Chapter Text
Dynamite saves hundreds in daring shipwreck rescue.
Dynamite’s incident resolution numbers break records.
Deku saves the day again in fierce battle against nine villains.
Nineteen-year-old Dynamite explodes into this year’s first Top Ten lineup!
Hero Popularity Poll: Deku vs. Dynamite
Deku boasts Japan’s highest Hero approval ratings
Are Deku and Dynamite the next All Might and Endeavor?
Bakugou turns his phone off and jams it in his pocket. He hates the fucking media. Always judging him, comparing him to Deku. Reminding him that one of them is on the fast track to the Number One spot, and it’s not him. He knocks back the rest of his beer, cringing at the taste. He hates shitty beer too.
Around him, the club is alive with people having the time of their lives. Talking and laughing, flirting and drinking, dancing to music that’s too damn loud. Nothing that particularly interests Bakugou.
The only point of any real significance is that everyone here is a Pro Hero. Generally speaking, that’s a good thing in his books. Hero-exclusive businesses tend to overlook the occasional underage drinker like himself, and they’re about the only places he can get a reprieve from the starry-eyed fans wanting his autograph and the obnoxious reporters looking for a headline. Turns out being the Number Eight Hero comes with a lot of attention. Go figure.
On the downside, he hates just about everyone in the room, the only exceptions being the few Heroes he doesn’t recognize and the almost unbelievably stone-faced bartender. With just a brief glance around the club, Bakugou can pick out at least a dozen Heroes who run rival agencies, a handful who’ve been absolute hell to team up with, and a dozen more that just rub him the wrong way.
He taps his index finger against his empty glass, debating the rationality of ordering another drink. He’s already a few in and feeling a nice buzz, and more alcohol could either take that feeling higher or ruin the rest of the night. Unfortunately, he won’t know which until it’s too late to change his mind.
A drop of condensation near the bottom of the glass slides down to the smooth wood of the bar, and he wipes it away with his wrist.
All of a sudden, a hulking figure drops into the seat next to Bakugou. Another Hero. Bakugou bristles. He thought he’d been sending out a steady and obvious stream of don’t-come-near-me signals, so who the hell is this guy?
“Two whiskey highballs on ice,” the man says. His deep voice vibrates through the wooden bar top.
Without so much as a smile, the bartender flashes the man a thumbs up and turns to make the drinks.
Seemingly satisfied that his order’s been taken, the man twists his upper body to face Bakugou. He leans one arm on the bar. “Fancy seeing Dynamite out on the town,” he says with a smirk. “Didn’t peg you for the type. Celebrating your new status as Number Eight?”
Bakugou rolls his eyes, not bothering to look over at his unwanted neighbor. It’s not a taunt. He knows it’s not a taunt. Number Eight is a fantastic rank to have at just nineteen years old. But it feels like a slight, when Deku is already Number Four.
“I’m here celebrating a mission gone well,” the man continues. “It was supposed to be pretty routine—just a drug bust. But we got some last minute intel that there might be some dangerous villains involved in this case. Intel turned out to be bad, thank goodness, but man I was stressed.” The Hero laughs. “You have no idea how relieved I was when we got inside and only found a bunch of petty criminals selling some knockoff Quirk-enhancers that barely last five minutes. We had them subdued and in custody in no time flat. Anyway, the bigger challenge will be getting them to rat on their supply chain. We got a few names out of them, but it’s an ongoing investigation.”
Bakugou doesn’t answer. He’s not interested in the Hero’s work day. The bartender sets the drinks down in front of them, and Bakugou immediately picks his up and takes a long sip. It burns on the way down.
In his periphery, he can see the man nursing his own highball and watching him with hungry eyes. He clenches his jaw. Regardless of the free drink, the man is obnoxious, and the mere fact that he’s still around is pissing Bakugou off. It’s obvious he’s just here to get into Bakugou’s pants and the small talk is about creating an opening. There’s only two reasons to sit down next to Japan’s most infamously unapproachable Hero and buy him a drink: business or sex. And with the fine job the man is doing of undressing Bakugou with his eyes, Bakugou couldn’t get it wrong if he tried.
Sighing, Bakugou pushes his half-empty glass away. He should turn the man down now, before he starts to think he’ll be getting anything further with Bakugou tonight.
“Look, I appreciate the drink, but I’m not interested in fucking some random, average-looking Hero with nothing but muscles going for him. I’m not that kind of guy. So beat it.”
The man only chuckles, which pisses Bakugou off even more. “Who said I have nothing but muscles going for me?” he says, voice smooth and deep. “You haven’t even looked at me yet, Dynamite.”
Annoyance flares hot in Bakugou’s chest. “I don’t need to look, I—”
The words die on his tongue, the alcohol making him falter.
Bakugou wouldn’t call the man gorgeous or anything, but he’s attractive—handsome in a generic kind of way. He has a strong, square jaw lined with a reasonable amount of light brown stubble. His eyebrows, which are the same color as the stubble, are arched in amusement over playful grey eyes. His hair is long and just slightly darker than Bakugou’s, and it’s pulled into a low bun at the nape of his neck. On his full lips, he wears a cocky smirk that makes Bakugou’s heart skip a beat. And it only gets cockier the longer Bakugou stares.
Bakugou turns away. “You’re not my type,” he says, determined not to give in, even though his body is definitely interested in what those thick arms and large hands could do to him. He’s not submissive in bed, not even close, but he can’t deny the appeal of occasionally letting someone like this man pin him down and rough him up a little.
The man bursts into a loud, full-belly laugh, pounding his fist against the bar hard enough to make whiskey slosh over the edge of his glass. The bartender glances over, lips pursed in mild annoyance.
“Not your type?” The man leans into Bakugou’s space. “What about this—” he gestures across his body, “—isn’t your type? I saw the way you looked at me, Number Eight.”
A scowl flashes across Bakugou’s face. He stands his ground. “I said you’re not my type,” he snaps, “And that’s all there is to know. Now fuck off and let me drink in peace.”
He shoves at the man’s chest, but the man, unfazed, catches his wrist and drags him closer, a grin spreading across his face when Bakugou’s breath hitches at the display of power. He likes it. He hates that he likes it.
Sensing that he’s won, the man brings his lips right up against Bakugou’s ear.
“Oh, baby,” he purrs, sending a shiver of arousal down Bakugou’s spine. “I think I’m exactly your type.”
And Bakugou is done for.
~
They go to Bakugou’s apartment, where Bakugou lies back and lets the other man do all the work. Normally, he’d have just dragged his partner into the club bathroom and had his fun there, but he supposes this is one benefit of screwing another Hero. When you both understand the risks of your home being discovered by the press—or worse, villains—you don’t have to worry about your hook-up running his mouth off as soon as he leaves.
It’s not a bad fuck, all things considered. The guy has a big dick, and he isn’t afraid to get rough and man-handle Bakugou the way he likes it. But he’s far too talkative and comes ten thrusts in, so the chances of a repeat encounter are pretty much zero. At least he has the decency to suck Bakugou off.
As soon as they’re done, Bakugou stands up and gets dressed. “That was fun,” he says. He stretches his arms above his head and yawns, before cracking his neck and planting his hands on his hips. “Now leave.”
The man props his head up on his hand, frowning. “You’re kicking me out? Already?”
Bakugou scoffs. “Yeah, I’m kicking you out. I have patrol in the morning, and you’re not spending the night. This isn’t a damn hotel.”
“Wow. Okay.” The man picks up his shirt and pulls it over his head. He pauses with his shirt half on, flexing his muscles quite conspicuously. “Sure I can’t change your mind?”
“Positive.”
The man doesn’t protest further, thank fuck. He dresses quickly—though Bakugou thinks he could’ve been faster—and leaves with a simple goodnight that doesn’t sound like a plea to stay.
Bakugou throws his sheets in the wash as soon as the man is gone, wishing he’d thought to put a towel down. Oh well. It was probably time he changed his bedding anyway. Guess that Hero was good for three things. Alcohol, sex, laundry.
Too tired to wrestle a fresh set onto his mattress, Bakugou drags a pillow and blanket to the couch and sets up camp there. He falls asleep the second he closes his eyes.
~
Over the next few months, Bakugou hooks up with a lot of people. Some of them are fellow Heroes, some are just regular citizens. He’s pretty sure at least one is a low-ranking villain, but he can’t be arsed to care. It’s not like the villain recognizes him. He’s very careful to hide his identity; unless he’s with a Hero, he wears a full face mask and dark sunglasses, and he keeps everything but his pants on. He even makes a point to disguise his voice. Who would ever suspect the quiet, friendly-sounding man under the mask to be Dynamite?
The more Bakugou sleeps around, the more he starts to think he might be doing it for more than just the sex. The sex is good, of course, and getting laid definitely keeps his temper down, but each new partner satisfies him less and less. Eventually, his hook-ups become just another way to pass the time.
It hits him about half an hour after he kicks out yet another Hero—a guy built like a fucking fridge, similar to his first hook-up. This one he allows to stay for a second round, and then some aftercare while he figures out how to move his limbs again, but once he recovers, he kicks the man out and finds himself just as unsatisfied as ever.
And what he realizes… is that he’s lonely.
He’s successful, rich, popular with the public. He’s a Hero who, at just twenty years old, makes national headlines and runs his own agency, where he’s bombarded daily by letters from his adoring fans. He has almost everything he’s ever dreamed of—money, power, fame… But he doesn’t have a single friend.
The only people Bakugou regularly interacts with are his sidekicks. They’re not friends. They’re all too intimidated by him to be more than nameless employees who come and go, there only for the career boost they’ll get from working under a top Pro. He’s not friends with other Heroes either. The Heroes he sleeps with are one-night stands at best, and the ones he doesn’t sleep with are just coworkers. He occasionally sees them when he’s out drinking and feeling sorry for himself, and he might talk work over a couple beers, but again: not friends.
Come to think of it, he hasn’t had friends since UA. Not since the last time he and Deku had fought and everyone had taken Deku’s side. Even Kirishima. At the time, the betrayal had wounded Bakugou’s pride, and his anger had caused him to lash out and push his friends away. In hindsight, he thinks maybe the class was justified in siding with Deku.
His hook-ups become significantly less fun after he has his little epiphany. Now that he knows why he keeps seeking out warm bodies to fuck, even the best lays leave him with a sour taste in his mouth and a hollow feeling in his chest. If anyone were to ever ask, he’d swear up and down that he doesn’t miss his crew from UA, but truthfully, he kind of does.
He turned twenty only a couple weeks after he began his string of hook-ups, and it was the loneliest birthday he’d had in years. Even last year he got a few texts from classmates trying to at least pretend they were still friends. Ashido, Kaminari, and Sero even sent him a joint gift with a card telling him not be stranger—a card he’s ashamed to say he exploded. This year, though, he got nothing but a text from his mom and dad, and a hangover from hell.
Maybe it’s time to reach out and make reparations, at least with the small circle of friends he’d spent most of his time with. After all, it’s been over a year now since the fight that caused Bakugou to fracture off from the rest of his class, and he can’t avoid working with them forever, not when so many of them are based in and around Tokyo.
The nice thing about having a reputation for not teaming up unless he has to is the media has never even thought to speculate on why he never does missions with his old classmates. There might be some buzz about why he’s suddenly talking to other UA graduates, possibly even working with them, but he can brush that off as simply broadening his horizons or something. It’s the perfect plan.
The only problem? He has no idea how to get in touch with people.
The obvious solution is to go through everyone’s agencies. However, he still has some pride, and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to chalk it up to professional interest when he specifically requests his old friends who are still working as sidekicks.
...Which is pretty much all of them. Out of everyone in the class, the only ones who aren’t sidekicks are him, Deku, Todoroki, Iida, and Yaoyorozu. Iida and Todoroki had agencies waiting on them the moment they graduated. Iida Tensei’s early retirement meant that Team Idaten was more than willing to accept the new Ingenium as their leader. Endeavor decided to retire early and leave his agency to Todoroki. He claimed his retirement was due to age and a number of injuries that prevented him from being a good Hero anymore, but Bakugou has a feeling it’s because his ratings were dropping.
Of the three who didn’t inherit agencies, Deku was the first to go solo. The bastard didn’t even need to use his connection with All Might to build up a reputation. His strong performances at every UA Sports Festival, his involvement with a number of high-profile fights while still a student, and an as-of-yet unsourced leak citing him as one of three students who were the real Heroes to bring down Stain meant that fellow graduates from other high schools and older small-time Heroes alike were lining up to be his sidekicks. He only took on a few, but with just a little guidance from All Might, he was able to kickstart his small but hugely successful agency within four months of graduation.
Bakugou was next, his own accomplishments in high school working in similar favor. No one could deny the strength of the boy who was abducted by the League of Villains, escaped, and later fought on the front lines of the battle that ultimately toppled the League. Not to mention, he’d placed first at his first UA Sports Festival, third at his second, and second at his third. When he decided to open his own agency, All Might helped him too, since he and Deku had both become like sons to him, and when all was said and done, Bakugou beat Yaoyorozu by a whole month.
Yaoyorozu opened her agency on the other side of Japan, and since her debut, she’s gotten quite popular over there. Rumor has it she used her parents’ money to buy the property, but Bakugou won’t fault her for that. She did the hard work of building up her reputation herself, rising through the Hero rankings on her own merits. Her recent break into the Top Thirty is because she’s just that damn good at being a Hero.
As for everyone else, they decided to take the safer route and spend a few more years as sidekicks before trying to branch out on their own. Bakugou thinks they must’ve at some point all shared where they were going, but much as he digs around in his brain, he can’t remember what everybody said. He could always try contacting the agencies that people interned at, but there’s no telling if that would actually get him anywhere.
He wishes he hadn’t deleted everyone’s numbers. He may not have made many friends at UA, but the friends he did have—Kirishima, Kaminari, Ashido, Sero—were good ones. Knowing them, they’re probably still friends with each other—without him, of course—and if he just had one person’s phone number, he’d be able to reach out to all of them.
He groans and drops his head into his hands. There’s only one person he knows how to get in touch with who has definitely kept up with the whole class.
It’s time to call Deku.