Chapter Text
“Isn’t this fucking fantastic? I would’ve seen this if that stupid barista didn’t make me run late.”
You thumb at the curved plastic handle of your umbrella, using your other hand to straighten your raincoat as you nod along. To be fair, there was only a thirty-percent chance that it would rain after seven today, not that you were scheduled to be here after five in the first place.
The heavy rain hits the office windows in loud thunks, streaming down the glass. People flood out from the building in various stages of rain protection, trying to hail any car that will take them. The storm looks torrential, anyone unprepared would be soaked within a minute, your poor manager in half with the thin blazer she has on. And with the crowd already queued at the curb, it’d take her at least ten minutes to catch a cab. She’d be soaked to the bone.
“Here, take my umbrella,” you say, grabbing it in two hands and presenting it to her. Your coat should work just fine. You hope at least.
She looks away from the pouring rain and to you, biting her lip to contain her smile. “Really? Aren’t you just the sweetest?” She doesn’t hesitate to swipe it from you, readying herself to open it. “Make sure those papers don’t get wet on your walk home. I need them by Monday. Accounting has been on my ass for them.”
“They won’t. I’ve got them covered,” you say, patting the bag hidden under your coat. You expected this as much as the rain, so you brought a plastic bag with you to work this morning. She's been complaining about the file all week, but you're pretty sure she hasn't even looked at it. The papers were crisp and hot when she handed them to you half an hour ago.
You follow behind her to the doors, letting the sensor sweep them open and carry strong winds and blasts of rain into the building before stepping out. She opens your umbrella with a sigh of relief as she swings it overhead. A person passing the building jumps to the side with a disgruntled groan, barely dodging it.
“Have a good weekend!” you say to her, giving the annoyed stranger an apologetic smile as you ready to part ways. You wonder if she even heard you because she doesn’t turn back nor does she so much as nod in acknowledgment. You tug your hood up, watching from underneath the overhang as she joins the group of people on the curb.
The rain is unrelenting, even with your raincoat and boots. The wind carries it sideways and soaks what little section of your pants are showing, painting your face in wet droplets that run down your collar.
Thunderous booms crack through the street, echoing off of buildings. You clench your coat harder from within your pockets and grit your teeth. With a quick look up, you don’t spot any lightning, just the dark, cloudy sky. Another boom rips through the air, and you wait, counting the seconds before you see that flash and another boom.
It never comes.
Does that mean the peak of the storm is here or still on its way? Because if this isn't the peak of the storm, you worry for what's coming. Either way, you'd place your bets on the lightning being too close for your liking.
The thunder leaves as quick as it came—no more loud booms and no visible lightning. You still take the faster route, cutting through alleys to get to your apartment building quicker and out of the rain.
Your fingers start to ache from the icy air. Chills you can’t decipher are from the cold or the eeriness of the alleys rack your body as you squint in the dark. There’s barely any light, only those of back doors, streetlights peeking through fences, and the occasional passing car. Shadows latch onto every crevice of the buildings, crawling out towards you and lapping at your feet as if the storm itself wasn't enough to scare you.
The distant sirens don’t help relieve the suffocating feeling of discomfort, only adding to the feeling that there's something else out there. You don't want to admit that you hope there must have been a crash due to the rain, or maybe someone got struck by that invisible lightning, but you convince yourself that has to be it.
Your steps pick up, feet pounding against wet concrete as you turn into one of the last alleys before home, ears perked for anything out of ordinary you need to defend yourself from. Does pepper spray work well in the rain? You barely stop in time to notice the pained noise from your side. It’s hard to tell at first with the water you have to wipe from your face with the back of your damp hand, but when a car passes by and the headlights shine, you catch the outline of a soaked kitty lying helplessly on the floor.
⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ༄˖°
Bakugo couldn’t be any more pissed off than he is now, arms crossed and scowl on his face as he scans the streets. He doesn’t want to train this newbie. He shouldn’t be wasting his time on them, so why Kirishima forced him into this, he can only assume is because of the bill they received last week for property damage.
He doesn’t see the issue. The villain was taken down, and the building was only some empty shell of a place up for lease. It’s not like he destroyed someone’s home or someone’s livelihood. It was a gray box waiting to get filled by some chain. If anything, he did this place a favor. One less ugly slop of a building to create an eyesore.
“Looks like a storm is coming,” the new hire says with a smile, eyes widening at the gray sky in awe. Bakugo grunts in annoyance. Rain is the fucking worst.
And with that, the first drop falls.
Then, everything happens in a rush. The new hire is swept to the side, and Bakugo quickly realizes he’s being ambushed.
There isn’t much sweat developed in his gauntlets yet, not with the bitter cold closing his pores. It’s Kirishima’s fault that he’s not warmed up in the first place. If he didn’t have to argue with him against bringing the sidekick, then his blasts wouldn’t be so disgustingly puny.
A smoke bomb is dropped, and someone calls out to him in a sing-songy voice that makes his eyes roll. “Oh, Dynamight-y! I’m so excited to finally meet you. You’re going to make the perfect little pet!”
“Show yourself, you little shit!” His arms are ready and waiting, eyes scanning for any little movement, ears pricked and battling against the loud pattering of the rain.
A step.
He shoots out an explosion, minimal but enough to scare off any attacker. He can hear that blip of static noise. At least his sidekick is still kicking, probably blinking his ass back to the agency for backup with how close it is. He can respect that decision. Just means he’ll have to hold his own for a bit, but it’s proving to be more difficult than it seems.
There’s something else in the smoke. It’s thick and heavy, and it’s starting to weigh his muscles down, creeping in tendrils throughout his body. His eyelids feel like a ton of bricks, and each blink slows until they threaten to never open again. He brings a sluggish arm to blow another blast at a footstep. He needs to get out of this gas and quick. His arms drop down, an explosion waiting in his palms, and before he can react, a blink too slow, a finger swipes across his shoulder. “Gotcha!”
He doesn’t know what just happened to him, but he blasts himself out of the smoke and back to the agency. Something is fucking with his mind. He can’t even think of the words that spew out of his mouth when he presses that button for backup, all he can feel is the force of his explosions growing smaller and smaller and an itch on his lower back.
Then, he’s tumbling down, down, down.
⋆˚🐾
You wake to an angry string of yowls and a heavy weight upon your chest.
Mindlessly, you reach for your lamp, flipping it on to see bright red eyes staring right at you. You can’t help the jolt that goes through you, nearly knocking the cat off your chest as you scramble to sit up.
It hisses at you, the hair on its body rising, and you instinctively reach a hand out to soothe it.
“I’m sorry, kitty. I didn’t mean to scare you. I forgot you were here,” you say. It swats your hand and you frown. Your bleary eyes clear, and you get a glimpse of the tornado it ran around your room, knick knacks scattered and clothes pulled off hangers. “Did you do all this?”
You feel dumb looking at a cat for answers as if it could nod and say yes. Instead, it sits next to you, tracking you like prey—something more reasonable for a cat. You sigh, scrubbing your face and checking your phone for the time. Seven in the morning is too early for you to be up. A yawn escapes you, and you throw your arms up in a stretch, casting your eyes out the window to see the storm is unrelenting. You’ll have to wait until it passes before taking it anywhere.
You start by picking up the clothes, hooking them back on the rack. When you turn over your shoulder, you find the cat on your desk, pawing through the papers you started on last night. “Please, kitty. Those are really important. My boss will kill me if those get messed up.”
It’s surprisingly still when you run over, scooping it up and placing it back on the bed despite its yowls of detest. It glares at you, hissing and drawing fangs, and you frown, reaching a gentle hand out to scratch at its head. “I know. I know. I’m awful for not letting you destroy my paperwork.”
You can’t help but giggle when it huffs, pawing around your bed and finally deciding to sit haughtily atop your piled blankets. You return to the destruction to pick up the mess it left behind. It watches your every movement as you do so from its throne on your bed, only moving as you snuggle back into the blankets to sleep once more.
Just as you close your eyes, it swipes a paw across your cheek. You try to gently push it away. “Hey, stop that!”
You close your eyes once more, praying that sweet sweet sleep will take you away. You’ve missed so many hours this week. There’s no chance you’re giving this up.
Pat.
You groan, covering your face with your pillow. It pounces on you, crawling up and down your body until you finally give in. “What, kitty? What do you need?”
Its eyes narrow before it meows in response, shaking its head abruptly before meowing again and pawing at its face.
That has to mean something like the bathroom, or maybe it’s hungry. Hopefully not because you can't help it with either. It’s still another hour before the shelters open, and you're waiting for their instruction before doing anything or grabbing any supplies.
It was easy in the moment to jump in headfirst and save the poor kitty. Except, now there’s a cat in your room knocking over all of your things and doing everything in its power to keep you awake. So maybe the shelter can also tell you what the hell you got yourself into.
This is why your mom never let you have pets growing up.
It hops off your bed, landing delicately on your floor. It looks back at you as if telling you to follow before pawing gently at your bedroom door with the swish of its fluffy tail. “The living room? You wanna go there?”
It paws again.
“I can’t let you go out there, kitty. You just destroyed my room in my sleep.” It paws, this time with big red eyes, and you sigh in your hands. It's too easy to be persuaded when it looks so cute. You throw your blankets off, regretting it when the chill nips at your legs. “Fine. Let’s go lay on the couch, but you have to promise to be nice.”
It meows in response. You think it’s agreeing, and you smile. Then, you start to think some more. “I don’t even know what I’m doing right now. I’m fucking crazy. I’m talking to a cat.”
You slump on the couch, flicking on the TV. The cat walks around your apartment, snooping under your couch and sticking its nose against your media center before jumping back. You only watch it out of the corner of your eye, mostly focused on channel surfing, pressing your finger robotically into the remote.
“–making this fantastic recipe b–“
“–was founded forty-seve–“
“Isn’t that just something? Ri–“
“–ero, Dynamight, has been missing for eleven hours now,” says the anchorwoman on the TV. You can barely make out what she’s saying over the loud yowls and meowing as the cat dashes over to you, smacking the remote right out of your hand.
“–have any information on his whereabouts ple–“
“Hey, dude! What’s your problem?” you ask in frustration, picking up the remote and flipping the channel. The cat continues to pounce on you, clawing on the remote before you scoop it off your lap and to the side. “Got it. No TV.”
The screen blinks off, filling with black.
It rather angrily stomps off into a corner, babbling nonsensical meows to itself as you lie down on the couch, putting the remote back on the coffee table. After a few minutes, it jumps onto the table and starts to paw more gently at the remote. You observe it in preparation to pull it away at any signs of destruction, but it seems content with pushing lightly at the remote, jamming buttons with its pink pads.
The TV flashes back to life. Drone shots of newly built neighborhoods take up the screen before cutting to the inside of a home. The cat looks between the remote and the TV, and you can’t help but wonder how smart it is to have figured out that there’s some sort of connection between its newfound toy and the screen. It pushes again, fat pads pressing number keys on the remote, fully changing the channel to an infomercial. It seems just as displeased as you by the choice, letting out a short meow.
⋆˚🐾
Without opposable thumbs and words, it seems there is quite a lot in this world that Bakugo cannot do. It has never struck him so hard. All his life, Bakugo has been good at most things and capable at even more of them. He was an amazing student with a booming social life—minus the hiccup that is Izuku, but that’s already passed. He’s a pro hero, for god’s sake. He’s nearly breaching the top ten, projected to be there by next year, if not already in the top five.
There is not a single second in his life, not even in a nightmare, where he ever imagined he would be in this situation.
“Full?” he hears you say with a sigh, glancing to him at your side. “Alright, thank you so much. Buh bye.”
You lift your phone up to him, waving it around lightly. “Sorry, kitty. That was the last no-kill shelter in the area. They’re completely packed. I guess you’ll be rooming with me for a while.”
Bakugo lets out a huff, dipping his head again in disappointment. Perhaps he should be happy that at the end of the road, you’d rather keep him here than put him in a shelter that could put him down in just a few days. At least here, he could scheme some way to break out.
Although, you seem keen on trapping him in when you open the front door just a crack before closing it again. You pick him up, and he hates how easily you can do it, dropping him in your bed. You close the bedroom door on him, but not before begging him to not destroy your room. He makes no promises.
He’d like to know where you’re going, especially in this weather. It’s hard to see from the desk, and he can’t climb to your windowsill without knocking over your plants. He already felt an inkling of guilt when you scooped up one he broke this morning, tossing it in the trash with some hesitation, but it would be worth it if it means finding out how to return to his old body.
He’s still unsure whether or not you were that shitty villain that changed him into this stupid, little cat. From the paperwork he saw this morning, which was nothing more than insurance reports for a small-time agency close by, he leans towards not.
Kirishima says it’s bad to think of them as competitors since all heroes work together, but Bakugo noted with a smug meow that their agency didn’t have nearly as much reports to file. If just one employee was filling out these many reports, they must have at least five times the amount in total. He should rub that in Kirishima’s face when he turns back.
Your room doesn’t give him any information that he needs. It’s mostly pictures of you and some dude he assumes is your boyfriend and other useless trinkets. It doesn’t seem like that guy lives in this apartment, but his ugly mug is plastered all over the place. Bakugo's shitty paws can’t grasp the round bulbs of your drawers to pull them open, but he doubts you have anything villainous in them by that doe-eyed look you always give him.
He’s half-sure you think he’s a regular cat.
When that sound of the front door opening reaches his ears, he claws at the bedroom door. It opens to reveal your drenched form and an armful of bags. “Sorry I took so long, kitty, but I got you food!”
Bakugo follows you warily, watching as you place the bags down in the middle of the loving floor, fluffing up a small bed and placing it in the corner. Your coat must not have done much from how you’re shivering.
You’re an idiot for not bringing an umbrella.
He’s grateful that you actually wash the newly purchased dishes before placing it on the floor. At least he’s not living with a slob. You rip open a packet of food, sniffing it and gagging before squeezing it into the empty bowl. “Eugh, I hope that actually smells good to you.”
Bakugo is about to retort with a yowl of his own when he sees the slop because it is easily the most disgusting thing that he’s ever been presented as food, but then the scent hits his nose. He can’t help the way his nose breathes it in and his mouth waters, pupils dilating.
He is rather hungry.
No. He shakes his head. This is cat food, and he’s a fucking human. He cannot stoop so low as to eat this sad excuse for a fucking meal.
He stalks away from the bowl with his head held high.
“Aw, c’mon. Just have a bite. I bought a whole pack because the dude at the story said this is the healthiest for you. Please, don’t be picky,” you whine, and he doesn’t do anything to ease you, plopping into his new bed. It’s soft and plush, and he sinks into it with ease, watching as you unpack the rest of the bags.
There’s food, treats, and some toys that tell him you must be thinking of keeping him for a while if you’re willing to spend this much on a stray. You leave the toys on the floor as an option for him before walking to check on the state of your room. Sucks you had to waste your money on those shitty pieces of plastic. There’s no way you could’ve known he wouldn’t be interested in them.
He hears you rustling around your wardrobe in search of something then padding off to the bathroom and shutting the door. The shower clicks on, and he finds that his bed is making him awfully sleepy. He did wake up early this morning, and his heightened senses must be eating at his stamina. He dozes off to sleep, and when he wakes, he hears your voice filling the living room.
“–know what to do with it.” He rises slowly at the conversation, kneading paws into his bed as he stretches, and tiptoes stealthily towards the kitchen.
“It? You don’t know the gender of your stray?”
“I haven’t exactly had the time to take it to the vet. I’m waiting for the rain to let up. I don’t wanna make the poor thing go out in the rain.”
“You sound like you’re getting attached. You know you can’t keep it.”
“I’m not! I’m just worried about it. I’m not attached. I’m gonna start putting up missing posters too when the storm is done. It should let up in a few days.”
“Are you serious?” He watches as you pause your stirring, sinking into your hip. Your hair is still damp, pieces stringing together. “Babe, you cannot keep that stray.
“I’m not going to keep it.”
“Then throw it out in the streets already!" You don't flinch at the sudden shouting or aggression, despite how loud it comes through the phone.
While Bakugo agrees that you should throw him out on the street so he can go and find some way to go back to his original body, he can’t deny the utter disgust that this guy’s voice gives him. Sure, he’s said his fair share of shitty things, but to his partner? Okay, fine. He’s done that too. But still, why don’t you stand up for yourself?
You sigh, resting the spatula on the spoon rest and leaning on your hand on the counter. “I promise I’m just trying to get it a good home.”
Your eyes lock with his, and a hand beckons him over. He doesn’t know why he listens.
“It’s such a sweet thing,” you say, crouching down to pat at his head. He meows loudly in protest, but you do it anyway. It feels irritatingly good. You smile, and it only adds to that tinging feeling. “Aren’t you, Princess?”
Princess? No fucking way are you going to call me that stupid name. Pick a different one, shitty girl. He hisses, loud and threatening as the words come out the only way they can, but you only laugh.
“Wow… she’s loud too. Your neighbors are going to file noise complaints again. Seriously, do you ever think anything through? Y’know what? Of course, you don’t. Why am I even asking? I’m not coming over until that stupid fucking cat is out.”
The dial tone sounds through your empty apartment. Bakugo can tell that you’re sad even if you don’t frown or cry, only standing to wash your hands like you’re programmed to return to its previous task since your current one was terminated.
He watches from the kitchen floor as you continue to make your lunch, humming lightly to yourself. It’s difficult to tell what’s going on in your head, but you glance at him and give him a small smile that makes him feel uneasy. It brings a flood of irritation through him, watching you put yourself into this container. You should’ve said something, defended yourself. It’s like you didn’t even care to.
You pile up a plate, bringing yourself next to his bowl and popping down. He would scoff at your idea, but your sincerity and the annoyingly tasty scent of the food draws him closer. He also attests it to wanting to see your mask break.
The two of you eat in silence together.
⋆˚🐾
You’re pleasantly surprised by the way your lunch turns out. It was a new recipe you looked up, seeing as it is raining much too hard to go out a second time today.
Even your balcony isn’t safe from the rain, winds pushing it sideways and drenching the entire thing. At least your plants got watered, and your chairs and table got a nice rinse.
It would’ve been nice to eat out there and not next to your newfound cat who won’t stop watching you as you eat together. Maybe it’s some sort of territorial thing. You’re quite close to the bowl—for purposes you thought would be beneficial. It worked seeing as your eating brought it to eat too.
Your eyes keep drifting to your balcony. It would be nice to feel the rain on your skin. Under your control, of course. It would be liberating to choose to be soaked. Really, it would be nice to feel like you had any choice at all.
Maybe what your boyfriend said was right. You should think things through more, make better choices. You’re sure he doesn’t mean stand up to your boss or keep your umbrella. Nor does he mean to counter your noise complaints or explain that you weren’t the one yelling that night when it says the tenant was being loud. He doesn’t live here. Yeah, he definitely doesn’t mean that.
He probably means focus more on work, say yes to overtime, take papers home. Make better choices.
Princess nudges your thigh, and you turn to realize it finished its bowl, licking its mouth once more with a look of satisfaction. The smile after that comes easy. You pet under its chin, deciding against your advisor that you’ll choose this good right here.
It doesn’t take long to clean up. It watches you from behind, and you don’t like the way it feels. It’s too intense of a stare, but that’s what most people that have pets for the first time must feel like. You’re just not used to it.
Really, it’s always watching you. You notice that when it follows you with big, curious eyes as you dump your clothes into the washer. It only looks away when you begin to put your delicates into a mesh bag, seemingly uninterested in the process. You begin to wonder if it’s stalking you like prey. If you’ll be like one of those cat ladies that get eaten alive by her pets. Princess wouldn’t do that, right? …Right?
Maybe the better choice right now would be to set aside your papers you’re working on and spend some quality time with it, at least until the storm lets up. It doesn’t seem to like your papers, not with the way it paws at them, disrupting your neat piles. You could take a break. Both of you could. Then, hopefully it will bond with you, like you a little bit more.
You turn the TV on hesitantly from your seat on the couch. It hops up next to you, a clear distance away, and you feel you should maintain that distance. Seriously, who’s in control here?
You flip through channels again, slowly this time, watching from the corner of your eye for its reaction. You don’t want to get jumped like earlier. Each channel plays for a few seconds, and it doesn’t seem at all interested in cooking, home improvement, or cartoons, but when you get to the news channel, it’s eyes lock on, and it moves closer to you, curling up near your thigh.
You don’t dare move even a millimeter for the first minute, not even the twitch of your finger. One wrong choice, and it will spring on you again. After another minute, your shoulders relaxing and jaw unclenching, you begin to realize that maybe it just came to watch with you. And that you’d really like someone to watch TV with.
It seems pleased enough, its warm body pressed against you now as it flattens out. It doesn’t even care when you put down the remote, trading it for your phone instead to search up common cat behaviors. Signs that a cat likes you and isn’t trying to eat you.
It lifts its head, crawling into your lap as it curiously tries to look at what it is you’re doing. You pull your phone closer to your face, but it nuzzles its head through the gap between your chest and your hands with a disgruntled meow.
“Excuse me, kitty. You’re blocking my view,” you say with a pout, pulling your phone away from your body to let your hands rest on your lap and continue your search. It lets you continue, curling up and allowing you to see over it. Your finger swipes on the screen.
“Slow blinks are often a sign that your fur-baby trusts you.”
You sneak a look at Princess, watching its blinks. How slow is slow? It seems to be blinking slow enough, turning its head to give you a full view. You sink back into the couch after your review.
“If your kitty lets you give them belly rubs, that’s a good sign that it feels comfortable being vulnerable around you.”
Hesitantly, you reach to pet at Princess’s side, carefully inching towards its stomach. To your surprise, it plops on its back, letting you pet it lovingly. You smile at this one, feeling quite content in your progress. A rumble begins in its chest, and you giggle giddily before you spook Princess, and it turns over again.
You fall down the rabbit hole of what to do after finding a stray cat, clicking on blogs, articles, even subreddits. Princess must have had enough because once you get around to proper vet care and vaccinations, typing into your notes fervently what you need to do next, it smacks your phone.
The storm finally lets up, skies clearing, only leaving puddles behind as evidence.
Princess was company enough through the entire thing, although it’s not as cuddly as you’d hope. It would rather run away and scour your apartment than relax on your lap as you finish up paperwork. Only on occasion will it sit quietly atop your desk, scrutinizing your work like it should be wearing a suit and tie. You’re not upset about it, not even worried. The internet said it still likes you.
You leave it in your room, putting your paperwork into drawers and pleading with it to not destroy anything while you’re gone. You even go as far as to leave a few toys as offerings, like it’s your god, in hopes it spares you from its wrath.
You’re pleased to find that when you return, nothing is out of place.
Though, it’s angry with the kennel you put it in, very vocal about it too. It yells as you walk to the vet. You hope it stops when you get onto the sidewalk, but it only gets louder and draws more attention. You smile awkwardly at passerbys and hope they don’t call animal services on you. You really hope they don’t call any other services on you either for pleading into the kennel, not that it helped at all.
⋆˚🐾
Bakugo is upset. More than upset. He just had several needles stuck in him, injecting him with who knows what. The only reason he didn’t bite the technician’s hand off was because you begged him to be good. Even then, you had the audacity to be sad when he walked past your waiting hand and back to his bed the second you got home.
“Please, Princess. Don’t be mad at me. I promise it’s for your own good. In a few days, we’ll be able to go on walks together.”
His ears perk up. Walks? That seems like the perfect opportunity to escape. He can make do with a few days, gather intel when you let him watch the news. He still can’t believe you think he—a goddamn cat—is believed to love the news. What has the world come to? At least it’s better than when you shut the thing off thinking he hated it.
He meows and lets you pet him.
It’s rather warm when you smile in appreciation.
Two days pass in a blink of an eye. Time passes differently in general. Everything seems faster. He should’ve spent more time gathering information than watching that movie with you. Was that where he lost time? Maybe it was flitting between your legs as you cooked dinner. It was entertaining watching you trip around him. He wasn’t trying to harm you, of course, but a little stumble here and there was enough to keep him from being bored to death.
Really, he should’ve stayed awake when you slept, escaped your arms and taken another look around your room. It was comfortable, like really fucking comfortable, and he ate a lot and got too tired, and it was only once. Still, that would’ve been a prime opportunity to go around. Well, he supposes he had that time when you went off to work. He did that a bunch actually and watched the news you accidentally left on after he definitely made you late for work.
He wishes he hadn’t done that. Watched the news, of course. His idiot friends still have no leads from what information the media has clearly been recycling.
They could be withholding information just in case that villain catches wind and gets a head start, but from the way things are sounding and the desperate pleas for information, he doubts it. He’s not looking forward to being trapped in this stupid cat body for what seems like at least another few days if not another week. At least he’ll get to go outside soon.
This fucking sucks.
The harness you put on him is uncomfortable, and he never agreed to come with you to put up found posters for him. God, they’re right next to his actual missing posters. Did they have to use that picture of him from the Hero Commission where he’s smiling like a dolt? He has at least twenty other better ones to be used.
You’re foolish, too, for putting your real number on the poster. You should’ve made an email specifically for this, otherwise you’re going to get spam prank calls. Even worse, if some creep sees a pretty thing like you placing these posters, they’re going to have your direct number.
He’s right about it too. When you get home after another long day of work, where he lounges around the house and tries and fails to use your laptop, locking you out for five minutes with his futile attempts of typing your password in, you spend the next hour returning calls and receiving them.
There’s a shitty voicemail from some teenage punks that have you deleting it before it’s even done. There’s an even worse one from a dude that sounds like he smokes ten packs a day, calling you dozens of pet names—baby, cutie, doll. He’s glad you’re smart enough to block that number.
When calls come in as you rest on the couch, you answer them dutifully. A woman claims that he’s her cat, asking you to put her on speaker so she can call to him. When she does, cooing for Fuzzikins, Bakugo walks away in disinterest. He’d rather stay here with you. It would be easier to make his escape from here. If he got rehomed, he could be flown across the country. At least you live within a couple mile radius of the agency if you work at that other shitty place.
In the few days that pass like this, him waiting for you to return to work, he notices that your little boyfriend never comes by like he said, never even bothers to call. How the hell did a shithead like him get someone like you?
There’s still some room for doubt. He can’t fully trust that you’re not the reason he’s a cat—his hero training has engraved at least that into his brain—but as he continues to observe you and your particular way of life, that doubt starts to dwindle.
Really, how could someone like you—the woman who walked out in the pouring rain for him twice, cuddles and kisses him despite his resistance, buys him a silly toy laptop and remote because you think he’d enjoy it, and calls him Princess, fucking Princess—be bad?
Not when you’re so meek and subservient, answering every call from that shitty boss of yours, working for hours long after you’re home. Even when Bakugo obnoxiously swipes at your papers and sits on your desk, yowling as much as he can, you simply move him into your lap and continue.
Especially not when you’re prancing around your apartment in your tiny pajamas, ones you seem to have a never-ending supply of. He tries to be appropriate, hissing at you or scurrying away when you get too comfortable with him. How many failed attempts at getting him to cuddle with you will it take for you to give up? He’s a grown man for god’s sake, and there’s not a shot in the world where you would be doing this knowing that.
But you wouldn’t know that, not as the sweet thing you are, so Bakugo does his best to draw the clearest line his paws can. It’s hard when you dismiss him, thinking he’s a grump, and hold him oh so close. He won’t claw at you, nothing past hissing or meowing, but his self-control is hanging on by a thread.
All he knows is that, as much as he’d like to give into it a little, he’d rather have you not think he’s a total fucking weirdo when he turns back.
The door clicks open as he’s fiddling with the remote again. He’s figured out how to successfully turn the TV on, but his fat paws don’t allow him much control after that. He’s determined to use his nose today. It’s a slow process as he clicks through channels trying to find the news. He often clicks too many times or too many buttons, foiling his progress. His stupid nose is too sensitive, uncomfortable when he pushes. He thinks tomorrow he’ll get it.
You look worse for wear, though you often come home looking stressed and beaten, tossing your coat on the hook and your keys on the table. Is your job physically demanding too? Seriously, even he's had more better days than you.
You greet him as you always do, scratching behind his ear and placing a soft kiss on his head. “Hi, Princess! I missed you while I was at work.”
He meows to entertain you in hopes of bringing some light back into your eyes, letting you pull him into your lap. Typically, you’d be prepping dinner by now, but instead, you pull out your phone, tapping away at your screen to order takeout from a sandwich shop Kirishima sometimes gets lunch for the office from.
The estimated time of delivery pops up on your screen just before you lock it, and he notes that this is his opportunity to leave. You’ve never ordered delivery before, and maybe you won’t place him in your room before getting the door. He’d have time to slip through. You’d be too tired to even look for him with whatever shitshow of a day happened at work.
He lets you caress his fur, stroking a gentle hand down his back as he waits for the door. After an episode of a show he doesn’t pay any attention to, you place him on the couch, standing just like he planned. He follows you quietly at your feet, careful not to draw your attention.
He readies his paws, and once that door cracks open and your hands are too full with your dinner to grab him, he dashes out and down the stairs.
He can hear your yells for him, footsteps he ignores as he slips between the legs of other residents, barely making it out of the closing doors.
It’s overwhelming—the sound of passing cars, the smell of the sandwich shop from across the street, even his sight in the dark. It’s like that time he got hit with some sensory deprivation quirk that lasted five minutes too long. Disoriented the shit out of him when he came back to, but he felt like he could hear colors and smell words for the next hour.
He bounds across the pavement, noting exactly where he is based off that shop. His agency isn’t far at all, much closer than the one you work at. Why wouldn’t you apply for him instead of that shitty place?
He has no time to ponder as he dodges oncoming traffic, cars honking and bright lights flooding his vision. He passes by a few of your posters and a rather large billboard with his face plastered on it—“MISSING” in a bold red. By the time he gets to the agency, the lights are dimmed, and even here, dozens of missing posters are splayed on the glass. These ones must be homemade because they feature various private photos of himself that he recognizes being taken by his friends.
Most of the employees should be home by now, the only people here would be whoever is assigned for patrol. He can only assume that it’s some of the sidekicks. It’s been a week since he’s been missing, so he has no doubt that Kirishima is spending most of the day flipping over every rock and the rest of the night meeting with Izuku with his findings.
He circles the place, cursing Mei for designing such a secure building because he can’t find any way to get in. He paws helplessly at the door until deciding to wait for the heroes on patrol to come back. It’s much too cold outside at night, not that he would’ve known from the confines of your heated apartment, and he shivers, curling into himself for warmth.
Passerbys point at him and coo, and when they reach a hand out to pet him he hisses. They back off quickly with irritation, cursing at him. He doesn't care. Why would he ever let anyone pet him?
The heroes take another few hours to come back. Yet, they do nothing more than gently shoo him out of the way of the door, shutting it behind them. When he tries to follow after them, practically nipping at their heels, they do a good job of keeping him out, catching him and placing him outside when he makes a dash to go in. He yowls in protest, but they don’t stop, shutting the door completely with a click.
If you were here, you would’ve let him inside. Yes, it could’ve caused security issues, and he should be more proud of his sidekicks for making the right choice, but he doesn’t need that right now. What he needs is to get inside the building and get to Kirishima so he can figure out what to do.
He sleeps on the side of the building where they throw out the extra boxes, jumping into one and curling up. It’s not nearly as nice and cushy as the bed at your place.
The sun shines, and Bakugo springs up. If he can’t get inside, he’ll just have to greet Kirishima on his morning patrol. If he assumes right, Kirishima will likely be focusing on the area he was captured to find more information. He could be there anytime from now to the next few hours. It’d be best to wait for him there.
The redhead is easy to spot in the crowd as people clamor around him for photographs. He’s a little relieved to see that the sidekick with him is very much human still. Bakugo tries his best to slink through their legs, meowing loudly at Kirishima’s feet. It draws the man from his conversation, looking down at the cat.
“Hey there, little dude. What’s up?” He brings a large hand down to pet Bakugo, but he swats it away with his paw, meowing loudly again. “Well, you’re a weird guy. I’ve never been rejected by a cat before. Are you lost?”
He meows louder, pawing at his partner’s boot and trying to walk him to the nearby light post where he knows is a missing poster of him. He would laugh if he could, watching as Kirishima tells the sidekick to finish patrol and follows him—a goddamn cat. Is everyone out of their mind? He stops at the post, pawing at it, and Kirishima lights up in recognition.
This is it. Bakugo gets to return back to his body. He’ll be able to relay the information he’s collected, albeit not much, but it would be something. Then, he’ll blast that sorry motherfucker’s ass to space for doing this to him.
Kirishima snaps, pointing at him. “I know you. You’re the cat from the posters. You’re a smart dude!” Bakugo yowls in angry disbelief as Kirishima picks him up. “Let’s go find your owner.”
Has pro-hero work stopped so low that Kirishima is busy “finding” a “lost” “cat”? Bakugo should just claw him right here. He hisses, bringing a sharp paw to Kirishima’s arm only to be blocked with the effects of his quirk. “Not cool, man. Those things could really hurt someone.”
That was the goal, dumbass.
Bakugo slumps in defeat, going limp in Kirishima’s arms. His idiot of a partner easily stumbles across one of your posters—seeing as you printed two hundred of them—and he brings out his phone to dial the number.
You pick up, voice cracking. “Hello?”
Bakugo can’t help but feel guilty. Yes, he had completely meant to escape and make his way back to the agency, but he didn’t think you’d be so upset about it. It wasn’t like he was your cat. He was never meant to stay.
“Hello, miss! I believe I’ve found your missing cat,” Kirishima says, and a sigh of relief sounds through the speaker.
“Really? God, where– where are you? I’ll come right now.” The desperation comes off in volatile waves, even through the phone.
Kirishima gives you his location, and you arrive within ten minutes looking like you ran a marathon.
“Princess!” you call out with tear-filled eyes. Your hair is a mess, your lips red and swollen from what Bakugo assumes is you biting them like they get on late nights where you‘ve come home with too many forms. In your hands are those delicious treats you give him before bed and his harness and leash.
Kirishima rises at your call, standing up straighter with his shoulders back. Bakugo can hear the increase of Kirishima’s heart rate at the sight of you, and he hisses at him. “Thank you so much, Red Riot! I’ve been looking for him all night.”
“Ah, no worries! I’m just doing my job,” he chuckles, scratching at the creeping blush up his neck as you take Bakugo into your arms, peppering him in kisses. Bakugo yowls. There’s absolutely no way this is happening right now. Not when he’s so close to getting back.
“Seriously, what can I do to make it up to you? I’m so grateful that you found him. He’s never run out like that before,” you say, slipping him into the harness.
Stupid Shitty Hair. If he had just figured it out, then there wouldn’t be this mess in the first place.
“Why would he ever want to run from you?” Kirishima asks with a dopey grin and dazed blinks. Bakugo should gag up a hairball right here if it means stopping his partner’s poor excuse for flirting.
You set him in the floor, holding the leash securely in your hand. “Because he’s the biggest grouch in the world,” you say as if it’s endearing, your eyes big and sparkling before looking back up to Kirishima. “Please, let me treat you to a meal. That’s the least I can do.”
Bakugo knows Kirishima is hoping for something more behind those words like the sap he is even though he barely knows you. Kirishima doesn’t know you like he does. He doesn’t know about your shitty boyfriend or how you’re naively friendly by nature. Most importantly, he doesn’t know that Bakugo is the fucking cat you’re taking back home and that you could be a villain. If Bakugo didn’t come to the conclusion after this mess that you are as harmless as a fucking daffodil, he would’ve bitten Kirishima’s leg right off.
“Please, don’t feel obligated. I’m only doing my job,” Kirishima says, though Bakugo can hear the lilt of hope in his tone, the way it goes up an octave.
Fucking sap.
“What do you like? It’s simple, but I have an amazing recipe for gyudon! I would take you out for a meal, but I don’t usually get off of work until later at night, and most things ‘round here are closed by then,” you say, and Bakugo watches in real time how your energy enraptures others. He wonders if it has something to do with your quirk. He still hasn’t figured that out yet.
“I completely get it. I’m usually working until late too. Plus, gyudon sounds amazing! I’m sure that would be delicious.” He smiles, sharp teeth showing that make your own draw to your mouth. Bakugo finds it rather irritating that you’re dallying. He’d roll his eyes if he could.
“Would Monday be alright then? 8pm? I honestly wouldn’t be able to make it any earlier than that.”
“If that’s alright with you, then that’s perfect!”
Bakugo yowls loudly to speed up the process. If Kirishima is coming in two days, then he can convince both of you then that he is in fact not a cat. Bakugo pulls at the leash, jerking your hand.
“I’ll text you at the number you called me at then,” you reply, holding the leash tight to you despite Bakugo's attempts to pull you along. “Thank you so much again, Red Riot! I am in your debt.”
“Haha, no, thank you! I’m looking forward to Monday!” Kirishima replies, and Bakugo hisses at him one more time for good measure.
You start carrying Bakugo halfway through the walk which he decides is because you missed him. He’s fine with it since his little body aches from that cardboard box. He can admit that he did miss the apartment. His stomach is empty, and he’s cold and tired and in need of some peace and quiet.
You let him free when you securely close the door. Unnecessarily, since he doesn’t plan on running out any time soon. He’s irritated by your insistence of wiping him down from his ears to his paws, only relaxing when you swipe that glorious brush along his coat that sends shivers up his spine.
The sounds of keys at your lock reach his ears, and he sits up in wait. You don’t seem surprised, only reacting to adjust him for a better angle. The door swings open, slamming against the shoe rack.
“Three calls? Are you serious?” says that man from the photos. He looks at Bakugo with disgust, raising his voice. “Oh, you’re fucking kidding me. You already found it and didn’t tell me? Why the hell am I even here?”
Bakugo hisses in defense, only pressing tighter to your chest. You sigh, putting the brush on the coffee table. “I called you last night, and you didn't pick up. I didn’t think you’d come.”
Your boyfriend tracks muddy boots across your floor and to your couch. Bakugo notices that light in your eyes dim. You don’t scold your boyfriend like you did him when he left muddy paw prints along the floor after one of your walks. “Really? It’s my fault? It was a good thing that it got lost. I told you not to keep it.”
He feels your shaky hand stroking his coat despite your previously calm tone, and he hisses again at your boyfriend. He’s a scrawny guy, rat-faced too, even worse in person versus the photos around the apartment. You’re miles out of his league. If Bakugo were human, he’d beat this guy to a pulp for even thinking he could talk to you.
“I thought you weren’t coming if he were here.”
He scoffs, walking toward you menacingly. “Oh, so you’re keeping him to keep me away. I’m glad I have such a fantastic fucking girlfriend. You’re so fucking selfi–” Bakugo leaps from your lap, clawing at his face. “What the hell? You stupid fucking cat!”
Bakugo takes a hit to the side and flies across the living room. It’s much more painful than he thought it’d be, especially when that scream rips from your mouth.
You sprint over, scooping him into your arms ever so gently. Bakugo hopes nothing is broken, only bruised, as you cradle him, doing his best not to hiss as your fingers graze his side.
“Really? You care about that cat more than your own boyfriend? It just fucking clawed me!” he says, cupping his cheek in two hands as blood seeps through.
Bakugo can feel the tears that hit his coat as you shake from what he can’t decipher is fear or anger. He licks your hand in an attempt to ease it, letting out a soft meow to show he’s alright. He’s pulled through much worse. Besides, it feels nice in your arms. That blooming ache in his ribs doesn’t seem so bad anymore. He wonders if that’s part of your quirk too.
“Get the fuck out. We’re done,” you say, low and unwavering. Bakugo lets out a meow of satisfaction, nuzzling into you again for support. He prefers this side of you.
“C’mon, babe. You don’t mean that. You saw. It attacked me!” he says pathetically. Bakugo feels pleased with his work, but he does wish he got away with a bit more, maybe gave him a new haircut.
“He was defending me from you.”
“Defending you? Oh, you’re fucking insane. It’s a cat! It doesn’t fucking think,” he says, taking another step closer. Bakugo hisses again, baring his fangs, and you pet him lovingly for it. Your boyfriend looks between the two of you and walks away to swing the door wide open with a huff. “Fuck you, bitch. Hope you and your stupid fucking cat rot in hell.”
You make no means to stop him. Even your grip on Bakugo is loose, and he wonders if the tears you shed were even for your boyfriend because they’re gone now, swept away with the light in your eyes. You sit in silence on the floor with Bakugo in your lap.
He doesn’t take the opportunity that presents itself as the most obvious thing in the world, and he lets you hold him while you both stare at the wide open door.