Chapter Text
Katsuki Bakugou: The Badass
Katsuki Bakugou kind of considers himself to be a bit of a badass. No, not a bit. A full-blown, absolute badass. So much that he may or may not have made his own urban dictionary entry that defines the word badass as ‘Katsuki Bakugou.’ In all seriousness, he can’t help being this way.
The fact that his parents own one of the biggest fashion corporations in the world? Badass.
His meticulously spiked hair? Badass.
His biker jacket that he wears even though he doesn’t ride a motorcycle? Badass.
That picture of him in the frat hall taking two beer bongs to the face? So fucking badass.
And the icing on the cake that is Bakugou’s badassery is flavored with a little bit of chiseled features and his brand new, cherry red sports car that his parents got him for his birthday earlier this year [it even has a spoiler on the back].
And because Katsuki is such a fucking badass, he’s going 30mph in the 15mph road that goes directly through campus.
Just to be clear, it is almost one in the morning, which means no one should be on campus. Night classes don’t drag out any further than 9:30, dorm curfew is at 11 and even if it was longer, there is absolutely nothing to do there anyway.
Which is why–brake squeal—Katsuki is so unbelievably in shock when a blur of motion enters his headlight range and an impact to the front of his car sends his forehead into the steering wheel.
The first thing he thinks, is that there is a goddamn bicycle on the hood of his car and whoever left their bike sitting around had better be ready to pay for the damage it just did to his car.
The second thing he thinks, is that through his rearview mirror, he can vaguely make out a blob of black attached to a hand crumpled on the ground and holy fucking shit he thinks he might have just hit a person.
For a little over a split second, he considers just leaving. How would they trace him back to this? But then he thinks that the person who just tumbled over his car might take down his license plate, so he gets out to investigate.
He pulls the bike off his hood, hearing an ear-piercing scream of metal on metal and that can’t be a pretty scratch, and sits it up next to the heap of human. He gently kicks the exposed arm.
“Your fucking bike is fine. Watch where you’re going next time.”
Katsuki makes it about one and a half steps before turning around and realizing that this, person, who is almost completely swallowed in a dark hoodie hasn’t moved an inch.
Deep breath.
He retracts his one and a half steps and toes around the body, poking every inch with his shoe, using all of his strength to flip it over onto it’s back. A hood recedes, revealing the face of what Bakugou assumes to be an angel. Closed eyes allow the long stalks of eyelashes to rest on chubby cheeks that most college kids had outgrown by now, doused in constellations of freckles. And not that Bakugou’s the type to sexualize a potentially dead body; especially one that he just accidentally murdered, but the man has some pretty solid DSL’s. He would hit it, with more than just his car.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he mutters under his breath and turns around a little too quickly, knocking the green bicycle directly on top of Dead Freckles. No movement. “Shit.”
"What to do. What to do. What the fuck to do."
Katsuki has done it. There’s a lot that he can get away with due to his affluence, but vehicular manslaughter doesn’t really seem like it’s on that list. He paces in circles around the dead man and the bicycle for way longer than he needs to before realizing that someone will eventually drive down this road and deciding what he needs to do.
The bicycle won’t fit in Bakugou’s tiny trunk, no matter how hard he tries, so he effortlessly tosses it into the bushes nearby and picks up the limp body, which is a lot heavier than he had expected, bridal style.
His car’s two-door style keeps him from placing Dead Freckles in the backseat, so he does his best to buckle him into the passenger seat and leans it back to help with the whole balancing act.
He speeds off into the night, asking his Bluetooth to ‘please call fucking kirishima’
“Calling, Fucking Kirishima.”
Crackly ringing can be heard for about ten seconds until someone picks up.
“Heey, Eijirou can’t come to the phone.”
Katsuki would recognize that airhead anywhere.
“Denki! Denki, listen. You need to put him on the goddamn phone right this instant.”
The roaring in the background confirms Bakugou’s suspicions that the frat party he was on his way to is in full swing.
“Hoow comee?”
He just knows that the man on the other side is wearing a look of pure idiocy.
“You fucking short-circuit. Give him the phone.”
“Hehe, no.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Denki, I don’t have the fucking time.”
“Then just tell me.”
“I KILLED SOMEONE. WITH MY CAR. THERE’S A CORPSE IN MY CAR AND I NEED KIRISHIMA’S HELP.”
Bakugou screams it so loud that he feels the steering wheel his hands are white-knuckling vibrate.
A moment of silence.
“Heeeeey Everybodyy!”
Denki’s trashed voice bounces off every surface of the car.
“Denki. No. Don’t do i-“
“Our Bakubrother, has just killed someone. With his car!”
“DENKI, GOD DAMNIT!”
He’s sure that the blonde isn’t even paying attention, because he hears the chants of his twenty or so frat brothers chanting “BA-KU-BRO! BA-KU-BRO!”
Katsuki has never been so relieved to hear a line go dead. But his relaxation is short-lived, because he suddenly realizes he is getting pulled over.
“Nonononono. This can’t be fucking happening. No fucking way.”
Bakugou runs a hand through his hair strenuously, pulling at the roots as he obliges with the law, coming to a stop at the side of the road. He thinks he looked at a study about how red cars are more likely to be pulled over than other colors. Wishes he would’ve fucking gone with the black model. Wishes he didn’t have a fucking corpse in his passenger seat.
Now, Katsuki is known for his good ideas. He’s just chalked full of them. But his last-minute decision to place sunglasses on Dead Freckles’ face really takes the cake. He rolls his window down, coming face to face with an overweight, middle-aged white man who really screams the ‘I-like-to-hold-my-nonexistent-power-over-everyone’ vibe.
“Hello, officer.”
The platinum blonde tries his best to kiss this man’s ass, summoning what little respect for authoritative figures who look down on him and sending it right to his smile. Flashlight right to the eyes.
“Do you know what the speed limit is?”
“45”
“Do you know how fast you were going?”
“Uhm, I actually don’t.”
“75. That’s an automatic license removal and up to a six hundred dollar fine.”
Katsuki works up his best apology and actually ends up milking the officer pretty well.
“I guess I could let you go, young man. Is he okay?”
The chub points a single finger at Dead Freckles, sunglasses on and mouth hanging open.
“Oh, yeah. He just had a little too much to drink. In fact, I was speeding because I don’t want him to vomit in my new car.”
Laughter erupts from the cop and he waves Katsuki on, telling him to take it easy. Bakugou really didn’t know the feds were so gullible.
The driver of the quite atypical hearse keeps his eye on his speed as he drives right past the police office and the hospital, AKA two places that probably any other person would have stopped at.
“Hey Dad, it’s me. Sorry I never call. Well, you see I kindof murdered someone last night and I need the money to get my car fixed so they can’t trace- no. What about… Hey Dad. I miss you and mom. Can I have some money to fix the damages that the body I hit last night inflicted on my car? No. Not that one either.”
Katsuki’s been driving long enough that he’s begun to pick his ‘money-requesting-pitch’ he’s going to have to give his parents eventually. In fact, he drives for so long that he’s almost lost himself, surrounded by fields. He follows a long dirt road until he’s sure that no one would be around at this hour and parks his car.
Using an ice scraper he keeps in the trunk of his car, Katsuki takes off his jacket, revealing a black tank top and begins digging a shallow grave, and I know what you’re thinking.
Is this the best way to take care of this?
To Bakugou it is.
He makes it about forty minutes of digging before he decides that a break is well-deserved. And so he stares at his partially made grave, completely missing the sound of his car door opening and completely missing the sound of footsteps.
And only reacting to a meek, mouse-like voice.
“Uhm, who are yo-“
Katsuki Bakugou realizes, about a second too late that the man he hit wasn’t actually dead. He was just unconscious, and he’s currently unconscious again, because the very much Alive Freckles just took a square hit to the jaw from a full-blown, absolute badass.