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Agent Bakugou’s Mission Log

 

Katsuki walks into the dimly lit office with a bandage on his cheek and his fists clenched tight. Director Enji Todoroki is at his desk, not even looking up from his computer, and Katsuki can’t be bothered to wait at the door until he notices. He marches, stomps his feet along the carpeted space, and curses the fact that it doesn’t make a louder sound. 

 

He puts his hands on the empty leather chair in front of the Director’s desk, and clears his throat. Blue eyes trail from the computer screen to Katsuki, and the Director rolls his eyes.  “Sit.”

 

“Gladly.” 

 

Katsuki drops down onto the cushion and wiggles his butt, but it’s not comfortable. He spreads his legs, then throws one over the armrest. Now, his elbow is pressed painfully against the other armrest and he can’t have that. Director Todoroki looks annoyed.

 

“Finished?”

 

“Gimme a second.” Katsuki throws his left arm over the back of the chair, and now he’s ready. He waves his hand at him and smirks. “You may begin,” he says, and gets a warning glare in response— it doesn’t deter him.

 

With pursed lips and a heavy exhale through the nose, Enji opens his desk drawer and pulls out a long, manila folder. It’s fat, the edges are bent, and Katsuki’s not thrilled about it. Eijirou and the other idiots are down in Cancun soaking up the sun and getting ass, and it’s not fair that Katsuki’s not there, too.

 

Enji slides the folder over the mahogany table, and Katsuki picks it up like it’s a bag of dog shit. “Your next case is taking you to Japan.”

 

He flips the file open. “Hah?”

 

“Over a dozen American citizens have disappeared over the last two months on an Oceania cruise from Sydney, Australia to Yokohama, Japan.”

 

“Americans going missing abroad? Not fuckin’ uncommon, Red.”

 

“Don’t call me that.” It's a monotonous demand, one he’s given Katsuki every week for the past four years. “What’s uncommon , Agent Bakugou, is that each and every one of those missing persons has resurfaced in Japan… to some extent.”

 

“The fuck does that mean?”

 

“Page four.” Enji waits for the agent to rifle through the file. When Katsuki gets there, a scowl spreads across his face, and the Director continues. “Dangerous monsters have been spawning all over Japan, and the DNA samples taken from them have all linked to our missing citizens. Each individual took a single’s cruise called the Love Boat leading up to their disappearance, and none were ever documented leaving the boat. Of course, this hasn’t been made known to the public, but-”

 

The manila folder smacks against his desk.

 

“Hold the fucking phone,” Katsuki sneers, lifting his hand to cue for silence. His face is caught between uncontrollable laughter and a disturbed disbelief. “You want me— the best agent this fuckin’ establishment has ever seen to go undercover on the Love Boat?”

 

“Bakugou, sit-”

 

“-Have you met me?” 

 

He’s on his feet now, pacing the room with an abhorrent feeling of betrayal. There’s a pool table in the center of the room and he reaches for the eight ball sitting in the center. He tosses in the air, catches it, laughs and puts it down. “I’m the finest fucking specimen to ever grace this place. I- I mean, who the fuck took down the quirk fighting rings in Georgia? The robbers from California? I am a legend.”

 

Director Todoroki quirks a brow, leaning back in his chair to cross his thick arms. “Maj from the breakroom doesn’t seem to think so.”

Katsuki huffs. “Maj is a prude.”

 

“The point is, Agent Bakugou, that they are targeting Americans and, frankly, you are the most loud-mouthed, unbearably prideful American we got. So— unless you wanna say goodbye to your job— you’re gonna get on that boat, pretend you’re sad and lonely, wreak your typical havoc, and find out which fuckers are kidnapping our people.”

 

“Sir-”

 

“-And Shouto is going to be your earpiece,” he adds. “I can’t fucking trust you and any of your friends to get shit done anymore.”

 

“The f-”

 

“-You’re dismissed, Agent Bakugou.”


 

 Agent Midoriya’s Mission Log

 

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Midoriya raps his knuckles on the open door to Director Yagi’s office. It’s minimalistic, containing little more than a few slim chairs and a sleek, white desk. The only cluttered aspect is the mounds of papers and files spilling from the desktop onto the floor. Yagi looks up over a mountain of paperwork and smiles a hollow smile at him. 

 

“Ah!” He says, gesturing for him to enter. Midoriya crosses the expanse of the room in less than a second, sitting down on the sleek chair. 

 

Director Yagi drops his pen on his desk and laces his fingers together. “Midoriya, are you aware of the up-cropping of Nomu in Tokyo, Yokohama and Hiroshima?”

 

Agent Midoriya, anxious and excited, bites his lip and nods his head aggressively. “It’s weird, Director Yagi, sir. There’s been over a dozen ! We can’t trace where they’re coming from, but their DNA, and certain quirks of theirs, have matched missing American citizens. What’s even odder is that they were never documented entering Japan. I suspect it's trafficking, and-”

 

“-May I interject?” Yagi flashes the agent an amused grin when the young man’s ears tinge pink with embarrassment. 

 

“I am so sorry, Director Yagi.” Midoriya’s hands are sweating now, and he’s wiping them on his slacks with heated fervor. “It’s just, well, it’s a very intriguing case, y’know? And, um, I’ve been on desk-duty for a while, being people’s eyes and ears from behind a computer, and I heard Ochako and Kendo talking about it, and I have a slight tendency to ramble, so naturally, I-”

 

“-Well,” Yagi interjects, patting his hand on the desk edge closest to Izuku, a silent gesture to quiet down. “I’m happy to hear you’re interested in it, seeing as I’m putting you on the case.”

 

Midoriya’s freezes, his hands now cold and clammy. “Huh?” He asks, tilting his head to the side in a cartoon fashion. “S-sir?” 

 

“Through some intense digging, we’ve discovered that each of the American citizens that reappeared as Nomus had booked passes for a specific cruise line targeted towards singles. Without sounding too harsh, the fact that you are one of our best agents at blending in—and since your suspension from the field for toppling a two hundred year old shrine is over—I’d like you to go undercover on the cruise and find who’s behind the human trafficking.”

 

“I-I’d be honored, Director Yagi.” There’s a wide grin on his face, bright and proud. 

 

“But I must say, this is an independent mission. Young Mirio is on a mission in Laos, and so you won’t have a partner as you normally do. Are you sure that you’re-”

 

“-Sir, I can do this,” He cuts in. Internally, he scolds himself. He knows he shouldn’t interrupt the director, and he’s hoping it won’t be held against him. Afterall, his legs are already bobbing in excitement.

 

But Yagi seems to think it’s amusing, to say the least. He proceeds without interruption after that, briefing an agent too excited to stay focused. And who could blame Midoriya? Two months in the basement and now he’s back up here with a mission, and he can feel it in his bones that it’s going to be a good one.

 

An hour later and he’s preparing to leave, grabbing the manila folder and tracing his fingers against the pages jutting out from the opening. Director Yagi nods at him as he gets up from his chair, his expression the product of a warm, grateful smile. 

 

“Thank you, Midoriya,” he says. “I’m happy you’ve accepted, because— between you and me— I’d love to get this squared away before the CIA tries to get involved. Heaven knows what cocky, bull-headed agent Enji Todoroki would send to clean up this mess.”

 


 

Day 1- Agent Bakugou’s Mission Log 

 

“This is fuckin’ ridiculous.  

 

Katsuki throws his patent leather suitcase onto his bed and swears, watching it bounce and bounce and finally come to a rest. He breathes out through flaring nostrils and looks around the crowded space. The heart shaped bed is decked in a pink comforter and satin sheets. There’s a mini fridge and flatscreen on the opposite wall and yeah, that’s great, he thinks, but the place is still small and the teeny weeny bathroom isn’t half the size of his dick. 

 

It’s small.

 

Too small for the best CIA agent in the United States.

 

Katsuki shakes his head and taps the little device situated in his ear canal. “Talk to me,” he says when he hears the telltale static of an incoming signal.  Then he wants to shoot himself in the head with his government issued Taurus G3 when he hears the bored sigh of his sworn enemy on the other line. 

 

  “Ah, Katsuki,” The monotone voice echoes in his ear. “So glad you finally turned on your earpiece. I missed you.”

 

“Fuck off, IcyHot. I am so fucking sorry for wanting to get to my room and take a piss before talking to the goddamn voice in my head.” Bakugou gloweres, unzipping his suitcase and flipping it open to take a look at the contents. There’s a brief moment where Bakugou’s eyes hit the balcony door and he thinks of jumping. 

 

Jumping would be nice, because: “What the fuck is this?” 

 

“What are you referring to, exactly?” Shouto asks. “Remember, I’m in your ear, not your eye.”

 

“The fuckin’ clothes!”

 

“Oh, do you like them?” There’s amusement in his voice. “Ari picked them out. We said ‘go aggressively American’, and she delivered.”

 

“I’m not wearing any of that shit.”

 

“You have to. You’re objective is to stand out, get noticed. It’ll be easier finding the traffickers if they think of you as a target.” 

 

Katsuki’s whine sounds wounded, like a sad puppy with its leg caught in a bear trap. His fingers dust the top of a cotton Hawaiian shirt, and then he’s digging for something semi-presentable and not a bit embarrassing to wear. 

 

“And you better hurry, ” his earpiece nags. “We need you to participate in as many activities as possible. Speed Dating is in thirty minutes.”

 

“Fuck.”

 


 

“Hi there!”

 

 The sing song voice greets him the moment he steps off the deck and into the Events Hall. He jerks his head towards the shrill sound, finds his eyes on a lively girl with bright eyes and double buns. She’s a head shorter than him, even when she bounces on the uptick of a skip. When she reaches him, Katsuki realizes he absolutely dwarfs her. “Welcome to the Speed Dating event hosted by the Love Boat . That’s-” Her eyes wander over him. “That’s, er, quite an outfit you have on?”

 

Katsuki looks down, feigning a weak smile as his eyes catch his own red, white and blue American flag button up. “Er, thanks! Gotta support the number one country!” 

 

He laughs: weak and cringy.

 

“Katsuki,” Shouto scolds, sounding like a bug buzzing in his ear. “ You have got to act more believable from now on. This is pathetic.”

 

Katsuki wants to punch him— and even if he can’t, he can still take the radio out of his ear canal and smash it to pieces— but he smiles back down at the girl as she compliments him. 

 

Fuck jobs that don’t let you use your fists to deal with mild inconveniences with your first, am I right?

 

 “Well, it certainly is something!” The worker laughs, gesturing for him to follow her farther into the room, where fold-out tables and chairs have been set into rows across the floor. Some have people sitting at them; all have a cheap, plastic table cloth that’s either pink, blue, or purple.

 

 “So!” She says, “This is the same as regular speed dating, except we’ve taken preference into account. People with pink tables are interested in women, blue are interested in men, and purple are both. Here’s your scorecard, and you’re just gonna hop along to each person at a table every four minutes until the clock runs out! If you both score each other high enough, we’ll give you their basic contact information. Sound good?”

 

“Got it.”

 

“Can’t wait to see you mess this up.” 

 

Honestly, fuck Shouto.

 

Katsuki grabs the score card from her hand, walks his way into  a group of idle men, waiting for the game to start. He leans against the wall and watches the sweaty old men and young boys fresh out of school who are clearly not smooth enough to get someone outside an isolated spot on the ocean. 

 

This was, hands down, the weirdest mission he had ever been assigned.

 

“Alright, beautiful people!” Double-Buns calls from the center of the room. Her voice is loud, and it bounces off the walls. “The Speed-Dating Event has officially commenced! Pick someone at a table and get to know them! You have four minutes!”

 

“Remember,” Shouto says. “You have to weigh all options. Don’t just stick to the women.”

 

“You clearly don’t know me,” Katsuki hisses back, pulling up a chair sitting parallel a massive man with a clean buzzcut and handsome smile.

 

“Hello.” His grin is bright, and he’s nearly bouncing in his seat. Katsuki thinks he looks a lot like a puppy dog, bright and lively. He’s big, too. Big enough to pop Katsuki’s head off using only his bicep.  “I’m Inasa.”

 

A big, calloused hand meets Katsuki halfway across the table and he takes it, grasping firmly and shaking it just as strong. Inasa has a strong grip, and it makes Bakugou whistle his surprise. “Shit dude, how much can you bench?”

 

The guy blushes, and it’s cute and awkward for his size. He rubs at the back of his neck and stretches his smile (if it can get any wider). “My, uh, my record is four hundred thirty pounds.”

 

“He’s strong. Ask him if he likes dogs or cats more?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Well, because I go to the gym every-

 

“-Not you,” Katsuki barks, scolds himself internally. He forces a fresh, false grin. “Er, do you like dogs or cats more?”

 

“Dogs.” Inasa says it almost like the other option isn’t an option, and more like a punishment. “They’re so lively, and they’re fun to go running with.”

 

Well, I like cats.” And Katsuki, for the life of him, swears that Shouto is pouting. “ But I like running. We have that in common. Ask him what he does for a living.”

 

Katsuki sighs. He feels like his shoulders are shaking, but he’s still not used to the swaying of the ship, so maybe that’s it. “What do you do for a living?”

 

“I’m a fireman.” 

 

Kacchan, get me his number.”

 

Katsuki sucks on his teeth. “-Jesus, Shouto, I-” 

 

Inasa quirks a brow and tilts his head. “Who?”

 

“Nice one.”

 

“Er, my… friend, Shouto.” He says it with the asshole in question’s quiet cackle echoing in his ear and he reminds himself to box Shouto’s ears when he makes it back to the states. He curls his hands into fists atop his knees and chokes out his explanation. “Honesty, bud, you ain’t my type, but I got a friend who I think would go crazy for you. Let me give you his number.”

 

“Um, okay?” 

 

Katsuki rips a piece of paper off his scorecard, writing the digits Shouto repeated in his ear, before handing it over. Double-Buns orders them all to change tables. “There,” he whispers underneath his breath. “I got you some dick, so can you fuckin’ focus? I wanna get back to the cabin.” 

 

“Fine. Who’s next?”

 

“There’s a chick at the next table. I’m gonna go talk to her.”

 

“Sure.”

 

He approaches the table and flashed a dazzling grin at a brunette in a sleek, blue dress. She sits with her arms and legs crossed, her lips pursed. Bakugou grabs the top of the chair across from her, spinning it around so he can lean against the backboard when he’s sitting. “Hey, how you doin’?”

 

The girl rolls her eyes, snorting. “Seriously? I didn’t realize I was in the presence of Joey Tribbiani.” She has a thick Australian accent, and it does things to Bakugou that he’ll be thinking about later that night when he’s in his room and he’s only got his hand for company.

 

Actually, no. 

 

That’s creepy.

 

But he smirks at her anyways. “You impressed, hun?”

 

She shakes her head, her lips cracking into a smile. “Not in the slightest,” she teases, leaning forward. She tucks her arms into her side, accentuating her cleavage. Katsuki isn’t gonna take the bait, because when she asks, “Whaddya do for a living?”, he’s forced to rack his brain for an answer. 

 

“You’re a crossfit trainer.”

 

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he mutters, lips curling down in a pathetic frown. “I’m… I’m a crossfit trainer.”

 

“You don’t seem too happy about that.”

 

“It’s… hard work,” he admits. “Especially because, fuck, um…”

 

“You’re a vegan.”

 

Katsuki inhales an enormous breath, trying to accept the fact that Shouto Todoroki has it in for him. And Katsuki doesn’t know why, being the excellent co-worker he is. Katsuki stretches his neck, hears the joints crack. “I’m vegan.”

 

She leans back in her seat, then, and sighs like she’d just been told they were out of powdered donuts holes at the buffet. “That’s a shame. I thought we were actually gonna go somewhere with this.”

 

“What? You got a fuckin’ problem with vegans?”

 

“I mean, yeah,” she shrugs. “Kinda.”

 

“Well, let me tell you something.” He drops his elbow to the table and jabs his index finger at her. Shouto whispers something in his ear about being ‘too passionate’, but Katsuki’s finally getting into character and he’s not going to stop now. “Vegans are the bedrock of modern society, and if you think-”

 

“-SWITCH!” Double-Buns shouts, walking down the row of tables to Katsuki’s  right. Her eyes land on him, and Katsuki smirks at her. She doesn’t look too happy about that. Katsuki gets up from his chair and waves a curt goodbye to his conversation partner. 

 

Down the row he goes.

 

“Okay, so,” Shouto starts. “Good on you for actually getting into character. Now let's try to be semi-likeable.”

 

“Fuck you,” he growls, yanking out the closest chair and flopping down on it. He crosses his arms so that his muscles bulge at the cut of his sleeves, showing off the press-on American Flag tattoo he’d found in a baggy in his suitcase. “Fuck you,” he hisses again when Shouto tells him he’s serious.

 

“Well, I understand that this is a Single’s Cruise,” a calm voice starts from across the table. Katsuki looks over, brows knit together in frustration, and comes face to face with a humble-looking, green haired man. Big doe-eyes ogle him in amusement, and voluminous  curls frame a tan, freckled face. “But I think I’d still like a decent date before we fuck.”

 

“Holy shit.”

 

The man quirks an eyebrow, a wide grin splitting his lips and displaying a crooked smile, and Katsuki knows he can forget the girl with the Australian accent, cause this face will haunt him for the rest of his days .

 

“That disappointed?” The guys asks.

 

And Katsuki can only respond with, “Huh?”, mouth hanging open and catching flies.  He doesn’t realize he’s gawking until Shouto counts to ten and he realizes that's the number of seconds he’s spent without giving the new guy an answer. But then he smiles at his conversation partner's playful expression and leans towards him. “You’re a cheeky one, ain’tcha?”

 

The stranger shrugs. “Just thought it was funny is all. I’m Yamashita.” He extends a hand, smaller than the first man’s, but a lot more calloused.

 

Katsuki takes it in a flash, doesn’t really want to let go until the guy starts tugging away. “The name’s Chuck.”

 

Yamashita snorts. “ Chuck?

 

“You got a problem with my name?” Katsuki says it like he’s offended, but really he’s interested because Yamashita is the first person today who has made him laugh and ticks the boxes necessary to get in his spank bank. “I’ll have you know,” he says. “That my mama named me after the greatest hero to ever set foot on American soil.”

 

Yamashita quirks a brow. “Chuck Schumer, senator for the state of New York?”

 

It takes a second for his answer to register with Bakugou, and now he’s more interested in the fact that a foreigner somehow knows who the head senator of New York was when he couldn’t even remember the capital of Wyoming. But, hell, no one remembered Wyoming anyways.

 

 But, that wasn’t important. 

 

What’s important is, “ No, dumbass! Chuck Norris!”

 

Yamashita purses his lips, squints his eyes like he’s judging him oh so sincerely. “ Really?” And when Katsuki only gives him a smug look of satisfaction, Yamashita sighs and smiles. “Well, you do sound American.” 

 

“What? The shirt give it away? It’s the best damn country in the world.”

 

“And the humblest.”

 

Katsuki smirks. He leans forward, resting his arms on the tabletop to get a better look at him. “So what’re you doin’ on this cruise? Not enough people interested in your smartass mouth back where you’re from?”

 

Yamashita shakes his head and laces his fingers together. “Just looking for more options. Maybe I want a little more excitement than what I can get in the corporate sector of Kyoto. So, what do you do for a living?”

 

Katsuki grits his teeth and sighs. “I’m a crossfit trainer.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So, if I asked you to take off your shirt, I’d be pleased, right?”

 

Katsuki tugs at the collar of his shirt. Damn, it’s getting hot in there. “You want me to?”

 

And Yamashita just shrugs like it’s a normal question and he could go either way on the answer. “Maybe if your personality ends up being as nice as your biceps.”

 

“Well, what about you? What do you do?”

 

“Sales.”

 

“You sell dates?” 

 

Yamashita grins. “Why? You want one?”

 

“Only, if you’re-”

 

“-Okay! Four minutes up! Time to switch!” Double Buns shouts. It’s ear-splitting. Katsuki doesn’t want to leave, and so he furrows his brows and juts his lips at Yamashita in the most pathetic pout known to man.

 

“I guess this is goodbye,” he teases, reaching for his hand.

 

“Will you remember me fondly?”

 

“Won’t have to remember you at all if you score me high enough. Whaddya say, freckles?”

 

Yamashita’s laugh is exhilarating, born in the pit of his stomach. It makes his whole body shake. Katsuki wants to see more of it and bat away anyone daring enough to take this man away from him. 

 

Yamashita pats his hand and watches him with sharp, green eyes. “We’ll see Chuck, but if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a line of my admirers waiting behind you.”

 

“Sure thing.” Katsuki rolls his eyes, and climbs up from the folding-chair. He pulls away from Yamashita’s rough hands and watches him with bedroom eyes. “Sure thing.” 

 

Breaking eye contact and moving to the next person feels like agony.

 

“Okay, that was impressive,” Shouto says when they’re far away. Katsuki almost jumps after remembering that Shouto was in his ear the whole time and that this is a mission, and not Katsuki’s prowling time. Still, there’s a certain smugness impressing Shouto with his cardboard personality and dry humor. “ Think you can recreate that with everyone else in this room?”

 

““I’ll do my fuckin’ best.” 

 

He’ll do his best, but the whole interaction felt like a fluke, a fever dream. Yamashita got him high and he never wanted to come down from.

 

He’ll score him high, obviously. And maybe when all this was done and over with, he’d get to meet up with the sexy businessman and drag him on a date.

 


 

Day 7 - Agent Midoriya’s Mission Log

 

“Rise and Shine, Agent Midoriya!” A sing-song voice rings in his ear. He scrunches his nose in repulsion, and seriously regrets keeping the ear-piece in overnight. He grabs his red, satin sheets and tugs them over his head, blocking the sun. 

 

“Uraraka…”

 

“Don’t ‘Uraraka’ me, okay? It’s another fun day of spy work and you shouldn’t be in bed this late anyways.” 

 

Midoriya pictures her behind his eyelids, the pouty lips, pink cheeks, and voluminous bob. Suddenly, he’s glad she’s not there to scold him in person, because she’s scary and he doesn’t think he can prepare a defense this early. He groans and pulls the covers down a sliver, seeing the sun rays breach the curtain and create bright streaks on his bed. “What time is it?” he yawns, rubbing at his sleep-tensed face.

 

“Ten A.M.”

 

Dread strikes him. Midoriya throws the covers up and stumbles onto the carpet, the world spinning slightly. Too many Midnight Margaritas would have had him reeling four days ago, but there’s something about this boat that likes to keep the occupants mildly buzzed at all times, and he’s slowly adjusting to it. But sober or stoned, he’s still on the job, and he can’t afford screwing it up by relaxing. He just got back in the field— his first mission by himself.  

 

“Uraraka, I was supposed to be up two hours ago.” He rounds into the bathroom, grabs his tooth brush out the dispenser.

 

“Yes, but this is a vacation and therefore you should sleep in,” She informs him, deadset in her personal belief. “Now that Mirio’s not here to keep you up and at it— I mean, really, the guy never rests— you should relax a lil’ more!”

 

“I’m failing to see your logic, seeing as you just scolded me for sleeping in too late.” He squeezes a white glob of toothpaste onto the bristles and pushes it past his lips. “You can’t yell at me if you’re not getting me up for. Besides, Uraraka, this isn’t a vacation.”

 

“Okay… It’s a vacation-investigation, and I’m fairly sure most people don’t wake up at the asscrack of dawn to lurk about the cruise ship like a total weirdo, so it was smart of me to let you sleep.” She huffs in his ear. Midoriya can picture her arms crossed and cheeks puffed. It makes him smile around his toothbrush and globs of foam spill over his lips into the sink. “ Besides, I used the extra time to go through the rulebook.”

 

“Why would-”

 

“-So, there’s nothing I’m seeing that explicitly says you can’t sleep with a civilian on the job, which means that you and Chuck have the go ahead to-”

 

Midoriya miscalculates the angle of his wrist, jamming the toothbrush into the back of his throat. He gags, pulls it out and hacks into the sink. He watches the foam, saliva, and film of stale alcohol sink down the drain. “Gross,” he mutters, wiping his arm against his mouth. “Uraraka, I’m not sleeping with Chuck.” 

 

“But why nooooot?” 

 

“Because-” He patters out of the bathroom and over to his suitcase, still packed above the dresser. He flips through wadded fabric and sighs. “I’m on the job! I need to stay focused.” Then, as an afterthought, he mumbles: “Plus, I haven’t seen him in, like, six days.”

 

But you two got on so well!”

 

“That doesn’t mean I can just drop everything and jump the guy. I’ve got to focus on figuring out who’s the trafficker and who’s the next possible victim.”

 

“Yeah, about that…” Her voice is as excited as it is foreboding, and Midoriya has the urge to rip it from his ear and chuck it in the ocean before she can continue. Instead, he slips into his swim trunks. “I’ve filled Director Yagi in on the individuals you met during all the events you’ve been to in the last week. He said that we should be focusing our eyes particularly on the Americans on the ship, since they’re the ones being targeted.”

 

Midoriya rolls his eyes, sliding on a shirt and grabbing his wallet and keys off the nightstand. “So, what you’re saying is-”

 

“-Let’s go talk to ChuUuUuK!”  

 


 

The breeze blows his curls back, and he can smell the salty sea just below his nose. As Midoriya walks onto the main deck, the sun is bright and shining, and all he can hear is the sound of English pop songs he doesn’t like and singles chatting by the pools. He has to contain himself from laughing at the way the men are suck in their guts to talk to the girls lathering up with suntan oil by the loungers. 

 

There’s a bar on the other side of the deck, and he pads over to it for the shaded awning dangling over the barstools. He gets enough sun as it is, and with the wind so brisk, he thinks staying under the rays too long will turn him lobster red. He hops on a red and white barstool and taps his fingers on the bartop. “One Sex on The Beach, please,” he asks the light-haired girl on the other side of the bar. She gives him a thumbs up and Midoriya turns the stool out towards the deck. Mouth obscured by the hand he’s propping his head on, he mutters for Uraraka’s ears only: “So, we’re looking for flashy Americans. Who should we start with?”

 

“Chuck.”

 

“Besides Chuck, Uraraka.” His eyes catch a girl sitting on the pool’s edge, kicking her feet in the water. She’s blonde, buxom, and when the woman she’s with grabs her by the ankles and pulls her in, she breaches the water swearing in a thick South African accent. The bartender drops off Izuku’s drink and he takes a sip.

 

“Well, there’s dozens, Midoriya. The problem though, is that it doesn’t matter if they’re simply American. They’ve got to have good Quirks, too.”

 

“You’ve done background research on the passengers yet?”

 

“Yeah, of course.” Midoriya thinks he hears papers rifling on the other end of the line, and he likes it more than the Katy Perry song playing on the speakers. “ Took me hours, but I narrowed it down to four people. The first is Katie Smith, quirk: Destruction Magic. She’s from Austin, Texas, works at a nonprofit for disabled birds, and is a relatively recent widow— black  widow if you ask me. Then there’s Brady Martin. Their quirk is Absorption. Basically, if they touch something with all five fingers, they absorb the entire object. Um, let’s see. They’re from Portland, Oregon, and work as a nurse practitioner at a pediatric hospital. There’s Alessandra Gomez from Denver, Colorado. She’s completely bulletproof. Two of the detained Nomu were shock absorbent, so I think her Quirk would be considered desirable. If you end up meeting one, baby, go for the head. Old reports say the brain was exposed, so you’ll probably be able to destroy it that way— like a zombie! Anyways— Midoriya, I know you said to drop it— but the other contender is Chuck Marshall, from New York, New York. He’s a loud mouth, as you’re already aware, and his Quirk is-”

 

Her voice cuts out as a chorus of excited screams ring out from the deckside. Midoriya jumps in his seat and turns towards the sound, finding the man in question shooting sparklers from his palms for a crowd of admirers. He’s clad in star-spangled trunks and now Midoriya can see an eagle tattoo on his shoulder.  Unfortunately, he’s still attractive.

 

Midoriya quirks an eyebrow, bites down on his straw and smirks. “Explosion?”

 

“Yeah, you see it? He’s also the loudest of them all, and well… People who knew the Nomu when they were still human gave accounts of them being rather, um, obnoxious?”

 

Midoriya rolls his eyes, looks down at his drink and sighs. “Fine, fine, fine. I’ll check him out, and— No, I don’t mean it like that. Let me focus on work.”

 

“Mhmm,” she hums, but it's cheap and fake and Midoriya knows this isn’t the last time they’ll be having this conversation.

 

“I’m serious, Uraraka. I’m not— shit!” Before he can say anything, warn her he’s not in the mood for her to convince him to get ‘laid’ or get himself a ‘dicking’, he catches Chuck’s eyes on him. “He spotted me. Gotta stop talking.”

 

“Work that magic, baby!” 

 

It’s the last thing he hears before Chuck is across the deck and on the stool beside him. “My angel,” he sings. Sweat gleams on his forehead and above his upper lip, which he licks seductively. There’s a saying somewhere about having two wolves inside you, battle for dominance. Midoriya can pretty much attest to that because one half of him is captivated by the confidence, and the smile, and the muscles. And the other wants to throttle him. “I’ve missed you. It felt like decades.”

 

“I know,” Midoriya laughs, partly strained. He wants to know why he’s leaning into the American’s space. “A whole six days.” 

 

“You know, it wouldn’t have been that long if you hadn’t given me a shitty score in speed-dating.”

 

Midoriya purses his lips and sucks his teeth. His hand leaves the cool surface of his drink to pat jokingly at Chuck’s knee. “It was a hard decision, my dear, but if you’re as quick in the bedroom as you are at getting around the deck, I’m going to have to pass.”

 

Chuck barks an obnoxious laugh and slams his fist on the bartop. Midoriya knows it’s all in good humor, but the bartender shoots him a glare fit for turning men to stone. Chuck doesn’t seem to notice though, so Midoriya smiles warmly at him and nods back from whence he came. “Saw you showin’ off over there.” 

 

“Oh, that?” Chuck asks, flashing pearly whites. “Pretty impressive, right? Ya see, Yamashita, in America we got something called the Second Amendment, and I’m just not doin’ it justice if I don’t display that firepower to the world.” 

 

Midoriya presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth and rolls his eyes as the girl behind the bar makes a sound similar to gag. 

 

Or a choke. 

 

Or a hybrid of the two. 

 

It’s too loud to go unnoticed, and Chuck tilts his head and spins on his stool to fix her with a glare. “Gotta problem, sweet cheeks?”

 

She flinches, her body going rigid in a heartbeat. Her back is towards them, but Midoriya sees the way she squares her shoulders before turning towards them, her double buns bobbing. A beaming smile stretches across her cheeks. “No, sir! What do you mean?”

 

Chuck’s scowl appears— and that looks a bit more natural on his face, Midoriya thinks. “Forget it,” he huffs, waving her off. He turns back to Midoriya, and the dazzling grin is back, just as captivating as the sparks in his palms. “Anyways, Yamashita. What about you?”

 

Midoriya pinches his chin and looks smugly at him. “You wanna know my quirk?”

 

Chuck nods. 

 

“Sorry, Chucky. I don’t have one.” 

 

Nearly three decades of it, and Midoriya’s gotten the reaction down to a science. He watches Chuck go quiet as he thinks. Then comes the twitch in his smile, the first glimpse that he’s starting to realize. Next will be the flash of discomfort which borders on patronizing, and then, when it’s all done and over, the smile will come back and he’ll pretend it’s normal, that he’s seen it a million times already. “Do I sense some discomfort, Chuck?” Midoriya teases.  

 

But Chuck shakes his head like he’s waking from a trance and leans in, his sweaty hand brushing over Midoriya’s forearm. “Only if you’re uncomfortable with my dashing good looks and unrivaled power.”

 

Oh? Midoriya thinks. That’s a bit different than usual.

 

He’s slightly surprised, but the character he’s playing doesn’t do ‘surprises’. So, he buries it deep down, and leans further into Chuck’s space. He can see the flecks of brown in red irises and the little scowl lines at the corners of Chuck’s lips. Midoriya hears his breath hitch, feels Chuck’s sweaty fingers tighten around his wrist. Midoriya looks longingly into his eyes and says, “I’m more impressed by your highly-developed narcissism.”

 

Fumes of air leave Chuck’s nostrils. He furrows his brows like he’s preparing a world-class pout. “Hey, I-” 

 

“-Long Island Iced Tea.” Double-Buns slams a tall glass down by their hands, mixed liquors sloshing over the rim onto the dark wood counter. 

 

Chuck looks at it, looks back up to the bartender. “I didn’t order nothing.”

 

“A lady named Kelise dropped it off.”

 

Chuck perks up, wrapping rough fingers around the glass and nodding at the bartender. “Thanks.”

 

“Don’t mention it.” Yeah, she doesn’t sound too keen on accepting gratitude. She rushes off like she’d prefer being anywhere else, down to the other end of the bar to serve two girls in dark sunglasses and polka dot bikinis. 

 

Chuck grabs the drink off the bartop and twists his stool back towards Midoriya. The rim of the glass catches the sun, and now Midoriya’s staring at it. The ice shifts in the dark liquid and now he thinks of how annoyed the bartender looked when Chuck arrived. 

 

But Chuck seems to know this ‘Kelise’.  

 

This ‘Kelise’ could be a real person. A person Chuck has been getting to know. And that’s totally fine! In fact, it's probably true. 

 

Though, Midoriya knows there’s people targeting Americans. If he were a human trafficker, though it was probably at the bottom of his high school aptitude tests, he’d go for the person who pissed him off the most. And Chuck seemed well-versed in the field of making people want to jump off a boat.

 

So, when Chuck lifts the drink to his lips, tipping the glass to take a sip, Midoriya shouts “WAIT!” loud enough for half the deck to jolt and glare his way. 

 

In the proceeding awkward silence—  the one where people turn back to their conversations and Chuck watches Midoriya like he’s grown a second head— Midoriya earpiece buzzes. “Play it cool,” Uraraka snaps, quick and anxious. “He’ll get suspicious.”

 

It’s a little late for the warning. 

 

Chuck is already leaning farther from him, inquisical in his expression, but apprehensive in body language. 

 

Izuku laughs breathy and awkward, rubbing his hand over his nape. “Sorry, uh, well-” Light reflects off the drink in Chuck’s hand, and Midoriya steels himself. “I’m a germaphobe.”

 

A beat of silence follows.

 

“And that affects me how? Look, if you’re worried about where our friendship is inevitably headed, I’m fucking clean. So-”

 

“-I want to try your drink,” he starts, deciding that ‘ yeah, this is a good enough excuse’ half way through saying it. “I mean, you want me to go on a date with you, but you won’t even give me a drink. What’s that about, Chuck? Thought you were gonna show me a good time.”

 

“Wow,” Uraraka whistles. “ And you said you didn’t want to fuck him.”

 

Chuck’s pause makes Midoriya think he’s ruined. But just as he’s about to open his mouth and apologizing for the whole damn thing, Chuck starts laughing. “Be my guest,” he says, gesturing to the drink, passing it over. “I’d be honored to get your big cheeks all rosy.” 

 

Midoriya says ‘thanks’ in a whisper. He reaches for the glass, thinking of the quickest way to get rid of it. He’s not going to drink it, because saving Chuck doesn’t mean he wants to get drugged. His fingers wrap lightly around the glass, and as Chuck lets go, so does he. The glass falls to the floor with a thud, and the amber liquid flies through the air. Chuck yelps, bounces off the stool. It tips it over when he jumps back. But it’s not enough, and the liquid sprays his swim trunks, bare legs, and cheap, black flip flops.

 

 “I’m so sorry,” Midoriya gasps, hopping down from his stool to grab the glass off the floor and snatch napkins from the counter. He tries to dab at Chuck, muttering under his breath about being ‘clumsy’ and ‘distracted by his beauty’.

 

Midoriya bets it’s the ‘beauty’ comment that makes Chuck’s clenched jaw and stern eyes soften to the point he’s waving off the apology with a wet hand and tense smile. “Don’t worry about it, Freckles. Ain’t like I was payin’ for it anyway. But, uh-” He looks down at his legs, dripping in alcohol. He scrunches his nose. “I think I’m gonna go back to my room and get this washed off.”

 

“Ah, damn,” Midoriya teases, brushing the length of his companion’s arm with a wet napkin. “Thought we could get to know each other a bit more.”

 

There’s a subtle pink tinge to Chuck’s ears when Midoriya looks up that makes him think the rowdy American might actually stay. After all, he’s staring at Midoriya like he’s no longer computing the interaction, and the expression makes Midoriya laugh. And it’s the laugh that makes Chuck pull out of his daze and grin cheekily at him. “Don’t worry, hon. We got plenty of time for that.”

 

“Got time to grab drinks tonight?”

 

Chuck sucks a breath in through his teeth and shakes his head. “No can do, sweetheart. I’m a hot commodity, you know?”

 

Midoriya sighs and looks out over the pool deck like he’s searching for a new banter partner. “That’s a shame Chuck.” He pats his arm the same way he would to comfort a small, angry child. “I guess I’ll just go find some other American with an insane god-complex to waste my time.”

 

“Aw, c’mon. Don’t be like that,” Chuck groans in his ear, and it’s close and breathy and Midoriya has to back up. He’s hot, but he’s a bit too full of himself. There’s an internal tug-o’-war going on in Izuku’s head, a battle between his smart and contained self, and the one that’s horny as fuck. Rough fingers brush his wrist, and Midoriya looks down at them and then back up at a mischievous smirk and a chin of blonde scruff. “Look, There’s gonna be a Salsa party next Friday. Now, if you’re good and don’t waste anymore liquor, I could cut an hour out of my days to do the dance-prep classes with you.”

 

Ugh, that’s a little much. He thinks, but says, “Oh? You’d be so courteous?”

 

Chuck nods, eyes going up and down Midoriya with every bob of his head.

 

Midoriya purses his lips and bounces on the balls of his feet. “Well, I suppose I can pencil you in if I can’t find someone more bearable to do it with.”

 

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow, 4 P.M. in the dance hall. But now, I’m gonna go clean this shit off my legs.” Chuck lets go of Midoriya’s wrist and starts backing towards the edge of the deck. Izuku can hear his wet flip flops sloshing with every step. As Midoriya waves his goodbye,  Chuck shouts, “Until then, my love!” and disappears around the corner. In the following silence, Izuku hears a whistle and a laugh in his ear.

 

“He’s insane. They’re clearly gonna go after him.”

 

Uraraka snorts. “ Yeah, he’s insane, and you’re totally not interested. Those both sound completely true.”

 


 

Day 7 - Agent Bakugou’s Mission Log

 

 

“This shit feels gross as fuck.”

 

Katsuki winds down the resident hallways in search of his cabin. He traces his fingers over his leg and grimaces.

 

“First off, from my knowledge of James Bond movies and this job, it’s obvious that drink was drugged-”

 

“-Yeah, IcyHot, I know that. You think I’m a dumbass or somethin’?”

 

“No, I’m saying you should have just declined it when the girl gave it to you. Also, why the fuck did you give it to Yamashita? What if he drank it?”

 

“Oh, huh… Not sure. I, uh, kinda got caught up in the moment.”

 

You what? There’s a brief pause in the conversation where all Katsuki hears is Shouto counting up and down from ten like that’ll actually help him. “ Are you a dumbass or something? Are you really that thickheaded?”

 

Katsuki shrugs. “What can I say? I got lost in the booty.”

 

“I am actually going to show up there and do this myself. How am I supposed to trust you to do the damn job and not chase ass?”

 

“You literally have no right to talk.” Katsuki rounds a corner. He’s close to his door now. Close to a shower and clean clothes. “You made me give a guy your fucking number!”

 

“We don’t have to talk about that.”  

 

Katsuki scoffs, because that’s just typical. Daddy’s Boy Shouto can do whatever he wants, but Katsuki can’t get dick unless he beats the bad guy first. 

 

It’s workplace discrimination.

 

Katsuki reaches his hall, comes up on his door and swipes the keycard from his wallet and through the key reader. He listens for the firm click and pushes at the handle.  

 

In a lightning flash, fingers wrap around his arms and drag him into the room, using the momentum to send him to the floor. Someone reaches for his belt. He registers another running for the door, looking through the peephole for any unwanted company. “Yo, Dabi, nobody’s comin’! Go ahead and pin him.”

 

Katsuki sees a flash of silver that makes him think ‘ Handcuffs!’ and the left assailant— Dabi, apparently— lurches forward to grab Katsuki by the arms and pin him to the cream carpet. Katsuki rolls at the last minute. He gets a second to assess the situation— two men, matching black clothes and grey ski masks. In the time it takes him to register that, Dabi’s on his knees, blinking at the ground like he doesn’t know where his victim went. Katsuki slams his feet into the man’s side, sending him into the opposite wall. There’s a violent thud. Paint and drywall chip off the point of impact. 

 

Dabi grabs his head and groans. The man at the door whips around and catches Katsuki stumbling to his feet. “What the fuck are you doing?” He barks, but Bakugou doesn’t know if he’s speaking to him or his partner.

 

“Agent Bakugou, what’s going on?”

 

Katsuki ignores Shouto, spits a wad of bubbling saliva on the ground and sneers at Dabi’s partner. “You wanna go, too, buddy?”

 

The villain scoffs, gasps like he’s offended. He makes a show of pulling up his sleeves and spreading his legs. By the time he’s raised his fists and prepared his fighting stance, Katsuki has caught his breath. “Bring it, bitch!” The villain shouts, his voice dropping three or so octaves. 

 

It’s startling— and it almost makes Katsuki freeze. He doesn’t realize he’s wasting time until the villain hurdles forward with his fists outstretched— he clearly doesn’t know how to fight— and Katsuki ducks low just in time. He lurches forward, his crown colliding with the asshole’s ribs. 

 

The collision makes Katsuki’s head churn. It aches, and his vision goes blurry. 

 

He won’t let them know that, though. Of course not. Drunkenly, he stumbles back onto his feet, steps towards his assaulter as he clutches at his stomach on the dirty floor. When he sees Katsuki coming, he fumbles back against the door and lifts his hands like they’re a flimsy shield.

 

“H-hey man!” he says. “No need to get so riled up! Haha, we’re just dickin’ around, dude!”

 

Katsuki glares down at him like he’s God about to smite a sinner. He cracks the knuckles in his neck, a chorus of pops! sounding in the tense silence. “You fuckin’ think you can waltz on in here, fuck with me, say you’re just dickin’ around, and get away with it? Shit-for-brains, I’m gonna tear your fuckin’- agck!” 

 

“Katsuki!” Shouto shouts in his ear.

 

A blunt force collides with his side, slamming him into the closet door, which falls away like paper. With splintering wood digging into his back and thighs, he sucks in his breath and pushes right back. Dabi’s on him now, hot breath in his face and hands on his shirt. He’s big, he’s firm. Katsuki sucks in his breath and heaves forward, but the fucker won’t budge. He’s stuck in the closet, wooden shrapnel cutting his skin.  

 

He feels nauseated. 

 

But there’s nothing left to do. Sweat shines against his skin, and there’s still stick alcohol in between his fingers. Gulping down the pain, he shoves his flat palms against cotton-covered cheeks and igniting a series of rocketfire explosions that send him thrashing backwards. 

 

He screams. 

 

The sound is semi-haunting.

 

“What’s going on? Bakugou, what the hell are you doing?”

 

Dabi slams back against the wall opposite the closet. Now, Katsuki’s got the advantage and the pride almost makes him forget the blood trickling down his leg. 

 

His vision goes white. He gasps and a layer of plastic stick against his open mouth. It makes him stumble backwards and feels the force of a hand on his face, holding the textile in place. 

 

Katsuki’s hands flee Dabi, grappling blindly for the other assailant. He shouts, irate, and pushes back blindly. He can feel a body against his back. He starts pushing— it’s a small room, and if he keeps going then-

 

The force of the assailant’s body leaves him. He relishes it for an instant before his back hits something hard. The sound of shattering glass is shrill against his ears, and the cut material knicks his skin and makes it sting. He stumbles. He falls forward.

 

Glass digs into his palms, but the fury in his chest is worse than the surface pain. He yanks the plastic from his head.

 

The door slams shut. 

 

There’s glass on the ground from a shattered balcony door and a shower curtain on the ground in front of him. Cracks riddle the wall and splintered wood is everywhere else. Katsuki sucks on his teeth and grabs his head. “Fuck.”

 

“Agent Bakugou, fucking answer me!” 

 

Katsuki tries to laugh, but a sharp pain in his side makes him think his rib is broken— or fractured, at least. “Good to know you’re fucking worried about me. Almost like you’re my goddamn pal.”

 

“I kinda am.”

 

“You’re not.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Well, I would have done better if your ‘worried ranting’ had been kept to a fuckin minimum, y’know? You distracted me.”

 

There’s a pause and a faint sound that he thinks is the flipping of a page. Then Shouto nods and says, “ Oh, you’re right. Father put it in your file: ‘Do not distract during a fight!’ — Oh, look. He left examples.”

 

“Hah?”

 

“Example one, you bought three women Piña Coladas in Barbados when you were supposed to be chasing a terrorist because the women looked— and I quote —-‘bangin’ in those cutoffs’.”

 

“How the fuck do you know that? I left that out of the fucking report!”

 

“Kirishima is a better employee than you.”

 

Katsuki clicks his tongue and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Whatever. I’ll deal with him later. I’ve got bigger fish to fry not that I was almost fucking kidnapped.”

 

“How long do you think they were hiding here? There’s no way they could have known when you’d be heading back to your room.”

 

He looks around the room. It’s horrific, fat shards of broken glass and what looks like his own blood near the closet. Bakugou could still feel the phantom force of being thrown into a door, still feel the jagged pieces of glass under his ass when he fell. He brushes his finger against the back of his thigh and finds a thin smear of blood on his fingertips. There’s something else, too. Something sticky.

 

The drink he’d given Yamashita

 

He jolts, struck with a realization. “Yamashita!” 

 

“What? The guy you’re horny for?” 

 

“I told him I was coming back to my room. He fucking set this shit up! Motherfucker, that asshole is gonna-”

 

“- Are you sure?”

 

“Who else could it be? He probably spilled that drink thinking I’d go back to my room to change, and his lackeys could grab me. Besides, he’s been hanging onto me like a fucking groupie.”

 

Shouto snorts. “Like you’re any better? You know, no one was making you go see him at the bar today.”

 

Not the time, Shouto. He tells him, “Shut the fuck up.”

 

And Shouto responds with, “Fine. So what are we going to do? Pretend nothing happened and keep getting closer to him?”

 

Katsuki shrugs, grabbing the shower curtain off the floor and tossing it to the bed. He kicks the glass shards back towards the balcony door. “Guess so.”

 

“Sorry your boyfriend’s a human trafficker, Agent Bakugou.”

 


 

Day 10 - Agent Midoriya’s Mission Log

 

“So, there I was,” Katie starts, spreading her hands wide in emphasis. “Just eating my Mickey Mouse lollipop by Cinderella’s castle, when an older kid comes over and swipes it from me! Naturally, I was angry. He had this balloon, too, so I tried to yank it from him. Y’know, like equivalent exchange! I grab it, and next thing I know, these little balls of light start flying towards it, covering the thing! Then it turned completely black and imploded! Anyways, that’s how I discovered my Quirk.” She smiles at Midoriya and reaches for her drink. 

 

“That’s a really cool story, Katie. What’s it like living with a destruction quirk?”

 

“Well, it’s difficult. I’m not gonna lie,” she admits. “I have to control my temper or else things implode around me. So, technically, I shouldn’t be on a cruise ship. On the other hand, how stressful can a cruise ship be?” She laughs at her own joke. 

 

Midoriya winces. 

 

“If only she knew,” Uraraka tuts in his ear. “At least she’s sweet. She’ll probably be okay then.”

 

Midoriya sighes, looks across the buffet for anything a little more suspicious, a little more deserving of his attention. But the restaurant is slow, not many people up at 8 A.M. on a Wednesday— especially on a cruise. He sees an older couple stealing second and third helpings from the Senior bar and an employee with spiky blond hair bussing an empty table. For a second, Midoriya thinks it’s Chuck, but it doesn’t take long to realize it's a trick of the mind and he’s still ruminating on the thorn in his side disappearing.

 

Chuck didn’t come to the salsa class on Monday. In fact, Midoriya hasn’t seen him since that day at the bar. Maybe the accident with the drink had turned him off Midoriya, or maybe he’d just found another guy to meddle with, but there was also the possibility that he’d been kidnapped. That didn’t settle right with Midoriya. 

And, yeah, he could be overreacting. Maybe Midoriya just didn’t like going so long without seeing the asshole. Maybe his god-complex and cocky ignorance was actually appealing to Midoriya. But that was-

 

“Yamashita.” 

 

Midoriya startles from his thoughts, shoulders flinching with surprise. He finds Katie’s smiles and smiles back, trying to play off his distraction. “Hm?” 

 

“Are you ready to order?” Katie smiles and nods towards the table’s edge, towards the server standing there with a notepad in his hand and a tense smile on his face. He’s got blistering wounds on his cheeks, red, swollen and shiny. 

 

“Oh my god, are you okay?” He asks without thinking.

 

“Bad move, Mido. Bad move.”

 

Uraraka scolds him as the server smiles and rubs the back of his neck, laughing with a wince of pain when his grin stretches. “Oh, uh, had a problem with the fryer in the back. It looks worse than it feels.”

 

“Did it, like, explode?”

 

Midoriya winces at Katie’s question, but doesn’t try to stop her. Somehow, he thinks that would be so much worse.

 

The server sighs and clicks his pen. “Something like that…”

 

The twitch of his lip seems nervous, and now Midoriya is counting pen clicks like that will somehow solve a mystery. “Do you think that’s odd?” Uraraka asks. “ Do you think he did something? I can go through our notes and look for people with Quirks that could do that? Cough if you agree.”

 

Midoriya coughs. Katie and the server look over at him.

 

“Are you alright, sir?”

 

He nods and grabs a glass of water. “Yeah,” he says. “Sorry, I had a tickle in my throat.”

 

“Ah, okay,” he responds. “Well, my name is Touya and I’ll be your server today. Can I start you off with something to drink besides water?”

 

“Uh, yeah. Can I get orange juice?”

 

“Of course. And you, sir?”

 

“No, thank you.” Midoriya takes another drink, leaving his lips on the glass rim. “I’m alright with water.” The server leaves, letting Midoriya return to Katie’s company.

 

She starts talking about the birds she works with, and Midoriya almost immediately checks out. He looks down at the tablecloth and catches himself thinking about the case. Katie doesn’t appear to be someone that the traffickers would go after. She’s strong, sure, but her demeanor is different from previous victims. She’s too nice, and each of the trafficked victims had been rude, loud, and obnoxious. Sort of like…

 

“Chuck,” Uraraka whispers in his ears, and Midoriya nearly jumps at the sudden noise. “ It has to be him. He’s one of the only people on this ship with a fire-based Quirk. Not to mention, he’s just the kind of jackass the traffickers would be interested in.”

 

Midoriya sighs and rubs the stress lines forming in his forehead.  

 

“Hurry it up here, Mido. We gotta go see your boy-toy.” 

 




Day 10 - Agent Bakugou’s Mission Log

 

“Have you found him?” 

 

Katsuki stands on the deck, flip flops soaked in sea spray while the breeze whips his hair around him. It’s cold, and it leaves goosebumps on his skin. His body still aches from the attack a few days ago, and his wounds were only just starting to scab. He’s been laying low until now, until the mottled purple bruise on his face, torso, had settled and his pain had turned to tolerable.

 

Not many people are out now, and the ones that are were sitting under umbrellas on a restaurant balcony, nursing hangovers with bloody marys and fat cheeseburgers. “Nope,” Katsuki says, popping the last syllable.

 

Where did he go?” Shouto hisses. “Why didn’t you just approach him when you saw him having breakfast this morning?”

 

“Don’t tell me how to do my job, okay? He was fucking with somebody. What did you want me to do? March up to him and say, ‘Hey! You’re a goddamn, shit-eating human trafficker and I’m gonna arrest you!’ You think that’ll go smooth? It would’ve freaked out the civilian and blown our cover. Dumbass.”

 

“I’m not a dumbass, Katsuki. I just want to find the culprit so I can go back to my own life instead of wasting my time watching you try to fuck the enemy.” 

 

“I’m not trying to fuck the enemy, Icyhot,” Katsuki snaps. “And it’s not like I wanna be around you either. Besides, it won’t be much longer now, alright? I saw Yamashita talkin’ to a guy with burns all over his face this morning. That’s gotta be the guy I blasted. Once we got Yamashita and his extras, you can go text that thick-headed himbo I gave your number to, and I can kick back and get some ass before the cruise is over.”

 

“First off, his name is Inasa and you don’t need to be smart when you got abs like his-”

 

“-How the hell do you know what his abs look like?”

 

He sent me a picture.” Shouto says it like it’s akin to telling Katsuki how to make grilled cheese, and Katsuki struggles not to roll his eyes and gag. “Anyways, you’re not going to get anywhere sitting on a barstool scoping out the deck, so, just- Just go check out the inside entertainment areas or something.” 

 

“Why? The only shit they’ve got to do around there are fucking dating games.”

 

“Yeah,” Todoroki sighs. “ It’s a Singles’ Cruise. What did you expect? And Yamashita might actually enjoy those games because, unlike you, he’s kinda likeable.” 

 

“Hey! You better watch your mouth, or I’m gonna tell your fuckin’ daddy that you-”

 

“- Go do your job!”

 

Katsuki bites the inside of his cheek and squeezes his fists, feeling the sting of his nails digging into his palms. “Fine,” he grits. “But I’m stopping by the room to change. It’s too fucking cold for tank tops.”

 

“Just make it quick.”

 

Katsuki heads for the elevators, taking the first one down to the third floor. When the door opens, he catches a flash of green disappear around the corner. A mischievous smirk tugs at Katsuki’s lips. He hums for Shouto to hear. “Found him,” he says, stepping out of the elevator and onto the ugly hall carpet. 

 

“What? Where?”

 

“Third floor. It looks like he’s headed to-” Katsuki’s scowl deepens, the furrow in his brow digging deep as he realizes Yamashita is on the way to his room— probably on his way to finish the job his lackeys failed at. Something fierce ignites in Katsuki’s stomach. There’s no doubt that Yamashita is a villain now, trafficking unsuspecting tourists for ugly experimentation, and that makes him furious.

 

“Heading to what?” Shouto shouts for a third time.

 

“My room.”

 

“Well, go follow him! Don’t just stand there!” Katsuki grunts, following in quick succession of the villain. His footsteps are muted by the soft carpet, and it’s one of the few times he’s glad the enemy can’t hear him coming, because Yamashita is a decent opponent, and Katsuki enjoys the chase. At the end of the hall and sees the fleeting form of an arm as Yamashita turns corner. Katsuki rolls his eyes and quickens the pace. He races forward, rounding the next corner without a second thought, getting anxious. 

 

A gust of wind hits his face and a twist makes his arm ache. His back hits the floor and he gasps silently for air. He feels the pain in his ribs and his shoulders, the ache in the back of his head. The world comes back into focus. He looks up and finds a knee digging into his chest, feels it even more. Cold hands pin his wrists to the ground, and Yamashita’s hovering over him with a stern expression and heaving chest. 

 

“Agent Katsuki! What’s happening?” 

 

“Why are you following me?” Yamashita snaps, pushing all his body weight into him. He’s surprisingly heavy and surprisingly strong. His voice is aggressive, assertive.

 

 Katsuki doesn’t answer, eyes glued to Yamashita’s bobbing Adam’s apple and then to eyes searching Katsuki for a chink in the armor, but finding nothing. The annoyance he radiates at that makes Katsuki feel cocky. 

 

“Bakugou, answer him!” Shouto shouts in his ear.

 

“To fuckin’ find out what you’re hiding!”

 

A groan echoes inside his ear. It’s so loud he thinks Yamashita might even hear it. Katsuki watches the villain blink, confused. Yamashita’s fingers squeeze his wrist and Katsuki licks his lips and grins like he just wants Yamashita to go and try something. 

 

“What do you mean?” He says, “What would I be hiding?”

 

“You fucking kidding me? You’ve been waltzing around this ship like you fucking own it! I saw you talking to that shithead at the restaurant earlier! Saw you with an American like me with a crazy powerful quirk!”

 

“...And you’re implying that...?” His grip loosens ever so slightly on Katsuki’s wrist, and Katsuki takes the opportunity. He swipes his hand away, knocks his forearm into Yamashita’s head with a heavy thunk! As Yamashita teeters to the side, stunned, Katsuki shifts his weight, grabs Yamashita by the shoulders and thrusts him onto the carpet. He lands his knees on both of Yamashita’s arms, holds his chest down by forcing his sweating palms on his clavicle. “I’m implying, you fucking criminal, that you’re the one behind the trafficking cases! So, you’re gonna fucking take me to wherever you’re keeping them, or-”

 

“-How do you know about that?” Yamashita’s eyes go wide. Soft, pink lips part in surprise. 

 

Katsuki glares into his bright, green eyes. “How do I fucking know? You think it’s that hard for the CIA to figure out who’s behind the missing persons? Especially me?”

 

The color drains from Yamashita’s face in waves. “Y-you’re CIA? Like, the American CIA?”

 

“Obviously.”

 

Yamashita rolls his eyes and shuts them tight, groaning. “This is just perfect,” he whines. “Director Yagi is going to be so disappointed. He wanted to get this taken care of before you guys showed up.”

 

“Who’s Director Yagi? Huh?” Katsuki presses down on Yamashit’s clavicle until he’s groaning through the pain. It’s funny, ‘cause he hasn’t experienced half the pain Katsuki did when Yamashita’s goons attacked him. “He your boss? He’s who you’re fucking taking my people to? He’s the one turning them into fucking Nomu?”

 

“No, dumbass. Director Yagi, head of the Japanese Secret Intelligence Agency! I’m here on an investigation!” 

 

Katsuki falters, then readjusts his grip. He laughs again, a little lighter and a little more nervous. “You hearing this, Icyhot?”

 

“Yeah, I’m getting in touch with Director Todoroki now,” he sighs. “Really didn’t feel like talking to my dad today, so thanks for that.”

 

“Shut the fuck up.”

 

Uraraka,” Yamashita sighs. “Can you please tell the Administration to call the CIA quickly. I’d like to get up off the floor.” 

 

A heavy silence surrounds them, and Katsuki loosens his grip just a little more. He’s still not prepared to let Yamashita free, though, and so he waits in the quiet with Yamashita staring up at him. Katsuki quickly starts to realize how soft the skin of Yamashita’s neck is beneath his fierce grip. His thighs are clenched on either side of the opponent, and he’s trying not to look down at mischievous green eyes or bite the smirk off Yamashita’s face because villain or spy, it’s in bad practice to suck face with the competition. 

 

Yamashita seems less enthused than Katsuki is, though. His expression screams boredom. He looks like he’d enjoy spending his time somewhere better than in between Katsuki’s thighs. And, yeah, he’s right; Bakugou thinks Yamashita’s time would be better spent with Katsuki in between his thighs. 

 

Anyways, Katsuki tries to diffuse the tension. “So, uh, you still on for that Salsa class?”

 

That’s what you’re worried about right now? You ditched the last one. I had to dance with an old woman in stirrup leggings.”

 

“Well, I had some cool-ass spy shit to do.” He shrugs. “And I thought you were a trafficker!”

 

“Well, I’m not.”

 

“Thank fucking christ! You’ve got too much potential for that.”

 

Yamashita’s brows furrow. At least the boredom is off his face. It’s always an offense when someone is bored in his presence. “Potential to be my Bond Lady.”

 

Yamashita sighs and turns his head to the side. Katsuki thinks he did it so he didn’t have to look at him and, yeah, he’s highly insulted. “I’ll pass.”

 

Katsuki’s about to ask why he’s gotta be like that when he hears his earpiece come back to life. “ He’s real. His name is Izuku Midoriya, AKA Agent Midoriya, and he’s a secret investigator for Japan’s JSIA. He’s on the same case you are.”

 

“You serious?”

 

“Yup. Guess he’s your new teammate.”

 

Yamashita— Agent Midoriya— clears his throat. He smiles up at Katsuki like he simultaneously wants to be his friend and step on him, and, weirdly, Katsuki is pretty cool with that. “Well, Bakugou, looks like we’ll be doing it together from now on.”

 

Katsuki grumbles. “Y’know, I had hoped that if you said something like that, it would be in a completely different context…” 

 


 

Day 10 - Agent Midoriya’s Mission Log

 

Chuck— or Agent Bakugou, rather— guides him into his cabin. It’s nearly identical to his own, but the shower curtain is acting as a divider between the room and the balcony and the closet door is missing. He quirks a brow, nods at it, then turns back towards Bakugou, who is standing beside him with a pout on his face and his fists in his pockets. “You have an accident?”

 

“Some ugly pricks tried to kidnap me. I fought them off.”

 

“Didn’t do a clean job of it,” Midoriya hums, pacing over to the bed. He plops down on the lumpy mattress, leaning back and looking up at Bakugou with an amused grin. The American knows how to make his frustration known, and it’s not really good for a spy. But Midoriya’s not going to tell him that because they need to get along, and he needs to realize Midoriya’s words hardly ever contain any bite. 

 

“I am so sorry I accidently broke a fucking door while fighting off two, whole ass villains. Fuck you, Deku,” He snaps, then leans against the dresser and drums his fingers on the drawer. “No, IcyHot, I’m gonna say what I fucking want!”

 

Izuku’s mouth gaps. “ Deku?!”

 

“Yeah, I’m Japanese, too, dude,” he grunts. “I can be American and know more than one language.”

 

“But why ‘Deku ’?”

 

“‘Cause it’s got the same Kanji as Izuku and you’re pretty useless to me right now, bud! I was doing per-fect-ly fine! I was gonna take down all the villains and save the day and you were gonna fall madly fuckin’ in love with me, but you ruined it.”

 

  “He seems a little bitter,” Uraraka humphs in Midoriya’s ear. “Maybe we should pick someone else to dick you down.”

 

Midoriya chokes. It’s loud and it’s strangled, and Bakugou’s been staring at the ground as he chews out the person in his ear, but he stops when he hears it. He turns to him, puzzled, and Izuku just turns a steady shade of auburn. 

 

“What is it?” He asks.

 

Midoriya starts waving him off before he’s even finished the question, playing it off with a smile that looks fake and unconvincing. “It’s nothing,” he says, but then he thinks— no, it is something! This is my first partnerless mission since my suspension and you’re going to ruin it by acting like a baby! 

 

“Listen, Kacchan-”

 

“-Hey!-”

 

“I need this win just as much as you, okay? Interestingly enough, I think I enjoyed Chuck’s god complex more than yours! I didn’t plan on this either, but we gotta act like partners!”

 

“Fuck that!” He sneers and his bright, white smile shows, and it makes Midoriya frustrated because he looks so attractive doing it. It’s not fair that the smile belongs to someone with just a bitter personality. 

 

“No, Kacchan. Focus on the mission.”

 

Bakugou grumbles, wrinkling his nose and curling his lip in a scowl. Midoriya gets up off the bed and saunters towards him, frustrated. His hands squeeze into fists and he fixes Bakugou with the most serious frown he can muster. “I’m serious, Kacchan,” he says, toe to toe now. He’s looking up into piercing red eyes, and Bakugou’s looking back with a twinge of red on his cheeks. “Focus on the mission.” 

 

It takes longer than Midoriya would like. This close to Bakugou without getting tackled, he realizes the guy smells of aftershave. It’s unfortunate, Izuku thinks, because even if the hairs were blonde and unnoticeable, he still liked scruff.

 

Bakugou grumbled, pushing back and throwing himself on the bed. “Fine.”

 

“What a baby.” Uraraka sighs.

 

“So, Mr. Spy, what the hell have you come up with since you’re so focused on the case? Anything good?” 

 

Midoriya fists his hands and goes to sit on the edge of the bed. Bakugou didn’t even take his shoes off before getting up there, and Midoriya almost bristles at how rude that is. “They’re hunting Americans. The loudest and cockiest of them.” Then, a little lower, he adds: “Probably why they’re after you.”

 

“Hey, watch it! Y’know, maybe I’m not cocky, huh? Maybe I’m just that fucking good at what I do.”

 

Midoriya blinks. “Kacchan?”

 

“What?”

 

Midoriya tilts his neck from side to side, popping the stiff joints before pushing off the bed. Slowly, as Bakugou lifts his head from a pillow and turns to look at him, Midoriya brushes his thumb over his hand. “Drop the act, okay? This is serious. This cruise is twenty-two days long and we’re about eleven into it. We’ve got half the cruise left before we get to port, and I want this done by then.”

 

Bakugou’s eyes dart to their hands, then back to Midoriya’s serious expression. His frown twitches, and then he clicks his tongue and groans. “Fucking fine. But none of the stuff you’re fucking telling me is new, okay? You think I’ve been acting like this for shits and giggles? The loudest, cockiest son of a bitch is the one they’re after, and that’s been me. 

 

“Two of ‘em tried to kidnap me the other day, and that’s what made me think you were part of the whole shebang.” 

 

Midoriya furrows his brow. “Why’s that?”

 

Bakugou shifts, sitting up. He scoots closer to Midoriya and his broad shoulders knock against him. Midoriya doesn’t like how much more attractive he is when his personality isn’t as obnoxious as he played it off in the beginning. “At the bar,” he says. “I told you I was going back to my room. Figured you tipped them off where I was headed and had them waiting there for me.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

Bakugou shrugs. “Well, yeah.”

 

“Wow, okay,” Midoriya laughs, looking down at his fingers, drumming them against the dresser. “Guess I’m going to be the brains in this partnership.”

 

“Fuck you,” he grumbles, less bite than before. Then, he adds, “And it’s a temporary partnership.”

 

“It was the drink by the way.”

 

“Huh?” 

 

Midoriya sighs. “They probably didn’t expect you to fight back. I bet the drink you got at the bar was drugged and they had expected you to drink it, go back to your room, and be so loopy that you couldn’t fight back.”

 

Bakugou pauses. “That's why you spilled it?”

 

“There you go.” Midoriya pats him on the shoulder. It’s belittling, yes, but Bakugou’s scowl is only half as fierce as it was in the hallway. 

 

“Y’know,” he says. “It’s good to know that your quick-witted personality wasn't just a cover. You’re cheeky and it makes you hotter.” He drops his hand on Midoriya’s knee, rubs him with his thumb.

 

“Kacchan?” Bakugou grins and nods. 

 

Izuku smiles warmly, turns to look at him. He drops his hand on top of Bakugou’s and squeezes it. “Yeah, I’m a little disheartened to find out you’re just as much of a player. Focus on the mission, not getting ass.” He peels the spy’s hand off his body, drops it back into his lap.

 

Bakugou tuts his tongue, but doesn’t fight it. “Whatever. So, anyways, I blasted one of the guys in the face a couple of times. I’m pretty sure the guy who served you at that restaurant this morning was him.”

 

“Oh? So you were spying on me?”

 

“Yeah.” Then, he moves on like it's not weird. And, well, under these circumstances, it’s not weird, but it’s still odd knowing someone’s been watching you. Midoriya never really got used to that. “And the bitch who passed me the drink is probably in on it, too. Bet she’s the one who drugged it.”

 

“Well, you did piss her off.”

 

“I do that to everyone.” Bakugou waves it off like it’s a comment on the weather. It’s almost funny. “She ain’t fucking special. What do you know?” 

 

“Well, I know that you and three other people on this ship have quirks strong enough for the traffickers to be after you. Katie Smith, Brady Martin, Alessandra Gomez and you, Bakugou Katsuki-” 

 

“-Katsuki Bakugou.”

 

“It’s not important,” he sighs.

 

And Bakugou laughs like that’s the funniest statement in the world. “Honey,” he laughs, slapping him on the knee. He removes his palm immediately, and Midoriya sighs because at least he’s learning. “Everything about me is important.”

 

Izuku, I’m not sure he’s worth the dick anymore.”

 

“Shh, Uraraka,” he groans. Bakugou looks at him, quirks an eyebrow, and Midoriya just waves him off. He wasn’t planning on getting dicked down, anyways, because he’s on the job and he wants to do well. Even if Bakugou was the best eye candy on the ship, and even if his fighting style was impressive and he was a little smarter than Midoriya gave him credit for, he was cocky and difficult.  

 

He’d make due as a partner, at least. 

 

“So, you’ve talked to the others?”

 

Midoriya jerks, spurred from his thoughts. “Other what?”

 

“The other possible victims.”

 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, for the most part. I’ve met Katie and Brady, but I couldn’t find Alessandra. I think they may have already picked her up. She was seen entering the ship at the start of the cruise, but no one has really seen her since.”

 

“Means they’ve got a place to keep the people they stole on the ship,” Bakugou groans. “We’re gonna have to find them.”

 

“And that would be best done following around the employees who’re suspected traffickers. So, that means the server from earlier and the girl from the bar.”

 

“Alright, so how are we gonna go about that?”

 

Midoriya intertwines his fingers and brings them up to his face. He drops his chin atop them, and sinks into his thoughts. They’ll have to follow the employees around, and that requires an excuse. Obviously, the best excuse is one that depends on lots of employees and lots of guests milling about at once. And what’s more, they need a decent sized distraction.

 

It hits Midoriya like a brick to the face. There’s a part of him that gets excited at the idea, but the other part beats it down with a stick. He can’t believe he’s going to ask. “You still wanna be my date to a Salsa party?”

 

The wide grin on Bakugou’s face almost makes his unbearable personality worth it. “I thought you’d never fucking ask.”

 


 

Day 11 - Agent Midoriya’s Mission Log

 

Dancing with Bakugou is like tiptoeing in a minefield. For a spy, he’s not exactly light on his feet, and he curses every time his feet don’t match the beat. Midoriya is being guided by somebody who doesn’t even know how to lead. It’s a nightmare, and his swollen toes hate him for it, but he groans and follows because he doesn’t really have much choice in the matter. 

 

“Fuck,” Bakugou grunts, and Midoriya just rolls his eyes and looks to the instructor. 

 

“Hey, you know those Spy Movies where there’s an attractive and perfectly executed dance scene where the protagonist tries to get to the villain across a dance floor or something?”

 

Bakugou’s eyes are fixed on their feet. It hardly looks like he’s paying attention to his date. “What the fuck about them?” He stumbles and Midoriya follows after him.

 

“Yeah, you’re kinda making that hard for us.”

 

They’re on the top deck flopping around on a temporary dance floor. There’s an older couple to their left, doing spins and dips that make Izuku think the poor woman’s back is going to give. And on the right, well, they just look like professional dancers. So, Midoriya is sure he looks positively horrendous with Bakugou yanking him around. 

 

“Kacchan,” Midoriya hisses under his breath, looking around to make sure no one catches the name. “I thought you said you were good at this.”

 

“I’m not,” he grits, squeezing Izuku’s hand. “But Chuck is fucking supposed to be.”

 

Spin!” The instructor shouts, and Bakugou raises their hands for Midoriya to turn, and Midoriya’s eyes roll with the movement.

 

“You know you’re the same person, right?” 

 

Bakugou grabs Midoriya’s free hand, takes a step forward as his partner stumbles back. He smirks. “So, does that mean you’re attracted to both of us?” 

 

And Midoriya retaliates with a scoff.

 

“I’m attracted to getting this job done, Chucky. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

 

A sudden gust of wind blows Midoriya’s curls into his eyes, and when he’s not looking, Bakugou pulls his hand away and wraps his arms around the small of Midoriya’s back. He pulls him in, Midoriya yelps, and Bakugou brushes the hair away with his coarse fingers. “Y’know, I don’t think I realized how much of a masochist I was until you showed up. You wanna step on me, too, baby? Get me going?”

 

Midoriya's face feels hot, and he doesn’t like that Bakugou is chest to chest with him because that means he can probably hear his heart pounding, and that just won’t do. He parts his lips, bobs them. He wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what, because Bakugou Katsuki is unbearable , but also hot as fuck.

 

Uraraka makes a whip-cracking noise in his ear.

 

Midoriya clears his throat.

 

He’s set to answer when the sound of crashing plates and silverware sounds across the deck, making the music fades into an uncomfortable cacophony. Everyone stops and stares, and the two glance over to Double Buns, who’s kneeling on the ground by a service door with ceramic plate shards surrounding her. She’s cursing, snapping up at the guy standing next to her, who's dressed in a server’s uniform.

 

Midoriya looks back up at Bakugou. They share a moment’s gaze, and Midoriya runs off towards the altercation. It’s almost like he can still feel Bakugou’s hand on his back, but he can definitely hear him stomping behind him with a huff.

 

“Hey, do you need some help?” He asks at the edge of the mess. Double Buns looks up at him, her frustrated gaze turning soft, friendly. 

 

“Oh, it’s fine! Just a bit of glass,” she says, waving him off. “It would be stupid asking a passenger to help.”

 

“Really, I don’t-”

 

“-Yamashita, c’mon,” Bakugou groans behind him. “You heard her! She doesn’t want any of our fucking help. The salsa party is tomorrow days, and I don’t want to look like a fool, so let’s just-”

 

“-Actually, now that I think about,” Double Buns grins, reaching up to wrap her hand around Midoriya’s wrist. It’s cold, her fingers feel like ice, and Midoriya just smiles because he’s gotta play the part. “I’d love some help.”

 

He doesn’t miss the way her eyes trail up to Bakugou while Midoriya kneels down onto the ground to pick up chipped plates and large shards of ceramic. “Wanna help?” He hums, and listens to Bakugou groan as he dips down to help.

 

“You better fuckin’ buy me dinner for this.” He knocks shoulders with Midoriya, and Midoriya just glances up at Double Buns with a smile. 

 

“Boyfriends, right? So needy.”

 

“Hey!”

 

She laughs, picking up one of the last remaining shards. “They’re a handful. My boyfriend Jin is probably the most needy person I know,” she admits, nodding towards the service door. “There’s a kitchen just in there. If you could just help me carry all this in.”

 

She nudges the door open with her knee, and Midoriya spares a glance towards Bakugou, who offers him a headshake. Clearly, he’s against them following— for all they know, it could be a trap— but Midoriya is nothing but reckless and one-track minded.

 

He follows Double Buns into a bustling kitchen, floors tiled white and counters a steely grey. There’s a fleet of servers and chefs milling about, grabbing fresh dishes off the service windows and returning dirty ones to the dishwasher. Their guide leads them to the back, where the three toss ceramic shards into giant garbage cans. The girl grabs a broom and dustpan off the wall, then turns back to them with a smile. “Thank you for your help! Now, guests aren’t really supposed to be back here, so I’ll escort you out now.”

 

“What?” Bakugou scoffs. “No reward for all our hard work?”

 

Midoriya elbows him in the gut. He gets that it’s a character that Bakugou’s trying to play, but he’s still rude. Again, he apologizes for his ‘boyfriend’ and watches the minute-changes in Double Buns’ expression. There’s a quick twitch of the eye as her lips press impossibly thin. 

 

“Well,” she begins, smiling in a way that looks almost predatory. “What would you-”

 

“-TOGA!” A swinging door tucked into the back corner of the kitchen slams open, and it’s dark on the other side. A man comes out with his eyes wide and his blonde hair sticking out in every which way. His eyes wander across the room until he finds her, and then he races over to grab onto her arm and catch his breath.

 

Jin?

 

“Oooh, is that the boyfriend?” Uraraka hums, but Midoriya is hardly paying attention. He’s too focused on the way Toga’s eyes flash back to them with an apologetic smile, how Midoriya’s eyes fixate on the new addition like the guy beat up his grandma, and how Jin glances at them, turns pale, and whispers something hushed in Toga’s ear. 

 

Yellow eyes blow wide and she turns back to him and Katsuki, clasping her hands together in front of her with a sigh. “I’m so sorry, but an emergency has just come up. I’m afraid I have to go.” 

 

“Oh. Um, okay?”

 

Toga and Jin bow lightly and run off, back through the swing door and into a black void. Very slowly, Midoriya glances up at Bakugou with raised eyebrows and an expression of intrigue.

 

“Shady, huh?”

 

“Yeah.” Midoriya looks back at the door, still swinging in short periods. “You think that’s the way to wherever they keep the victims?”

 

Bakugou shrugs. “I dunno, but that guy’s voice sounds familiar. Could be one of the guys who tried to kidnap me the other day.”

 

He wraps and arm around Midoriya’s waist. It surprises him, the warm, firm fingers on his back, but when he realizes Bakugou’s just guiding him to the exit, the contact seems a little disappointing. Midoriya then thinks that he needs to seriously shape up and focus because flinching at his partner’s touch is just downright pathetic. “You- uh, you really think?”

 

Bakugou guides him back out onto the deck. The sun is lower in the sky now, and it bathes the world in gorgeous hues of purple, orange, and red. It reflects off Bakugou’s eyes as he thinks, and it makes Midoriya purse his lips. It’s altogether unfair that Bakugou starts looking attractive when he shuts his fat mouth.

 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure. We’re gonna have to do something about that— the door— y’know?” 

 

Midoriya purses his lips and guides Bakugou to the deck railing, where they look out over the rolling blue sea. “Tomorrow night at that Salsa Party, the deck is going to be crowded, right? We could sneak in during that?”

 

“People are gonna be working in the kitchen, though. We’ll need a distraction to get them out of the kitchen.”

 

“Perhaps,” Midoriya shrugs. “We could also steal some servers’ uniforms and use those to sneak in.”

 

“You gonna do the digging through the workers’ laundry?”

 

“If I must.”

 

The pair falls into silence, listening to the tunes of a Salsa song playing in the distance. The class is almost over. They probably should have headed back sooner, but no amount of lessons in the world would make Katsuki Bakugou a decent dancer. “You’re not giving me much time to prepare, y’know? Less than a day’s notice.”

 

“Sorry, but I mean, do you want people to get trafficked?”

 

Bakugou furrows his brow and looks to the sky like he’s genuinely thinking about it, and Midoriya sort of gawks because… is he really an agent of the law? But then he sighs and shakes his head. “Fine, you’re right. Still, I thought tomorrow we were having a fucking date.”

 

“We’re working.”

 

“Ugh, fine. Then how about,” he starts, shifting on the rail. He’s leaning on his elbow now, and reaches out the other to pull at Midoriya’s fingers. Midoriya looks down at them, quirks a brow and looks back up to the wide and wanting smile on Bakugou’s face. “I take you out to dinner tonight, huh?”

 

Uraraka’s gasp sounds like a choking cat. There’s a weird thumping sound and then she’s shouting “YES! GOD, YES, MIDORIYA! FUCKING DO IT!”

 

He winces, it’s clear to see, and Bakugou’s grin starts to turn into a scowl. He looks frustrated, embarrassed. The flecks of pink at the tips of his ears stand in bright contrast besides  his ashy blonde hair, and now Midoriya’s desperate to correct himself. 

 

“Wait!” He says, but he doesn’t know how to follow it up. He’s grasping for straws; he’s confused why a chronic flirt would look so bummed out by a hesitant response. But he does think Bakugou is hot, and despite his unmatched god-complex, he’s decent company. Eventually, he just sighs and smiles sympathetically at him. “Yeah, take me to dinner.”

 


 

Midoriya watches Bakugou from across the table as he bites into a piece of his lambchop, then moans in a way that’s so very uncomfortable for a food-focused activity. Then, his eyes flick up to Midoriya, who’s been quietly munching on his garlic roasted asparagus. Bakugou swallows, then reaches for the rim of his wine glass, taking a sip. “You enjoying the food?”

 

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Midoriya takes a bite, chews, then smiles. “It’s good.”

 

Bakugou doesn’t believe it, though. His brows furrow. “You’re not having a good fucking time, are you?”

 

“I didn’t say that-”

 

“-You look like it, though.” Bakugou leans back in his chair and drums his fingers on the table, waiting for a response. Midoriya feels obligated to give him one. 

 

He sighs, leans forward and takes a swig of his wine. At least there’s a little drink in his bloodstream and he’s not going through this altogether sober. “To tell you the truth,” he starts, watching as Bakugou perks up, looking up from his pout trained on his half-eaten meal. “I’m just trying to figure you out.”

 

“Figure me out?”

 

“Midoriya, you’re gonna scare him off,” Ochako warns. “And you won’t get dicked down.” Midoriya tinges red, but he doesn’t answer her. 

 

“You’re so loud and brash all the time, but I don’t know if that’s part of the act,” he says. “You really weave in and out of character too much.”

 

“Well,” Bakugou shrugs. “‘S’not like most of the jobs are character jobs. I normally just go in, beat the shit out of the bad guy, and go pick up my paycheck.”

 

Midoriya rolls his eyes. “That’s barbaric,” he tells him, then continues his thought. “Anyways, I’m not sure if this-” he stops talking, gestures between them. “I’m not sure if this is part of your obnoxious American playboy act, but it’s confusing and I don’t like that. Also, I can’t tell if you really like me, or IF you just want to stuff your dick in something before the trip is over.”

 

There’s a moment where Bakugou, arms crossed, expression judging, just watches Midoriya, as if he’s determining what the smoothest response would be. They’re quiet for a while, Midoriya sipping on his wine and feeling properly buzzed as he stares. Their meals lay abandoned, and Midoriya’s lost his appetite.

 

Eventually, Bakugou leans forward and grabs Midoriya’s hand across the table. His thumb is rough as it rubs against his knuckles, and Bakugou’s got his red eyes trained on it. His palm is sweaty, which Midoriya minds, but he’s got a surprisingly gentle grip for someone with an Explosion Quirk, and this Midoriya doesn’t mind. “Y’know, Deku,” he says. “I get so fucking bored with this job, okay? Like, everyone wants to be a fucking spy until they know that it’s long hours and long stretches of time in places that either stink of trash or are too pretentious to have any fun.

 

Bakugou’s grin turns chaotic, exuberant. He flashes it at Midoriya, and Midoriya’s heartbeat stutters. “I’ll be real fucking honest with you, Freckles. I’m as loud and cocky as the character I’m meant to be playing, but the key difference is he can have everybody else.” He squeezes Midoriya’s hand, and Midoriya glances down at it before looking back up at his excited smile. “But I haven’t had this much goddamn fun in years, so I’m planning on sticking with you.”

 

“Oh… oh damn, Midoriya. If you don’t fuck him, I will. Just slap some freckles and a green wig on me, and I’ll be Deku.”

 

“Ochako, that’s weird.”

 

“Hah?” Bakugou quirks his head to the side. 

 

Midoriya bites his lip, looks down at their hands, back at Bakugou, then over to his wine glass. He grabs the stem and puts the rim to his lip in a heartbeat, then downs it all in one go. It feels like Bakugou’s watching his throat bob. 

 

It kinda excites him.

 

He sets the glass down onto the white linen tablecloth and squeezes Bakugou’s hand. His face is red and he’s wondering if he’ll regret this, but he says, “Let’s get out of here.”

 

And they do.

 


 

They crash through the door to Midoriya’s cabin, mouths connected, tongues hot and tasting of wine and fine dining. Bakugou’s hands are on the small of his back, gripping tight as they fumble off their shoes at the entry and stumble towards the bed.

 

They part for a second, and Midoriya looks up into intoxicating red eyes— eyes trained on his body, the dip in his collar bone. Bakugou bends down and sucks tenderly on his neck. 

 

Midoriya groans. Bakugou pushes into him, fills his head with a foggy relief. He pushes Midoriya down onto the bed, and Midoriya grips onto the red satin sheets as Bakugou plants a leg in between his thighs, hovering over him. 

 

The first three buttons on his shirt are undone, revealing his sweaty, glistening pecs. Parted, swollen lips connect with the corner of Izuku’s mouth, then his chin, and finally his throat, and Midoriya whispers, “Fuck,” in response.

 

“Yeah, hey, Midoriya? I’m happy it’s happening, but I kinda don’t want to be a part of this. Can you take the earpiece out?”

 

Midoriya burns red. His moans stop, and his body goes rigid. “K-Kacchan?” He says, and Bakugou looks up worryingly at him. “Um, the earpieces. Take- Let’s take ‘em out.”

 

Bakugou drains of color. He curses under his breath and digs the device out of his ear, tossing it to the ground. Izuku does the same, not even sparing a goodbye before he drops it and pulls Katsuki back on top of him, feels the way his crotch throbs at the grinding of his partner’s knee.

 

“Ahh!”

 

Bakugou’s laugh vibrates against his throat, and Midoriya feels his lips brush skin when he speaks. “Christ, I love the sound of that. Don’t stop, okay?”

 

“Mhmm.” He grabs blindly at Bakugou’s shirt, tugs at the buttons until it’s come undone, and connects his palms to a hot, taut chest. 

 

Bakugou moans, pulling away and standing just between Midoriya’s legs. He looks down at him. Midoriya sees how hooded his eyes are, how his wild hair is bent in every direction and his cheeks are flushed in red. He sheds his shirt, leans down and grabs the hem of Midoriya's, pulling it up and over his head.

 

Then Bakugou’s fumbling with Midoriya’s pants, pulling them down and off his feet, pausing when he looked down at his crotch, the crisp outline of his hard dick. Midoriya bites his lip, embarrassed and paranoid until Katsuki licks his lips and grabs at it. He palms his hand against the shaft, and Midoriya knocks his head back with a breathy pant. “So fucking sexy,” Bakugou growls. “Already leaking so much for me.”

 

He hears the clinking of a belt, opens his eyes to his partner shedding his pants, his boxers. His erect cock dangles in front of his eyes. Precum beads at the slit, and the head and shaft are pink and twitching. Midoriya glances up at Bakugou’s hooded gaze, pulls himself up to sit on the edge of the bed and press his lips to the tip.

 

Bakugou hisses and it sounds like a symphony. “Hang- Fuck, hang on, Deku.”

 

He pulls away. Bakugou runs to the nightstand at the corner of the room and rifles through the drawers. Midoriya could’ve stopped him, but his head is swimming with alcohol, endorphins, and a fucking craving for the man in his bedroom, ready to make love to him.

 

Bakugou comes back over with a condom and a single-pack of lube. ‘I’m starting to love singles’ cruises,” he says, and flops down beside him. He’s naked, lying on the bed with Izuku’s eyes glued to his cock while he fumbles with the lube packet. “Wanna suck it?” He smirks.

 

And seconds later, Midoriya’s on top of Bakugou, his lips pressed against the head, his nostrils filled with the scent of sweat, musk, and Bakugou’s leaking precum. He can feel him tug at the strap of his underwear, pulling it down. Hot fingers and cold lube rub against his ass, making him gasp around the head, making his tongue rub against the shaft. He moans around it, the vibrations making Bakugou twitch in his mouth.

 

“Mmmm, fuck, Deku.” A wet, thick finger pushes past his hole, and he clenches around it with a breathy gasp on his lips. “I think I’m in love.” He curls his finger and it makes Midoriya’s stomach churn. Midoriya buries the cock in his throat, his esophagus contracting around it. He bobs— up, down, up again— and Bakugou moans and inserts another finger, scissoring him open. 

 

A third, and he curls it.

 

“Ungh!” Midoriya coughs around the head, pulls up and twists to the side. He can see one of Bakugou’s hands on his ass, but he can’t see his face. “That- ack, that’s enough, Kacchan. Let me ride it.”

 

Bakugou’s fingers freeze inside him. He leans to the right, his amazed expression finding Midoriya’s. “Seriously?”

 

“Fuck yeah.” 

 

Bakugou’s fingers recede and Midoriya gets up on his knees, turning to face his flushed face and swelling chest. “Hold- hold out your hand,” he says, and Bakugou offers it willingly. Midoriya grabs ahold and situates himself over his throbbing cock, grabbing the hilt and lining it up to his twitching, soaked hole. “Oh my god!”

 

“Easy, sweetheart,” Bakugou says, watching him with bright eyes. Breath caught in between puffed cheeks, Midoriya lowers himself. 

 

And, god, he can feel it. 

 

He feels how hot Bakugou is inside him, how his shaft rubs against his inner walls. He sinks deeper and deeper. It’s filling, it’s warm.

 

Hn, mphh.” Midoriya gasps and falls forward. 

 

Bakugou catches him with his free hand. “Take your time, baby,” he whispers in his ear, biting a red-flushed lobe. “You know I’m enjoyin’ the show.”

 

His voice is gritty, wanting. It sends a surge of electricity through Midoriya’s body, a craving for more, more, more . Slowly, steadily, he raises his ass and slides back down, rocking his hips back and forth. He can feel everything, the ribbing of Bakugou’s cockhead, the twitching every single fucking time Midoriya moans.

 

Bakugou grabs Midoriya’s other hand and now he’s steady. He’s got more control, and the rocking gets quicker. He looks down and sees his own cock bouncing against Bakugou’s rigid abs, the smear of precum running along the dips. They lock eyes, gaze hooded and pants heavy.

 

“I don’t- mmmm,” Bakugou whines when Midoriya grinds down hard. “Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so attractive.”

 

Midoriya laughs, and it’s more of a gasp, but fuck he can feel Bakugou’s cock pulse inside him. He’s getting close— too close— with the constant pounding turning his insides into goo, every nerve on fire. “Fuck, Ka-Kacchan, I’m close. I’m so fucking close.”

 

“Cum on my stomach.”

 

Midoriya chokes, turning red in the ears. He’s trying to keep his cool, trying not to moan like a bitch ‘cause fuck it feels so good. “Kacchan, wha- un, what the hell?”

 

“Oh, c’mon, you’re already bouncing on my cock,” he laughs. “No need to get embarrassed now.”

 

“But-”

 

“-I wanna see it all before tomorrow, baby,” he groans, looking up at Midoriya like he hung the moon. His heart is pounding like a drum, his face his scalding. Bakugou uses their intertwined fingers to pull him down, and now Midoriya’s cock rubs between firm bellies, and their breathing against each other’s lips. His breath smells like wine. If he weren’t already, Midoriya would think another kiss would get him drunk. “We could die tomorrow. Let’s just be lovers ‘til- ah, fffuck!

 

Midoriya bites Bakugou’s lip, savors the moan as he grinds down hard, harder, his own cock throbbing between them, Bakugou’s hitting him in all the right spots, making his toes curl. “Fuck, okay,” He whines, dipping his head into the crook of his neck.

 

He ruts, rubs, feels his whole body burning.

 

His fingers start to scratch the back of Katsuki’s hands.

 

Bakugou's damp breath moistens his ear. He whispers, “Come for me, baby,” and Midoriya’s over the edge. He cries out, clutches onto Bakugou’s taut shoulders like he’s never going to let go, digs his nails in deep. Bakugou moans like heaven, like euphoria, then Midoriya fills with wet warmth. 

 

Bakugou freezes, his body going rigid as Midoriya pulls up and looks him in the eyes. “...we forgot the condom.”

 

In the aftermath of Grade-A sex (In Midoriya’s opinion), Bakugou looks too scared to enjoy it. His fingers grip his body hard, like he thinks the man will be so pissed he’ll leave. And the wide eyes and tense jaw make Midoriya giggle, makes him laugh because he hasn’t seen Bakugou Katsuki look scared before.

 

He likes it.

 

He wants to see it more.

 

Midoriya rolls over onto the bed beside Bakugou and grabs his hand, squeezing it tight. Bakugou rolls his head to the side and their eyes lock. “That was-”

 

“- Fucking Superb.”

 

Midoriya snorts, then the room goes quiet. Bakugou’s looking at him like he’s hung the moon, and admiration seems so foreign on his features. Maybe if he sticks around, he’ll see it more often. “Is this normal for you, big guy?”

 

“Deku, nothing about you is fucking normal for me.”

 


 

Day 12 - Agent Bakugou’s Mission Log

 

“You sure you don’t want me to stay longer?” Katsuki asks, Izuku’s hands on his back and shoving him out the door.

 

“Do you know how sore my butt is?” Izuku scoffs. “I need rest before tonight.”

 

“Aw, c’mon, Deku, don’t be like.” Katsuki turns around at the threshold and slides his hand onto the small of his back. “What if I miss you?”

 

“Then you’ll see me tonight; I’ll meet you on deck at 7 P.M. Now, here.” Izuku grabs Katsuki's wrist and shakes his hand until his fingers are sprawled and the palm is laying open. He digs into his pocket, slaps his hand against Katsuki’s palm and pulls it back quickly. “There’s your earpiece. Take it, and let me sleep, okay?”

 

Katsuki’s scowl deepens. He squeezes his fist shut and shoves the technology in his pocket. “Fine.”

 

Thank you, and, um-” Izuku looks down at his toes, then shoots up fast. His soft lips smack against Katsuki’s, but are gone as quick as they come. “See you tonight!” He near-shouts, then slams the door behind him before Katsuki can even register the sheer force of the kiss, or the way Izuku’s ears turn red just before the door closed. He smirks the shit-eating grin he only flashes when he’s won, ‘cause he’s pretty sure he’s just won Izuku and that’s the best prize he’s gotten in this career.

 

He rubs a hand against his nape, then shuffles down the hall with his head foggy with memories of the night before. Fuck, the sex was superb, as was the shower afterwards, then the good fuck after with the condom. 

 

Katsuki steps into the elevator, goes two floors down and thinks about the sheer masterpiece that was Izuku’s back arching in an orgasm. As he steps out and turns down the hall, he recalls Izuku whining his name. His back is still sore from the way Izuku clawed at it during the second round. Katsuki reaches for his shoulder as he comes up to his door, rubs the scratches under his wrinkled shirt as he fumbles with the keycard and drives it into the reader.

 

He breathes through his grin, pushes on the doorknob, and freezes when he steps through the threshold and is met with a blonde man with a giant gash down the center of his forehead. It takes him a moment to register the fact that they’ve met, the fact that this was the Jin that was so close with Toga. “The fuck?”

 

Katsuki jumps back into the hall just as Jin lunges for him. The guy isn’t fast enough— not at all— and Katsuki picks his feet up like they’re feathers. He makes a run for it, races a few feet down the hall at his left, then stops when he sees the waiter with the blistered face sauntering towards him, blue flames licking his hands. “Motherfucker,” Katsuki grits, taking a step back. A strong arm wraps around his throat, cutting his breath off at the windpipe. He makes a reach towards the assailant from the back, grabs what he thinks is hair before a painful pinch to the neck makes his head swim. 

 

It burns, it aches. He steps forward, ready to throw the criminal off, flip them off his back. But the moment he lifts his foot, the other buckles. He slams to the ground face first, and his nose starts to throb. His vision is getting murky in the corners, then fuzzy altogether.

 

Then everything goes black.

 


 

When he comes to, he feels nauseous. His head is reeling and all he can hear is the creaking of the world around him and a very human, out-of-tune hum. The first thing he does is grab for his head, pinch the bridge of his nose then pull it away when he realizes it's broken. “Goddamnit,” he grits.

 

You’re awake?” 

 

Katsuki looks up. It’s too fast and it makes his head pound, but when the world settles he notices the girl sitting in front of him, hair dark and skin dirty. Her sleeves are slightly torn and her cheeks are slightly sunken. “Where… where are we?”

 

“The- the basement, I think. I mean, I don’t know if ships have basements, but it’s dark, and there’s piping. Also, we’re in this giant cage, but the cage is kinda-”

 

“-Your loud fucking mouth is hurting my head!” Katsuki slams his fist onto the ground. How the fuck was this fair? He got captured like a bitch! And the buzzing in his head won’t stop. 

 

“Well, excuse me,” she snaps. “I’m just trying to get some help, y’know? Consolidate! I’ve been in here for nearly two weeks, and-”

 

“-What’s your name?” 

 

“Alessandra.”

 

Katsuki’s eyes widen. He’s more awake now, more aware. “Deku mentioned you,” he says, looking up at a steel ceiling. To his right is a wall of metal bars, as they are at the left and directly in front. There’s a man sitting on some crates just beyond the cage, looking up at a ‘hazard’ red staircase. Discarded equipment lays everywhere, dismantled pipes in the corner and tools under the stairs. Katsuki’s trying to take it all in, figure out a plan, but his head is swimming. 

 

“Listen, how many people have you seen come down those stairs?”

 

“Mmmm-” the girl, Alessandra, puffs her cheeks as she thinks. There’s sweat glistening down her forehead. Is she overexerted? “I think three. There’s, um, there’s a girl who kinda bosses the other two around. Then there’s this guy that Twice calls Dabi, and then there’s Twice, but he’s…” Her eyes wander to the man guarding the cage. “He’s not all there.”

 

Twice— or Jin, as Katsuki knows him— has his back to Katsuki, and the more the world comes into focus, Katsuki realizes he’s the one producing that godawful humming. He’s singing something unbearably familiar— and he blames that on his buddy Eijirou’s ‘Sea Shanties for Thots’ playlist. He hits a high note, and something slams against the ship’s left wall, so loud it makes Katsuki feel like his head is splitting open. 

 

“Oh… yeah, and there’s that thing in there.” Alessandra points in the distance, towards a metal crate with ‘CAUTION: DO NOT OPEN’ written across the front in big, block letters.

 

“Hey! Keep it down, ya’ dummy!” Twice throws and unlit match towards the crate, and Katsuki hisses. 

 

“Fuck, okay,” he grits. “Gimme a moment.”

 

Katsuki lifts his knees, drops his chin on them and holds his head in his hands. They’re trapped, him and this girl who looks too weak to even use her quirk. She’ll be no help, and whatever happened to him before he got here had fucked with his Quirk. His hands were soaked in sweat, but when he flicked his thumbs, he’d only get a minor spark. They needed help.

 

What time is it? Where’s Deku now?

 

He thought it as if mentally speaking the name would cause his boy Deku to spawn in front of him, as if the he could somehow get in touch with a him in the basement with no phone, no tech-

 

Katsuki stills. Slowly, he glances to Twice, still in his own little world, and digs into his pocket, pulling out the earpiece. He lifts a finger to his lip, warning Alessandra to be quiet, then lodges it in his ear. It’s looser than he remembers. He taps it.

 

“Psst, Agent Bakugou speaking.”

 

Shouto sputters on the other line. “ Kacchan? Where the fuck is Midoriya?”

 

Oh.

 

Not Shouto.

 

“Who the fuck is this?” Katsuki’s eyes dart to Twice, and they stay on him. 

 

“My name is Uraraka Ochako, I help Midoriya on missions. How the fuck did you even get his earpiece?”

 

“Fuck, they must’ve gotten mixed up after we…” He trails off, looks at Alessandra. The girl is wiggling her eyebrows. He doesn’t like how obvious he looks, or how Ochako is holding back a cackle on the other line. 

 

“Anyways, what do you need?”

 

“I’ve been caught.”

 

“Shit.”

 

“Yep,” Katsuki says, accent on the ‘p’. “Look, I need you to get in touch with Deku, okay? I don’t fucking no how, but you gotta.”

 

“How the hell can I-”

 

“-He’s got my earpiece! Get in touch with the FBI and tell them to tell Todoroki Shouto that Agent Bakugou is trapped under the ship. He’ll tell Deku.”

 

“Fuck, okay, um, don’t go anywhere, alright? Stay there.”

 

Katsuki’s sneer is cruel, disbelieving. He throws his hand up like he’s tossing away the pathetic statement. “Where the fuck am I supposed to go? Besides-” Katsuki eyes the man just beyond the cage, his grin turning vicious. “I’ve got a jackass to obliterate.”

 


 

Day 12 - Agent Midoriya’s Mission Log

 

“Where is he?” Midoriya bites his nail. It’s a bad habit, obviously, but it’s better than giving into the bartender’s tempting gaze. A shot of tequila would be super right now; and tequila would go great with the theme of the night. Salsa music blasts off loudspeakers, and girls in tight, frilly red dresses beg their partners ranging from half-enthused to unenthused to dip them on the dancefloor. There’s one girl wasted off her ass singing freestyle lyrics in Tagalog to the rhythm of the song.

 

“I dunno,” Todoroki yawns. “Maybe he’s jerking off.”

 

“Not funny.”

 

“Eh. Listen, Agent Midoriya, I know you’re thinking about it, too. There’s a big likelihood that the traffickers got ahold of him this morning, and he’s being held somewhere on the ship.”

 

Midoriya feels his heart drop into the pit of his stomach, can practically hear the sizzling as it dissolves in the bile and acid. His eyes, wide and alert, look across the dancefloor, watch as servers run around frantically with trays of drinks and hors devours. “That can’t- I mean- Do you really think?”

 

“Please, Katsuki wouldn’t shut up about you. You think he’s about to blow off his job and the guy who, well, blew him off?”

 

Midoriya burns red.

 

“Not likely,” he finishes. 

 

Midoriya purses his lips, bites down on the broken nail pinched between his tongue and his front teeth. His eyes expand when he sees blonde double buns catch the red mood lights across the dance floor. “I see her,” he mutters. “Toga, I mean. I’m, uh, I’m gonna go after her.”

 

“Don’t do that. You should prepare.”

 

Midoriya steps onto the dance floor, dodges between the dancers’ quick feet and flailing arms. Toga’s rounding the corner— towards the kitchen, he reminds himself— and he’s quick on her tail. She’s not even looking back, not even making sure she’s not being followed.

 

How stupid.

 

She disappears around the corner, and Midoriya peaks around the building edge to watch her run into the two-way kitchen door. It swings shut behind her, and Midoriya grips the wall’s edge with his fingers. “She went into the kitchen. I’m going-”

 

“-You don’t even have a plan. This is stupid.”

 

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” He hurries down the side of the deck, steps on his toes at the kitchen door and peers into the circular window. There are two kitchen workers in the opposite corner of the door, drinking cheap champagne and smoking fat cigars. 

 

Must be using the main kitchen, Midoriya thinks, then determines how far away from the stainless steel island in the center of the room is. Not far. He can make it if he hurries.

 

Midoriya nudges the door open, slowly and surely, and it’s practically silent over the loud, obnoxious laughter of the intoxicated workers. He gulps down the lump in his throat and somersaults behind the island. 

 

The laughter dies quickly.

 

Midoriya’s heart plummets and his mind goes blank as he presses himself against the island and prays he hasn’t been caught. When the laughter picks up again, he feels safe. Then, he’s edging himself down the room, his steps quiet when he crawls. He can feel sweat building on his forehead. 

 

There’s a space just ahead where there’s no cover, where the workers back by the door could see him if he bolted at the right time. But the door was just on the other side.

 

And he’s so close.

 

His legs feel like lead, and his hands shake like a leaf. It’s like there’s a weighted blanket holding him down, secure behind the island. Midoriya inhales deeply, then lurches for the door at the back of the room. He thinks he hears someone yell, ‘ Hey!’ but the slam of the door as he shoves it open and closed practically muffles it. There’s nothing but a long, dark hallway on the other side and, knowing there’s no going back, he tumbles into the void.

 

It’s colder in the hallway, more isolated. He can hear his dance shoes tapping on the floor tiles, and water rushing through the pipes above his head. He hurries, subtle fear blooming in his chest, but too focused to let it get the better of him. It’s too dark to know where he’s going, though, and he hasn’t been in the dark near long enough to adjust. 

 

He’s at the end of the hall before he realizes it.

 

He thumps against the door, hisses at the impact. He hit his head on metal, sucked in his breath. Another thump comes from the other side, and someone shouts, “ Fuck! What the hell was that?”

 

Midoriya curses beneath his breath and starts to flail, searching for an out. There’s nothing, the hallway barren. He squeezes his eyes shut, hears Todoroki yell at him to hurry, then dives into the corner, hidden by black shadows and the door the moment it opens. 

 

Someone steps into the hall, their footsteps echoing off the walls. Midoriya can't see him, not because of the dark but because of the door blocking their figure. Heart pulsing in his ears, he puffs his cheeks and drives the heel of his shoe into the metal door in front of him, smacking the person on the other side with it.

 

“AGH!” Something slams, tumbles. The door starts to close, and Midoriya grabs for the handle and yanks it back open, swinging into the threshold. He’s at the top of a stair landing, red, metal steps descending into what looks like a stockroom. For a moment, it’s like the world stopped spinning.

 

There’s a man— the waiter with the burnt face— curling in on himself at the bottom of the stairs, nursing his forehead as blood drips down the side. There’s a cage on the back wall, and Bakugou has his hands through the bars, grabbing at Jin on the other side. But Bakugou’s eyes are trained on Midoriya at the top of the stairs, and Toga is halfway between the cage and Dabi’s crumpled form, lips parted in surprise. 

 

“Fuck.” She hisses. “Dabi, get up! Help us!”

 

Bakugou jerks Jin, and the villain’s head collides with the metal bars of the cage. He drops like a weight, hissing and screaming, sucking in steadying breath through his teeth. Toga blinks at him, then bolts, running to the farthest corner of the room while the girl in the cage with Katsuki crouches on the floor and rifles through Jin’s pockets. She pulls out a key, and the two start fumbling with the lock.

 

“What’s going on?” Todoroki presses urgently, but Midoriya barely hears him over the ring of metal as he stomps down the stairs. He hits the last step, and Dabi’s pulling himself to his feet, blue flames licking his palms. Midoriya gulps, and his fingers are tingling with anticipation. He doesn’t have a quirk. If Dabi hits him, he’ll turn to ash. He lifts his hands, palms up and out in semblance of surrender, and the villain smirks like it was all too easy. 

 

The flames start to sizzle away, and Midoriya’s eyes drop momentarily to the guy’s bobbing Adam’s apple. He looks back up, smiles apologetically. Dabi gets an almost confused expression in return just before Midoriya jabs his open hand into the villain’s throat. 

 

The villain opens his mouth to scream and his eyes get wide and watery. He doubles over. A quick swipe of Midoriya’s foot to the side of his head and Dabi is curled on the floor, gasping for air. Izuku mutters a quick ‘sorry’ then rushes across the room, getting to the cage just as Bakugou and the other captive break through the cell’s door. 

 

“Deku!” Bakugou reaches for him, his sweaty hands gripping his forearms. They’re heavy, like he’s using Midoriya to hold himself up. There’s sweat glistening on his forehead.

 

Izuku’s brows furrow. “What happened to you?”

 

“They fuckin’ gave me somethin’,” he grunted. “Fuck, my quirk is barely working and-” He stops. A smirk tugs at his lips, and his eyes trail down Midoriya’s body. “Well, aren’t you the sexiest thing on this ship.”

 

“I’m sorry, are you guys supposed to be eye fucking each other?”

 

They glance to the side, to the other captive watching them with her nose scrunched and her brow quirked. 

 

The bone-chilling screech of metal on metal sounds throughout the room. All eyes jerk towards the corner, where Toga has pulled out the metal bar hold the door of a gigantic crate in place. It opens slowly. She starts laughing.

 

The door swings open. A monster appears on the other side, hideous and revolting. It’s so tall— nine feet at least— stick-thin with greyish green skin just barely covering the bone. Clear liquid oozes down its body from the exposed brain. Midoriya’s voice catches in his throat.

 

“Son of a bitch.”

 

“Agent Midoriya, what the hell is going on?” Todoroki sounds flustered, nervous. Midoriya’s lip bobs, but it’s hard to come up with the words. 

 

“Get yourself out of here,” Bakugou grit, and the sound of loud, receding footsteps makes him think the other captive has fled. 

 

Good, he thinks. One last person to worry about.

 

The Nomu lays eyes on them, starts its slow walk across the room. “Um, Todoroki?” Midoriya whispers, color draining from his face. “Get in touch with the JSIA. We’re gonna need some help.”

 

“They won’t get there for hours!”

 

“Just fucking do it!” Bakugou snaps, and Midoriya doesn’t know if he’s shouting loud enough for Todoroki to hear— assuming he knew the agent would argue— or if he’s shouting at Uraraka on his own earpiece. Either way, they’d handle that.

 

For now…

 

Midoriya spreads his feet in a fighting stance, raises his fists. The Nomu charges, an inhuman scream ripping from its beak. It’s too big, too easy to dodge. Izuku runs forward, then slips to the ground when it’s too close. He passes between its legs, jumps up and runs at Toga. 

 

She sees him coming; she jumps. How Toga can spring so high, he has no clue. As her sneakers pass over his head, he grabs her ankle and yanks her back. She screams, surprised, before her body slams violently to the ground. 

 

“YO! DEKU!” 

 

Midoriya’s eyes whip to the right, to Bakugou with his back against the wall now, pulling metal pipe out of an open crate. 

 

A weapon! 

 

He tosses it, so far so fast. It’s plummeting towards him. Midoriya extends a hand to grab it as it somersaults through the air. 

 

Something collides with his gut, sending him to the ground. The air leaves his chest, he can’t breathe. He hears the metal pipe hit the ground with a metallic ting! And roll across the panelled floor. Toga drops her foot to the ground and climbs back on her feet.

 

Midoriya’s mouth gaps when he realized she’d kicked him— that it had been so powerful. His eyes search for Bakugou, but he’s too busy fighting his own monster. Midoriya gulps, tries to center himself and get the fuck up! 

 

“Why are you doing this?” Toga grumbles, face scrunched. “I liked you, y’know? Everybody kept saying, ‘Toga, you can’t just not use him to get to the Mister Chuck guy, but I thought you were pretty! And you were nice!” She purses her lips, slams her heel down on Midoriya’s hand. He screams, and she bends to look him in the eye. “Why would you betray me like that, huh?”

 

“Fuck,” Todoroki hisses. “She’s insane.”

 

Midoriya smiles through the pain, his eyes flashing across the room. The pipe is so close. If he could just get to it… “Toga,” he grins, smiling painfully. “I’m sorry, okay? But you kidnapped them. That’s not okay.”

 

She tilts her head to the side. Her buns flop, pulled from their natural shape, stray hairs flying. “Why not?” 

 

“Because-” he grabs her hand. It’s such a risky move, and a part of him regrets it, grabbing onto her like she’s his friend. But there’s a glimmer in her eye when he does it, and he can see the sharp canines in her stretched smile. She leans in, wanting him to finish the sentence. 

 

In a lightning second, Midoriya releases her hands and grabs her ankle hard, jerking it from his hand and tilting her off balance. She yelps in surprise, hits the floor hard and fast. He scrambles across the ground, but Toga is quicker. She grabs onto his legs, makes him trip just as he’s getting up, and he falls on his stomach and hits his chin on the floor. It aches, he feels jostled. Hot blood burns his skin, and he hisses. “ACK!” Something cool and sharp glides across his leg, and he jerks his head back. It’s hard to find focus, but he can see an object in Toga’s hand— “When the fuck did you get a knife ?”

 

She giggles, grinning as she tries to drive it in his calf. “Woman’s secret!”

 

“Ugh, that’s,” he slams his shoe into her face. “So-” Another stomp and her nose is bloody. “Fucking-” How is she still holding on? “ Weird!” He drives his heel one last time, then twists. 

 

The world semi-spins but he flails forward. His fingers grip around the cold metal.

 

He whips back, swings the pipe and it cuts through the air like butter, so quick and smooth. 

 

A thick thud! makes him startle! Toga’s grip on his leg goes limp and his heartbeat stops completely. He scrambles forward, the world coming in and out of focus. There’s blood blooming from her temple. “No, no, fuck!” 

 

“What’s going on? What is it?” Todoroki sounds panicked, his breath unsteady.

 

“I- I, uh, fuck, I hit her in the head,” he mutters, fumbling for her neck. “She’s unconscious! She’s-” Midoriya feels the pulse beneath his fingertip and his heartbeat steadies. He sighs. “She’s alive.”

 

“Y’know, you had me scared for a second.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“She’s a villain. If she’s a casualty then it’s not a big deal if it was self-defense.”

 

He’s almost at a loss for words. “Todoroki, that’s not-” 

 

The rest is cut off by the scream. Midoriya whips his head towards the sound, to Bakugou dancing around the room with one hand popping miniature explosions and the other swinging a metal pipe at the grotesque Nomu. 

 

He’s worse for wear, swaying like he doesn’t know which way is upright. His chest heaves, and there are gashes on his arms and cheek. His clothes are in tatters. He needs help. 

 

Midoriya grabs the knife from Toga’s limp hand and stumbles to his feet. He wields a weapon in each hand and rushes to the fight, keeping steps light and going undetected. Bakugou doesn’t see him, shoves his pipe into the monster’s stomach. Midoriya doesn’t see what happens, but Bakugou is screaming. “YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKER! WHY. WON’T. YOU. FUCKING. DIE?”

 

The Nomu raises it’s long, skinny arm, gunk dripping from the limb, and swings it hard and fast in front of him. It rips him off his feet. He screams in pain and Midoriya panics. Nomu waits for Bakugou, watches as he lands in a set of crates near the corner of the room, as the wood splinters around him, cuts and stabs his limbs. Blood leaks from his wounds. His head falls forward.

 

Midoriya goes pale.

 

He only has a second to think, but in the back of his head echoes Uraraka’s warning about the Nomus’ ability to absorb shock. Go for the head, Uraraka had said, And Midoriya didn’t have any other options. 

 

He runs to the crates in the corner just behind the beast. He can see Bakugou through the creature’s legs, how he slowly raises his head and smirks at the monster with blood in his teeth and smeared beneath his nose.

 

Kinda hot, he thinks, hopping onto the first barrel. But that’s the last second he has to be serious. The Nomu goes in for Midoriya again, and Midoriya’s in overdrive. He scales higher and higher as panic turns his heart into a pounding drum and his hands into a shaking mess. He climbs to the top, just high enough that if he jumped, if he made it, he’d land atop the creature. 

 

He can see Bakugou. As he lifts his head to look the monster in the eyes, he sees Izuku. His eyes widen, his face goes pale, starkly contrasting the dark blood sprayed on his person. His mouth opens, his jaw bobs. The Nomu steps forward and Midoriya bends, ready for the jump.

 

“No.” 

 

Midoriya barely hears it. 

 

He drops the pipe, squeezes the knife in his vice grip. 

 

“DEKU, NO! THE NOMU’S SKIN-”

 

Midoriya jumps before he finishes, raises the knife just above his head as he falls. It’s messy. Midoriya’s got one leg across Nomu's shoulder, the other slipping down his oily back. He’s got one arm around his forehead, his forearm wet with the creature’s bulging eyeballs. Midoriya drives the knife into its skull, yanks it out as the brain matter squelches and blood seeps from the wound. 

 

The monster sways. 

 

Midoriya stabs it again, pulls it out. He’s about to do it again when his skin starts to tingle, then burn. He can smell the decay, and goes nauseous at the sensation. He slams the knife into the Nomu’s head one last time as his grip gives way and he’s no choice but to fall.

 

His hand loses grip, then his leg slips off the monster’s shoulder. He falls back, and watches in slow motion as the monster crumbles. He smiles at it, smiles at Bakugou’s startled, awed expression just as his back hits the floor and his head smacks against the edge of a wooden crate. 

 

The world goes black.

 


 

Day 17 - Agent Bakugou’s Mission Log

 

Katsuki hasn’t left the ship’s infirmary for anything besides a shower in five days. Granted, the first three were under a doctor’s direct orders (and his fucking boss’). But it wasn’t bad being bedridden when there’s an angel in the bed beside yours. 

 

Although, the whole ‘unconscious’ thing was a bummer. Katsuki feels it’s a bit ridiculous that Izuku still isn’t up yet. Honesty, it’s pretty rude of him to keep Katsuki waiting. The guy already showed him up in the fight itself. All Katsuki got to do was tie the villains up and make sure the Nomu was actually dead. And by the way, when Japanese authorities drop onto the ship using a helicopter and crash through the door because Ochako actually was able to get in touch with somebody, they don’t fucking like when you give the villains an extra smack to the head for good measure.

 

He got chewed out for that.

 

Remembering it makes Katsuki click his tongue and look away from the infirmary bed. Instead of Izuku’s pretty face, he watches the flowers on the nightstand. There’s a potted, purple orchid from Katie Smith, a nice gesture. But that whiny captive, Alessandra, had sent Izuku roses— and they were red! “Yeah that won’t fucking do,” Katsuki grunts. 

 

After all, who the fuck had the right to give Izuku red roses? That’s his fucking job.

 

“Mmm? Kacchan?” 

 

Katsuki’s eyes snap back to the bed, to heavy lids opening and bright green eyes catching his. “ Deku? Oh my god, fucking finally!”

 

He scrunches his nose. “That’s not very nice.”

 

Katsuki snorts and shakes his head. He can’t let the nerd know he’s happy he’s fucking alive, and awake, and complaining that Katsuki’s too harsh. “I don’t need to be nice to a fucking dumbass! Look at your fucking arms!”

 

Izuku glances down, furrows his brows. He gasps. “Oh my god, I’m white.”

 

“You’re fucking bandaged! You just ran in there with no fucking plan, didn’t you? The Noumu’s mucus shit was acidic! It burned through your clothes! Your arms look like rancid meat.”

 

Izuku blinks back up at him and purses his lips. “But am I sexy rancid meat?”

 

Katsuki pinches the bridge of his nose and clicks his tongue, tired as hell. “You’re the fucking worst, is what you are.” His eyes glance up upon the sound of Izuku’s dramatic whine, and finds that Izuku’s scowl looks completely out of place on his pretty face. He huffs. “Scoot over.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I said fucking scoot over.” Katsuki gets up from the seat. His body is one, giant bruise. Everything aches. Pushing Izuku around hurts as much as it’s mean, but when has Katsuki been nice? So, he gets to the corner of the bed, nudges Izuku to one side and falls onto the mattress beside him. He knots his hand in the curls dangling over Izuku forehead, pulls his head up and puts his arm behind it so when he lets go, Izuku’s using his arm as a pillow.

 

It’s warm. 

 

Izuku hums and nuzzles into his side. “So, the fact that we’re both alive and there’s flowers on my bedside that you’re clearly upset about means we won, right?”

 

“Yeah, yeah we one. ‘Course, pretty fuckin’ angry that you took my moment.”

 

Izuku snorts. “Your moment was getting to watch me take out three of the four assailants, and my moment was getting to see you with a bloody nose.”

 

“You into that?”

 

“When my partner is a little too cocky, maybe a little bit.”

 

Katsuki laughs, loud and from the pit of his belly. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s fucking glad they both got out of there okay. Broken bones, broken noses, and acid-burned flesh aren’t ideal, but they are alive.

 

And they’re wasting away in a hospital bed together while couples hooked up and broke up on the god-forsaken Love Boat. A hand slithers over Katsuki’s lap, grabs his free hand and squeezes it shut. “Maybe when we get outta here, you can take me on another date?”

 

“Deku, you’ve been asleep for five days. The cruise is almost over and there’s no fucking way you’re getting out of here soon.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

He squeezes Izuku’s hand, and looks down at him. Izuku’s curls are big and, from where Katsuki is, he can’t really see his face. But that’s not needed to know that Izuku’s frustrated with the time cut short, and Katsuki’s pretty pissed, too. “Hey, Deku?” 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Look over here.” 

 

And Izuku does, and his green eyes look up at Katsuki, so big and bright. His lips are parted, chapped, and Katsuki doesn’t look away from them until he’s too close, until he’s more concerned with the freckles just below his eyes, and the way he can hear Izuku’s breath hitch. He closes his eyes and their lips collide like it’s a big bang, and a whole universe is created in that one gentle kiss. It’s the softest Katsuki’s been in awhile, and filled with more emotion than he’s ever put into one. 

 

When he pulls away, he opens his eyes to see Izuku’s still closed, his cheeks tinted pink and his lips glossy with Katsuki’s saliva.

 

Fucking gorgeous.

 

Izuku’s eyes flutter open, and he looks like he’s bathed in liquid gold and rose tinted light. Absolutely beautiful.

 

“Y’know, I wasn’t even supposed to be on this job,” Katsuki says, breathy. “Wasn’t ever supposed to meet someone somewhat akin to a hurricane.”

 

Izuku’s dazed expression melts into a playful grin. They’re still so close, and Izuku won’t pull away. “Is that so?” He asks.

 

“Yeah. I was supposed to be on vacation down in Cancun with my buddies.”

 

“That’s too bad.”

 

Katsuki’s soft, closed lip smile twitches. Slowly, he lifts his hand and cards the fingers through Izuku’s hair, only stopping at the nape. There, he clutched the locks and tugged Izuku closer. When he spoke, their lips brushed. “But I was thinking, y’know, that I could really fuck with getting to know you better, Deku. Did you know that? That you’re so annoying I can’t stop wanting to find out just how annoying you are.”

 

Izuku’s breathy laugh hits his cheeks. “Is that so?”

 

“Yeah,” Katsuki sighs, pecking him on the lips. “So how about I come stay in Japan for my vacation? How about we get to know each other a bit better?”

 

And Izuku laughs, and Katsuki’s heart beat turns rapid because he’s starting to think a single vacation isn’t enough time to get used to that. But Izuku grabs his face in his hands and they’re warm and rough, and loving. “You’re in luck, Kacchan,” he says, knocking their foreheads together. “I think I’m looking for a partner.”

 

*James Bond theme plays.*

 

*End Credits*