Work Text:
PinkPonyGrl: you are the luckiest man alive
PinkPonyGrl: [video attached]
Blasty: where is she
Bakugo: and stop changing my display name wtf
Raccoon Eyes was annoying as hell… but she wasn’t wrong. Katsuki’s fingers flexed on the hand grips, the purr of the bike between his legs a near perfect match for the persistent thrumming in his chest. One gloved hand rubbed at the middle of his chest, failing to soothe the feeling. Brows furrowing at the unchanging red light, his heavy frown was hidden by the helmet that protected his identity as much as his skull. His spare hand twisted the grip under his palm back towards himself, the sound of the engine’s roar not quite enough to drown out the dissonant clamoring in his mind.
He was an idiot. A giant goddamned idiot. Both for taking Pinky’s bait and for not having thought about the bait weeks ago. He’d been happy, too fuckin’ happy buying flowers and cooking dinners fucking cuddling to have even thought about the bait. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about the weeks of Girls’ Nights that had gone by with him sitting at home like a fucking fool.
The longest fucking traffic light in Tokyo still hadn’t changed in his favor, instead moving along down its automated track to let an entirely different side of vehicles move. Katsuki sighed aggressively through his nose, placing both his hands firmly on the bike’s handles even as one twitched towards the breast pocket of his leather riding jacket. Watching that video again would be a mistake, but then again… The light changed to green and Katsuki growled to himself. Of course now it fuckin’ changed.
He didn’t need to watch the video again, anyhow. Every frame was burned into his mind with unfailing accuracy. Behind his eyelids he saw the way the lights flickered across her skin, pink and yellow and orange like a high-speed sunset. Her eyes stayed closed as her hands lifted over her head, fingers curling in a way that had something in Katsuki’s core responding in kind, knowing all too well the way those fingers felt against his skin, each tipped in calluses that never failed to set his skin afire when they trailed lightly along his jaw.
Despite the staccato thrum of his pulse, Katsuki guided the motorcycle effortlessly through traffic, cutting smoothly across lanes as he overtook slower cars. A feral grin pulled at the sides of his mouth as he reveled in the responsiveness of the bike to his subtle movements. He’d broken his own rule of not leaving his flat past sunset, but leaving on the back of his second favorite mode of transportation had eased the sting a bit. More than a bit.
His handlers had been understandably reluctant to break the news to him the day the city passed the new transportation regulations– namely the part restricting people with quirks that had previously allowed them to get around without cars, buses, or trains. No more speedsters, no more fliers, no more explosions blasting across the skies at all hours. He’d raged, he’d bellowed, he’d exploded– figuratively and literally. And then he’d bought this bike. Loud and aggressive, he’d loved it from the first time he’d sat on it. Blasting through the sky was still the reckless, controlled freedom he craved, but Katsuki would be lying if he said this method of transportation didn’t have its own merits. Especially when a pair of strong thighs bracketed his own from behind, a full chest pressed against his back and a wild laugh chiming in his ear.
Picking up speed Katsuki drew closer to the club familiar to all Pro Heroes, even the veritable recluses like himself. He carefully did not think about who he’d find there and what she’d been doing according to the video that was playing on a loop every time his attention wandered from the road in front of him. He especially did not think about the way her hips swayed to the pulsing beat that had come through his phone’s tiny speakers.
The luckiest man alive, Pinky had called him. Katsuki snorted, the sound grating at the back of his throat. The most fucking idiotic, maybe.
Weekly , she’d been going out with her friends to drink and dance and do whatever else girls did on Girls’ Night weekly. And not once had Katsuki thought about the other people that would be there while she did whatever girls did at Girls’ Night. That other other people would see her hands and fingers, her hips, the way her eyes shone and sparkled with a kind of freedom and joy that called anyone within eyesight like a goddamn siren song. Hell, it had called him all the way from his flat and he hadn’t even been in actual eyesight.
Every part of that video, all twenty tormenting, tantalizing, mouth watering seconds of it, had been the most exquisite torture. To realize she looked like that where people could see her, and he’d never once even thought about the repercussions of that. He was the luckiest man alive and a fucking goddamned idiot.
Turning into the parking lot, Katsuki pulled his helmet off and took in a gulp of the cool night air, the slightly acrid feel of leftover exhaust and hot tar a familiar aftertaste on his tongue. His bike clicked and cooled by a side exit, Katsuki only sharing a curt nod with the club’s security team as he left it. Stalking up the concrete ramp, Katsuki dipped his chin at the camera above the metal doors as they swung open for him, the internal team just as familiar with his choppy blonde hair and the murderous intent in his eyes as those who watched the quiet exit. His boots echoed in the quiet hallway, bouncing with jarring waves around the closed doors of the private rooms. Under the sound of his stomping and his even breaths, the faint pulse of bass drew him further into the club’s thundering heart.
The low beat brought the best part of the video resurfacing to Katsuki’s memory and his fist clenched, his expression shifting nearly imperceptibly from dark intent to savage satisfaction. It was as if the purr of the bike still echoed as a warm rumble through his chest. He’d noticed it on his eleventh time watching, finally seeing that the grainy phone video had captured her and the other people that Katsuki had never before considered. What felt like fucking throngs of nameless, faceless extras had approached her, each with a level of certainty and assuredness that had Katsuki’s vision turning red and hazy at the edges until he’d seen her turn to them each time with a beatific smile, shaking her head without regret. Suitor after suitor all turned away with such practiced ease, Katsuki wondered how many people she regularly left at the club before coming home to him.
It should have made him feel smug, but his stomach was twisted in too many knots to be able to pull apart and find any other emotions.
His brusque footfalls faltered as he shoved a pair of heavy double doors open, their soundproof barrier breaking with the force of an auditory tidal wave, the constant slight ringing in his ears nearly drowned out by the throbbing house music. A moment passed as Katsuki composed himself, taking a steadying breath as he adjusted to the lights and sounds. His eyes scanned over the gathered patrons, easily passing over a familiar pink face, shocked expression and all, until he found her.
Well. Her and her entire fucking posse.
Recognition briefly came to him, faces of former classmates, current pro heroes, and even some of the newest sidekicks whose names he stubbornly refused to learn. None of them mattered.
Even if he’d wanted to pay them any attention (he did not) it would have been impossible. As it had been from the moment she’d agreed to let him take her out for coffee barely a few months ago, there was only her. On his tiny phone screen Ochako had been mesmerizing. Here, in person, she was magnetic. Her tiny skirt clung to hips that he knew fit perfectly under his palms, palms that were now itching enough to nearly be setting off sparks. The rumble that had been sitting in his chest now worked its way up and out of his throat in a low growl, thankfully drowned out by the club as he stepped forward out of the shadows, crimson eyes locked on the tiny slip of skin just visible where her fine mesh top had untucked itself at her lower back.
Hands flexing at his sides, Katsuki shouldered his way through the groups of undulating bodies, feeling like with every step he took, Ochako moved further from his grasp. Lips pulled back in a snarl, Katsuki’s footfalls took on more urgency, his breath shortening as Ochako twisted and wound herself around her admirers. She never touched, never encouraged, only danced and smiled and– that fucking smile. It wasn’t the one she gave reporters, confident and bright, or the ones she gave victims, warm and reassuring. It wasn’t the one she gave him– thank fucking All Might– the one full of sass and promise. It was something entirely different, loose and carefree. The way it played at the corner of her mouth, softening that stubborn chin, that was what had gotten Katsuki off of his couch and onto his bike, because how fucking dare he not get to witness that smile in person. He wanted all of her smiles, the small ones after hard days, the tired ones after sleepless nights, the shy ones after her filthy mouth brought him to completion, and this one, especially this one.
Even as he was committing it to memory, adding it to his compendium of things that kept him going, it changed into something different. Entranced, Katsuki watched the way her lips parted, catching a glimpse of straight white teeth and a hint of that pink tongue that could shift from honeyed to barbed to sinful with no notice. It wasn’t until he was finally nearly upon her that he realized he recognized this particular smile, it was the one she wore when she spotted him. The one that all but shouted how happy she was to see him, how wanted his presence was. The one that in equal parts he coveted even while struggling to believe it was truly for him.
As their gazes locked, Katsuki’s stomach did an entirely dumbass swoop. It was way lame to still feel that way from just looking at her, especially when he’d spent so much time doing just that. But there was a difference between the surreptitious glances he’d stolen as a teenager, the critical analysis he’d done when they’d all gone Pro, and the way he looked at her now, really looked at her and found her looking back. Even so, he felt his own mouth tug at one side into something that could almost be mistaken as a smile if it wasn’t well established that he didn’t smile, he smirked.
His fingertips, tingling with the blood flow that had been coursing through him with each step and each flex of his hands, reached for her of their own will and for the briefest moment, Katsuki paused.
Ochako was light and music and movement. Strong hands lifted above her head, chin tipped back and throat exposed, she was the embodiment of freedom and the joy of expression. She was a force entirely of herself and Katsuki wondered for a brief moment if maybe something so pure, so perfect should belong to anything– or anyone. She’d turned everyone away tonight, but maybe that hadn’t been for his benefit at all? Maybe tonight should have been hers and hers alone, maybe she sometimes needed that. Deserved it. Maybe Katsuki was an even bigger goddamn fucking idiot than he thought.
Blessedly, in that very next moment, Ochako’s foot, buckled into a massively thick black leather boot, found a puddle of carelessly spilled drink, the alcohol recent enough to still be slick rather than sticky. Her flowing movement stuttered and lurched, brown eyes popping open wide as her hands caught on Katsuki’s steady forearms. He’d reached for her instinctually, palms steadying against her hip and side; and as she caught her breath leaning against him and laughing, all thoughts of her freedom fled the building entirely.
Her hair, half pulled into a tiny knot at the back of her head, was coming undone, small strands framing her flushed cheeks as she looked up at him. Standing to her full height, her head was now just under his nose rather than its usual place under his chin thanks to those ridiculous shoes. As she placed one hand against his chest, Katsuki noticed her archer’s gloves, thin and black, covering her thumb and forefinger and smirked back down at her.
“Some boots you got on, Cheeks.”
The pink on her face deepened, and Katsuki’s smirk softened entirely of its own accord. He tucked a few of the errant strands of hair behind her ear as his thumb trailed over her blush.
“Yeah? You like ‘em?” Breathless, bright, Katsuki could almost forget they were still in a crowded club when she looked at him like that. And he suddenly wished they were because he found he didn’t have an appropriate answer to that. “They made me think of you when I got them.”
She’d thought of him. She’d purchased combat boots that were going to be the star of his newest Ochako-centric fantasies and she’d thought of him when she did it. If Katsuki hadn’t been done for already, he was a goner now.
“What are you doing here?” His jaw worked without a single useful thought to guide it, his tongue stuck in his throat and his mind firmly in the gutter. ‘Raccoon Eyes sent a video of you dancing and I temporarily took leave of my senses’ felt decidedly unhinged to say to a girl who had finally agreed to leave a toothbrush at his flat only a week ago.
“Did you,” Ochako’s nose brushed his, looking up through fluttering eyelashes as she rocked to her tiptoes with a coy grin, “did you miss me, Katsuki?”
The ‘yes’ was there on a tip of his tongue, so close it nearly fell out of his mouth without thought. But there was something a little too vulnerable in missing someone who was just downtown. What if he scared her off? He’d been so careful to keep it casual with her, despite the very un-casual feelings he’d harbored for her for years. According to every press outlet, Japan’s Sweetheart wasn’t looking to be tied down and Katsuki would be well and truly fucked to mess up the longest running takedown of his fucking life. He bit back sappy response after sappy response, teeth grinding together as he nipped at her nose in place of a reply.
The breath of her chuckle warmed his face as she leaned in, mouth close to his ear, “Well I missed you .” Her arms wound around his neck, and Katsuki resisted the urge to make aggressive eye contact with every fucking extra that had been drooling after her. She’d missed him . Her arms were around his neck. Her body was flush against his . It hadn’t been a competition until this point, but Katsuki was definitely the big winner and fuck everyone else. Maybe she wasn’t willing or ready to be tied down by anyone, but he’d sure as hell do his best to keep her tangled up in him.
Her breath smelled of alcohol, something strong with a burn behind it. Katsuki felt himself leaning into it, his nose in her hair as one hand palmed her hip. She sucked in a sharp breath as his other hand traveled lower down her back possessively. Her lips were still against the shell of his ear, the only reason he could hear her past all the noise, the faint ringing in his ears, and the pounding of his heart.
“Is your bike outside?”
He nodded, eyes closed as he grounded himself in the feel and smell of her.
“Good. My place or yours?”
Before he could clamp down on it he groaned. Fuck . He’d known Ochako was strong and smart. He’d been entirely aware of how hard she worked and how widely she was adored. But he was absolutely dead certain he’d never stop being surprised at exactly how fucking hot she was. Gorgeous? Always. Adorable? Especially when she looked up at him with those big brown doe eyes. But sometimes she opened that soft looking mouth, and what came out left him hard and fighting for his life against his most base instincts.
Katsuki knew he had to answer her this time, had to form enough words to not only leave this crowded, loud, messy dance floor, but also to take her with him. But… was that really what she wanted? It kept beating a steady refrain in the back of his mind, that Ochako came here to let loose, to be her own person for a few hours, and he’d stomped in and possibly made a mess of that for her. He’d been determined from the start of this that he’d fit himself into her life, not ruin it or make it harder. Fuck.
“You don’t have to stop dancing just for me.” If the music hadn’t been so loud the false nonchalance in his voice would have been apparent, but he knew she’d take the out if she wanted it. If (not)casually dating Ochako had taught him anything so far, it was that she did absolutely nothing she didn’t want to do. It was hot. Even if it was about to disappoint him.
Ochako leaned back in his arms, raising an eyebrow at him reproachfully. “I’m gonna keep dancing,” her voice lowered and Katsuki had to read her lips carefully, watching each movement of her mouth with rapt attention, “I just want to make it more of a … private experience.”
Mouth suddenly dry, Katsuki blinked for what felt like the longest second in the history of human existence. Laughing again, Ochako rocked back up to her tiptoes, brushing her lips against his. His hands moved with her, one sliding up to hold her against him at the small of her back and the other winding in her hair as he pulled her in closer and kissed her in earnest. He felt her arms tighten around his neck as she rested more of her weight into his embrace, one foot lifting off the ground the way it did when she was caught in the moment. He smiled into the kiss, for once unable to hide it behind a smirk.
As her tongue darted out to lick at the seam of his mouth he ducked down with a laugh of his own, dropping one shoulder low to lift her over it. With her ass in the air next to his face, and her laugh ringing out at his back, he strode with purpose out the way he came, pausing only once to find that same familiar face, now laughing and beaming at him, and acknowledged it with the barest dip of his chin.
Raccoon Eyes was right. He was the fucking luckiest man alive.