Chapter Text
When humans developed quirks, a new style of entertainment was born. Replacing fists for supernatural talents, Quirk-based Martial Arts—better known as QMA—exploded into mainstream media. Each year, countless fighters entered the ring to place themselves alongside the greatest fighters in history. Only a handful of them would get any kind of recognition in the highly competitive sport, and even fewer became household names.
Of the many rookies to emerge from the newest generation, none made quite the impression like the Explosion Fighter Dynamight.
With precise blows and theatrical eruptions, Dynamight had soared through the QMA ranks in his rookie year. He liked to fight hard and loud, with each booming explosion being louder than the last—many of his matches came with complimentary headphones for fans who preferred to not lose their hearing. Dynamight understood that the performance aspect of QMA was just as important as the athleticism, merging dramatics with talent only seen in the greatest fighters in QMA history. After his explosive rookie year, QMA fans knew Dynamight was the next big name in quirk-based fighting, and QMA experts had predicted he would take the number one position long before he reached veteran status.
On the television screen in a lavish office, a man dressed in a dark blue suit stood in front of a destroyed fighting ring. He spoke with the typical cadence expected of a reporter, and his microphone promoted the news channel he was reporting for.
“Explosion Fighter Dynamight made quite the scene during last night’s pre-season exhibition match, destroying the safety barriers with his quirk before sending a metal beam crashing on his opponent, Flying Squirrel. Squirrel was sent to the hospital for his injuries, and we have yet to receive word on—”
The television screen blackened, and an older woman turned in her chair to face the young man sitting opposite her. Her black hair was pulled into a tight bun, and her dark suit displayed her wealth and power. She scratched her purple lacquered nails on the fine mahogany of her desk as she slid a handful of papers towards the young man, who lazily scanned over the documents. The woman’s eyes were hard and dark, and her jaw was clenched as she stared fiercely at the young man, who met her gaze with a bored expression.
After a tense moment of silence, the woman sighed in frustration. “Flying Squirrel’s agency contacted us this morning. A torn ACL, a ruptured spleen, a nearly broken neck, and a multitude of other injuries that they expect us to cover—I have half a mind to make you pay the medical bills, Dynamight.”
The young man scoffed. “That’s what you get for pitting me against a low-level fighter like him. If he can’t take it, then he shouldn’t be fighting.”
The young man was none other than Dynamight, the rookie fighter who went beyond expectations with his exceptional talents. However, when he wasn’t in the ring, he was Bakugou Katsuki, and he was currently slumped in a plush chair in the office belonging to the president of Might Agency—the very agency that had signed Bakugou right out of high school.
Might Agency’s president, Itou Mizuki, struggled to contain her anger behind her stoic face. Her right eye twitched, and her red lips pursed as she leaned back in her chair. “This is the fifth time you’ve sent a fighter to the hospital, and it’s only the pre-season. You’re putting people in danger.”
One corner of Bakugou’s mouth lifted in a smirk as he huffed out a laugh. “I’m giving my fans the show they paid for.”
“You could have killed Flying Squirrel.” Itou corrected firmly.
“Yeah, and now he knows not to pull that shit with me again. Seriously, how fucking lame of a quirk is hiding nuts in his cheeks and throwing them while leaping like some kinda spider monkey? What kinda agency was stupid enough to sign someone like that ?” Bakugou snorted with a roll of his eyes.
“What does that have to do with—” Itou cut herself off with a sharp inhale, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she dug her nails into the fine wood of her desk. “You won’t have any fans to speak of if you keep fighting like this, and we won’t cover for you if you force a fighter to retire. Might Agency does not endorse this kind of behavior. Our founder would be very disappointed in you.”
Bakugou scowled. He knew Itou mentioned his agency’s founder just to get a rise out of him. All Might was the greatest fighter in QMA history, and he was Bakugou’s biggest inspiration and role model—as he was for nearly every fighter. Although All Might had retired years ago and had little control over the agency now, Bakugou did everything he could to impress his hero, and Itou often used that against him during their “meetings.”
“I’ve brought in more money and sponsorships than any other fighter in this agency since All Might himself. As long as I’m bringing a profit, then he shouldn’t care how I do it.” Bakugou growled while balling his hands into fists. His quirk threatened to spark in his palms, but he kept it under control, despite wanting nothing more than to blow the makeup off Itou’s face.
“I’ll be sure to mention that the next time I speak with him. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know that his protégé is bringing such good publicity to his beloved company.” Itou spat with pure venom in her voice.
Bakugou grit his teeth. He had tried to remain neutral during their conversation, but Itou knew how to get under his skin. He knew all too well that she never would have signed him if All Might hadn’t convinced her and the board of directors to take a chance on him. Despite his quirk’s dangerous tendencies, All Might had seen his potential, and Bakugou worked hard to prove that his hero’s intuition was right. “I bring my fans the entertainment they want, and I make sure every fight is a damn good one. No one leaves my fights unsatisfied, and you know everyone says I’m the next All Might. I’m just doing everything I can to live up to that.”
Itou slammed her hand on her desk to let Bakugou know he had gone too far. “All Might also understood the importance of sportsmanship. He never injured his opponents to the extent you have, and he had impeccable control over his primal aggression. He fought fairly and cleanly, all while putting on a good show for the audience. You may be a talented fighter, but you’re letting your primal urges get the better of you, and pretty soon you’re going to kill someone. I have already spoken with the board of directors about this, and we have agreed that something has to be done.”
A hard edge glazed over Bakugou’s blood-red eyes. Besides Itou, Might Agency’s board of directors were the bane of his existence. They couldn’t give less of a shit about the fighters themselves and only cared about how much money the fighters brought to the agency. The other fighters had warned him that once the board got involved, then that meant he had really screwed up. For a while, it seemed the board was willing to turn a blind eye to Bakugou’s aggression issues because of how much money he brought in, but apparently he had pushed the limit of what they were willing to ignore.
Bakugou sat up straighter in his seat, bringing the confidence he had in the ring into Itou’s fancy office on the top floor of Might Agency’s building. All the lavish furniture and decoration paled compared to Bakugou’s ferocity and raw power. Where people normally cowered in the face of his prowess, Itou stood her ground, meeting his glare with her own anger and frustration.
Bakugou curled his upper lip in a snarl. “So, what’re you getting at, Madam President ?”
With a firm, clear voice, Itou’s words stabbed a dagger into Bakugou’s heart. “Your aggression is getting out of control.”
“Fuck off.” Bakugou growled.
Itou ignored Bakugou’s insult. “We knew the risks in signing a fighter like you, but All Might insisted you could control your urges. You had the number one fighter on your side, and all you’ve done is proven that you can’t handle the pressure. We’ve given you three years to get your act together, but you’ve only gotten worse. The board plans on telling All Might about your shortcomings if you don’t get your act together, and I have little motivation to stop them. If he agrees that you’re a risk for the agency, then you’re done. We’ve given you enough chances.”
Bakugou scowled at Itou, but he couldn’t think of a rebuttal because—as much as it pained him to admit—she was right. He had always had issues with his primal aggression ever since he went through puberty and presented his secondary sex. His mother had warned him that strong primal urges were prevalent in her family, but he had assumed she was just being a nagging old hag and had ignored her out of spite.
His teenage years had been brutal, and his only outlet had been fighting in the QMA clubs in middle and high school. He had dedicated himself to QMA—using his matches to tamper the aggression threatening to burst through his skin and rip apart everything and everyone within grabbing distance.
When he had signed with Might Agency, he promised he would learn to control his primal aggression to please All Might, but his dreams of being the greatest fighter in QMA history had only enabled his primal urges to fight and destroy. Three years later, and his primal aggression had finally bitten him in the ass, just like his mother had always said it would.
However, Bakugou wouldn’t tuck his tail between his legs for Itou or the board of directors—he would rather fist-fight Endeavor than submit to their pompous asses. “Well, what the fuck do you want me to do about it? Primal aggression kinda implies that it’s, y’know, involuntary . What, you gonna castrate me, or something?”
Itou rested her chin on her entwined fingers as she spoke the next words with a sense of finality. “You know what stops primal aggression.”
Bakugou’s heart stopped. Sparks popped in his palms, and he narrowed his eyes in a fierce glare. “ Fuck no.”
Itou raised one perfectly tweezed black eyebrow. “Might Agency will not have a loose cannon like you representing us. We set the QMA standard, and you’re not living up to it. No amount of money or sponsors will ever convince us to keep someone who threatens to ruin our image.”
“Forced mating is illegal, you fucking asshole.” Bakugou snarled through gritted teeth.
Itou momentarily took her eyes off Bakugou to rummage through a stack of papers in her desk drawer. “That is not the option we’re giving you, though you being mated would solve a lot of our problems.” she mumbled the last part under her breath, causing a vein to pop on Bakugou’s forehead.
If she wasn’t the president of his agency, then he would have blown her through the floor-to-ceiling windows and sent her sailing to the ground below. Bakugou immediately squeezed his eyes shut to get rid of the violent imagery. He threatened to blow people up all the time, but he had never felt the raw hatred in his heart like he did now. Images of Flying Squirrel laying motionless in the ring appeared, and Bakugou grit his teeth. He was becoming a danger to everyone, and he hated himself for letting it get this out of control.
Before Bakugou could say anything, Itou slapped a pamphlet on her desk. He took it with a quizzical gaze, eyeing the stock image of two women smiling and embracing each other fondly. In bright blue letters, the words Primal Aggression Therapy were written at the top of the pamphlet.
At Bakugou’s questioning stare, Itou explained. “As the name suggests, Primal Aggression Therapy helps settle your uncontrollable urges, namely aggression.”
Bakugou opened the pamphlet, though he barely skimmed at what it was saying. He held back a scoff at the image of a happy family—two men walking hand-in-hand with a toddler. All the image needed was “This Could Be You!” written in happy font to convince him he was being preyed upon by some scam that targeted desperate, unmated people. “So, what, I gotta see some quack that’s gonna hypnotize me or something?”
Itou pursed her lips with a heavy sigh. “If you would read the pamphlet, then you would see that it’s a subscription service, not traditional therapy. The program uses scent therapy to settle your primal urges, and it’s supposed to make you more calm and relaxed. It’s even good for—”
“If I wanted some smelly dickwad invading my space, then I would’ve gotten mated a long time ago. I don’t want some random person’s scent stinking up my house; that’s fucking gross.” Bakugou glowered in distaste at the pamphlet. He wanted to blow it up with his quirk, but he knew Itou would throw a fit if he tried.
Itou clenched her hands into fists. “You are the most insufferable little—” she inhaled sharply again, and Bakugou smirked at having the upper-hand. However, his smirk faded when Itou’s expression darkened, and she sat impossibly straight in her tall office chair. “Dynamight, you’re a great fighter—the next number one, even—and I know how much QMA means to you, but the board and I won’t be able to keep you if you keep threatening our agency’s integrity like this. If you can’t get your primal aggression under control, then we’ll have to let you go.”
Bakugou concealed the pain in his heart with a scoff. He tried to sound like he wasn’t utterly crushed at the thought of no longer fighting for Might Agency when he spoke. “You make it sound like other agencies wouldn’t be groveling on their knees to have me. All I gotta say is that this agency wasn’t a good fit for me, and they’ll have no reason to not believe me. You have no control over my career.”
Bakugou really didn’t like the blank expression in Itou’s eyes as she continued to stare at him.
“No agency will want you once they find out the truth.” she said grimly.
Bakugou’s fingers tightened on the pamphlet. “What truth?” he asked quietly.
Itou didn’t blink as she spoke. “That you lied when you told us you were an alpha.”
Bakugou’s blood ran cold, and he lost feeling in his legs. His fingers trembled and his eyes widened as he took in Itou’s icy stare. “You wouldn’t,” he whispered.
Itou shrugged nonchalantly. “We have the papers to prove it. The other agencies don’t have to know that you gave us those papers willingly—we could easily say we had to go behind your back to retrieve them because we had suspicions about you. They also don’t have to know that we’ve been protecting your true identity for three years. All they need to know is that you’re an omega, and none of them will even want to breathe the same air as you.”
Bakugou swallowed thickly. The aggression coursing through his veins was quickly replaced with fear. Itou wasn’t bluffing.
Although QMA was legally open to all sexes, the unspoken rule was that omegas weren’t allowed to fight, and they would be ridiculed if they tried. Alphas dominated the sport, with the occasional beta taking the lower ranks, but no omega had ever dared enter the ring against a powerful alpha. The only successful non-alpha Bakugou knew of was Hawks—a beta—and even he had been rejected by so many agencies that he had to start his own just for a chance to prove himself. Watching an alpha exert their power and strength was awe-inspiring, but seeing a beta or omega do the same was outlandish.
While he didn’t outright reject to being an omega, Bakugou had identified as an alpha so he could join the QMA club in middle school, and everyone had assumed he was an alpha because of his brash demeanor. Even his quirk was considered an “alpha quirk,” with the stereotype being that omegas only had gentle and tame quirks instead of Bakugou’s loud, powerful one. He had done everything he could to hide who he really was, but his own pride and arrogance was threatening to undo all his hard work.
“All Might had to convince us to take a chance on you, not just because of your risky fighting style or unpredictable quirk, but because of your secondary sex. We agreed to play along with your alpha schtick because he had so much faith in you, and this is how you repay him?” Itou rested her elbows on her desk while never once averting her gaze from Bakugou’s fear-stricken form. “You were wrong. We do control your career, and we can end it just as quickly as we started it. All we need to do is utter one word, and any legacy to your name will vanish. Even if you tried to speak out against us, who do you think the public would believe—an agency founded by a man who is a hero to all, or a hotheaded rookie who can’t control his primal urges? I don’t want to ruin a promising career like yours, but I won’t let you destroy everything All Might worked so hard to achieve.”
Bakugou couldn’t remember the last time he had been so shaken. Dynamight was unflappable, confident, and brave, yet he was acting like a shivering coward in the face of adversity. This wasn’t who he was, and he hated Itou for making him feel so small, but he knew he couldn’t fight her outside the ring. She had him cornered, and she had finally won the battle of tug-of-war they had been engaged in for three years. His pride refused to let himself verbally agree to Itou’s ultimatum, so he replied with a short, final nod. QMA meant everything to him, and he didn’t want to see his career and reputation destroyed because of an alpha who had used his sex against him, even if that meant going along with said alpha’s plans.
Itou leaned back in her chair. Her silhouette against the massive window made her look like a villain about to destroy the world—or, more appropriately, Bakugou’s world. “I expect you to tell me when you’ve signed up for the therapy program, and then we’ll wait a month to see how you’ve improved. For now, I will work with our publicity team on what to tell the public about your absence. We’ll cancel your upcoming fights, and you’re barred from returning to the agency until I confirm your progress. If this therapy doesn’t work out, then your career is over, so I suggest you take something other than fighting seriously for once. You’re dismissed.” She finished with a wave of her hand, disregarding Bakugou’s trembling fingers threatening to rip the pamphlet to shreds.
A gentle ringing sounded as Bakugou nearly destroyed the restaurant’s wooden door with his quirk. A couple eating near the door jumped at his entrance, and a young man cleaning dishes at the bar glowered at him.
“Hey man, we can’t afford another door! You know how expensive those things are?” exclaimed the gray-haired young man standing behind the counter.
“I’ll pay for it.” Bakugou grumbled.
“That’s what you said last time!”
“Then put it on my tab, you fuckin’ idiot.” Bakugou growled as he slumped on an empty stool opposite the gray-haired man, who rolled his eyes at his murderous aura.
“Great, you’re in another one of your moods.” he grumbled before turning to face a red curtain draped over a doorway. “Ei, your boyfriend’s here, and he’s pissed off again!”
Bakugou snarled. “Cut it out, shitface! He’s not my—”
A bright smile interrupted his words as a red-haired man pulled back the curtain to enter the dining area. His crimson eyes sparkled, and the gentleness in his demeanor silenced Bakugou’s complaints. “Hey, Bakugou! Rough day at work? I’ll make you the usual, no charge!”
The gray-haired man scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “Like he doesn’t have the money to pay for his own food.”
Before Bakugou could threaten to blow the smug look off the gray-haired man’s face, the handsome man with the glittering red eyes smiled once more, effectively diminishing Bakugou’s anger.
“Oh, come on, Tetsu, he’s our best customer! He deserves a little special treatment now and again. Did you even greet him when he came in?” He nudged the gray-haired man’s shoulder with his own, causing the other to roll his eyes again.
“Yeah, yeah, welcome to Fat Gum’s, princess.” said the gray-haired man, Tetsutetsu, to which his red-haired companion, Kirishima, beamed once more at Bakugou before disappearing behind the curtain.
Bakugou had found the restaurant by accident three years ago, shortly after he had moved into his apartment. After a long day of training, he had tried to scamper home in the rain but got lost and sought shelter in a small restaurant hidden in a sea of high-rise buildings. The building itself was old and cramped, but Bakugou preferred the minimal seating and quiet hum over the normal busyness that came with more popular restaurants.
Fat Gum’s specialized in Osaka-style okonomiyaki, and the cozy decor and smiling faces had made Bakugou feel welcome for the first time since leaving his childhood home. Only three people worked at Fat Gum’s—the adopted sons of the restaurant owner, who manned the original restaurant in Osaka while his sons expanded the business in Tokyo. Bakugou had learned more about the three brothers during his frequent visits—Amajiki Tamaki, the shy oldest brother who stayed in the kitchens to avoid talking to people, Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu, a loud-mouthed brat whose biological parents had obviously hated him to give him such a name, and Kirishima Eijirou, whose smiling face was one of the few reasons Bakugou kept returning to—
Bakugou shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Stop thinking such ridiculous shit, Katsuki.
A plate of steaming okonomiyaki was placed in front of him, and he glanced up to see Kirishima’s sparkling eyes and friendly grin. A white band was wrapped around his forehead to keep his unruly red hair out of his face, with the rest of it pulled back in a low ponytail to keep it out of the food. Bakugou flicked his gaze down at the white, short-sleeved shirt Kirishima wore, and he wondered if it was illegal to wear a shirt that tight over muscles that large.
Black ink creating intricate designs covered almost the entirety of Kirishima’s arms, with more tattoos leading up his shoulders and towards his chest, though it had remained suspiciously blank compared to the rest of his upper body. Black gauges and silver hoops decorated his ears, which sadly reminded Bakugou about Might Agency’s strict rules for their fighters’ appearances.
Kirishima had the style he desperately wanted, along with the personality he could never have. Bakugou wanted to sigh in frustration and envy at the bright aura that permanently engulfed Kirishima in a halo.
“I added pork since I know you’re still training for the upcoming season. Gonna need lots of protein for your upcoming fights!” Kirishima explained as he slid the large plate of food towards Bakugou.
At the mention of the upcoming season, Bakugou slumped his shoulders. Even the best food in the world served by the nicest person he had ever met couldn’t let him forget about his meeting with Itou. “Thanks,” he grumbled.
Kirishima rested his forearms on the bar as he leaned into Bakugou’s space. He usually hated when people got too close to him, but he didn’t mind Kirishima’s presence. He swallowed against the hard lump in his throat that had formed when he eyed the black ink peeking over the hem of Kirishima’s shirt, along with the distinct line separating his protruding pectorals.
“Your match last night was awesome, by the way! Your Explode-a-Pult has gotten crazy powerful since last season. Have you been working on it?”
Bakugou pursed his lips to conceal the satisfied smile that threatened to appear. Kirishima was a huge fan of his—he even had pictures of Bakugou’s major wins framed on the wall behind the bar, alongside other QMA greats—and his constant praise gave him the boost he needed in the ring. He secretly loved when his fans gushed over him, but Kirishima’s love for the sport made his opinion even more important. He also appreciated how Kirishima never mentioned the ugly sides of Bakugou’s fighting style, such as his tendency to put fighters in the hospital. His primal aggression and uncontrollable antics had clearly never once crossed Kirishima’s optimistic mind, and Bakugou found solace in someone seeing the good in him, just like All Might had three years ago.
Perhaps the great food was part of the reason he frequented Fat Gum’s so often, but having someone to talk to about QMA was also a plus—alongside other things Bakugou tried not to acknowledge, such as the way his heart fluttered anytime Kirishima smiled at him.
“Yeah, I’ve been working on all my moves during the off-season.” Bakugou explained through a mouthful of pork strips.
“Well, keep it up! You’ve been kicking some serious ass; I can’t wait to see what you do once the regular season starts! I think you’ll definitely reach number two by the end of the year, then the only fighter standing in your way is Endeavor, and you can totally take him on!” Kirishima boasted while smiling at Bakugou in a way that made his stomach jump into his throat.
Bakugou allowed himself to show a small smile as he briefly met Kirishima’s eyes. “Endeavor’s really strong.” he muttered to avoid talking directly about the upcoming season.
“Yeah, but you’re really strong, too. If anyone can beat Endeavor, it’s you. I bet you could’ve taken All Might back in his prime, and I don’t just say that to every fighter who eats here.” Kirishima chuckled, causing Bakugou to huff genially under his breath.
“Hey, Ei, you know we’ve got other customers, right? You’ve been fangirling for long enough.” Tetsutetsu nodded at the other restaurant patrons seated sporadically through the small dining area.
Kirishima slumped against the bar. “Can’t you take them for me? It’s not like you ever do anything important.”
Tetsutetsu glared at him. “Keeping the restaurant clean is very important, dumbass! Besides, you were the one who asked to be put on serving duty so you can save up for your next stupid tattoo, so get to it!”
Kirishima sighed with a dramatic roll of his eyes, one that made Bakugou chuckle softly. “ Fine ,” he groaned, to which Tetsutetsu returned to his duties with a satisfied smirk.
Bakugou tried to leave Kirishima alone so he could serve the other patrons, but it was difficult to ignore his overwhelming aura of comfort and serenity. In the corner of his eye, Bakugou saw Kirishima tilt his head to the side.
“Hey, you alright? You seem kinda down.” Kirishima mumbled quietly so the other customers wouldn’t hear him.
Bakugou shoved a large bite of food into his mouth to distract himself from Kirishima’s big puppy-dog eyes. “‘M fine.” he mumbled.
Kirishima didn’t seem convinced, but thankfully didn’t press Bakugou further. “Well, enjoy the food, and don’t let Tetsu try to make you pay for it—it’s on me, seriously. And I can’t wait for your next match! It’s next Friday, right? Against that rookie with the laser fingers? You’ll take him down in record time, I’m sure of it.” he chuckled, though the sound of it felt like a stab through Bakugou’s heart.
“Uh, yeah, next Friday.” Bakugou grumbled as his quirk threatened to blow the entire restaurant to the ground. He couldn’t tell Kirishima about his forced vacation because that would make him ask questions Bakugou wasn’t ready to answer, but he also hated knowing that he would learn the truth once Might Agency released a press statement about his absence. He just hoped Kirishima wouldn’t be mad at him for lying.
Kirishima looked like he wanted to say more, but the sound of a bell ringing took his attention off Bakugou. He greeted a group of high school girls entering the restaurant with his usual dazzling smile. “Welcome to Fat Gum’s!”
Bakugou slumped in his heat, grateful to no longer be under Kirishima’s questioning stare. He would get his aggression under control—if not for himself, then for his fans, especially for his biggest fan. Bakugou had been in his first year of fighting when he met Kirishima, and he had been the first person outside of QMA to praise Bakugou’s fighting style. Kirishima had always proudly declared that Bakugou would make it big in QMA, and he hated disappointing his fans. He also hated admitting that Kirishima’s praise specifically made his heart skip.
Laughter bubbled from nearby, and Bakugou glanced in the corner of his eye to see the group of teen girls giggling at something Kirishima had said. They looked at him like he was the first man they had ever seen, and Kirishima’s friendly smile and masculine physique only empowered their flirtatious actions. Bakugou wondered if he looked that stupid when Kirishima spoke to him.
Even with scent blockers, Bakugou knew Kirishima was an alpha. His assumption was proven correct after hearing Tetsutetsu and Kirishima joking about their ruts shortly after Bakugou began frequenting the restaurant. Likewise, Kirishima had naturally assumed that Bakugou was an alpha, and he didn’t dare tell him the truth. He was terrified to think of how Kirishima would react if he found out that the fighter he had supported for three years was nothing more than an omega playing pretend. Realistically, he knew Kirishima wasn’t that type of alpha, but just the thought of Kirishima hating him had scared him enough to stay silent.
Kirishima believing Bakugou to be alpha presented other problems, too, ones that had to do with his repressed feelings for the red-haired man with the dazzling smile.
Plenty of alphas dated other alphas, but Bakugou had a feeling Kirishima wasn’t one of them. He was the type of guy who would want to wrap a sweet, petite omega in his big arms, and “sweet and petite” were the last words anyone would use to describe Bakugou. He knew he didn’t have a chance, yet he still kept returning to Fat Gum’s for nearly three years just to enjoy Kirishima’s company—and to pitifully imagine what it would be like to be with someone who supported his career and encouraged him to be the best version of himself he could be.
Kirishima handed the girls their plates of food, and his eyes met Bakugou’s when he turned away. Kirishima’s face—his beautiful, stupid face—lit up when he smiled at him, and Bakugou felt his heart break a little more.
Today was undoubtedly the worst day of his life.
Bakugou’s face glowed as he opened his laptop. He had left Fat Gum’s shortly after finishing his meal, and he had idled in his apartment for hours before mustering enough courage to turn on his computer. A blank screen greeted him, and his fingers hovered over the keyboard as he sighed to himself.
“Three words,” he seethed, “three fucking words, Katsuki. Just type them, you coward.”
His agency had emailed him with a reminder that they expected a response regarding what he had discussed with Itou earlier that day, and Bakugou had cracked his phone screen from how angrily he had gripped it. From the way the email was worded, Might Agency had made it very clear that they were serious about forcing Bakugou into retirement if he didn’t go through with the therapy, and if he tried to speak out against them, then they would gladly reveal to the world who he truly was.
He had wanted to punch something after reading that email. Better yet, he wanted to kill something—preferably an older female alpha with dark hair and a smug grin who thought she could control every aspect of his life and—
Bakugou inhaled sharply, counted to five, and exhaled. He already had enough people trying to dictate his life; he wouldn’t let some stupid genetic issue get the better of him. Though he supposed he already had let it get the better of him, considering how he ended up in this situation.
He groaned in frustration and pressed his palms to his eyes. How could he have let it get this bad?
With another inhale, Bakugou steadied himself. After taking a long swig of vitamin water, he glanced at the pamphlet lying innocently next to him on the couch. A website was written in small print on the bottom of the page, and Bakugou punched the keyboard with the tips of his fingers.
primalaggressiontherapy.com
He was instantly assaulted with bright images and bold text proclaiming the effectiveness of the therapy program, specifically its subscription service. Photos of smiling people appeared next to rave reviews from satisfied customers, and Bakugou scoffed at the sight. The photos were clearly stock images of professional headshots—was he really supposed to believe they were legitimate reviews? The website itself looked like it was created by someone who had no experience in web design, and Bakugou wondered if Itou had been scammed into shelling this pseudoscience posing itself as therapy.
Scanning over articles written by supposed “experts” who had created the therapy program, Bakugou’s skepticism caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand. He knew he needed to do something about his primal aggression, and he certainly wasn’t against seeking professional help, but that was the problem—nothing about this therapy method seemed professional at all. He half expected to see advertisements promoting local single alphas in his area offering to quell his primal urges.
The “experts” claimed to have spent years studying alpha and omega genetics with predispositions to primal aggression, and they claimed to have counteracted those deficiencies with the calming pheromones of a potential mate. When an aggressive alpha or omega scented the pheromones of their desired mate, then their primal urges would calm exponentially, according to well-known research. Bakugou knew that much, considering movies and songs had popularized that the belief of finding a mate was like finding the key to eternal happiness.
While scenting may have been an integral part of calming aggression, Bakugou wasn’t sure how this therapy program could simulate a genuine relationship when it wasn’t a matchmaking service.
Interestingly, the articles claimed that primal aggression occurred more in unmated omegas than alphas, which went against the docile stereotype society had forced upon omegas. Bakugou tried to find the sources linked at the end of that article, but there were none, which made him more suspicious about the entire thing.
Nothing about the website convinced Bakugou that the therapy was scientifically proven or supported, but he had a feeling Itou wouldn’t accept the excuse of “it’s a crock of shit, lady,” as to why he didn’t sign up for the program.
With no other options, Bakugou clicked on the subscription link that showed him the different services available. Most of the subscription services offered access to a therapist, and Bakugou couldn’t help but bark out a laugh at that . There was no way he would willingly talk to one of these wack jobs, no matter how hilarious it would be to hear them try to explain the legitimacy of their program.
Bakugou read the details of the scent-only program, which would match him with the scent of an alpha that made him feel the most calm and relaxed. That alone made him worried, for he knew the scenting process of mating often involved directly scenting a person to see if they were a compatible match. With one last reassuring glimpse at the pamphlet, he saw the program claimed to be “totally anonymous,” so he supposed he would have to take their word for it. Although she had used his identity to get him to comply with her demands, Bakugou knew Itou wouldn’t out him as an omega until it was beneficial for her—as shitty as that may be.
The scent-only program was also the cheapest option available, but he wasn’t going to pay for it with his own money. No, if Might Agency was forcing him to do this, then they would have to pay for it. He reached into his wallet for the complimentary credit card his agency had given him to use while traveling for fights, and he smirked to himself as he typed in all the information the website asked for. Although it was the cheapest option, the scent-only subscription was still pricey, and it made him happy to know that he was costing Itou money even after she had locked him in the dungeon.
“That’s what you assholes get for making me do this shitty program.” he grumbled under his breath as he received a confirmation email welcoming him as the newest member of Primal Aggression Therapy.