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you don't know how much comfort your dragon king bkg drabble has given me ever since you posted it!! i keep reading it i love it sm 🥹

as it turns out, the man bakugou is — a bit harder to handle.

he sleeps like a heathen; you once thought the dragon bakugou to be a bit lazy, with how often he tended to curl up in the fields of grass, warm under the sun, but now — it would seem his little human form needs significantly less rest.

almost up all hours of the day, and when he does finally lay down, he's everywhere. a mess of limbs: one thrown carelessly out to the side and the other bent at an angle you can't believe doesn't hurt his joints. his head stays tucked into you somehow, either buried in your neck or pressed against your ribs — or you'll wake to find him nose-to-nose with you. he still snores like a dragon, however.

you're also beginning to wonder if there is a bottom to the pit of his stomach. he ate much before, whole fields of things, but you expected that appetite to dwindle, at least a little, now that his stomach has decreased considerably in size. and in number ? you're not even sure how many stomachs a dragon has; that's not something that was mentioned in the fairytales.

it burns through him quickly, gives him more energy than he needs, and it doesn't ever seem to affect his weight much. already, he's huge and thick with muscle and eating as much as he does never dulls the severity of his cut abdomen. not that you're looking all that much.

— not that you have a choice not to, as he seems to have little-to-no understanding of —

the door to the bathhouse kicks open, with enough force that you already know who it is without ever turning to look. you try not to shriek when you see him, because he seems to like that in some evil, impish way.

you've been alone to wash so far, thankfully, as the inn you'd managed to find was small and far enough out from the nearest kingdom that the occupancy was low — enough for you and your little brute.

the man bakugou comes to stand in front of the bath, blinking and huffing against the steam. finding clothes for him was — nearly impossible, and so the trousers you'd found hanging on someone's line outside fit above his ankles, a bit too tight around his waist. instead of a shirt, you've wrapped him in a scratchy linen, swaddled him up like a baby to cover the small smattering of scales that decorate his body, almost like freckles from the sun, though they gleam just as bright and red as they ever have. no matter his form.

a horn has started to sprout, on the right side of his forehead, and you've done your best to cover that, too.

you have no idea how long this man thing will last. if it's permanent or if he even has control over it. the last thing you need is for him to switch back, somehow, while you're in the middle of feeding him, absolutely demolishing whatever tavern you're in and calling all of king todoroki's guards to attention.

bakugou grunts, almost sleepy, and tosses a fat, weighty sack onto the edge of the bath. it jingles a certain jingle that makes your heart stop.

"oh, allfather—" you move for the edge, awkwardly keeping one arm against your chest despite the fact that he's seen it all by now. when you peek inside and confirm your fears, you lob it back to him furiously, as if it were a steaming potato. "where do you keep getting this stuff?"

things have started to turn up, miraculously. shiny things — like coins and rings and gems. things he could not have simply found rolling around in the dirt.

"go put it back!" you hiss at him, and the tone of your voice makes his frown deepen. you never realized how pouty he was, when he was still a dragon.

you think he understands you, and you're pretty certain he just chooses not to listen; instead of doing what you've told him in the slightest, he simply dumps the coin-purse to the floor, and then lets his linen and stolen trousers cover it as he unceremoniously undresses.

the biggest issue that you would say the man bakugou poses is — his complete lack of understanding of personal space.

"bakugou!" your voice wavers, shocked again by his nakedness. as if you haven't seen it all by now. "no, you — get out!"

but he does the exact opposite, which is hop into the steaming water, ignoring the arm you hold out to keep him away as he saddles up beside you. skin against scales, pressing a nose into your hair to huff out his annoyance, to make it something you can feel.

if anyone were to walk in right now, they would — probably think the lie you'd told the innkeeper was true. that you are a simple traveler and this is your mute, over-sized husband.

regardless, you think this behavior isn't polite. especially in a public bathhouse.

"bakugou," you try again, turning your face away as you speak to the wood-paneled wall. "i'm taking a bath, you have to wait your turn."

all you receive in response is another huff against your ear and a low rumble of disagreement from his chest.

he has yet to speak back, and has only used inhuman sounds as his points of conversation. the only word you've ever heard him utter is oi, which he does when he really thinks he needs your attention. you're starting to wonder if he's named you that in his head. oi.

curiously, you turn back to him and the movement has him pulling his face from your hair, just enough that he can look down at you, too. watch you, with the red-rippled sea in his eyes.

they're — amazing, you will admit. just as bright and detailed as they always have been. fit for a fairytale told by the fire, veiled by the soft-ash of his lashes. he watches you through them, half-lidded, and you wonder if it's something other than fatigue that has them so heavy.

"do you know what i'm saying?" you ask quietly, voice lacking the firm heat you want it to. instead it's heavy, too, weighted by something soft and unfamiliar and frightening. "can you even understand me?"

bakugou doesn't respond, not with a huff or a rumble or ever a purr, like the one he let out on the night he lay over you by the lake. you've only heard it sparingly since then, oftentimes in his sleep when his face is pressed into you.

you try not to frown at his silence, try not to let it disappoint you because it shouldn't; he's a dragon afterall, and you're not sure what it matters. the little horn protruding from his forehead catches your eye and you reach up to touch it gently, watching him blink away the water that drips from your wrist — and then he's turning into you again, too close.

beneath the water, you feel his hands skate up your bare thighs, wrap around your waist until your chest is pulled flush against his. you feel his huff, again, against the damp skin of your neck but it's slower, lighter. not laced with his frustration. some unknown thing you feel guilty for liking.

you drop your hand to his hair, rushing full force into all the damned things you've thought about doing but have been too afraid to. he's soft between your fingers, and you trace your nails lightly against his scalp until he groans quietly; a new noise, one you don't know how to translate.

your fingers stop when they brush upon little spines that have grown at the base of his skill, that have started to trail down the center of his back.

suddenly, tangled up in the bath with him, you wonder how much time you have left.

bakugou huffs again into your skin, a little fiercer this time, and it's because of his light jostling that you realize how rigid you've gone. you try to relax so that he will, too, though you must not do a convincing job, because a sharp nip comes to your earlobe.

"ow!" you squeal, but he doesn't let you go far, not even as you try to jerk away from him. in fact, the harder you try the more his teeth show: into your cheek and the point of your jaw and then dangerously low on your neck.

it's not until you finally freeze that he stops, huffing again, with a warmth that burns more than the steaming water.

and then, very quietly, he grumbles, "shitty wife," into your collarbone, just before biting you again.

OUR MOURNING GLORY ┊ TODOROKI TOUYA

synopsis: everything born in his body will eventually outgrow it. his love for you should be no different.

tags: GN reader, hanahaki au, strangers to friends to lovers, falling in love, requited unrequited feelings, quirkless reader, villain dabi, vomiting, hanahaki as a chronic illness, quirkless discrimination, lack of self worth, hurt + comfort, mild body horror, morally ambiguous reader, first kisses, very hopeful ending (<- I prommy lol)

wc: 5.4K

A/N: now with lovely cover art from momo! thank you so much!

Dabi really fucking hates doctors, has since he was a kid.

They’re too sterile. The strong antiseptic smell burned his sinuses and being surrounded by entirely white walls set him on edge. As though he had been deposited into a liminal space where time does not exist. A cacophony of suffering, incessant beeping, wheels rolling on old gurneys, echoed footsteps, all coalescing into prickly white noise.

Finding a place that would actually treat him was a hell in and of itself. Bigger hospitals and university medical centres weren’t viable options, given how beefed up security usually was. Seedy back-alley places existed in the areas he liked to haunt, but even the thought of stepping foot into one gave him sepsis.

Quirkless clinics were rare. Most that existed ran out of funding— the government saw no reason to care for a dying species. If you didn’t have a quirk then you had it bad. Citizens were legally required to have it listed under a disability on their medical records, and it wasn’t uncommon for people to be turned away in the emergency room because of it.

Dabi almost walked away that first night. As bad of a guy as he is, there was something inherently wrong about infringing on space that did not belong to him. But you had stepped out into the street for a break, jacket pulled close to your chest, took one look at the blood dried to his cheeks and rallied him inside.

He finds himself back here again, for the nth time. Today makes it an entire year since he met you, and ten full months since he coughed up that first bud. A mild inconvenience turned into an invasive bloom.

“…Hanahaki is a serious disease. It is a condition where vine-like buildup in your airways forms into buds, eventually flowering into…”

Morning glories. Buds of deep-blue, trumpet-shaped blossoms and leafy stems. The delicate petals taste surprisingly bitter, with a bite that lingers in the fissures between his molars after it has been ground into thin paste and swallowed. He had long since gotten used to the astringency— drying his throat, twisting his stomach.

“…At best it causes severe breathing difficulties and discomfort. Worst case scenario, it can be fatal…”

In the beginning he thought it would pass. Dabi has endured sickness all his life and a cough wasn’t about to stop his long laid plans. But it worsened, mutated into something he could not control. He remembers sitting in your bathroom on the toilet lid, the little blue burgeon rolling in the shallow of his palm. It’d been covered in bloody mucus, but still a pip, still harmless.

Any sane person might have been afraid at that moment, realising what fate awaited them. Dabi, however, felt oddly resigned. One in one hundred million. Of course this would happen to him. Death clung to him everywhere he went.

“Dabi, are you listening?”

Doctor Tereda had been the one to stitch him up back then. A quack with a near useless cell activation quirk and glasses lenses thick enough for a bullet to bounce off. You’d dragged him into her office, sat him on the bed with surprising strength, and she attended to him no questions asked.

Dabi tried not to make a habit of visiting one place too often, but between your pleading eyes and his rapidly worsening health, he ended up back in her office more times than he cared to.

He makes a noncommittal sound.

“As a medical professional I must strongly advise you to talk to the individual these feelings have bloomed for,” Terada says. Dabi does not like the sympathetic pinch in her brow. “That is the least invasive option”.

Prying open his chest and baring himself to you seems pretty damn invasive. “Not happening,” he mutters airily.

There’s a sense of satisfaction when her frown strains with frustration. Her glasses slip down the bridge of her nose. “Your case is incredibly advanced. It may be your only chance to tell—”

“You got something wrong with your ears?” he interrupts. The stitches beneath his eyes sting, pulled taut by his glare. “I said no”.

Tereda sighs and turns to her screen, pushing her frames back up. The keyboard clicks under her fingers. Every computer here was ancient, their systems totally outdated, but they made do.

“You have two more options. The best results are produced if both treatments are done together,” she explains. “First is surgery. You’ll be put under general anaesthesia and the disease will be removed along with some surrounding tissue in the lungs for biopsy. Memories of the loved one are usually lost”.

Dabi slouched to feign disinterest, betrayed by the restless bounce of his knee, “And?”

“Your second option is to attend an interpersonal psychotherapy programme,” she lifts her hand to silence him before he can interject. “This is highly recommended to patients after surgery to prevent relapse. But you can do it regardless, as it is helpful in reducing your symptoms, and while the disease becomes chronic, it is more manageable”.

Dabi’s jaw shifts as he grits his teeth, pulling at the staples by his mouth, “Calling me fucking crazy now, eh Doc?”

“No,” she replies cooly, schooling her features into something kinder. “As people we underestimate the influence our mental well being has over our physical condition. Hanahaki disease is rare, yes. But over a quarter of all cases are found to be psychosomatic”.

Dabi laughs dryly and brings a fist down hard, smoke squeezed from between his knuckles marred the desk with black. “So this is of my own making, is that what you’re saying?”

“This isn’t something you plant into yourself, Dabi. It isn’t your fault and I could be completely wrong. I’m not all knowing, I’m just a doctor,” a smooth hand is placed over top of his own in effort to comfort, “But torturing yourself will only feed it”.

He scrambles to his feet, the chair legs scraping piercingly across the tile, and snatches his fist back to hold behind his back. The doctor levels him with a sad, soft look, her upper body still leaned across the table.

“If you leave this as it is it will only hurt you. It is already hurting you,” Tereda continues critically. “We can mitigate this, Dabi. Before it kills you”.

That unearths some ill-gotten memory from the recesses of his brain. A film strip he replays often in solitude; the day Endeavor sat him down and told him he shouldn’t use his quirk anymore. At first it was a fatherly suggestion, unnaturally low and soft. “You should stop. It’s hurting you, Touya,” as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

That never made sense to him. In training they used to focus on fire, usually— on intensifying his flame power— but on occasion they would spar. Between poor footing and wrong steps, Endeavour always reprimanded tears and quick surrender.

“But it hurts…”

“Strong heroes fight through pain,” he said. “The world does not stop just because you are crying. Get up! Or are you weak?”

Touya took it to heart, back then. Clenched his chubby little fists tight and got to his feet with a wobbly snarl on his damp, swollen face.

Young minds are impressionable and his own had already been moulded by the very hands on his shoulders. Endeavour’s fingers had held on tight, dwarfing Touya’s frame; heat soaking through his shirt from those searing palms and the sting of old wounds had been enough to keep him grounded in reality. You should stop this. It’s hurting you.

Those words festered and ate away at his soul like an infection. Giving up was against everything he knew— and against everything Endeavor told him a hero should be. It was not an option he was willing to take, and so Touya trudged forward, just as he was taught.

Eventually Endeavour’s words evolved into demand. He became furious. Touya became accustomed to long sleeves and learned how to treat burns alone. Hands made for saving left oval shaped bruises and finger painted the entire family.

How do you abandon something stitched into the very fabric of your being? Being the Number One hero was his hereditary purpose. His father gave up on him so readily but Touya would have rather died than surrender when it got tough. Giving it up would be dying all the same.

Pain was a toll necessary for growth. He grew until his ambition and greed swallowed him whole. And now, there was you. A garden of weeds in his lungs. You were rooted into the capillaries and harvesting his yearning. Every time he coughed it felt like self immolation; a cruel cycle he can not stop repeating.

Hanahaki discriminates. It happens to those who feel deeply, people whose hearts are hemmed by the ones they love. Dabi is selfish but more than that he is lonely, and you’re the one good thing he has in this shit hole.

Accepting the surgery would just be another loss. A surrender. It wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things; Dabi is going to die either way. A walking corpse. Skin, esophagus, tear ducts, tissue— his fire burns all of it. Deep within him, eating away at his soft insides like dry grass. And what withstands that heat are the seeds you have unknowingly sown.

There is something disturbingly satisfying about carrying a piece of you to the grave with him, flowers proliferating around the earth that houses him. Call him twisted. It isn’t as if he’s unaware he’s got a few loose screws— he also has no desire to get better.

The silence is broken by the quiet scratch of pen to paper. Doctor Tereda offers a thin smile and slides a prescription across the table, signed and ready to be collected. “Here. This should help with the pain for at least a week or two. We know how easily you burn through medication so… don’t take too long to make your decision,” she hesitates before shaking her head. “And go to the emergency room if your breathing worsens”.

Dabi eyes her suspiciously, grabbing the slip and shoving it into his coat pocket. Worrying at his lower lip he offers her a short nod, the ‘thanks’ implied.

As he turns and makes his way toward the door, Dabi pauses just before turning the handle. He doesn’t look back as he mutters, “Keep this to yourself, yeah? That means no putting it on my records”.

Tereda hums curiously, “No one else has access to your records”.

He scoffed, turning his wrist and pulling the old door to demonstrate his point; a groan reverberates throughout the room as it opens, “Yeah right. This is hardly a fine establishment”.

“I resent that!”

Dabi strides through the familiar corridor toward the waiting room, ignoring Tereda’s indignant shout. He wasn’t off the mark about how shoddy the place is— atleast, in comparison to other medical centres. The building is small and narrow. It was built during the pre quirk era and handed off to the quirkless by the government to honour their status. The whole thing stank of ridicule and it pissed him off the more he thought about it.

You’re exactly where he expects you to be. Sitting pretty at your desk, twiddling your thumbs, keeping watch over the empty space and quietly mumbling some melody from Mount Lady’s latest hair care advert over the unremitting whirr of the fan above.

A laugh bubbles in his chest, drawing your attention, and it chokes him in effort to smother the sound. You are alarmingly predictable. There, plain as day on your computer screen, are his supposedly secure medical records.

Dabi pressed the heel of his hand to his sternum as he violently coughed. You’re talking to him now, on your feet and rubbing along his back. A viscous lump of petals forces its way into his throat and he feels his quirk react. Still, you don’t pull away.

“Deep breath,” God, that’d be nice. “You’re okay. I’ll get you some water,” Don't go.

You stop and let him drag you back by the wrist. He rights himself on his feet and forces the flowers down. “I’m—” bile stings the back of his mouth and he gags, turning his face into his coat collar to hide a grimace.

Dabi exhales and it sounds so thin. “Fuck. I’m fine. Don’t start,” he croaks, hardly convincing. Rooting through his pocket, he shoves his prescription slip forward to distract you, the paper crumpled into a small ball. “Doc gave me a prescription. It’s just a chest infection”.

He lingers and observes as you unwrinkle it. You’re careful to smooth out each corner and wrinkle. The tension swells as the silence stretches. He tempers the urge to snatch it back.

You squint at him, “A dosage this high for a chest infection?”

He shrugs and reaches over his head to yank his coat hood forward. “Doctor’s orders”.

After a beat, you relent and glance over to give him an exasperated smile, “Whatever. As long as it helps clear your lungs. You freaked me out last night with all that wheezing”.

You begin switching off your monitors, patting down at your pockets for the keys. To synchronise with the end of your shift, Dabi purposely chose the last appointment. That was another thing he has been doing a lot— trying to fit his life around yours.

“Watching me sleep now, perv?”

“Yeah. I love when a guy sounds like a punctured squeaky toy, really gets me worked up,” you drawl, falling in line with him after turning off the lights and checking the locks. Tereda would close up the rest.

You brought a tonal shift to his life he couldn’t have anticipated; enough that he regularly spent nights crashing on your couch to wait out the bad weather. There was something about you from the beginning that he couldn’t put a finger on. Nothing as simple as your attractiveness— you had a good heart, but not by society's standards, much like Twice.

A quick internet search would pull up listings of buildings he had burned and the trail of bodies left in his wake. But it didn’t matter. Villain, vigilante, hero, a person is a person, even him.

That first meeting, winter settling in, you admitted to him you were quirkless. A shitty olive branch effort, he’s sure. That whole instinctual radar that comes with being a misfit in this world. You left a strong impression. He recalls how he gave you the name Dabi, cackling harshly as if he were leaving you with a ticking time bomb, and you simply said: “Maybe I’ll see you again. Hopefully without all the blood, next time”.

He latched on and desperately wanted to hate you for it. Yet your arm is linking through his once again, pressed close to his side as the rain hammers down onto the empty street, and everything he can’t bring himself to say has taken root in his windpipe.

“Wanna come up?”

“For coffee?” he swipes his tongue over his teeth, raising a suggestive brow. Your offer is as innocent as it always is, and the sight of you flustered is as welcome as ever.

“Tea, actually,” is your poorly veiled response.

Dabi knows he’s getting too comfortable. You might be quirkless but you’re not stupid. Infact, at times you’re unsettlingly perceptive; his only mercy is that you are too nice to pry.

He should tell you ‘no’. Giran could probably set him up. He might even get away with crashing at the bar. Instead he says, “Not like I’ve got anywhere else to be”.

Your apartment building is nothing to write home about. Slightly run down, maintained by residents rather than their pig landlords. It stands shorter than the neighbouring buildings, the entire right side eaten by withered wisteria. Nobody bats an eyelid at his appearance in a place like this.

Inside is a mirror of the outside. Unremarkable in every way, yet he feels remarkably at home. You go in first, kicking off your shoes without bothering to line them up, waddling to the narrow linen closet in the hallway. You’ve managed to cram a dryer right beneath the shelves, since there was barely any space elsewhere.

“I can grab you something to wear while I put our stuff on a spin”.

The rain sticks to his forehead, thin streaks of black dye running down his temple. Grinning, you hand him an old towel, already stained and fraying at the hem, “You look harmless like this. Like a wet cat”.

He pats carelessly at his face while shucking off his coat. The nerves are long dead and it’s painless. You squawk when the heavy fabric hits the genkan floor with a wet slap. “Dabi!”

“That’s what you get,” he rolls his neck and bends to untie his boots, the towel thrown over his shoulder. “Harmless. I burned down a money laundering front just a few hours ago”.

“I saw it on the news. You’re such a dickhead,” you laugh, heading into the kitchenette. “There was no good reason for you to melt the asphalt of that entire city block”.

A smile works its way onto his face. Gross. “Can’t have them mistaking me for a good guy”.

“You are a good guy”.

“You’re delusional,” he shoots back, an unbearable fondness swelling in his chest. The pressure is the worst part. Spools of vine and leafy green pierced into lung tissue, stems squeezing through his rib cage.

You’ve been staring at him for too long. That sweet smile hasn’t wavered. Dabi clears his throat, first to dispel the awkwardness he feels and then again as a stray petal sticks to his throat. It brushes against his tonsils and he quickly covers his mouth.

“Sure you’re okay?” your voice is quiet, testing the waters.

A fingernail catches on a staple by his chin as his hand drags down his face, answering on an exhale, “Fine. Stop asking. Didn’t you say something about tea?”

“Can’t help it,” you huff, shutting the overhead cupboard with too much force. "You’re not a good liar, you know”.

Dabi gives a dismissive wave and heads over to the couch. The distance is barely four strides but he manages to unbuckle his belt, jeans unbuttoned and falling loose around his hips. Kicking them off with little to no grace, your eyes are heavy on his back as he pulls his shirt over his head and throws it at the laundry pile tucked away near your bathroom.

The quaint studio can barely house you, never mind him. Dabi was always small for his age but here it feels like he could stretch and touch every wall.

You’re moving in his periphery, following his lead and gradually revealing swaths of bare skin. You’ve seen him half naked before, in the clinic, but never the reverse. Dabi swallows thickly, ignoring the intimate atmosphere he unintentionally created. The kettle is electric and he takes comfort in the loud gurgling sound that comes with it, fixing his gaze on the blank TV screen.

“You can turn it on, you know. You are allowed,” you coaxed, voice warm and teasing. You’ve rummaged through the pile of clothes and found a hoodie that falls below your hips. “Or are you just going to sit there with your dick out?”

“You fucking wish,” he objected, reaching for the remote. Is it? His eyes fall to his lap. No, it isn’t.

He slouches, reclining into the cushions as some old rerun of Mighty Man plays. “Hey,” idly picking at a loose thread, he asks, “do you get many people come through with hanahaki?”

That gives you pause, and immediately he regrets asking. It’s hardly a common question. Hell, a good percentage of the population thought it to be an old wives tale, even in the wake of quirks. There was no plausible excuse as to why it would be on his mind.

Cautious in your approach, you stop by the couch with a steaming mug cradled in your hands. He sees those naked thighs, soft and uniquely yours. “Is… is that why you’ve been coughing?”

“No,” Dabi scoffs. In one forceful yank he rips the seam open and watches the foam innards spill out. You linger, weight shifting between your feet, and irritation prickles under his skin. “Who the hell do you think I would be chucking up flowers for? Not like I’ve got friends”.

Your shoulders lose tension and he tries not to think too hard about it; he doesn’t want to know. He feels his own airways clear at the sound of your laughter, “I dunno. Stain, maybe?”

Pursing his lips, he sucks back the copper from between his teeth, “Fuck you”. You try to smile. You pass his tea and he forgoes the handle. The warmth of the mug seemed to seep into his bones and ease the ache.

“Right right. Big bad villain. I forgot you’re supposed to be an empty husk without a heart,” you teased, sitting unnecessarily close and burying your feet beneath his thigh, careful not to touch his staples. The hoodie slips and pools around your hips. Dabi’s throat constricts as his body goes rigid. “Ah shit. Are my toes cold? Want me to grab a blanket?”

Forcing himself lax he clicks his tongue and tastes iron, grip tightening on his mug as he brings it to his lips. “Doesn’t matter. I run cold anyway”.

The tea is soothing. Sweet for a ginger tea— brown sugar, maybe. You must’ve boiled it for his sore throat. Molasses swirl on his tongue. They wash down the blood and clean his palette. A smooth, mellowed out aroma fills his senses and overpowers the delicate anise fragrance lingering at the back of his throat.

You concede, tucking your knees under your chin and regarding him with that look again. The one that feels as if you’re reading him like a page in a book. He has never been the type to worry about appearances but when it’s you he can’t help wondering what you think of him.

A cartoonish explosion fills the room with streams of orange and yellow as the episode comes to the halfway point. The light paints your silhouette gold, reflecting in your irises as they retract from the brightness.

Taking another gulp, he winced at the sharp twist in his chest. Two weeks was generous and Tereda knew it. He’s already vomiting full flowers. Corpses make for fertile soil, apparently. He read that somewhere online while he searched for information on morning glories; you are fast growing and frost tender.

A soft note breaks the silence and your toes start to wriggle. “I can hear you thinking. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

Despite what you thought, he was a good liar. To those around him but most of all to himself. This is when he should retaliate with a biting comment and keep the equilibrium. He would, if not for the wave of heat that rolls through him at your words, and how obviously you felt it displace the air.

Dabi can lie. His body can not.

“Just that thing you said earlier, about being an empty husk,” he begins, bringing the warm mug to rest against his sternum, incognisant to the ring of heat stinging his skin.

Your expression wanes with regret and he hates it. “I was joking—”

“If you say sorry I’ll burn your couch to a crisp,” he fumes. Vulnerability made him defensive. Angry. It felt like cold air blowing on exposed muscle. “Didn’t ask for a meaningless apology”.

Deep in the cavity of his ribs another bud unfurls. Your patience with him is not endless but it is more than he deserves.

“Then what are you asking?”

Nausea curdled in his stomach. He feels it climb his gullet. “Guess I wondered what you really thought”.

“About…?”

He snarls, hackles raised. “Do I have to spell it out?”

A few beats pass. Your answer comes in a gentle murmur. “Well, our capacity to hate reflects our capacity to love. So, yeah. I do think you’ve got a pretty big heart. It’s just a bit bruised up”.

“Jesus,” he mutters. The worst part is you’re being entirely honest. His knees spread as his hips shift, the after credits begin to roll and reflect off the sutures around his thighs. It reminds him that he is half naked, literally and figuratively. “Forget I said anything. I need a smoke”.

“No smoking,” you bat lightly at his shoulder. “Not until you’re better. If I catch you I’ll kill you before that cough does”.

And isn’t that fucking hilarious.

Pressure prickles behind his eyes that he can never relieve. There’s a florid mass in his thoat; his pulse is thrumming now, singing in his ears. He needs to throw up.

You shout after him as he stumbles over toward your bathroom. He slams the door behind him, hears you curse as his ceramic mug hits the floor and breaks. This isn’t romance, or a fairytale. It isn’t like it is in the movies.

Lifting his fist, he brings it down hard on his sternum. The force barrels him over and he retches. Sour, viscous threads of saliva drip from his mouth into the toilet bowl, but nothing more comes up.

You’re banging at the walls. “Dabi, open up!”

Dabi lurches again, forcing a deep cough and watching a few small heart shaped petals dance in the air as they free fall. Again, collapsing to his knees, he can taste your ginger tea. He vomits a clump of bloomed morning glories, wrinkled and smooshed into a misshapen ball. Blood muddies the water.

Another knock, this one somewhat pitiful. There’s a soft noise that sounds like you’re sliding down the door. “Please don’t make me break this open. My landlord will kill me”.

Trembling. Dabi reaches his fingers into his mouth and feels around the teeth to dislodge what was left. Settling back on his feet, his hand uncurls like a slow sprouting shoot and reveals another morning glory in the shallow of his palm.

Colour streaks across his vision, filled with hazy undulations. White noise drowns out the frantic tone of your voice. Mouth hung open, Dabi inhales until his lungs bloat, and keeps it held until the lights begin to fade.

His consciousness tips from one dream to another. When he wakes up on his back surrounded by soft, freshly washed sheets. A sigh escapes his lips as he turns into the downy pillow beneath his head. It smells like you.

Fingers comb through his hair, pushing the bangs away from his forehead. It’s then that he notices the mattress dipped towards the weight of another.

Dabi squints, prying his eyes open. You’re laid beside him. At first he considers that he’s dreaming, but you feel so real. Your thumb strokes over his cheek in a tender back and forth motion, “You comfy?”

“Better than the couch,” he rasps. There’s an awful taste in his mouth. Intermingling mint and copper. “Did you brush my teeth or something?”

“I rinsed your mouth out,” you admit bashfully. Now that he’s looking he notices your eyes are red. Puffy like you’d been crying. Your smile fractured as you added, “I had to make sure nothing else was stuck”.

Realisation creeps in slowly. It’s gentle with him, like you are, acclimating him to reality. Just like that— you know.

“How’d you get me in here?” he deflects.

You prop yourself up on your elbow and reach to trace the topography of his scarred chest. His breathing stutters and your fingers stop right over his heart.

“Might’ve pulled a muscle or two but it wasn’t so hard. You weigh almost nothing,” you reply. Quiet, as though you were afraid to break the illusion. “Kinda concerning but it seems you have bigger stuff to worry about already, huh?”

Eyes falling closed, he inhales, counting to three. He replies on the end of a long exhale, “Didn't want you to know”.

“Tereda does?”

Dabi nods and the movement knocks his brain loose. He hisses at the throbbing pain. You take him into your palms with a frown, “You hit your head on the way down. You’ll have to come in with me again in the morning”.

“Fuck that,” he groans. You tap at his temple and pout your lips, glaring disapprovingly. “You can’t make me”.

“I can and I will,” his eyes widened at the crack in your voice. Tears gather along your lash line and you sniff harshly, “You could have died, Dabi. And now you might have a head injury. How the hell could you not tell—?!”

“Alright, alright. Shit,” uncharacteristic of him, Dabi let himself have this. His hand cups round your neck and brings you down into his bare chest. He hushes you softly, running his palm down the length of your spine, wrapping you in a clumsy embrace. “Don’t cry about it”.

You settle into the crook of his neck, nose bumping his jaw as you turn to speak, and he suppresses a shudder. “Don’t cry about it,” you repeat mockingly. “You really have no idea, do you?”

“Enlighten me”.

Frustration bursts, and you lift your head to look at him. You’re so close. “I care about you, idiot. I don’t want you dead on my bathroom floor! Sue me!”

Dabi cracks a crooked smile. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me”.

“Who is it?”

And he sours, his stare fixed on the ceiling above. “Does it matter?”

“It matters,” you lean over him until all he can see is you. “…Is it me?”

There’s an echo in his ribs; a phantom knife’s twist. Sure, Dabi is a good liar, he thinks. Touya never was. Touya wore his heart on his sleeve. He was terrible at concealing his hurt. Dabi tries to find the words and comes up short.

The silence is answer enough. Your mouth wobbles and you nestle back into his neck before he can see you cry in earnest. “You are so fucking stupid, Dabi”.

Despite the seriousness he laughs, tucks his nose to your crown and tightens his hold around your waist. He’s only ever imagined what your weight would feel like pressed against him like this. Maybe he’s imagining it, but his lungs are lighter.

“What did Doctor Tereda advise you to do?”

He pouts where you cannot see it. He doesn’t want to think about that quack right now. “She told me either I get the surgery and go to therapy, or I get the symptoms to calm down with therapy on its own”.

“Of course you’d…” you huff. “She didn’t tell you to talk to me?”

“That too,” he shrugs, grinning at the warning press of your teeth to his throat. It’s disturbing how comfortably you both fell into place. A soft kiss replaces your bite, and he holds his breath.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” you tell him, kisses trailing up his jugular to his cheek, unperturbed by the scar tissue and metal in his skin, or the tremors rumbling through his body. “I’m sure there’s no way in hell I can get you to agree to therapy. So instead I’m going to take you out on a few dates and see how your symptoms change”.

Dabi’s mouth opens for air and your lips brush, stealing his breath. “What the fuck?” he says. “Why?”

There’s no point, he wants to tell you. It won’t change a thing.

“Because I want you to believe me,” you murmur, nose knocking his own. Inexplicably drawn to you, Dabi tilts up to align your mouths again, barely a kiss. “If you die it won’t be because of me. And I atleast want you to go out knowing that I love you too”.

The swell in his throat is different this time. He has never been so glad about his inability to cry. Dabi grins, wide and all teeth, pushing the staples in his cheeks up by his eyes. “There’s something really wrong with you, you know that?”

“No kidding,” you laugh. “Guess we make a good pair”.

BETRAYAL

a/n: happy (belated) birthday my burnt chicken nugget. also @ninjamomo is my personal hype-woman so thank her for this too, thank you

warnings: prohero!reader; literal m*rder; major character death; dabi’s real name; choking; violence; swearing; 4k of angst

“i should have seen this coming,” dabi snarled, his black boot pressing onto your chest as he towered over you, hands in his pockets, “i should’ve known”

you stared up at his dark figure, eyes narrowing at him. the damp ground underneath you was cold, you could feel your clothes absorbing some of the water, sticking against your skin. pebbles pressed against your back, the weight of the villains foot drove them deeper into your body with every passing second.

“any last words, hero?”

you couldn’t see how he had his fists clenched, fingernails digging deep into his skin. he looked at you with hatred, disgust — a look you knew he would send you sooner or later and yet hurt so much.

would he believe you if you said you didn’t want this? would he believe you if you said you never wanted it to be like this? would he believe any word that would hush over your busted lip anymore?

“you don’t have to do this,” you replied calmly, completely contradicting your irregular heartbeat and pressed breaths.

you looked up at his hunched form, his jacket flowing due to the slight wind in the alley. dabi held his head high, his eyes looking at you with disgust and hate.

it has always been only a matter of time until you‘d be subjected to this look of his — a look that was reserved for his enemies and everybody else that would even dare to stand in his way. it was inevitable, obvious that one day you‘d be on the receiving end, you had told yourself this the moment you first came in contact with him. dabi was a villain, a threat to society, a threat to every person that was just peacefully living their life. he was your enemy.

you couldn’t die here. you had a responsibility, a duty to protect the people of this town, this country.

and yet you failed, disappointing everyone in the process. your colleagues, the commission, the civilians. your friends, your family.

“maybe i don’t. but i fucking want to,” the villain huffed through his clenched teeth, putting more of his bodyweight onto your chest, making you wince in pain, “theres nothing i want more than to see you cry out in pain, begging for me to make it stop. to put you out of your misery”

you should have never agreed to this mission, not like you had a choice anyways; not like you would’ve declined anyways. they needed you and who were you to turn your back on them?

looking back, you maybe should have. maybe then you wouldn’t be here with an infamous villain threatening you — killing you. you wouldn’t leave anybody behind, you wouldn’t have violated your duty and you wouldn’t have betrayed your colleagues and your cause.

you wouldn’t have played with the thought to turn your back on them.

how did it get this far?

the weight on your chest lifted and you greedily sucked in a deep breath, filling your lungs with air. yet before you could take in another, you were forcibly grabbed by the shoulders and pulled up, your back soon crashing into a brick wall. you pressed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to not wince in pain.

“maybe i should just set you on fire right here, right now,” dabi continued, one hand on your throat as he stretched the other one out dramatically, “do you think your little hero friend would manage to save you in time?”

you clenched your jaw, hands weakly pulling on the one on your throat.

he turned back to you, his second hand now also closing around your throat, pushing you further into the cold wall, a sadistic smile on his lips. “he’s supposed to be the fastest one after all, isn’t he?”

you kept quiet however, only struggling against the villain‘s hold. you could feel his hands heating up on your skin, eyes slightly widening when you felt the rise in temperature.

“i’m curious”

how could you let it get so far? how could you allow yourself to fall so deep, to betray everyone and mostly betray yourself? and how were you even supposed to live with yourself after this — if you somehow managed to get out of this hopeless situation, that is.

“then kill me. kill me right now and find out,” you managed to reply, keeping your eyes on his face. you knew that you had no way of possibly getting out of this. dabi knew what you did, he knew who you were and he knew why you were with the league, with him. and no matter what, there was no way dabi would forgive you for this.

yet you couldn’t stop yourself from hoping that he would.

the villain tilted his head, his heated hands cooling down. he scoffed. “so willing to die after all?”

no. yes. maybe. you weren’t sure.

no, you didn’t want to die. but could you live on like this, knowing what you did, knowing what you had thought? could you continue your life like this, mentally trying to convince yourself that you did the right thing, that you did what you had to, that no matter what, you did your duty and your duty as a hero came first. waking up every morning to the blank ceiling in your home, your blanket wrapped around your legs, as you tried to believe the mantra you repeated to yourself every day.

how could you stay a hero, smiling at clueless civilians, saving them from villains, knowing that you were no better? knowing that you had considered leaving your hero self behind, leaving your entire life behind? knowing how your entire life you romanticized a flawed and corrupt system and even chose to become a part of it?

but did any of this even matter? at the end of the day, it wasn’t your choice, wasn’t it? your life laid in the hands of the villain in front of you whose hands were literally on your throat.

you closed your eyes in resignation. maybe it was for the best, you thought, slowly coming to terms with your reality. was this your punishment for betraying your morals? “if you could do me one last favor? do it quick”

dabi slightly furrowed his eyebrows. he didn’t want to admit it, but this was the first time he had seen you so passive. it wasn’t like you to not fight, to not yell, to act so defeated. where was your fire, your passion? how dare you not fight back? how dare you be so dejected? you were supposed to give him everything you got, you were supposed to show him just why and how you became a hero, you were supposed to protect yourself and defend yourself, your honor, your pride? how dare you to give him nothing?

how dare you to betray him for nothing?

“give me one reason why i should” dabi clicked his tongue, squeezing your throat. “one fucking reason”

he wanted to hear you plead, beg for your life. give him any reason, your duty, your family, friends, anything and he wouldn’t care. he wanted you to be hopeful, he might even play along and consider allowing you to walk away with severe injuries but still alive. he wanted to see the hope rise in your eyes before he would crush it with his own hands.

you should feel hurt, hopeless, betrayed.

however, what you said, caught dabi by surprise. “you love me,” you stated calmly, eyes piercing through his turquoise ones.

you don’t know what you expected, you don’t even know why you said it. after all, you embodied the very thing he despised more than anything, the one thing he swore to destroy. a shiny hero, adored by the public, that is nothing more than a cruel puppet, willing to do anything to bring the very same people down, that the system you protected with your life, failed to save.

disgusting. why would he love you?

“i don’t,” the villain shot back immediately, voice filled with fury. bringing his head next to yours, you could feel his warm breath on your ear as he continued. “i never did,” he spat angrily.

there was something about him that made you question him. the way his eye twitched, how he pressed his teeth together, how his grip on you tightened, pressing you hard against the concrete wall, like he wanted to bury you inside of it.

“i don’t believe you,” you managed to choke out, shaking in his hold. in return, dabi narrowed his eyes at you, before throwing his head back and erupting in chaotic laughter.

“since when do heroes believe villains anyway? all we do is lie and betray,” he proclaimed, one of his hands letting go of your throat as he gestured into the empty alley, like he was on a stage, reciting a dramatic monologue.

after a few seconds dabi huffed and turned back to you, his lips curled into a sadistic smile, his eyes cold. “didn’t know a hero had it in them too,” he mocked you.

“you’ve lied a lot in your life, touya,” you stated, your words coming out pressed and barely audible as you gasped for air.

“but you can’t lie to me”

dabi — touya — was a lot. a criminal, a villain, a murderer, you knew that. just like he said, he was a liar too. he lied to get his way, he lied to lure people in and he lied just for the fun of it, just because he could. he lied to you too. he tried to put you on the wrong track, he lied to conceal the league’s plans from you because he didn’t trust you when you met, he lied just to annoy you.

but dabi forgot that after all the months you have spend together, you got to knew him and his habits. you inevitably grew closer, talked more and dare you even say understood each other‘s mannerisms. as much as he hated to admit it, you knew him just as well as he knew you.

“i always lie, to everyone,” the villain claimed boldly, the cold smile still on his lips. he sounded so condescending as he continued to mock you. “surely you’re not so arrogant to think that you’re an exception”

how dare you tell him that you know him? how dare you tell him that you don’t believe him? you lied, deceived, so why would you think he wouldn’t do the same?

“i’m going to fucking enjoy this”

“what’s there to enjoy”

much to your surprise, a laugh erupted from dabi.

“i wanted to kill you the moment you were brought to us,” he claimed, face inching closer to yours as he placed his hand on your cheek, the warmth of his palm sending shivers down your back. dabi hummed. “see the life drain out of your eyes and hear you scream like the pathetic thing you are”

“but you didn’t,” you replied stiffly, staring at the villain in front of you. his breath was hot on your lips, he was close, way too close given the situation you were in.

but you knew this look, you were familiar with how his scars looked up close, his triple pierced nostril and every patch of burned skin on his flesh.

“i didn’t,” he confirmed, nodding slightly. he ripped himself away from you right after, eyes narrowing again as he examined your face. the cold air hit you immediately, you felt like your cheeks were burning. “but no one can stop me now”

you tried to take a deep breath again, holding your chin high, trying your best to stand your ground. “then get it over with”

and again he laughed, his voice booming through the dark alley.

“why? i should drag this out, shouldn’t i?” he asked rhetorically, his mind already made up.

dabi wanted you like this. resigned, afraid, hopeless, at his mercy. looking at him with watchful eyes, over-analyzing every movement, no matter how small, and bracing yourself for the moment he would strike. you looked like a cornered animal, completely helpless. pathetic.

“a pro hero, right here, just willing to die by my hands. what a sight for sore eyes”

he smirked, inching his face closer to you again, only stopping when you could feel his hot breath on your ear. “that’s not something i get to enjoy every day”

“you’re torturing yourself”

dabi hummed again, much to your surprise even nodding his head slightly at your statement before shrugging. “who cares? nothing will satisfy me more than to kill you myself”

“then do it!” you screamed back, resisting against his hold of you again, only to earn a raised brow from the villain.

you knew he wouldn’t let you go, no matter what you were to say. threats, promises, nothing could persuade him. you were mere minutes away from death and nothing in your power could stop it from happening.

no one could stop it and no one would come to save you.

“go on. kill me. leave me here to rot for all i care. but when i‘m gone, there will be no one left who ever loved you“

from the very first moment you saw him, you knew who he was and what he had done, obviously you did. you had every piece of information available on every member of the league that you knew of. you knew their stories.

but him?

dabi was a blank space, a mystery. it was like he had just appeared one day, desperate to cause chaos and destruction wherever he went. and as much as you hated to admit it, that was what was so interesting about him, what almost drew you in. you wanted to know more, you needed to know more. what could make a person drive to kill innocents with seemingly no motive, haunt the streets of the city at night, causing panic wherever he went just because he could?

it wasn’t easy to find out more about him — mostly because nobody, not even the people that called themselves his friends, knew anything. he was a closed and locked book, nobody having the key to even read one page of him.

“shut up,” he shouted back, violently pushing you against the wall again. your head began to spin at the impact, vision flooding with a few tears before it cleared again. “shut the fuck up”

you didn’t know how you actually got closer to him and you certainly didn’t know why he decided to open up to you. was it some form of bait? was it genuine? at this point, you weren’t sure what you would prefer.

if it was nothing more than bait, trying to make you feel safe around him, trying to lure you in, you had to accept that the villain managed just that. he pulled you in and dragged you down, just like he had planned.

but what if it was genuine? what if he confided in you because he trusted you, because he believed that even though you were his enemy, something was different? that somehow you could leave this behind, that it didn’t matter and that you were someone he could trust. someone that wouldn’t ever betray him.

but at the end, you did. at heart, you were a hero after all, the commission‘s puppet, willing to protect the fragile legs your system stood on — not caring if you hurt people in the process and certainly not caring about the ones your system kicked away like trash.

all you knew was that he told you. he told you of the little boy touya. he told you of his family, his father. he told you about the shoes touya had to fill and how at the end it was so easy to just toss him aside.

and you comforted him, as much as you could. you showed sympathy and you felt pity. pity for the boy that wanted to become a hero more than anything, the boy that was turned away. a boy that was hurt so deeply that he had nothing left anymore.

“no one, touya”

what kind of person were you to exploit this very part of him?

“don’t call me that,” he demanded immediately, expression changing to one full of anger. there was no touya.

“that’s your name,” you only stated.

what were you trying to do? trying to appeal in the hopeful and ambitious boy inside of him? were you seriously hoping that this would change anything?

“touya died the day dabi was born,” the villain claimed loudly, eyes shut tightly as he spoke.

there was no more touya. touya died on a hill, leaving his childish dreams of being a hero and proving himself behind. dabi was all that mattered now. he found a new purpose, a goal in him and he would allow nothing and no one to stand in his way.

“i don’t believe you”

“i don’t care,” dabi spat back immediately, voice still booming as his palm heated up against your throat, your eyes widening when you felt the rapid rise in temperature, squirming in his hold. “it means jack shit to me”

you could hear how shallow his breathing was, how he tried to regain control of himself. slowly but surely his palm cooled down again.

“just like you” his eyes scanned your face again, narrowing slightly.

“hero” you knew of his, and frankly, the league‘s, distaste for you and your fellow heroes. the supposed protectors of society, yet the ones that cause the rise of villains in the first place. you saw how they rolled their eyes whenever someone even dared to mention a hero name, how their jaw clenched and how they loudly proclaimed that heroes were the true villains. but this was the first time that dabi had spat your profession, your cause, your entire being right at your feet.

“what are you waiting for?” you asked again, trying to ignore how heavy your chest felt.

the villain clicked his tongue and shook his head. “i’m surprised you care so little about your own life,” he said sighing. “aren’t you supposed to fight till the end?”

wasn’t this already the end? what was left for you to fight for? and even if you did, even if by some wonder you managed to escape what would you do? how could you return knowing you had betrayed everything you ever stood for?

“scared to kill me after all?”

and again, dabi shook his head, looking at you almost like he was about to claim that you didn’t know him like you claimed to after all. “scared?” he repeated, tilting his head. “i’m practically dying to see you go up in flames”

with a sadistic smile on his lips he looked around, eyes halting when he looked above you, analyzing the terrible state the building was in. “who knows, maybe i’ll set the house on fire too”

“you’re cruel,” you spat, shaking in his hold again.

dabi wasn’t surprised to see you attempting to fight back, even though you knew the fight was lost. a true hero at heart after all, willing to do everything in their power and even more to protect innocent civilians.

“and yet you love me,” he stated, eyes turning back to you. “now tell me, isn’t that cruel too? loving a ruthless murderer?”

it was. you hated it and you hated yourself for it. he was a villain, a murderer just like he said, someone who actively fought against everything you stood for, someone who was about to kill you and yet you loved him.

“you’re pathetic,” dabi spat, throwing your weak body onto the ground. you groaned when you collided with the wet asphalt, pain shooting through your every limb. your chest moved fast with every shallow breath you took, trying to regain your composure and clearing your clouded senses.

meanwhile dabi crouched down beside you, feigning sympathy at your pained expression. he reached out, his fingers softly caressing your cheek before gripping your chin harshly and forcing you to look at him.

“guess that is goodbye,” he sighed, purposefully giving you a sad look, before a smirk adorned his dry lips. igniting the palm of his hand he pointed it towards you. “after all, i never liked it when anybody interrupted us during our fun times”

the villain stood up, looking down at you with a cold expression, his earlier smile nowhere in sight. “burn in hell, hero”

you closed your eyes for just a second, silently apologizing for the things you‘ve done and the things you failed to do.

you apologized to your friends and family for leaving them behind like this, knowing the only closure that they were going to get was that you were murdered in an alleyway, supposedly by none other than the infamous dabi.

you apologized to your fellow heroes, because you knew how hard it could be to lose another hero, a colleague, a friend.

you apologized to hawks for compromising not just your but also his image with the league, effectively ending his cover and endangering your mission.

you apologized the hero commission, disappointed in yourself for failing them.

you apologized to touya for hurting him, betraying him. you never wanted for it to get this far.

you apologized to everyone because no matter how you looked at it, you betrayed them — hero or villain.

and lastly, you apologized to yourself, wanting nothing more than being able to forgive yourself for your inner chaos.

and yet, you couldn’t help but just wonder about how things might have been if you hadn’t agreed to this. you could have prevented so much pain on every side, so much distrust, so much hurt, so many lies.

you wouldn’t have forgotten who you were, what you stood for and what your duty was. you wouldn’t even have considered not only retiring as a hero, but going underground, fleeing from every promise you ever made, escaping from your duty. and if all of this wasn’t enough, you weren’t even ashamed to admit that you wanted to to it with a villain.

leaving this society behind, leaving everything behind that made you who you were to live out the rest of your days with a person that was the embodiment of everything that was wrong with the system you protected.

“i’ll wait for you, touya”

shortly after, dabi turned his back to the now charred body on the dirty floor, closing his eyes as he lazily walked away. kicking a pebble away with force, he hushed around a corner, disappearing into the shadows as he heard the first terrified scream from the poor soul that came across what used to be a beloved pro hero.

the image of you smiling as you spoke his last words to him clouded his mind, not allowing him to think about anything else but you.

you betrayed the league, you betrayed him. you used him. you lied to him.

the villain huffed in disgust, clicking his tongue. of course he was happy that you wouldn’t be there to bother him anymore. you couldn’t lie to him anymore, you couldn’t use him anymore.

you couldn’t hurt him anymore.

dabi was glad that you were gone — dead — and he was more than elated that he was there to see you as your life force burned away. after all, you were nothing but a way to get information, a puppet he could use to achieve his dream one day. you were part of a corrupt system, a willing participant, that used their shiny imagine to lure people in and prevent them from seeing what a bunch of hypocrites was actually hiding behind it.

only a dead hero was a good hero.

the sound of dabi‘s fist clashing with the tough concrete wall disrupted the comfortable silence he was walking in. with dull eyes the villain looked at his bruised knuckles, his already bloodied skin now turning even darker.

but why did you have to be a hero?

reblogs are appreciated

THE LOVE YOU GET IS EQUAL TO THE LOVE YOU GIVE | PART ONE

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!Reader Warnings/Tags: 18+ mdni, aged up characters, arranged marriage, dub con (just in case), body worship, oral + fingering (f!receiving), unprotected sex, edging, overstimulation, creampie, dacryphilia, just a dash of angst Word Count: 6.5k a/n: I’m not certain how many parts there will be, at least 3, maybe 4.  I wanted to get this part out at least before working on my next collab piece though.

Summary: When your parents arrange for you to wed Bakugou Katsuki, you start to actually fall for the brash hero, but no matter how hard you try to please him, you worry he’ll never feel the same for you, and you come to realize you desperately want him to.

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

You were getting married.

You were getting married to one, Bakugou Katsuki—the pro hero, Dynamight.

In reality it was a quirk marriage, but no one dared call it that.  Your parents and his insisted it was because they were worried about your prospective love lives, worried that you’d both end up alone if it were left up to you.  They only had your best interests at heart.

You still didn’t know how you felt about it—no, that was a lie—you were terrified.  You’d heard of Bakugou’s famed hot blooded temper and brooding attitude, and you, you were everything he wasn’t.  

You were meek, quiet, clumsy.  Your confidence was nowhere near as high as his.  Even your quirk, in your opinion, wasn’t all that great—even if your parents seemed to think it would match well with his.  

You had no real domestic skills; you were hopeless when it came to cooking or fixing things, and cleaning wasn’t exactly your strong suite, nor had you ever really excelled at your job either.  What could you offer Bakugou other than your quirk… or your body?  You felt like a piece of meat your parents had offered up to the wolves and it wasn’t fair.

Though, it wasn’t like you had many prospects on your own.  This was probably your only chance. 

The intrusive thought twisted your stomach.  Sure, you’d dated before, but nothing really serious.  Nothing that ever progressed farther than a second date or a one night stand.  In your family’s eyes you would soon be a spinster and they acted, pouncing on the marriage offer without even telling you first.

Keep reading

k. bakugou x reader

warnings: medieval au, angst with a somewhat happy ending, childhood friends to lovers (with some hiccups in between), brief mentions of death, morbid jokes, outdoor sex, p in v, fem-bodied reader, bkg calls you his ‘woman’ once

word count: 3k

notes: tbh i do not know where this came from. i had a very vague idea and ran with it, and here we are. hopefully everyone can enjoy it! (´͈ ᵕ `͈ ）

You’ve been traveling for so damn long, legs sore from the never ending trek, heels blistered from the rub of your boots, face chafed from the dry winds.

It could be worse, you suppose. The elements could be harsher. You’re lucky that it’s springtime and you’re not stuck in the dead of summer or winter. Plus, your company is better than most. It’s quiet between the two of you, as it has been for the last couple of years, but there’s no bickering, just a few snide comments borne of exhaustion. Truthfully, both of you are too tired to argue like you used to.

Suddenly, a rough hand shoots out to stop you in your tracks, and you look at Katsuki in alarm.

“Wha-”

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

His crimson eyes are fixed on something on the horizon. It’s nothing more than a glimmer to you, but if you squint…

“Is that…”

“Water.”

A river from the looks of it, beckoning you with open arms.

The two of you take off at a run (or the closest your aching bodies will allow), stumbling over dirt and grass until you’re at the edge of the glimmering stream. It babbles at you happily, splashing over rocks and caressing the earth around it.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” you half-joke. It is magnificent, but it still somehow pales in comparison to the man next to you who’s ripping his boots off. Not even this water could quench the craving you have for him.

“Gonna feel even better,” Katsuki mutters, glancing over at you then urging, “what, you shy? Take your clothes off n’ get in.”

Your cheeks heat at the demand but you end up doing just that. You haven’t bathed in god knows how long. The only water you had before was strictly for drinking no matter how much you had wanted to pour some over your head at times.

Like Katsuki, you pull your boots off first then shrug out of your outer layer of leather hide. Riding pants then your tunic. You hesitate at your undergarments, eyes darting to Katsuki’s already nude form as he drops to the ground and dips his legs in the river. His broad shoulders sag in relief, the wide expanse of his back exposed to the sunlight and glistening gold under the heat. You miss touching it, tracing over every pale scar, counting the stray freckles that dot his spine and ribs…

“Don’t be so awkward about it.” His voice snaps you out of your daydream. “Nothin’ I ain’t seen before.”

He’s right. It’s been a long time, but still. You’ve seen every inch of one another in the past, patching up training wounds then brushing lips over them.

“Don’t be so pushy,” you mumble, finally pushing your underwear down and taking off the wrap around your chest. Taking a deep, unencumbered breath, you let a small smile creep onto your face. The wind feels nice for once, cooling your skin that’s been sticky with sweat for what feels like forever.

Katsuki is standing now, up to his hips in the water, and holds a hand out for you. He doesn’t bother averting his eyes, only ever having been a gentleman when it’s suited him and apparently this is not one of those times.

It’s chilly at first, but after submerging your whole body, wetting your hair, the temperature is more than pleasant.

“Gods, that feels good,” you groan, scratching your nails over your dripping arms to scrub away as much grime as you can.

Katsuki dunks his head under, shakes his hair like a dog when he straightens up and pelts you in the face with stray drops. You splash him in return and initiate a small war, both of you now in a rare giddy mood despite your terrible circumstances.

The village was the only place you’d known. You spent your days like most of the other kids, tending to the land and training. It didn’t matter if you were a boy or a girl or whose house you came from. Everyone had to learn to fight, to brandish sword and shield and be ready to raise both in the event of a raid.

In the end that training hadn’t helped. What’s a few blades against a mountain of fire? How can a shield defend a burning corpse?

When all was lost—your mother, father, and the tiny shack you called home, you were ready to give up. Flames licked at your face, and smoke filled your lungs, but a familiar hand tugged you up from your knees and pulled, dragging you as he ran.

Out of the entire village, you and Katsuki are the only survivors.

You’ve thought about the event since your journey to the kingdom began, but in this moment, as the two of you fling water at each other, you don’t think about it at all. All you see is Katsuki’s sharp smile, the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the lightheartedness displayed on his face.

Even when you were kids Katsuki was a little severe. He was loud and abrasive and always scowling. Most of the other children were scared of him, but you never were. Where others saw rabid animal you saw a lonely boy who needed a friend, and you were more than happy to be that friend.

You were just training buddies at first and then your families began sharing meals, trading eggs for milk, splitting chores. Other families in the village had been doing the same for ages, but it had taken meeting Katsuki and his parents for yours to make the same connection.

Swapping meals turned to swapping stories, playing pretend, exploring the tall grasses and woods, and when both of you grew older it all progressed into something much more. Kisses under the moonlight, wildflowers at your window, nervous hands brushing over bare bodies.

Your parents knew and didn’t mind. The assumption was that you and Katsuki would start a family of your own, raise your own strong, passionate children.

Katsuki had other plans, though. A secret he had kept for years.

You’re going to leave me to fight for a king that doesn't care about us? Who keeps us pressed into the dirt with the toe of his boot?

I’m trying to make sure you’re okay! That everyone’ll be taken care of!

Everyone is fine here! We have land we can farm! We have stock to eat and water to drink!

How’s that enough for you?!

Your voices were raised, echoing through the trees that usually hid your late night escapades. Now they hid the end of them.

There was a town nearby. Small but bigger than the village. It had stone streets and places to shop, shelter that would actually keep you dry during storms and warm during winter. If Katsuki became a soldier, he’d be able to move you and his family there.

His family but not yours.

It simply wasn’t an option. You couldn’t leave them behind, and you were appalled that Katsuki would even suggest it. So that was it. That was your last real conversation. Everything else was about milk or eggs or crops. There was nothing left to say. Even when months passed and Katsuki didn’t leave the village you had no words for him, afraid to get reattached only to lose him.

Now, though, in the cleansing waters, it feels like you have everything to say, words that have been stuck in your throat since he pulled you from the cinders of your ruined village.

You watch him from the corner of your eye as he rubs his palms down his chest, nails reddening the muscles of his abdomen then scratching at the trail of hair that travels from his belly button to the water.

“Enjoying the view?” he chuckles, laugh growing when you whip your head away from him. “S’okay. I’m lookin’ too.”

That only makes you turn all the way around, crossing your arms over your breasts as the place between your legs begins to throb. He’s looking at you like that? After everything?

You take a shuddering breath, squeeze your eyes shut tight when you feel him touch your hip.

“Don’t.”

His thick fingers curl around the curved bone.

“Kat…”

“Why?” His voice is low, right behind you so that you feel the question on the nape of your neck.

“Because,” you sigh, “I don’t want you to just because you don’t have any other options. Just because it’s only us.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

His other hand is on you now, both reaching around your waist to lock right above your pelvis.

“Why’d you stop talkin’ to me? Why didn’t we ever make up?”

“Why didn’t you ever leave?” you counter.

He goes rigid, arms tightening around you. “Didn’t want to.” Then, much quieter, “didn’t wanna leave you.”

The words hit you right in the chest, ricocheting in your ribcage. You wiggle to turn in his grasp, eyes wide as they stare into his.

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

Katsuki frowns. One of those deep frowns. “You wouldn’t give me time of day! Any time you saw me you’d turn around. Could barely fuckin’ look at me.”

“Can you blame me?” You pull yourself out of his arms. “You wanted me to leave my parents behind. You wanted me to leave everything behind!”

“I wanted you to be taken care of! I wanted to take care of you!

You scoff. “I can take care of myself, Katsuki.”

“I know you can, but so can I. And I should,” he rasps. He looks more emotional than you’ve ever seen him, hair plastered to his forehead, water streaming into his pleading eyes. “I should be your husband by now.”

Your brain shuts down momentarily, unsure if you actually heard what he just said. He still wants to marry you?

“Of course I still wanna marry you!” Must have said that out loud. “I still wanna do everything with you. I’d walk through hell if I got to do it with you.”

Don’t cry. Do not cry. Do not show that you’ve been waiting to hear those words since that last fight.

He wipes a tear from under your eye with a calloused thumb, expression softening.

“Well,” you clear your throat, “I guess you’re in luck since we’re going through hell right now. Burnt village. Dead families…”

“Probably gonna get thrown in the dungeons when we get to the palace,” he adds casually. “King doesn’t take too kindly to outsiders.”

“Will you still think I’m pretty when rats start nibbling on my toes?” It’s dark to joke about. But life has not been kind to you as of late, and even in the midst of all of your fear and grief, you’re finally able to crack a smile (sad as it may be), and your stomach flips the way it used to.

“I’ll still think you’re pretty when they eat your face,” he tells you, caressing your cheek. It’s so sincere that it makes you laugh.

“That’s absurd.”

“What’s absurd is that I haven’t kissed you in a god damn eternity.”

You nearly tackle him into the water, arms around his neck as he catches you with a small ‘oof’, and even though the entire top half of your body is exposed to the air, it still feels like you’re entirely submerged. Drowning in Katsuki without want for oxygen.

His lips are chapped just like yours, yet they’re the softest thing you’ve ever felt. Gentle even with hungry teeth, tender even with his greedy tongue.

The water, once cool, feels boiling, like your bodies are giving off steam. His hands grab at your ass, fingertips digging into the fat of it before he lifts you to set you on the riverbank.

You immediately lock your legs around him, like you’re scared of him suddenly disappearing, but Katsuki attaches himself to you in the form of his mouth on your skin, nipping down your neck, sucking bruises down your shoulder and collarbone.

Frantic fingers find their way between your legs, grazing the inside of your thighs before softly brushing your sensitive folds.

“Missed you so much,” Katsuki grumbles, lowering himself in order to take one of your nipples into his mouth.

You hold his head tightly, pulling him further into you. “I missed you too, Kat. So much.”

The first finger sinks into your heat, making you whimper in satisfaction. Katsuki continues to suck on your hardened bud, swirling his tongue around it to distract you from the stretch of his second finger and the slight burn that comes with it.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

“I know, I know, I got you.” He uses a thumb to massage your clit, your legs trembling as your body begins to open up for him. “Can’t wait to feel your cunt again.”

“I’m ready,” you tell him. “I want you, please…”

“Not yet, sweetheart. I want you dripping’ before I give you my cock.”

You whine, thighs flexing around his waist. You aren’t giving him much room to work with, but you can’t stand the thought of letting him go. His hand is pressed tightly against you, fingers so deep in your pussy as he pumps and curls them. He finds your spot as if he had just touched you yesterday, always so good at reading you, and kisses your throat when you throw your head back.

He abuses the spongy tissue until you’re leaking into the water below, moaning his name and pulling his hair.

“Please, please, need you, Kat.”

He chuckles, an almost condescending, “shh shh, baby. It’s okay.”

He lines himself up and pushes in slowly—so slowly—his thick cock spreading your gummy walls. He feels impossibly large after so long apart, his tip alone stretching your entrance thin so that you scrunch your eyes shut.

“Feel so good already,” Katsuki groans. He pushes his hips forward, and even through the burn your body sucks him in further, begging for more.

“Takin’ me so well, fuck…”

Once he’s bottomed out, Katsuki stays still for several seconds, and your cunt clenches around him automatically, still trying to adjust to his size.

A slow rhythm to start, steady thrusts that drag along your walls and gently slide over your most sensitive spot. Moans stay caught in your throat, mouth open, and you know that as soon as you start making noise you won’t be able to stop.

Katsuki begins moving his hips faster, making the water splash around you on the bank. The chill of it is a stark contrast from the heat of Katsuki’s body and the affectionate burn in your chest.

His strong hands wrap around your head, holding you as he kisses you fiercely. His rhythm stutters, but his lips move against yours perfectly, forming the words, “I love you,” so desperately that it makes you ache. “I love you, I love you. I never stopped.”

“I love you too,” you breathe heavily into him, muscles tightening with every pointed thrust. Your sticky slickness drips out of you, making the slide of his cock effortless. He feels so good, so deep inside you the way he’s supposed to be. Always supposed to be.

“Squeezin’ me so sweet,” he croons, jaw dropping open as he loses himself in sensation. “Always so sweet to me…”

The feeling of his fingers on your clit again is enough to send you over the edge, your nails digging semi-circles into his back as you cry his name loud enough to echo in the emptiness around you.

The rhythmic pulsing of your orgasm milks the cum from Katsuki’s cock, the warmth of it coating your insides, filling you to the brim. He gasps with every thick string he shoots into you until he’s finally dry.

You let him rest his head on your shoulder for some time, giving you both a chance to catch your breath before you pull him out of the water and topple over into the grass.

The sun is setting, the sky painted orange and pink in the afterglow of yet another day. You admire the way it shines over the treetops, the rays of it bathing you in such a comforting way. Everything will be okay, you think. We can survive as long as we’re together.

“Guess I should go find us some food,” Katsuki eventually muses, adding a smirking, “gotta make sure my woman stays fed.”

You roll your eyes and give him a light shove. “Your woman can feed herself, thank you very much.”

“Don’t I know it,” he grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “Never seen you so cock-hungry.”

“Oh my gods, Katsuki!”

“I’m just sayin’!” he laughs. More like cackles.

Your glare holds no weight, but you still suck your teeth at him and mumble, “think I’d prefer the rats over this.”

“Won’t be nearly as filling as—”

You cut him off by rolling on top of him and covering his mouth with yours. “Stop talking.”

He hums, settling his hands on the small of your back. “Only if you keep doin’ this.”

“I will if you keep your promise to marry me.”

“Second I can, I will.”

2023©️shdo-xplosion. please do not plagiarize, alter, or repost my work to any other platforms.

chapter 0 : top-ultra-super-ultra-secret-mission.

no quirk au, mentions of fighting and violence, the yakuza and my very little knowledge of it (msorry yall,,i know about the video games :>..!), gang violence, found family trope my love, crime syndicate boss daughter! reader, badboy bodyguard! katsuki x fem reader, sunshine reader, reader is a sweetheart but a little bratty, CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LUVERS TROPE MY STAR, almost polar opposites, you get off on the wrong foot at first so kinndaa enemies to friends, reader has a last name but it will be explained later, original characters, all might is a fictional character, one piece easter egg lol, food n cookies ! katsuki gets recruited into a crime syndicate at eleven years old, but he doesn't do any fightin till a years later !, lemme know if i missed sum (might add more in future chapters !)

katsuki doesn't remember anything besides his own bloody and bruised knuckles.

it's all he remembers and all he's known his entire life. where he comes from you gotta fight to survive and every dispute was resolved with conflict. bloody fists and busted lips was all he grew up with until the age of 11 years old.

the orphanage he'd lived in for years didn't help in reinforcing that point : the place was neglected, faded and crumbling like a mansion in a horror movie. he'd heard so many rumors going around the halls that the place was haunted. none of the adults bothered to shut it down but they didn't bother to take care of them either, so katsuki didn't expect much from them. katsuki wouldn't be able to count the amount of times their caretakers, if you could even call them that, let him and his housemates run off without supervision on both hands and feet. their disinterested eyes occasionally glancing at the poor kid getting ganged up on by kids twice his size and age.

"if you don't pull your weight around here, you're deadmeat." katsuki remembers an older boy, his roommate at the time, saying to him. he hasn't seen the boy in years and katsuki is sure that wherever he fucked off to was miles better than the shithole he currently lives in.

fights weren't uncommon either. petty fights over pudding were often brought to the communal area, ranging from food fights to all out brawls. power struggles between kids where mostly for dominance, to show others who was the boss. it was all for the sake of a survival kids their ages shouldn't have known, one that they shouldn't have been desensitized to.

the disinterest of the staff members meant that the kids could run wild, running amok around the city streets as if they owned them. stealing and fighting, forming groups and alliances only for those who lagged behind to be betrayed and ganged up on by their pack members.

he recognized it whenever people where trying to get something out of him. katsuki knew he was strong and he knew others knew it too and it got him nothing but enemies and wannabe lackey's acting like errand boys in exchange for services. beating up some guy who had owed them money, some people simply wanted to be around him, hearing that his name had gotten notoriety around their neighborhood and simply using him to scare people off, like parents telling their kids about the boogeyman.

it worked out fine whenever they'd stay out of his way, but katsuki was a lone wolf through and through and didn't like people sticking to his heels, so after many more bloody knuckles, the sound of bones crunching and broken noses, people knew not to mess, or associate themselves, with the rage that was katsuki bakugou.

" i heard he beat some guys face in so bad he never left his house again.." "if you look at him for too long, he'll kick your ass !" "that little brat thinks he's the shit just because he beat some shrimp’s ass." he'd heard whispers like these for years. scared fleeting glances and nasty glares was all people offered him and he learned that striking fear into others was the only way you'd be respected. beating people up was the only way others would leave you alone. stealing from others was the only way others wouldn't steal from you.

being a monster was the only way people would listen. and just like how continuing to spread legends kept horror movie creatures alive. other people spreading rumors about how ruthless he was kept katsuki safe.

until that man showed up.

one of their caretakers had announced that someone would be coming to visit, meaning they should be on their best behaviour so they could find a new forever home. katsuki scoffs, the idea that anyone would choose him to bring home was laughable to him. all the grown ups that came by came for the golden boys: the push overs or the crybabies, was what they were called amongst the other kids.

the man that appeared infront of the line of young boys was anything but what katsuki could’ve ever imagined. tall, extremely so, with a long leather jacket draped over his shoulder, rings could be seen adorning his fingers when he cracked his knuckles. he was completely decked out in black : black coat, black pants, black belt and dark, hardened black eyes that had all the boys shivering. unconsciously having them stand up straighter by the heat of the man’s stare alone.

katsuki and his housemates had all gathered around the windows minutes before to see the man arrive in a big black cadillac escalade, peeking the curiosity of everyone in the room as they wondered what the hell this person could want from an orphanage like this one.

katsuki for the first time in years, feels a hint of fear wash over him when the man stops right in front of him. he feels the eyes of his other mates on him as well and feels himself sweating a little when he gulps.

the mysterious man offers him a large, friendly smile and katsuki doesn't know if he should feel threatened by the warmth he feels in his chest. the tall man kneels down until he's at katsuki's height and his deep, honeyed voice catches him off guard, because he thinks such a man shouldn't have such a..welcoming voice. especially with the multiple men he saw surrounding his car outside looking anything but welcoming.

"hey, kid." the man starts, sharp canines on display as he grins "how would you like to come home with me ?"

katsuki, wide eyed and mouth agape, can only think of one response,

"..huh ?"

katsuki's shocked expression has not changed once. not since the grown ups had talked about boring grown up stuff he'd barely tuned into, only hearing the scritching of the pen on the paper when the mysterious badass man had signed the adoption papers.

and now, inside of the big black cadillac escalade surrounded by other huge badass guys, his expression has yet to change, though he’d managed to clamp his mouth shut.

katsuki is currently gripping onto an apple juice box, (frankly he prefers orange but he doesn't think he can form a correct sentence right now) offered to him buy a stoic man--who was introduced to him by another huge man, although not as scary looking as the other one, who told him not to be frightened by his straight-faced friend as he was "a scary lookin' dude, but a big teddybear once you get to know him ! " katsuki hadn't taken a single sip of the juice yet, juice that he didn't steal but was given to. without having to threaten anyone for it. a strange feeling grows in his stomach that he's not familiar with. and in katsuki's experience anything unknown is bad, so he doesn't like this.

the scary men all pulled a complete 180 from what they were like outside, going from being quiet and serious to extremely loud. so loud katsuki wonders how it's possible that four men in one car can be just as loud as an entire communal area at his now old orphanage. the thought of not having to step foot in that cursed building ever again has him holding back a little smile. he squeezes the juice box in his hands a little tighter.

the men who's names he doesn't know yet are cracking jokes. they smack his shoulder randomly, causing him to basically fly forward and he's sure that if he weren't wearing a seatbelt he'd have flewn right through the windshield. they laugh and tell him they're excited to start working with him. this has katsuki tilt his head in question.

" working with you ?" he asks, it's the first thing he's said and the two more expressive men in the car brighten up. one of the guys, who's squeezed next to him speaks. he has bleached hair with black roots still peaking through. his sunglasses are pulling his hair back and perfectly showing off the scar running over his left eyebrow.

"yeah, starting today you're a part of our clan, little buddy !" he grins. their clan ?

the boss man, he assumes, speaks up from the drivers seat " takashi, don't just jump that on him so suddenly," he reprimands jokingly. he looks at katsuki through the rear view mirror and smiles, katsuki simply looks away. he doesn't know how to react to situations, or people like this well. or at all. "you'll frighten him."

katsuki's head shoots up at that, eyes squinted and brows furrowed "i'm not scared of shit !" he exclaims "what do you guys even do ?" he glares around at everyone in the car. it's silent and he sees the ringed hand of the boss guy turn the radio down. then after a beat passes everyone bursts out laughing again and katsuki jumps despite himself, even the stone faced guy cracks a smile.

"you're a fiesty one, huh ?! you're perfect for the job !" the bleached blonde man, who is apparently named takashi, speaks. he wraps an arm around katsuki and doesn't notice how he tenses and growls, that or he ignores it. "you see, we have a very special job."

"what special job ?" takashi responds with a mischievous smirk.

"we beat up bad guys !" he chirps happily.

katsuki can't help the gasp that comes out of his throat nor can he control the sparkle in his eyes, yet he tries his best to sound cool " y-you beat up bad guys ?" he asks carefully.

"u--huuuuuh" he squeezes katsuki between his bicep tighter, apologizing when katsuki punches at his arm, loosening his extremely tight grip. he offers him a little apology that katsuki only graces with a stinkeye. "we find guys who mess with us or our turf, and we fuck 'em up good !" he makes punching motions at the air with his free arm " y'know, like all might !"

" all might isn't real." katsuki shoots back.

"well, yeah. but he's cool isn't he !" the bleached man whines, giving katsuki a slight noogie. he shoves at his arm and looks away with a huff and a pout. unwilling to admit that the tv show superhero had been his idol for years now. takashi chuckles knowingly at the boys pink cheeks before finally releasing him from his grasp.

katsuki suddenly remembers the conversation before he'd trailed off "so..you guys beat up bad guys ?" the young blonde starts "and i'm part of your clan now ?" he eyes everyone curiously and they all offer him firm nods.

"why me, though ?" he hates how..desperate he sounds, it reminds him too much of the other loser crybabies that he used to share a space with. he peers at the rear view mirror only to be met with the boss man's eyes already on him. he jumps despite the warmth in said man's eyes.

"i like you, kid. you've got this look in your eye." he explains, he focuses back on the road once he finishes " makes me think of myself when i was your age."

katsuki sits stunned as the rest of the men in the car start up again calling their boss superficial for "going for someone who reminds him of himself" they say, yet katsuki can't find it in himself to feel insulted. he's been told time and time again the looks he'd give people were rude, cocky, scary and every other adjective in the book, none of them being exactly positive one's.

but for someone to say they like the look in his eye is shocking. the lack of any praise besides about how much of a monster he was when he got into fights was something completely unknown to him.

during the entire ride, katsuki grips his untouched apple juice box to keep from smiling.

when he arrives into a large office like room, following closely behind the boss man, who's name he found out during the car ride was kento matsumoto, he's surprised to find the room empty once the door slammed behind him. katsuki's immediatly on his toes and ready, already in a fighting stance, his eyes zipping around the room ready to attack should any bad guys show up.

"what're you doing ?" the older man hums in amusement, slowly creeping towards his desk in the middle of the room. katsuki's too focused on a surprise attack to bother noticing.

"where are the bad guys ?!" the unruly blonde asks, adrenaline already running through his veins, a smirks growing on his features until matsumoto laughs and--wait why is he laughing ?

"there are no bad guys here, you can rest easy." he chuckles when katsuki's shoulders immediatly drop, a pouty frown etched onto his features. "you won't be fighting any bad guys today," the more he continues the more katsuki's eyebrows drop lower and lower. he finally realises how quite and gentle he's been and tilts his head in confusion. he walks up to his desk chair which is turned away from katsuki's eyes. mr. matsumoto walks up and kneels towards the chair and whispers softly. katsuki can hear someone whisper back if he strains his ears hard enough and his brows furrow harder.

after a bit more back and forth, the tall man stands back up, and limps a little as he has two tiny arms arms dragging along with him. along with two tiny legs following along at his pace.

"i'd actually like you to meet someone today." the man chuckles to himself lightly. he presses his hand to the back of the little person behind him. and katsuki finally makes eye contact with them.

the girl looks about his age, maybe a year younger. she keeps alternating her gaze to him briefly and longer towards the floor. her socked feet rubbing at the other as she grips the taller man's pant leg.

katsuki holds back the urge to scoff. she would've been eaten alive if she spent one day back at his orphanage. pushovers don't survive long before becoming someone's lackey unless they pull their weight. you mutter something under your breath and mr. matsumoto scolds you gently.

"you don't wanna be rude to your new friend don't you ?" he encourages. both of your eyes widen and while a grin breaks out on your face. katsuki's mouth drops in near horror

"huh ?!"

"bakugou, stop moving !"

katsuki doesn't know where that old roommate he had fucked off to, but if it's someplace like this, he feels bad for him.

he'd found out that you were mr. matsumoto's daughter, which was shocking news by itself but you can imagine how much more shocked he was when the older male had asked him to spend time with you.

"i'm not a babysitter !" katsuki stormed "i thought i was fighting bad guys !" mr. matsumoto raises his hands up in surrender from where he's knelt down to diffuse tension.

"you'll start your training soon enough, and then you'll be able to fight as many bad guys as you see fit." he compromises. katsuki's somewhat satisfied, but still crosses his arms across his chest, awaiting further explanation.

"i'm just asking you to keep an eye on her. spend some time with her, stuff like that..you'll be like her bodyguard !" he offers.

"more like babyguard." katsuki scoffs. the older man chuckles nervously.

"my job's real dangerous, so a lot of people wanna hurt me, and my family. i can't have that, you get what i'm sayin' right ?" he speaks sincerely. katsuki's eyes soften the slightest bit as he readjusts his arms. "i want her to be able to spend time with kids her age. not some old guys in suits, you know ?"

katsuki doesn't say but he thinks that reasoning is stupid. he thinks constantly being around men like your dad would be cool as hell, but he digresses. the unruly blonde stares at the pleading man pensively, mr. matsumoto had gotten him out of the wretched orphanage, he owes it to him to atleast help him with this easy sounding request.

katsuki heaves a long, deep sigh and looks down at the ground.

"fine..i'll do it."

he wishes he could punch his past self in the mouth for agreeing to this torture.

he grabs your wrist when you try to sneakily press a tiny flavored lip balm stick to his lips. you pout and whine at him and he growls and furrows his brows at you in response.

"c'mon !" you whine. straining your arm still tightly clutched in his grip to press the lip balm to his pink lips. “it tastes like peaches !” you try.

"no ! i already let you put these shitty braids in my hair, m'not putting your stupid makeup shit on." he throws your arm to the side and you gasp. before crossing your arms,

"swear." you mumble grumply. you shake your head and lean towards him with new found vigor. you’re stubborn and usually he’d at least give you that, but you’re the annoying kind of stubborn, so you’re not getting anything from him.

"it's not makeup, it's just lip balm ! dad let's me put it on him all the time !"

"yeah, well i ain't your dad."

"yeah you're not. cus my dad's not a jerk !" you stick your tongue out at him and katsuki scoffs at you, looking away from you. he bets you wouldn't act all cool if he shoved you once, you look like the type of wimp who'd cry about tripping over your own shoelaces.

"i'll tell my dad you're bein' mean to me." you announce. katsuki's head whips towards you and he feels a vein on his forehead when you turn your nose up at the sky with a 'hmph !". you make his head hurt.

"don't go lying on me !" he fumed.

"but i'm not lyin', you are mean ! i asked you nice an' you won't lemme put the chapstick on you !" you bite back. katsuki inhales through his nose in anger.

"you didn't ask me sh—anything !" he stops himself mid curse, your father doesn't like him swearing around you for some reason and he'd rather you not snitch to your dad about his cursing habits.

you suddenly stop, then roll your eyes like the brat you are. "well, i'm asking now..please ?" you bat your lashes at him and give him, what katsuki assumes, are your best puppy dog eyes.

you're so much more different than when he'd first met you two weeks ago and he definitely doesn't mean it as a good thing. he almost wishes you stayed the quiet, meek little mouse you were. that would've been way less annoying than the bossy bratty princess you are, despite being a few months younger than him.

katsuki groans, loudly to himself, than turns to you again. gripping at his criss crossed legs to control his nerves.

"make it quick, princess." he spits, glaring at your bright smile, obviously pleased you'd won the argument even though you didn't play fair at all. katsuki had won every fight he'd ever been in but you were making yourself out to be his toughest opponent yet. he grits his teeth and sucks his loss in for another day. you make a happy noise and press the sweet stick to his lips. it tastes like peaches when he briefly licks his lips to get a taste. he let’s out a quiet pleased grunt.

"it tastes good, right !"

"shut up."

katsuki looks at you strangely when he sees you sneaking around corners.

he's stuck on babysitting duty again while your dad and the others get to do fun stuff like beating the shit out of people. from what he'd gathered from mr. matsumoto and when he 'accidentally' listened in on his passing conversations with his coworkers, your father was the boss of an underground yakuza organisation. the men he'd sat in the car with being his most trusted companions.

they all bore a similar tattoo’s somewhere on their body : some had them on their arms or hands, others were more showy and had them on their necks or on their backs like your dad did. katsuki was bummed to find out he wouldn’t be able to get one yet, he scoffs at the memory of your dad ruffling his hair and telling him to wait a few more years.

he was dreading having to put up with your whiny tantrums and sticky flavored lip balms, although he guessed it was kinda fun to guess the flavour. but today you surprised him by beckoning him over and telling him you needed his help with something. at 9 in the morning.

“a top-ultra-super-ultra secret-mission ”, you’d called it. and from the moment you’d pushed him out of the huge spare room he was currently using as his bedroom, you’d been sneaking around corners even though katsuki would look ahead (he has to take some risks, he is your bodyguard after all) and see no one there.

the prospect of a secret mission did peak his interest, it was the reason he had followed you without making a fuss. but even though ‘patience’ wasn’t an unknown word in katsuki’s documentary, it wasn’t frequently used. so it shouldn’t have been a surprise when he started complaining.

“what are we even doing ? and why the hell are you sneaking around like that?” he asks, the urge to go back to bed still clinging to him as he rubs at his eyes sleepily. katsuki doesn’t know how you can navigate this huge house so well and he feels like he’s been following you through a maze.

you quickly, after peeking around another corner, shush him. “shhh !” you hiss, placing a finger over your lips. if katsuki weren’t so tired he would’ve rolled his eyes at you but he simply decides to narrow his eyes at you.

“i told you, it’s super secret ! i’ll tell you when we get there !” you huff “swear, by the way.” you chide playfully, giggling when he grumbles at you.

if katsuki could compare you to anything, he’d compare you to rubber. it’s weird because it’s an object rather than a living thing, but he thinks it’s pretty fitting. he pokes and prods, throws snarky comments and mean names at you, pulling at you like rubber, yet all you do is snap right back into place. like that rubber man you like on tv ( he prefers the sword guy better).

you pout about his mean spirited ‘princess’ nickname after he tells you he doesn’t mean it as a compliment because to him it means your snobby, bratty and spoiled, but you never let him get you down. often just saying that princesses we’re super pretty “so therefore, you’re just calling me pretty !” you’d grin. he thinks your reasoning is more than stupid and rolled his eyes hard when you’d first told him that, but you intrigue him in ways he doesn’t wanna admit.

you’re so annoying and bubbly it puzzles him, he wonders how someone like you could exist in the same world as his. the world he was raised in was cold and unforgiving, quickly stomping and crushing pretty bright flowers like you under its heel before they were even given a chance to fully bloom.

you’re something he’s never seen before and you piss him off. but that’s mostly because you’re annoying though.

after sneaking around for a bit more, you get to what katsuki recognizes as the kitchen. katsuki hears the sound of chopping and sizzling before he rounds the corner and the smell of food fills his nose and his mouth waters.

you put an arm out to hold him back from rounding the corner and point towards something, katsuki looks up at where your looking to see..

a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies.

his eyes widen like he’d just seen a stack of gold. back at the orphanage, they were barely allowed to have any sweets besides during holidays, two for everyone. katsuki didn’t really mind much, since he doesn’t really like candy, but your home chef nakazawa really knew how to cook and katsuki would gobble up anything the man cooked.

the long white haired man never commented on his table manners and messy eating, only smiling brightly and always telling him it made him happy to see people enjoying his food so much.

katsuki would never say it out loud, but he would sometimes sneak around to watch mr. nakazawa cook. he’d never had any time to be interested in..anything back at his old hell hole and it’d taken him a while to admit he’d taken a liking to not only nakazawa’s cooking, but also cooking in general.

he bets those cookies would be fucking delicious. he gulps.

“those are our objective !” you whisper, turning back to him with a determined grin “your job as my bodyguard today is to help me snatch up those chocolate chip cookies mr zawa made.” you explain.

katsuki almost exclaims before begrudgingly remembering this is supposed to be a secret mission and you were supposed to be inconspicuous “huh ?!” he hisses. you nudge him away from the opening and place your finger against your lips to shush him again, katsuki growls at you.

"just cus i'm your bodyguard..or whatever," he grumbles, rolling his eyes "doesn't mean i'm your errand boy. i'm not anybody's errand boy." he spits, glaring at you. you don't look the least bit scared, instead your eyebrows furrow and you pout.

"but you're not my errand boy, we're doing it together ! you're helping me out !"

"i don't help anyone." he shoots back "what am i getting from this anyway ?" he scoffs, shuffling on his feet.

" you don't like sweets, right ? so the least you could do is help me get some cookies !" you declare, crossing your arms." but if you want, i guess i could share the booty with you." you say with a roll of your eyes. katsuki wants to be surprised that you remembered something he’d mumbled to you in passing once but he ignores that to sneer at you, eye twitching at your brattiness.

"gross. don't call it that." he snarks, you roll your eyes again "don't be a baby, bakugou." you quickly flip around and sneak towards the main kitchen doors. bakugou glares at your back as you slip away and throws you one last snarky comment under his breath before following you "you're one to talk."

mr nakazawa’s back is to the both of you still, he seems to not have noticed you both yet. even though katsuki hates being ordered around by you, pointing at where he should go so as not to be seen, he ignores it in favour of the giddy feeling in his chest. you're holding back a laugh too, he can see it on your face and as annoying as you are, he can't help but hold back a snort with you when the cook stops in his movements to scan around the kitchen, you both still going unnoticed.

he hasn't been allowed to go out on missions with your dad and his squad yet, simply undergoing training starting from every wednesday, to going monday through thursday for a few hours and though it was fun, it was pretty irritating seeing the grown ups do all the fun stuff while he's stuck carrying you around on his back and watching dumb disney channel original movies with you (he won't admit he enjoys most of them, though. never.)

but right now that's all been forgotten, adrenaline is pumping through him but it's different than the adrenaline rush he gets from when he beats up some no name kid that wanted to start a fight to prove he was some type of big shot, surrounded by the choruses of cheering kids and screams. instead, he's simply sneaking closer and closer to a tray of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. accompanied only by you, who's covering your mouth trying not to make a single sound so you don't get caught and scolded for getting to the cookies early.

it's different, it's unknown. but katsuki realizes it's not bad.

it actually feels really warm, and nice. and good. it's good to have fun with you. it's good to be able to bicker and playfight with you without it leading to his knuckles being bruised up. he hates to admit it but he has to hold back a snicker at your dumb jokes and antics. and maybe he can admit that some of the movies you pick out are kinda fun.

he doesn't have to fight for the remote with you because you let him pick whenever he wants. you've set up a system where you pick one night and he gets to pick the next night and you hadn't broken your promise, always handing him the remote when it was his turn to pick a movie, though you huff about it sometimes, but that's cus you're a brat.

but when katsuki finally reaches the tray of cookies and you silently cheer for him with a smile so bright you could rival the sun itself and two thumbs up in the air, katsuki has to admit you're not so bad to be around.

"may i ask what you kids are doin' ?"

both you and katsuki stiffen at mr. nakazawa looming over him, he doesn't look the least bit angry. he's trying to, but he can't fight off the smile on his mock dissapointed face.

"mr. bakugou is a newcomer, so i can't really be mad at 'im" he starts, katsuki gulps when the white haired man's frosty blue eyes land on him, then zero on you "but lady yn should already know what happens to misbehaving children.." he slowly stretches his arms out towards you, making a grabby motion and you start uncontrollably giggling, eyes widening as you slowly stand up and back away.

"they go...into the oven !!"

"mission complete, cookies obtained, get outta there !" you exclaim, hightailing it with your laughter trailing down the hallway. katsuki starts up and dashes for the door to follow you. mr. nakazawa barely makes any effort to catch both of you and katsuki knows he's stopped following you but he doesn't bother telling you about it.

he's having too much fun right now.

he's holding the tray of cooled off cookies to his chest to keep them safe and he can't stop laughing especially because you're basically hollering next to him, cheering loudly and katsuki mimicks you. it's probably still around nine in the morning and you're running around like headless chickens, screaming around the hallways, but katsuki's having too much fun with you to care.

you get to your bedroom door first and katsuki would usually blame it on your hands being free, but he doesn't care about being first right now. you quickly wave your hand around, signaling for him to run inside before you slam your door shut and fall to the ground, helplessly snorting and giggling with your fluffy pyjama pant legs kicking in the air.

katsuki sits down next to you, placing the cookies down between you both slightly above your head. he's calmed down more than you have, but he's still buzzing, chest rising and falling. he snorts and giggles some more looking at you and after you finally calm down you sigh. you take a deep breath before looking up at him with stars in your eyes.

"that was so fun ! we booked it outta there so fast !" you giggle. katsuki sits more comfortable, cross-crossing his legs. he hums in response "mr. nakazawa always says he's gonna put me in the oven when i sneak a cookie, but he's super nice, so i knew he wouldn't do anything if he caught you !"

katsuki scoffs pridefully, turning his nose up in the air "he wouldn't have been able to do anythin' cus i woulda kicked his ass !" he smirks. you giggle in response.

"that's expected of my bodyguard !" you chirp. he rolls his eyes but doesn't complain. you sit up and look at him all starry eyed and katsuki's eyes widen in turn.

"you were awesome, bakugou ! no wonder dad likes you so much !" you beam. it's too bright, you're too bright. katsuki wants to look away, wants to go back into his shell and pull the curtain shut on the sun that you are. he wants to be scary and feared by all and yet for some reason he likes that you're not scared of him. he wants it to stay that way. he knows he shouldn't and yet,

"..you can just call me, katsuki. i don't mind.." he mutters, looking away from you and towards the wall. he doesn't dare look at you or he'll have to acknowledge your expression, acknowledge the fact his face is burning alarmingly hard and fast. "i don't care..if you do." he rephrases.

a beat passes and he feels the cold metal of the tray against his hand, he looks down to see your hand pushing the cookies towards him.

"since you did the most work, you can have the first one." you say shyly, fiddling with your soft sleeves.

katsuki feels his heart beating and thumping hard in his chest. he can faintly hear it in his ears, can feel it softly bumping in his head. he's never felt this before.

he doesn't like the unknown. but he can't find it in himself to care when he reaches out and takes a big bite of a cookie. it tastes heavenly and his eyelashes flutter as he munches away, his eyes snap open when he hears you giggle.

"s'good, right ?" you grin, leaning towards him to grab a cookie before popping a piece into your mouth with a hum. katsuki gulps a bite of his cookie down.

"mm.." he hums in agreement. that's enough for you, so you lean back more comfortably and you both continue silently munching away at the slowly dwindling tray of cookies. until you speak up again.

"usually i eat all of mr. nakazawa's cookies on my own. dad and my other uncles are always gone before i can share with them." you explain, katsuki sees your puppy eyes shining with sadness. they're the same as the pushover's at his old orphanage who'd cower in corners and cry as the bigger predators of the institution prey on them.

"they're really good.." the happy tone in your voice is gone and is instead replaced by a more bittersweet one. "but whenever i eat too many, my stomach hurts. and that's not fun at all." katsuki feels his chest tighten at your words, and it tightens harder when you look up at him and send him the sincerest smile he's ever seen.

"but today, i ate a lot of 'em and i'm completely fine, cus i shared them with you !"

katsuki only remembers the feeling of fighting. of bloody and bruised knuckles and the rush of adrenaline that eventually fades away and all he feels is the stinging pain in his body. and that's not fun at all.

but sitting here with you, he hopes and he hopes with all his might that the way he feels when his chest blooms with warmth never fades away.

"yeah..." is all he says, looking down at the ground. tugging at the carpet.

"y'know, you're my fifth bodyguard." katsuki's eyes widen "fifth ?" he parrots and you nod, stuffing the last bit of your cookie into your mouth.

"why so many ? you go out on missions or something ?"

you shake your head "no, but dad says it's safer because a lot of people could wanna hurt me." you say simply, wrapping your arms around your knees, wiggling your socked feet " 'i wouldn't let anyone hurt you, but you can never be too careful.'" you mimick, deepening your voice best you can to copy your father's tone.

"all my other bodyguards were super old, and they never talked, or played with me. no fun at all." you mutter bitterly, grounding your heel down against your soft carpeted floor.

"you're kinda mean, and very aggressive. especially for someone your age." katsuki scoffs at your doctor like tone like you'd just done an analysis on him. he kicks at your foot with his and you giggle and stick yout tongue out at him. katsuki wants to hold back the smirk growing on his face, but he can't. maybe because he isn't trying very hard to hold back at all.

"but you're funny..and you can be really nice when you wanna be." he hears it again, the thumping and beating of his heart at your words and your smile. "you're definitely my favorite bodyguard, katsuki !"

the thumping of his heart gets so loud he can feel it in the tips of his fingers, rhythmically beating away. he gets that feeling of adrenaline from when he wins a fight. when he's got a nasty bloody nose but people are inching away from him. whispers of his name and strenght all around and he feels like he's on top of the world for a while.

but this feels nicer. it's foreign, but katsuki feels like he can get used to that.

"'f course i am, i'm the best !" he exclaims. the warmth in his chest still present and burning harder when you smile at him brightly with a giggle.

katsuki unfamiliar with these kinds of burning feelings that aren’t accompanied with pain. they’re unknown and foreign, but he thinks he likes them. and, maybe, he can admit that he thinks he likes you a little bit, too.

soooowww...whatre we thinkiiinnnn..personally i like this alot and would love to hear whatyallthinkaboutthisconcepttttquestionmark... i was inspired to post this after getting back into akabane honeko no bodyguard, and my love for delinquents mix in some childhoodfriends to lovers and i HAD to write this, i rlly like this and i hope yall enjoy !!

ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏᴜ х ғ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

~sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs~ you have been scorned by one too many men in your past. because of these traumatic experiences, you take it upon yourself to become the protector to those who need it most. you become the Red Medusa, an infamous vigilante roaming the streets of Musutafu.

~ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs/ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴇхᴘᴇᴄᴛ~ slow burn, angst, betrayal, enemies to lovers, PTSD + flashbacks, trauma, harassment, a fear/hatred toward men, graphic depictions of violence, gun usage + gun violence, vigilante reader x pro hero Bakugou, nsfw in later chapters. there will be more specific warnings in each and every chapter, as well 🫶🏼

~ᴀʟsᴏ ᴀᴠᴀɪʟᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3~

~ɪɴsᴘɪʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ~

~ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀs ɴᴏᴛᴇs~ this has been bouncing around in my head since April of 2022!!! I’m just so happy to see this all come to fruition, no matter how long it’s taken me to get started. I hope you all enjoy this very vulnerable work of mine, as it hits a lot closer to home than I expected it to!!

updates will come every Monday (hopefully 🤞🏼) thank you all for reading and I hope you guys enjoy 🧡🖤

ᴍᴇᴅᴜsᴀ [ᴍᴇʜ-ᴅᴏᴏ-ᴢᴀ] ɴᴏᴜɴ - ɢᴜᴀʀᴅɪᴀɴ; ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛʀᴇss; ᴀɴ ᴇᴠɪʟ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴠɪʟ; ᴀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛ; ᴀ ᴠɪᴄᴛɪᴍ

_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ_

_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ_

_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ_

_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғᴏᴜʀ_

_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғɪᴠᴇ_

_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ six_

_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ sᴇᴠᴇɴ_

_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ_

_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɴɪɴᴇ_

_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴇɴ_

_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇʟᴇᴠᴇɴ (ɴsғᴡ)_

_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇʟᴠᴇ_

_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜɪʀᴛᴇᴇɴ (ɴsғᴡ)_

_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғᴏᴜʀᴛᴇᴇɴ_

_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғɪғᴛᴇᴇɴ - ᴇᴘɪʟᴏɢᴜᴇ (ɴsғᴡ)_

cw: apology smut. minors dni.

this is the first time you've let katsuki touch you since your last argument, and katsuki's breath hitches sharply in his throat when you don't automatically withdraw from him. it's sad honestly - it's just a simple brush of his hand against yours as he tries to grab the fridge handle, but the fact that you don't quickly shuffle away from him or give him an annoyed look carries a little too much hope for him.

it hasn't even been a long time since you've started giving him this silent treatment, but the man cannot last more than a couple hours, let alone a full day of you being cold to him. you have to admit it's immature to ignore him, but don't you have the right to be immature once in a while? after all, you endure a lot being married to him, enough that you've stayed off social media, and enough that this is the first time you've actually brought something up to him.

seeing katsuki smiling so widely, laughing with someone else, even if you do ultimately believe him that the relationship with the young, pretty up-and-comer is platonic and the apparent closeness is accentuated by the angle from which the photo was taken, you're still annoyed and made it clear so. after all, you don't appreciate looking like a fool.

he clears his throat and you don't turn to look at him, sitting down at the kitchen table and opening a book as you sip a glass of apple juice with no ice. bakugou pauses, hand sweatier than usual around his own glass of water, and watches you. contemplating. can he try again? will confronting you one more time only prolong this silence or will you cry and dig your heels in, risking a chance to lose you altogether?

he swallows hard, throat suddenly dry, but cannot bring the glass of water to his lips.

then you sigh and look up at him.

"katsuki."

katsuki moves almost too quickly to stand before you, anxiety laden in every step. your eyes slide to the chair next to you and he sits, knees turned in your direction, glass set down too quickly, enough that it wobbles but doesn't fall. ice clinks within and settles.

"yes... princess?"

you twist your mouth to the side but can't really form the words to apologize. after all, you aren't really the one who transgressed; rather it was katsuki not being careful enough to make sure certain pictures didn't run the chance of upsetting you. you're still not sure how that particular magazine made its way on your very doorstep but here you were.

"do you love me?" you ask, firmly.

"so much." he insists. his hands find one of yours and covers them. his eyes are pleading for you to forgive him, the fire of defensive anger no longer behind them. katsuki doesn't yell at you when he's angry but his voice raises. he fights with his words and his fists clench. instead today he holds your hand carefully. he's not a threat and will never be, but he wants you to know that especially today.

you sigh.

"you need a better pr team," you say. katsuki squeezes your hand, lips pulling into a tentative smile.

"i'll fire everyone."

you give him a look, then giggle. "that's not exactly what i asked."

"i know, but it's an option." he brings your hand up to his lips to kiss the back, and you smile.

your husband is yours, no matter what the media may suggest is a more compatible new flame, and he sets out to make sure you know that. you are the only one for him.

so in tune with your shifting emotions, the moment your eyes flicker to his lips, filled with longing, he's kissing you. the act of your mouths connecting turn into a natural acceptance of your tongue, and then the pull of your body, still in last night's pajamas, into his lap. your arms wrap around his shoulders, and you kiss him more, even deeper; he sucks at every part of you, hands finding their way up your shirt, then unbuttoning them until your breasts are bare, pressed against his chest. he lets you disrobe his torso, until you are skin to skin, and the rays of the sun seeping through the kitchen blinds form patterns on your exposed bodies. your hearts pound, and you breathe against each other, rutting against fabric, then your soft parts. you let him slip inside you, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head as he groans and let you clench around him. the rock of your bodies moving against each other is slow and deep, then fast and desperate until you're clinging to his shoulders and you're crying out his name, trembling.

he carries you to the bedroom still connected, and he recommences until your legs shake and he's whispering his vows again to you into your bosom.

you are the only one for him, and he hopes you'll always have him.

One-Shot: Conjugal Visit

Fandom: My Hero Academia Pairing: inmate!Bakugou x fem!Reader, slight Kirishima x fem!Reader Rating: R / 18+ Word Count: ~8K Summary: You meet Bakugou for his monthly conjugal visit, on what happens to be a very special day. Warnings: Swearing, smut, dub-con, oral, overstimulation, unprotected sex, spanking, spitting. Please let me know if I missed any. Notes: A birthday celebration fic for our resident angry boy, Bakugou. Inspired by that one Prison Break episode.

Last minute addition to the Bakugou Birthday Bash Collab. Thanks @lady-bakuhoe and @jodrawssmut for letting me join. Be sure to check out all the other entries in this Masterlist.

I think my ambition got the better of me when writing this, and I bit off more than I could chew. I have never written anything so explicit - risqué yes, but nothing to this degree; nevertheless, I hope you enjoy my first attempt at writing smut, and any advice for the future is welcome.

Conjugal Visit

You sat in the driver’s seat of your car, gripping the steering wheel in a tight, sweaty grip, while watching the digital clock on the dash like a hawk.

14:28

Thirty-two minutes to go.

Taking a look in the rear-view mirror, you assessed your appearance. You had chewed your lips so much you had removed most of the lipstick you had painted on before leaving your house this morning.

Shit! He wasn’t going to like that.

You grabbed your purse from the passenger seat and rifled through it for your lipstick; Blood Poppy. It wasn’t your usual colour, preferring more neutral tones, but you had been told to wear this specific shade. It was wildly expensive, out of your price range, and you were thankful you were not footing the bill. The same went for your new outfit, a matching red, high-waisted dress that flowed around your thighs and ended at your knees; opened-toed shoes finished the ensemble to show your red pedicure.

After pulling off the lid, you twisted the tube and adjusted the mirror down to your lips. You applied a generous helping of the rich, red shade across your anxiety-bitten lips. After blotting the excess on a tissue, you smacked your lips together and fixed your hair, before giving a brazen wink and air-kiss to your reflection.

You looked the very definition of a ‘Scarlet Woman’.

It didn’t lessen your nerves.

14:36

Twenty-four minutes to go.

Hands back on the wheel, you closed your eyes and took some calming breaths. You needed to get your head in the game.

It was not every day you were required to visit a prison, and you had hoped and prayed you would never have to. However, life was known to have a cruel sense of humor, and had not been especially kind to you in the past six months.

You were here to visit your husband.

The infamous Amber Dragon.

One of the leaders of the Sousei no Ryuu Clan - The Twinborn Dragons. The other was his brother-in-arms; The Ruby Dragon.

They were notorious and well known throughout Japan for their criminal activities; from extortion, to racketeering, to gambling and drugs. Moreover, they were most infamous for the violence and murders.

If you were unfortunate enough to cross their path, you were unlikely to be found again, not in one piece anyway. One poor sap, you had heard, had inadvertently insulted the Ruby Dragon’s mother. Months later the man's hands and eyes had been found way up north in Hirosaki, his feet down south in Osaka, and his torso in between in Saitama. They never found his head. The police couldn’t pin the murder on him and he walked away scot-free.

His brother, on the other hand, had been caught red handed. He had shot and killed a rival Yakuza boss known as Deku, of the One For All Syndicate, a moniker your husband had given him when they had been childhood friends. It had happened in broad daylight, starting a war between the two groups, and The Amber Dragon had taken the fall to stop the bloody massacre of killings on both sides.

Surprisingly, he was incarcerated in a medium security prison for the crime; and you supposed that's what money could buy you when you were incredibly rich and powerful.

You shimmied your shoulders to adjust your brassiere and clear your head. You hated breaking in a new bra; and the thong wedged between your asscheeks was not helping matters. You resisted the urge to dig it out.

14:42

Eighteen minutes to go.

You had been told to arrive fifteen minutes early.

So, it was time to leave.

You put on your peacoat, pulled your keys from the ignition and snatched up your purse. Exiting the car you clicked the button on your keychain to lock it and then threw it in your purse and closed it with a snap.

After taking one last look at your appearance in the reflection of the car’s window, you gave your hair one last adjustment, and morphed your features into what you hoped was confidence.

The armed guards on duty had been trying to be nonchalant with their staring since you had pulled into a parking space, but as you made your approach, they openly stared at you in interest.

One of them banged on the door when you were within a few feet and the gate opened.

You didn’t look at them as you passed, but you felt their eyes follow you as you walked into the building that housed the visitors entrance.

There were a number of women seated in the waiting area. They had made an effort too, to dress up for their men, with fancy clothes and painted faces.

You didn’t stop to chat though, you had zero interest in their lives, instead, you made your way to the window and tapped it to get the officer's attention.

He didn’t even look at you as he asked, “Inmate’s name and number.”

“Bakugou Katsuki, 17042019.”

That got his attention and the rest of the occupants of the room, as all the wives stopped their chattering.

He looked up, and immediately diverted his eyes, but not before you caught the fear in them. It seemed The Amber Dragon’s reputation even held weight here. He typed something on his computer. “Mrs Bakugou, please go straight through,” he said, pressing a button under his desk and the buzz of a lock releasing echoed throughout the room.

As you made your way to the door, you caught snatches of whispering.

“She’s married to that monster.”

“He is a looker though, I wouldn’t mind spending an hour locked in a room with him.”

“Why does she get to go straight through? I’ve been waiting for nearly an hour.”

“I prefer the Ruby Dragon, to be honest.”

You let it all flow off your back. They could say what they wanted, however, they knew nothing of your life.

A male and female officer were waiting for you on the other side.

Just like going through customs at an airport, you emptied the contents of your purse into a tray, which the man checked, and you walked through a security arch. There was no beep, but the woman patted you down anyway. You held your breath as she ran her hands over and under your beasts; and when she reached between your thighs, you resisted the urge to cross your legs. You got the feeling that she was being a little rougher than was necessary, but you kept your mouth shut and your expression blank; refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing you so uncomfortable.

“Clear,” she said to her colleague, with a glare at you.

“Clear,” he replied.

You grabbed your things and returned the woman's glare with smug satisfaction. You knew she was dying to find something, anything, just to have the excuse of locking you away just like your ‘evil’ husband.

A third correctional officer appeared and escorted you through a maze of corridors with locked doors; each one having to be locked behind you before the next could be opened.

The officer said nothing throughout your journey, avoiding eye contact with you. Only the clanging of the barred metal doors and the jingle of his keys kept you company. However, with each clang and jingle, your heart rate picked up as you came closer and closer to your destination.

Eventually, you stopped before a plain looking door with a large ‘#3’ plaque set in the center; you entered at his command and heard the lock click behind you after he said the prisoner would be escorted to the room soon.

The room had one barred window, set high into the wall, and the scuffed and dirty walls were painted in a bland magnolia. A large double bed took up most of the space, it’s sheets discolored and wrinkled. An old CRT television from the eighties sat on a stand in one corner, its antenna twisted and bent; and a small, round plastic table and chairs sat to the side of it. You scrunched up your nose. It looked like a scummy motel room, and you didn’t want to think of the activities that had been going on in here before you had arrived.

Taking off your coat and laying it on the back of one of the chairs, you took a seat and resisted the urge to pick at your red manicured nails.

After a few minutes, you heard the jiggle of the lock to the door you had come through, and it caused you to stand and whirl around with your heart in your throat.

He was here.

He was led in by a big burly correctional officer, who undid the cuffs that locked his hands and feet together with a restrictive chain.

He never took his eyes off you, or even acknowledged the other man’s presence, as he was released; even when the officer left with a reminder that he only had ninety minutes, and a final turn of the lock after he left.

For a man who usually wore a black suit and tie with a white shirt, the orange prison jumpsuit oddly suited him. He was known for his impeccable taste in fashion, and his vest of white flowers had flown off the shelves, sold out within minutes, after he had appeared in court for his trial. You couldn’t see the sleeve of tattoos decorating his arms but you knew they were there, you had stared at them enough in the pictures of the newspapers. His hair was a mess, but suited him also, reflecting his explosive personality. But his eyes….

His eyes were still watching you, sweeping up and down your body with an unreadable expression.

Bakugou Katsuki.

The infamous Amber Dragon.

Leader of the Sousei no Ryuu Clan.

You unconsciously took a step back.

His smirk in reply was devilish.

“My brother out did himself this time.”

His voice was gruff and gravelly at the same time, and it sent a shiver up your spine.

You didn’t know how to respond, and you probably looked stupid standing there like a dumbfounded deer caught in headlights. Seeing him on the news and in the papers was nothing compared to meeting him in the flesh.

He cocked his head to the side and licked his lips as he walked towards you with long, purposeful strides, and you started to back away from him.

Before you hit the wall, he grasped your hips to spin you around. You steadied yourself by bracing your hands against the wall. Panic welled up in your chest and the urge to scream out bubbled in your throat.

You shouldn’t have agreed to this.

He shushed you with a kiss on the back of your neck and a finger to your lips. “Shh, we gotta make it believable.”

Your heart was thundering now, ready to burst from its protective cage. You had been prepped extensively by his brother, Kirishima, beforehand, and you knew that for this to work you had to play along, but not like this.

What were you supposed to do? You were trapped in a room with a convicted killer.

You did the only thing you could; you nodded with a whimper and felt his grin against your shoulder.

His large hands came up to cover your own, dwarfing them, as his Callused fingers stroked over the backs of your hands and down to your wrists, where he encircled them in a loose grip.

You whimpered again.

“Good girl,” he whispered, as his hands trailed over the sensitive skin of your inner arms to your elbows. Goosebumps followed in their wake, and you shuddered at his ticklish touch. He didn’t stop though; his fingers continued their invisible path up towards your collarbones, only to dip over and under your shoulders to rest above your breasts.

You understood now why men feared him and why most women wanted to bed him; he emanated confidence and mystique, like a panther stalking its prey.

You watched as your chest heaved up and down and his hands moved to the rhythm as you waited for his next move. He moved his body closer and you felt every inch of him at your back, every hard, sinewy muscle contoured perfectly for you to fit inside his caging embrace. Your breathing stuttered when he hooked his chin over your shoulder to look at your face, and you dared not meet his gaze.

“Relax.”

Closing your eyes, you wished he would stop whispering, it was doing unspeakable things to your insides.

They then snapped open, as his hands made a gradual descent over the swell of your breasts to cup them in his palms, and your breathing picked up again.

This was going too far.

Yes, you were told to fake having sex with the criminal, so that the correctional officer standing outside the door would not suspect anything suspicious, but being manhandled had not been a part of the deal you had made with The Ruby Dragon for the cash you needed.

The Amber Dragon must not have gotten the memo.

You knew it was a risky move, but you pulled his hands away from you and manoeuvred around him to put as much distance between you and the murderer.

Bakugou looked pissed at first, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort of causing a scene, so shrugged and put his hands in his pockets instead.

“So,” he tsked, “you want to do it the boring way.”

“Yes,” you breathed through clenched teeth, thankful that little manoeuvre had not signed your death warrant, as you gripped your coat on the back of the chair. You needed to stay away from him, no matter how much his touch ignited a fire in your belly.

He shrugged again and sat himself down on the edge of the creaky bed. “Well,” he waved at you. “Get on with it.”

You felt your face burn with embarrassment, remembering back to when you had been practising with his brother. Hours spent moaning and groaning to simulate sounds of intercourse until he was happy.

“Now?”

“That’s what conjugal visits are for, right? Or did you want a chat and a nice cup of tea first?” he drawled.

Doubting he was the type for small talk, you straightened your spine, closed your eyes and took a deep breath in.

You didn’t think you were very good at it, but if the tent in the redhead’s pants at the end of each session was anything to go by, you thought it was pretty convincing.

You could do this.

As you exhaled, you let out a long, breathy, and drawn out moan.

Peeking an eye open, you found Bakugou watching you curiously, with a raised eyebrow and a smirk on his face. He was finding this amusing.

You refused to be belittled by the infuriating blond, and vowed to get this over and done with as quickly as possible; and if you could elicit an embarrassing response out of him by the end of it, all the better.

Closing your eyes again, you put on a show for the officer outside, and more importantly for Bakugou. You moaned, whimpered, keened, mewled and whined your way to an orgasm. You used his actions earlier to make it more believable as you imagined what else he had hoped to get away with as he groped you. Would he have taken you against the wall, over the table, on the bed, or all three?

As you imagined the various scenarios, you felt yourself getting warm with arousal, and began to throw in little bits of speech as your imagination went wild; ‘yes’s’ and ‘please’s’ and ‘more’s’ started falling from your parted lips. His wet mouth on your nipple as his thumb played with your clit, fingers dipping into your cunt to coat your inner lips with slick. Him pushing your head down to watch as his cock kissed your entrance only to disappear inside, feeling the stretch of his girth.

At the crescendo of your climax, you pictured him furiously pounding into you with that infuriatingly smug smirk of his.

Coming down from your high, you smiled in satisfaction. You had done well, if you did say so yourself.

“If you thought anyone would believe that pathetic little performance,” he said, bored, “you’ve got another thing coming.”

“But I-”

“Kirishima taught you didn’t he?”

You nodded, “Yes, but-”

“This won't do.” He stood from the bed. “That idiot watches too much porn; you sounded like a back-alley whore.”

You glared at him, offended. “I am not a whore,” you bit out.

“Fuck this! You won’t be able to keep that shit up for another five minutes, never mind an hour.”

You didn’t even have time to catch your breath before his mouth was on yours. You hadn’t even seen him move, he was so fast.

“Wh-”

“Just shut the fuck up,” he mumbled against your lips his hand firm against your jaw, “and go with it.”

No, no, no, no, no.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

You weren’t here for this, but he had given you a taste when he had first walked in, and your body did not agree with the protests ringing inside your head.

What would your mother think?

You were trapped with no escape. If you didn’t comply and decided to call out, you knew Kirishima and his henchmen would hunt you down like a pack of wolves, and you and your mother’s fate would be sealed; that is, if Bakugou didn’t kill you in this very room first. It didn’t matter that you had used his image for your fake orgasm, this was wrong on so many levels.

His grip on your jaw tightened. “Don’t think,” he grit out. “And I promise you will want to come back next month.”

He continued to kiss you more thoroughly, his tongue forcing itself inside your mouth to do battle with your own.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, you decided to put any thoughts of your mother aside, and kissed him back. A tear falling from your eye.

“That’s it,” he whispered, in a husky tone, as he pawed at your hips and scrunched the soft material covering them. “Be a good girl for me, it’s my birthday after all.”

You knew what day it was, which is why Kirishima had insisted on you dressing up for the occasion. Apparently, the blond had a thing for the colour red; ironic, considering his brother was so closely associated with it.

You couldn’t deny that the danger was alluring to you though; every time you had turned on the TV to see his handsome profile broadcast on the screen it had had you rubbing your thighs together in want, and wondering what he would feel like between them.

He was powerful, not just in strength, as he demonstrated when he picked you up to deposit you onto the bed, but in confidence and charisma. He exuded it from every pore of his body, without saying a single word; and you found it wildly attractive.

Leaving you to catch your breath, he stood in front of you, pulled down the zipper of his jumpsuit and shook his arms out of the sleeves. Underneath his wore a plain white wife beater shirt, which allowed you to feast your eyes on the exhibit of tattoos that adorned his arms.

His right arm displayed a golden, orange dragon; its head tilted back in flight, its wings spread wide as it breathed fire into the sky, and its barbed tail wrapped around his forearm to end at a point on his inner wrist. The red dragon, that was inked onto the skin of his left, looked like it was crawling down his forearm, leaving deep, bloody scratches in its wake with a snarl on its lips as it showed its pointy teeth; this time, its spiky tail wrapped around Bakugou’s bicep.

They were an exquisite piece of art, and you thought they should be presented in a museum with how beautiful they were. It only added to the fact that he was incredibly ripped like a bare knuckle boxer, and the scars that littered his torso only added more of an edge to his incredible physique.

After he had removed his shirt, you used an arm for balance as you reached up with the other to trace a finger down the tail of the gold dragon. He stopped you before you made contact, and bent over your form, forcing you to lean back. He grabbed your wrists and tugged, causing you to lay back on the bed with a yelp.

He tutted in annoyance, “Only good girls get to touch.”

With your wrists still in his clutches he pushed them over your head, as he guided your legs apart with a knee and settled himself between them, the mattress squeaking as he went. “Do as you’re told and I will pay you double what my brother is,” he said before claiming your lips once more.

You moaned, your head spinning like you were in a fever dream. He was dominant and controlling in his touches; you dared not complain as he had his way and transferred both of your wrists into one hand as he reached beneath you to undo each of the buttons at the back of your dress. When you felt him finger the hooks of your bra he pinched them together and you felt the release as the elastic contracted, and the cups around your breasts became loose.

If there was one thing you could say about this explosion of a man, it was that he had no problem with multitasking; he hadn’t stopped his assault on your mouth, or let go of your wrists still in his grasp, as you felt his thumb pressing into your pulse point, throughout the undressing.

It made you think of the other women he had taken to bed to get so good at this.

Before any jealousy could rise in your gut, he switched gears and bit and sucked at your neck, while pulling down the straps of your dress and bra. You shivered as your nipples puckered when they brushed against the heated skin of his chest, and he groaned in return.

“Fuck,” he exclaimed, looking down at your nakedness and moving to cup one and feel its weight.

You arched your back when his mouth descended and laved his tongue around the darkened areola. While massaging the plump mass, he alternated between sucking and licking at the nub at the centre.

He had released your wrists to grope at the neglected breast, and you took the opportunity to thread your fingers through his hair and pull him closer, with a throaty keen. Your legs also widened when you felt his thighs push at the back of yours and he encouraged you to wrap them around his slim waist.

The next thing you know, you were being lifted into his lap as he sat back on his haunches and you felt how hard he was for the first time. Without even seeing it, you knew he was big, and you gasped at your predicament, realising how deep you really were in this mess.

You knew where this was going, and you mentally slapped yourself for giving in so easily. You shouldn’t be wanting this. But there was no going back. You knew he wasn’t going to let this visit end with heavy petting and dryhumping; you were going to have sex with a criminal, but not just any criminal, a cold-blooded murderer, the head of a dangerous Yakuza empire.

Just as you were coming to this realisation, you felt his digits glide along the smooth expanse of your inner thigh and tease at the edge of your lace underwear. They traced along one of the thin straps at your hip to follow where it dipped in between the mounds of your ass. Your grip tightened in his hair and he moaned at the action, taking a handful of your ass and squeezing roughly, causing you to grind against his erection, and let out your own moan.

“Yes,” he hissed. “Such a good girl.”

You bucked your hips against his with his words of praise, and he encouraged you to move more with a smack to your ass.

His lips found your neck again, and this time you gave him encouragement as you tilted your head to give him more access.

“Been too long,” he whispered between nips.

You whimpered in reply, and he answered with another smack before tugging at the string of your thong, causing friction along the folds of your sex.

Oh God, did that feel good.

And when he bought his hand back around, to cup the heat between your legs, you were lost. Your mind was gone; and when his middle finger drew a line along your clothed slit, it short circuited.

“So wet and needy,” he whispered. “No man at home to keep you satisfied?”

You shook your head in response when you realised he was waiting for a reply, and he had paused in his ministrations.

His smile was self-satisfying as he said, “Better remedy that then, eh?”

Your nod was all the answer he needed, as he flipped you onto your back again and kissed a line from your mouth, and between your breasts, bunching your dress around your waist as he made his way downwards along your stomach, and came to a stop at your aching center.

He made quick work of removing your underwear and dived straight in without premiable.

No part of his mouth was put to waste, everything was used; his lips sucked and slurped at your essence; his teeth nipped and tugged at your folds; and his tongue flicked at your clit and probed at your opening. And with each lewd sound you made he went faster and harder, spurring you on towards your end.

Heaven, was all you could think as he devoured you.

You had died and gone to Heaven.

He didn’t stop; not even after you had released your climax all over his face; he kept going. Faster, deeper and harder. When the overstimulation became too much, you tried weakly to push him away with a hand on his shoulder, but he growled and slapped it away.

When he started to use his fingers, in conjunction with his mouth, to explore your innermost regions, you were sure he was going to kill you, if he hadn’t already. Instead of Heaven, you now found yourself imprisoned in the second level of hell, being punished for your lust-driven desires.

His fingers were long and reached places you could only dream of, and with each new finger he added the more you felt that knot in your belly coil and tighten. He was talented and knew just where to touch to get you calling out for more no matter how much it hurt.

“Again, cum again!” he commanded.

You wailed and screamed in agonizing ecstasy as a second wave of pleasure crashed through you, spreading from your core and working its way through every limb; you felt your back arch and lock with the electricity zapping through your nervous system, and a tingling sensation was left in its wake as you came down from your high, prickling along your sweat soaked skin.

Warm breath fanned across the heated skin of your face, as you tried to remember how to breathe, and you opened heavy eyelids to see Bakugou watching you fervently.

You blinked in shock at his closeness, and a gasp of surprise left your mouth when he kissed you again, sharing your taste. He lifted you up to remove your dress completely and lay against the pillows with you positioned above him.

He smirked that smirk of his and said, “Your turn.”

You choked on a second gasp.

He wasn’t expecting you to… Was he?

“Oh yes, Princess, I am,” he smirked. “And I expect to see that lovely lipstick smudged, and a ring of red around the base of my cock by the time you’re finished,” he added, as he touched your lips and smeared your lipstick across your cheek.

You gulped and looked down at the bulge in his jumpsuit.

“Well,” he said, gesturing to his state of arousal, “Clocks ticking.”

You snuck a quick glance at the clock on the wall to find you were already more than halfway through your allotted time.

How long had he been eating you out?

“Oi! It’s my fucking birthday. Get on with it,” he interjected, pulling you from your reverie to look at him again, and he raised his hips to urge you on.

Taking a steadying breath, you took the plunge and tugged down his jumpsuit, taking his prison-issued boxer shorts with it.

Your eyes went wide at the view of his impressive length and thickness resting against the ‘v’ of his toned abdomen. He was so big you didn’t know where to start, and you contemplated on whether you could get away with giving him a handjob.

Bakugou was having none of your hesitance though, as his hand gripped the back of your head and pulled you down towards his crotch with a growl.

Bracing yourself with one hand against the bed, feeling the springs dip, you gripped his cock with your other, feeling the coarse hairs at the base tickling the edge of your palm.

It only took five strokes for him to become impatient with the lack of mouth action, and took it upon himself to remove your hand and grasp it in his own palm before pushing your head down further.

“Open up,” he ordered.

You could do nothing but obey, as the tug on your hair was becoming painful, and as soon as your lips parted and the pink of your tongue peeked out, he shoved you down on his length.

Too far down; you gagged and spluttered around him, struggling to breathe, hot tears brimming your lashes. However, he did not let up; he held you there as you felt saliva and precum pool in your mouth, and like the melting wax of a candle, it dribbled down his shaft to puddle around his hand.

He groaned in satisfaction as your throat constricted around him, your tears burning a line down your cheeks. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, he grunted as he took pity on you and pulled you off, only so he could stroke your spit along his erection.

Gasping for air, you coughed, and wiped at your tears, while you watched as he pleasured himself. You had never seen a man masturbate so brazenly in front of you before, and it only aroused you further to know that you were a stranger to him, and that he was a dangerous man to you.

“Ready now?” he asked, catching your eye.

You looked between his face and his still moving hand.

It didn’t matter what you said, you knew he was going to take what he wanted any way.

You can do this, you told yourself. You were no blushing virgin and had sucked plenty of dick before; granted, they weren’t as big as him, but you could do this. Nodding in acquiescence, he removed his hand as you arranged yourself more comfortably between his spread legs.

He folded his hands behind his head and settled back to enjoy the show.

This time, you started by scratching your splayed fingernails up his thighs as you mouthed kisses from the base of his resting cock, along the bulging vein on the underside, and up to the swollen, circumcised tip, leaving blood poppy lipstick stains in your wake. You repeated the action on your second pass, and on the third, you stuck out your tongue and gave the full length of him one long, flat, languid lick.

Bakugou hummed at that, so you did it again and watched his expression to gauge his reaction. His chest was heaving and beads of perspiration were trickling down the valley of his pectorals with each movement; his face was flushed and the ends of his hair were sticking to his forehead. What got your attention though, were his eyes, they were heavy lidded but burned bright, like molten lava, as he watched you.

Keeping eye contact, you took his cock in hand again and licked another long stripe to the tip, where you fixed your lips around the head and gave an equally as long suck.

He seemed to like that, as you felt the muscles in his thighs tighten, and his head fell back onto the pillows. You smiled and sucked again, like you were enjoying a deliciously bitter, cum flavoured lollipop. Two could play at this game.

When you felt confident enough, you pulled away and Bakugou’s head snapped back towards you with a glare, wondering why you had stopped. You gave him a smirk of your own before you steeled yourself with a large, deep breath, and engulfed him in your moist cavern. You hummed loudly, sending vibrations down his shaft towards his testicles.

“Fucking hell!”

The buck of his hips, shoved him further down your throat, causing you to choke, and you pushed a hand down on his abdomen to prevent him from going any further, as you pulled away from him.

“Don’t fucking stop,” he hissed.

You complied and continued to bob your head as you sucked, licked and hummed around his cock, and palmed his sack, going a little lower each time you went back down on him.

His panting and moaning became louder the longer you pursued your goal of getting him off, and taking all of him in your mouth; until, unexpectedly, he pulled you off him.

“Why’d you stop me?” you frowned with a wipe of your chin; you had just found your rhythm.

He snarled like an angry animal, “Too close, gotta have you now.”

You yelped as he pushed you onto your stomach, lifting your behind into the air, your spine curving like a stretching cat. He took position behind you; and as you felt the first brush of his cockhead at your entrance you panicked.

“Wait!”

“What now?” he did not sound amused at the interruption.

“What about protection.” You looked towards the bowl of condoms sitting in the middle of the table on the other side of the room.

“Too far,” he ground out between clenched teeth, “and not enough time.”

You raised yourself up slightly, and twisted your head uncomfortably to look towards the clock over his shoulder.

There was still twenty minutes left!

“A girl like you has got to be on the pill, right?”

You nodded, “Yes, but-”

“Then that’s good enough for me. Now take my cock, like the good girl you were when you blew me.”

He never gave you the chance to reply before he entered you.

All the breath was knocked out of you in that one swift motion, filling you to capacity. You fell forward with a strangled exclamation at the intrusion, and if he hadn't had a firm hold on your hips, you were sure it would have been enough to dislodge you and send you tumbling off the bed.

His pace was brutal, and you held tight to the discoloured sheets beneath your bent form as the metal frame of the bed screeched across the floor with each thrust. It was painful, no matter how wet he could make you, or how much he prepped, you don’t think you could ever be ready for him.

This was not how you had imagined how your day would have unfolded. Your job was to pose as Bakugou Katsuki’s wife, and meet him for a conjugal visit so that it was easier to smuggle in something from his brother-in-arms - what that something was, you didn’t know - but you had agreed to the whole scheme for your mother’s sake; she was ill and needed an expensive, life-saving drug to help her get better.

Now you were on your knees getting the pounding of your life from The Amber Dragon himself; and you couldn’t believe you were enjoying it.

Were you a whore for this? Technically you were being paid, and Bakugou had said he would double your fee.

“Better than the others he’s sent,” he grunted over your compromised form.

There had been others? How many fake wives had Kirishima sent into the proverbial lion’s den, or in this case, dragon’s. Bakugou had been here for almost a year now. Did he know this would happen? Had the smuggling just been a pretence and you really were just a paid whore?

You had a sneaking suspicion he did, if what Bakugou said next was anything to go by. And Kirishima had had his little fun out of you too, before sending you off to his brother.

“You taste tart like lemons, suck cock like a pro, and have the tightest pussy in all of Japan,” he moaned, going even deeper with each thrust. “Gonna have to ask for you again, when the next visit rolls around.”

Well, that boosted your ego somewhat; and the thought of coming back to see him next month made you groan. When you pushed back against him and he hit that sensitive area deep within you, your groan turned into a mewl.

“That’s it, Princess,” he murmured, stilling his pistoning hips. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Raising up on your elbows, you followed his instructions and looked behind you to find him watching the lewd sight of you pleasuring yourself, his hands spreading your cheeks apart to get a better view. All shame had flown out the window now as you grinded against him, and swirled your hips to find that friction you felt earlier against your delicate spot.

There, right there.

“Yes,” you cried out in triumph.

You watched as he spat where your bodies joined, and you felt the trickle as it mixed with your combined fluids.

He spanked you. “Keep fucking going,” he barked with another slap.

A few more swivels of your hips and you were in Heaven again, shaking and stuttering as your third orgasm of the day sent your head spinning and your bones melting in rapture.

Before you could collapse, Bakugou’s strong hand grasped your neck and pulled you flush against his chest with an arm wrapped around your waist.

“You’re not done yet, Princess,” he growled into the shell of your ear.

“I- I- I can’t,” you stammered, grasping at his colourful forearm for dear life. “It- It’s too much.”

“You’ve got one more in you.” He punctuated his remark with a jolt of his hips, which had you arching away from him - taut like a bowstring - with a squeal, which only made him penetrate deeper.

He held you firmly in place by your throat as he continued to plunge into your, still dripping, cunt, hitting that sweet spot each and every time.

“Take it,” he growled. “Fucking take my cock.”

Your eyes crossed when the callused pads of his fingers joined in on the abuse, and rubbed against your neglected clit, adding a new sensation of torture into the mix.

“Pl- Pleash,” you slurred, dropping your head back against his shoulder. You had no idea what you were begging for - for him to stop, to continue - you had no idea, your brain had long since checked out, and had left you a slobbering, sobbing mess.

He smirked at your plea.

The hand at your throat turned your head to face him. “Say it again,” he said with a firm slap to your abused cunt.

You felt your hot tears burn a path across your temple as you looked into his lust filled eyes, and he licked them up slowly. “P-pl-please,” you whispered.

“Good girl.” He rewarded you with an open-mouthed kiss.

You squealed in both pain and delight when he resumed his assault; your nerve endings were on fire, sending an inferno running through your bloodstream.

Forget Heaven and Hell, you were no longer in this dimension, you weren’t a part of this world, you had transcended. Your shell of a body didn’t belong to you anymore as Bakugou played you like a well-tuned instrument and claimed ownership over it.

He had your mind in the palm of his hands too, erasing everything you knew until there was only him. Bakugou Katsuki. He took up every corner, leaving no room for anything to get past his all-encompassing presence.

You were his. And no man would ever compare.

He had ruined you.

You no longer registered the creaking of the bedsprings or the fact that the bed had moved almost two-foot across the room. You focused on his arms wrapped around you, his hot breath on your neck and his desperate pants against your skin, as a final tsunami of ecstasy drowned you in waves and waves of euphoria.

You screamed as your release flooded out of you.

“FUCK!”

You felt him fill your spasming cunt; a torrent of life-giving essence flooding your insides and squelching as his hips continued to hammer against you, and you felt his cum leak down your thighs from your conjoined bodies.

You both collapsed forward, Bakugou having the foresight to hold himself above you, before rolling to the side, so as not to crush you.

The bedsprings settled their squeaking as the sounds of heavy breathing took their place, filling the silence of the room.

“I think that was enough of a show to keep that fuck-wit of a guard off my back,” he breathlessly said.

You felt your overheated cheeks burn hotter with embarrassment at his implication. You had forgotten all about him.

A moment later, Bakugou leaned over the side of the bed to retrieve his jumpsuit, and pulled out a packet of cigarettes from the pocket; after lighting it, he took a long drag and blew the smoke towards the ceiling.

You shook your head at his offer of a turn on the stick, too exhausted to even lift your head, when you noticed he had also picked up your bra, and was rubbing the lace between his fingers.

It was a pretty bra, one you intended to keep at the end of all of this.

“Hey,” you shouted, when he began to rip open one of the padded cups. “What are you doing?”

“Getting what you came here for,” he mumbled around his cigarette.

You blinked in disbelief.

So you were here to smuggle something. You had been confused when Kirishima hadn’t given you anything to hide, thinking the underwear he had handed you was just another part of the blond man's particular tastes.

“Hah,” he said when he found what he was looking for.

He lay back down beside you and raised a plastic, black chip into the air, twirling it between his fingers.

“What’s that?” you asked.

“A birthday present.”

It didn’t look much like a birthday present to you. It was just a small black rectangle, the size of a memory card. “Huh? What’s it for?”

It must have held some meaning to him, as the next thing you saw was him giving you a hard, penetrating stare. “That’s between my brother and me.”

Ok, it was important, and he didn’t want you to know about it. It seemed he was particularly tight-lipped when he wasn’t trying to seduce you.

“Fine, keep your secrets,” you replied in defence, remembering who you were talking to.

He clutched the little chip in his palm, as you tried your luck and tentatively reached towards his arm and traced the lines of one of his dragon tattoos, like you had wanted to do earlier. “What?” you said to his disapproving stare. “I was a good girl.”

He took another drag and smirked knowingly, “Yes, you were. The second best birthday present I’ve had today. Kirishima really is too fucking nice for his own good.”

“Did you really mean it when you said you wanted to see me at the next visit, or was that a ‘in heat of the moment’ kind of thing?” you asked with a frown, as your finger passed over amber wings. You didn’t want this to be it; you only had five minutes left.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he replied. “I think we’ll be seeing each other sooner than you think, Princess.”

He twirled the chip again, focusing all of his attention on the thing, and you watched mesmerized at how dexterously he handled it.

“Much sooner.”

You believed him when you saw the self-assured smile he wore from the corner of your eye.

References:

Yes, I did take Sousei no Ryuu (Twinborn Dragons) from Yu-Gi-Oh! I do not regret it.

Alternate Ending - Warnings: Dark Content.

“What’s that?” you asked.

“A birthday present.”

It didn’t look much like a birthday present to you. It was just a small black rectangle, the size of a memory card. “Huh? What is it?”

“The key to my freedom.”

He gave you a look you couldn’t decipher before he was on you, pushing your face into the pillows forcefully and wrapping his hands around your neck.

When he began to squeeze too hard, you came to the realisation that this wasn’t round two of love-making, and you panicked and started to thrash and scream for help.

He didn’t let you though, he flipped you over and shoved the chip down your throat, before you could alert the guard outside. You choked as he placed a hand over your mouth preventing you from spitting it out.

His grip grew even tighter and you clawed at his hands, trying to get him to release you. You reached up to scratch at his face and arms, leaving deep welts behind, like the red dragon inked into his skin, but it had no effect, it only caused him to add more pressure.

“Yes, fight back,” he laughed maniacally. “I love it when they do.”

Your head was becoming fuzzy from the lack of oxygen to your brain, and when you tried to swallow, the chip lodged in your throat and blocked your air way and you began to violently convulse.

You could do nothing.

You were going to die.

Bakugou was smirking again, but this time it had none of the flirty undertones from before, this time it was sadistic.

He was enjoying this.

He was enjoying killing you.

Black spots began to obscure your vision and your hands dropped from their clawing to fall at your sides.

Why had he done this? Why you?

He leaned down and placed his lips against your ear, “It’s nothing personal, Princess. You’re just a means to an end,” he whispered and kissed you behind the ear. “Thanks for the unforgettable birthday.”

Your last thoughts were of your mother as your vision faded completely, and you stilled.