At twenty-five, Pro Hero Dynamight is sharp-tongued, explosive, and carefully controlled—until a night of drinking with friends leads to one unfiltered comment about Y/N going viral. Forced to face the consequences of his honesty, Katsuki Bakugou learns that some truths, once spoken, can’t be taken back—and maybe shouldn’t be.
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@lishereThe bar is loud. Not the good kind of loud—not the roar of a stadium crowd or the controlled chaos of a disaster zone. This is sticky-floor, bad-speaker, too-many-people-shouting-over-each-other loud.
Katsuki Bakugou is wedged into a corner booth, his back to the wall, a half-finished glass of something amber and expensive sitting untouched in front of him. His arms are crossed, shoulders tense even in the dim, red-draped light. A low, perpetual scowl is etched onto his face.
Kirishima Eijiro
clapping a heavy hand on Katsuki's shoulder Come on, man! One more! For the team!
Kirishima’s grin is wide and genuine, a rare sight these days. His own scarred knuckles are wrapped around a pint glass.
Kaminari Denki
Yeah, Dynamight! Don’t tell me the number one hero is scared of a little whiskey!
Kaminari is already leaning across the sticky table, phone in one hand, a shot glass in the other. His eyes are alight with mischief.
Katsuki Bakugou
without uncrossing his arms I’m not scared of anything, Dunce Face. I just have better things to do than poison my liver with you extras.
Sero Hanta
Says the guy on his third drink.
Katsuki Bakugou
It’s my second!
Kirishima Eijiro
That was definitely a third. I counted.
Katsuki’s scowl deepens. He glances toward the end of the table, where Aizawa Shouta is methodically sipping water, his capture weapon loosened but still present. The older hero meets his gaze, one eyebrow slightly raised.
Aizawa Shouta
You’re going to regret this in the morning.
Katsuki Bakugou
I don’t regret shit. Regret is for idiots who hesitate.
Kirishima barks out a laugh. The sound is warm, cutting through the bar’s noise. Katsuki feels the tension in his own shoulders ease, just a fraction.
Kirishima Eijiro
Bro, you hesitated for, like, five minutes before taking that last shot.
Katsuki Bakugou
That was strategy. Assessing the enemy.
Kaminari’s grin turns wicked. He subtly angles his phone, the camera lens glinting in the low light.
Kaminari Denki
Uh-huh. Sure it was. This is for the archives.
Katsuki Bakugou
Oi. Put that away.
Kaminari Denki
What? You’re a public hero! The people love transparency!
Katsuki Bakugou
They love you shutting the hell up.
The table erupts. Sero snorts into his drink. Kirishima shakes Katsuki’s shoulder. Even Aizawa’s mouth twitches. Katsuki rolls his eyes, the motion slower than usual, and lets his head thump back against the booth’s vinyl.
The alcohol is a warm, fuzzy weight behind his eyes. It blunts the edges of the noise, softens the glare of the lights. His thoughts, normally sharp and orderly, begin to drift. They drift past the mission reports waiting on his desk, past the stupid interview scheduled for tomorrow, and land, inevitably, on you.
Y/n. Not here. Probably already asleep, or working on some agency analysis with that focused little frown he’s seen a thousand times. She’d texted him earlier. A simple, ‘Don’t forget to eat something real.’ He’d grumbled, but he’d ordered the damn chicken skewers.
He huffs, a soft, irritated sound that isn’t really irritation at all.
Kirishima Eijiro
What? What’s that look for?
Katsuki Bakugou
Nothing.
Kaminari Denki
leaning in That’s not a ‘nothing’ face. That’s a ‘thinking about someone’ face.
Katsuki Bakugou
The hell it is.
Sero Hanta
Oh my god. He’s thinking about Y/n.
Katsuki snaps upright, the motion slightly less controlled than he intends. Heat prickles at the back of his neck.
Katsuki Bakugou
I am not—
Kaminari Denki
You totally are! You get this weird little crease right here. points at his own forehead Like you’re mad at your own thoughts.
Katsuki swats his hand away, a growl building in his throat. But Kirishima is looking at him now, his smile softer, more knowing.
Kirishima Eijiro
You miss her?
The question hangs in the air, simple and devastating. The bar noise seems to fade. The alcohol in Katsuki’s veins hums, loosening a lock he keeps bolted shut. His mouth opens. The words come out flat, blunt, and utterly sincere.
Katsuki Bakugou
She’s hot.
Dead silence. Complete and utter. Kaminari’s jaw drops. Sero freezes, his drink halfway to his lips. Kirishima’s eyes go wide.
Kaminari Denki
whispering You did not just say that.
Katsuki Bakugou
I didn’t— Tch.
He blinks. Once. Twice. The words echo in the sudden quiet of the booth. His own ears are ringing. Shit.
Kirishima Eijiro
Dude.
Katsuki Bakugou
face flushing What? She is. That’s just—objective fact.
Kaminari makes a choked sound, then full-bodied laughter bursts out of him. He’s shaking, tears in his eyes, as he steadies his phone, the recording light a tiny, accusing red dot.
Kaminari Denki
Say that again. For clarity.
Katsuki Bakugou
I’m gonna kill you.
Kaminari Denki
Worth it!
Katsuki lunges forward, snatching for the phone. Kaminari yelps, twisting away, holding it out of reach.
Katsuki Bakugou
Delete that. Now.
Kaminari Denki
No way! This is historical! The great Katsuki Bakugou, admitting a woman is attractive! The internet will melt!
Katsuki Bakugou
You post that and I swear—
Kaminari Denki
And you swear what? You’ll admit you’re in love next?
Katsuki freezes. His flush deepens, spreading down his neck. He scoffs, the sound forced and ragged.
Katsuki Bakugou
Don’t be stupid.
Sero Hanta
Ohhh. He didn’t deny it.
Katsuki shoves himself back into the booth, crossing his arms so tightly it looks painful. He glares at the grain of the wooden table, his jaw clenched, the scar on his cheek standing out starkly. The booth feels suddenly too small, the air too thick.
Katsuki Bakugou
I’m done. We’re leaving.
Kirishima Eijiro
soothingly Relax, man. It’s not that serious. He won’t post it.
Kirishima shoots a warning look at Kaminari, who is still grinning like a madman, thumb hovering over his screen.
But the damage is done. The words are out. Recorded. And in the hazy, regret-filled morning that awaits, they will be everywhere.
For now, the night is still young. The booth is still loud. And Katsuki Bakugou is pointedly not looking at any of them, a storm of embarrassment and something else—something dangerously close to vulnerability—brewing behind his crimson eyes.
His phone, face-down on the table, remains dark and silent. For now.