An Eternal Sort Of Promise (masterlist)

f!reader | thinkin abt prone bone with katsuki. he’ll put his full weight on you bc he doesn’t give a single fuck if it’s too much, he wants it. his fat cock slams into you, heavy balls clapping against your clit almost too hard, but you can’t stop him, so does that even matter? your legs are almost spread too wide as he cages you in, but he’ll pull them back open if you try to close them because he wants to fuck you so deep he’s in your guts. maybe his hands are under your chest so he can grope your tits, twist and pull your nipples as much as he wants. he’ll pull your head back hard by the hair to get better access to your neck, keep you from muffling the moans he’s ripping out of your body. he’ll finger your mouth like that just to see you drool, feel your cunt clench and flutter from the humiliation of it. he’ll suck and bite hard marks into your skin along your neck and shoulder, kiss the tender spots that he’s created. maybe he’ll do all of those things while you’re laying with your back against his chest so he is hands have more purchase over your body as he thrusts up into you. but what runs through your head the most when you’re alone is the way he speaks to you. his voice, much like his groans are low and rough, but still soft enough that it gives you chills.

“tch. listen t’you, so fuckin needy…. such a good girl, lettin’ me fuck you like this. takin’ me so well…. you deserve it, princess. deserve t’be fucked like you belong t’me…. who owns you, huh?…. ‘s right, i do…. so fuckin’ perfect f’me…. fuck, that’s it, pretty girl. lemme have it. make a mess on my cock…. that’s my girl, don’t stop cumming. i need it, don’t fuckin’ stop, baby….”

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𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐏

✽ — PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader ✽ — SYNOPSIS: When a job goes south, Bakugou and Kirishima are left dealing with the consequences of saving a life that maybe they shouldn't have. ✽ — WORD COUNT: est. 30.2k ✽ — WARNINGS: Female reader (she/her used), Cyberpunk AU, gun violence, gunshot wounds, descriptions of dead bodies, blood, body modifications, amnesia, death threats, POV changes between Bakugou & Reader, enemies to lovers (?), eventual smut, angst, no beta reader, no second part, there are no happy endings in night city. ✽ — NOTES: It only took me two years but hey, it's here. You don't necessarily need to know anything about cyberpunk to read this, I've tried to explain things as best as I can in the fic itself. But if you have any questions, please feel free to send me an ask! ✽ — EXTRAS: Playlist // AO3

“Shit!”

“The fuck did you do now?!” The blonde rounds the back of the car, a hand clasping the handgun tight in one hand whilst the other runs frantically through his sweat-slicked hair. It was not meant to go like this, this was meant to be an easy job. 

That’s what Aizawa said! Easy! The warehouse they were supposed to hit tonight was rumoured to be empty, no one had been seen moving in and out of it for days. There wasn’t meant to be a gunfight and now Bakugou worries about how it’ll come back around to bite him in the ass. 

His eyes snap away from the pools of blood and a mixture of chemical fluids. Kirishima is hunched over something in the open trunk of the car, his shoulders are bunched and Bakugou can practically feel the tension rolling off of his best friend in waves. “Oi, what the fuck is—”

Kirishima steps back, and Bakugou’s words die on the tip of his tongue when he stares down at the loot Aizawa had sent them to get. He had said it was just a simple shipment, a bunch of cyberware shit that needed to be shifted from one side of Night City to the other. But this was not just any old sort of cyberware. 

Arasaka cyberware. 

That meant the crate would most likely be tracked, and inside of it would be goods worth more money than either of the two Mercs had touched in their entire life.

“Oh fuck me–” Bakugou speaks first, eyes locked onto the metallic case. “Ei, we need to drop this shit. We can’t be caught with it, they’ll have our fucking balls.”

“No shit we can’t be caught with it! But what do we do with it now?! We can’t just leave it, what if the Maelstrom comes back and takes whatever’s inside of it?” Kirishima’s the one glaring at Bakugou now, the look making the man of 6’8” seem more of a terrifying monster than anything. “Why did you have to say yes to this job, man? We were fine for a few more weeks–”

“Because it would’ve gotten us both out of the fucking city Eijirou!” Bakugou yells finally, he is shorter than Kirishima but still at his own height of 6’3”, he makes up for his lack of height in comparison with his explosive anger. “I took it so that we could go back fucking home! Don’t you want that?!”

“Of course, I wan–”

Bang!

Instinctively Bakugou and Kirishima drop to the ground, Bakugou pulls his handgun up and is ready to fire whilst Kirishima's skin shifts with the metal plating. The two of them were a two-man team that was inseparable, Kirishima the shield and Bakugou the firepower. Both of their eyes are locked together as they wait to see if there’s another gunshot, Bakugou’s heart feels like it might beat its way out of his chest any minute now. He was certain he had gotten everyone, his optical enhancements had confirmed as much. 

The red of his eyes flash to life as he takes a deep breath before peeking over the back of the car, it’s silent for a moment before he hears a dragging noise and sure enough—there’s a body heat signature east of the car, hidden behind some boxes and crates. His arms adjust on the car, holding his gun steady, ready to shoot the second their head peeks over the crate.

…But then the heat signature flickers out, and Bakugou drops his position in confusion before there’s another bang and this time the bullet does collide with the car. 

“Fuck, they’ve got some sort of tech that lets them hide from my optics,” Bakugou whispers harshly to Kirishima who has his back plastered to the car, his face stoic despite the possibility of being taken out by someone who was possessing cyberware that’d allow them to appear out of thin air practically. 

Kirishima nods once, the body plating along his forearms clicking into place as he readies to use himself as a human shield. Bakugou steels his nerves, eyes flashing back to life before finally saying “Move with me.”

The two of them are up in an instant, Kirishima crossing his arms over his upper half and tensing his muscles to ensure his body mass covers Bakugou entirely whilst the blonde slips his arm just beneath Kirishima’s with the gun poised and ready to shoot. The crimson of his eye gleams in the darkness when he catches the heat signature once again dashing from one crate to another and this time Bakugou doesn’t hesitate. The gun fires in rapid succession, neither of the men flinching. The reaction is immediate when there’s what sounds like something falling to the floor. 

“Lost visual again,” Bakugou confirms when the warm red spot vanishes from his vision, leaving just droplets of what must be blood on the floor in their wake. Both mercs wait in silent anticipation, Kirishima moving with each step Bakugou takes as if it were second nature to him—perhaps at this point in life, it was second nature. 

Kirishima had come with Bakugou from Tokyo to Night City nearly 15 years ago with the plan that the two of them were simply there for one job. It was going to give them life-changing money, something the two of them desperately needed for themselves and their families back home. 

“Ei!” Bakugou yells, Kirishima plants both of his boots against the ground and brings up his arms to defend his face. The bullet buries itself into the metal plating of his arm, pulling a deep grunt from the man.

“Motherfucker–!” 

Bakugou again fires the gun, a snarl resting on his face and this time he hears the sound of flesh being hit by the bullet, and then the sound of a body slumping onto the ground. Kirishima finally steps down from being the human shield, pulling his arm up to view the bullet that’s embedded deep into his forearm. No doubt the Doc will be pissed about this when he gets back.

“All good?” Bakugou asks, changing out the mag in his gun before glancing towards the foot he can now see peeking out from behind the boxes. Kirishima grunts a yes whilst pulling the bullet free from his arm, the sound of it hitting the floor loud in the now silent warehouse. “Doc’s gonna kill ya for that.” 

“Ya think? She only just upgraded it for me.” Kirishima almost whines, quite the opposite of the man he just was as he watches the black liquid of the synthetic fluids leak from his arm in place of blood. “If I ask her nicely, do you think– Hey, where are you going?” Kirishima watches Bakugou slam shut the trunk of the car before stomping his way over to the body he’d just shot, he had to know if it was enough scumbag from some gang or if Arasaka were already onto them.

Bakugou rounds the crate, readying his gun to fire once more and freezes in place; gun raised just slightly, eyes widened and mouth ajar. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me—Ei, get here. Now.”

Kirishima walks over when the ash blonde hisses at him to hurry the fuck up, wiping the black liquid free from his arms before looking down at what Bakugou was staring at. 

“Ohh.. fuck, dude.” He gapes at the girl lying on the floor, covered head-to-toe in blacked-out clothing. But it wasn’t the fact it was a girl that Bakugou had taken down, but rather it was the fact she had the Militech symbol stitched into the sleeve of her t-shirt. “What the fuck did Militech want with this?”

“I don’t know—maybe to reignite that old corporate war they had years ago with Arasaka? Everyone knows both of them are fucked up.” Bakugou is still frozen, the handgun still aimed to shoot. If he takes out this Militech assassin, it’s most likely going to be tracked back to them and by them; he means the new family he had found in Night City. It was a tightly knit group, all coming from similar backgrounds to his own but ending up in NC for different reasons. He couldn’t do that to them, he couldn’t get them killed because he took a job to run away.

Kirishima squats down next to the body, head tilting as he leans a little closer towards her head. His hand hovers just next to her face, “The fuck you doin’ now? Gettin’ your big ass fingerprints all over the body so they ca—” 

“Shush,” Kirishima demands, and Bakugou goes to defy immediately before he’s shushed for a second time whilst Kirishima puts his index finger beneath her nose. It’s a tense moment, but he feels it. “Still breathing, we could still call trauma and—”

“And what? She relays to her boss that she ran into one very identifiable red-haired giant and his angry friend? No. We kill her.” 

“Wait! Wait!” Kirishima moves to push the gun away when Bakugou raises it, meeting his scathing glare with his own determined one. “What if we use her for info? Clearly whatever is in that box is worth enough to get both Arasaka and Militech willing to fight.” 

Bakugou’s jaw ticks as he clenches it, eyes flicking between his red-haired friend and the girl on the floor. He’s right, Aizawa might know something about this, and if they’re able to pull info from her about Militech then they could probably sell it to Arasaka for a pretty penny. 

“Shit.” He huffs, finally pulling the gun back and holstering it. “Fine, but you’re the fucker that’s got to explain why we’re dragging a half-dead Militech asshole through the Docs door.”

“—not keeping—” 

“This is your—” 

“Guys.” 

Everything felt…wrong. Nothing felt like it belonged, and yet it did at the same time. Mechanical parts clicking and groaning, blood pumping in and out, brain whirring to life. Lights that are far too bright for delicate eyes, and all noises submerged in synthetic water. 

What was happening? 

Where were you?

“Can you hear me?” a voice calls from a distant place to your left, you want to open your eyes or will your lips to move to form the words that are hanging at the end of your tongue. What happened to you? Nothing made sense, you didn’t recognise that voice and you didn’t recognise the coldness of the metal table you were laid on. 

“Hey—wait, calm down.” A smooth, cold hand presses itself against your sternum and it was as if a light switch had been flipped in the dark recesses of your mind. You didn’t have to think when your own hand wraps around the offending limb, fingers curling dangerously tight.

“Shit, I knew this was a fucking mistake!” A new voice, distantly familiar. There’s a scrambling of feet, and finally, your eyes are opening. The light is blinding, but you can make out the blurry outlines of figures that are double your size and they’re frantically moving to reach something; guns, you belatedly realise and you don’t miss a beat in hauling yourself off of the metal table. 

The two men—you can finally see them now and they’re nothing short of a pair of gigantic cyborgs—have turned to you with guns raised but they haven't made a move yet. Your arm tenses around something until you hear a squeak accompanied by a choking sound. Hesitantly you glance down to see you have a woman with brown hair pinned to your chest with one forearm crushing her throat and the other raised in their direction. 

“Now, just hold on.” The one with the red hair speaks, his hands raised to show he’s no threat but you don’t miss the way his skin shifts with the metal plating. Armour. He must be the shield, and the other must be the firepower. 

“Lower your weapon.” Weapon? You flick your eyes towards the blonde who most definitely isn’t lowering his weapon. The redhead shifts again, and he’s taken a step forward towards you but his hands are still up in surrender. “Please, lower your weapon.”

He must see the confusion on your face so he points towards your free arm currently not crushing the woman to your body. You hesitate to look where his finger is pointing, but it’s hard to miss when your eyes drift slightly away from the redhead. In place of your arm is what looks like an M-179 precision rifle. 

Wait—how do you know what type of weapon that is? You’ve never held a gun in your life before, you–you…–you were just some street rat. The weapon retreats back into your arm, clicking your own metal plates back together until it’s smoothed over as if it had never existed in the first place.

Did these people put these parts into you? Had they found you passed out in some dark alleyway and dragged you here to experiment on you? That’s the only explanation, it’s the only reason you’re in this dingy ripper doctor's office. 

“S–Stop. Can’t—breathe.” the woman croaks against your arm, and you realise you’re actually starting to crush her windpipe with your forearm. She stumbles forward with a hard choke, whilst you launch yourself back into the surrounding deskspace. Metal clangs and surgical instruments fall to the floor in a loud clatter, the roaring in your ears is too loud to hear what the people are saying to you.

Another set of hands place themselves against you, your upper arms this time but they’re no longer cold, they’re warm. A shroud of red covers the edges of your vision and all you can focus on is the face directly in front of yours, his lips are moving and it’s impossible to decipher what he’s trying to say. 

Why does his face seem so familiar? You had seen this hair somewhere before, and those teeth. You had never run into someone with such sharp teeth and yet your mind couldn’t stop trying to find just where you had seen them before. The red-haired man looks over his shoulder, letting you see the blonde who was frowning in your direction still brandishing the gun that was pointed directly at your head if anything were to go wrong. 

“—know man!”

“Move so I can—”

“You.” Both voices silence immediately. Two different sets of red eyes on you and yet they both carry a different feeling; one filled with curious sympathy and the other hardened disgust. “Who are you? I–I think I know you.” 

“Uh, well, I’m Kirishima.” There’s a groan of annoyance from what you assume to be the blonde whilst the one named Kirishima keeps his eyes on yours. “What about you, what’s your name?”

Your lips part, tongue moving to accommodate the syllables of your name and yet nothing comes forward. You try again with furrowed eyebrows but it feels like your tongue is too big for your mouth and your throat is restricting around your name. In your oncoming panic, you latch a hand to your throat, widening your eyes when you try again and again to spit your name out.

“Hey! Alright!” A hand comes around your wrist and peels your fingers away from the skin of your throat, and Kirishima takes a deep breath when he looks down at you. “You don’t remember a thing, do you?” your only response is a shake of your head, and you swear the man's shoulders slump as he deflates a little at your admission. Had they known you?

“Fuckin’ brilliant, Ei. Now Aizawa’s gonna have our ass for bringing back a death machine with memory loss and the tendency to lash out!” Death machine? Did he mean you? However you don’t get to answer the question because the blonde stomps out of the room, the slam of the door stunning the room into silence. 

Another sigh before Kirishima drops his hands from your upper arms and straightens out to his full height. He is huge, bigger than anyone you have ever seen before. “You should rest before tonight.” He supplies, turning towards the door and you realise the brown-haired woman had also vacated the room at some point. 

“Wait. Tonight?” you take a careful step after him and you don’t miss the way his shoulders stiffen, nor the way his forearm plating clicks to ready himself. Was he scared of you? No. That can’t be right, this gigantic man could not be scared of you. You’re certain he could crush you if he wanted with just a single hand.

“Tonight you’re meeting our fixer.” and just like that he was gone, the door closing behind him with an audible click. 

They had locked you in.

Looking back around the room, eyes caught on the glint of various medical tools that had been scattered across the white tile floor. There are no windows besides the one at the far back of the room, but even from where you stand you can see it’s barred. You were well and truly trapped.

And so, with nothing else to do, you sat in the desk chair by the bed you had woken up on—and waited.

...

The next time you see Kirishima is when he had come to collect you from your makeshift prison, at some point someone—you assumed it was the Ripper—had shoved clothes in through the small gap of the door, you hadn’t realised you were in a state of undress when you had initially woken up. 

Kirishima smiles at you, but you can see it doesn’t meet his eyes as he towers over you. He’s dressed differently too, in a black leather jacket over a red distressed vest and black jeans with some very expensive-looking sneakers. He looked much more like his age like this, you didn’t realise he was more around your age. 

“Ready?” Kirishima offers, burying both of his hands into his front pockets and leaning against the frame of the door—While he seemed relaxed, you knew he was blocking off your only escape route.

You look down at yourself, you’re not quite sure how they had managed to get your size somewhat right but the black cargo pants and graphic tee were comfortable. The only thing they hadn’t measured correctly was the heavy orange bomber jacket that dwarfed you immensely. 

“Yeah, readier than I’ll ever be anyway.” Kirishima just nods, finally pushing the door open and letting you walk out first before he shuts the door behind you both.

The door immediately opens out onto a street, the floor is wet from the rain and the neon street lights give the dingy alleyway some light. You can’t tell where you are, when you look up there is nothing but a concrete overpass blocking you from seeing the sky. “C’mon, he doesn’t like tardiness.” 

“Who?” You jog to keep up with Kirishima’s wide – normal – steps, you barely come up to his shoulder and you have to crane your head up to look at him. 

“Aizawa, our fixer. He doesn’t normally meet with new faces, but you’ve piqued his interest.”

“But how? I’ve not done anything, I don’t even know who I am.” You try to explain, the emptiness that sits in your brain is unnerving, to say the least. 

Kirishima finally looks down at you, nothing but pity in his eyes. “That’s exactly why he wants to see you.” 

The rest of the walk is in silence, not that Kirishima seems to mind much whilst he flicks through his phone. You’re not quite sure who Aizawa was, but you knew what Fixers were. They were smugglers, fencers and they loved to handle information. Is that why he wanted to see you? To get information from you? But you had none to give, and when Fixers often don’t get what they want… they dispose of the useless item. 

Sparing a glance towards Kirishima, he was far too engrossed in his phone to realise the thoughts you were currently harbouring. You could make a run for it, he’s much bigger than you, sure, but you’re smaller. Maybe you’re faster. He could lose you easily in a crowd of people, you don’t want to be killed for something that’s not your fault. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Kirishima says without missing a beat, his eyes not drifting away from his phone and you have to focus on not tripping over your own feet at being caught out. He hadn’t even looked at you, you weren’t that obvious– “If you run then that means I have to admit Bakugou was right and then I have to chase you down.” Finally, he looks at you, raising an eyebrow to see if you’re still going to do it. 

“I won’t run.” You say with less conviction than you would’ve liked but Kirishima seems happy enough with it, finally pocketing his phone into his back pocket before nodding his head forward.

“Here we are.” You turn to look at the building you’re both standing in front of. It fronts what looks to be a bar, not quite as modern as some of the others you had passed by. It looked more oriental and authentic. It’s not imposing, it blends in perfectly wedged between two other buildings that look like stores—it’s the perfect place for a Fixer you realise, it stands out enough to those seeking the man known as Aizawa but in an area shoddy enough that it won’t draw in too many people. 

Kirishima doesn’t give you more time to inspect the building, guiding you inwards with a hand between your shoulder blades until you’re past the old wooden doors and inside a very well-kept bar. It’s relatively empty, with a few people hanging around by the bar but it’s quiet.

Your eyes rove over the multitude of artwork hanging from the walls, swirling paint strokes and sculptured mythical creatures. Kirishima drops his hand from your back once he’s sure you’re secured in the building, leaving you standing alone whilst he meanders towards the bar to talk to a pretty girl with bouncy curly pink hair.

“Oi,” a gruff voice calls from behind you, your shoulders jump at the closeness of the gruff voice and you spin to see the blonde from earlier. He has a frown on his face the second he meets your eyes before they drag down and latch onto the bomber jacket you’re wearing. He seems to glare somewhat harder, sucking at the back of his teeth. “No fucking around. I won’t hesitate to blow your head off this time.” 

“This her?” a deep, almost sleepy voice drawls and you turn to meet the man to whom the voice belongs. He’s got shoulder-length black hair, and tired eyes yet the look he’s giving you is enough to tell you he’s very alert. You can’t help but straighten your spine a little, attention drawn away from the blonde who just huffs and wanders elsewhere. “Doesn’t look like much of a threat to me.” 

You’re left blinking at the man, the silence suffocating until you look hesitantly across the room to meet a set of red eyes—but they aren’t Kirishima’s. Bakugou was clearly growing agitated the longer this was drawn out. “I’ve never been a threat.” 

“Bakugou and Kirishima seem to think otherwise, even our Ripper Doc had said you have some interesting chrome.” Aizawa continues, settling into one of the seats close by before he regards you again. “But they also said you don’t remember who you are, is that true?”

“I–... Yes, it is.” Interesting chrome? “I don’t know how I got my upgrades, I woke up surrounded and I just acted on instinct.” 

There’s a beat of silence, the palms of your hands growing sweaty and you suddenly feel like you’re standing in a pit with lions. 

Then Aizawa breathes in deeply, sighing a little on his exhale. “I don’t know why, but I believe you.” There’s a noise of disagreement from Bakugou somewhere to the side but Aizawa continues anyway, “You could be useful to us. I’m sure your memories will come back over time and you’ll be even more valuable to us then. It’d be stupid of me to let you go.”

“Let me go? You want to keep me prisoner?” 

“Not a prisoner. We just can’t have you wandering the streets in the state that you are, it’s safer for everyone involved if you stay here.”

It made sense, you supposed. You would be safer staying in one place instead of wandering the streets, especially if you had no idea who you were. Swallowing the lump of anxiety, you nod your head in agreement and Aizawa visibly relaxes in his seat before he casts a glance towards Kirishima and Bakugou. 

“On second thoughts… I think it’ll be better for you to stay with those two.”

“What?!” Bakugou all but yells, the beer bottle in his hand smashing onto the floor in haste to get to his feet in disbelief. “I am not a fucking babysitter, and I’m not looking after some corpo—”

“You found her, you look after her. Didn’t I teach you that when I found you?” 

Bakugou’s upper lip curls into a snarl, his eyes darting from Aizawa and towards you–it’s like you’ve been pinned to the spot underneath his hateful gaze. His tongue drags along his lips, rolling his bottom lip into his mouth before he leaves without another word. Kirishima is quick to take his place, stepping up close to you to take you back to wherever you had to stay. 

“I promise he’s not always this bad—well, most of the time he is but he’s a good guy,” Kirishima says, a hand back on the spot between your shoulder blades to guide you out of the bar and back onto the open street where you finally see Bakugou once again. He’s sitting on a motorbike, an expensive-looking one. “Yo, Bakugou. Are we–”

“You have one fucking chance left. If you pull that shit again that you did at the Docs, I’ll personally rip your head from your shoulders. Got it?” Bakugou points a finger in your direction, which only makes Kirishima huff a sigh of annoyance and drag a hand over his face. “One. Then you’re done.”

He must not expect an answer as he slips the helmet over his head, the sleek black of it reflecting only the neon street lights but you can still feel his glare on you before he revs his engine once, twice—then he’s gone. 

You look up at Kirishima finally when Bakugou is gone, and the redhead just smiles awkwardly at you whilst rubbing the nape of his neck. “I did warn ya.”

To say the next few days were painful is an understatement. 

You had been confined to an apartment shared between both Kirishima and Bakugou, whilst the redhead was happy to have another roommate—Bakugou was not. He made it his mission to make it hellish for you. 

It started with him refusing to cook you food whenever he did for Kirishima and himself (Kirishima had to convince him to at least give you something to eat or you’d die and then Aizawa would be pissed). Then it started with the loud music early in the morning, you had no real bed so you had to sleep on the expensive U-shaped couch and Bakugou took great joy in turning the radio on and making sure it was on full blast. 

Kirishima did try to stop Bakugou’s attempts to drive you to a point of anger that would make you act out, which only had Bakugou sneering in your direction before he left to go do whatever the fuck he did all day. 

And it was going somewhat well, that same routine every day. Until Bakugou got a call.

Currently, you’re sitting on the couch, your elbows digging into your thighs whilst you lean forward. The room was deathly silent, save for the sound of the passing Trauma Team AV that flew by the window. 

Kirishima was staring out of the window, both of his hands pressing against the cool metal window ledge, the lights of the nightlife outside reflecting off of the various strips of chrome covering his jaw and down along his throat. 

Opposite you was Bakugou, his knee bouncing in what appeared to be nervousness whilst both of his hands were buried deep in his blonde hair, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling above.

“This cannot be fuckin’ happening.” He groans for the nth time that evening since ending the call. “That old fucking man—the nerve, all of the shit I do for him… and this is how he rewards me?!” 

“Dude, Aizawa has never steered us wrong. He obviously thinks we can trust her.” Kirishima says in an odd tone like his voice was devoid of any emotion. You supposed it made sense, he had never been able to trust you either for whatever reason.

“Well, I think we can’t.” Bakugou drops his head back forward, meeting your gaze and a sharp shiver rolls down your spine. “You remember what I told you before I let you come and squat in my apartment?”

“Our apartment.” Kirishima supplies quietly, though Bakugou is undeterred.

“You’ll kill me.” 

“Right, I’ll fucking kill you.” Bakugou finally stands, swiping the pulse rifle off of the table between the two of you before fixing it over one of his shoulders. “Now get the fuck up, we’ve got a Tyger Claws cunt to go kill.” 

The back of Kirishima’s car was very plush, you couldn’t help but wonder how good at being mercs the two of them were. They seemed to be living in the lap of luxury yet they decided to stay in Night City, but you didn’t dare ask why they were still here. Bakugou would probably take the opportunity to bite your head off. 

You sunk into the leather and watched the city pass by, the rain bounced off of the roof of the car and rolled down the windows in thick streaks. It still made no sense as to why Aizawa put you on this mission with them too, they were capable on their own so just what did Aizawa expect from you? You can’t even remember a time when you had used a gun so surely you’d just be deadweight—another reason for Bakugou to be on your ass if you fuck up. 

As if somehow sensing your inner anguish, Kirishima turns in his seat enough to meet your eyes. 

“Ready for this?” You’re not quite sure why he’s asking, even Bakugou seems to furrow his brows in confusion at why the redhead even gives a fuck about if you’re ready or not. “It should be a pretty simple gig, the Tyger Claws are ruthless but this guy we’re going for? Big junkie, won’t see us coming.” Kirishima grins at the end of his sentence, and you can’t help the small smile that grows on your face.

“Right, yeah, I’m ready.” You say with a small nod.

“Say it with more confidence and I might actually believe you for once.” Bakugou gruffs from his own spot in the driver's seat, with only one hand on the wheel and the other propped up on the door beside the window. He’s chewing at the skin of his thumb; one might think he’s actually a bit anxious. Kirishima only gives you a look you now know is his attempt at apologising on behalf of the antagonising blonde before he sinks back into his seat with a huff.

“Don’t gotta be so rude all the time man, she probably doesn’t want to be here as much as you.” Kirishima all but grumbles to himself, looking away when Bakugou shoots him a scathing glare.

“Yeah? Then maybe she’ll fuck off at the first chance she gets, won’t have to deal with her anymore.” The car falls into an awkward silence at that, not even Kirishima can counter the fact that it would be simpler if you did disappear but you can see the sad frown that’s making him look much more like a kicked puppy than anything. The music on the radio does nothing to squash the tension, instead, it only adds to the palpable dark energy rolling from Bakugou in thick waves. 

Soon enough the car is pulled into a darkened alleyway, only the rats and drunkards faintly aware of the presence of the two big mercs who get out of the car in a heartbeat. They seem to move in an organised way; a practised routine you realise. By the time you close the car door behind you, there’s a gun being thrust in your face. “Here, I know it’s not much but—it should do the job,” Kirishima leans a little as if sharing a secret “It’s all Bakugou would agree to give you, think you still scare him.”

You hum, eyeing the handgun in your hand and feeling its weight. It felt lighter than you expected, your fingers moulded perfectly around the hilt and you tilted your head to inspect the barrel. Something feels very familiar with the gun now in your hand, and as you look at both Bakugou and Kirishima to thank them you falter for a moment. 

Your vision flickers, the city behind them flashes to an old warehouse before it returns to normal. Kirishima seems to be talking animatedly but Bakugou’s eyes are locked onto your own, an unreadable expression on his face—maybe it’s because there is no real emotion on his face. No scowl, no anything, he looks like a blank slate. 

“Anyway, we ready for this? It’ll be over before we know it and then we can go to that ramen noodle bar I mentioned last week!” Kirishima grins, slapping a hand against his hardened stomach. 

“Yeah.” Bakugou finally speaks, breaking his eyes away from your own and down to the weapon in his hands. “The plan is Kirishima will be the shield, I’m the firepower, and you just follow us and keep quiet.” He says whilst staring you down, gone is the blank expression and that familiar frown is again creasing his skin. You just nod, and he seems happy enough with that response to turn on his heel and lead the way into the back exit of the building. 

The building is rundown, as are all the buildings in Night City outside of the high-end Corporate zones. You traverse over tipped-over vending machines, various boxes and crates that had been ripped apart and ransacked for all their worth. It’s dark and dingy, a low stream of smog flitting through the air from the old vents in the ceiling. The only way you can tell you’re going the correct way is with the help of the flickering dim fluorescent lights overhead, Kirishima and Bakugou are both deadly silent and somehow moving without even making a noise. 

The journey up the stairs is quick, without the worry of someone hearing the three of you coming, both men take the steps three at a time—leaving you to hurry after them as quickly as you can. 

Both of them freeze once they reach the door that leads to the 6th floor, Bakugou shifting a few steps back and Kirishima takes his spot wordlessly in front of the blonde. The clicking of Kirishima’s skin has you focusing on him, the way the metal plating shifts almost looks like his skin is hardening. Bakugou has his own gun raised, the heavy rifle looks like it weighs nothing in one hand when he taps the other on Kirishima’s shoulder indicating he’s ready to breach. 

It all happens in three very quick steps. 

First, Kirishima rips open the door to the point where it’s detached from the wall and tumbles down the stairwell—you have to plaster yourself to the wall to avoid being squashed. 

Second, breaching. Bakugou has both his hands back on his rifle, his eyes illuminating the chrome strips on his face whilst Kirishima steps forward with purpose. 

Third, gunfire. It happens in five quick taps of the rifle's trigger, Bakugou hardly shifting from the recoil as he swivels just his upper half whilst hunching his shoulders slightly to ensure each and every single one of his shots is a direct headshot. The sound of bodies slumping on the floor is your cue to finally enter the room, and a part of you wishes you hadn’t.

The room smells horrific, a stench you for some reason recognise as death. But it wasn’t coming from the fresh bodies, no, it was deeper in the large room. The translucent sheets of plastic that hang from the ceiling obscure most of the room, with multiple splatters of blood staining the material. Bakugou lowers his weapon slowly, Kirishima finally parting ways to do his own investigation of the place. 

“Think we got him?” Kirishima asks, using his foot to roll over one of the men Bakugou took out before grimacing at the clean shot between the eyes. Bakugou was a beast with the gun, there’s a reason why he was so sought out by Fixers other than Aizawa. 

“Dunno, I didn’t get a clear look at their faces.” Bakugou comments from the other side of the room, squatting down to roll a guy over to inspect his face. 

Both men are too occupied with the gig to notice that you’re traversing through the middle of the room, pushing past the thin sheets of plastic to grow closer to the source of the blueish neon lights. With each step, the smell grows stronger, a rotting kind of stench mixed with what smells like fried electronics. A shiver rolls down your spine, a warning to stop yourself from pushing past the final sheet of plastic. Your fingers curl against the material, crinkling it and still, both men are blissfully unaware of what you’re about to unveil—

An empty ice bath. 

Your eyebrows furrowed together, multiple thick wires and cords were all scattered around the bath yet there was no one connected to those wires. You take a hesitant step forward, the smell is still so strong—something isn’t right. The ice bath looked fresh, except for the blood staining on either side of the white porcelain, following the streaks upwards until you see a blinking screen displaying vitals.

Ayaka Ichida. Age: 26 Occupation: Arasaka Executive ECG: N/A Blood Pressure: N/A

“Arasaka?” You murmur to yourself, fingers ghosting underneath the word. Why did that name send a painful twinge through your head? Perhaps it was just the notoriety of the corporation. Arasaka were rumoured to be funding the Tyger Claws way back in 2020 but it’s been nearly sixty years since then—

Your eyes lose focus the longer you stare at the screen, no longer looking at the words but rather the reflection of something moving behind you. It’s neither Bakugou nor Kirishima, you would’ve heard them approaching. This is a woman, her skin completely exposed, and dripping wet. Shit. 

Her arm raises, the revolver sitting in her hand looks weighty and it’s definitely fully loaded when you catch the barrel of it. You spin on your heel, a hand stretched out ready to yell at Bakugou to move but it’s like you hit an invisible wall. Everything feels fuzzy in your brain, a wave of electricity passing through your body and shooting up and down your spine. 

You must’ve shouted something because you can see Kirishima raise his head in worry, Bakugou clambering to his feet but it’s as if everything is moving in slow motion. The barrel spins, the trigger clicks and the flash of the gun is bright in your eyes. 

You don’t quite realise you’ve moved until it’s too late, the fuzziness in each of your limbs is all-consuming. It’s as if you’ve been dunked in ice water and your limbs are slowly regaining their warmth—it’s painful. You blink, and suddenly your face is in Bakugou's; his eyes are wide and mouth agape as if he’s at a loss for words. Your entire right arm aches, but your spine hurts something fierce.

Not quite understanding how you had moved from one side of the room to the other, you glance over your shoulder to see the body—it’s more of just a pair of legs at this point, blood sprayed up along the walls and to the ceiling; bits and pieces dripping and dropping with a sickening wet thud. Did you do that?

The ache in your arm brings your eyes back to it, and it’s no surprise to see that the entirety of your arm was replaced with the rifle you had pulled out not too long ago at the Ripperdocs. It doesn’t look like you damaged your arm, the skin easily shifting back into place whilst you turn back to look at Bakugou. There’s a spray of blood on his face too, the blonde of his hair tainted by a dark shade of crimson that almost looked black. Bakugou is looking at you with what you might assume is worry, or some level of it anyway as he still seems to be frowning.

You open your mouth to speak, your throat tightening until you sputter out a thick vicious black liquid. Immediately your hand comes up to your mouth, touching your lips to see the synthetic blood leaking from your lips in thick rivers. “Wha…” you try to speak. Taking a step back from Bakugou, it feels like you’ve been hit by a train, your fingers go to press against the sore spot on your back but instead, you meet—nothing.

Your fingers pass through where your side should’ve been. You can feel the sticky synthetic blood coat your fingers as it continues to pour from your body, you can even feel the outline of the frayed edges of the artificial muscles you didn’t know you had.

“Shit!” There’s a set of hands on your shoulders, your entire world tilting backwards suddenly. “Hold the fuck on!” A voice calls from somewhere, yet you can’t see where it’s coming from. Your senses shut down one by one until you’re left floating in an endless amount of space. 

It’s dark here. 

Cold.

The vastness of the space around you expands over the horizon, and it feels like something is pricking into your skin. It hurts, everything hurts here. It’s too loud, yet it’s completely silent. Glancing down at your hands, your stomach drops and swoops in anxiety at the sight—you’re not made of human matter, but rather data. Pixels, bunched together to form a non-corporeal form of yourself. You’d heard rumours of this before.

Cyberspace. 

It’s an odd feeling, to be existing but also not at the same time. The Net was such a vast expanse of data and network that almost anyone in the world could access but not everyone could take a step into cyberspace in the third dimension. It was jarring without a doubt but the unlimited knowledge one could access whilst inside of it? That’s why there were so many Netrunners, people dedicated to diving into the Net and hacking whatever data they needed. 

But this place you were currently in didn’t feel like you were getting an endless stream of data, it was as if you had been cut off. Everything around you is freezing cold, with not a single thread of data to grab onto to understand just where you are. 

“Hi?” someone says from your side, your head turned sharply to see someone with both lilac hair and eyes, they had a tired expression on their face but even the surprise on their face was easy to spot. 

They hadn’t expected to be put into the Net alongside you. Both of their hands moved up to show they had no weapons, not that an experienced Netrunner would need weapons inside of a place like this. 

“Listen, I was told to try and come pull you out. You’ve been in here for two weeks and—”

“Two?” How has it been that long? You had only just woken up, it felt like you had just been in the gunfight and protected both Bakugou and Kirishima; even potentially giving your life up for the blonde. “I–I don’t understand, how has it been that long? Who even are you?” 

“My name’s Shinsou. You need to listen to me very carefully if you want me to get you out of here, okay?” He takes a step closer, stretching out a hand in an attempt to touch you—

There’s a pounding on your head, a throbbing pain that spreads behind your eyes and down to the base of your skull. Accompanying the throb is a low hum, more of a thrumming kind of noise that beckons you to turn around. Slowly you do, eyes glancing up from your hands to meet a set of dull blurred verdant eyes. Though these eyes do not seem familiar, they seem deadly, calculating. They glare at you through the opaque screen you hadn’t noticed, you can just about make out their body on the other side.

They have a single hand pressed against the screen, and the other curled into a fist that’s repeatedly beating against the screen. Each time it hits you can feel the pressure on your brain, was this your own consciousness? Who was this person? You move to take a step back but their punches only grow more frantic, more aggressive. It’s getting louder and louder, and the pressure on your brain is unbearable. Why can’t you wake up? The throbbing grows more intense until there’s a shooting pain that brings you down to your knees, curling your fingers into the ground. 

You can’t hear the voice of the man named Shinsou anymore, you’re not even sure if he’s still there. All you can focus on is the throbbing pain, the way it chokes you and holds you in place. Demanding your attention.

“Found you.” A static-filled voice speaks from the darkness, and you look up to see the crack in the screen with a much clearer view of almost black-green hair. It sounds like he might be laughing, it sounds almost manic before he calls out a name, a name you can’t ignore—your name. “I’ll see you soon.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, the world around you started to melt away until you were left in complete darkness once again, though this darkness felt somehow different. You could feel something beneath you, smooth and metallic, familiar.

The second time you awake in the Ripperdocs office isn’t quite as jarring as the first, the lights are dimmed and there are no arguing voices. It’s easy to open your eyes, staring up at the overhead lights that have been turned off. The room is silent, the only distant noise is the street just on the other side of the door. 

Slowly you rise from the table you had been laid out on, you didn’t need to look around to know you were alone this time. Has it really been two weeks since—you gasp, fingers touching the side where you had been hit but instead you meet the warm flesh of your body? Looking down to confirm that you weren’t imagining it, it looked like you hadn’t even been hit. No scars. Nothing.

There’s a laugh nearby, drawing your attention to the set of double doors you had never set foot through before. You slide from the cold table, your bare feet gently slapping on the cold tile floor. Taking a step forward your body falters, swaying to the side on uneasy legs, the table of surgical instruments clatters when you bump a hip against it and you freeze to see if anyone would be alerted to your presence. 

No one comes bursting through the door.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you take another step forward. This time you were careful of where you placed your feet, and with each slow yet steady step you finally regain control over your legs. Soon enough you’re standing in front of the double doors, the voices on the other side muffled but they don’t sound familiar in the slightest. Were you even back with Bakugou and Kirishima? Had you been sold off as Bakugou had wanted? Fear danced up and down your spine, you’d have to fight your way out of here if that was the case. 

Steadying your heart, you raised your hand carefully to the door, ready to burst through.

Three… Two… One.

You slam the door open, throwing your body through the now open space and your arm lifts as if on autopilot to readjust the metal plating to reveal the rifle buried deep into your very bones. With a quick scan of the room, you register you’re inside what looks like a common room of some sorts. There was a sofa, a pool table, a kitchen on the east side of the room and a gigantic TV that was broadcasting something. 

There’s movement, a heat signature, and your arm automatically moves to point at the two men who are on the sofa. The yellow-haired one is the first to scream, then the one with black hair who scrambles off of the sofa to try and seek safety. 

“W-Wait!” The black-haired one yells, throwing his hands up, “Don’t shoot! We’re not the enemy!” 

Another door on the other side of the room beside the kitchen bursts open, there’s a scrambling of feet and clambering to all get in the room first. But Bakugou is the first in, his hand firm around the gun in hand as he raises it ready to shoot until he realises he has the barrel of his gun pointed at you. If you weren’t staring at him you might’ve missed the way his shoulders sag in relief. Kirishima is next to come in, eyes darting from both men who were sprawled amongst the mess of chips and used beer cans that had been dashed across the room in their attempt to flee immediate death. 

“Oh, you’re awake.” A voice that’s now familiar to you calls your name, the man with lilac hair sidesteps around the two hulking figures. There’s a lazy smile on his face, “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Both Kirishima and Bakugou parrot the name Shinsou had given you, eyes drifting from Shinsou and to you, connecting the name to the face they’ve been living with for a while now. 

“Yep, that’s the name of our friend here.” Shinsou walks into the room as if there wasn’t just a standoff moments ago, dropping into an unoccupied seat. “We should probably tell you everything that happened whilst you were ‘out’.” He makes quotation marks around the word, both of you missing the way Bakugou has his eyes locked onto you—or more importantly, your side. Shinsou gestures for you to sit down, and you make your way around the couch slowly whilst the two men you had scared scamper to sit elsewhere. 

“I’ll be blunt with you. You’ve been out for nearly three weeks in total. We would’ve tried to pull you out faster but… you have some very impressive chrome. It took me two weeks to break your defences and even then you rejected me in a heartbeat.” 

Your eyes break away from Shinsou as he explains your ‘absence’ to watch Bakugou as he tentatively perches on the arm of the couch right next to you, both of his arms crossed over his chest. But the things Shinsou is saying make no sense, you hadn’t pushed him out, it was—you scrunch your eyebrows together, the headache still ever present in the back of your mind the harder you think. 

The silence stretches out in the room, just the sound of the TV droning on about Militech moving towards renewing partnerships with Lazarus. 

Shinsou clears his throat, demanding your attention once again. “Your wounds actually healed by themselves. You have synthetic muscles but they’re something else. No one has ever seen something like that, even Uraraka said it’s not something Rippers can get their hands on.” 

“Yeah… you weren’t actually breathing by the time we got you back here… I—We thought you were going to die.” Kirishima supplies from his position behind the couch, both of his hands clamped on the back of it and you can see the worry settled on his face when you look up at him. So you were dead for a portion of time, had all your chrome and cyberware saved your life? If what Shinsou said is true about your muscles repairing themselves then the time locked into your consciousness made sense.

Shinsou seems to notice the shift in the air first, clearing his throat before he stands up. He gives a stern look towards both Kaminari and Sero who are blatantly staring at you as if you were some anomaly. “We should go.” 

“But—” the one with the yellow hair and black streak starts, eyes darting back to you with a question that was probably best unasked.

“Nope. Get the fuck up, we’re leaving.” Shinsou commands, already partway out of the door and he knows Sero and Kaminari will follow as he doesn’t bother looking back. 

And soon enough, it is just you, Kirishima and Bakugou who looks like he’s about to shit himself with how tense he is next to you. It’s awkward, to say the least. You’re not quite sure what you should say, sorry for the trouble? Sorry for not dying? You’re sure that last one would apply to Bakugou, he had wanted you gone. 

“Why?” 

It’s Bakugou who breaks the silence, his head held now between his hands as he stares intently down at his shoes; knee bouncing, he’s anxious. You glance at Kirishima but the redhead just shrugs, urging you to look back at Bakugou. “Why what?”

“Why the fuck did you take the hit, huh?” His eyes meet yours, and you can’t miss the white of his eyes partially red, he was on the verge of tears. “Why the fuck would you do that when I mean nothing to you? It makes no fucking sense, no one just jumps in front of a bullet for someone. I wouldn’t have fuckin’ done it for yo–” He stops himself short, chewing on the words on his tongue that are better left unsaid. But the words still sting the same regardless of how true it is: Bakugou would not have taken a bullet for you, he would not have risked his life for you. Why did you care so much?

“I don’t know.” But it’s not the answer Bakugou is searching for, a frown is on his face but it’s not quite the same as the usual one you often saw him wearing. This one looked pained and confused. He diverts his gaze quickly, refusing to look at you once again before running a hand through his hair. “I guess I felt like I owed you for saving my life.” 

Bakugou only gives you one last glare before he’s up from his spot and marching back out of the room, leaving an icy chill in his wake that makes Kirishima sigh. 

“He means to say thank you, it’s… been a lot for him. We really did think you’d die on us back there, and I think Bakugou didn’t want another death on his conscience that wasn’t done by his own hand.”

Kirishima stands to his full height when you do, both his hands buried into the pockets of his jacket. “Anyway, let’s just go back home, yeah? You probably want to shower.” 

“Tellin’ me I smell, Kirishima? You don’t smell of roses yourself big guy.” You grin when he smiles at you, the banter between the two of you is easy. His shoulders sag with relief before he’s strutting out of the room before you. 

“Nah, not roses. Just pure manliness.” 

“Manliness smells like a Maelstrom cesspit?” Kirishima whirls on you with his mouth agape, a chuckle leaving his mouth.

The city opens up to both of you when you step out of the doors, the difference this time being it’s the middle of the day and the streets are bustling with people going to and fro with their plans for the day. You take a deep breath in, Kirishima still rattling on just next to you about how Maelstrom actually doesn’t smell that bad. You break into an easy smile, a genuine laugh leaving your mouth for the first time in a long time. 

A tingle runs up and down your spine, the shard slot on your neck buzzing as if someone was tugging on it, you look in the opposite direction of Kirishima to see if perhaps there was a nearby jammer or Netrunner who tripped on your own network.

But instead, you’re faced with something that makes it feel like you’ve been submerged beneath icy waters, your bones rigid and muscles tightened. 

Standing idle amongst the moving crowd is a large man, with broad shoulders but that isn’t what makes him stick out like a sore thumb. It’s not the corporate suit he’s wearing, but rather it’s the mop of green hair on his head accompanied by emerald eyes that are wide with mirth when you meet his gaze over the crowd. You can see his lips move, but it's like his voice is deep in the back of your brain.

‘Soon.’

Kirishima calls your name from your side, drawing your attention back to him for a split second before you glance back towards the crowd. The man was gone. “All good? Do you need more blockers?”

“Huh?” You blink up at him, blockers? Oh. Meds that rippers always pumped you full with whenever you had any amount of cyberware. When was the last time you had taken some anyway? “No, uh, I’m fine, thank you. Think I just need a real sleep.” 

“You just woke up from like a month-long nap, you’re telling me you’re still tired?” He grins down at you, guiding you back down the familiar street. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

The door to the apartment slides open with a hiss, revealing the dim lights of the amber overhead lights. Bakugou was home. Kirishima steps in first, shedding the thick jacket he had on to toss it onto one of the hooks. You followed after him easily enough, it hadn’t felt like so much time had passed but looking around the apartment you could see it. 

Things had been moved, the plant on the window ledge had blossomed and grown beautiful red leaves. Stepping further into the apartment, you watch Kirishima disappear behind a black glass door that slides open for a split second to reveal Bakugou who was hunched over what looked like one of his rifles before the door slid shut. 

You had been forbidden to enter the armoury, it was for Bakugou and Kirishima only. Bakugou had come with that rule, you couldn’t blame him but it wasn’t as if you needed their weapons. The thought of the gun embedded in your arm makes it ache, a tingling sensation that numbs your fingertips momentarily. Sitting down on the couch, you let out a sigh of relief when your muscles finally decompress and relax. 

Despite your body relaxing your mind was still running far too fast, too many thoughts bouncing back and forth—you suppose it’s from the fact you were connected to the Net with no blockers, all that information could fry someone's brain and you’re just glad it hadn’t happened to you. 

The peace and quiet doesn’t last long however, soon enough the entrance door opens with a whoosh and you turn in time to see a multitude of people walk in. You recognise two by name; Aizawa and Shinsou. You recognise both men with yellow hair and black hair, but there’s a woman with them that you haven’t met before with short dark purple hair. 

“What the fuck are you all doin’ in my fucking house?” Bakugou growls from near the armoury, arms crossing over his chest.

“You didn’t think we’d let you walk away with the coolest new member of the gang, right?” The one with yellow hair flops into the seat next to you, long gone is the fear he had shown just earlier that day. 

He grins at you when you stare at him, “Denki Kaminari, but you can call me whatever you want.” Kaminari offers with an easy smile, earning him a snort from the black-haired man who smacks him on the back of the head.

“Ignore him. Name’s Sero, it’s nice to meet you without a gun pointed in my face.” You shake his hand when he offers it to you, still wordless at how they’re effortlessly welcoming you into their gang. 

“Don’t fucking ignore me!” Bakugou finally yells, but no one flinches at the volume of his voice. “What the fuck are you all doing in my house?!” 

“New job.” Aizawa supplies, and immediately the room plummets into silence. “I know it’s only been hours since you woke up, but we really could use your help on this next one.” 

Bakugou moves to open his mouth, but Shinsou jumps in. “You’re the only one here who can disappear from someone's optical enhancements. Do you know how rare that is? We wouldn’t be asking you to do this if we didn’t think you’d be able to pull it off without any problems.” 

Aizawa continues, “You won’t be doing it alone of course. The whole crew will be going, but you will be the key player in this job, you’ll have to be the one to go in first.”

“When?” is the first thing you ask, and all eyes shift to you. 

“In three days. Ideally, we would’ve done it sooner but I figured you might want to rest first. From what I hear, you had quite the trip on the Net.” 

Aizawa notices the way your eyebrows furrow, “Shinsou was in there with you, but it was Jirou–” He points over his shoulder at the girl, who raises a hand for a moment. “–who broke through your defences. Apparently, there was some resistance from an outside source. Got anyone who'd be interested in protecting the data in your head?” 

You shake your head, the only outside source may have been the man with green hair but even then you weren’t sure if he was real or not. You hadn’t been on blockers, you had been using your chrome carelessly. It could just be exhaustion. 

Aizawa just nods his head, turning his attention to both Kirishima and Bakugou before gesturing with his head for them to come to talk to him privately. Kaminari and Sero both dive instantly at the chance to talk to you, gushing over the cyberware you were sporting. Apparently, they had never met someone who lived to tell the tale after having so much changed.

Aizawa sighs when he’s away from the group, slumping against the wall whilst Bakugou and Kirishima stand before him. Kirishima looks tense, and Bakugou is… well, Bakugou. 

“You remember the original job?” Both men nod. “The package you were ordered to retrieve is Arasaka’s countermeasure to the new power Militech has come into. Jirou had a look at it and apparently, it’s some sort of advanced AI that can short-circuit everyone in its vicinity and even cause people to spiral into Cyberpsychosis.” 

“What the fuck?” Kirishima murmurs, keeping his voice down so as to not alert the others.

“What’ve you done with it?” Bakugou asks, not missing the wince on Aizawa’s face.

“Handed it back to them.” Bakugou’s frown deepens, lip curling to reveal gums and canines but Aizawa jumps back in. “I didn’t have a choice, Bakugou. It was tracked, after you left with the girl they sent some jacked-up chrome head to come and pick it up.”

Bakugou runs a hand through his hair, gripping at the roots. This was bad. Arasaka were pieces of shit when it came to cyberware and if they were going to hit Militech with this then another corporate war would definitely be on the cards. “Shit, fuck. You sure it was an Arasaka guy that came to pick it up, not someone working for D—?” 

“No, if I picked up on his chip, I would’ve put a bullet between his eyes myself.” 

“Not if I do it first.” Bakugou snarls, earning a nod of approval from Kirishima. “Fucker already ruined our lives enough, we don't need him to get his hands on something that could kill us all.”

“You think they know about her?” Kirishima prompts after a beat of silence, all three men turn their attention to watch you on the couch. You were still static, Kaminari arguing with Sero about something whilst Jirou and Shinsou teased Kaminari about whatever it was. You looked out of place but at the same time, it felt as if you were always meant to be amongst the crew. You smiled easily, even laughing along with the group. 

“I don’t doubt it. Jirou said the outside source that was blocking her from hacking into the system was military grade. She has something important to someone very wealthy. With this next job, stick close to her. If Arasaka makes a move, they’ll be trying to take her out first. If Militech makes a move…” 

Aizawa shares a look with Bakugou before the blonde nods in understanding. “Good. Good luck on this next one, you’re going to need it when working with those idiots.”

Both men watch Aizawa leave before joining the rest of the gang on the couch, Bakugou sinks into a spot opposite of you and Kirishima slumps himself not too far from everyone, his legs spreading as he fully reclines into the seat. All attention is still on you, and Bakugou can’t help but keep his eyes locked on you. 

“We should celebrate!” Kaminari grins, practically bouncing in his seat at the prospect. 

“Celebrate what?” Kirishima is the one brave enough to take on Kaminari, effortlessly shifting the attention away from you momentarily.

“The newest member, obviously! I think we should show her a good time.” There’s a series of groans, a squawk of indignation from Kaminari whilst Sero berates him for always making everything an innuendo. Yet Bakugou can’t find it within himself to fight the decision, his eyes watch the way your eyebrows lift in interest before a smile brightens your features.

Maybe he’ll go along with it, just this one.

...

Part of him wishes he had fought Kaminari on some part of it. It was no surprise that the bar hopping eventually led them to visit Jig-Jig Street. It wasn’t the nicest place to be, it was the rundown part of Japantown that people often went to when they were desperate enough to get their dick wet. 

Jig-Jig Street was the red light district of Night City, where you could ‘buy love’ by the hour or even get in contact with dealers who would sell you the most exotic of drugs or enhancements that would cost you a pretty penny. It was dangerous too, something that Bakugou often argued about whenever the others tried to drag him here. Too many times he had come home with a nasty black eye or even in the back of a police car from the fights that broke out here.

The crude flashing neon signs had Bakugou hunching in on himself, practically snarling at Denki who dared to poke fun at the gigantic blonde. Thankfully, it’s Kirishima who once again saves the day by shooing Kaminari away with the rest of the gang before he draws Bakugou in by his shoulder. 

Bakugou just grunts, crossing his arms over the broadness of his chest before his eyes drift towards the redhead who’s now staring down at him. 

“What?” Bakugou barks, modified canines adding to the visage of him being a feral dog. 

Kirishima just laughs, “Loosen up man, let Denks have his fun. I have a feeling this next job is going to be a hefty one.” 

Bakugou shakes his head, squaring his jaw whilst he mulls over Kirishima’s words. He supposes Kirishima isn’t exactly wrong; this next job feels like there’s a heavy weight resting on them. An expectation of something; something that Bakugou hasn’t quite figured out yet. 

His eyes drift over towards you, embedded right in the middle of their little group. You still were a little bit stiff, eyes blinking owlishly whenever Kaminari came on a little too strong—but the alcohol had helped you loosen him, he thinks, you seem to smile a lot more now. 

“Whatever, get the fuck off me.” Bakugou snips, shoving Kirishima’s hand off of him and Kirishima knows not to take it to heart. Instead, he steps aside, watching his oldest friend stalk away into the crowd to god knows where. 

Bakugou wades through the crowds, dodging the half-naked bodies and the people high out of their minds who attempt to grab at him for his attention. He hated this part of town, it was the worst part of Night City – besides the gang wars and other shit the corpos got up to.

But this was a display of the depravity of the city, a show of just how long people would sink to feel something in this shithole of a city. 

Finally, Bakugou breaks out of the crowd into the open street. It was empty, given that it was nearing three in the morning. He lifts his head to stare at the sky, the overcast clouds enough to make him grumpier. The rain always fucked with his chrome, the cold chill that came with it would send it haywire. 

Glancing back, he can’t see the group he came with anymore and something in him itches to find you and make sure you didn’t get into any trouble that naturally comes with both Sero and Kaminari. 

“Running away?” A voice comes from his side, and it takes the years of experience that comes with being a hired gun to not jump out of his skin. His head snaps down, and a shiver rolls down his spine when he meets your gaze. 

“Yeah,” he admits, surprisingly, “Can’t fuckin’ stand this place. And you should split when you can too, you’ll end up getting roped into a threesome or some shit.”

That makes you purse your lips in an attempt to smother laughter before the corner of your lips threatens to break into a smile, there’s an easy air around you. You seem more relaxed, most definitely because of the drinks you had been throwing back when Kirishima challenged you. 

“Nah, Kirishima let me leave.” Bakugou arches an eyebrow at that, Kirishima had known you were leaving too? That motherfucker. He knew you’d come following after him, like a moth to a flame. “Figured it’d be safer to walk home with you than try and navigate my way out of here.”

That has Bakugou nodding in agreement, the fuzziness of tonight's drinks softens his need to put his guard up around you. “C’mon, it’s about to piss down and I’m not getting caught in it.”

He’s already walking away, and it doesn’t take long for you to match his stride. Your own hands are buried in the pockets of the orange jacket Kirishima had given you all that time ago – did you know it was his? He bought it with one of his first paychecks, it was in one of his favourite shades of orange but somehow it looked much better on you. 

His eyes drift away from the jacket you’re wearing and up to your face, you’re eyeing the signs as you walk by. They’re a range of ads for braindances that plunge you into a full-blown porno and ads for physical enhancements for stamina. It’s no surprise that everything in this part of town was about sex, Japantown practically ran off of it. 

But his eyes catch on your bottom lip, how you worry it over with your teeth and squint a little like you’re not really reading everything that goes by. 

“Somethin’ on your mind?” 

“Huh?” You look up at him finally, and it makes Bakugou’s chest flutter with something unknown. It takes everything in him to push it down, chalking it to the previous train of thought about advertisements. 

“What you worrying about? Yer gonna chew through your fuckin’ lip if you keep overthinking whatever it is.” 

The way your eyebrows draw together and your face nearly crumples makes him want to backtrack, but instead you wipe your face of whatever emotion you had just felt. 

“It’s hard to explain. More of a feeling than anything.” 

Something Bakugou isn’t good with, he’s not one to talk about his feelings or whatever the fuck is plaguing his mind. “Just spit it out.”

You follow him up the steps to the large apartment building, and yet you remain silent as you try to mull over the words you want to say. Bakugou expects you to just ignore his request, and he doesn’t blame you. He’d never talk about his feelings even if someone held a gun to his head.

Once inside the apartment, he watches as you sidestep around him to go and stand before the large window. Pressing a button to let the metal shutters roll upwards in quick succession until the district of Japantown is exposed to you. It’s a sea of neon lights, people ebbing and flowing like water as they move around each other without ever looking away from the devices in their hands or implanted in their minds.

“Can I show you?” You speak finally, once he shucks off his jacket and flings it onto the back of the sofa. He eyes you for a moment, show him? Show him what, your feelings? His nose crinkles in thought, but he finds himself relenting. The liquid courage he drank earlier makes itself known when he relaxes on the sofa. 

“Sure,” and you’re turning to look at him as if you expected him to shout at you or worse. But you don’t comment about it, scared to lose your chance so you move over to him. Settling into the seat next to him he can’t help but notice you don’t budge him at all, your own weight nothing compared to his own — had you always been this tiny? 

“You gonna kiss me or some shit?” He blurts when you turn to face him, your knee pressed into his thigh and he tries to not think about the bareness of your legs. You snort, however, shaking your head.

“No, nothing like that.” And you’re reaching for him despite that, his body grows rigid beneath your touch. Your fingers are gentle as they stroke along the smoothness of his neck before they card up through the short hairs of his undercut at the nape of his neck. You’re so close he can see the intricate thin strips of metal that help with your enhanced eyesight. 

He doesn’t find himself moving away, but rather leaning into the gentleness of the touch. 

“Hold still,” is all you supply before he feels something slip against the back of his neck, the plating shifting and moving until his body involuntarily jolts. Everything in his body yells at him to move, to stop you from doing whatever the fuck you’re doing but it’s too late. The connection is made and he’s plummeted into darkness.

There’s a blinding light and he blinks it away, only to find himself submerged in what must be the depths of your consciousness. It’s similar to what he’d seen in his short dips into cyberspace when the time called for it, but this is different. He’s standing in the middle of nowhere, screens and flicking images dash around him. 

Memories, he realises. Your memories from the moment you woke up and up until the very moment you sat down with him, but it’s not the memories you’re showing. Rather it’s the emotions connected to them, it’s bombarding his senses. He feels the tug at his heart, the fear that races up his spine when you first woke up in an unknown place and then the blissfulness you had felt when he took a bullet for him.

How could you feel at peace when you were going to die? It was too much for him to wrap his mind around, and quickly the emotion was changing. There was a sadness that weighed down on his body this time like his body was being pulled into icy waters when he heard the words he spat at you when you first woke up. 

You felt sad? Bakugou didn’t know, it made his heart ache something fierce. He didn’t want you to feel sad because of him – fuck, he just wanted you to know how much it bothered him for you to dive in front of him like that. He wanted you to know just how much time he spent in that shitty docs office, watching your near-lifeless body repair itself before his very eyes. 

But he couldn’t tell you that, he couldn’t tell you that Kirishima often was the one to wake him up from his slump across your lap in the mornings when he fell asleep hoping you’d just wake the fuck up and explain yourself.

Another jump in emotions, and he feels happiness – acceptance. You’re sitting among all his friends, and even with him in the picture, you feel like you found a place. Something in the memory makes his eyebrows raise, you glance at him and that feeling spikes. It feels like a thunderous amount of butterflies flutter in his stomach, rising up until they bombard his heart. 

He hadn’t even known you were looking at him like that. Yet beneath all that, he could feel the melancholy that came with your circumstance. You don’t feel like you belong, or perhaps it was the reality of your previous life's existence that weighs heavily on you. You had unresolved business, and that’s something Bakugou can relate to fully.

The next time he blinks, he feels the pressure of your forehead against his own. The slipping of the cord from his plating and how your fingers curl a little more into the longer hair further up the back of his head.

“Do you get it now?” You’re the first to break the tension, your question but a whisper above the whirring of the fan above your heads. 

And he thinks he does, that feeling that you couldn’t quite describe. You were content yet you were lost, you were happy yet you had a longing for something. You felt something towards him that was so indescribable it made his heart flutter. So he just nods, his own forehead pressing a little harder against yours to get it across that he truly does get it. 

His hand cups your jaw, thumb rolling across the fullness of your cheek before it presses into the flesh just a little. Your breath smells sweet; faintly reminding him of the drinks the both of you had earlier in the night. He doesn’t suspect you’re drunk, he definitely isn’t but that soft buzz keeps him from thinking too much. 

“It’s so confusing.” You admit, the word is just a breath against his lips and he finds himself wanting to swallow it. “I don’t want to think.”

That’s enough of a sign for him to make a move, his stomach churns with anxious excitement when he leans in. His lips finally press to yours in a tentative touch, your lips are warm and just as soft as they look. It draws him further, and further until his lips are moving against your own in a fluid movement. 

You don’t fight him when his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you into position so you can’t escape when he pries your mouth open with his tongue. The sweetness is stronger on your tongue, tangy with alcohol yet intoxicatingly enjoyable when he explores you like he might never get the chance again. 

It’s like everything explodes at that point, Bakugou grows insatiable; he needs to taste you. He needs to know you inside and out, this hunger pooling low in his stomach and burning a river of fire down to his groin. It makes him groan into the kiss when you offer a reprieve for a quick breath, he nips and bites at your bottom lip to see if he can pull any noises from you.

And he delights in it when he can, your moans are so foreign to him yet it’s a heady feeling. It has him tugging at you until you’re situated over the tops of his thighs, and in a fluid motion, he’s standing. His hands cupped under your ass, squeezing and massaging the flesh that he’s never had the chance to feel before. 

It takes him no time at all to cross the space from the living room to his bedroom, the door sliding open and closed with a hiss before the automatic locks click into place. He tosses you from his grip onto the plushness of his bed, the sheets still rumpled from the morning when he didn’t bother to make it. 

Bakugou looms over you like a predator, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths – you’re no better than he is, your lips are swollen and wet from his ministrations. Your heavy breathing only accentuates your breasts, drawing his attention down to them to see the rise and fall of your chest. His fingers move automatically, tucking underneath his shirt to tug it over his head. 

It’s flung off into some unknown direction, and when he looks up you’re leaning up. Your fingers skate along the sharp edges of his muscles, pressing into the places where the fat resides. Then you trace along scars that are white and some that are pink; you’re transfixed on him. It makes him preen under your gaze, and in your momentary distraction, he undoes the belt on his jeans before they’re pushed down too. 

The smile you give him makes his heart pitter-patter in his chest, you’re smiling up at him as if he’s the world to you. But the rational still-sober part of his mind insists that it’s just for the sex – he’s just a one-night stand to you and the feeling is mutual. Right? That is what Bakugou wants out of this, right? The tension in his stomach is unnerving, something akin to nausea at the idea of letting this not blossom into something more.

But he doesn’t get to ruminate on it further, your fingers drift downwards along the deep V on his hips until you’re at the top of his boxers. Automatically his fingers stroke up along your jaw, across your cheek until he’s hooking his fingers to the back of your head when you start to lean in closer. 

The feeling of your lips against the hard outline of his cock makes him jolt and melt at the same time, the rumbling moan is deep in his chest. How long had it been since he was last with someone? Fuck, he doesn’t even know but he can’t focus when the tip of your tongue slowly drags up along the thick vein on the underside of his cock.

He must jolt too harshly because you laugh a little to yourself before you take pity on him. Bakugou wants to snap at you, shut you up for even daring to laugh at him but the words die on his tongue the second he even thinks of them. Your hands are undeniably soft when you wrap your hand around his hardness. 

There’s a small crease between your eyebrows, an indication of either your concentration or perhaps your trepidation for what’s to come. 

“Lie back,” he offers instead, your eyes drifting back up to meet his and you slip free from the hand hooked on the back of your head, the loss of your softness around his length leaves a longing that lingers in the depths of his stomach. This time he takes the time to undress you, sliding you free of the dress Mina had managed to wrangle you into. 

It looked far too good on you, something he wouldn’t admit at the start of the night but his inhibitions continue to slip. “Look at you, so beautiful.” 

His fingers skim up along the now bare expanse of your hips, brushing past your panties line and mapping their way up your sides. You’re just as scarred as he is, but yours are so different from his. He can see the almost invisible lines where someone has taken a scalpel to you and modified your body. Did you even know who did it?

He swallows the lump down in his throat, forcing his attention up to your breasts once his hands brush along the sides. His thumbs roll up over your nipples beneath your bra, the pebbled skin hard enough–sensitive enough to earn him a shiver of delight. The smile that brightens up his face is nothing short of sinful, it shows the modified canines and displays all his carnal desires without him having to even utter a word.

You lift your body up when he demands it, letting him slip you free of your underwear until you’re as bare as he is. And Holy fuck, you’re fucking gorgeous. His eyes leave no part of you unseen, his gaze roaming over you until you’re practically squirming.

“Please.” You whisper, gasping when his fingers finally find a home in the width of your hips. “Stop staring and do something.” 

That has an eyebrow rising in your direction. “Oh? Someone’s demanding when she wants something. You want me to hurry up and fuck you until you’re too dumb to remember your own name?” 

“You’re too much.” You all but whine, and he imagines he’d be able to feel the heat in your cheeks if he were to lean in closer.

“You have no idea.” Bakugou grins, a sultry smile that has your hips bucking beneath his iron grip and he’s swooping down. 

Lips pressing into yours in a much more hurried fashion compared to earlier; it’s a hunger that can only serve to work someone up until the point of completion. It has his tongue rolling into your mouth, brushing against the back of your teeth and trying to hear you choke on him when he’s bearing his weight down on you.

He’s positively devouring you, and his hands work to spread your legs wide for him on either side of the thickness of his own thighs. Then his fingers make their way down between your legs, brushing against the crease between where your thighs bend. You’re whining, moaning and biting back just as hard when he dares to bite your bottom lip. 

He wants to fucking ruin you. 

Bakugou draws his head back just enough to peer down at you, the light filtering in through the half-shuttered window highlights parts of you that are otherwise shrouded in the darkness. It illuminates the harsh rise and fall in your lungs, the way your nipples are pebbled in the cool air and the slight glisten on your inner thighs.

Finally, he indulges you. His fingers press between your folds to slide against your clit before they slowly venture downwards. His middle and ring fingers circle against your entrance teasingly slow, his lips parting to breathe in your whines for more. 

His eyebrows crumple with your own when you moan at the intrusion of his thick fingers, his head is swimming with how intoxicating it is to be above you like this. To have this level of power over someone who could definitely kill him before he could blink.

The stretch is easy enough with how wet you got so quickly for him, and he groans all low and rumbling in his chest at just how tight you are. You’re so soft and velvety inside, your walls clenching rhythmically with your deep inhales.

For a moment, he just holds his fingers deep inside of you completely still. Relishing in the way you try to shift your hips beneath him despite how he’s pinning you down beneath the weight of his own body. It’s such a stark difference to the nervous wreck he’s seen you as, and so fucking better than the cold-blooded killer he knew you were deep down. 

“Fuckin’ look at you.” He whispers into the heated air between the sparse gap between you two, his eyes half-lidded as they meet your own. You’re trying your hardest to glare at him, but you can’t quite fight the euphoric feeling of him curling his fingers just a little to shut you down. 

“Who knew all it took to get you nice and compliant was to stuff you full with my fingers?” His tone is a little mean, a little condescending. The tears don’t come for you however, but he can see you slowly dropping into the headspace he wants you to be in. 

“Please,” you beg—a plea, a sweet melody that Bakugou thinks he wants to listen to for the rest of his life. But this was just a one-night stand, right? 

“Tell me what you want.” 

“Just–... Move already, please.” He grins wide at the whimper at the end of your words. A small part of him wants to draw this out, make you suffer just a little but the rational voice in his mind tells him he’ll only get more out of you if he obliges. 

So he does. His fingers crook upwards, brushing against the spongy spot that no one but he could reach with the length of his fingers. The reaction is immediate, you moan so sweetly that it has his own eyes threatening to flutter and roll into the back of his head. 

You’re practically gushing around his fingers as he fucks them into you, repeatedly crooking his fingers in an attempt to see how quickly he could make you crumble beneath the palm of his hand. Your thighs tense up, squeezing around his own when you try to close your legs to stop the onslaught of his fingers. 

Bakugou noses into your cheek when you tilt your head back, your lips parted as you try to breathe in. But he doesn’t give you the chance, he pushes you further into the bed with his weight, shifting his body up just slightly so your hips are forced to bend with him – then suddenly he’s fucking his fingers into you impossibly deeper.

His lips hover just next to your temple, panting heavily against you. It’s a task and a half to stop himself from painting the inside of his boxers that he’s still yet to remove. But he’s a man on a mission, and that mission is to make you cum on his fingers.

He doesn’t stop when he feels your hand clamp down around his forearm, the strength there is enough to stop a moving truck—except you’re distracted, lost in the pleasure that races up and down your spine until it settles in the back of your mind. You’re too lost in your own head to be embarrassed about the sloppy sounds between your thighs, his fingers forcing more and more juices from you until he’s certain his bed will be soaked through.

As much as Bakugou wants to watch your pussy take his fingers so well, he can’t move his gaze away from your face. You look like something they used to paint in cathedrals, an angel. Your head is thrown back into his pillows, eyes scrunched closed and mouth open to let your moans spill free. The light from outside bathes you in neon colours, catching on the metallic strips of your chrome. 

Even if it is just a one-night stand, Bakugou doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget the image of you in the throes of pleasure. 

Especially not when you finally do reach your climax for him. Your hand at his wrist tightens immediately, your thighs lock up with a tension that would worry him if he wasn’t aware of the intricate materials that you were composed of. Your chest stutters, and your mouth opens wider until he’s gifted with the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard; a series of moans that grow breathier with each pass of his fingers. 

“‘S too much.” You protest weakly, the hand that was wrapped around his wrist pushes in an attempt to free your swollen pussy from his long fingers. But he doesn’t pull out yet, only slowing down the roll of his wrist until finally he pulls free. Your entire body relaxes finally, muscles growing lax from where they’re wrapped around his waist. 

“It only takes one time and you’re done?” Bakugou questions with a teasing arch of his eyebrow, watching in amusement when your head rolls slightly to glare at him. It’s a hardly-there glare but you still give it to him regardless, it makes him grin down at you. “Nah, you’re not done.”

You’re like putty in his hands with how easily he manoeuvres your body around, tucking both of your legs together before twisting your lower half to the side. A large arm keeps your legs held up and off to the side, whilst his unoccupied hand strokes along the rigid length of his cock. It aches, pearled with pre-cum from just watching you cream all over his hand.

He levels the tip of his drooling cock to your entrance, easily finding the hole that was previously spread so wide around just two of his fingers. The warmth is intoxicating, flooding his senses and clouding his mind. He doesn’t even notice you moving just slightly to slide a hand down over your hip to feel the length of his cock disappearing deeper and deeper inside of you.

The groan Bakugou lets out once his hips fall flush against your own is sinful enough to have you clenching around him, turning that beautiful groan into a hiss through clenched teeth. He snaps his gaze up to you, only to see your own gaze heedy with lust and half-lidded. He can feel every single inch of your velveteen walls, can feel the way you’re still panting and clenching around his cock. 

He thinks he could die here, quite happily might he add.

A large hand comes down to your ass, shifting the flesh just enough so he can flit his eyes downwards and see the sticky mess that’s already tacking his pubic hair. That same hand comes back down again to level your ass with a firm spank, and it has you squeezing around him tight enough to stop him from rolling his hips back to start fucking you.

It’s enough to make him forget he’s fucking you raw.

“Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ hard. You like it that much, hm?” Bakugou goads with a bite to his bottom lip when he feels you pulse at the tone he takes with you. With enough willpower, he rolls his hips backwards just enough to pull himself out halfway before fucking his cock back into you. “Tell me how much you like it.” 

His stomach tenses when you brush the pads of your fingers against the tensed muscles there, his eyes drift away from where he was connected to you, along your arm until he finds your face. You’re looking him in the eye, eyelids heavy and lips parted when you moan low at the feeling of him rolling his hips smoothly once again. 

“Say it,” Bakugou bares his teeth at you, the modified fangs in his mouth gleaming with the passing lights through the window.

“Bak—” 

He moves before he can even think, faster than you can react. His hand engulfs the entirety of your lower face, thick fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks until he can feel the solid metal that was buried in your very muscles. Your eyes are wide, more alert but you don’t fight him surprisingly. Bakugou hunches his body over your own until his forehead connects with yours, forcing you to look directly into his eyes.

The angle he’s at now has your eyebrows crumpling together, mouth opening in a wordless moan—he’s so fucking deep that he’s pretty certain he’s pressed right against your cervix.

“No, use my fuckin’ name.” He growls in your face, hissing his words through clenched teeth. You’re clenching around him so tightly that his head feels like it’s filled with nanites, infiltrating his brain until all he can think about is you, you, you.

A harsh thrust of his hips has you gasping, he can see you fighting the urge to let your eyes roll back and eyelashes flutter closed to bask fully in the pleasure. But you keep his gaze, sturdy and unyielding. 

“Katsuki.”

He’s never heard his given name on your tongue before, so breathy and sweet that it has his pace faltering for a split second. His name sounded perfect when you said it like that, as if your very vocal cords were crafted just to moan his name like that—like an angel. Bakugou gives in to the urge to moan in return, jaw falling slack. 

Your hand is delicate around his wrist, guiding him to free you from the grip he still had on your jaw to slide it downwards until he finds your throat. His fingers latch around it naturally, digging in just enough to have you gasping against his open and waiting mouth but not enough to hurt you. He can see that you enjoy it—can feel it in the way your pussy drools for him more.

The second his hand locks around your throat, everything empties from his mind. His hips move as if they were designed to fuck you, to feel your skin slap against his and to have your entire body jump with each harsh rut. Your moans vibrate against his palm, a shiver working its way down his spine whenever your moans grow louder, more desperate when he shifts his weight just enough to bully the tip of his cock against your cervix.

The hand around his wrist tightens, the tips of your nails digging into his flesh. It makes him hiss in pain, gritting his teeth to fuck you harder. His entire body glistens with sweat, dripping down along his hairline where strands of his ash blonde hair stick to his dewy skin. It pools in the hollow of his throat and builds along his biceps, which flex and bulge with the effort of keeping up his position hunched over you. 

“G’nna—” You gasp, his hand instinctively closing around your throat before relaxing. “‘M g’nna cum.”

And fuck, if he thought you whispering his given name was hot then he’s not sure where that ranks. He’s not sure why he’s never considered just how hot it would be for you to admit you were close to orgasm, to inform him that he’s doing such a good job at fucking you that you’re about to cum.

“Yeah?” He huffs in the effort of his pace, suddenly rearing back and releasing your throat in favour of shifting your position. He throws your legs over his shoulders, large hands grasping at your hips to pull you to the edge of the bed properly. “Then cum.”

With his hands lower down on your body, Bakugou’s able to free one hand from grasping at the meat of your thigh to let his thumb roll over your clit with enough pressure to have your knees turning inwards and back arching off of the bed. The moan that comes you from is angelic, a sound that has his stomach twisting in anticipation and the need to cum—but not yet, he’s going to fuck you as much as he can before he reaches his end.

He can feel you clamping down on him, squeezing the ever-loving fuck out of him to the point where his hips are forced to take shallow thrusts. But his hand doesn’t give up on your clit; he switches to his fingers to pinch and cruelly swipe at your swollen clit. Your toes curl against the back of his head, and Bakugou finds himself leaning into the feeling—needing to feel every single part of you whilst your pleasure crests.

And when you do cum, Bakugou can’t help but groan alongside you. 

“Fuuu—... That’s it, good girl.” His tone is a little breathy, his chest rising and falling with the quick breaths he has to take to keep up the pace to fuck you through your orgasm and beyond that. His hand drops away from between your thighs, sliding up to grab at your waist before moving you up along the bed whilst situating himself on top.

He tugs your legs down from his shoulders, wrapping them tightly around his waist—you move easily for him, so pliant and willing to do anything for him after he made you cum on his cock. Your thighs mould easily around the thinner part of his waist, your ankles locking naturally. 

His cock remains buried deep inside of you, still savouring the aftershock waves of pleasure that have your walls throbbing around him. Bakugou leans down into your space, with one elbow to the side of your head whilst the other latches itself onto the headboard. You meet his gaze, finally gaining back some clarity. 

“Back with me?” He grins, sharp teeth on display when he looks down at you. He wonders if you find him intimidating like this, you’ve shown you were somewhat afraid of him in the past—never stepping on his toes, or overstepping when he ordered you to stay the fuck out of his way. Part of him doesn’t want you to be afraid of him anymore, he wants to make you smile more, laugh more, moan more—

A hand caresses itself along his cheek, drawing him out of his lust-ridden mind until he finds your eyes. Your thumb drags itself along the apple of his cheek, across the corner of his lips until you press your thumb against his lips. He’s not sure what’s enthralled him exactly, maybe it’s just the look in your eye—because you’re not looking up at him like you’re afraid, but rather you’re looking up at him with something scarily close to admiration. 

Your thumb drops down from his lips and to his chin, and with the slightest of tugs you pull him down into your space. He collapses onto both of his elbows on either side of your head, his breath coming out in warm puffs against your face. He can smell you this close, a mixture of sweat and that sweet perfume Mina had bought for you. 

Again, he doesn’t fight it when you pull him that final inch. Your lips are smooth against his own, so gentle and intoxicating. You kiss him like you want to savour this, savour him. And so he lets you, he lets you savour him just as he savours you in return. His mouth pries yours open easily enough, your tongue eager to meet his own in a smooth curl.

His hips begin to move on instinct, both of his thighs spread wide so he can thrust hard and deep. Your skin slaps against his, a wet sound that has the pit of pleasure in his stomach tightening and tightening with each passing second. His balls smack against the roundness of your ass, drawing up with the urge to spill deep inside of you—but he won’t, as much as he’d love to feel your walls milk him for all he’s worth.

You’re the one who breaks the kiss off, head falling back into his pillows whilst he props himself back up over the top of you. With a better view of your body, your tits that bounce with each rut of his hips, he finds himself standing right on the precipice of his climax. His thrusts grow faster, more erratic in their strength and depth—effortlessly fucking you through your next orgasm when you open your mouth in a silent scream.

“Fu-fuck, fuck,” Bakugou pants, his stomach clenches and his balls draw up tight. He pulls back suddenly from your space, away from the intoxicating heat that radiates off of your body to pull from your pussy entirely. His hand wraps around his cock and he fists it aggressively, thumb pressing against his head before he sucks in one deep breath, only to release it in a loud groan.

His cum comes in thick waves, drawing lines up along your stomach and up along your chest. You lay there, with your legs wide open and eyes half-lidded; watching him cum all over your body. Bakugou finds his hips still thrusting with each spurt from his cock, squeezing every last drop before tapping the sticky tip against your belly button where it had mostly gathered. 

His entire body relaxes immediately, the weight of his responsibilities disappearing into nothing when he lets his mind bathe completely in that post-nut haze. You seem in the same mind, letting your legs droop at his waist and an arm coming to rest over your eyes, giving you a moment to catch your breath. 

Slipping away from you, Bakugou doesn’t bother to pick up the clothes scattered around and instead beelines it for the bathroom attached to his bedroom. He pauses by the door leading out, he can’t hear any noise—hopefully, Kirishima was still out, if not then he’s going to be up Bakugou’s ass about fucking you. 

Rummaging through a stack of towels, he finds a light and small one to wipe you down with. But as he’s about to re-enter the bedroom, he turns to see you’re standing up and looking around for your underwear.

“Where you runnin’ off to?” He gruffs, his own voice ruined from the session—he needs a drink of water, he makes a mental note. 

You look up at him, quite like the image of a deer in headlights. “Uh, well—I just thought you’d want me to… go.” 

Bakugou’s eyebrows furrow together before his eyes flit down to the ropes of cum still on your skin and he wants to ask if you planned on ruining your clothes with his cum. Instead, he shakes his head, stepping back into the dimly lit bedroom. 

“Get back in bed, let me clean you up.” He watches as you stare at him for a second more, hesitating or debating on refusing his offer. But clearly your exhaustion wins out, because you turn with a drop of the dress in your hand and climb back in his bed, careful to not drip any of his cum on the sheets. 

On the way past, he reaches down to a compartment in his wall to pull out two bottles of water. Placing them on the bedside table, he stands at the foot of the bed looking down at you. He can see you squirming under his gaze, the embarrassment starting to creep up on you but Bakugou can’t find it within himself to be embarrassed about the fact he was still completely naked. It felt good, with you.

You don’t squirm away when he wipes you clean, careful between your legs when he sees how puffy and swollen you look down there. But it still makes you flinch, a quiet gasp leaving your lips and it’s impossible to not smirk up at you before he drops the towel somewhere in the pile of abandoned clothes to be dealt with tomorrow. 

Grabbing one water bottle, he offers it to you. “Drink up, and then actually get in bed. ‘M tired as fuck.” 

He turns away when you take the bottle from him, still sporting that slightly bewildered look on your face as if you expected him to kick you to the streets—or rather, the sofa. Part of him does question why he’s letting you stay in his bed in the first place, but the idea of you going out to that shitty sofa after sex… it just doesn’t sit well in his chest.

He gives you the time to bury yourself beneath his sheets whilst he kicks the dirty clothes towards the far wall, next to the laundry basket before returning to you. You look tiny in his bed, made especially large to accommodate his height. You’re nearly lost beneath the thick sheets and mountain of pillows, it makes his lips curl into a playful smile before he crawls into bed with you. 

You shift out of the way to let him lay down, the room dimming further until you were both plunged into darkness save for the passing lights through the slatted shutters on his window. He can still make you out in the dark, with his optics shut down and eyes naturally enhanced—he can see you’re looking at him over the top of the covers, debating on if you should still make a run for it.

“Fuckin’—...” He huffs a sigh, shifting under the sheets so quickly you don’t have the time to stop him. “Stop actin’ like I’m going to bite you or some shit.”

You curve into his muscle easily enough, moulding into the shape needed to be held close. His chin rests atop your head, thick arms looped around you. It’s odd—Bakugou wasn’t a hugger, definitely not a cuddler but having you in his arms, the smooth feeling of your softer skin beneath his and the warmth that comes from your very being is comforting. 

His heart flutters in his chest when he can feel your arms slowly wrapping around him until you’re embracing him fully. You cling to him as if you were expecting him to rip you away at any given moment and ruin the moment. Has he really been that harsh to you? Sure, he’d been a bit of a dick when he first met you but you were choking out their only Ripper whilst holding a gun to their faces that’d eradicate them before they so much as blinked.

And sure, he had a tongue as sharp as a knife… fuck, maybe he was that harsh with you. He blames it lazily on the drink still in his system, despite the pestering fact in the very back of his mind that he worked most of it out of his system fucking you into his bed. It makes his head ache with the sudden rush of conflicting feelings, thoughts that clash over and over—

Forcing his eyes to shut and muscles to relax, he basks in the warmth of your much smaller body wrapped around his own and lets himself fall asleep.

You wake up feeling… warm. Not hot, nor cold. Comfortable too. The softness of the sheets around are some of the best you’ve felt in weeks, the blanket you’d been given to sleep with on the sofa was somewhat scratchy when you’d tuck it under your chin. This one is smoother, doesn’t catch on the thin intricate strips that are near-invisible to the naked eye that line your body. 

There’s a weight across your body, a leg wedged between your own and a heavy arm draped over your waist. The warmth is coming from directly behind you, a solid press of muscle that breathes steadily against the back of your head. And if you glance just enough over your shoulder, you find a head of blonde hair that’s softened after a night of sleep. 

Bakugou has himself plastered against you, completely. His face is buried into the back of your hair, and with him this close, all you can smell is him. His bed smells strongly of the aftershave he uses, and the man himself smells like your late-night activities—a musk that has your head in the clouds in remembrance. 

You’ve never felt anything like that before. Not that you can remember, anyway. Bakugou treated you more than just someone he wanted to fuck, he didn’t toss you around or disregard the fact you had to cum too to enjoy yourself—he made sure you were on the same level as pleasure as he was, if not more. He kissed you like a lover would. 

That last thought has your face heating, an odd feeling of butterflies fluttering up into your stomach until they settle in your lungs. It was ridiculous to have such a childish thought flit into your mind, Bakugou certainly wasn’t the type of man to settle down—his lifestyle didn’t fit with it.

You could tell just from the way he lived in his own home, he functioned to serve himself only—with the exception of Kirishima when he forgot breakfast. But outside of the walls of his apartment, his work lifestyle wasn’t fit for a partner in any sense of the word. He was a merc, mercs didn’t lock themselves down with someone because it was dangerous. Simple as.

Having a partner in Night City was the same as putting a target on your back. You became weak and vulnerable—something Bakugou would never let himself be. You knew that just from the weeks of living beside him. 

“What’s got you thinkin’ so hard this early?” Bakugou’s voice is deeper, raspier in the mornings… and it’s impossible to not clamp down in longing that he was still buried inside of you. 

He shifts behind you, one long deep breath in before he releases it. His muscles ease off of you when he breathes out, the weightlessness of sleep disappearing with each second. Instead, the arm that was slung over your waist grows bold in it’s movement. His large hand guides his fingers delicately over your skin, circling your belly button before meandering off until he finds your hip.

“Hm?” He nudges you with the tip of his nose, prompting you to glance over your shoulder at him. His eyes are smouldering, barely open and yet the red that stares back at you is bright. The long eyelashes you’ve never had the chance to see so clearly bat delicately against his cheekbones. 

“Nothing, sorry for waking you.” You whisper back, and his eyes automatically drift down to watch the movement of your lips. The hand at your hip kneads softly at the flesh there before it moves lower, the tips of his fingers skirting up and down along your thigh. It’s enough to draw a harsh shiver up your spine, and in turn, causes Bakugou to let out a raspy chuckle.

“Yeah?” You pick up on the playful tone in his voice, a teasing grin growing on his face. “How ‘bout you make it up to me? Hm?” 

You’re drawn to him biting on his bottom lip before his grin grows wider, watching you watch him—a back-and-forth dance to see who snaps first under the surmounting sexual tension in the room. The hand on your thigh slips down, hooking his fingers into your inner thigh to hoist your leg a little higher up on his hip. His cock is hot and hard where it presses between your thighs, the tip tapping against your clit. 

Shifting himself up onto one elbow, partially hovering over you from behind, he finds your lips with his own. The kiss starts off softer than he kissed you last night, it’s not as hurried—not yet anyway. Bakugou kisses you like he wants to savour your flavour, to save the taste of you on his tongue. He tilts his head just slightly to delve in deeper, and then prying your mouth open with his. 

His tongue is invasive, in the sense that he has to dive as deep as he can into your mouth. His tongue curls against the roof of your mouth, feels along the points of your teeth before he’s back to caressing your tongue with his own. The hand between your thighs spreads you lewdly beneath the blankets, a middle finger finding your clit before he strokes it down along your slit; wet and slippery for him.

Bakugou groans into your open mouth, before greedily going in again after the single breath he takes. This time the kiss is more energetic, more consuming. His cock twitches between your thighs, tapping against your thigh with its sticky tip. You can’t help but roll your hips back into him, push your ass out in invitation—

A loud bang in the living area has you both flinching, lips parting just enough for you to see the scowl starting to form on Bakugou’s face.

“Fuckin’ Ei. Just ignore ‘im.” His voice is harsh with desire, a low whisper that has your stomach tightening. Bakugou swoops back in, devouring your lips with more vigour, desperate to get what he wants now he knows that his roommate is awake—who knows when he’ll get a chance like this again. 

He manoeuvres you on the bed, climbing over the top of you until you’re in a similar position as last night; your thighs at his waist and his hands pressed into the sheets on either side of your head. His cock bobs again between the two of you, smearing his pre along the smooth skin of your inner thigh. His lips part from yours once again, this time to chart a path down along your jaw and neck. He bites and kisses in tandem, sucking your skin until you can feel the bruises starting to blossom there. 

Bakugou continues to consume you from the outside, pressing his hips down finally to relieve himself of the pressure building in his groin. He groans beautifully against your skin, a sound so intoxicating you can’t stop your eyes from rolling and your hands seeking purchase in his hair. It’s soft to the touch, and it doesn’t go unnoticed when you accidentally tug on it, his hips press harder against your own. Rutting his cock against your pussy.

“Shit, g’nna fuck you—”

“Yo, Bakugou!” The bedroom door opens with a loud hiss, and you can only squeak out in surprise when Bakugou all but presses you into the bed in an attempt to hide you. “I thought you said we had food in, and—... uh–...”

“Get the fuck out!” Bakugou snarls, reaching over to grab the closest thing to him on the bedside table. There’s a shift of his entire body, something flying through the air and the resounding plastic crunch of Kirishima being smacked by the poor water bottle that was launched. 

“Sorry!” Kirishima back peddles it out of the room before Bakugou can scramble to find something else to throw, the door hissing to announce that he was well and truly out of the room. 

The air is no longer thick with sexual tension, instead, there’s a lingering awkwardness that has Bakugou deflating on top of you. His face is buried into the crook of your neck, and you can feel the heavy sigh that’s pushed out of his body in acceptance that he won’t be fucking you again today. 

“He’s such a fuckin’ idiot, can’t trust him to do shit on his own.” He grumbles against you, his lips so close you can feel each word forming on them. He leans up off of you, kneeling between your legs and you try your hardest to not grow embarrassed at your nakedness on display. He looks almost sad, defeated at the fact he knows he has to go deal with the red-haired giant that’s no doubt ripping apart his kitchen looking for food.

“Sorry,” he huffs, leaning down to leave a lingering kiss on your lips before he’s up and out of bed. “You can just sleep in here if you want. I know that eyebags said you need to rest after whatever the fuck happened so—just, rest here.” 

You raise an eyebrow before realisation dawns on you; he means Shinsou. You smile at that, tucking the comforter back around you and burying yourself among the pillows. You watch as Bakugou blindly digs through his wardrobe, plucking out various clothes until he finds what he wants. 

As if sensing your eyes, he glances over his bare shoulder at you with a wicked smirk on his face before bending down to draw his boxers up his legs. “The showers just in there, feel free to use whatever's in there.” He nods with his head in the direction of the bathroom.

“Okay, thank you.” You smile at him when he turns to look at you, he looks awfully handsome like this. Half dressed, a shirt in one hand and belt loose around his waist where he still has to button up his black cargo pants. He hovers for a second, fingers curling a little tighter around his shirt and you can see his jaw working to help him spit out the words he wants to say.

Except, he’s interrupted again by another bang—one that sounds suspiciously like the microwave door being broken. Bakugou groans in annoyance, running a hand through his hair before giving you one last glance just before he leaves the room.

You’re left in silence, the outside world still asleep despite the sun rising. 

“You fucking idiot!” Bakugou yells, muffled but still loud enough that you feel like you’re in the room with him. The rest of the argument fades out into muffled voices, and soon sleep retakes you with the comforting smell of Bakugou still clouding your mind.

It isn’t until a handful of hours later that you emerge from the bedroom. It had quieted down soon after Bakugou had come out to confront Kirishima, and you managed to shower uninterrupted—you found clothes laid out on the bed for you, no doubt from Bakugou who must’ve heard the shower running at some point.

When the door hisses open, you’re met with the smell of beer and the voices of multiple people. People you’ve come to know as Shinsou, Sero and Kaminari. Of course, Bakugou and Kirishima are there too but the former is quiet as he watches the group yap about something he’s uninterested in. 

“Nah, man. I’m telling you, she was looking at me.” Kaminari whines, earning him a snort of laughter from Shinsou and a shake of a head from Sero.

“You’re delusional, she’s a doll. They don’t see a thing.” Sero snickers when Kaminari pouts at that, leaning into Kirishima’s side who mockingly consoles him for thinking he had a chance with a doll.

The name is something that most people know, it was a way for people to get away with doing whatever they wanted to another person without the repercussions. Fuck a doll and they have their memory wiped by the end of it, confess murder and they’ll just smile at you. Dolls. You’d seen plenty of advertisements for it last night whilst visiting Jig-Jig Street, the idea of a chip like that existing made you feel sick.

A call of your name has your eyes blinking, snapping out of the trance and looking towards the source. Shinsou. Immediately Sero and Kaminari flinch in realisation that you were standing right behind them on the sofa, an unwanted reminder of when you had nearly blown them to pieces no more than 48 hours ago. 

“How’re you feeling?” Shinsou asks, head tilting slightly.

“Fine, better than yesterday.” You smile back a little, eyes making their way automatically towards the ash blonde who sits with his knees apart on the opposite side of the sofa, an arm draped over the back of it and a beer can cradled in the hand on his thigh. “Still tired.”

“Even after you slept all day?” Kirishima asks next, and you make the mistake of glancing at him because he has a very knowing smug grin on his face. “Or maybe it was because you didn’t—”

“Oi, shut the fuck up.” Bakugou grunts before taking a sip of his drink, and you’re thankful for the intervention. You use the momentary distraction created by Bakugou to slip into a seat, finding the only place available between Bakugou and Shinsou—there’s a large enough gap that you know was reinforced by the blonde. 

Bakugou only offers you a sideways glance when you settle into the seat next to him, you can feel him watching you; observing to see if you had any regrets from the previous night. But you have none, not a single one. You felt… happy. You didn’t have an overwhelming sense of dread sitting on your chest, instead you felt at ease. You relax into the plushness of the sofa, indirectly sinking into the spot where Bakugou had his arm slung over the back.

The conversation has already moved on, thankfully. All four of the men engaged in the conversation, with Bakugou drinking away at his beer whilst observing the group gathered. 

“Do you remember that gig over in Watson?” Sero snorts, earning him a groan from Kirishima and a laugh from Kaminari. Sero flicks his gaze over to you, and you can see the mischief there when he realises he has an audience who haven’t heard the story.

“Hanta, don’t.” Kirishima whines, sinking into the seat with a large hand coming up to cover his face. You’ve never seen him quite like this; embarrassed. It was new, and you can’t help but smile at the idea of hearing something that would cause the giant of a man such emotions. 

“But she hasn’t heard the story!” Sero exclaims, grinning from ear to ear as he leans forward to put his beer down on the coffee table. “Alright so, we had this gig over on the Northside, up in the Watson district. It was probably one of the easiest gigs to date, a simple in-and-out steal.”

You can feel Bakugou shift next to you, and out of the corner of your eye you can see him grinning over the lip of his beer can. 

“Anyway. It was me, Denki and Ei.” He gestures to each of them in turn. “And for some reason, big Red here wanted to be the guy to do the stealth portion of the mission.”

“Don’t look at me like that, Uraraka just installed some new cyberware. She said I wouldn’t make a sound!” Kirishima huffs when you shoot him an incredulous look. A man who was over 6 ft 7 was definitely not suited for stealth work. If anything, you would’ve picked Sero—lanky, tall, light-footed.

“You’re about as heavy as a bull, you’re heavy footed as fuck Ei.” Bakugou goads, a grin on his face when Kirishima turns the glare his way. 

Sero snickers, leaning his elbows on his knees. “We were meant to just steal this van, apparently it was Maelstrom property but we needed what was in it. All Kirishima had to do was sneak in, hotwire the van and get the fuck out of there. Instead, he trips every alarm known to man and has to hightail it out of there in a van with only two wheels.” 

Bakugou offers a laugh, a genuine laugh at the memory of Kirishima returning to the hideout with a van hanging on for dear life.

“What about the time we had to eradicate that Daemon on the Net?” Kaminari snickers, which in turn has Shinsou turning his sights on him. “Shinsou popped a boner when his connection was flooded with those sex toy ads.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Shinsou growls, and you watch quietly when he lashes out at Kaminari who dares to laugh in his face. “I told you, the next time you tell someone that shit I’m—”

The conversation fades out slowly, your eyes focused on the spot in the centre of the coffee table. Daemons on the Net. Something about that sounds too familiar, would the man you saw in your own subconscious connected to the Net count as one of those daemons? Has someone injected you with something to cause a break in your cyberware? 

You can still hear his voice, calling out your name. You could still feel the shards of glass he shattered in your mind, in your soul. They were lodged so snuggly against your vital organs, pressing yet waiting to be given the order to execute. That happiness you had felt just moments ago is washed away, replaced with the reminder that you were clueless as to who that man was—clueless to who you are. 

A nudge to your foot has you blinking rapidly, glancing down to see Bakugou had knocked his foot against your own. You look at the man at your side, only to find his eyes already set on you. His hand is empty of the beer can he was drinking, and he’s staring at you like he was able to see your inner struggle. 

“C’mon.” He grunts, standing up suddenly and you have no choice but to follow after him. You follow him towards the front door of the apartment, where he suddenly turns to you with the black and orange bomber jacket you’ve grown attached to. You don’t fight him when he throws it over your shoulders, holding the arms to help you with putting it on. 

“Where you goin’?” Kirishima calls from the living area, all of the guys turning their heads to watch you adjusting the jacket on your body whilst Bakugou does the same with his own riding leather jacket.

“Out. Need more beers, figured I’ll take this one with me to save her from you guys being a bunch of freaks.” That earns him a number of groans and insults. “Shuddup, last time you were left with a girl alone, you all had to stiff leg it out of there.” 

He doesn’t wait for the next round of insults hurled his way, instead, he pushes you out of the door first before letting it shut with an audible hiss behind him. You can still faintly hear them arguing through the door but Bakugou shows no issue with the fact he probably just left his own apartment to delve into chaos. 

Bakugou leads you down the stairwell that leads to the garage, he holds the door open for you once you reach your destination and you’re met with a large parking lot. You’ve never been in here before, all the times you went out it was with Kirishima and he was adamant about walking around Night City instead of driving—he hated traffic just as much as the next person it seemed. 

You follow behind Bakugou like a lost puppy, eyes darting from car to car. All of them ranging from heavily modified or straight-up pieces of junk that should be scrapped for a few Eurodollars. When he comes to a stop at the end of the garage, a light flicks on overhead to show the sleek black motorbike you saw when you had been first introduced to Aizawa. 

Bakugou steps off to the side, rummaging around through a bio-coded locker which leaves you to investigate his motorbike a little more closely. It’s beautiful, obviously one of the pride and joys of the ash blonde. Your fingers ghost delicately along the smooth leather seat, it looks untouched—or rather, well-loved and cared for. 

You tilt your head to look down along the expensive body, eyeing the fact there wasn’t even a single scratch on it. Just how well did he care for this bike? Your eyes spot what you’re looking for; Yaiba. 

“It’s a modified Kusanagi CT-3X, if you’re wondering.” Bakugou finds himself next to you, one helmet perched atop his head and forcing the hairs down into his eyes, the other is under an arm.

“A rare Arasaka bike, right?” Bakugou nods at your words, an eyebrow arched as if he’s impressed you even knew that—to be fair, so are you. Your mind buzzes at the information you’re able to pull effortlessly from the bank of information sitting in your mind. “One of the fastest and most expensive bikes out there, how’d you get it?”

“Callin’ me cheap now?” He sneers but there’s no heat to it, he grins when you turn to look at him. He adjusts the helmet under his arm, holding it up to you so he can place it carefully over your head. “It was something I got with my first real paycheck, I always wanted one. Even as a kid when I lived in Tokyo, Yaiba had some of the best bikes out there and I just knew I wanted one.”

You smile up at him when he reveals just a slither of his past. So he wasn’t from here, it made sense. There was something about him that was never truly comfortable about being in Night City, no matter how long you live here—you’re never truly a part of the city as an outsider. Bakugou’s careful in pulling down the helmet, pressing a button on the inside before pushing down his own helmet.

“You hear me alright?” He questions, and you have to stop yourself from flinching at the voice in your ears. You nod at him, and you can hear him snicker quietly over the Bluetooth connection between the two helmets. “Alright, let’s get going before Ei comes and hunts us down.”

He slings a leg over the bike effortlessly, the entire thing bouncing on it’s suspension before he looks over at you through the small lifted gap of his visor. You hesitate for a moment, glancing from him to the seat behind him—if you can even call it that, there’s hardly any room and you’re going to be pressed up right against him. Why does that even matter when you were naked and under him this mor—

“Stop thinking and get the fuck on.” He grumbles, going as far as to reach over to grasp at your forearm to tug you forward. You have no choice but to clamber ontop of the bike behind him, your hands coming to loosely grab at the material of his leather jacket. Bakugou sighs heavily through the comms, using one hand to grasp at each of your hands individually to secure them snugly around his chest. “Hold on, this thing goes fast.”

The bike rumbles to life beneath you, Bakugou no doubt revving it on purpose to make you scoot closer to ensure you weren’t going to slip away when he put his foot down. You cling to him, your arms tucked tightly around his ribcage and head tilted so you’re not poking the front of your helmet into his back. 

Soon enough, you’re out on the road, and you’re amazed by just how easily Bakugou moves the bike with his own weight. He makes it seem effortless when he weaves in and out of traffic, how he bends easily forward forcing you to move with him so that he can pick up speed. You can only watch the world blur past, streaks of rain hardly leaving a mark against your visor from just how quickly you’re going.

You cling to Bakugou, hands grasped tightly on his stomach. You can feel each of his muscles under his shirt, they tense and hardened when he rounds corners much too quickly. He sits back up from his leaned position, forcing you backwards and tilting your head to look over his shoulder. You can see from the speedometer that he’s way above the legal speed limit, hitting a solid 150mph.

The wind and rain batter against the exposed strips of skin on your body, and your hands sting like you’ve been pelted with a million little rocks but you can’t complain too much. The rush, the adrenaline, it’s something else. You feel weightless when Bakugou expertly rounds corners or when he picks up speed along a long stretch of road, weaving between cars that beep and no doubt scream at him for being such an idiot.

“Look to your right,” he speaks into the microphone that’s connected directly to your helmet, his voice sounds calm—at peace. This was his peace, his getaway. To speed his way through a city that could kill him in the next moment. 

You do as he says, glancing to your right to see… you. It’s a clear reflection along some corporate building, you can see yourself attached to his back holding on for dear life. The city on the other side of you is bright, flickering and flashing despite the downpour of rain. You didn’t notice it when you were in the garage but Bakugou had modified his bike to light up, the inner trim of the wheels is set alight with bright neon orange lights.

In a moment of bravery, or perhaps stupidity. You let go. You can hear Bakugou over the comms shouting at you to grab ahold of him again but you feel free. Weightless. Truly weightless. You can’t hear that man's voice in your head anymore, you can only hear the howling wind and the beat of your own heart. You can’t feel that barrier in your mind, splintered and fractured, irreparable because you’re free. 

When your arms extend out at your sides, you can feel a frantic hand grab at the fabric of your jacket. Bakugou holds you in place whilst you let yourself go; to feel free, for the first time. Your heart races in your chest, the feeling like nothing you’ve ever experienced before in your life and you want to cling to this feeling, to this freedom. To the man in front of you, the one who had gifted you that freedom so easily. 

The reflection of the two of you disappears quickly, the building left behind and you can’t help but grin when you finally hear Bakugou again over the whistling wind.

“I swear to fuckin’ god, I won’t be scooping your brains off the road. Put your arms back around me!”

You laugh into the helmet, wrapping your arms once again around his body. You can still feel the tension in his back but it melts just slightly when you grasp tighter than before, holding the entirety of your body against his own. 

“You got a death wish or somethin’?!” He still growls despite you being reattached to him, and you give him another laugh that makes his shoulders sag just slightly in relaxation. “Fuckin’ idiot—...”

“Thank you for bringing me out tonight.” Your words are met with silence, your head comes to rest against the broadness of his shoulders comfortably as you watch the world pass by. The city eventually bleeds out into green, grass and trees that tower high into the sky. You’ve never been here before.

“Yeah, whatever.” Bakugou grumbles quietly, and if it wasn’t for the connection between your helmets you would’ve missed the bashfulness in his voice. “We’re nearly there so just hold on this time, dumbass.” 

You let your body move effortlessly with his, swaying from side to side when he does sharp turns around corners that would have an inexperienced rider thrown off the back of their bike. The rain has started to lessen, only a light drizzle that drenches the back of your jacket and you only squeeze tighter around the single source of warmth. 

Bakugou slows the bike down to a complete stop once he reaches the destination in mind, with a glance around you can see you’re in the middle of nowhere. There are a few houses dotted around, if you can call them that, they’re more like massive mansions. 

“C’mon, keep that on and keep quiet.” Bakugou taps your thigh to get you to climb off the bike before he follows after you. You watch him manually move his bike to hide in the shadows behind some bushes and you’re furrowing your eyebrows immediately in confusion. Just what exactly was he planning?

He tilts his head in a gesture to get you to follow, taking you off of the road and down a steep hill that leads further into the underbrush. The city is obscured by the number of trees and large shrubs, and you nearly lose sight of Bakugou when he ducks in and out of the shadows—but as you watch him, you realise he knows his way through all of this a little too well.

“You’ve been here before?” You whisper over the link, and you see Bakugou glance over his shoulder at you for a moment before returning his gaze forward.

“Yeah, been comin’ here since I first moved here. It’s the only place with some real grass.” His voice lowered down to a whisper has your stomach set alight with butterflies. You continue to wordlessly follow him until he abruptly stops, throwing a hand back to grab at your forearm before pulling you down into a crouch next to him.

You peek around his shoulder, your eyes silently activating to see what he might be seeing. Immediately you hone in on a large SUV parked up on the ridge of the road, around fifty feet in front of you. There’s four heat signatures, all of them belonging to men who are in thick armour and strapped with multiple weapons.

“Arasaka.” You whisper to Bakugou, who quietly nods his head. He doesn’t move a muscle, holding your wrist tightly in his hand as if he’s waiting for them to just look in your direction and open fire. “They’re not holding their weapons, they’re not looking for anyone.”

“The Arasaka estate is up ahead. They’re still on guard dog duty.” Bakugou supplies, causing your eyes to move away from the group of men to the estate he speaks of. You can see it much more clearly with your augmentations active, you can see the heat signatures within and the overwhelming amount of security measures in place.

There’s an indistinctive shout causing you to dart your eyes back towards the group of people only to see them piling back into the car. Bakugou visibly deflates in relief, his hand around your forearm slips down to your wrist before he’s tugging you after him. You follow lowly just behind him, mindful of each step as you grow closer and closer to the edge of the underbrush. Bakugou exits first, standing to his full height which drags you up next to him.

When you glance around, you’re silenced by the view. It’s beautiful. Night City is in the distance, so wide and yet so tightly compacted into tall skyscrapers and tall flashing neon signs. Bakugou’s hand slips away from your wrist when you take steps towards the cliff edge that looks down on the lower level of residents, you can’t take your eyes away from the city before you.

It looked so… small. So dense and yet you knew the intensity of it all from the very moment your eyes opened in that ripper’s office. Night City was a vicious beast, a machine that chewed you up and spat you back out if you weren’t strong enough to survive—but when you look at it from here, look at how insignificant the people are and how tiny the city is. It’s almost impossible to comprehend.

“I come here when I need to clear my head,” Bakugou speaks clearly next to you, having taken off his helmet and holding it beneath his arm. You follow suit and remove your own, thankful for the fresh breeze and slight drizzle against your face. You glance towards Bakugou only to see his eyes set on the city before you, absorbed in his own thoughts. “Figured you could use it too.”

“It looks so beautiful from out here, but inside… it’s—”

“One of the worst places to live. Yeah, I thought it’d be great moving here all those years ago. But I was a dumb kid with a dumb idea, and now here I am.” Bakugou huffs, running his free hand through his flattened hair to re-fluff it before settling himself down onto the ground.

You take his lead and sit next to him, putting your helmet to the side and being careful to not let it roll off the edge of the small cliff in front of you. Setting your eyes back onto the city, you feel that sense of freedom again. You were free from the city, even for just a moment, you felt like you could breathe for yourself for the first time. Your heart wasn’t pounding, your mind wasn’t racing and your skin wasn’t itching in knowing what lay beneath it all. 

“Any reason you spaced out when Dunceface started talking about Shinsou’s gig with the Net?” Bakugou inquires after a moment of silence, you turn your attention to him to find he’s leaning against his propped-up knees, head tilted in your direction. “Don’t gotta tell me shit but—”

“It just reminded me of when I was… healing.” You admit, not missing the way Bakugou visibly winces at the reminder of what put you there in the first place. “When I was in there… Something happened, and hearing Kaminari talk about Daemons—it made me think about why I can’t remember anything.”

“What, like someone’s infected your network or something?” Bakugou shifts slightly, raising his head to look at you properly with a level of concern that looks frankly terrifying on his face. He looks… worried.

“I don’t know, maybe? It’d make sense. I have this empty part of my head that I can’t access, like it’s been cut off from me or something. What if there’s a Daemon in my system? Or worse.” 

“Shinsou would’ve picked up on that. Or even Jirou, she’s the one who said you had impressive firewalls inside that head of yours.” 

A part of you wants to agree with him, because it does make sense. They would’ve found the source of whatever was wrong with you, but instead, they came out empty-handed and you, empty-headed. But you can’t shake the vision of that man, the blurred green of his eyes and then when you saw him in the street… something just wasn’t right. 

“Maybe you’re right. I just—it’s scary, y’know? Not knowing who I am.” You whisper that last part, and Bakugou’s eyes turn from concern to a shade of pity. He shifts himself closer to you, slinging a heavy arm around your shoulders to pull you in close until your head is tucked against his shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter who you were, that’s what I always told myself when I moved here. I’m not the same guy as I was back then, I found myself. I found a new purpose. That’s just what you need, a new purpose, a new life that you created yourself.” His words are mumbled from where he presses his cheek against the top of your head. 

A new purpose, a new life. That’s what you wanted. To shed yourself of whoever you may have been before all of this, before you had met Bakugou and Kirishima—before you had been let into their family even with them knowing you were capable of killing them all. Your heart aches but not in agony this time, it aches with joy. 

You wanted so much more than what this city had to offer, you wanted to find out what you liked; your favourite foods, your favourite movies, your favourite smells and also the things you hated. You wanted to live.

“I think I’d like that,” you smile, shifting your head against Bakugou’s shoulder to look up at him. He meets your gaze with a soft look on his face, an almost invisible smile on his face. “I want to see the world.”

“Yeah? The world? That’s a lot to see.” His smile grows when you laugh quietly. 

“Would you show me the world, Katsuki?” 

Bakugou is quiet at your question, his eyes flit down to your lips before they find your eyes again. He looks so beautiful this close, the different shades of red in his eyes are breathtaking. There’s so much captured in them, every emotion he feels and every thought he has flicks behind them before his eyebrows visibly relax, his body holding you closer.

He leans in, lips brushing against your own before he speaks. “I’ll show you it all.”

And when he kisses you, he kisses you softly and gently like you were to be handled with such care. It’s not love but you have a feeling that it might blossom into something like that. One day.

Before you know it, the three days of rest have come and gone. It felt like you had blinked and you were back right where you started before everything had happened in that plastic-wrapped room. But this time you had Shinsou on one side and Kaminari on the other in the back of Bakugou’s car. 

Currently, Shinsou was connected to your interface via a cable that slipped free from his wrist and fused itself into the plating on your palm. He had told you it was to relay all information that you’d need to ensure you got in there unnoticed, he loaded you with visuals of maps, layouts of their cameras and their usual patrolling routes.

Kaminari on your other side was fiddling with a hunting knife, the jagged edge was glinting in the passing street lights and every now and again it would buzz with electricity. He told you it was connected to his own chrome, he’s able to absorb electricity and pass it back through objects—something that had earned him plenty of shocks to the system that left him reeling.  

Even with the presence of Shinsou in the back of your mind offloading a multitude of data, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Bakugou who was once again in the driver's seat. He had been different in the three days since that night outside of the city. He was more open to the idea of intimacy, often opening his arms for you at night and holding you in the mornings until he had to inevitably get up.

Kirishima had noticed it too, grinning along with the back-and-forth jokes between you and Bakugou. He thankfully didn’t make a scene out of the gentle touches he absolutely caught the two of you exchanging when you assumed no one was around.

Your chest fills with those pesky butterflies, the smile on your face must look mushy because you can feel the ache in your cheeks. You felt genuinely happy, an emotion that was your own and something you were able to hold onto. You wanted to experience everything with Bakugou at your side, and no doubt Kirishima would tag along too. 

After that night out in North Oak, you had returned home to find that it was just Kirishima left and Bakugou had offhandedly said that a trip to Japan was on the table. Kirishima had leapt at the opportunity to talk about his hometown, about the different shops and restaurants there. He spoke about his country with so much love, and Bakugou had a nostalgic look on his face—so you asked if he’d take you there one day. He agreed, of course, stating it’ll be the first stop on your way to conquering the world.

Kirishima, of course, had no idea just what that meant.

“Try to keep your head clear,” Shinsou comments from the side, effectively dragging you free from your thoughts. “It’ll go more smoothly if you’re not actively trying to force me out of that brain of yours.” Your eyes drag along the cable connecting the both of you, something that could open you up in the most vulnerable of ways. 

During the three days of rest, you spent more time with Shinsou too. He had been a Netrunner for a long time, even coming from Arasaka’s very own prestigious school with the help of Aizawa funding him through the entirety of it. The rest of the crew hadn’t been so fortunate, coming from no education at all or limited from when they lived in Tokyo.

That was another thing you were curious about. People didn’t just come to Night City for fun, it was a city designed to trap you here until your inevitable death. Apparently, Shinsou had always been in NC, born and raised in Japantown but almost everyone else had tales of the way things were being run back in Japan—long story short, it was being overrun by corporations that had no regard for people who were beneath them. It was either leave or die.

“Done. Should be good to go.” Shinsou says, withdrawing the cable connected to your wrist. The information flickers through your mind rapidly, similar to how someone would graze through a filing cabinet. Everything was here, this would be a simple operation if you pulled it off correctly.

You hadn’t realised the car had drawn to a stop until Bakugou turned his head to look at you, eyebrows furrowing together as if he was trying to figure out something to say. But instead, it’s Kaminari who speaks up, slapping a hand against your thigh before he grins. 

“Ready to pull off the coolest fucking job?” You don’t miss the way Bakugou’s eyes lock onto the hand for a second too long before he meets your eyes again. All you can do is nod along, still unable to break your eyes away from Bakugou until he forces himself to look away first.

With a nod of his own head, Kaminari deems that worthy enough of a response and grins at you. His hand squeezes your thigh absentmindedly before he climbs out of the car, yelping with Bakugou grunts a command at him the second he steps out of the car.

Soon enough, you’re out of the car too whilst Kirishima ensures you have your weapon loaded and Shinsou talks over the game plan again. “You need to get to the underground levels. On the first floor, it should be primarily empty, the rest of Maelstrom will be beneath that. All you have to do is get into that room, snag a shard and leave. We’re here for backup.” 

“I’ll have to go dark when I’m inside.” You see Bakugou shift on his feet a little at that, the uneasiness of you being unable to communicate with them properly if anything was to go wrong. They all nod in agreement regardless, stepping back when you slip the handgun into its holster on your waist before shrugging off the orange jacket that Kirishima had given you all those weeks ago. Bakugou wordlessly takes it from you.

Looking at the building just across the street, it looks unassuming. A simple warehouse, but even you could see the spray tags on the walls of the Maelstrom, this was a significant base of theirs. 

Just as you’re about to step forward to begin the job, a hand grabs your elbow and you turn to see Bakugou looking at the building instead of you. “Don’t do anything reckless this time.” His eyes drift down to meet yours, the red flaring to life in his eyes for a second. “Got it, hotshot?” 

Your eyebrows raise. “Hotshot?”

“You took a pulse rifle shot—”

“Oh, you’re terrible. Really? Hotshot?” You grin at his words, it was another terrible joke he couldn’t stop himself from making. His lips twitch in a small smirk before it fades, the gravity of the situation settling on him once again. “I’ll be fine, I have you to back me up this time. Right?”

Bakugou stays silent for a moment before he nods. “Right. I’ve got your back.” He looks hesitant when you take a step backwards, his fingers that had been in contact with your elbow twitching at his side before he ultimately decides to pocket them. “Don’t play hero either, you get out of there if you have to.”

“It almost sounds like you care for me Katsuki,” his eyes widened the tiniest amount at the use of his name, no doubt a flurry of memories from just a few nights ago flitting through his mind. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to be taking bullets for anyone today. I have the world to see, remember?” 

But before Bakugou could say anything, you fade into nothing right before him. Even when his eyes flash to life, he can’t see you anywhere. His eyebrows draw together in concern, this plan felt rushed—he should be going in with you, you shouldn’t be taking this on alone. What was Aizawa thinking? A hand clapping on his shoulder draws his attention away from where you may have gone.

…Your shoulders drop once Bakugou looks away, you could see the concern on his face, painted as clear as the sky above. You couldn’t remember if you had ever done solo missions like this before—having a partner to help would’ve been nice, but you had no time to dwell on it when you started to walk towards the big warehouse. You note the multiple cameras as you pass by them, the red blinking light flickers for a moment before they’re shut down. Have you always had cyberware that could shut down electronics? 

“That was me.” Shinsou’s voice is loud in your head, as if he were speaking directly next to you. “Sorry, should’ve said something.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” You murmur back, eyes darting back and forth once you slip through the open warehouse door. There was a big truck in the centre of the room, modified with spikes and reinforced windows. Definitely Maelstrom. 

“About twenty feet in front of you, and then to the right there should be a door that will lead to the stairwell. That’s your way in.” 

You follow Shinsou’s guidance without hesitation, feet moving silently across the floor whilst your eyes dart back and forth through the dark warehouse. It was odd for it to be so empty, were they all really below ground? Surely there should be a guard— “Stop!” Shinsou all but hisses at you, your entire body freezing at the edge of a rack of crates. 

There’s movement, and your eyes dart upwards to see a drone scanning slowly. Drones? Since when did Maelstrom have the money for drones? You don’t say anything as you watch the silent drone pass by, thankfully having not detected you even through your invisibility. This could prove to be a problem if they’re using tech like that, who knows what else they have hidden. 

“There are no mentions of drones anywhere. They’re chromeheads, sure, but they always liked doing shit themselves.” Shinsou supplies once you’re moving again. Slipping into the stairwell that Shinsou had directed you to, you notice the difference in temperatures almost immediately. It’s freezing. 

“Turning off comms.” 

“Wait—” His voice cuts out immediately, something doesn’t feel right down here. It shouldn’t be so cold, it’s like stepping into an industrial freezer. Maelstrom didn’t like the cold, for one simple reason; it fucked with their cyberware. 

Freezing temperatures caused it to malfunction, which meant… it’ll fuck yours up too. You need to back out, and report what you think might be down there but—something is stopping you. Aizawa would be pissed if you back out of this with your tail between your legs, he definitely wouldn’t let you come back empty-handed either. 

With slow careful steps, you continue to descend into the freezing depths of the basement. Rounding the corner that leads to the final set of steps, you stop in your tracks. The lights are off, save for a slow, long blink of a red light. All the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, something screaming in the back of your mind to back out now. Your hand slips to the handgun on your holster, withdrawing it when you press your back to the cold concrete wall. 

You can do this. You can find out what’s in this room, slip by and find the shard. You can do this. You can. Sucking in a harsh breath, you brace your body before whipping around the corner with your gun raised but your blood runs cold, determination falling from your face and morphing into fear. “What—”

...

“What the fuck do you mean you can’t contact her?” Bakugou snarls, glaring at Shinsou who’s hunched over a laptop that was once tracking your whereabouts. 

“She said she was turning off comms, but she wasn’t even in the basement yet.” Shinsou frowns, running a hand through his unruly purple hair for a moment. “Fuck, you don’t think she…?”

“No,” Kirishima replies, leaning against the car with his eyes locked on the building in front of them. “She wouldn’t do that, not now.” 

“Should we go in?” Kaminari offers, glancing over Shinsou’s shoulder to stare at the blank map. 

Shinsou opens his mouth to talk before all heads whip towards the warehouse, their hearts thumping in their chests whilst the sound of the alarms being tripped drowns out any words any of them may have wanted to say. 

There are approximately three seconds of calm before the storm hits full force. The Maelstrom weren’t in fact in the building at all, instead hiding in the surrounding smaller buildings dotted around. Yet none of them looks at the group that is sitting staring at the scene unfolding; they’re all descending onto the warehouse. 

Onto you.

“It’s a setup,” Bakugou says, words coming out monotone as if he wasn’t quite aware of what he was saying—unaccepting of the ugly truth. “She’s been fucking set up.” 

He doesn’t hesitate. His feet move before he fully registers that he’s barreling towards what is most likely certain death, he thinks he can hear Kirishima shouting at him to stop but he can’t. You weren’t going to fucking die now after everything. 

His heart hurts from how hard it pounds against his ribcage, the rifle in his hand is light when he raises it to shoot anyone who steps foot into his path. Bakugou barrels through the open warehouse door, following the directions Shinsou had given to you no more than ten minutes ago. It seems a lot of the Maelstrom have made their way below ground, or had been shot on Bakugou’s way in.

His stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought of you being trapped beneath the ground with a gang of twenty or more descending on you with the intention of killing you. His hand itches around the rifle, fingers twitching with the urge to open fire the second he can. 

Something like true fear starts to pool into Bakugou’s stomach once he deduces that you must’ve descended the only set of stairs. The freezing fog slowly creeping up the steps is enough to make him shiver, the chrome in his body aches from the slow approaching cold. There’s no way you could be down there and still be alive, you were more metal than human than he was.

And yet still, Bakugou pushes through the veil of fear that washes over him and descends the stairs. The fog swirls and wraps around him like tendrils, tugging him further into the icy depths of the dark basement. His thumb brushes against the side of his gun, flicking it off the safety and soon a red laser helps guide him through the dense fog. 

He can’t see anything, or anyone, it does nothing to quell the horrid feeling that’s making a home in his chest. Had they already gotten to you? Kidnapped you? Did they know you were a high-priced target? The Maelstrom were no strangers to wanting to get their hands on money, they’d do anything for it.

In the darkness, Bakugou stumbles as the tip of his boot catches on something. He catches himself quickly enough, gun darting downwards and he’s unsurprised to see the remnants of one of the gang members. They already weren’t people anymore, but seeing them like this was something else. You had certainly been the one to cause such damage, but that just leads to the question – where the fuck are you? 

A hand clamps onto his shoulder, jolting the large blonde to move and reposition his gun until it was under the chin of whoever dared to sneak up on him. Just through the thickness of the fog, he’s able to see the illuminated red eyes of Kirishima staring down at him. It only soothes his heart a little, he knows Kirishima will have his back through this and for whatever is to come next. 

“You fucking big idiot, who just grabs someone in the dark?” Bakugou hisses regardless of the relief that settles into his rigid bones, his heated breath puffs out to add to the ever-growing fog that surrounds them. 

Kirishima smiles a little, albeit sheepishly and lets his hand drop from Bakugou’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to shout, who knows what’s in here.” Kirishima manages to whisper back, his eyes finally darting away from Bakugou to scour the darkness.

Bakugou can only grumble about that, Kirishima did have a point. Neither of them knew what was in there, and Bakugou couldn’t rely on his eye enhancements in the frigid cold. So he just moves, and Kirishima moves naturally along with him. 

“Do you think they got to her?” The dreaded question comes tumbling from Kirishima’s mouth.

“I fuckin’..- I don’t know.” Comes Bakugou's blunt reply, but he doesn’t mean for it to be so blunt. There’s just no other way around it, the possibility of you being taken or worse is slowly increasing. Bakugou doesn’t know what to do with the slow-building guilt in his conscience. He should’ve turned this job down for you, you were just blindly following whatever Aizawa demanded of you.

A click has both of the men freezing, Bakugou’s rifle in his hand poised and ready to fire the second the threat shows itself.

…The gun feels like a ten-tonne weight in your hand, it makes the synthetic fibres in your muscles in your body ache. But nothing is quite as heavy as the shard in your hand, it makes your stomach lurch uncomfortably to the point where your breakfast threatens to make a return. 

When you rounded the stairs and found the shard in a lone storage slot within an open cabinet, you had never wanted to run more. It wasn’t the fact it was a shard—but rather that it had your name engraved into the delicate metal. 

As soon as you had picked it up the red blinking light had turned off, the freezing air spilling from the now empty cabinet and tumbling onto the floor. You were plunged into darkness, and yet you could still see the shard as clear as day in your hand. 

However, it wasn’t just any data shard; it belonged to Militech. They were known for their ruthless advances in A.I. and other technological achievements, and the very thing in your hand with your name etched into it—you knew it could only mean trouble, whoever had dropped it off here wanted you to find it. But why? You didn’t understand, with each passing thought that involved Militech and the shard in your hand, it felt like your brain was ripping itself apart trying to recover memories that were locked behind a thick wall. 

You had to get rid of it; destroy it or make sure no one ever got their hands on it. This thing could hold countless pieces of information on the inner workings of Militech and its operations. 

“Hurry, or they’ll kill you.”

There’s a quick shuffle of footsteps coming down the steps behind you, and your fingers tighten uncomfortably around the chip. If you died here, you’d never be able to get away and ensure this thing never saw the light of day. The Maelstrom must’ve paid a pretty price for this thing, or perhaps they were keeping it safe until Militech came and picked it up. You couldn’t risk any of them getting their hands on it. 

You only had one choice. 

It’s not a painful procedure, it feels more like a tingle when the chip slides into the slot next to your own data shard on the back of your neck. But then it locks in, and it feels like you’re injected with nanites; they bite and chip away at you until they take root in your brain. They skitter and scamper across your spine, wrapping themselves around every vertebra. You can feel the way it spreads and wraps itself around your frontal lobe, squeezing until it’s too painful to bear. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, and your fingers press fruitlessly into the slot to try and pry it out of your body but it won’t release. It feels like your very soul is being warped and pressed into a mould, ripped and torn until you’re no longer a person anymore. 

The scream that tears apart your throat doesn’t sound like your own, it’s mangled and distorted—you can feel yourself fragmenting, your very skin splitting apart to rebuild itself in an attempt to save itself from the A.I. that was rapidly infecting your system. Your mind feels like it’s on fire, burning in the deepest depths of hell until finally, you feel nothing. 

Everything clicks into place, and the pain vanishes just as quickly as it had latched on. You move automatically when the first wave of Maelstrom approaches you, your handgun tossed to the side in favour of the gun embedded in your arm. It whirs to life, and you can only watch through the tinted glass of your eyes as you make your way through people as if they were nothing more than wet paper.

It all slowly comes to a lull, bodies slumped to the floor and blood sticks to your skin. It should feel cold but you feel like you’ve been locked out of your own body—everything is numb. 

It’s all so empty now, the memories you had formed over the last few months of being part of a family flicker and fade from existence. You couldn’t put a name to the faces in your mind, the voices and laughter becoming nothing but static that blinds you to the noise of approaching footsteps.

Not until it’s too late. You hear a shout, your eyes adjusting to the darkness to make out two outlines of gang members. One has a gun raised to you, the other has their hands raised to you as well yet you don’t spy a weapon. The Maelstrom weren’t known for their chrome for nothing, you suspected they had some interesting weaponry just like your own. 

Your eyes flicker, the augmentations in your eyes malfunctioning the longer you resist the command to execute all those who pose a threat to you. A warning flashes across your vision, a clear message that if you continue to resist you’re at risk of imminent death.

You raise your gun in response. There’s a presence looming just behind you, out of sight, yet you can hear a low chuckle – the familiarity of it has your blood freezing, and yet you can’t find the strength to stop yourself from acting on command for whoever was in control of the A.I.

“Put it down!” One of them yells, yet it’s muddied by the static in your ears. It sounds like they’re shouting through an old radio. “Lower your fucking weapon!” 

“They’ll kill you. Make sure you get there first.” The voice over your shoulder supplies, and you swear you can feel the puff of warm breath against your neck. There’s a soft brush of curls against your cheek when they lean just enough into your peripheral you can see green.

There are more whispers between the two of them, words you can’t make out but their momentary distraction is enough. Your arm tenses, the warning across your vision vanishes and then there’s a blinding light, it illuminates the darkness of the basement enough for you to finally make out the faces of the two men who had approached you. 

You can only blink, the familiar red and blonde hair makes your heart lurch. This all seemed so oddly familiar, a strange sense of deja vu washes over you. You expect to see one of them fall to the ground, but instead, it’s you who watches the world tilt and fall away.

You can’t move. Your limbs feel like they’re too heavy for your bones, and the cold finally starts to seep through your bones the second you make contact with the floor. 

“FUCK!” The blonde all but screams, and before you know it he’s in your face. Your body moves like a ragdoll until you’re scooped into his lap. You think you can feel the brush of his fingers against your forehead, frantically swiping away the hair that clings to your sweat-ridden skin. You can feel one of his hands move away from your face to press hard against your chest, you watch his face crumple when he realises something.

He’s speaking, rocking just slightly and the static starts to fade away until you hear him. “‘M sorry. ‘M so fucking sorry. I didn’t–I knew I shouldn’t–.” His sentences aren’t complete, broken up by the wet sobs that shake his body. His hand is wet when it comes back to your face, the smell of synthetic blood clogs your nose. 

The unnamed blonde continues to press his fingers against your face, squeezing your cheeks in an attempt to get you to respond but you can feel something now; a tug to just let go. You can only watch when the red-haired one squats down next to you as well, his mouth moves but there’s no sound.

You don’t think you have it in you to speak, to tell them something—anything, your world slowly starts to darken around you. But you hope the man cradling you knows he meant something to you; even if you can’t quite grasp the reason why. You just know that perhaps you might’ve come to love him, if you were given the chance to.

“Another disappointment.” The unknown man shrouded in a cloak of darkness watches from over the shoulders of both men who crowd you, but neither of them seems to notice him, too preoccupied with attempting to stop the rapid warmth that is spilling from your chest. The last thing you see is him shaking his head, a flash of green before there’s nothing.

. . . .

There’s a clatter on the sofa, followed by a choked sob. Bakugou rakes his hands through his hair, pushing back the long strands that fell onto his face. He side-eyes the headgear next to him; a braindance. 

It wasn’t just any braindance, it was one he had made specifically for him. They called it ‘Soulswap’, it was a walkthrough of your entire time with him, from the moment he had found you in that warehouse and up to the moment he had shot you. How it was made was something that Bakugou fought with for a while, it was morally wrong. To have someone dissect you like some high school science experiment and implant strands of your data—your memories—into something that he could watch. 

A ding on the coffee table draws his attention away from the braindance, and he swipes up his phone to see Kirishima has sent him a message.

[22:34] RED: Stop reliving it. You know that isn’t what she wanted.

Bakugou scoffs, what the fuck did Kirishima know about you? What the fuck did he know about the weight in his chest that replaced his once beating heart? He knew nothing. No one listened to him when he said that it wasn’t you at the end, that you weren’t in control. 

It was charted down to Cyberpsychosis on your unofficial death certificate. 

The uneasiness continued to eat away at Bakugou, even when he chose to ignore the onslaught of text messages from the others. It’d been this way for the last four years and it had only come to fruition now. It was hard to find someone capable enough of creating a braindance that wasn’t just a cheap way to get off or to kill someone without repercussions.

It was a delicate job, and he had finally found the guy to do it. 

Yet now he’s unsure if he should’ve gone through with it. Whilst it was all in cyberspace, he could still feel the emotions you had in your final moments. You had felt something for him, just as he had felt something for you—does feel something for you. 

Sinking back into the sofa, the world buzzes around him yet it feels like Bakugou is still stuck in that basement all those years ago. It used to take a more violent toll on his body, his modifications often becoming the victim of neglect until Kirishima forced him to keep taking the blockers to ensure he didn't spiral into psychosis. 

Bakugou’s head lulls back, staring up at the spinning fan on the ceiling. It won’t be long until Kirishima comes back and lectures him about bad habits or whatever the fuck he wanted to be on his ass for. 

“And with the renewed partnership between Militech and Lazarus, I truly believe we’ll be able to bring a stop to crime here in Night City.” 

That voice causes Bakugou to snap his head up, glaring at the television that hung from the ceiling in the centre of the room. It wasn’t often he would make TV appearances but it wasn’t unexpected. He watches the camera pan across an array of Militech drones and other tech that he can’t quite understand before it falls back onto the CEO of Militech.

Izuku Midoriya.

Midoriya has a fake smile plastered on his face, hands buried in his deep expensive pockets as he stares at the interviewer just off to the side. His verdant eyes are dull, devoid of anything lifelike. Bakugou isn’t surprised entirely by that, Izuku was… once a friend, but he betrayed him and the rest of them for a chance at fame. 

He moved to Militech and quickly overtook the company, plunging them into tech that wasn’t short of war machines. 

“Hah, yes. It is true, we have been working on a new AI that we think will definitely be capable of deterring even those inflicted by Cyberpsychosis.” 

Bakugou blinks, his attention drawn back to the screen to see Izuku laughing about whatever had been asked, something about that laugh sounds familiar – not just from when he had known Izuku but from recent memory. 

And when it slowly dawns on him, it curdles his blood and makes his stomach tense. That laughter. The voice that lacks any emotion. The world fades into nothing around him the longer he stares at Midoriya talking animatedly about something in the interview, his chest tightens more and more until it feels like his heart may just burst.

It wasn’t a case of regular Cyberpsychosis.

Izuku Midoriya was the one who triggered it. He must’ve been the one who had planted that foreign chip, he wouldn’t just hand something like that over to the Maelstrom.

“We’re proud to announce the next line of fully-developed Artificial Intelligence; Akuma. This is just one of our newly created full cyborg—”

Bakugou finds his body locking into place, muscles growing tight and stomach twisting in knots before his heart plummets down into his stomach. His eyes widened. There. Right next to Izuku is… you. But it’s not the you he knew, it’s a duplicate, one of the new cyborgs created to withstand ‘Akuma’. 

He can tell from the way you hold yourself, rigid and cold like you were just some lifeless robot. You don’t respond to the stimuli around you, staring blankly ahead. It feels like his heart is being torn apart once again, shredded in a blender until there’s nothing left but an empty void that sits in his chest.

He knows for a fact that it’s not the real you, the one he held, the one who took a bullet for him—the one he was going to take home to meet his parents. He watched you go up in flames at a pyre funeral. It was Aizawa who had suggested it. “To make sure no one gets her.” Looks like that didn’t fucking matter, did it?

…No. Izuku must’ve had your DNA stored from when you worked at Militech. You were just an experiment, all the chrome you were sporting wasn’t just because you were a Militech worker, but rather because you were one of the prototypes for Militech. From the very start, you were destined to fail—another disappointment.

Bakugou doesn’t even register that he’s already moving, swiping up the bomber jacket you wore. The pulse rifle swung over one shoulder and the door slammed shut behind him. It was time to pay his childhood friend a visit.

|| m.list || part I || part II ||

⇢ pairing: katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

⇢ chapter: part III of III

⇢ rating: e, 18+

⇢ word count: 19,678 [ao3]

⇢ warnings: hybrids, mildly dubious consent, biting, blood, knotting, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex (fem receiving)

⇢ tags: wolf hybrid bakugo, aged up characters, slow burn, bed sharing

⇢ notes: please note the new warnings and tags before reading 

⇢ summary:

After the attack, the relationship between you and your hybrid Bakugo continues to grow closer and stronger. As it does, you can’t help but feel like the two of you are heading down an inevitable, slippery path towards something you can’t take back, until finally, you can’t bring yourself to fight it any longer. 

Keep reading

Resistance

Summary: Dabi returns to retrieve the sweatshirt he mistakenly left in your apartment,

Genre: angst with comfort, fluff

CW: mentions of sex, mentions of choking, cursing (?), Dabi is in denial about his feelings (surprise, surprise), smoking

Word Count: 1,126

Pairing: Dabi x gender-neutral reader

Dabi falls for you slowly, dragging his feet as his heart leads him back to you time and time again, despite how he protests.

And protest he does. Forces himself to stay away for weeks at a time, forces himself to avoid your part of town, just in case he can’t resist the pull of your smile.

But inevitably, he gets a little too high, a little too drunk, and he finds himself tapping that soft pattern on your window. It’s suspiciously close to the melody of the song playing when he first kissed you, laying in the middle of your living room all those months ago, but you’d never dare to ask.

Everytime he gives in is the same, whether he’s drunk or sober, with lots of whispered apologies and confessions of how he missed you. He pretends not to care what the answer is when he asks if he can kiss you, and you never fail to see the way his eyes light up when you tell him yes.

For a while, things will return to normal, where he’ll sneak in late at night, hold you in ways no other man has ever been allowed to. It’s sweaty skin pressed together, dark strands sticking to your face when he presses his forehead against yours, and whispered praises against your throat right next to his palm circling it.

And then one morning, he’ll be gone again, without a trace. It’s comfortable for him, leaving like a ghost. He’s sure it’ll make things easier when he inevitably leaves for good.

Except he’s bound to make a mistake eventually. He just wishes it’s not in the form of his favorite sweatshirt left crumpled on your couch where he’d let you tug it off him, hands slipping over his skin.

For a week straight, he debates leaving it, but eventually decides there’s no reason he can’t sneak in and take it back, missing its warmth and the anonymity it provided when he went out.

He waits until the light shuts off behind your curtains, smoke billowing from his lips as he sits on the rooftop edge of the building across from your apartment, mentally mapping out the location of your furniture so he can slip in and slip out quickly in the dark.

Your living room window is unlocked like usual when he tries it, and he shakes his head in disapproval, muttering under his breath about all the trouble you could invite into your life with your bad habits.

The irony isn’t lost on him, but he swallows the guilt quickly before it can overwhelm him and convince him to see you, opting to search your living room instead.

He’s frustrated to find it’s not in the exact spot he left it, but not surprised, given how much time has passed. He’s silent as he creeps along the hall to your room, the door open as if you knew he’d be coming by. 

Or maybe just hoping.

The light from the city washes you in a white haze, and he’s surprised to see you curled up into yourself rather than sprawled out like usual, your hands tucked in close to your face.

He risks a closer look, eyes scanning over your sleeping form, and surprise ripples through him when he finally realizes you’re wrapped in his sweatshirt, the black material baggy on you.

He sucks in a breath at the sight, feet shuffling closer until he’s standing directly over you, and it’s only then that he notices the tear tracks that streak down your cheeks, and the way your brows are furrowed unhappily even in sleep.

He feels a pang in his chest as he wonders if this is because of him, if this is his affect on your life. He wants to be able to shrug and leave, wants to roll his eyes and huff at you for being so emotional, but he can’t bring himself to pretend.

Instead, he crouches down to eye level with you, resting his arm on the edge of the bed as his chin settles on it. He watches you for a moment, the way your breath puffs out between your lips, the way your frown seems to deepen occasionally and you press deeper against the material of his clothes.

Finally, he can’t take it anymore, and he lifts his other hand, knuckles running lightly over the swell of your cheek. You’ve never been a light sleeper, but it doesn’t take long before your eyes are fluttering open and you’re peering at him in confusion.

“Dabi?” Your voice is low, and emptier than he can ever recall it being in his presence.

His lips purse for a moment before he gives a simple nod, knuckles continuing to smooth over your skin, a feeble attempt to wipe away tears that have long since dried. “Hey, doll.”

You stare at him for a moment longer, blinking slowly, as if you’re sure the next time you open your eyes, he’ll be gone. But he isn’t.

“Seems like you’ve had a rough day.” he comments quietly, and your eyes widen almost imperceptibly for a moment before they’re closing tightly and you’re leaning into his touch, fingers wrapping around his wrist to keep him there.

Your lip press into a tight line, and all you do is nod once, tilting your head to press your lips against his pulse. He hopes you can’t feel it jump under your mouth, pulling away gently so he can stand once more, leaning over to press a gentle kiss into the crown of your head.

You glance up at him sadly, disappointment flooding your gaze as you wait for him to leave again, brows drawn low on confusion when he moves to take off his shoes instead.

His shirt goes next, hooking his thumbs into the collar and tugging it over his head before throwing it somewhere in the dark. He pauses then, second guessing himself as he runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in odd angles.

But the way you’re watching him has him softening, jerking his chin towards the center of the bed as his knee sinks into the mattress net to you. “Scoot, I’m not letting you shove me off again,” he grumbles, but there’s no malice in his words.

If anything, he’s glad you can’t see the way his face heats in the dark over how he lets affection bleed into timbre of his voice when he next speaks, sinking into the softness of your bed as he pulls you into his chest.

“Missed you.”

「 CRY FOR ME 」 ♡ MASTERLIST

PAIRING : Suna Rintarō x Reader. Sakusa Kiyoomi x Reader.

GENRE : Angst.

TAGS/WARNINGS : NSFW. Fake Dating. Unrequited Love. Profanity. Enemies (not really) to Lovers. Friends with Benefits. Not very canon compliant.

SYNOPSIS : You have been in love with your best friend Sakusa Kiyoomi for as long as you can remember. The problem? He is in love with somebody else. And for you to snag even the tiniest bit of his affections, it seems like you would willingly go through drastic measures.. Even if it means teaming up with his lifelong rival, Suna Rintarō

TAGLIST : CLOSED

PLAYLIST + sunayn texts + sunayn crumbs

CHAPTERS

PROLOGUE

ACT I – PARTNER

ACT II – PLAYING WITH FIRE

ACT III – BLUR

ACT IV – LET'S NOT FALL IN LOVE

ACT V – SAFETY NET

ACT VI – LIE TO ME

ACT VII – TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE

ACT VIII – ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS STAY.

ACT IX – ALWAYS

ACT X – BITTER LOVE

ACT XI – AFTERGLOW

THE FINAL ACT – CRY FOR ME

EPILOGUE

lost on you | five hargreeves.

❛ hold me like you never lost your patience, tell me that you love me more than hate me. ❜

summary — five only notices you when you're no longer around.

pairings — five hargreeves x umbrella!fem!reader

warning/s — angst, profanity, character death, mentioned blood, not proofread

word count — 6.0k

a/n ! you're called as 'eight' in this fic since this is set before five went into the future. forgive me if i somehow mentioned the ua's given names

Every harsh word and curses you earned from your interaction with Five was always worth it. The feeling that even though he loathed your presence, it still gave you the relief of his acknowledgement of your existence. Admittingly, it did make you feel a little bit blue that not even once did he act nice towards you or at times where you insisted to help him and he didn’t thank you, not as much bothered to give you a small nod of appreciation or just look at your way. You once thought that maybe it was just how he is, a cold-hearted boy devoid of love making him invulnerable to everyone showing him any amount of affection and maybe add daddy issues to that list but to be fair you and the rest of your siblings have one too but none of them were like Five. It did confuse you that why only was he an asshole to you, but you were known to be the most patient among the rest of your siblings so you gave Five a chance to rethink whatever agenda he has on you and prayed to whoever was up there that the time you and him finally be friends would come around the corner. 

Deep down, you wanted it to be more.

One day, Five felt comfortably fit in the huge walls of the Academy for the first time, but then suddenly there’s you who randomly found solace in sticking too close in his space. He made the effort to always put his piqued expression everytime you’re around, to his dismay it didn’t once have you scurrying away from him nor took the hint that he didn’t want you around like he mysteriously grew a tail one day. Five found it sickening that what greets him every time he ascends downstairs after getting ready for the day is the sound of your voice greeting him a ‘Good morning’ to which he once replied ‘Now it's ruined.’ but surprisingly you laughed at his response thinking it was a silly joke. If Five were to rank all his siblings from the smartest to the dumbest, you’d be the last on the line. After that, he started ignoring all your small greetings. Claiming to himself  it would just slowly ruin his life.

The day Five prayed that one day you would magically damage your vocal cords was the day Number Three and Number Four had finally caught up with your attachment to him, where the rest of you woke up earlier than him on a Saturday morning, all gathered in the living room about to enjoy the game of Monopoly. Which you protested to have Five join, not wanting him to be left out. Unknowingly, Three and Four shared a look as you rushed upstairs to wake him.

Five groaned sleepily, having been awoken from his deep slumber by a cheering you shaking him awake. He assumed it was still early in the morning considering his body would instinctively wake him up at twelve in the afternoon whenever Reginald’s on a business trip, to which he already knew since he announced it the day before. Of course the naive old man would think that all of you would obey his orders to practice your skills while he’s away, to which none of you would ignore and coming up with a lie was one of the things the Umbrella Academy’s good at.

"Five! wake up! We’re going to play a board game with the rest in the living room. Dad’s not around.”

You tugged at his pajama sleeves to which he yanked back, shoving his head underneath his pillow. To avoid an accidental peek at your figure. Already hating the aura radiating off of you by being in his room.

“Go away, Eight.” he fumed, his voice muffled. Five wants nothing more than to blip you out to the ends of the world from interrupting his dreams. Sure it may be just the ‘tired him’ speaking, but he swore that one of these days, he’d finally had enough of you and would do it without any hesitations.

“But the last time we didn’t include you, you didn’t talk to us for days.” You frowned.

“Well it’s different and I don’t want to be near you, now go!” 

For a second there was a pause, deciding what to do to convince him. As you opened your mouth to speak, you’re prevented to let the words out as Five spoke once again,

“Shut the door on your way out and don’t come back.”

“Okay then, I’ll just send Six for you for the next round.” You begrudgingly said, ignoring the way his tone sounded harsh, maybe he’ll come around later. 

Not waiting for his response or more likely not wanting to aggravate him any longer, you turned to leave his room, making sure to shut his door gently as he requested.

“What took you long?” Seven piped up, seeing your figure sauntering towards them, they were sat on the carpeted floor, circling around on the board game, prepared for you and Five’s arrival but it was just you.

“oOoH! Is it because you two were sucking each other’s faces?” Four interrupted, wiggling his eyebrows at you, Three giggling beside him. You hadn’t missed the shocked faces on the rest, especially Seven who was suspicious of you and Five but paid it no mind since he seemed to skirmish around you, though she was once convinced it was just a cover up to hide yours and Five’s feelings towards each other. Well, it did work on One and Three once when they were at the age of ten. That was two years ago.

“What?” You yelled, eyes wide.

“We know you like Five, Eight.” Three gushed. The rest of your siblings are still lost for words.

“No I don’t.” You defended, taking place on an empty space between Six and Seven.

“Look, it’s completely okay to date him, it’s not like we’re all related, right Number One?” Four said, looking over at Three who now froze at the mention of the name.

“Four..” One warned, though his cheeks reddened visibly, not oblivious to what he was implying about. It was no secret that he and Three had this sort of relationship that was neither confirmed nor denied. The looks they’d send each other at the table every breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was also a surprise that Reginald had not once found them sneaking off to each other’s room nor the obviously more than platonic way of them holding each other’s hands after every mission as they posed for the camera. Not the rest of you though, if asked who all of you would rather choose to stay loyal to between siblings and Reginald, you would choose your siblings without a doubt.

“What? It’s not like I just revealed a big secret, At least one of us had caught you and Three trying to kiss each other.” 

“Will you lower your voice?” Three said, her head tilted down in embarrassment.

“Are you and Five really together?” Six broke out of his silence for the first time, still processing what the conversation had turned into. Even Two stopped his fidgeting on a rubik’s cube to listen to what you had to say. All of them now diverted their attention from One and Three to you. Three silently sighed in relief, having been saved from the awkward tension.

“No, What made you even say that, Four?”

“Please, the look on your eyes whenever you look at him never misses.”

“What look?” 

“Like you just drowned into a pit of marijuana juice.”

“What?” All of you simultaneously said in puzzlement.

“Your pupils grow larger, I mean.” 

“So?” You replied, still missing his point.

“You don’t look at Two or One or Six like you want to kiss them.” Two and Six blushed from the thought.

“Who says I want to kiss him?”

While engaged into a deep childish conversation, the rest of you grew mindless to the increasing volume of your voices that had now echoed around the empty mansion which had also prevented Five from falling back asleep. Even though it was muffled as much he couldn’t make out whatever all of you were talking about. Deciding he had enough of it, he barged out of his room with an angered look displayed on his face, rushing downstairs. Then he heard your annoying voice which added fuel to an already raging him, but grew curious to what you just said.

“Kiss who?” 

Just as Number Four was about to argue with you again, he’s interrupted from the groggy voice of Five standing on the entrance of the living room. All of you turned your head on his figure. Heat immediately raised to your cheeks, the thought of Five eavesdropping on a conversation about him was enough to make him hate you more, if he as much mistakens your friendliness towards him as something more, he would do whatever it takes to finally eliminate the obstacle that blocked him from the pathway towards an Eight-free life.

“Uh-Nothing! It’s Nothing!” You rambled. Nervously defensive.

“Stop playing around Five, we know you and Eight are love birds.” Four laughed. Everyone sat completely still from his words. A gasped escaped from Number Three as the rest just stared dumbfounded at Four. Then the atmosphere thickened in tension as you felt a familiar sting rising in your eyes.

“FOUR!” You stood from your sitting position.

“WHAT?” Five queried, more angrier than he was previously. 

“Five- I- I- I don’t know what he’s talking about.” You tried to play it off by lightly laughing.

“You told everyone we’re together? What the hell is wrong with you?” He said with disgust.

“No I didn’t!” You sauntered towards him but Five slowly backed away from your reach. Four could feel the guilt swallowing him as he watched the exchange he had caused, Three elbowed his side, earning her attention, she gave him a look of disappointment. Seven and Six now looked at you with empathy as they too gave disapproving looks on Four. 

“I’m gonna get us snacks.” Number Two walked out of the room, not wanting to watch the scene.

“You want to kiss me? Ugh- I would never kiss you, Eight. Just stop being so weird around me.” He bellowed without any hesitations.

Without another word, Five turned his back on you, returning back to the comfort of his room, leaving you there to sulk in your feelings as you watch his retreating figure grow blurry. All you heard at the moment was the sound of your heart breaking into two sharp pieces, piercing you just right the first drop of tears escaped your eye. Not that you were sad to find out what you bare for him is unrequited but the thought of him even hating you more than he already does. Not that you really do have feelings about him. Or do you?.

The situation made you feel even worse as it finally came to you that Four just outed you like that to him. You felt betrayed and small in the middle of the room. All eyes on you.

“Eight- I'm sorry-” Four, who now slowly made his way to you tried to rest his hand on your shoulder which he failed to as you swiftly left the room with a gush of the wind and in a blink of an eye the second he muttered his apology.

The room was then once again met with silence. The Hargreeves siblings gave each other looks from the events that had just ruined the start of their day. Not hiding their disappointment in their brother.

“Way to ruin the bonding Four.” One was the first one to break the silence, soon following suit as he too left the room, then Three and Seven tailed behind him, not sparing a glance at Four.

“I’ll just raid the kitchen with Two.” Six said, not wanting to be the last one remaining, leaving Four alone in the living room. The board game abandoned, untouched.

Five hated being wrong at times, he liked to thought of himself as smarter and more mature than most of his siblings even his ego convinced him that he would make more of a good leader than Number One but he wasn’t as selfish as to steal that title from him, everytime One would ultimately fail one of his plans, It would feed Five’s ego, which he would then jump up to save the day with a new plan. Of course the rest of you would thank him and his brilliant back up plan. Except One though, even after Five saved him from Reginald’s scolding, just like his super strength, One had the thickest skin to get through out of the rest of you. Not that he hated Five, but it did bruise his pride that someone would steal his spotlight. When Number Four once joked about how Five should be Number One, it had stuck with him and would sometimes bother him at his worst times that Five in fact, was better than him at all things.

Well it didn’t help that one of his favorite siblings, you, thought that too. 

Five have always taken notice of you desperately clinging on to that hope that he’d finally give you the attention that you’ve always wanted. The nice gestures you’d throw his way whenever you passed by him in the hallway, giving him a gift every Christmas even though he never returned your favor, there were no hard feelings you harbored towards him and it felt nice to Five that someone was able to put up with his behavior. He remembered the time he once said mean things to Number Three and since then she acted hard towards him or the time Six accidentally spilled his milk on his newly tailored suit and he scolded him, now the poor boy can’t look at him straight in the eye for more than a second. He’d say the only siblings he can bear the presence of is Two, Four and Seven. There was just something about you that raises his blood to the point he’d leave the room whenever you step foot in it, his chest tightened with his eyes darkened as he watches your figure walking straight towards him mainly to rain havoc to his sunshine-y days. 

He would roll his eyes at you as your eyes light up as soon as you see him. With a sigh and a voice in his head saying ‘here we go again’ for the hundredth time.

As the rest of his siblings would say, you were the center of the solar system, where your ultimate demise would darken every corner of the house, every room you would step foot in would be graced by your luminous joy. It was not surprising that no one has ever seen you cry nor had they heard your sobs in closed doors. They just simply assumed that your kindness and your loving nature had made you immune to dejection.

Not until the first time Five had seen you on the verge of shedding your first tear in front of him.

Five realized that he seemed too harsh on you the second he slammed the door to his bedroom shut. Sure it seemed wrong that you liked him in more ways and it somehow made sense that you are too nice to him despite his worst behaviors towards you. Maybe he overreacted back down in the living room, he debated with himself that once he cools down, he’ll apologize to you even if it seemed out of character for him. He hadn’t remembered himself being nice towards you and then a sudden feeling of guilt started to grow inside him that day.

With a heavy flop on the bed, Five, for the first time regretted his ruthless attitude towards you, and even though he finally fell back asleep, it was with a weighty feeling in his chest that had made it not worth it. He was sure the next meal was going to be filled with tension.

Then the day Five prayed that one day you would magically damage your vocal cords was also the day he realized he’d rather listen to your voice than to stay in the void of loneliness for eternity.

Reginald Hargreeves arrived back home just in time for dinner. But not before discussing with One what activity all of you were engaged in while he was away to which One smoothly told him a lie all of you had already planned on tricking him.

His lack of care for his children had him mindless to the sudden change of his surroundings, but he was appreciative of the silence in the room, usually he had to scold whoever one of you for even sighing in front of the food. 

Five was the last one to sit at the table, his tardiness had Reginald shook his head at him. He hurriedly made his way on an empty seat, but to his surprise, the seat on his right which you have claimed to be yours was occupied by Seven and then across him was you in Seven's usual seat besides Six, your head down as you focused on slicing your steak. He must've starred a bit too long since Seven went in to lean closer to him,

"She wanted to switch places." She whispered, giving him a pitying smile, and she soon resumed her meal. 

Five secretly wanted you to greet him the moment he entered the room, risking a scolding from Dad for interrupting the radio playing in the background. He thought that by now you would forget what had happened earlier just like you always did whenever he'd curse at you. But this time was different, he knew he went too far when he humiliated you in front of your siblings. He couldn't blame you for ignoring his presence, he knew he deserved it and even if you wouldn't treat him the same as before, Five would just accept it as it is.

"Children, before you return to your respective room, I ask of you to have your suits ready and rest early for tomorrow we have a mission to comply. I pray that your training earlier while I was away would be of help in our success. May all of you do well. Now you can all go." 

Chair dragging on the floor resonated the room, you being the first one to leave your seat in a hurry of wanting to be in the comfort of your room, the whole meal you could feel eyes on you making it harder to stay at the table any longer.

Especially Five’s staring at you and it didn't help that he was just right across you, if it weren't for Seven's not so discreet voice leaning in to notify him about how you switched seats with her you wouldn't have known. You knew it bothered Five that you acted cold towards him for the very first time and it filled you with a great sense of joy how much he didn't know how you hold so much power in augmenting his pride. After what he pulled earlier, you've come to a conclusion that maybe ignoring him would soften his shell that prevents him from being human towards you or maybe not but either way you've got nothing to lose, you still have the rest of your siblings who cherishes you. 

Four has been trying to get your attention as much as knocking on your door while saying his apologies on the other side, you did listen but some alone time was all you needed at the moment. You couldn't stay mad any longer to him so you briefly replied with 'we'll talk tomorrow' in which Four completely understood. 

Five badly wanted to stop you from avoiding him, your fast pace and your head bowed as you counted each step you took, he wanted to reach out to your inviting wrists and beg for forgiveness even in front of his siblings, Reginald and Pogo.

But he never did as he watches you slowly leave his line of vision. All that he's greeted with was the sound of your door slammed shut.

A suffocating feeling had your mind enter into a blissful trance, a flashback of what life had to offer you even in the not so pleasant times. As you recall each and every detail of memory from how the clouds were formed that day to the shape of the moon that night. Every choice you've ignored and chosen, your emotions that you let loose and take over, trinkets you found and kept on the small box you've hidden on the bottom of your drawer, all the smallest things had brought you here right at this moment. Maybe for a second you wished to have gone back in time and change all that but your untimely death would have contributed to a good change someday in the future of your siblings. That they'll finally learn how to find that glimpse of happiness all on their own, independently. 

You'd miss their voices in bright daylight that greets you every morning, it did annoy you at times but it's a reminder that you are blessed with a scarred yet lovable family that gave you a will to go on with life. There were times that made it hard to live in the household, a very well known fact amongst you that all you were but weapons created by Reginal Hargreeves himself but there was no hatred you bare towards him, after all he did give you shelter, food and clothes. You wondered what would've happened if your real mother chose you instead of whatever huge amount of money your father offered her. That she decides she wants you and would try to be a mother even if your existence was unplanned.  Would life be simpler? Would it feel like something's missing? Would you feel less happy? Would you feel content in life? Will it change who you are? Will your biologically related family love you just the same as your current one or perhaps even more? Would it take more than years to find your true potential? Would you still have met Five? You're curious if even if it did happen, maybe you wouldn't have to lie down in your own puddle of blood, choking in a thick red liquid as every gasps of air sends a sharp pain on your open wound, you hadn't noticed your lack of blinking as you focused on the white pristine ceiling, the diminished sounds of gunfire as it's replaced by the sobbing and sniffles of your siblings. Your hand clutched on your soaked blazer right where a knife had plunged itself onto your skin, everything felt like it's happening outside your mind, then you were spectating far away, unable to do anything but cry at your helpless body, watching life slowly drain out of you.

You hadn't noticed how Number Three had rested your head on her lap, Four and Six on either side of her as they shook with what could be the most traumatizing events they could ever witness, how they wouldn't be able to think about you again without remembering your bloody form. One and Two had now approached the group, eliminating the last of the enemies in the building, but they weren't prepared for what they were about to see.

"Hey, we got the last of the-" One halted, his eyes finding your lying figure. Two's knife clanking with the marble tiles as he too is overcomed with what the mission had cost them. 

"I-I don't- I don't know what to do.." Three sobbed. The Umbrella Academy fell into a brief silence as if time itself stopped to grieve with them. Painfully so, what filled the gap was the sound of your gurgling. Six encased your palms in his comforting warmth, he wasn't so sure if it were to make yourself better or him. 

"Eight.." The blonde boy kneeled in front of you.

"We could still save her," He said, taking your body as he rests your head against his shoulder. More blood flowing out of your mouth from the sudden change of position, staining his uniform.

It was a sad sight to see, a group of children barely teenagers having to watch such a disturbing scene. A mark that would truly stain their life forever, the very day they will always remember. 

"Where's Five? He could just- just bring her back home immediately." Everyone could see their leader's bloodshot eyes, tears threatening to spill but he had forced himself not to. 

"C-c-c-could he do that?" Two quivered, placing himself besides Number One.

Just as if on queue, Five blipped himself in the same room, his face scrunched immediately in confusion as he's faced with One's back on him and the others surrounding him with tears on their faces. He began to make his way towards them, eager to find what the commotion was about.

"What's going on?" With a few more steps, Five stood frozen in shock when he saw you bleeding out in One's arms. The others now look at him with sympathy. 

"Eight!" The boy kneeled in front of you with a worried look.

Five’s familiar voice had you pull your last remaining strength to move your eyes right at him. The small movement had the others sighed in relief that there could still be hope to save you. Even in your current state, your heart still hasn't failed to skip a beat whenever you're given a small acknowledgement from Five. It was probably the third time he had called you by your name. You are met with the very set of green eyes that have always brought you comfort, except that it was without disdain present in it but tears forming on the corner of his eyes, blurring his vision. 

"Five you have to save her!" said Three desperately. 

"How?" Five blinked, tears now falling on his cheeks. 

"Just do your spatial jumps and bring her with you back home!" She pleaded, "Please, Five."

"I don't know if I could do that." He replied in defeat, it felt as if he was being punished at the moment.

"Just try!" One interrupted with gritted teeth.

Gripping the sleeves of your brother's arms around you, you managed to catch everyone's attention. All that was left of you was the patiently heavy feeling radiating off of you, awaiting the cold hands of death as it lulls you in it's embrace, eyes taunting you that there's really nothing your siblings could do but watch as you take your last breath, as life flows out of you for the first and the last time. They knew it too, a wishful thinking they've chosen to indulge themselves in hopes of making the situation less hurtful. Just like you, the rest of them wanted to jump back in time and change every choice they made that day to prevent your death. It was inevitable. A sad truth is that the ecstasy of life has to come to an end. Though it will still come back but in a new form.

You're not sure if they could see you shaking your head side to side or if they knew what you meant right at the moment, but there really was no other way to communicate without using your strength nor the blood stranded in your throat —wanting to be let out.

"No? What do you mean?" Five rests his palms on your red stained cheek, full on sobbing. All he got as a response was a saddened raise of your brows, mirroring his emotions. 

"Please can I hold her." He turned to One. 

His brother gave him a curt nod, moving so that Five could scoot in and replace his hold on you. He carefully held your head and placed it on his lap, your eyes never leaving his.

"Hey Eight, you're gonna be okay."

"You're gonna be okay…"

Five swore for a second he could see your mouth slightly move, it was as if you were trying to utter but a word through your strangled breathing, even more so his name coming out of you. Though the only thing he got was the first release of sadness cascading down your face. Too focused memorizing every detail in your eyes —the longest he had looked at you and possibly the last time, he hadn't noticed your raised hands reaching towards his own cheek. He flinched from the sudden contact and then he held it in his own, laying your palms flat on his cheeks. Five ignored how cold your hands felt at the moment and your pale lips. The sharpest and thousands of needles punctured his heart, his breathing matched yours, suffocating him with every slow blink you made, it scared him that when you do, you'll never open your eyes again.

No words were spoken between you, yet both of you understandably knew the other was hurting, what the other was thinking right at the moment. You knew Five was filled with regret and no matter how you wanted to tell him that you forgave him for everything, you settled for the touch. Maybe he'll know all you wanted right at the instance was to stare in his eyes and memorize every speck of color littered in his Iris. Green and hints of blue suited him. It reminded you of the earth itself, how everytime you stare at it, it reminds you of home. 

The rush of winds dancing and twirling enthralled your senses, the soft brush of it as it twists and turns your hair, ocean waves crashing and making brushing noises as it kisses the sand all over and over again. Sea salt enamores you and drives you to close your eyes in its comforting presence, the sunlight you've always grown to love embraces you in its warmth, the temperature was perfectly balanced, neither cold nor hot. For the first time in your life, you're walking barefoot on the soft grains of sand and then you find out it's the best euphoric feeling to sit on, feeling and mushing it on your hands. All you could focus on was the sound of nature, reminding you of Five’s voice. A voice that makes waking everyday worth, a voice that puts you in trance, and even in the afterlife, it will still feel just the same, only it will be just in your memory, that is if you still remember anything. 

With a final sigh, your body lay limp against Five, only your eyes weren't shut close and to think he was afraid of it closing, Five changed his mind and grew confused by your sudden halt of blinking, then your hands felt heavy in his. 

"Eight?" White noises entered his ear, shaking you awake, everybody knew it was useless. The group of children now emit heart-shattering cries.

"She's gone Five.." Six announced through his choking sobs. 

It took him minutes to drive his eyes away from you, and when he did, the sound of sirens resonated as if in a queue. The Gods were playing a game on him.

The Umbrella Academy knew that they will never be the same again, even though a year has passed, not a day goes by that they don't get eaten away by guilt. Everyday was a waking curse, the door to your room remains closed as all of them makes their way out of theirs in sync and it was with a gut wrenching sensation as they make their way down the stairs without the familiar sound of the heels of your shoes, the way you trip on the second to the last of the stairs while you greet each of them a 'Good morning', though it only was a good morning indeed with your cheerful voice that makes them question if you aren't capable of having even just one bad day. They had convinced themselves that you somehow were an angel in disguise, bringing light on their gloomy lives. 

From the first week without you, a large portrait of you was placed just above the fireplace. The rest had thought it symbolizes that even without your presence, your warmth would still make the room less cold when necessary. It was a known fact that you were mindful of your surroundings, where you could be a little clean freak at times and would fix your siblings' messes, what they missed the most was how you treated every single matter as somewhat alive. Not one have you thrown away old toys nor have you broken one, only you gave it away to children who needed it more. The people had noticed your very same figure in and out in the same orphanage not more than ten blocks away from the Academy, it warmed many but it wasn't the reason for your generosity. You've always believed that others should experience every happiness that you've gone through. 

If there was one thing your siblings couldn't not notice was the vase sitting just on the side of the staircase, where you'd pick the dead ones, bury them in the backyard and replace them with freshly picked ones, claiming the bright colors insinuates the darkish tone of the house.

Now that you're gone, no one dared try to touch the welting flowers. Afraid to taint what you have last touched.

Seven had returned to her original seat beside Six, leaving an empty reminder beside Five, dreadfully mocking him every time they had their meal, his appetite would always go away. In turn he would play with his food and even if Seven had told him that he needed it for energy and how you wouldn't have liked how he's starving himself, Five would snap at her with a 'she's not here now, is she? she's dead.' 

Five’s deep hatred for Reginald started the day of your funeral, there was a blank look on his permanent stoic face, as if to say he'd rather sulk in his office than attend his own daughter's funeral. He had hopes that maybe there was still something humane inside Reginald the moment it was his turn to give one final speech for you. Only that what came out of his was insults and scolding about how the Umbrella Academy had failed for the first time in their life. Pogo had both mourned and radiated sympathy from the rest of him and his siblings slouched form, their father being insensitive. 

There came a time when Five didn't have to brood for the empty seat besides him. The first morning where it really felt like you're just a figment of imagination in his head, that all you were now was a piece of memory made to be forgotten and what's left of you was the empty locked bedroom and your painting. Five grew disoriented with the new table set, then there was Number Seven who now had her seat facing their father, both the sides of the table perfectly balanced with three chairs on either. No more empty seats. He didn't know why but it felt less reassuring. 

Five hated the change around the house, taking away what used to be yours. Treating you like you weren't a member of the family. Like you never even existed at all.

It all came to him in a flash, the second his father sent him back to his room to rest after giving him a lesson about time traveling. Five contemplated on what this could mean, what this potential could do and how he could turn back right in time to prevent your death. It was risky but all he thought about was the smiles and tears of joy from the rest of his family as he miraculously revived you. The free time he had would consist of him working on a solution, it took over his notebooks, whiteboard and even one side of his wall as much he tried asking for spare parchment from Grace, Pogo and his siblings. 

When he was confident enough, the thirteen year old boy had not hesitated to break the one rule of conversation during meal times, interrupting Herr Carlson in the background. 

What he didn't know was it could change his life forever.

"I have a question." 

[ 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ]

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: implied and/or present elements of dubcon/noncon, yandere, kidnapping, captive reader, quirkless reader, mentioned death of important character, discrimination, drawn comparisons between quirklessness and disabilities, implied bakudeku, drugging, needles, mentions of hypochondriasis, also angst

♡ manga spoilers in a way, but also not really. anyway, read at your own discretion.

♡ gn reader

Sharp crimson eyes assess the fresh scrapes and swelling ruining your soft skin. A deep scowl on his face.

“Tch—look at all this…” he grumbles disapprovingly to no one but himself—too upset with you to acknowledge you, yet treating you no different than if you were glass. “These are gonna last weeks.”

You’d tried running away again—tripped and slipped up all on your own, stumbling through hallways and tumbling down stairs in your panic, only to stop short at the locked door—bolted and padlocked beyond all sane reason.

He was disappointed with you, sure. But that’s not the reason for his current anger.

“Sit there while I get bandages,” he orders, getting up from his crouch, pointing a strict finger at you in threat. “Dare move, and it’ll be bed rest for a whole ‘nother week.”

Bakugou’s obsession with your quirkless nature started a couple of months ago…

It was okay at first—he was hardly the first person you’d met who addressed you with patronizing resolve—but he got weird about it quickly.

You worked at another hero agency he was going to be collaborating with for a big upcoming mission. You weren’t a sidekick or anything grand like that, but a simple pencil-pusher—because they need those too, you know? And you liked your job. You got to work along with some of the greatest heroes in the world, see them up close, and help them out with those things they didn’t have time for—paperwork like budget justifications and incidence reports. Yeah, you might have been somewhat of a pushover, but hey, the salary was good, the environment was lively, and even though you don’t have one yourself, you got to see some really amazing quirks in action. It was, out of what you could hope for, your dream job.

The place was in a real buzz when they heard the number one hero would be joining them for a couple of months. You were excited, too—it wasn’t often your smaller agency would undertake big missions—especially not ones that required such big hero names.

DynaMight wasn’t one to share much of anyone’s enthusiasm. He was strict and down to business and otherwise had a major pet peeve for unnecessary rabble loitering around. He’d stopped mid-meeting at the sight of you, seeing as you were obviously no fieldworker, and had gone as far as to demand you tell him your value as if your presence had been some big distracting nuisance.

Luckily, your Pro-Hero coworkers had stepped in on your behalf and told him you were a transcriber keeping track for later reference. It was probably only a slip-up that they’d added the fact that you were quirkless.

You don’t hold it against them, or well… you did a little, but you couldn’t really blame them either. Evoking the explosion hero’s rage must have made them flustered and desperate to play any sympathy card available to them in the spur of the moment.

Of course, it wasn’t their card to play, nor would you ever have played it yourself, but if the humility was worth anything, it successfully managed to calm the top hero down. Actually, he didn’t say anything for the rest of the meeting. And if you hadn’t been so busy taking notes, you would have noticed his lingering stare.

A couple more incidents had occurred in the office after that. Among others, he’d caught an incoming paper airplane your coworker had thrown your way—stepped right in out of nowhere and cremated it with a controlled explosion before it could hit you.

You’d been speechless for a moment—the entire desk area along with you—confused by his strangeness and, at least in your case, even somewhat appalled by his utter lack of consideration—in your office space, no less. Seriously, top hero or not, you can’t just barge in and incinerate stuff?

“That was an important document,” you'd informed—brow quirked—no regard to how offending him could probably make grounds to have you fired. You'd only slightly regretted it after having said it. But geez, you thought—shouldn’t the top hero have some semblance worth of self-control?

“You shouldn’t be playing around,” he'd stated—tone just as sour as the stink of burned paper tainting the air. “Someone might get hurt.”

You’d almost scoffed at him but had held your tongue until he walked away.

Back then, you’d thought it was an offhand insult directed at you and your respected coworker—that the explosion hero had just called you both unprofessional to your faces, like the biggest scumbag to ever walk in through your humble doors. But looking back at it now, you realize he probably might have meant it in its most sincere regard.

His over-protectiveness knows no limit, you’ve learned—calling it patronizing would be a joke in comparison. He treats you as if anything in proximity might make you shatter by association—like a bubble made from the most thinned-out solution of water and soap.

You’d woken up in your well-prepared pillow room shortly after your agency’s collaboration with DynaMight had ended. It didn’t take long for you to piece together his sickness after that.

At first, you’d thought it was a more severe case of benevolent discrimination. After all, most people treat you with some amount of pity after being privy to your being quirkless—treating it no less than a disability of sorts.

But Bakugou’s view of you was increasingly more unsettling than that—suffering from some type of delusion that has him fully convinced you’re utterly inept without him.

In some odd ways, it would have been better if he was just faking—if he was doing it all, treating you as an inferior for some sick sense of deriving his own sadistic pleasure. But no, you think he actually fully and whole-heartedly believes you’re a danger to yourself and that anything, if not monitored in the perfect conditions of the controlled environment he’s established for you, will result in your fatal illness or harm.

He’s a full-sworn hypochondriac concerning you—even as he himself dregs home some of the worst injuries you’ve ever seen as if it were nothing but a splinter in the rough of his worn soles. Meanwhile, he’s scared that if you leave the bed without socks on, it will give you pneumonia.

You were sure you had a couple of control freaks at the agency, but nothing measures up to Bakugou’s mania. How he dresses you is one thing—how he feeds you is another. An assortment of pills first, all vitamins and supplements, a spoon of cod liver oil, then a balanced meal reminding you of those tragic trays you’re served at the hospital—four times a day without fail—breakfast, lunch, dinner, then supper—he also keeps track of all the water he’s decided you need to drink—all things perfectly regulated according to your size and age.

Then there’s the sleep schedule with a set number of eight hours—no more and no less. Exercise is also necessary—workout plans designed and dictated by him. Nothing too severe, though—he’s afraid your quirkless constitution won’t be able to handle anything beyond thirty minutes max.

And then, of course, there’s hygiene.

You sobbed and fought hysterically the first time he’d washed you—in the tub with him after he’d stripped you naked. In fact, you’d made such a fuss he’d had to fetch a sedative.

Even in your drowsed state of complete numb delirium, you’d still heard how he’d fretted over it—the tiny needle hole he’d torn in your arm—as if that was the real violation, even as he’d thoroughly molested the entirety of your body with different cloths and sponges for no shorter than a full hour.

You’d been terrified, of course—horrified by his meticulous routines and odd nature. Yet strangely, despite his rigid rules, he won't ever get violent to enforce them.

You had expected it of him—being known for his brutality—the hero without mercy—the symbol of retribution. You know he's no stranger to leaving the battlefield bloody. But with you, he won't so much as harm a single strand of hair from your head.

He will instead bargain with you, sometimes for hours. Eat what he tells you, and you’ll watch a movie afterward. Go to sleep, and he'll escort you out to see the sun for a few hours in the morning. Let him ensure you wash correctly, and he’ll allow you to dry and dress yourself.  

And in those moments when you leave him no other option, he subdues you through the help of a needle again and never ever by manhandling you—it was as if that weren’t even a viable option. It was obvious he regarded the sedative as the uttermost last resort, always muttering on about chemicals and whatnot under his breath. It seemed he would rather avoid it at all costs—but also, that if it stood between allowing the disturbance of the schedule he felt was needed to keep you healthy and forcibly putting you to sleep, he knew without a doubt which option he considered the lesser evil.

He was certain of it all. And at some point or another… you had even begun sharing his fear of attracting some sort of illness yourself—even something so small as a common cold. But no, it wasn’t the same. Yours was not a fear of the actual disease itself but of what he might do if he caught you sneezing and coughing. You could only imagine the upgraded pill table he’d have in store for you then and what other measures he’d instill due to his excessive ideas of necessity.

And that’s why you’d tried running again even after what must have been a couple of months since the last time. The thought of his inane insanity having affected you so badly you’d started playing along was all too much a painful realization—you’d felt compelled to reject it—run away even when you knew you’d never be able to make the door open if you could even reach it.

You knew it would be in vain, and even though running headfirst into something you know isn’t going to work might be the first signs of madness—you’re still relieved to have found some remaining worth of fight still in you, even if it couldn’t amount to anything.

He comes back as quickly as he’d left, still muttering to himself, cross about the damage you’ve sustained—like you’re one of the collector’s items he keeps up on the mantle in his office—green costume and a big bright smile. You remember the exposés—they’d been rather gruesome, about the hero who’d died in battle not so long ago—a couple of years back now, give or take. He had the number-one spot before DynaMight.

The current top hero retakes his spot at your feet, sighing deeply once he starts dabbing your minor bruises with disinfectant, followed by unnecessary bandages. You’re silent as you watch him work—all so diligently as he does everything, cutting no corners and running zero lights.

His efforts, done with the very epitome of care, all disgust you.

Your lip curls. “I’m not what you think I am…”

His keen glare stops obsessing over your wounds to look up at your face—he’d already tended to the ones he could see, but he’s sure more would blossom and swell in a couple of hours. It’s beyond worrisome—but it’s his fault in any case. He should move you to a place without stairs—it’s way too dangerous for someone as accident-prone as you.

You make eye contact, and his anger fades at the sight of tears welling in your corners—softening as if he’s convinced even a harsh look will have you shatter in his hands.

“I’m quirkless. But ’m not weak.” You’re sure you preached much of the same back at the beginning of your stay, though then you’d hurdled it at him—screamed it from the top of your lungs until you’d lost your voice, unknowing that it’s a statement he’s heard a hundred times over spoken by different lips from yours.

It’s a funny thing almost… how your eyes remind him of his—so soft and yet brimming with determination—a determination that will only get you killed.

He’d put faith in those words before, believed them beyond himself, and it had cost him everything.

But even so, he can’t fault you for believing in them yourself… they’re what makes him love you, after all.

He smiles gently—a most gut-churning sight from the all-scowling man.

“I’m sure you think so.”

He doesn’t relay it with any type of harshness but pity—gross concern and better judgment—overwhelming oodles of it in his garnet eyes, weighing them down with something so awful as compassion and… you don’t exactly know… but it looks like grief.

♡ part two ♡ more thoughts on this ♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

Soul On Fire Ch.2 I Get It

Soulmates were always something you laughed at. Nobody was perfectly made for another person. The world didn't just click into place. The world didn't seem brighter, nor did you wake up with a mysterious tattoo of their first words to you written on your body.

Soulmates were something that didn't exist in real life.

But when every different version of your boss starts showing up, you start to question if maybe you had the idea of what a soulmate was wrong from the start.

Bakugou X Reader, Soulmate AU

Ao3 / Prev Chapter

General warnings for chapter: Mention of injuries, Slight Angst, Fighting, Aggression, Wound Care, Suggestive Situations, Sexual Tension, Comfort, Mentions of Assault, and Fluff.

Kirishima quickly ushered you out of the kitchen after dinner was eaten. Who told you that he would clean up the dishes since he didn’t cook. Bakugou made his way up the stairs and you were left to do nothing else but lounge on the couch and try to catch up on some work.

You don’t know exactly what time it was, but when you start to come, you feel the gentle sway of your body as you are being carried up the flight of stairs. The familiar aroma of campfire and pine encouraged you to snuggle into the warmth of the person who held you in their arms. Your head tucked gently into the crook of his neck, as Bakugou easily handled opening your door and walking you inside.

He laid you down in bed and pulled the covers over your tired body. Making sure to tuck you in without waking you up. You couldn’t miss the way he lingered around for a few extra moments. Like he was making sure that you were truly ok before he left.

You don’t remember him walking away from the sound of the bedroom door shutting, but you woke up the next morning with a loud yawn. Your body felt like lead and refused to move willingly. You had to take the extra time to force life back into your body with gentle stretching and a couple of minutes of turning your body slowly underneath the covers.

Finding your phone, you tap the screen to see the time and realize it was almost noon!

“Shit.” You mumble out as you finally throw the covers from your body and roll out of bed. The wild events of the last couple of days must have really taken their toll on your body if you slept for that long.

Trudging your way into the bathroom, you decide to start the day as late as it was with a shower. Starting the water, you walk back out and grab one of the matching sets of underwear and leggings with the shirt that went with it.

Tuning the water to your preferred temperature once you made it back. Stripping out of your borrowed clothes, you begin the tedious task of trying to wash your hair without aggravating the injury to the back of your head.

The doctor had said you could get them wet long enough to wash your hair but that you should dry it as soon as possible. You washed your hair, keeping the area as untouched as you could manage. It was tender, so anytime you got too close to touching the stitches you had fair warning it was going to hurt.

But after that, everything else seemed easy to do. Finally, stepping out and wiping the fog from the mirror you set off on doing your morning routine. Brushing your teeth and fixing your hair in a style that would conceal the nasty cut on your head.

Throwing on the clothes you had to compliment the cut and style of the shirt and leggings you bought. You had a little doubt that they would fit initially, but now that you had them on, you could see that you were wrong. They hid what you wanted to hide, but also flaunted the natural curves of your body.

Finally dressed and ready for the day, you make your way downstairs to the kitchen. Set on maybe making a cup of coffee to fully wake you up.

Upon entering the kitchen, you found nobody around, but you didn’t find a note sitting between two pill bottles next to the coffeemaker.

‘Had shit to do. Ei and I will be gone most of the day. Take both of these when you wake up.’

It was a simple note and definitely along the same kind of notes Bakugou would leave for you at the office. His neat handwriting was always so pretty, coming from such a masculine guy. You almost expected him to have chicken scratch instead of the somewhat dainty script he writes with.

You were actually kind of jealous of it if you were being honest.

You start the coffeemaker and pick up the pills to inspect them further. Both of which were prescribed to you, and one seemed to be anti-inflammatory and the other a mild painkiller.

You sat them back down on the counter for now. You weren’t in a lot of pain at the moment, but you never knew you might want them later on.

After making your coffee, you sit at the kitchen table and play on your phone. Going through emails and checking your social media for a while until your cup was empty. Locking your phone and sitting it down, you wondered what you could do to pass some of the time for the day.

When I idea hit you that you could always swing by the agency and pick up your computer and a few of those long overdue reports you hadn’t found the time to finish yet.

Maybe one of the side kicks could give you some information on the copycat Bakugou and if he was still there.

That was all the motivation you needed to lace up your new shoes and grab your bag. Making sure that you stopped back by the kitchen for a bottle of water and your medication, in case you needed them after a while.

The clouds completely covered up the sun, and the wind was a little harsh, but you didn’t let that deter you from your destination. It was only a few blocks away if you remembered correctly, and it would do you some good to get some fresh air.

People were busy just like you were. Walking briskly to make the next train and hopefully beat the rain before they got caught up in a storm that was headed their way.

Following your GPS, it was an easy couple of turns before you found yourself outside of the agency building and all of its glory. Tall and modern with lots of windows, it was perfect for letting a ton of natural light in on the days when the sun was shining. The large double doors swing open as two of the girl from the third-floor head out for lunch.

Slipping I’m before the door closed, you stopped by the front desk and asked how things had been in the two days you had been gone. The old lady at the reception desk fanned over, being able to see your face once again. Offering you a piece of candy as she did every day that she worked.

It was always from the same stash that she kept locked in one of the drawers, a little Carmel salt water taffy. Only today she hands you the rest of the bag, giving you about a dozen pieces, as a welcome back to work present.

It was very sweet of her; you know how much of a sweet tooth the Older woman had, but ever since you had started here she had taken to spoil you a little like this.

She takes a little time to talk to you while you pop the taffy in your mouth but finding the opportunity to leave her behind once her phone starts to ring, waving softly as you head towards the elevator.

People got on and off on different floors as you rode all the way to the top. Pulling out your phone, you pay them no mind as they keep to themselves.

Once you made it to your floor, you walk over to your desk. Packing away your laptop in your bag and grabbing the various files that you had stashed away. You look around to see if either of your bosses were in, but it looked like it had been a while ago. Sighing, you pack away the rest of what you need and head back down towards the main floor.

But once you made it down there, it seemed like you had picked the wrong time to come to ask any questions. All the sidekicks were either out on patrols or on a lunch run. But you didn’t let that get you down for long.

If you remembered correctly, Kirishima had said that they were keeping the mystery man in one of the holding rooms a couple of floors down. Maybe you could soothe your curiosity and take a peek and see if he was still there or if they had found a more permanent place for him.

Hopping back on the elevator, you ride it down four more levels, the soft ding signaling that you had made it to the bottom-most floor of the building.

You hated it down here. There was no sun, and it was always so much colder down here than anywhere else. You understood completely why they had these rooms down here, but that didn’t stop you from getting the creeps each time you had to venture your way here to find one of your bosses.

There were four holding rooms in total, with a small kitchen space and a spare room that could handle paperwork or be used as a meeting room. But you spotted him almost immediately as soon as you stepped into the spare room. It gave you a view into each room via a two-sided mirror. Exactly like you have seen in countless cop movies.

But he was there.

Sitting head slumped forward and hands restrained to the table in front of him. He was still covered in plaster and soot from the other night.

You felt a pang of sadness settle in your chest at the sight of him. And before your mind could catch up to your body, you were quietly cracking open the door and stepping inside. He still didn’t lift his head, but he was clearly awake. Because you could hear him no doubt forming words in his native tongue.

Whatever he was saying, he said it a little sluggishly. Like he hadn’t been able to move or stretch since he arrived here.

“Hi,” you say softly from the door.

And the sound of your voice had his head snapping up in an instant, a smile on his face even though he had dried blood caked on the side of the temple and a busted lip.

He was smiling at you, and your name rolled off his tongue with a sigh of relief.

You give him a tiny wave, and watch as he attempts to mimic you, raising his hand as high as he could with the restraints on his wrist to wave back. But he was looking at you the same way the other night.

Like you were a sight for sore eyes.

Feeling brave, you decide to step a little closer but still stay far enough away to keep yourself safe. Despite the previous encounter with the strange man, you didn’t want to give him another chance to overpower you again.

But you feel your guard being let down when he softens and says your name again. Not gruff and harsh like the other words he had been putting together, but gentle enough to tug at the strings of your heart.

He looked tired the closer you got to him. Dark circles under his eyes and the blood crusted on the corner of his mouth were starting to aggravate his skin, and the wound on the side of his head looked like it was still painful.

And by the time you even realize it, your hand was reaching out to touch his cheek.

His skin felt like it was on fire under your fingers. As he leaned into your touch, much like a cat when they want you to pet them. Nuzzling his head further into your hands with a soft sigh.

You watch as his shoulders lower and his body starts to relax with you near him like he felt safe enough to let his guard down. You felt the need to at least get him cleaned up. And you wished that you could find out if he had eaten anything or not.

That was when you had the idea that you could run and grab a first aid kit and something to eat from the kitchen upstairs. It would be quick in less than ten minutes. Get him fed and cleaned up and out of here before anyone notices.

“Bakugou.” You say the name softly, hopefully gaining his attention.

You hear him grunt and open his carmine eyes and look at you.

“Katsuki.” He grunts out the first name you know so well.

You pull away from him, and he frowns at the loss of contact. But you stand and make the motions with your hands, hopefully trying to ask him if he was hungry. Nodding his head slowly, you understood he was willing to accept your offer.

You hold up a single finger, letting him know you would be back, and rush out the door. Despite his angry-sounding complaints, you head back to the elevator and beeline to the kitchen a few floors up.

The company hired a new chef to make lunch for most of the employees here. The new chef prepared fresh salads and a selection of fresh foods that could be eaten in a rush.

Lucky for you, nobody else was in the kitchen when you arrived. Giving you ample opportunity to sneak in and out without being noticed. You grab one of the small salads and started filling up a takeaway container of other foods. Some rice and fried chicken. A heaping helping of roasted veggies before closing the container and rushing back the way you came.

It was easy to locate the first aid kit once you got back to the basement. Put away and easily visible sitting on the wall, you snatch it off with your free hand and make your way back to your mystery man in the next room.

His eyes were on you as soon as the door started to open. Walking inside, you go and sit both of the items in your hands down on the table in front of him. But you quickly realized his hands wouldn’t be able to feed himself.

It left you in a tough situation.

You either kept your distance to keep yourself safe, or you could sit on the table in front of him and feed him as quickly as possible, and clean his wounds.

It wasn’t like he could really do anything to you restrained like he was.

It was an almost automatic response. Climbing across the table until you could sit with your legs hanging outside of his own. Your feet dangling just outside his muscular thighs, you try to scoot yourself closer before reaching behind you to grab the food.

Instantly, his hands reach as far as they could and rest on your hips, squeezing the fat beneath his fingers softly before he tries to pull you closer to him. The heat from his palms felt burning hot even with a barrier of your leggings separating you from him.

It seemed like having you in close quarters like this was soothing something inside of him. His features soften and a lazy smile graces his lips as he looks up at you. Opening the takeaway box, you grab the utensils and gather a bite of food, motioning with your mouth for him to open his.

And he let you feed him with no problem, eager to receive the small intimate act of you taking care of him. More than content at the moment to feel your body against his while you fed him bites of food. This felt oddly like the right thing to do. It wasn’t something you had an answer for but you didn’t question it either.

Just happy to live in the moment.

And to no surprise, he ate every single bite you offered him. You started to wonder if he hadn’t eaten in a while or if he just seemed to like you as you set about opening the salad you grab. Still feeling his loose grip on your hips as you pour your dressing and toss the vegetables around. Taking a couple of bites before you offer him some as well. But unlike before, he turns his nose up at your leafy greens and grunts in disappointment.

The sight of him acting childish about eating vegetables made you giggle. This was the first time you had ever seen an adult ever turn down something that was good for them.

But the way he looks up at you when he hears your voice made your stomach jitter around with butterflies. He was giving you that soft little smile again, and it was becoming harder and harder to deny you enjoyed the look of his happiness.

“You sure you don’t want a bite?” You ask, offering him yet another bite of the salad in your bowl.

And yet again, she scrunched up his nose and turned his head.

“Bakugou. “You coo sweetly at him. Hoping that maybe he would answer the name of your boss again.

“Katsuki.”

Much to your surprise, he corrects you. So far, the only word you had understood from him was your name, and that he liked to be called by your boss’s first name.

You had to remind yourself, though, this wasn’t actually your boss. The two of you didn’t speak the same language, and even if he was your boss, he would never allow you to be familiar enough to use his first name so casually.

Sitting down your food, you decide now was the time to try to clean him up, or at least what you could. You knew that you didn’t have long left before people would no doubt start flooding back into the agency, and someone was bound to catch you in here.

Placing the med kit in your lap, you get to work opening it up. Pulling out ointments and bandages, hoping he didn’t suffer anything worse than a few bruises and cuts like the real Bakugou had.

He lets you take a wipe and clean at the cut above his brow, your hand gently holding his chin in place as you examine the small injury. It wasn’t deep, but it was irritated and red around the edges. Sighing softly, you pat around the area in hopes of keeping his anger at bay. You didn’t need two angry blondes after you today.

Even when he winced from the sting of the antiseptic hitting the wound, he didn’t try to pull away or scare you off. He just closed his eyes and leaned more into your touch.

“The fuck are you doing in here?”

The angry bark from the door causes you to squeak in fear, instantly the Bakugou in front of you tightens his grip on your hips and pulls you from the table and into his lap, your legs clumsily landing outside of his as he attempts to hide you from the other very angry blond in the room. The rough growl he sends his way rumbles through his chest and vibrates off your own.

You can hear his angry stomps towards you like a warning bell for death. He was pissed, and he had a right to be. Despite the intense and feral sounds coming out of the man you sat on top of, the real Bakugou leans down and wraps his arm around your waist, freeing you from the lap of the other man. His yelling only got more aggressive and desperate the further Bakugou carried you away.

“I was only feeding him, and making sure he was ok!” You try to reason with your boss.

It wasn’t like you came here to let him loose in public or anything.

“Thought I made myself clear last night that you weren’t gonna go anywhere near him!” Now it was his turn to scold you.

He struts all the way to the door and finally sets you back down to stand, his body almost shielding you away from the imposter still tied up halfway across the room. His glare made you want to run all the way back home, but you had good intentions of coming here.

“Yeah, but I-!”

“But what?” He barks, leaning down further into your personal space. “Thought that I wouldn’t know where you went?” He asks mockingly. “That I didn’t think you would try to sneak off at some point? I’m not an idiot, sweetheart.”

All the while, is he berating you, you hear the other blonde that just a minute ago was so soft and willing to let you touch and bandage him, matching the volume and tone of the original in front of you. Ranting and raving about who knows what, but either way, the harsh-sounding words escaping his mouth you felt were directed towards your boss.

Only serving to piss him off more.

Whipping his head around, he snaps at the copycat at the table.

“Nobody can understand, you dipshit!”

But that didn’t make the other blonde stop running his mouth at all. If anything, it only served to have him amplify his already booming voice even louder, quickly jutting his middle finger toward your boss with a nasty smirk on his face.

“Yeah fuck you too, you copycat bastard!” And Bakugou, as childish as it seemed, only meets his middle finger with one of his own, before he drags you out of the room.

Your name echoed off the walls as you both left the still-injured blond locked to the table.

“Will you just listen to me?” You yell at him and dig your feet into the tile.

If he wanted to, he could easily start to drag you again, but instead, he stops when you start to resist. His shoulders move up and down as he tries to calm his breathing, refusing to turn around and look at you just yet.

“What you gonna tell me he is just some harmless puppy? Cause he fucking smiled at you?” He says lowly turning his head to the side. “Did you forget who had to come to save your ass in the middle of the night from him? Or the way he had you pinned to the fucking bed, two seconds away from rap-“

“Woah! What are you doing here, sweetpea?” Kirishima asks as the elevator doors open and he sees the two of you standing there fuming.

Bakugou’s snarky reply was cut off by his partner, a look of worry in his ruby eyes as he walks off the elevator and towards you. Quickly trying to diffuse the situation by placing himself between you and the explosive blond.

“I don’t think he wants to hurt me!” You yell, looking to the redhead that tried to separate you from Bakugou. “Or else he would have done it already!”

It wasn’t like you to get this emotional over a complete stranger, but you felt the pain of his isolation start to weigh on you.

“We talking about copycat?” Kirishima asks, turning his attention towards you.

“Little sneak was in there alone with the fucker.” He seethes, glaring at you over Kirishima’s shoulder.

“And look!” You say, turning your body in a circle as if to prove your point. “Not a single thing wrong with me!”

“See! I knew that he wasn’t going to hurt her.” Kirishima says all too happily for Bakugou to stand.

“Don’t encourage this shit. Just get her out of here.” He barks at his friend.

You can see the reluctance brewing in the redhead’s eyes as he goes back and forth on who he should side with.

“I, I think he maybe you!” You blurt out after a moment of silence, the tension becoming too much for you to stand any longer. “Or at least a different version of you.”

But all Bakugou does is roll his eyes at the statement.

“Yeah right. And why is that, hah?”

He was trying to stare you down, intimidate you to back away. But even if you couldn’t explain what it was that was keeping to try to plea for this mystery man…

You knew you were right.

“Please. Can you just trust me?” You ask, finally letting the anger fall from your face in hope that a softer approach would work on him.

And he tries for a good minute to avoid looking at you. He stares at Kirishima and then to the floor. Only to look down at the new tennis shoes on your feet before he slowly takes a deep breath and drags his gaze to meet the big doe eyes you were trying to kill him with.

“You get five minutes to prove this shit, or else.”

You could tell he hated to give in, as pigheaded as you knew he could be. It took a lot for him to bend to someone as delicate as you.

It wasn’t easy to convince Bakugou to stay outside the room and simply study what you saw from the two-way mirror, but with a little extra convincing and help from Kirishima, you agreed.

Steeling your nerves, you give yourself a moment before you walk back through the door. And the Bakugou still shackled to the table was back to having his head hung low, his arms resting on the table in front of him.

You walk inside and gently shut the door behind you, taking your time to be cautious of the blond in front of you, just in case.

It was only when you gently reached out to touch his shoulder did he react. His movements were defensive with a loud roar as soon as you touched him.

But when his eyes land on you, the fire and rage in his eyes dies almost instantly, replaced once again by the calm demeanor he had graced you with before.

Your name fell softly from his lips.

“Hi,” you offer him softly with a small wave of your hand.

He smiles as he mimics your gesture with a wave of his own. “Hi.”

And honestly, him being able to understand you, even if it was something small, made your heart flutter. You motion back to the medical kit that had fallen to the floor in the scuffle earlier and he nods his head as if giving you permission to finish what you started.

And once you pick up all the scattered bits and pieces and place them back in the box, you resume your position from earlier. This time he leans back far enough so you could climb over his arm and helps you sit back on the table, his hands once again coming to rest gently against your hips.

This time, though, he kept himself busy studying your features as you worked on his injuries. His hands toying with the hem of your shirt like he was trying to remember the way it feels between his fingers. Occasionally, the tips of his fingers would touch your skin. Skimming along the elastic waist of your leggings.

He wasn’t doing it with any real purpose; it was just something to soothe himself and maybe you too. The warmth of his hands keeps you in place as you look him over once more.

Satisfied with your work, you finally turn to put all the unused supplies away, ready to set the box aside until you glance down at the table and see just how best up his hand was. Quickly, you turn and pull his other hand to where you could see it better.

Sure enough, it looked just as rough.

Patches of green and purple lined his knuckles and fingers. A couple of his massive fingers were swollen and looked too stiff and sore to move. Not to mention the condition of his wrists.

Turning towards the two-way mirror, you motion for either of the men on the other side to come into the room.

“What’s up, sweetpea?” Kirishima asks popping his head into the room.

You can hear the rumble of Bakugou’s chest as he prepares for another round of arguments, but you were quick to reach out a hand and run it through his soft spiky hair.

“I wanna fix his hands, but,” your trail off, not exactly sure of how to ask for what you wanted.

“You know he will never agree to that,” Kirishima says, almost disappointed.

“Please, I can’t leave him like this. It’s bad enough he’s been chained to this table for days.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

It only takes about thirty seconds before you hear a boom and a no in the form of a yell. Rolling your eyes, you count the seconds until the familiar stomps of your angry boss steadily grow closer.

“I said you had five minutes to convince me. I didn’t say jack shit about uncuffing the bastard!” He barks.

“Look at his hands!” You plea with the blonde, turning to face him.

“What about my fuckin hands huh?” He yells, and you feel the tell-tell signs of the exact situation happening once again.

The yelling, the growling. The way his hands started to latch onto your thighs, ready to jerk you into his lap as a means of protecting you. You needed to stop this petty argument before it had a chance to start back up. If any of you stood a chance at figuring out what was happening here, you needed to be quick.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath before you give them both a yell of your own.

“Katsuki Bakugou!”

Both men freeze up at the use of the shared name. There was an overwhelming moment of silence following the boom of your own voice. No longer was anyone trying to grab at you or argue. Eyes wide as they almost reel back from the anger you displayed.

“Please. He isn’t going to hurt me. I need to take care of his hands.”

It takes him longer than you thought it would before you hear him speak again, although this time his voice was softer now.

“And how do you know that?” He grumbled

And it was simple.

“Would you hurt me?” You ask him, and you watch as he shakes his head no. “Then he wouldn’t hurt me. He is you. I know you don’t want to believe it.” You say, turning back to the injured blond between your legs. “Help me help you.”

The room was silent yet again. The only sound you hear is the jingle of keys by your side, and the sight of something silver floating to your left. Your boss stood there still skeptical, but willing to let you prove him wrong.

And when you turned to take the keys from his hands, you gave him a smile. Noticing just how busted his hands looked as well. Looks like you had more than one reckless blond to take care of today.

“Thank you.”

“He’s dead if he hurts you. Hope you can tell him that.”

You nod and wait for your boss to leave the room before you attempt to reach for the other Bakugou’s hand. One by one, you move the cuffs around and unshackle him from the restraints.

He just sat there patiently with his hand still on the table. Not moving until you reach for the medkit again and grab a couple of things. Letting you guide his hands into your lap as you look over the bruised and broken skin.

He hisses slightly when you apply some pressure, but nothing that made you worry. To make your boss feel better, you worked quickly to bandage his hands.

Luckily for you, it didn’t take long at all, even though you had two sets of identical crimson eyes staring at you. Working diligently, he keeps his hands to himself this time.

“I know we can’t really understand each other, but,” you start giving his bandaged hands one more look. “But I feel like I can trust you to behave.”

Peering up, you lock eyes with the copycat in front of you. He looked exhausted, and a little worse for wear at the moment. Now that his injuries were taken care of and he had some food, you could see the way his eyes started to feel heavy. A loud yawn escapes his mouth just as he goes to try and wipe the creeping sleep from his eyes.

He surprises you when you feel him trace his fingers over your hand, causing you to show him your palm as he gently turns your wrist. His thumb caresses the pulse point in your wrist as his hand covers yours.

He mutters softly as he looks at you. His eyes filled with a longing that you could almost mistake for homesickness. Both of you could feel the way your quiet time together was coming to an end quicker than you would have liked. But he was more understanding this time around.

He leans forward, shortening the distance between the two of you, his forehead resting softly against yours, and just sighs. His eyes closing as he finally relaxes for a moment.

You don’t know what he said, but you feel the butterflies erupt in your stomach when he cups your cheek and pulls you in the short distance to place a gentle kiss on your lips. Although this time they were a little chapped and still sore from where they were busted in the corner, he took the pain in stride.

Brushing his nose against yours in an act of intimacy you haven’t partaken in for what seems like years. It didn’t last long, but you felt the heat of them even after he pulled away. Finally, dropping his hands away from you and back down to the table at your sides.

As much as it hurt to have to place the cuffs back on him, you still did it to appease your boss. He was just on the other side of the glass, watching you.

No doubt angry and filled with anxiety as he waited for this whole thing to be over with.

Your copycat didn’t fight this time, as you finally drag yourself away from him. He simply just stared at you as you gathered your supplies and head back toward the door.

“I’ll try and come back soon, ok?” You say with a sad smile.

You really didn’t want to leave him here.

But the last thing you wanted to do was push your luck even further than you already had with your shenanigans. Because as soon as you close the door, leaving the sad blond behind, your vision was soon filled with one that was seething.

He was standing just off to the side of his redheaded friend, who looked like he was trying to talk him down, but his focus was on you. Eyes overflowing with anger, but something else just lying underneath it.

‘Take her home Red." He says, eyes locking with you briefly before he turns his attention back to the redhead at his side and walks off.

You felt horrible that he was so upset with you. The last person you wanted to piss off was him. He saved you. He was housing you as well. And all he wanted was for you to rest up in his home and leave him to do his job.

Your feet start to move towards him as he hits the button on the elevator, but Kirishima’s arm shoots out to stop you before you could get any closer.

“Give him some time to cool off.” He says as he pulls you gently to his side.

But you couldn’t just leave him like this. It was clear he was angry at you, and the last thing you wanted to do was get even more on his bad side. You had seen the wrath he could bring down people who didn’t know not to test him.

“But I need to apologize.” You say softly, still looking at the closed door.

Glancing back to the tall redhead next to you, he just gives you a knowing look.

“He’ll be alright in a couple of hours. Let’s get you home for now.”

And that afternoon Kirishima walked you back to your shared home. Making sure that he kept a watchful eye on you the entire time. Bakugou, on the other hand, was avoiding you like the plague. He was coming home late and leaving before you had the chance to even crawl out of bed.

And after four days, you couldn’t take it anymore.

It was eating away at you that he was avoiding you like this. So you made the decision to follow him to the agency. Dead set on making him finally speak to you.

You woke up early. By looking at the time on your phone, you saw it was just shy of five am. With a soft yawn and a few minutes of bending and stretching your body back to life, you slip into your clothes. Tiptoeing your way to the front door with your tennis shoes in your hand.

You heard the door shut about ten minutes ago, and you wanted to give him a chance to get to the agency and settle in before you confronted him.

You had it planned out perfectly.

He had a routine he liked to follow. On days that he had a light load, he took a jog to the agency. Spending some time in the gym there before he showered and made his presence known. Leaving the door to his office open and available for you to come in and deliver notes and go over reports.

Always at the ready with your clipboard and a fancy pen.

He always told you just how ridiculous you always looked when you walked, in the same way, each morning. Coffee in one hand, while you carried your clipboard, clutched to your chest. Telling you it didn’t have to be right that second that you had to go over everything and you were allowed time to fully wake up. But still, he never complained about having you there.

And by the time you made it to the doors of the agency, you saw that the lights were still dim. No sight of anyone or anything alive, stirring behind the tall glass doors to the lobby. But as per usual, you typed in your security code and let yourself inside. Greeted with the silence of a still sleeping building and no one around to wake it quite yet.

Wandering your way into the kitchen, you set yourself up to make a cup of coffee and a tea for your grumpy boss. While he was never the type of person to need caffeine, a little peace offering couldn’t hurt.

But as you finish your drinks and move to the front door of his office, you notice the lights were off and the door was still locked. Leaving you to wonder where the angry blonde might be. So, with a curious walk, you make your way down to the elevator once again and head down to the floor with the gym. If he wasn’t in his office yet, maybe he was still down there.

But instead of being met with the harsh drums of some heavy rock song blasting on the speakers, you are once again in the dark. No lights or sounds, anything that would give you the indication that life was around.

Maybe he made an extra stop on his way here? Or maybe you missed something on his schedule. Pulling out your phone, you pull up the pro’s calendar and look at the date.

And it all made sense once you saw what today was.

Both Kiri and Bakugou were going to be out-of-town today, some semi-annual ‘bullshit’ meeting on the other side of the city. The same one you basically had to force him to attend, even if he thought it was pointless.

Which meant both of your bosses were going to be gone for most of the day.

Almost instantly your mind wanders to the almost barbaric copycat still sitting in the basement. You had promised him that you would come back to see him, and conveniently Bakugou wasn’t going to be around today.

And before you even realize it, you are in the elevator and heading down to the lower floor. The silence of the morning is almost soothing as you wait. The automatic lights turn on as soon as the doors open. Each step you take causes another light to come to life, all the way down the short hall.

Only your mystery man wasn’t in the same room as he was before.

It was clean and showed no sign of having anyone inside of it. Which you hoped meant that they had placed him in a holding cell. Picking up your pace, you hit the button that would bring you to the set of rooms you needed.

In a secure location, with only one exit. There he was. An arm was thrown over his eyes as he lay on his back. The harsh fluorescent lights shone too brightly for the small space he was locked in. You watch him for a moment, relieved that he looked to be ok. The steady rise and fall of his chest was an indicator that he was still breathing.

Even from this distance, he looked like he was fairing far better than he had been just a short while ago. His hands were now bandaged better than what you were able to do, and he looked clean. He didn’t have any lingering specks of soot or dust clinging to his hair or face. His clothes had been changed out of the primitive attire, for something that looked more modern. Simple and light, more than enough to have him pass as a normal citizen of the city.

Now that he was in the black sweatpants and matching black t-shirt, it would be almost impossible to tell the difference between him and the real Bakugou. The only real indication this was your copycat was that he was slightly bigger than the real one. Bulkier than you were used to seeing every day, but still so much alike.

It hurt to see him still locked up in here. It had been days since he had seen the sun, let alone step a foot outside. The thought crossed your mind about just how scared he might be. Even if he only showed himself to be fearless and unstoppable, being in a whole new world and not able to speak or understand how anything works must be upsetting.

An intrusive thought crossed your mind.

What if you let him out? Nobody was around to stop you, and maybe you could pry some kind of answer out of him if Bakugou weren’t around to stop you. You could slip him out of the agency and hide away for a while. IT wouldn’t be just beneficial for you to help him out, but you would be helping your bosses figure out a little more about this guy. Maybe put you back in the good graces of Bakugou.

It didn’t matter at this point, anyway. Your boss was already avoiding you, might as well give him an actual reason to be mad, right?

Right?

Logic and reason didn’t have a lot to do with the events of the past week. Nothing made sense, and you hoped that your theory was right.

The pad that kept the room locked was staring at you. The keypad mocking you for not realizing that you would need the password to unlock it. So you type away all the important dates you could remember. Bakugou’s birthday, Kirishima’s, the date the agency was officially handed off to the pair.

But nothing seemed to work.

As a joke you go to type in your birthday, frustrated that you didn’t think your plan through. But what shocked you, even more, was the keypad lighting up green and the sound of the door unlocking.

That roused the head of the sleepy copycat to pop his head up towards the door. Waiting for you to turn the knobs and enter his room.

“Hi,” you speak softly to your copycat.

A small smirk finding its way to his lips as he sits up, speaking your name, his voice still drenched in sleep. You can’t deny the sight of him brings a smile to your face. Even if he wasn’t your boss, there was just something that was pulling the two of you into the same orbit.

With a roll of his shoulders and popping his knuckles, he sits up and stands from the bed. Giving his stiff neck a gentle roll before he walks over to you. His still-bandaged hands reach out to you and pull you to his chest. Hot hands land on your hips as he envelops himself in you. Dipping his nose down until you feel it nuzzle into your hair. His soft puffs of air soothed your nerves about what you were doing.

As much as you enjoyed this, you had to get him out of here.

It wasn’t fair. He had proved to you that he wasn’t a threat, not just physically, but you could feel it deep in your gut.

Pulling away, you set your half-baked plan into motion. Taking his hand into yours and quickly leading him out of the small cell and into the elevator. You didn’t ecstasy know what you were going to do once you were out of the agency, but anything had to be better than this.

The world was still in the early stages of waking up. Lucky for you that meant that there would be fewer people around to witness a giant half-feral man who was letting you drag him along down the sidewalk. The sun was just starting to poke its head above the horizon, and a slight chill ran through your body.

Taking your time, you slow down as you walk. Allowing him to take in the world around him. His eyes bounced from the signs hung above the roads, to the way the neon signs of the coffee shops and bakeries flashed brightly.

He seemed so enamored with everything; you hadn’t thought about it before but it must be off-putting to be here. Thrust into a part of the world that didn’t look the same. You had no idea what his home looked like, but by the way, his eyes were on high alert. You can only assume it was nothing like this.

From the way his eyes lit up like that of a child when they see something new, you couldn’t help but feel bad for him. The noise and hustle of the city was making him overstimulated, as far as you could tell from his body language anyway.

Maybe you could take him to the park? Or away from the main part of the city for a while. Just something to calm down his overstimulated mind, and spend some much-needed time without others around.

As you pass the huge display window of a shop, the idea hits you.

You could take him on a small picnic over by the mountain. You didn’t have to hike it, of course, but it would be perfect. Spend a little time tucked away in nature, and make sure he ate a proper meal.

You’ve heard the stories that Kirishima and Bakugou would talk about when they went. On the slim chance they had a day off together, they would make the plan to explore a new area. The mountain in question was a favorite of theirs. Easy enough to climb in a few hours, and offered a wonderful view from the top.

With the weather still warming up, the chance that you would run into other people up there was slim.

With an idea finally settled on, you squeeze his hand softly to gain his attention. His eyes finally settle back on you as he hears the honk of a car passing by.

“I know you can’t understand me, but I have a plan.” You smile as you speak, hoping that he would trust you.

He meets your smile with one of his own. The small lopsided smile filling you with a sense of peace. And he lets you lead him down the street. Flowing down the sidewalk until you reach the place you needed to go first.

The grocery store.

Luck was on your side when you read that it was open. Tugging him gently behind you as you enter the store. He watches the place with a cautious eye as you pick up a basket and start to make your way down the aisles. Picking various items and placing them in your basket.

Anything and everything you could think of that would be convenient to eat on your adventure to the mountains. Fresh strawberries and apples. Cheeses and meats, hoping that you could make a lazy charcuterie board.

You still glance behind you every so often to check on him. He would occasionally reach out and look at the items on the shelves. Poking and squeezing the items, figuring out what each thing was.

He really was taking in the world much like a child would. Touch and sounds being his guide on working out what something might be.

It didn’t take long at all to gather up a nice spread of food to be eaten. Satisfied that you had managed to grab enough to at least keep him full enough until. you could bring him back. They even had a picnic basket kit of sorts on the shelf. Everything you would need to have a convenient outdoor experience. They included cute but simple plates and utensils, along with a small blanket.

You swipe it fully, intending to use it.

As you tug him along through the check outline, you are quick to place your food into the basket and pay for your items. Tapping your phone and paying before you leave.

After that, it was an easy path to get to your destination. Pulling out your phone and following the path, it directed you down. Past the busy lights and sounds of the city and into something softer and less daunting. The air already felt fresh here.

Crisp and clean as the trees started to grow thicker and taller the longer you walked. The smell of dewy grass and flowers invades your sense of smell and you take in a deep breath.

It felt like a whole other world out here.

And as you expected, the hiking trail was empty except for the two of you. The cool temperatures of early spring were more than enough to ward away most novice hikers.

Katsuki seemed to be feeling a little better if the quick glances you gave him were any indication. His eyes weren’t bouncing back and forth anymore, and his head wasn’t snapping towards every sound, looking for a threat to appear.

No, now he was doing the same as you. Taking in deep breaths and sighing out of relief. His hand gripped yours a little looser now that the city's busy life was behind you.

Turning your head back to face in front of you, you point to a worn sign just up the trail.

“I figured we could hike a little way and stop for some food if that’s ok.” You tell him more than to ask.

Forgetting for the moment that he couldn’t understand anything you were saying. He gives you a soft nod as if he could and lets you lead him. Cupping his hand tighter in yours as you pull him to stand beside you. You had the fleeting feeling like he would let you lead him to the end of the earth if you desired.

Which was a feeling you never thought you would have about anyone.

But like everything else in your life as of late, you couldn’t exactly explain what your life was anymore. Not a lot made sense, especially when it came to Bakugou or his clone. You were simply letting your heart move on its own, and so far, it hadn’t led you into too much trouble.

The further you walked up the trail to the forest, the more you realized you weren’t meant for hiking.

What were once steady breaths of air leaving your lungs had become labored. Your shoes that used to be comfortable were now hurting the arches of your feet. You were struggling, and you hadn’t even made it to the difficult part of the hike yet. You slowly started to curse under your breath the longer you were walking. The incline of the hill stole your breath before you could muster up more than a few words.

But the chuckle at your side stops you from muttering.

Glancing over, you see Katsuki’s amused expression. He had the tiniest amount of teeth showing as he watched you attempt to scale the start of the mountain. Stealing the insult you were about to berate him with as he poked fun at your misery.

Before you could utter the words, he tugs you to a stop, pulling you into his arms. Leaving you a little confused for a moment before he is moving you around. His hand leaves you for only a moment until he is bending down to one knee in front of you, offering you an uninterrupted view of the massive muscles dancing behind the compression shirt on his back.

Turning his head slightly and wrapping a hand around yours, he guides you to stand closer, leaving you to catch on to what his plan was. His other hand wrapped around your thigh, and in one quick movement had you lifted onto his back.

Easily baring the extra weight as you adjust your arm to grab for stability. He was just as quick to take the basket from your other hand and continue on your walk. He wasn’t struggling in the slightest to carry you up the steadily increasing terrain. His muscles worked effortlessly, moving with smooth precision as he enjoyed himself.

And you were too after you got over the initial embarrassment of being carried around like this. The heat radiating off his body pulled you into him further, enjoying the way he kept the chill of the morning from your skin.

It was so calm out here, so different from what you had grown accustomed to. There were no honking cars or people shouting, just the sounds of nature to soothe your mind. You could get used to this, the birds chirping and the gentle sway of the trees as the wind moved them. The moment felt almost perfect.

Until you felt the jarring vibration of your phone in your back pocket.

As safe as you can manage, you reach around and pull out your phone, looking at the screen. It was Kirishima’s happy and sharp-toothed grin filling your screen.

You heavily debated for a moment if it was safe to answer his call, or if you should let it go to voice email. But after, it would seem more suspicious if you ignored it.

“Hi,” you speak into your phone as you hold it up to your ear.

“Hey Sweetpea, just wanted to call and see how you’re holding up?” He says happily.

“I’m OK, just taking the time alone to catch up on some things. I completely forgot that you were both out of the office today.”

“Yeah, thought about shooting you a text this morning, but figured it would be easier to call.”

Katsuki turns his head slightly, slowing his movements as he looks back to you and the device held up to your ear. He goes to try and open his mouth before you are shaking your head in a silent plea for him to remain quiet.

“I’m actually about to get in the shower. Want to call me later? I’ll be fine by myself. I don’t want to distract you from your duties.”

“It’s not a problem to check up on my favorite assistant.” He says way too fast for your comfort.

It was like he already knew that something was wrong. Like he knew exactly what you were doing.

You try to make yourself sound convincing, but you were never that great of a liar. The only thing working in your favor was that Kirishima could see your face trying to work out a decent lie.

“I’m fine, really. I appreciate you calling to check up on me. But I left the shower running while I was getting my clothes! Sorry to have to cut our talk short.” You force yourself to get into character. Apologizing softly as Katsuki picks back up walking with you on his back.

“Is that all?” He says, a little disappointed. “Well, guess you better get in the shower before the hot water runs out.”

“Your right! Well, ill see you this evening!” You sigh as you feel the lick of victory set in that you had managed to pull off your half-assed lie.

Fumbling with your phone and mumbling a curse under your breath, you go to hit the red button to end the call before Kirishima’s voice catches you off guard. Your name is echoing out of the receiver, making you pause and lift the phone back to your ear.

“I caught the alarm before Bakugou saw it, by the way.”

Fuck.

You were stupid to think that you would ever be able to pull anything over on either of them. Of course, they would have an alarm on the door. That was probably the entire reason why he called was to get you to confess.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

It was a last-ditch effort on your part and a lame one at that. But you couldn’t help but want to continue with your little jailbreak.

“Look, I don’t get it. But I do. And I covered for you. But please don’t make me regret it.”

You can hear him sigh, and you can almost picture the disappointment written on his happy face. But he was at least willing to indulge you in this endeavor for a while longer. Both sides of your conversation are silent as you agree to keep this secret from the real Bakugou.

“I’ll have him back before you get back, I promise.” You tell him softly before glancing down at the massive man carrying you. Readjusting his grip on your thighs, digging his fingers into the plush skin beneath his fingers.

He felt all too real just to be a dream. The heat emitting from his body matched that of your hot-headed boss. He wore the same sour face, his hair stuck out the same. His arms and hands felt just as real as the ones you were used to grabbing for when Bakugou would demand to escort you home after those long nights at the office.

Strong and lean but no less warm. On that rare occasion, he was in a decent mood, offering to make a stop by a restaurant on the way and pick up dinner for you. He wasn’t much for conversation, be he had a way of making you comfortable in the silence. Tugging you closer to his side when you would pass others on the sidewalk.

In the end, you owed it not just to yourself, but to your boss as well, to find out what was going on.

“I’ll message you about an hour before we will be back. But if anything happens, don’t forget to hit the panic button on your phone. I’m serious. I would rather you stay safe than hurt sweetpea.”

“He isn’t going to hurt me, but I’ll keep my phone close. Thank you for trusting me, Kiri.”

He doesn’t say anything else other than a small hum of acknowledgment before he hangs up the phone. Leaving you once again to keep your attention on the burly blond that was now leading you off the well-worn path of the hiking trail and into the woods.

It was now or never. You either made some kind of breakthrough with Katsuki, or you were sure to be swept up in the wrath of Bakugou if you didn’t have any results from your little act of rebellion. 

4-7-8; series masterlist

pairing: jungkook x reader

glimpse: you’re secure when it comes to loving jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. what you aren’t so secure about is his first love — someone who isn’t you.

alternatively, jungkook’s married to you, but he still celebrates his anniversary with his ex out of sentimentality.

warnings: semi-heavy angst (pls take a break when necessary!!), emotional constipation, no cheating happens here btw (neither physical nor emotional), self-loathing, miscommunication, based on the moral dilemma of whether or not it’s okay to be friends with ur ex, intense yearning + specified tags in each installment!

notes: thank you so much for all the love for 478 ♡ i rlly love reading all your feedback and thoughts!! send them in here :)

cross-posted on ao3.

01: part one 

02: intermission

03: part two

04: intermission 02

05: part three; finale

phase one drabbles:

the first meeting

the wedding band habit

miso meets yoongi

the hickeys

the jealousy

tiny bowls for tiny babies

the one with the doubt

maybe physical affection isn’t so bad

the everyday risk

the groveling

the anniversary (derogatory)

phase two drabbles:

the babymaking

jungkook’s birthday

couvade syndrome

the argument

jk fights with miso (real)

the comeback of slideshows

the false alarm

the nesting period

hwayoung_debut

yoongi’s visit

hwayoung’s first 100 days

𝑤𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 : 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑖 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑜 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: In order to placate your anxious mother, you agree to return to your hometown to participate in a mating run—knowing full well that betas rarely get chased, never mind betas nearly old enough to age out of the practice. You’ve decided to treat it like a vacation, a chance to visit with your childhood friends, the mating run itself a nice relaxing hike. All in all it’s a solid plan—until alpha Todoroki Shouto, your best friend's little brother, steps in and blows it all to pieces. 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡: omegaverse, no quirks au, alpha!shouto, beta!reader, mating rituals, age gap, best friend’s little brother, older reader, afab reader, some class differences, aged up characters, semi-public sex, slight small town romance vibes, background implied dabihawks for some reason, smut, 18+; mdni! 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠: For @lorelune's spring fever collab! This fic is a little bit different than my usual fare—part love letter to my hometown, part omegaverse smut, part style experiment—but I hope you enjoy it anyway!! I also want to call out that Reader in this fic is Touya’s contemporary, and is therefore older than Shouto. Everyone is in their 20s and I’ve purposefully left the age difference ambiguous in case the canon gap squicks you out, but please know there is a difference of at least ~3 years implied. 𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ: 21k (estimated)

𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑖 — april 6

𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑖𝑖 — april 13

𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑖𝑖𝑖 — april 20

𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑖𝑣 — april 25

↳ read on ao3 (link tba)