero from the ground up on sheer grit and guidance. There's no way he couldn't find that attractive.

... didn't hurt that Shinsou was still annoyingly handsome too. Fuck.

That's why Bakugou's standing outside the 1-A Heights, leaning against a pillar on the landing and flipping his thumb across his phone. Waiting to go to a cat cafe and movie. Of course his other classmates will see him. See them. Bakugou could've demanded they meet on the outskirts of campus. But this is going to be Shinsou's dorm next year. Better get the fucking teasing over with now.]

[personachords]

[ Of course Shinsou's own classmates had their questions, it wasn't often that the guy left his dorm if he wasn't going to study or to train and seeing as he didn't have his books or his gear...well it was obvious he wasn't about to do either. Instead of answering them he just waved them off and made his way to meet up with Katsuki.

To think, he was actually going on a date with the loudest member of class 1-A. The guy with the most violent temperament and the same one who he had challenged so early in their year at UA. Still, he can't help but grin. If he had been told that he'd be going on a date with, let alone excited to be with, Bakugou Katsuki...well Shinsou would laugh in the persons face and walk away. There was no way they would mesh well. And yet they did.

Bakugou understood his drive and he fighting tooth and nail to prove everyone around him wrong. To prove that he was more than capable of being the hero he wanted to be.

The walk from his dorm to 1-A's isnt' that long really, it's easy and he barely looks up before he's stopping and waving at Bakugou...and the others who he can see peeking from the windows. It's easy to see the shock of yellow blonde hair from Denki as well as Sero's wide eyes. ]

Hey, ready?

[blastedass]

[He already had one person (Denki, who else) stick his nose out to ask why Bakugou was standing in front of the dorm like that. Obviously waiting for someone. No books, no training gear, casual dress, not immediately leaving, all the cues for some annoying extra to make assumptions and query him. The answer was a solid kick to the door to slam it shut in Denki's face. Or against his face. Didn't care which.

It would've raised even more brows and taunting if he'd stayed in his room and Shinsou actually had to knock and call on Bakugou. Fuck, he'd have gotten razzed about that for fucking days. Not that he's not going to. Out the corner of his eye, he notices a familiar sprig of red spikes poking out from behind the curtains. They're peeking. He knows. Gonna fucking murder them when he gets back tonight...

Since he can't murder them now, thanks to Shinsou showing up and quite literally saving some of the 1-A kids with his wave. It attracts the gremlin's attention. Bakugou pushes off the pillar and heads down the steps onto the bricked walkway towards his date. He slips his hands into his pockets, a casual short-sleeve white button down over black v-neck and dark jeans. Comfortable, but retaining a sort of style he likes.]

Yeah. Let's go before these assholes lose their fucking lives.

Look-A-Likes 💥 for <hairsplit>

[blastedass]

[ooc: continued from here]

Whatever they'd been yelling about (well, Bakugou yelling and Todoroki being his normal blase self) was forgotten when that admission popped out. Someone who looked like him, wearing a shirt that belonged to him, enough that Shouto thought this person was him? Fuck that shit. They've had too much to deal with in terms of unwanted attention and attacks on their class for Katsuki to let something like that slide. While Shouto found a note with an address apparently left at the bar by the stranger, Katsuki discussed with the restaurant owner about the security cameras in case they needed them later. They'd have to get a warrant and have the cops brought in if they went that route, but at least Katsuki knew there was recordings. He told the owner to avoid erasing to disposing the recordings of the past two hours until the police said he could.

Which takes care of covering their tracks. Katsuki leaves the back office and heads for the front of the restaurant to meet up with Shouto. This better not end up being a massive thing. A clone of him could mean either Twice or Toga was around... and Katsuki doesn't want his own face to be linked to a fucking crime. It'd be a mess to untangle later and he's already cursed to have his face shown on TV always in a negative light...

Where the hell's Half-n-Half?

[hairsplit]

( the napkin in his fingers is gently folded in half--then another half, and then another, until it fits neatly into the palm of his hand. really, if he thinks too hard about it, this sort of thing is oddly ironic, given the location: he'd wanted it to be something of a reunion of sorts, marrying memory to memory, the bar being one of the first places that they'd used to explore how they felt about each other, even if it had come down to hands and mouths and pleasure, at that time, hidden in the dark. bakugou had even worn something almost romantic, in a way, dressing up for the occasion, though he would never admit that thought out loud or acknowledge it in any way other than in the quiet recesses of his own emotions.

even so, like last time, it's like everything that could go wrong does go wrong: which is how he ends up gently working his way out of the crowded venue, towards the front door, careful not to jostle or bump into anyone while keeping his gaze locked on his surroundings. it's true, he'd already done a few laps of the place, even stopped by the bar twice just to confirm, but the guy he'd accidentally mistook for bakugou had been nowhere to be seen.

he doesn't blame bakugou's reaction: he appreciates it, even, understands where it might be coming from. it just all feels a little off to him--if it were either of the villains in question, would they just be test-running their bakugou suit for some future mission, something more nefarious? he doubts it had anything to do with him; they wouldn't have known bakugou would be meeting him in this place, of all people. or perhaps it had been a ploy to ensnare whoever bakugou's 'date' would have been? gathering intel? when he'd touched the look-alike, the person had snapped at him just like bakugou would have, but also offered to buy him a drink. so then--?

he feels like midoriya, running through all these possibilities without any end in sight. with a sigh, he slips out the front door, immediately narrowing his eyes in on bakugou--or, well, is this bakugou? tentatively, he steps closer, letting out a hand to gently pull at the sleeve of bakugou's nice button-down, imploring. the reaction will tell him more than enough about who it is. )

...It should be down the street. About two blocks, on the left side. ( rather than let go, his hand drifts down bakugou's sleeve, almost like he's going to hold his hand in the end. ) If we decide to stay there to investigate... I have the money.

( ominous. but, well, he has no idea what kind of hotel it is: google maps had only told him the name, as though unwilling to put up a picture there, and he might not be on particularly good terms with his father still, but he does have a card for emergencies. curious, he tilts his head at bakugou, waiting. )

[blastedass]

[figures that their little reunion here would be fucked up by some interloper. even if the person didn't mean to (which he highly doubts) the damage has already been done. interrupted and pissed off, he heads for the door, stalking past diners and waiters. even dressed up for this, a button down red shirt (sans tie because fuck ties) and a black light dinner jacket with slacks. of course he remembered what happened at this bar between them. the first time with todoroki still wasn't clear in his mind, though the second time in the shower had more or less replaced the drunk mess earlier. a far more positive memory. that said, other times in this bar were part of their growing relationship. from winding down after work to stealing some quick romances in the back or booths to casual conversations that sometimes went nowhere.

this issue, however, better not go nowhere. he wants a fucking answer on why someone's running around looking like him so much that todoroki thought the imposter was him. and the answer better be good, or else he's going to fucking murder the bastard without hesitation. at least the bar owner knows what happened and the police can review the footage of the security cameras later if shit's really deemed necessary.

he doesn't like the unknown element of implication either, not sure if this person had been messing around or was truly out for some nefarious purpose. getting todoroki involved is another question. had the imposter meant to trick him? was it some quirk designed to operate on someone responding to a person they thought they knew, like shinsou's quirk activated with someone simply speaking to him> shit, if he thinks too much about it, the "what if's" will just distract him from now.

getting outside helps and he lingers on the porch impatiently, looking behind him when todoroki finally arrives. his eyes narrow at the tentative way the other boy approaches him, but he can't exactly blame him for it. irritated, however, he does. especially when todoroki pulls on the sleeve of his shirt.]

Stop fucking tugging me! I'm not some fucking fake twice in one night!

[even if it's a possibility. he refuses to entertain it and tugs his arm back, rubbing at the sleeve a second later in annoyance. half because he doesn't want todoroki getting the idea they're going to walk down the street hand in fucking hand. a scowl drags the corner of his lips and he shoves his hands into his pockets before heading down the steps.]

Tch, don't count on staying that long. We're gonna figure this shit out before it gets too late. Move it.

Night Invite 💥 for <skinstitch>

[blastedass]

[ooc: continued from here]


Like you too, jackass.

[good! dabi gave him a fucking headache during the damn kidnapping. to say nothing of the fucking waste of his time and patience listening to that goddam driven from the psychotic manchild he called a leader. the scarred villain can come up with whatever assumptions he wants about why bakugou's such a mouthy brat, but fair warning in that he'll get yelled at again if he reveals whatever stupid answer he generates for himself. it's not that bakugou hasn't heard dabi yell before, particularly when the guy's running on his psychotic break and gleefully aiming to murder a few particular people, but... that aside, he's used to the pyromaniac being quiet. damn shame he's not being quiet NOW and thus not igniting bakugou's temper.

it's not a high quality lube or anything, something you could order or pick up form the store without attracting a lot of attention. bakugou's still a teenager and doesn't want people prying into his personal life, or some damn cashier seeing the lube and giving him an eye or comment about it. as for how he's treating dabi, well that's that other guy's assumption. an invalid? of course not. a self-destructive moron who's too stupid to take care of himself better? hell fucking yes. while he doesn't think dabi's "sick" in the illness sense, bakugou has zero illusions that he certain is taking a dirty, violent stray in off the streets. though if there's any thought he's going to make dabi "pretty", the man's a damn lunatic.

especially when that sudden cacophony of medical supplies suddenly explodes behind him and bakugou whirls around with wide eyes and ready muscles.] The fuck-?! [just in time to see dabi pulling his hand back with that "my bad" dripping out of his mouth in a very incriminating way. that bastard did it on purpose. grin and all.] Don't piss with me! You just keep blowing your fucking options out of the air!

[in more ways that one... and he'll have you know he's able to do a fair amount of first aid due to personal studies and the occasional courses at u.a. bastard's just jealous bakugou could probably staple him up better than dabi himself! tch, as if he'd fucking help him now. let him rot! snarling, the blonde ignores the scattered supplies and turns the shower on to get it warmed up. not everyone can tolerate walking into a cold spray.

yeah, he left the damn door open for a reason. not going to open the window that. that's just messed up. his shirt lands on the ground behind him and bakugou unbuckles his belt before flaring it and his fly open. a knee hikes up as he shoves the denim down his thigh and over the joint before skimming the length of material off his foot. repeat with other leg. casually chucks his pants over his shoulder. casually throwing them right at dabi, but you know, his back's to the guy so obviously it's a lucky shot if they happen to smack the bastard full on the face.]

Nope. You don't need help getting undressed.

[keep staring at his back. and yes, he's watching dabi in the reflection of the mirror nearby. for reasons.]

[skinstitch]

( as petty as his actions are, bakugou's reactions are even more petty: and he loves it, grinning to himself in the sort of self-satisfied, smug little thing that fits on his lips best. could he have done with some first aid? yeah, probably. it hasn't been an easy couple of days, and he hasn't had a chance to get in front of a mirror and check himself over--there's probably a few staples missing, some skin sagging where it shouldn't, but those are minor discomforts in a body that can't even feel them to begin with. the closer that he gets to what he wants to do, the more that he feels his grip on his self control dwindling: it doesn't matter how long he lasts, just as long as he lasts long enough to do what he needs to do.

but now, as bakugou says, he's blown his fucking options out of the air--and that's fine. the idea of having to sit still and be sewn up by the brat that gave them all a fucking headache back then isn't exactly high on his list of things he wants to experience. besides, why would bakugou even care enough to try to look after him? it just doesn't make sense, and he doesn't like that it doesn't make sense.

both of his hands jerk up, palms held out as though in mock apology as the swathe of denim gets chucked at him; the bundle of it hits his stomach and then drops at his feet, not quite making it to his face, but still close enough that now he has to step over it all. with a grating sigh, like it's the most annoying thing in his life, he takes an overly large step past bakugou's pants and leans a hip towards the bathroom counter. )

Touchy, touchy. ( a leg lefts, both hands shucking off one boot--and then his weight shifts, using the counter as a balance, to shuck off the other one. they're tossed somewhere onto the floor. ) If you don't help me, I'll just have to go in like this, and stay here 'til my clothes dry. Wouldn't that be a shame?

( just annoying for the sake of being annoying--and hey, now that there's room on the counter, he hops up onto it, a few bottles scattered with the shift of his weight there. naked arms stretch back behind him, palms planted to tilt his weight: and he watches bakugou's back keenly, lips pressed together, waiting. )

Cmere.

[blastedass]

[it's because the bastard can't feel that bakugou had the idea of doing some patchwork. obviously dabi's taken care of himself well enough to make it to today, but no one's going to look at that stapled-together quilt of scarred and healthy flesh and give him a clean bill of health. actually, he's probably good there too, considering the temperatures his body can reach. that hand on the back of his neck hadn't been a natural warmth, especially since they were still "in battle" at the time. why the hell does he even give a shit whether dabi's taken care of or not? the bastard's murdered and he's not even bakugou's responsibility! as a hero, he should just bash the charred idiot in the back of his head and drag his unconscious ass to the police! ... except he's not a burned-up piece of crap yet either. bakugou might be a raging brat, but he's not going to break an agreed-upon truce. he's got self-respect.

not that it doesn't feel good to be a dick back and dismiss the villain's offer to come together. instead, he'll keep his back to dabi and work on his pants. belt clicking open with a flick of leather across the buckle and pin, followed by the telltale snap of the button being popped open. bakugou's never going to not be damn proud of being the huge pain in the ass he was to the league. they brought him in, thinking they knew who he was, and fuck all of them for overstepping their dumb brains. can't even think for themselves and they have the gall to try and think for him.

that said, tossing his pants at dabi is a nice bit of revenge. clad in just a pair of black boxer briefs with an orange hem, bakugou glances over his shoulder with a wry expression. huh, the guy's moved. left his pants on the floor, as expected, but he's near the counter this time. ah, getting rid of his boots. the blonde's brow twitches in mild annoyance when dabi chucks his boots to the side, their weight making an obvious noise when they land. bastard, doing that on purpose. and being annoying for the pure sake of it...

bakugou growls softly in his throat when the villain threatens to climb into the tub with most of his clothes on. oh he knows dabi'll do it too. granted, what he's wearing could probably use a run through the wash...] That your way of asking to spend the night, you charred freeloader?

[good thing that counter's bolstered over cabinets and not free-hanging on a brace. there goes the command. "cmere" - simple and curt. bakugou eyes dabi for two seconds, then walks off to the shower. sticks a hand under it to check the temperature of the water. and only then, on his own time, does he turn around and head back to dabi. makes a damn point of picking up a few scattered medical supplies as well (since he's there) and setting them on the counter near the wall. just in case this catty prick feels the need to swat them off again.]

Fucking inconvenience. Can't even take off your own pants. [bakugou flicks him off, then sets his hands on dabi's hem to work the fly open with a pop. he's deft and confident with the actions, middle finger hooking over the man's zipper and dragging it down from top to bottom. at least dabi's gone for loser pants instead of trying to squeeze into form-fitting crap. leaning in closer, bakugou rims his thumbs over the hem and fans his fingers across the sides of the villain's pants, getting a secure hold.] Lift your hips.

[SHUCK!!]

Punch Boom Sleepover 💥 for <catsgothistongue>

[blastedass]

[ooc: continued from here]


[Well Bakugou's certainly not going to say his parents raised him like crap. He won't even say, with any degree of truth, that his parents are bad. Just teenage growling about them being smothering (they wanna hug him) or being nosy (how dare they wanna know more than what he wants to tell them) and other annoying proper parenting things. He knows they've done him well, even if their fondness for him ended up with Bakugou having that responsible-but-horrible pride attitude of his...

Blah blah blah, you still give off the backwater bamboo house kid vibe! Not that Bakugou's ever been put in a metal drum over a fire for a bath, though he has taken one or two baths in a lake in his life. Summer camp and stuff. Ranma having shit for social cues doesn't help his protesting that he's not some bush-dwelling ruffian. Bakugou scowls at the "we're both men" rejoinder, since it's not exactly arguable and he doesn't want to come across as some wussy prude. Plus Ranma's already done, so moot point.]

Scram!

[At least he'll chase his naked ass out of his room. Bakugou used to privately think scars were proof of weakness. You wouldn't have gotten scarred if you were stronger, faster, smarter, better, etc. But he matured out of that proud thought process over time. Scars are proof that you survived. You know... if you had to get them. A hero should strive to do his or her damnest to avoid getting hurt in the first place. Buuut, if he found out about the reason behind Ranma's scars, it's hard to say he wouldn't scoff at it. Sounds like a great way to give someone trauma.

Anyways, more on that shit later. Apparently Ranma's staying over the night now and Bakugou's probably going to have to deal with his mom or dad sticking their head into his room at some point for introductions. He'll hold off on that as long as possible, meaning he's shutting the door behind him as he comes into the bathroom to wait. Apart from the change of clothes and towel, he's also brought a bottle of rubbing alcohol in case Ranma needs something stronger to get those inked words off his skin. Just in time to see the other boy finishing up with his hair.

... *blink*]

WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH YOUR HAIR?!

[Complete with huge eyes and a finger stabbing out in front of him! Don't tell him THAT MUCH SHIT was somehow magically stuffed up into a 90s bob and tiny ass pigtail!! IT'S DOWN TO THE FUCKING FLOOR AND FANNED OUT LIKE A FUCKING CAPE!! Is this some kind of Quirk or some arcane element/result of Ranma's martial arts training? Sure there are people with Quirks that can manipulate hair, including Hairsatsu, the Hair Hero who's Quirk lets her form arms and legs out of her hair for battle, but still! You KNOW she's got that much hair!

Bakugou gapes at the result for a few more seconds before jerking his head back with a brief shake to clear his shock. Fucking hell. It's a miracle he doesn't just chuck the towel at Ranma's face. Though he does slap a hand against the other boy's chest before he can get entirely out of the shower.]

Hell no! Wring that shit out in there!

[Before you end up squeezing out a bucket of water all over the bathroom rug! Talk about sleeping over after.]

[catsgothistongue]

[Well, the 'training' for the Neko-ken was banned for a very special reason: Psychological damage... Which Ranma's dad would've known if he just flipped one page over and didn't stop at the first few paragraphs! Though in all honesty, he still would've done it to Ranma under the whole 'ends justifies the means' to justify it. Ranma had been trying to keep his ailurophobia a secret for multiple reasons. He didn't want to get into those bad memories, he didn't want to get made fun of for being afraid/traumatized of even the meekest of kittens, and he didn't want to have that used against him.]

Hm? It's just hair- WOAH!

[Ranma only got one foot out of the shower before he was shoved back in, falling right on his ass and loosening the tower around his waist some.]

Alright asshole, didn't have to shove me like that, nearly hit my head! Do that again, and I'll drown you in the toilet.

[Mumbling bitterly, Ranma started wringing out all the water from his hair. Thankfully the water is still hadn't cooled down enough for it to count to triggering his curse, so Ranma wasn't about to grow tits right in front of Bakugou anytime soon. He was multitasking with keeping his towel covering his malehood while squeezing the water out. It did slip a few times, but he managed to catch it each time before finally getting his hair decently wrung out. The martial artist reached over to the string he left on the nearby sink, and in a matter of seconds, Ranma's arms turned to complete blurs as the sprawled out hair were wound back up in that tiny braided pigtail people's come to associate him with by now.]

Any other issues, your highness?

[He did a faux courtesy bow... which just dropped the towel. At this point, Ranma just said 'fuck it' and walked out of the shower to start throwing on the clothes handed to him, starting with the underwear thankfully before following suit with the simple t-shirt and shorts.]

Wanted Prey 💥 for <hairsplit>

[blastedass]

[*rumble rumble... rumble rumble* it's the feeling that slowly dregs his body from unconsciousness. blurry... everything's blurry, unfocused blobs of dark color sliced through in intervals by a shaft of foggy light. thought's trying to make its way in his mind, but everything's stuffy and whatever gets into his head ends up lost before he's a chance to grasp it. noises? are those noises? voices maybe, he can't tell, muffled and murmured with momentary breaks before starting up again. something's pressing atop his body, are those his hands or feet pushing against it, is it even pushing, what's moving? down again as even the passing lights fade away and there's nothing left once again. it's warm beside him... that's all he knows before drifting away again.

scarlet sheets... the scent of mint and spice in fresh water... salt bites his tongue as he catches a droplet... he'd be able to focus on more how the ceiling moves above him if it weren't for that beautiful two-toned head gazing down at him... but he doesn't want to focus on the ceiling, every damn nerve of his body zeroed in on heat dragging down his skin as fingers rake over his shoulder and slip off their clinging grasp at his upper back. right before that hot, flesh, pulse, throb, size, wet, spurt, sex pushes into him again and it feels like his entire body is filling up from the inside out. bedraggled curtains manage to peek over a round shoulder before vanishing as it's far more addicting to sink his teeth into the bastard's trape and leave a mark while hips pump and legs kick and their bodies fuse again into one connected flesh where they're joined and that's all he can feel, all he can see, all he cares about as the damn love hotel fades away from his vision and melts into an ugly blur of sage grey and...

and... ...and that's a jeep. muddled colors sharpen into metal rims, black rubber, worn seats, concrete floors, stacks of solid militaristic boxes, shelves full of item assortments, garage door in one wall, three metal doors in another, a large mattress thrown on the floor with a body lying atop it, a table nearby with four figures sitting beneath the light hanging overhead. one of them slaps down a card before turning the head and apparently noticing he's awake. an elbow jabs into another pair of ribs and soon all four are leaning back in their chairs and looking towards him. they remind him of twice... a full tight bodysuit, complete with mask covering their faces, colored what looks like dark green and black, but it's hard to tell from here and still seems to swim in his vision. the mask eyes are white at least, and he doesn't like the way they seem to crimp at the corners, suggesting smiling beneath the tight material.

it's then that his senses at least kick out of the sluggish dredges, immediately driving adrenaline through his body in alarm. nothing about this in a moment's notice seems to scream "positive!" in any sense of the imagination and he slams one arm forward- *CHA-CLINK! ... clackle...* -that arm goes nowhere. resistance crashes against the underside of his wrist and the unmistakable sound of chain sinking into place follows the slight slack in his strain. he twists his head up, eyes widening in his mask at the thick cuff clasping around his wrist. any exclamation is utterly muffled by the heavy metal shoved in and against his mouth, only now realizing the muzzle wrapped around the lower half of his face. reminiscent of the one they forced on him at the end of the sports festival, but not as clunky. and certainly that one didn't have an extra protrusion wedged between his jaws.

as the four men stand up from their seats, he notices he's not alone in this.] Mmrr-mm-phm! [todoroki! clasped and bound in similar state, shoved up against a metal barred frame like some kind of display. arms racked up by his shoulders, clasps about his wrists and ankles, chains far shorter than his own (if there are any), though lacking the muzzle. he can't tell if the other hero is conscious or not, but with his head down and his chest moving in slow paces, it's pretty damn obvious which option he's erring on. there's no blood that he can see at least.

what the hell happened? as the four move towards them, he jerks his head back up, eyes blazing in fury at the group. that damn hotel had been almost a week ago! why was he thinking about it now?! the last thing he recalls is the previous mission... fuck!]

[hairsplit]

( sleep had always been an escape, growing up: a reprieve from the relentless training, a reprieve from the disappointment, a reprieve from the orders and commands and the this is good for yous and the you'll thank me when you're olders. in sleep, he could forget for awhile about the state of the house, about the state of the family, about his dreams, slipping further and further away, and the dreams of his father, looming and ever-present. he didn't have to do anything or be anything: he simply could exist there, in the safety of his imagination, and later, in the safety of his dreams. even nightmares didn't seem quite as hellish as the house itself.

in the dorm, it became something of a comfort. being around so many other people gave him ample opportunity to both observe and learn, and it felt like a safe place, behind closed doors, with so many other people around to warn in case of any danger. without any family there, it became something of an oasis, a quiet place to revel in his own thoughts, rather than escape into them; later, with bakugou there, it became something else entirely.

it's a little silly, to find himself comforted by the agitated breath of bakugou next to him, the quiet movements under the sheets, the way his fingers twitch while he dreams or the faint wrinkle in his brow as he falls deeper into sleep. he would never admit it out loud, but the nights they've spent together have been some of his favorite, even when all they can do is fall right into sleep, tangled together under the futon blanket, worn out from a day's training; that's how it feels now, his body heavy, limbs leaden and compact.

it feels like he's being carried somewhere, feels like maybe he's fallen out of bed, feels like maybe he's somewhere he's not supposed to be, and maybe bakugou is carrying him back to bed, maybe he's fallen asleep on the downstairs couch, or somewhere else. maybe they're at the love hotel again. the love hotel? no, that had been a week ago, a private memory, something he's smiled about to himself even in bakugou's company, earning rich, livid scolding; so why is he thinking of the love hotel? why is he thinking at all? why does his neck hurt? why does everything hurt?

in the end, it's the pain that pulls him up from the recesses of sleep. he's felt that before, too, the sting of bandages as they cling to sticky, healing burns, the agony of peeling them off and rolling them back on again enough to draw him right out sleep; this time, it has nothing to do with injury, nothing to do with the kind of sleep that heals it. when his head lifts, his neck cranes with a painful crack, hair a tousled, sweaty mess around his forehead--but it shouldn't be, should it? heat builds up, anticipation and the stunned shock of the unknown burning a fever in his cheeks, in his face, down his neck. no matter what he tries to do, he can't seem to find that equilibrium in himself that he's worked so hard to balance--it feels like he can't access his quirk at all.

his tongue works around the inside of his mouth. no blood, no cuts, all his teeth are there; this is a routine feeling, a practiced feeling, the sort of thing he began to do every time his father raised a hand against him. take the hit, check for further injury. a strain of his arms forward tells him that his hands are bound, and his feet are the same, and it's not that he's lying down but rather, that he's been positioned upright, racked onto something as though he's the spinner on a roulette wheel. it doesn't make sense. silent, his blurry gaze swims, forces itself into focus; his hands pull, and the chains rattle, and that tells him everything he needs to know about the give, there. the metal burns against his wrists.

it doesn't make sense. no quirk. no quirk, which means--but what does that mean, there are a thousand things--

the sound of struggling draws his attention. it's easy enough for him to lapse into complete silence when it's his own life on the line, but when it's someone he cares about, someone he has feelings for, someone who may very well force him to contend with those words he doesn't understand, someday: all of his agitation rises up in his chest, shell-shocked, a weight that slams down through his stomach and makes him feel sick. )

Baku-- ( is all he manages. the group is between them, and the captor closest to him whips a hand out, striking him across the face; he takes it with the snap of his head, feeling the pain blossom over the apple of his cheek. another check. no blood. his lip didn't split. there might be a bruise on his face. it doesn't matter.

the man seems amused. he listens to him with his head hanging, unmoving from the hit: listens with his eyes focused on the ground beneath him, through the sloppy hang on his bangs. something about how he's been the quiet one all this time, and they don't want to have to get out another muzzle--that's right, bakugou had something across his face, he'd seen it. it doesn't explain what's about to happen to them, and doesn't explain where they are, but it's something. something to go off. a voice that he'll try to remember. the man continues--he must be the leader, or at least the leader of this smaller group; he mentions something about being relieved the restraints work, relieved that their warehouse isn't going to go up in explosive flames.

warehouse. that's a good hint, too. and if it's the restraints, then there's hope for them after all. but how to communicate that to bakugou? carefully, his chin lifts again, but he's silent; he fixes the man with a look, and then, feigning disinterest, looks away. his gaze skates across bakugou again, briefly, confirming what he can: he might be injured, but he's conscious and agitated, and that's a very good sign. this isn't hopeless. his brows lift, as though indicating bakugou should also take a look around--especially when the men seem focused on him, for the moment, two others coming in to reassure the strict length of the chains on his hands and feet. his arms are starting to ache. )

collection

[redfeathers]

This is a trap. Hawks knows it before he even finishes the call he gets or the other heroes and commission warn him. Asking someone to come alone, leaving off with that vague, ominous idea of what might become the fate of their captive if they don't comply, it's obvious enough. Bakugou's captors know they aren't subtle, he's sure.

He's been their target all along, Bakugou's just someone to use to get to him. It's luck on their part that they did choose Bakugou. Hawks has never made it known how he feels about the younger blond, not beyond insistent teasing and menacing that he subjects other heroes to as well. Bakugou, he thinks, knows there's something there from those few moments they've been alone, had come close to kissing, shared a touch that lingered a bit too long. When it's just the two of them alone, that tension simmering between them is palpable. So for the cards to fall this way, it feels like a cruel twist of fate.

Hawks knows he's going to go exactly where he's told. Not just because the order comes for him to do just that, but because it is Bakugou at the heart of all this. It's a dangerous thought, letting himself linger on the who instead of the why. He's fast enough to take down whoever might be there barring any overt displays of force like fire, but considering it's a confined space he's been summoned to, he doubts it. What matters is stopping them. Bakugou, he tells himself over and over again, has to come second. This has to be about the mission, not the emotions.

It takes some convincing to get the others to agree to no tracking or listening devices. That's what he'd agreed to, and he's sure they've got something in mind to make sure he'd complied. But still, the other heroes are close enough, a few blocks away and all he has to do is send the signal for them to close in. Things will work out.

Walking into that old, rundown warehouse isn't hard. He feels a familiar calm he takes pride in as he steps deeper inside, accompanied only by the faintest sound of his own footsteps. There's people nearby, he knows, nestled overhead in a walkway. A few more up ahead, tucked in dark corners out of his view, but he can hear their breathing. Sense the way they fill in the space around them. Eight of them, at least. If he's fast enough, it's doable to get through them and get Bakugou out of there.

"Stop right there," a voice orders, echoing from further ahead. And Hawks complies, stilling in place with his hands hanging at his sides. "Drop your jacket and gear," they continue, and Hawks knows why. To make sure he'd kept up his end of the bargain - come alone without any extras like bugs or wires.

"Sure," he replies easily as a light flicks on overhead, casting a bright light over him that has him blinking quickly to adjust to the suddenness of it. But he moves all the same, strips his jacket off to reveal the flight suit underneath - too tight to hide any wires or objects. His gloves come next, dropped onto his jacket before the pouch at his hip joins it. His visor and headphones go next, and once down to his suit, pants, and shoes, he lifts his hands and shoulders in a lazy shrug. He doesn't need any of that, anyway.

"Anything else or can we get down to business?"

[blastedass]

Why be subtle when the news has already covered Dynamight's disappearance? No word, no demand, no rationale, for many days. Until that one call parsed through three lines before finally reaching the intended recipient. Request kept simple, direct, to come alone with no tails, no wires, no traces. Likely more disturbing being the offhand comment about keeping "all your feathers" accounted for, though Hawks can make of that what he wants when the line goes dead.

Why did they target him? He can't say. Their words the past few days have been little more than taunting his failure as a hero to keep himself from getting swiped again and the mocking commentary on how someone as strong as Dynamight had let himself be captured. No one told him the reason behind grabbing him, though any time one of them got close enough, he lashed out at them with the same viciousness expected from someone of his power and reputation. Considering they haven't killed him and there's no shit talk about trying to convert him to their side, Bakugou surmises he's being kept alive. Villains only keep their captives alive for a few leveraging reasons: ransom, trophies, trade... or bait.

An odd mixture of soft and scratchy presses against his cheek. Feels like he's lying in a damn field of grass. Sight is out of the question, thanks to the blindfold around his face, hooked around his head and lower jaw in addition to prevent him from working the item off with head movements. It wouldn't really matter that much anyways, considering the crushing grip of metal around his wrists that lock Bakugou's hands palms-first against his own face. Wouldn't want him to use his Quirk to get out here now would they? Unless he finds the cost of his visage and/or eyes a worthwhile price for just an attempt at escape. There's no promise he'd make it, and then what would the price have been worth? Nothing.

But where he is, he can't hear much of anything save for the two voices nearby, hired thugs from the sound of it. But they have guns and he's in no position to wriggle against the binds on his legs and arms to think he can escape getting shot. Whoever these assholes are, they're taking great precaution to make sure he's bound, gagged, blinded, stopped. Prevented from doing anything but be what they want him to be. The sheer humiliation and vulnerability of his current state threatens to blow a fucking blood vessel in pure rage.

Back to Hawks' side of things, he's not wrong in his counting of the assailants stacking the place. Rafters. Corners. There are quite a number of people here. No further sound emanates from the room while Hawks removes what's asked of him, though it would be impossible not to feel their eyes lingering on him. It's only when he asks that question does a sudden spurt of action lash out behind him. Grey silken threads snap onto the discarded material and drag them backwards into the shadows, the muffled sound of the whole group being gathered up following soon after, though oddly growing fainter as if muffling.

"Magnificent." *clop clip clop* The unmistakable herald of dress shoes on hard floor, soon stepping into the halo of light shining on the hero. Followed by the legs of white pants, tasseled ends of a lilac scarf, the hem of a snowy dress jacket, black lapels, white button-down shirt, and a casually loosened red tie. Early middle age, 35 years being a scant few too high for him, but kept well with a sort of roguish charm in a thin close-cropped chinstrap beard and matching mustache. Violet eyes immediately take a roaming wander of the hero in front of him as he rests his hands behind his back. "Finally. Out of your cage at last."

Point Guard 💥 for <yellowcopycat>

[blastedass]

Event security wasn't the worst post to have for an internship. Even if their second year at U.A. was already shaping up to be a lot calmer than their first. All for One was gone, the threat of the League of Villains vaporized, the ravages of war still repairing, though a fair majority of it was already completed thanks to so much international help. Buildings, parks, neighborhoods, all that shit could be recreated "easily" but the lives and personal aspects... not so much. People had to pick up and start anew, society itself was going to grow anew from the ruins of the previous one. They couldn't bring back everything the way it was, but they could stand up and move forward to a better future, for heroes, civilians, and villains alike.

Good thing sports never change!

Of course they wanted distractions from their stress, raucous cheering in the stadium's packed seating as lights flashed, fans waved colorful flags, the scoreboard blared out its buzzer as digital numbers flicked on the screen. Dynamight rested his hands on his hips, scowling behind the high collar of his costume's top as he watched the game above him. Most security was posted around the stadium to protect from any straggling villains wanting to keep the battle going. He was among the small group personally assigned as a bodyguard for some of the famous athletes competing in the basketball bracket. Look, when the Generation of Miracles decides they're going to throw a head-to-head competition, people come.

They're all there. Sky blue, red, blue, yellow, green, purple, magenta, people think they're as amazing as heroes in the sports field. Eh, he can see why, but Dynamight's always been more focused on heroes. At least until his mom and dad were commissioned to help out with Kise's modeling photoshoot and suddenly the basketball star and rising hero were thrust together for a good while. Didn't stop there either. He's watched a number of Kise's games before the war put a stop to everything for a few months. Now life chugs along once more, a better normal moves, and another basket slams three more points down for Kise's team.

Heh. Yeah, that's the guy he's watching out for. High-fucking-five for a skilled shot. Movement catches his eye and he glares through his mask at Red Riot, who's waving and pointing at the screen with all the annoying mouthed comments. Of course he saw that, Shitty Hair! Now get back to patrolling! Even if Dynamight is Kise's personal guard, he's alternating his time between hanging out in the high rises to watch over him and circling the stadium proper.

Of course, when the game ends, he'll be down in the halls leading to the court itself.

[yellowcopycat]

The game was great, so much fun, and precisely what people needed after the war with the League of Villains. Or something, really, Kise was just happy to play with his friends again. Even if there was going to be a big fancy gala afterward.

As soon as the game was done, Kise and the others spent a good amount of time in the locker room, playing around, hugging, and he and Aomine playing grab ass a bit before Momoi forced them actually to start getting changed and stop playing around.

That was when their bodyguards started to arrive. He didn't know why they needed the added security, but he couldn't complain when Dynamight was assigned to him. He made a note to ask why they were given the extra protection if Bakugou knew. It didn't really matter. He liked Bakugou Katuski. Might have developed a little bit of a crush on the hero, nothing major. He knew why; the blond hair was exactly his type: loud, a little mean, and vulgar—a different type of vulgarity than Aomine. Aomine was a pervert, and Bakugou was just as blunt as a sledgehammer.

Akashi went off with Creatie. Apparently, their families were well acquainted. Red Riot was taking care of Murasakibara, and the other heroes weren't people who he knew, but they seemed competent enough.

"Hey!" he chirped when he saw Bakugou making his way to him. "Ready for the dinner?" he asked as he adjusted his tie.

monster hunting. (this is so late...)

[cosmarchy]

[ The city is tense tonight.

The streetlights cast pools of light across empty sidewalks, while the air hums faintly with the unnatural energy radiating from the massive gate in the distance. It's been there for days now, a towering distortion in reality, shimmering like glass about to shatter. An S-Rank classification. Too dangerous for most, but that's exactly why he's here.

Jinwoo stands at the edge of the cordoned zone, dressed in a dark outfit that blends with the night. His expression is calm, unreadable, though his eyes fix on the swirling gate with a steady weight. For others, this gate is a looming catastrophe. For him, it's an opportunity— and a challenge. He flexes his fingers, feeling the familiar surge of shadow energy stirring at his command when he finally takes a step forward. The guards stationed nearby barely register his presence; they know his reputation, so they won't interfere.

Jinwoo has every intention of handling this dungeon alone as he's always done. The Hunter's Association barely bothers with holding him back, and his guild doesn't care all that much either, as long as he succeeds. Yet, before he can enter, a sound behind him cuts through the silence. Light footsteps, deliberate but not hostile. He narrows his eyes, his senses extending outward.

Someone has been tailing him since the start.

He doesn't turn immediately. Instead, he allows the presence to draw closer, his entire stature remaining relaxed but now closely guarded. It takes a while before he finally speaks in a low, even tone. ]

You've been trailing me since I left headquarters. [ He doesn't bother looking back. ] Are you planning to enter this gate too?

[ The night air grows heavier, charged with the tension of an encounter yet to unfold. The S-Rank gate looms before him, promising danger within. And now, an unknown companion— or rather, a familiar rival might shift things around. Maybe his presence will make things a little bit more interesting too. ]

[blastedass]

[Another damn gate. How many times do these things have to get smashed before they realize showing up here is a quick death? Streetlights pass overhead in a quiet alternating beam, illuminating the orange and silver accents of his outfit while soaking into the majority black covering and green on his hands and forearms. Might not be subtle stealth mission wear, but he can handle that on his own. A dark hood hangs behind his head for now, mouth and nose nigh-hidden behind the tall collar of his top. Outfitted for his usual mission when dealing with the gates. Even now he can feel its energy rippling in the air, buzzing across the surface of his skin beneath his clothes. Tch... What a pain.

Hm? He quirks a brow up, hidden mostly behind the dynamic black mask covering the upper half of his face. Someone's already here? Leaving the guards behind with little more than a glance to acknowledge them, Bakugo approaches the gate and its current visitor. He knows who the other is before he's even remotely close to aside. This bastard. Why the hell does he keep turning up at this missions? They're too damn dangerous for someone like him! Granted he doesn't give a shit if Jinwoo kicks the bucket, but not if it's gonna make his own work more troublesome! Can't have some dumbass dying on him and then people questioning him about why and how. You think he wants to field that crap?]

Haa? I wasn't fucking trailing you! I was coming to kill this damn thing! [One hand curls at his side as he cracks his knuckles with the tension alone. Red eyes narrow, not even bothering to look at Jinwoo. He's focused on the rift in front of him and the victory he's going to claim by crushing it.] And you're in my way. So move back, Blank Face! I don't need you interfering and fucking things up.