To Read - Blog Posts

Wingman

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Kaminari is an insecure idiot, Breeding, Oral(ish), Light Choking, V. v. v Slight FemDom, Saturnari Coded. Word Count: 7.5k.

Summary: Kaminari has always been the wingman, but with you, he wants to be anything but...

Coming out tonight was a bad idea.

Through some miracle, the whole gang has managed to swing the same night off, a rarity that Kaminari should be enjoying, but even as he watches all his friends cut loose, he can't say he shares in their excitement.

Slouched in the back of a booth, he nurses his fourth drink. It had taken almost twenty minutes to convince everyone to go have fun without him. He'd fed them all the usual excuses – that he was tired, his new shoes where a touch tight, he was too busy scouting for girls and didn't want them hanging around to ruin his vibe. It had been the last one that had sold it, which was ironic. Kaminari shifts to itch the back of his calf with the point of a shoe. He'd be okay here, camped out in the corner with nothing, but a drink and a sinking sense of disappointment.

In the middle of the club, Kirishima has his arms wrapped around Bakugo's neck. His nose is pressed to his cheek, lips barely a millimetre from pale skin as to better whisper low to him. Around them, a steady flow of interceptors try, and fail, to slip between them.

Sero is at the bar. He leans lazily against it, an elbow dug into hardwood at an angle that just lets him hold his drink without dropping it. Already, there's a semi-circle of women around him. They touch him in the absent way one touches something they want to own. He doesn't stop their advances.

Somewhere out there is Mina, too, but she moves too quick to spot. Flitting between groups of people, she dazzles anyone who so much as glances in her direction without pausing to tarry on just one conquest.

Then... There's you.

Kaminari finds his gaze drifting, naturally, until he finds you. He's just keeping an eye on you. Or, at least that's what he's telling himself. He can see Sero looking too, and the occasional glances Bakugo spares you before he's twirled away and forced to break his line of sight. Mina, as well, he's seen it and even though Kirishima thinks he's being subtle, he's not.

He wonders which of them you want. Which you'd let take you home and touch, delicate, against your skin. You could have any of them, that much is for sure, but that doesn't stop the acidic burn that washes his throat when he thinks about his own odds. With friends like his, Kaminari has long since come to terms with always being the last choice.

'Kami!' You slip into the booth ass first and almost, almost, lose an inch of your gin. Righting the glass, you tap your shoulder playfully against his, reveling in the way the muscle of his bicep twitches with the contact.

Kaminari sighs, running a finger around the lip of his glass. At this point, he figures it'll just be less painful to beat you to the punch. 'So go on.' He fixes his smile back into place, erasing the edges of a frown and looks out at the mess of people on the dance floor. 'Who's your type?'

'Huh?'

'Which one?' He pretends to have already suffocated the wisp of hope alight in his chest and forces a chuckle up his throat. He wiggles his eyebrows at you while almost white-knuckling his drink. 'Because Sero'll take you home like yesterday, but he's got metal in his... Y'know, so if that's not your bag you might want to try one of the other two... Maybe, both?' He cocks his head, smirks without the mirth. 'Or, fuck, do you want Mina's number?' His intonation spikes towards the end, curiosity and panic bleeding into his tone.

'I don't want any of them...' You frown and shake your head, moving to lay a hand on his shoulder, but just before your fingers can play against the cuff of his t-shirt, he moves.

'C'mon. You don't have to play coy with me.' Shoulders tensing, he tries to steady the beating of his heart. The small fire in his chest is still kindling, burning hope bright and sure. Best not to let you touch him until it's extinguished then - he'd only be letting himself get the wrong idea. 'I am supposed to be the wingman and all that...'

'Kaminari.' His ignorance is endearing. There's a pinkness on his cheeks that makes you want to kiss them, but you'll have to get to the root of the reason he won't let you get close if you're looking to live out that fantasy.

Unperturbed, Kaminari continues on with each of his words stinging like small splinters wedged under his skin. It's not like he hasn't done this before, helped one of his friends hook up with the object of his desire, but you – you're different. He likes you. 'Personally, I'd say try your luck with Kirishima first if you're not up for handling a bit of a brat, Bakugo can be -.'

'Kaminari -.'

'And Mina! Well, Mina's...'

'Kaminari, I don't want any of them.'

Kaminari tenses. No. Don't do that. He doesn't want you to fan the flames, doesn't think he can take being swallowed alive by that fire tonight. The tone that lifts from his tongue is sharp, cracking like a whip between you. 'I said you don't have to do that -.'

It only makes you smile. 'Denki...' You coo. Then, when he tucks his chin to his chest, you lift it with a finger and force him to look: to see.

'Baby.'

'Huh?'

'I said.' You keep hold of his chin and make him watch your mouth as you speak, enunciating every word as clearly as you can. 'I don't want any of them...'

'Oh...' He nods despite having not digested any of your words. Until... His jaw drops, mouth rounding. 'Oh.'

The tip of his nose has pinkened, glowing soft in the dim lights of the club and his eyes are shining, golden half-moons bright as they flicker subconsciously from your eyes to your lips and then back again.

Cocking your head, you chuckle. 'You can't really expect me to buy that you don't know when you're being hit on?'

'I – Women don't usually...' He trails off as embarrassment coils low in his gut. Once upon a time, he'd fancied himself a ladies man, but by the end of high-school he'd been made aware that promiscuity was simply a dream for him. He'd been the last to lose his virginity and even then, he's pretty sure Camie fucked him out of pity. A familiar swirl of uneasiness whips around his stomach as the ever-present tendrils of insecurity wiggle and twist. 'I mean – Have you seen my friends?'

You snort, refusing to give him an inch. 'Have you seen yourself?'

You laugh and Kaminari thinks he'll never have to listen to music again. 'I don't – I'm not.'

Shaking your head, you press a finger to his lips and smirk. 'Mr. If I hear one more stupid thing fall out of your mouth I'm gonna have to kiss it.'

He chuffs before he's able to stop it, one million dull insults swelling in his chest. He never was good at saying the right thing and people have always been too keen to point it out. 'Gonna be kissing me a lot then.'

'Yeah?' A pleasant warmth spreads through your chest at the thought of stealing multiple of his kisses. It makes your shoulders tight and your stomach feel light.

Kaminari nods. 'They don't call me Dunce Face for -.'

You cut him off with a kiss. Just as you'd promised. It's a soft thing, a barely-there graze of lips, but he reels back from it almost breath-taken. Reaching up, you play with a strand of blond falling from his fringe and wait, patiently for his brain to catch up with the situation. Truth be told, you've had your eye on Kaminari for a while, but when even your blatant flirting at the last squad BBQ hadn't been enough to convince him of your interest, you'd decided to take more divisive measures.

An airy chuckle breaks Kaminari's lips. 'I might have to say stupid stuff more often, because – mmhmph.'

You kiss him again.

'I don't just get kisses when I say something stupid though, do I -.'

And again.

This time, he lets himself sink. He's still not really sure what's going on. Maybe one of the others put you up to this, to make this night one to remember – but, as your mouth migrates from his lips to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, and neck, he struggles to dwell on whatever scheme has lead to him being here. A dull pressure slips easily up his thigh, skating over the ripped denim of his jeans until he can feel your fingers curl at the join of his thigh. Spit sticks in his throat, his hands instinctively reaching out to touch, to curl around your arm and hip. 'I -.' He reels back with a heaving chest. The words tumbling from his mouth before he can catch them. 'I can't – don't – I don't want...'

You flinch back as if burnt.

The absence of your body crowding against his makes his entire chest feel cold, but he pushes on, tripping over his thoughts as he goes. 'I – fuck – Okay. So I think, I think you're... I think you're so fucking pretty, like wow, like holy shit you're – you're incredible, okay, but I don't... I can't, if you...' He looks down, then back up at where Sero is standing at the bar.

The other man looks at him, cocks an eyebrow and smirks, just enough to still seem nonchalant.

'If you're looking for a one night stand or something, then – then you're better off taking Sero home.' Squeezing an eye shut, he braces for impact – ignoring the pain that flares in his chest when he thinks of you slipping back out of the booth. He's gotten a taste now. He's not sure how he's supposed to ever forget about that.

'Kaminari, you fucking moron.' You blink and shake your head, ignoring the flittering anger that bubbles steady in your chest.

'Huh?' Cocking his head, Kaminari is almost wounded by the idea that – should he not feel as though he's just stumbled into something remarkably more serious – he'd be getting a kiss for whatever idiocy has just fallen out of his mouth.

You shove him. 'Who said I was just trying to fuck you – you -.'

'But -.'

'Do I really need to say it out loud? Do you want me to write it down? Text it to you?'

Kaminari feels something close to panic flood his veins as he watches disbelief wash clean over your features. 'I don't – When...'

'I could not have been any more obvious. I was practically falling over you at the barbecue. Kirishima's mums wouldn't stop saying how much of a cute couple we where...' Shaking your head, you widen your eyes and shout even louder over the music. '… You went along with it! I asked you to be my date to Bakugo's fucking award show last fucking week... I thought you -' A dizziness plants itself at the base of your skull. Honestly, you'd thought you'd been playing the long game. Convincing him of his worthiness, of your interest, but now... Now you're starting to think all of that energy might have gone to waste.

Kaminari blinks. 'You weren't just...' He swallows as something squirms in his stomach. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd misunderstood someone's intentions. Fuck, his and Momo's entire friendship is built off of the fact that he thought she'd been flirting with him and not just adopting him as some kind of awkward best-friend, who she could gossip with and put make-up on when she got bored. That had been one Hell of an awkward conversation. He can still remember how sweet she'd been when he'd slipped a hand onto her knee, how she'd cooed at him and apologised for giving him the wrong impression. It had been humiliating. Even if he did manage to swing a pretty amazing friend out of it.

'Just what?'

'Just being nice.'

You shake your head, still somewhat perplexed. 'No, Denki, I'm not just being nice. You ever see me pull that shit with anyone else?'

It feels as though someone has just doused gasoline onto the fire in his chest. Hope wraps itself around his lungs and squeezes until he has no other option other than to haul in a shallow breath. 'No.'

Huffing, you chew on your lip and fix him with a stare, eyebrows raising on your forehead. 'Exactly, and if I have my way, I'll be one Hell of a lot nicer.'

With his tongue stuck to the basin of his mouth, Kaminari summons the strength to mutter a soft: 'Really?' Already his body has broken out in a chill. Anticipation uses his spine as a ladder, causing the muscle of his back to tense and straighten his posture.

'Mmmhmm.' Leaning forward, you plant your elbows on the table and push your tits together. You don't miss how his Adam's apple bobs, or the way he finds himself unable to drag his eyes back up from your cleavage. 'So... You gonna let me be nicer to you, Kaminari?'

'It's – it's a bit of a mess, I – uh...'

You barely allow Kaminari to shut the door before you have him pressed against it. Your hands reach out to cup his face, fingers touching soft as they curl around the back of his neck and thread softly into the hair at the base of his skull. 'I don't care that you haven't cleaned up, Denki.'

He chuckles, disbelief and excitement mixing together in the basin of his throat as he his hands ball to fists at his sides. Static fills his joints. There's so much energy bubbling up inside of him that he doesn't quite know what to do with it. It zips through him, paralysing and energising in equal measure as he loses himself to your touch.

'I...' Swallowing, he leans forward until his forehead touches against yours. It grounds him, combines with the dull scratching of your nails on his scalp and lets him breathe. 'I really – Fuck, I can't believe this is happening.'

You laugh, eyes fluttering shut for a second as you bask in his gaze. You're not sure if he knows he's doing it, but Kaminari looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing in the world. Large, luminescent irises highlight his adoration, spotlighting every inch of you as his eyes flicker from yours, to your lips, to the dip of your collarbones. 'Yeah...' You huff. 'Well best start believing.'

It's a messy stumble to his bedroom, a mix of uncoordinated limbs and hot, open-mouthed kisses. His hands are everywhere and greedy, grabbing at anything he can: the small of your back, your waist, your ass.

'Oh, shit...' He mumbles against your lips, already drunk and pulls back just enough to catch your eye. 'Is that...' Licking his lips he raises a hand to his own mouth and tests the stickiness there. 'Is that strawberry?'

Nodding, you subconsciously let your tongue dart out to taste. The gloss is barely tacky, almost gone from Denki's assault. Instead, you can see it on his lips – the faint shimmering of pale pink that glitters in the low light. If you kissed him again now, you're sure you'd be able to taste it too.

'It's nice.' He chuckles, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

Humming, you wrap a palm around the back of his neck and pull him in close, feeling his breath on your cheeks. 'Yeah?' It feels juvenile, getting butterflies over the evidence of your kiss, but there's no denying the pins and needles that perforate the insides of your lungs.

'Yeah....' There's a smile tugging at his lip. The steadily darkening of his cheeks suits him, makes the cool gold in his eyes stand out, alive and clear, against the burning plain of his features. What starts out as a small fire ignited on the high of his cheek bones is soon scorched earth across much of his nose, reaching to the peak of his chin. The joy makes him look boyish. Distractingly handsome as he erupts into another foray of half-digested laughter.

Leaning in, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth and taste strawberries. It mixes with something harsher, the spirit he had been so easily tipping down his throat back in the club; but underneath the tart and fruit mixture all you can taste is undeniably: him.

It's a stray trainer and the edge of Denki's oddly coloured purple mattress that is your eventual undoing. You'd been too lost in each other to notice that the slow push of small steps backwards had run it's course, leaving little room for anything other than a fall.

You go down hard.

Denki hits the mattress first, his back concave, arms stretching up to pull you close before you'd even managed to feel the bite of the connection. He reaches up, brushing his fingers across your cheeks as if to check for injuries he knows you don't have.

'Isn't this the part where you ask me if it hurt when I fell?' You have to purse your lips to stop yourself from laughing, but it doesn't work.

The noise is infectious, making him break out too. 'I don't know about you, but it fucking hurt me.'

Kissing his nose, you carefully spread your legs to bracket his hips and push up, until you can hover over him with your hands denting the mattress at either side of his head. 'Always knew you'd fall for me, eventually.'

He rolls his eyes, but blushes deeper. Cupping your chin, he rubs a thumb across your jaw. 'I never thought you'd fall too, though.'

'Less of that.' Sitting up, you playfully slap at his shoulder before letting your hands skate down the sides of his arms. When you reach his wrists, you take hold of him and list, encouraging his palms to find a place on your thighs. Shivering at his touch, you swallow a smile.

'Touch me.'

As soon as the hold on his wrists loosens, his hands start to shake. Left to his own devices he finds himself torn, eyes eating away greedily at your body as he decides just where to lay his hands first. 'Can I...' His voice shakes, nerves soaking into the back of his tongue as he hooks a finger around the top of your dress. 'Can I take this off?'

Rolling your shoulders, you nod. You can feel the flex of his stomach muscles underneath you as he curls himself into a half-crunch to reach you. His hands skate across your shoulders, fingers catching on the thin material of the straps as he gently, slowly, encourages them down your arms.

There's something caught in his throat as he watches the material slide. It slinks down your skin, stretching around the width of your shoulders before coming back together when you pinch your elbows in towards your core.

You let the material bunch around your waist, exposing your chest to the air as you perch In his lap. Already, the cold has your nipples pebbling, rising to the air as the faint buzz of arousal continues to make a mockery of your nervous system.

'Sh – Shit.' He breathes. His hands twitch into the air automatically, rising to hover over the ruched material of your dress. There's a desperation in his fingertips, a burning itch that has his ligaments twitching as he attempts to commit every inch of your body to memory.

'Hey...' Huffing air out of your nose, you press your palms to his. His fingers slot between yours easily, allowing you to squeeze tightly once before retracting your touch. Tensing your fingers, you don't have to encourage him much before he's taking a firm hold of your chest and smoothing his thumbs across the apex of your tits.

A shaky breath bullies it's way from Kaminari's mouth, the dull click of his throat audible as he swallows down the groan vibrating through his chest. 'You're... Why're you, so – so soft?..'

You chuckle, the noise bouncing your chest in his hands as he continues to slowly explore your skin. 'I moisturise.'

At that, a laugh breaks through the lull. It's full bodied and high, a giggle born from pure amusement that makes the apples of his cheeks glow. 'Yeah?'

'Yeah...' You repeat and take his hands once more, encouraging him to take a rougher grip of you. ''m soft here.' Pressing his palms up, you let your chest spill into his hands, but before he can even think about taking a hold of you, you're moving him on. '...And here.'

Next, you skate his hands down your sides making him feel the swell of your curves as your waist gives way to the shape of your hips. 'But...' Biting your lip, you hook your thumbs below his palms and lift, forcing him to venture across the bunched material of your dress until you can nestle one of his hands against your thigh and the other, square over the mound of your cunt. 'I think I'm the softest here.'

Denki moans. Even through the sheer lace of your underwear he can feel how wet you are. It warms the pad of his thumb, making his skin tingle as he presses just so against the raw bud of your clit.

You jolt, even the gentle touch of his thumb making your cunt clench with anticipation. Humming under your breath, you let go of his hand to tug at the collar of his shirt. 'Off... C'mon, it's not fair.' You're whining now, hips moving in the smallest circles you can manage against his stationary pressure.

'Hmm?' Mesmerised by your sudden neediness, he has to shake his head to bring his brain back online for long enough to process your request; but as soon as he does, he's sitting up and almost unseating you in his haste to get rid of his shirt. He yanks at the back of the material, hoisting it over his head and tossing it as far as he can manage. Curling his spine, he blinks up at you with hazy golden eyes and offers you an expectant smile. It twitches the corner of his mouth, pulling his lips into an expression that almost shows his teeth.

'That better?'

You nod and lift your hands to his shoulders. His skin, now bare, is warm under your palms. The lean muscle tangled over his bones is firm and yet, soft; moving delicately under your touch with each of his unsteady inhales. Your eyes eat at him greedily, at the surprising broadness of his shoulders, the cleft of his chest and the neat rolls of his stomach as he bends.

Shifting, he feels chews on the edge of his lip. 'W- What?'

'Nothing...' You smile, pulling your eyes back up to his. 'Just looking at you.'

'Why?'

Lifting a hand, you smooth your knuckles down his cheek. 'Because you're pretty...'

He blushes. Bright red blooms on the tips of his cheek bones and runs like a river down his face until almost his entire chest is flushed.

'… And,' you smirk. 'I think you're going to look even prettier when you're inside me.'

A strangled whimper leaves his throat. It catches behind his Adam's apple, clicking audibly in the new dull silence of the room. His hands lift, fingers digging crescents into the fat of your thighs as he tries to stop his hips from rutting up and into the softness of your cunt.

'You like the idea of that?' Using your thumb, you pull down his lip, exposing gum. 'Like the idea of being inside of me. You wanna fill me up, huh?'

He nods.

'Words.'

'Y – Yeah. Fuck, yeah... Wanna, wanna fuck you.' His grip tightens, eyes unable to be torn away from yours. Grinding down, he shifts his ass further into the mattress, trying and failing to slink away from your heat.

'Good boy.' You kiss him softly, letting him whine into your mouth, but before he can lurch forward and deepen the kiss, you're pulling back and shimmying off of his lap.

For a moment, he attempts to move with you. His head follows, lips still pursed and searching even as you almost clear his knees, but all too soon there's the obvious indents of your fingers in his chest stopping him.

Your hands fiddle with the button of his jeans, making quick work until you're able to slip your hands under the waistband. 'Lift your hips.'

He does, complying easily as you rid him of the offending material. Resting himself on his elbows, he watches as you drop the clothing off the end of the bed and lean back just enough to snake your way out of your dress. He licks his lips. Your body twists, exposing the rough curves of your hips as you shimmy to reposition yourself on the bed. The plush fat of your breast swaying, nipples flat in a way that makes him want to taste them, to feel them plump on his tongue.

Holding onto the small amount of cognition that he still possesses, he uses it to drink in the sight of you perching over his hips.

Lowering yourself onto your elbows at either side of pelvis, you feel your skin prickle under his gaze. Burning suns threaten to scorch your skin as he devours you, eyes everywhere, committing even your most unattractive details to memory. It makes you feel exposed, vulnerable and powerful, having him so captivated without even a touch. Shivering against his gaze, you dip your head and, while keeping your eyes on his, lick a long, thick stripe across the hardness straining against his boxers.

It's like he's just been shocked. Two million vaults course up through his legs with a violence that makes his eyes roll. His cock twitches, jumping against your touch even as you pull away. 'Not... Fuck, that's not fair.'

'No?' You cock your head and purse your lips, pressing the softest of kisses to his covered head.

'No: fuck.' Stretching out his shoulders, he tries to loosen the tension quickly building in his stomach. The last thing he wants is to paint the insides of his boxers and become the latest laughing stock of your friends. Clamping shut his eyes, he breathes deep, but his breathe is stolen again too soon when he feels your tongue press hard against his cock again. Reaching down, he catches hold of the front of your throat.

'That's not going to make me stop, baby.' You laugh, lowering your head again and pushing your throat against his palm. 'If anything, it's going to make me tease you more.'

The rough pads of his fingers dig in for a moment, half-crescents threatening to mark your throat as he tests his grip before releasing you. Rocking his head back onto the pillow, he feels the elastic of his boxers pull from his hips and slip until it's nestled below his balls.

As soon as it's released from its confines, Denki's cock snaps back against his stomach. It's a pretty thing. Slight in it's length, with a girth that is comfortable enough to sit perfectly in your palm and a soft rose to the skin; just looking at him makes you want to swallow him down. His head is darker, a deep red where it peaks from underneath his foreskin and weeps pearled white over his shaft where it races its way to the thick copse of dirty blonde hair that gathers around the base. Wrapping your lips around the tip, you suck ever so softly.

Denki whimpers. Reaching up, he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to stem the onslaught of stimulus threatening to reduce him to a premature end. His breath stutters in his chest, caught somewhere underneath his diaphragm as he feels your tongue slip over his head and inch beneath the stretch of his foreskin.

Moaning, you bob slowly on his cock swallowing barely an inch before he's pushing his ass into the mattress and trying to scramble away.

'Shit. Hang on, hang on...' Hand shooting down, he grips the base of his cock with an almost bruising pressure while still wriggling backwards. 'Don't wanna... I don't -.' His breath comes out in pants, his chest caving in with each shaky inhale as he prays for his body not to betray him.

'Are you okay?' Wiping your lip, you sit up and cock your head. You're about to reach for him voice dripping with concern when he peaks open an eye to stare at you.

A dull laugh skips from his tongue when he takes in the confusion lacing your features, allowing him enough air to splutter out a broken: 'Was... Fuck, wasn't going to last.'

'I barely touched you -.'

'Guess I just find you that hot, huh?' With his pulse steadying, he chances a steady stroke of his cock gathering both pre-cum and spit in the twist of his fist. 'You, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?'

Settling back over his hips, you reach for the hand not wrapped around his cock and interlace your fingers before guiding him to your hip. It takes a simple hook of your finger before the heat of your cunt is exposed, underwear unceremoniously tugged aside to allow you to reposition Denki's hand beneath you. 'You have no idea, either.'

The first grind of your cunt across his knuckles has him sucking in breath. Each bone catches against your clit, coating him in your arousal as soft moans begin to leak from your mouth. It makes his stomach twist, his cock twitching in his hand as he feels your need grow large enough to match his own. 'I – I think I'm getting one.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah.' He swallows. The edges of his vision swim, growing blurry as he struggles to comprehend you grinding on his hand and soaking his lap. Even with the tension still around the base of his cock, he can feel it twitch in his hand, desperate to feel the sweet recess of your cunt. 'I'm... Fuck, I'm not gonna...'

You cock your head, a smile playing at your lip as he trips over his words. 'C'mon, use your words.'

Groaning, he rocks his head back on his shoulders before fixing you with a needy gaze. He speaks quickly, with barely a breath between words as if there isn't even enough time for him to finish his sentence. 'If... Fuck, if you're serious about wanting to sit on my cock, you're going to have to do it soon because just looking at you has me nearly -.'

You cut him off with a kiss. It's immediately deep, needy in its pace and leaves both of you panting when you finally pull away. Resting your nose against his, you whisper into the slither of space between you. 'You want me to fuck you, baby?'

He nods.

'Words.'

'Fuck, yeah. Yeah. I want you – shit, want you so bad.' Twisting his palm, he uses his thumb to gently tap at the hood of your clit. With each subtle moan he earns from your chest, his taps become longer, harsher, causing you to bite your lip and grind down onto him.

Nodding, you cover his hand with yours to inch him away. A smile twitches at the corner of your mouth as he whimpers, chest hollowing at the idea of being parted from you for even a moment.

Leaning forward, you press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose before reaching between your own thighs and taking hold of his cock.

He releases himself as soon as he feels your fingers close around his shaft. His cock pulses, twitching into your hold as you give him a single cursory stroke, spreading the pre-cum leaking down over his skin from tip to root. Flicking your eyes back up to his, you feel the dull thrum of arousal beating in your cunt as you watch his lips drop open even with the little friction you've allowed him. 'Look at you... You're almost as wet as me.'

A blush blooms high on his cheeks, his eyes blowing almost black; turning his eyes into a solar eclipse. His mouth moves, but the words stick in his throat – leaving nothing but a moan able to escape as he nods in agreement.

Wiggling your hips, you shift back and line him up. You're dripping, skin shining with slick as you slowly, slowly, lower yourself down onto his cock.

Immediately, his hands clamp solid around your waist. His eyes roll back, eyelids fluttering as he huffs. You feel divine, hot and wet and squeezing him so tightly that it's hard for him to focus. The edges of his vision blur, his head swimming even though you've barely taken an inch of him. 'Shit, shit... Fuck -.'

'You feel so good.' You finish his sentence for him. His cock forces you to stretch around him, opening you up as you continue to sink down onto him. It's a mild presence, but one that manages to press up on every single nerve inside of you making you want to cry out. Your thighs shake, hands reaching forward to splay over his chest to steady yourself as you finally bottom him out. The nest of blond pubic hair at his base tickles against your clit, causing you to gasp and roll your hips, searching for more.

'I -.' Trying to pull his head from the pillow, Denki stares through the haze of his eyes. 'I'm not gonna last.' His grip tightens on your waist, a new desperation crawling into his voice as he almost whispers... 'Wanna – fuck, wanna make you feel good though.'

'Yeah?' Lifting yourself, you sink back down onto him with ease and shiver against the flare of pleasure that twists your stomach up into knots.

'Please...' Denki's throat is raw, tightening around his plea.

Desperation fills his chest as he watches the point at which you're joined. His eyes fixate on it. On where your body stretches for him, cunt open and drooling as you take him with ease; the flushed bud of your clit twitching each time you manage to impale yourself just right. 'Please...' He tries again, voice still warbling. 'Please, cum on my cock. Please – I wanna, wanna see, wanna feel – please...'

You chuckle, lifting one of your hands from his wrists to stroke your knuckles down his cheek. 'Look at you, begging so pretty...'

'Please -.'

Nodding, you straighten up and roll your shoulders back. For a moment you stay still, letting the taught pleasure simmer inside you until it settles. Your cunt has slicked his skin, making the soft rose flesh shine in the low light of his bedroom. The sight does something funny to your stomach, making it twist and bubble. Clenching your hands, you beckon him to hold you.

There's something impossibly grounding about the way you lace your fingers with his. His palms face upwards, providing a platform for you to press against and he's forced to tense his biceps as you use him as leverage to bounce. 'Oh, shit.' Pleasure flares through his body like wild-fire, making him cling to your hands and his clamp shut his eyes.

'Look at me.' Your voice is soft, although, if he were to listen close, he'd be able to hear a similar desperation to the one that infests his own. 'D-Denki, look at me.'

He obeys immediately. His gaze is hazy. His focus shattered as he looks from your eyes, to your lips, to where your cunt swallows him and back again.

'Want you to watch.' You whisper, causing his eyes to widen.

Nodding, he lifts his hips, fucking up into you just enough to have you teetering on the edge of bliss. He can feel it, how close you are. It's in the tightness, in the way your cunt squeezes him and pulses. You look like a vision, your skin flushed, with sweat beginning to dew along the line of your collarbones and your eyebrows drawn up making your features stretch with pleasure. His heart stutters in his chest, betraying the swirling emotions that threaten to make this mean a whole lot more than just sex.

''m close.' You stutter over your words, so close to your own end that you can almost taste it, but it isn't until you see the soft mouthing of Kaminari's continued begging that you finally feel yourself hit free-fall. His eyes are glued to yours, making you feel observed and worshipped all at once as the entirety of your body lights up like a sparkler.

Kaminari has seen a lot of great things in his middling twenty-seven years on this planet, but watching you come undone on top of him drops itself clear at the top. Ignoring his own nearing end, he attempts to commit every inch of you to memory as he feels you tumble over the end, once and for all.

Your orgasm hits you like a train. Your cunt pulses, thighs and stomach tensing violently as each wave of pleasure threatens to black out your vision. With each ebb, another dull thrust of Kaminari's cock brings back that same crashing pleasure. You're not sure if you cry out, not sure if you call his name – your ears are full of static, your eyes clouded as you remain air born into bliss.

'Did -.' Swallowing around the spit pooled in his mouth, Kaminari still can't pull his eyes away from you. 'Did I do good? Did I?'

Coming back to your body feels strange. There's a lightness in your bones and a burn in your muscles that screams satisfaction, but that still doesn't stop the fire churning in your stomach once your eyes clear enough to see him. He's close to tears, flushed and needy with his hips still grinding up unable to stop as your cunt continues to milk him. Biting into your lip, you reduce yourself to your elbows beside his head and press your chest to his. 'Cum for me... Want you to use me.'

There's no need to tell him twice. Electricity flashes in his eyes as he lifts himself enough to plant his feet square on the mattress and begin fucking up into you. It's desperate, the pace he sets, as is the series of moans that leak from his mouth as he loses himself to the feel of your cunt. 'Feels, fuck – fuck.'

'That's it, baby.' You coo, pressing an uncoordinated kiss just south of his mouth. Overstimulation bites at your insides making your stomach tense as his cock continues to press square over your G-spot, but there's no mistaking the hum of pleasure it continues to force through your body.

It takes barely a handful of stuttering thrusts before there's a gasping 'Where... Fuck, tell me where now Princess, or I'm gonna -.'

'Inside.' You moan, the idea alone making your mind reel. 'Please, fuck. Cum inside me, please.'

'Yeah...' He nods, huffing. 'Yeah, shit, okay.' His hands find their way down to the small of your back when he cums. His palms spread there, pressing down to ensure he's as deep as possible when he finally begins to fill you. Thick and white, he spills inside you, his cock pulsing as he quakes through the last of his orgasm.

Lifting your head, you blink at him as he slowly comes back to himself. There's a warmth floating in your stomach and a subtle ache in your muscles that you're sure will only feel better in the morning, but that matters a lot less when you lock eyes with him again.

He blinks, disbelief and joy mixing on his features as he mumbles: 'You let me cum inside you.'

'I did.'

'You -.'

'Yeah.'

'Holy shit.'

'You liked it?'

'No-one has never, no-one has...'

You hum and lean in to press only the softest of kisses to his cheek. ''m glad I did. You did so well...' Sitting up, you let your hands roam over your stomach and the fat that lives there. 'Filled me so good.'

Many things flicker through his mind then, none of them savoury. The way you're sat, straight with a subtle curve to your spine, makes your stomach stick out slightly. So much so, that if he where to squint and let his mind wander, he could almost believe that you were... Kaminari's cock twitches.

'Are you getting hard again?' You cock an eyebrow.

He swallows. 'Maybe?'

'Because of?..'

This time, he has the decency to blush, but he doesn't dare lie. He nods, biting down on his lower lip. 'I think I just discovered a new kink?'

'Hmm.' Purring, you rock your hips against him and feel his cock give another valiant twitch. 'Maybe you should breed me again, just to make sure it took, then?'

Kaminari short circuits. His eyes shimmer in the dark, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest as he tries to calm himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders just what the Hell he did to ever catch your eye.

'Would you like that?'

Sitting up, he wraps his arms around you before twisting and tossing you back to the mattress. He looms over you, an elbow beside your shoulder as his other hand travels down your body and graces the mound of your cunt to play with your clit. Lingering there for a moment, he slips lower and collects the spend that has leaked from you with his fingers before gently pushing it back inside you. 'Yeah...'

Curling his fingers, he makes you arc off the bed as he rubs at your G-spot. 'I'd like that a lot.'

Denki rubs the sleep from his eyes and yawns. There's a pleasant ache in his limbs when he stretches his arms above his head, his toes pointing underneath the duvet as he rocks his head back on his pillow.

His movement jostles you, causing you to open your eyes and squint against his smile.

'You're still here.' He beams.

You respond as if it's obvious, as if there wasn't any remote possibility of you leaving in the middle of the night. 'I am.' Wriggling closer to him, you ignore the dampness still lingering between your thighs from an entire night spent together and lift your leg over his knee.

It still feels surreal as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and uses his thumb to stroke at the skin there, carving unknowable shapes into your muscle. He's longed for this, for you, for longer than he can remember and yet, if he had only seen past his own insecurity... Who knows how long he could have indulged in your body for? How long he could have made you moan and made you breakfast and seen what you looked like at seven in the morning when the sun was in your eyes?

'So, do you believe me now?' You blink at him and smile, resting your head against the turn of his collarbone.

'What?'

Running a finger down the cleft of his chest, you tap out a tune against his sternum. 'That I only want you, silly.'

There's no evidence of yesterday's former ignorance lingering on his features when he stares back at you, only the something close to happiness and the faint shimmer of mischief. 'Eh...' Taking your hand from his chest, he lifts it to his mouth and presses a series of kisses across your knuckles.

The gesture makes you giggle, but before you can lose yourself to his sweetness, he's twisting your hand and pressing your palm to his skin once more. You let him guide you, letting him encourage you down over his chest and past his stomach. You let him push onward, even when you already know exactly where he's heading.

'I think I might need more evidence.' He mumbles as your fingers slip through his pubic hair and make his skin tingle. Already his cock his half hard and swelling fast, just at the mere thought of your hand wrapping around it.

'Yeah, you think so, huh?' Biting your lip, you wait until the breath catches in the back of his throat to stop his onward march.

He swallows.

Sitting up on an elbow, you tilt your head and press a kiss to his mouth, before whispering against his lips. 'Then, maybe my mouth will be better at convincing you...'

-> Masterlist

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬.

KATSUKI BAKUGO X SECRETARY READER

A 500 FOLLOWERS SERIES!

❥SYNOPSIS: as the years went by, bakugo realized that he was the last to get married. the days grew cold and the nights turned lonely. bakugo want's to marry, but he doesn't really feel like falling in love. at least he has his trustee secretary!

CHAPTERS: 0—1—2

❥ WARNINGS: implied fem reader, aged-up!, Pro-hero MHA characters over the age of 27, vulgar language, suggestive wording and content

❥ MASTERLIST

❥ JOIN TAG LIST!

WORDS: 6.7K

CHAPTER 1: THE SIMPLETON; YOU.

"accept calls from strangers."

You are a hard-working citizen, you are straightforward, diligent, focused, and most of all. You don’t take anyone’s shit.

Since a young age, you harbored grand aspirations of collaborating with the renowned hero Dynamight. Even during your high school years, witnessing the fledgling hero proclaims his ambition to become the top hero to millions of viewers on live national television deeply resonated with you.

He was a hero you admired deeply, whether that was in combat or in any other position.

Driven by an intense desire to be in close proximity to the fiery and passionate hero, you applied yourself with unwavering diligence. Night after night, you immersed yourself in rigorous study, methodically reviewing each cue card until the ink was exhausted and the pencils were rendered brittle from the forceful strokes onto your notebook.

Before you knew it, you graduated college majoring in hero analysis with a minor in communications.

the first few years after college were hard, without any significant connections, you had little to no experience beforehand to get any major positions in well-affiliated agencies.

Pizza for breakfast and granola bars for dinner, staying up for days and sleeping fewer nights. Going to countless amounts of interviews, passing trial after trial.

yet denied, denied, denied.

you began to lose hope, you felt that all the hard work you did was for nothing. You were fearful of the eventual future set in place for you. A dead-end office job at some random corporate office that could barely pay the bills, "comfortable" housing, and an urge to die because you never lived up to your expectations.

On a rain-soaked day in Japan, a biting chill permeated the air as the relentless downpour battered your umbrella, the droplets cascading off its surface with effortless ease. As you made your way from yet another failed interview, the weight of repeated rejection hung heavily upon you.

This time, however, you didn't feel particularly upset about it. The hero's demands were simply unreasonable, and you had no intention of acquiescing to such outlandish requests. After all, the hero's accomplishments were hardly noteworthy and their reputation was far from impressive. Barely reaching the top 100 rated heroes in Japan, he wasn’t worth any second of your time.

With a resigned sigh, you trudged out into the bustling streets of Japan, surveying the sea of faces before you with a critical eye. Among the throngs of people passing by, you observed carefree children strolling hand in hand with their parents, and trendy teens sporting high-waisted shorts and fishnet stockings, flaunting their disregard for the curfew that surely awaited them.

The distinction between the two groups of people made you notice something…you either abide by the rules or defied them.

So then what were you?

You were the simpleton of course, sadly...

Like so many others trudging along these rain-soaked streets, you found yourself caught up in the unrelenting hustle to secure a job that would never truly fulfill you. Your expression was weighed down by the burden of this unending search, with a heavy heart and a growl in your stomach. you absentmindedly made your way into a nearby ramen shop.

the chill of the rain subsides to the warm embrace of the restaurant. Bustling voices of citizens and the loud clanks of kitchenware. you were greeted by the workers and you bowed. setting your things down at an absent table, you look over to the ordering tablet. clicking a couple of buttons, you ordered your meal. Before you could sulk in your seat, your phone buzzes.

Jolting in surprise, you pick up the phone to read the contact name:

UA WORKFORCE CORP.

Your eyes lit up with unbridled joy as a rush of adrenaline surged through your body. The reason for this sudden surge of excitement was none other than the prospect of being selected as a trainee with UA Corporations, whether it be through the prestigious school or one of the legendary hero agencies affiliated with it.

It all began last year when you submitted your application, and the possibility of this dream finally becoming a reality now had you feeling electrified.

Around a couple of months, you've passed through multiple rounds of other people who have applied for the position. Interview after interview, test after test, you knew that if you got the job you'd be on the track that led you to your dream.

"hello!" you said excitedly.

"yes, hello, is this l/n y/n?" a woman says on the other end of the line. You quickly confirm your identity with the woman. "hello there, I'm here to give you acknowledgment of the results of the final round pick for the UA CORP. affiliates position." the woman's voice rang through your phone, heart beating fast...breath staggered your reply.

"y-yes?" you stuttered.

"Yes, l/n, I'm sorry to inform you--"

[CALL ENDED]

With a swift press of a button, you ended the call, throwing your phone onto the table you sit in silence. tears began to stream down your face as you lowered your head to the table. Your body was wracked with sobs, each tear that fell causing your breath to catch in your throat.

why are you not good enough?

As the weight of reality bore down on you, your tears flowed even harder, your throat constricting as you tried to swallow. Was all your hard work for so reason? Are your dreams non-attainable? Is this just not the past you're destined to take?

After a moment, you sat back up in your seat, heedless of the tears and makeup staining your white button-down shirt. With red-rimmed eyes, you reached for your phone and began to scroll through Google, determined to find some sort of solution to the crushing blow you had just been dealt.

'office jobs near me.'

biting your lip, you try and stop your lip from quivering. you felt as if you were destined for despair since you were a child.

Like so many others, you too idolized heroes when you were young, running around your house with makeshift masks and capes that resembled the same heroes you watched on TV. Full of youthful hope and possessing a fairly decent quirk, you dreamed of one day joining the ranks of these legendary figures.

Fast forward a few years, and you found yourself in middle school. After a long day of classes, you trudged your way back home, collapsed onto your bed, and drifted off into a deep sleep, ready to take on whatever the next day had in store for you.

but the only thing is, you didn't wake up.

you didn't wake up for another three days to be exact. when you finally awoke in the hospital, your parent broke the news to you. You seemed to catch a very rare parasite, this parasite can leave the host sickly with fever, very drowsy, and worst of all...

quirkless.

The following week at school, you shared the news with your classmates: you were essentially quirkless now. But instead of receiving words of encouragement and hope, you found yourself labeled an outcast by everyone around you.

"the girl who lived, but at the cost of her quirk."

Years later, the news still shook you to your core, and you couldn't help but feel stunned. present day, you've noticed that you could still use your quirk from time to time. around 10 times a year, your quirk would come and go in little spurts. but as time grew long, you became accustomed to not using it for a long time, so you never did.

so now here you were, alone, quirkless, and a soon to be slave to the corporate world.

cheeks stained with mascara, eyes red, and head pounding, you look over to the ordering tray, sliding out the hot ramen ready to be consumed.

"at least this ramen can make me feel better," you mumbled to yourself. Taking the large bowl from the tray, you set it out on the table and began to dig in. As you eat, you begin to scroll ok your phone looking for regular office jobs…

Manager at printing company? No.

Office associates needed at tech company? No.

Receptionist at steel company? No way.

Senior communications analyst? What?

Scroll, scroll, scroll.

Deny, deny, deny!

This can’t be your reality right? How are you going to break this down to your parents?

Deep in thought, you didn’t even realize that someone slid in your booth. Tapping away on your phone, you open your messages.

Group chat: Mom & Dad

you: hanging in there! So close!

letting out a sigh, you open the camera app. Looking at the screen you see yourself, torn up from the floor up. Eyes a faint pink contrasting from the red they were a few moments beforehand. Pressing your lips together into a line, you quickly tap your screen to flip your camera.

Flipping your camera, you stare at the screen. A man appears on the other side, as he looks at the camera in embarrassment.

Eyes widening you gasp, “Excuse me, but there’s other seats around,” you try to sound as nice as possible, but why should you be nice if today hasn’t been so nice to you back?

The man was covered in black from head to toe, black hood on tight, as he looks at you. Black-shaded glasses and a matching face mask on him.

“Um, can I sit with you please?” He says.

Rolling your eyes, you become irritated, “no. now if you can please move–“

“Please, I can’t sit alone, people will notice me!” He whispers, body leaning in towards you, jolting backward, you frown in confusion.

“What?” You say, tone cold and filled with irritancy.

“Um…listen this is the only time I’ve got to myself, and I love this place! And if people see me alone then they’ll notice me, so can I just please sit with you?”

Blinking rapidly, you grew quiet.

Looking around, you see no one looking toward you or the mysterious man ahead of you. Looking back, you then sink into your seat. Grabbing your face with your hands, you soon let out a deep sigh.

“Sure, fuck it, go ahead, this day can’t possibly get any worse!” You laugh to yourself. This makes the man’s head tilt. “May I ask why your day is bad?” He says. Removing your hands from your face you give him a deadpan look. Licking your lips you sit up from your chair and grab your utensils.

Stirring your noodles around you let out a dry chuckle, “Let’s just say things never go the way I want them to—and there’s also a random man in front of my face when I could really like being alone at the moment…the small things.”

You say, sarcasm drenched with every word you spoke. This makes the man laugh, “Sorry your day has been shit.”

Leaning into his seat, you crossed his arms. “Maybe I can make your day better? Go ahead, have at me,” the man says.

Letting out an irritated sigh, you confess.

“The only thing that can make me happy at the moment, is if you can somehow give me a job at UA Corp.”

You chuckle, the utter impossibility of what you just said made it humorous. “Really?” The man says. “Really,” you replied back.

“I think I can do that,” he says, his tone relaxed and suave—he sounds as if he can in fact…do that.

“As if,” you snort.

“You wanna make it a bet?” He says, his tone was playful and a tad bit flirtatious. “I can get you to work for the top pro-hero’s in the country, all I need to do is make the call.” He says as every word falls off his tongue with no effort.

This peaks your interests.

“You don’t say?” you reply back.

“Who do you want to work for sweetheart? Just give me any name.” He says.

“Okay…Dynamight, I—I want to become a secretary! That’s the position!” You say, your tone desperate and hopeful.

The man smirks behind his mask, “Okay.” Pulling out his phone, he hands it to you. “Give me your number, you’ll be getting a call soon.” He says, biting your lip you grab the phone and do as he says.

You're well aware of the dangers of blindly accepting what strangers say; it's like common sense 101. And yet, here you are, drawn towards a man who's covered in black from head to toe. It's not the smartest move, but there's just something about him that makes you want to place your faith in him. You can't quite put your finger on it—maybe it's the intensity of his gaze, or the air of mystery surrounding him—but you can't help but feel a strange attraction towards him. It's a risky move, but sometimes you just have to trust your gut, even if it defies all reason.

“Do you promise?” You spoke softly, this earns a chuckle out of the man, “Of course! You’re making a deal with a god—not a devil.”

As you gaze into the stranger's dark eyes, you can't help but feel a shiver run down your spine. There's something about him that doesn't sit right, and whatever god he may or may not represent, he's not exactly acting like one. But despite your reservations, you continue to chat with him, and as the conversation flows, you begin to let your guard down. Eventually, you find yourself sinking back into your seat, pouting slightly as you polish off the rest of your meal. You can't quite put your finger on it, but there's just something about this mysterious man that's drawing you in, despite all the warning signs.

You're not quite sure how to process the choices you've made, given how impulsive they were. It's not exactly the wisest decision to act on a whim fueled by intense emotions, but you simply didn't give a damn. Life's been pretty rough lately, and if things are already this bad, then why not make them even worse? That seems to be your thought process, as you ride the waves of your tumultuous feelings, consequences be damned.

throwing your utensils into the empty bowl, you gather your things and shuffle out of the booth. Standing before the mysterious man, you frown. "are you going to eat anything?" you ask.

"Nah, I think I'm gonna eat somewhere else...you've made me have a taste for something different." Soon, the man jumps out of his seat and walks away, brushing past your shoulder with ease.

Astonished, you look back and watch the man leave out the restaurant in a hurry.

What just happened?

for the rest of the day, you carried yourself through your regular routine. eat, think, cry, repeat. As day turned to noon, and noon falls to night...you grew anxious for a reply from the mysterious man you met earlier today. Heart pounding and blood running cold you sit in your apartment kitchen, your phone a couple of feet away from you on the kitchen counter. As you were sitting on the other side, the wooden chair creaked with every movement you made.

You didn't know what to think of the situation before you, looking around the apartment, the shadows grew as you fell deeper into the times of night. Looking at the clock, it read 10:39pm.

Letting out a sigh, you rise from your seat and grab your phone. you head into your bedroom, crashing onto your bed (that could be softer) you lay and stare at the ceiling.

"Is this my life now?" you questioned yourself.

You purse your lips and shut your eyes tight, hoping to drift off into slumber and escape the terrible day that's left you feeling like crap. Sleep seems like the perfect distraction—a chance to shut out the world and forget all the stress and negativity that's been weighing you down. With a deep breath, you try to clear your mind and let yourself sink into the warm embrace of sleep, hoping that tomorrow will be a better day.

RING RING RING RING

RING RING RING RING

RING RING RING RING

the sounds of your phone sound an alarm through your body, shooting up from your bed you scramble to your phone. breath staggered and heart pounding, grabbing the phone you read the contact number.

ANONONYMUS CALLER

eyeing the phone more, you read the time. 5:57am? It's way too early to be answering calls...but you knew this call could be important. Taking in a deep breath, you answer the phone.

"h-hello?" you say, you breathed hard onto the other end. Anticipating the voice on the other end of the phone. A moment has passed by, the phone still attached to your ear, you sit on your bed waiting for someone to speak.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" you ask again, you hear nothing but static on the other end. Swallowing your spit, you curse and begin to end the call.

"l/n, isn't it?" a familiar voice rang out, eyes widening you press your ear back onto the phone. "yes! This is she!" you softly exclaimed.

"you've got the job, I'm sending you the location of where you need to be...meet me there at 8:30am sharp not a minute before, not a minute after. Do you understand me?" the voice rang cold, monotone, and raspy.

your heart was jumping out of your skeleton at this point, unable to refuse, you complied. "Okay! Thank you again, for helping me...whoever you are," you say.

"Don't mention it, you'll know who I am, and soon everything will fall into place," maybe you were hearing things, but you could hear a twinge of humor in his tone.

before you could reply, the phone disconnected from the call. you couldn't believe it. "I'm working for Dynamight?" you say aloud, in disbelief. A smile etched onto your face, but you soon wiped it off.

Standing from your bed, you began to pace. "let's not celebrate now y/n, there are still many factors that need to be noticed..."

factors which are:

where is this location?

this could be a trafficking scam

you could be dead in a couple of hours

but what if it was real?

The power of belief was astounding—it seemed that the mere possibility of something being real outweighed all other considerations tenfold. Excitement bubbled up inside you as you prepared to head to the location, eagerly zooming around your room to fix your hair and makeup. You even practiced your best customer service voice, running through lines and mentally rehearsing how you would handle different scenarios. All that mattered was making a good impression, and the prospect of the unknown made your heart race with anticipation.

"How can I help you Mr. Dynamight?" "Your meeting is scheduled at this time Mr. Dynamight" "Would you like any coffee Mr. Dynamight?" you in your sweetest voice possible. Giggling in excitement you reach for the bottom drawer of your dresser. Pulling the drawer, you smile with excitement.

"The time has come, you're finally getting what you deserve." Looking down at the clothes before you, you planned on wearing this outfit for the first day on the job.

You expected to find your outfit covered in cobwebs when you pulled it out of the drawer, but to your surprise, it was in impeccable condition. Not a single wrinkle marred the pristine fabric, and there wasn't a single stain to be found. You had ironed and steamed everything to perfection, determined to look your absolute best. Your outfit was the epitome of sophistication - a classic white button-down paired with sleek black work pants and matching heels. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as you admired yourself in the mirror, ready to tackle whatever challenges lay ahead.

throwing your clothes on, you read the clock, 7:51am. eyes widening, you look at yourself in the mirror one last time before grabbing your things and rushing out the door.

flagging down a taxi, you hurriedly give the driver the location. your heart leaped from your chest once more when you read the location details on the screen.

DYNAMIGHT RIOT HERO AGENCY ©

this is seriously happening? you thought to yourself.

"you work there ma'am?" the taxi driver asks. a new rush of pride washes over you, "yes, I do...it's my first day." you say, a shy smile paints over your face. "congrats, I heard it's not so easy getting a job at places like that, my niece tried to work there but got denied after 2 years of interviews."

"wow," was the only word that could come out of your lips.

"how'd you get in? connections?" he pries. "um...you could say that, but I think I got here out of pure luck, you wouldn't believe it." You chuckle, the man smacks his lips at your reply, obviously upset at your success. Forming your mouth into an "oh," you sit back in your seat and look away from the man.

The silence between you and the man lingered awkwardly for what felt like an eternity, as the taxi sped on for the next 20 minutes. You were relieved to finally see the agency's headquarters looming up ahead, massive in size and bold in color. The building stood tall, almost like a skyscraper, with bright hues of red and orange radiating from its walls. Your eyes widened in amazement as you watched countless people streaming in and out of the entrance, going about their day-to-day business. As the taxi slowed to a stop, the driver tried to navigate his way toward the front of the building, and you couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement and nervousness at what lay ahead.

"Thank you!" before the taxi could even stop, you jump out of the vehicle. Throwing your total amount for the ride into the car, you slam the door and rush towards the building. Clutching your briefcase tight, you swallow the lump in your throat.

Before stepping forward, you feel your phone vibrate. It's another text from the man you met yesterday.

ANONYMOUS:

walk into the building and head straight into the right elevator by the bathroom, when you get in go to the 21st floor.

when you get there, there will be a front desk. ask for red. tell them your name, and they'll know who you are.

a lady will lead you into a room, wait there until further notice.

"Here goes nothing," putting the phone away you do as you were told and walk into the building. you were absolutely astonished by the size of the first floor, to the point where you became overwhelmed. businessmen and woman hustling to their destination, mascots dancing to the faint music, trying to stay on the beat but the sound of children screaming in amusement drown out the tempo. tour guides leading the way for curious visitors.

This place was a workplace war zone...

Letting your heels carry you away, you head towards said elevators. you waited patiently in line to enter the elevator. looking at the elevators, you look at the vinyl art on it. It's a picture of Dynamight and his partner Red Riot, fists in the air and victorious smiles shining bright you read the quote on the elevator.

"Work hard, grab victory by the throat, and win!"

Very Dynamight coded, you'll say.

Packing into the elevator like sardines, you notice there's an assistant there who presses the buttons. Do they seriously need a position like that here? "Floor 21 please!" you yell out. You notice the multiple workers give you an unreadable look, frowning you hang your head low in embarrassment.

After a good 2 minutes of waiting your turn, you finally reach your designated floor. squishing past the still rather large group of people, you take in a deep breath of fresh air. Holding your briefcase tight, you look back and thank the assistant.

"good luck, you'll need it," the assistant and everyone else in the elevator starts to burst into a fit of laughter. Confused, you were about to ask why but the elevator quickly closed. Adjusting your uniform, you bite the inside of your cheek.

"Don't let them get to you y/n, this is your dream," you reassure yourself, stepping towards the front desk. you see a lady, her mid-forties at least. typing rapidly at her computer. "Excuse me, ma'am," you say softly, you watch as the lady's typing comes to a swift halt.

"yes?" she says, rather rudely, still looking at her computer.

Blinking, a little bit held back from shock "Hi, I'm here to see Red? I-I'm l/n y/n." The lady soon lets out a chuckle, turning away from you, she opens up a drawer and pulls out a paper. Pulling at the paper, she grabs a pen and writes your name down and hands you a name tag sticker.

As you examined the sticker more closely, you couldn't help but cringe at its childish design. Tiny caricatures of pro-heroes adorned the borders of the "Hi, my name is!" label, and you felt a pang of embarrassment as you peeled it off and quickly slapped it onto the left side of your chest, right over your heart. It was a small gesture, but it hurt your pride to have to wear something so unprofessional.

"Please walk into that room over there...and also, word of advice, you should start wearing all black," the lady smirks, taking her hands and running them down her body. showing you that she is in fact, wearing all black. Looking down at your white shirt, you face heats up from your embarrassment. "may I ask why?" you say. The lady continues to do her work, not even giving you a look of acknowledgement.

Nodding, you give a polite bow and head into the waiting room. As you walk into the room, you're filled with shock. the room was quite large...but there was only one seat? Deadpan in the middle of the room, the metal chair sits unharmed. you laugh out of nervousness, the sight of the chair makes the embarrassment you felt merely seconds ago wash away.

Walking to the seat, you sit and patiently wait. The sound of the fluorescent lights buzzing, at the white noise, fills your eardrums. you quietly tapped your fingertips against your briefcase to the imaginary beat in your head. looking around, all you see is the grey carpeting and white walls, and the tv straight ahead of you.

You waited for a good 30 minutes in silence, distracting yourself on your phone as you waited, and waited, and waited. You constantly kept checking your messages, hoping for another anonymous message, but was left with a dry phone.

letting out a sigh, you frown. "is this some joke?" looking around the room, you spot a security camera behind you in the corner of the room. it's blinking red light flashing into your eyes, turning around you ponder to yourself.

"This must be a joke, that's why everyone has been laughing at me this whole time. I should've never came here," defeated, you began to gather your things. As you stood up to head for the door, the lights soon cut off. you let out a yelp, walking in the dark your hands extend out for the chair behind you, soon with a sigh you sit down. The tv you saw soon cuts on, a bright white screen shines and takes over the whole room.

"WELCOME L/N Y/N!" the screen says blankly, the text blinking on and off, if this was supposed to invoke excitement, it's doing the bare minimum. you stare at the screen and wait for anything else, but the screen soon goes black. another minute in the dark passes by as you sit in your seat absolutely dumbfounded.

The screen turns on again, this time there's faint music sounding from it. soon you see a random person on the screen, probably a paid actor. "hello there fellow newbie! Welcome to Dynamight Riot Hero's Headquarters! Today, I'll be with you along the ride as we both become secretaries!" the actress, obviously way too happy to be here inquiries.

after watching the 10-minute-long do's and don't's video, the screen blinks to white again. squinting your eyes at the bright light, the black sans serif font shows on the screen again.

KEY REMINDERS:

DON'T TELL ANYONE YOU'RE A SECRETARY!

BE A GOOD WORKER!

ALWAYS BE ON TIME!

AND MOST OF ALL: WORD HARD!!

soon after the screen turns off, a couple of seconds go by and the room lights flash back on, you hiss as you cover your eyes so you don't get flash-banged for the fifteenth time. eyes still covered, you hear a door open and footsteps walk towards you.

uncovering your eyes, you look towards the floor to adjust to the bright white lighting. "so sorry, just give me a second!" you nervously chuckle. "don't worry, take your time!" the voice says politely.

wait, that voice.

It's the man you saw yesterday! Your hand soon uncovers your eyes and you look up. "It's you-" eyes shooting wide, your hand flings towards your mouth.

Red Riot?

"ah, guilty as charged! Happy to see me and not some creep aren't ya? You really need to have a better guard, I could've just been anybody!" he laughs. A frown soon shows on your face, "so you were the guy at the ramen restaurant? Why the hell was you there?" you growl. The pro-hero frowns playfully at your attitude.

"tone, little miss! that isn't a way to talk to your new boss. you know, I thought we let in a complete stranger for a second! you look so different when your face isn't soaked with tears and runny mascara." he jabs at you with a mischievous grin which makes you roll your eyes.

"Whatever. And Boss? Dynamight's my boss!" you argue. Red Riot rolls his eyes at your words, "Last time I checked, my name is out on that building and in that shitty little video you just watched." He says, somehow sounding so polite cursing at you. "And you're gonna wish you worked for me and instead of him by the end of the day"

looking at him, your frown never left your lips, "can we start now?" you say.

"Sure! right this way!" he says, walking away from you, you hurriedly grab your bags and walk alongside him. before you could reach the door the hero turns and blocks your way from seeing the other side.

"Also, uh...wear all black next time." he says, his eyes travel down your figure, and you bite your lips in embarrassment. "why?" you ask. "Because it is a thing we do here, we want everyone to be seen as equals to us, we are all people here at the end of the day, hence we all wear the same thing. Plus, it's because we say so and it looks cool." he chuckles to himself at his last words, turning around he walks away.

As you walked into the office setting, you couldn't help but feel a sense of shock and disbelief. Everywhere you looked, it seemed like the people around you were robots going about their tasks with mechanical precision. Everyone wore the same drab black outfits, and you couldn't help but wonder if it was some kind of strange joke.

The more you walked, you could feel the eyes of the other employees snapping toward you, their stifled chuckles and whispers following you with every step. It was as if they were all in on some kind of inside joke, and you couldn't help but feel like an outsider in this strange, black-button-down world.

As Red Riot led you around the office, you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe wash over you. Here you were, walking alongside one of the most legendary heroes of all time. It was hard to believe that this was actually happening - that you were standing in the same room as Red Riot himself. Despite your nerves, you couldn't stop smiling as you walked, eagerly listening to every word that he had to say. It was as if you were soaking up every moment of this incredible experience, committing it all to memory so that you could remember it forever. As you continued to explore the office, you knew that this was a moment that you would never forget.

"And here's our final stop! The boss's office, the one and only Dynamight's quarters" he says. "you'll be in and out of here often, so get ready for that," he chuckles. you quickly nod at his words, "before I let you in this room, do you have any questions?" he asks. you shake your head no, licking your lips you look forward at the doors. The golden plate shined brightly as it read his name:

PRO-HERO DYNAMIGHT: かつき ばくご

"Alright then!" soon, the hero bangs on the door. "see you around, fresh meat! by the way, cute sticker" he laughs, walking away from you. You were left standing in shock, did he just leave you here all alone?

"Come in," you hear a voice say. eyes snapping towards the door. You let out a shaky breath. Grabbing the door handle you slowly twist. "don't be a pussy y/n, you wanted this!" you whisper to yourself. Pushing the door open, words couldn't express the emotions you felt at this moment. Looking at your one and only inspiration in front of you, in all his glory.

Dynamight!

The sun was rising outside, casting a golden light over the room and illuminating the blond hair of the number one hero. As he looked into your eyes, you couldn't help but notice the way that his amber irises seemed to glow in the light. It was as if he was lit from within, radiating power and confidence. You took a quick glance at his attire and noticed that he was wearing a simple black shirt and matching sweatpants. It wasn't exactly business casual, but who were you to judge? This man was the number one hero, after all. He could walk in wearing a clown suit and you wouldn't bat an eyelash.

"You're the new hire? Right?" he says, his voice deep and captivating, way calmer than what you've seen on tv as it is early in the morning. You nod your head, the hero guides his hand towards the open seat in front of his desk, you follow and sit in the comfortable leather chair.

"Yes, my name is L/n Y/n!" you spoke softly, "I know." He spits back, you blame it on the early mornings. "Here are some ground rules we need to set in place, firstly..."

As he continued to speak, you found yourself hanging on his every word, completely swept up in his presence. It was almost surreal to be sitting across from the pro-hero, and you couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and disbelief. You quickly pinched your thigh, just to make sure you weren't dreaming.

As you looked at Dynamight, you couldn't help but feel a flutter in your stomach. Seeing him in person was a completely different experience altogether - and you couldn't help but think that he was even more attractive up close. Maybe it was the fact that he was being so soft-spoken with you at the moment. How many people had actually seen him like this before? You couldn't help but wonder if this was a rare occurrence, and you silently thanked the heavens and the stars above that you were one of the few lucky ones to witness it.

The way his muscles flex as he holds your résumé–

Wait, how did he get your résumé?

“Excuse me?” You chime in, the pro-hero hangs his head low for a moment. Lifting his head up, he lets out a sigh, “I don’t like to be interrupted…" he looks down at your name tag for a mere moment, "l/n” he says. “I’m sorry I just have a question,” you state.

“Shoot,” he says, sarcasm oozing from his tone.

“How exactly did you get my résumé?” You asked, “What? Did you think we weren’t going to do a background check on you? You could be some psychotic fan for all I fuckin’ know,” he says, the morning rasp in his tone sends you ablaze as heat rises to your face.

“Oh! Right, well I’m not so,” you awkwardly chuckled. “Yeah I know, you’ve gotta…pretty good lookin’ résumé here,” the hero flips through a couple of pages, confirming his words.

You couldn’t believe it, the Dynamight called you qualified for the job! “Thank you so much! It means a lot to me that–“

“Okay listen, l/n, it’s early in the morning, and me and my partner just came back abroad from a goddamn mission. So imagine how I feel sitting here at this desk talkin’ to you and filling out these papers instead of in my bed sound fuckin’ asleep. I’m gonna need you to tone it down alright?” He says, his tone raises as he grows irritated at your chipper attitude.

Blinking you bow in your seat, “I’m sorry Mr. Dynamight!” You spoke softly. “Don’t call me that, please just…don’t.” The hero rises from his seat and walks towards the door, you quickly stand up and follow suit.

“What should I call you then?” You spoke, his back facing towards you, the man let out a deep sigh, his palm cradling his neck. Rubbing the sensitive spot as he quietly hisses in pain.

“Just call me Dynamight, I don’t need people to go around calling you a lost puppy looking for their owner with the damn honorifics,” he says.

A brief moment of silence enveloped the large office, as the sound of the ticking clock grew increasingly louder with each passing second. Suddenly, Dynamight broke the stillness with a deep, audible sigh, turning to face you with a look of slight exasperation on his face. It was clear that he had a lot on his mind and a lot to worry about. And it seems like you're not making it any easier.

“When you came up here to this room, I hope you noticed why everyone was laughing at you. I want you to take what you went through into deep analysis…l/n.” He says, tone sharp and crude as his eyes bore into your being.

“Why’d you sit in that waiting room with only one fuckin’ chair? Eh?” He says, a hint of humor in his tone. Your frown at him, looking down you try to really think back as to what happened.

“I’m sorry, Dynamight—I’m not sure.” You spoke, this makes the hero frown. “The reason why—is because every secretary that has worked for me, has quit.”

oh.

Swallowing your spit, you nod understanding the real reasoning behind the dirty looks and laughs. “Every single secretary that has been under me quits in no less than three months you wanna know why? Because of me.” He says as a sinister smile tugs at his lips, almost as if he’s proud of it.

“Well…how do you know that I’m not different?” You mumbled. The hero lets out a chuckle, because—I got a feeling you won’t last a month. You can prance around here with your happy attitude and white button-down, but I and you both know that you’re supposed to wear black.”

Why the hell does wearing black matter so much here?!

“So you’ve already defied me once, you get three strikes, no if, and's, or but's about it. And we both know what happens when you get to strike three,” he says smugly. “Don’t we?” He asks. Frowning, you hung your head low to avoid his fiery gaze.

“Yes…Dynamight, we do.”

You couldn't deny the fact that you were a little bit scared about what the future held for you here. But at the same time, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation as you walked through the office. You were determined to make the best of this opportunity, even if it meant dealing with a difficult boss or two. After all, you were ready to face any challenge that came your way, as long as it meant being able to take this incredible opportunity.

“Good,” he says, his smile drops and he soon opens the door, letting it slam onto the wall. This makes you jump, you quickly gather your things and follow behind.

You watch as all the employees ride from their seats and greet the hero. But he doesn’t give as much as a mumble back in reply.

“You’re going to be following me around for the day, can you do that task?” He asks, you nod and speak, “Yes, Dynamight I can.”

You were happy to be alongside the hero, he was your inspiration, your happiness, your sadness, but little did you know from now on.

You’d hate his guts.

HEY GUYS! Honestly did not expect for this to blow up, thanks so much for the kind words! ALREADY CLOSE TO 600 FOLLOWERS? It’s literally been two days you guys are crazy!! I wanted to make sure that I got this done by today, even though this literally took me forever to complete.

I have so much on the way, trying out a different format for my theme. Hope you guys take notice in it. Till then!

— 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐢𝐝𝐚 ❤︎︎

❥ : @skeletonblush @smolbeanzzz @gold24fish @stablecreator93 @itgetzweird08 @xo-evangeline @akqsa-xxi @gaby-11 @suchagoodgirlxoxo @r-ans @hunny-hotline @superkittywonderland @jolynegf @sad0nion @nar00 @gingerbread-ginza @noxva08 @xaslieex

Rough and new | bakugo

Summary: you meet a new and interesting creature that seems to share the interest.

Warnings: mer!Bakugo, fem!Reader, sexual content, adult reader, characters aged up, dubcon

Minors do not interact

Genre: fluff + smut(ish) due the circumstances of the story don't expect full smut

PART ONE word count: 3k

PART TWO word count: 4,7k

PART THREE word count: 1,2k

PART FOUR word count: 1,8k

PART FIVE word count: 3,5k

— when you have a blind date

Masterlist.

Your friends think its time you tried to settle down and they set you up on a blind date.

Warnings: implied angst, idiots in love.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Word Count: 1.8k.

You’d slowly come to terms that you’d probably be the last one of your friends to find a partner. Everyone else seemed to be following the right paths in love, and you were still pining dreadfully for a man that didn’t like you back.

“Not settled down yet?”

The dreaded question always directed towards you, and you never had a clue how to answer. No matter what occasion— weddings, birthdays, baby showers, anniversaries. It was always directed at you without fail, eyes looking to the side of you like maybe this would be the event where you’d show up with someone. If you had a hundred yen for every time someone asked you the same dreaded question, you were certain you’d never need to work again. 

You’d become robotic in answering it too, recycling the same excuses about working overtime and trying to further your career, or dates not working out (when really you’d been at home with a pint of ice cream and another Zack Efron rom-com), but there was only so many times you’d be able to dodge that question before your friends would take it further. 

There were rarely questions about other aspects of your life, as though your worth was connected to whether you were seeing someone or not. The pity on your friends' faces whenever you’d pick out an excuse was enough to make you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone soon.”

But that wasn’t the worst part about being single. 

Being the single friend meant it always seemed to be you that had to endure being accosted by hopeful men trying their luck. Weddings where you’d already dodged the dreaded “When is it your turn then?” questions and sympathetic gazes when you’d explained your single— the classic “I’m sure you’ll find the right person soon” oozing with faux sincerity, followed by having to avoid half the groom's party offering to dance with you or buy you a drink from the bar. Even worse the best men that thought it was right of passage to sleep with the maid of honour. 

Bars where men would come up to the table and offer to buy you drinks, your friends immediately making it clear that they were taken but you were single— like a prized pig at the country fair. The awkward tension whenever a man wouldn’t take no for an answer when they offered to buy you a drink, even after you’d politely declined and then would proceed to think you owed them something for taking it. 

Not to mention the photographs plastered all over your social media of your friends getting married, moving in together and starting perfect little families. A constant reminder of how alone you really were, and you’d admit it would be nice to come home to someone each night. 

So here you were awake an hour earlier than you needed to be for work, preparing yourself for a date you didn’t even want to go on. A blind date. Your friends had found you the perfect match, in their words. A cute guy— a lawyer, they’d emphasised, as though the career gave credence to his propriety.

You tried to pick an outfit casual enough that you would be able to wear it at work and to the date after without having to get changed, picking a pretty dress paired with some simple low heels. It felt peculiar putting so much effort into your appearance when your heart wasn’t in it, but as your friends said– what have you got to lose?

You’d managed to make it into the office slightly earlier than usual thanks to your early alarm, dropping Bakugou’s coffee down in his office along with his morning paperwork before taking a seat behind your desk and opening your inbox.

“Mornin’” Bakugou grunted as he passed you fifteen minutes later, half-lidded vermillion eyes lingering on you a little longer than usual before stepping inside his office. 

Bakugou never was much of a morning person, especially before coffee. Even though he was always one of the first inside the building each day. One poor reporter found out the hard way when his old secretary organised an interview before his shift was due to start, he’d ended up taking the following three weeks off for stress. 

It was barely twenty minutes later when Bakugou emerged from his office, looking slightly more alert as he placed some forms down on your desk.

“I need these sent to Deku’s agency by this evening.”

“Oh, are these the figures he asked for?” You opened the file to check the first page to see whether it was the paperwork that Midoriya had been expecting from Bakugou. He was always kind and patient on the phone, especially with you, but even you could tell he was getting annoyed at how long it was taking Bakugou to send them to him. You were certain it was Bakugou’s petty way of trying to wind him up, like they were still playful kids in the playground because Bakugou was never late with his paperwork.

“Yeah, he’s been buggin’ me for a week now,” Bakugou scoffed, “Told him he’d get ‘em.”

“I’ll send them right now.” You smiled, standing up from your desk as you collected them in your hands.

“You look nice.” Bakugou murmured, eyes flickering over your form.

“Thanks,” You replied shyly, the corner of your lip curling into a small smile. 

“Not that you don’t always look nice, I just meant you— that dress— fuck.” He cleared his throat, cheeks tinged bright pink, “Sorry. You just look real pretty.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the compliment as you tried to calm your fluttering heart tickling your ribcage, making your way to the copy room to scan the files across to Deku’s agency but you were unable to hide the wide smile on your face.

The rest of your shift was uneventful, right until you were due to finish. You’d managed to get stuck on the telephone with the head of hero relations at the commission, trying to gather information on Dynamight’s last mission. Information that was usually sent across in a huge report when he made it back to the office, but of course men in suits did not have time to look through a report when they could get someone else to do it for them. Which led to you answering each question by using information on the same report you’d submitted to them, which then led to you finishing your shift late. 

Slamming the phone down as you moved to set your out of office for the weekend, trying to get out of the agency as fast as you could. It wasn’t that you were worried about looking bad to your blind date for being late, but you didn’t want your friends to think you hadn’t made the effort when you had. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you knocked on the door to Dynamight’s office. Popping your head around the corner to let him know that you were leaving, as you noticed him sat behind his desk with his glasses on as he looked up from his laptop.

“Hey, I wanted to ask you something,” Bakugou called out as you moved to shut the door, “Wait— are you in a rush?” 

“Not really,” You lied, “What do you need?” 

“Are you going out tonight?” Bakugou was a perceptive man, he could tell from the slight difference to your appearance that something was happening. He wondered if maybe it was a friends birthday. 

“Yeah, it’s stupid really,” You didn’t even like admitting it to your boss, and it totally wasn’t because you were head over heels for him, “My friends set me up on this blind date, and I was supposed to meet him twenty minutes ago.”

“Oh, you’re late.” Bakugou muttered. 

“Yeah, but I’m not even sure I want to go.” You shrugged. 

“No, you should go.” He shoved his hands in his pockets so you couldn’t see his fingers curl into fists, his blunt nails digging against calloused skin. 

“I can always come up with something, it’s not a big deal—“ You’d assumed your boss was going to ask you to stay late with him again, like he usually did when someone at the agency had made a mistake that he needed to fix. 

“Seriously, go.” He came towards you, his arm reaching out to open his office door as he ushered you out. 

The intoxicating scent of his quirk mixed with his cologne invaded your senses as he walked you towards the elevator on his floor, leaning forward to push the button for you. 

Part of you felt disappointed that he’d pushed you to go, hoping deep down that he’d be happy you weren’t going on a date with another guy. That maybe, just maybe, he’d ask you on a date himself. 

But of course that was just a fantasy, the perfect little fairytale you liked to conjure up in your mind to try and cope with how desperately your heart yearned for him. 

“Really, I don’t mind staying if that’s what you were going to ask—”

“It ain’t. But it don’t matter, it wasn’t important.” 

“Oh, okay.” You nodded slightly. 

“Oh, and don’t worry, sweetheart.” He smiled, watching as the elevator doors dinged open, “You look beautiful. That fucker is lucky to have you.” 

You stepped into the elevator as you turned to face him, a soft smile on your face as your heart sped up from his words. 

“Thanks, Dynamight.”

The doors slammed shut before he had a chance to correct you, running his palm down his tired face as he felt that familiar ache begin to throb in his chest. 

The question Bakugou had been planning to ask you all week now sat at the forefront of his mind, taunting him vindictively as he fought the urge to throw his phone across the room when he looked down at Kirishima's messages.

The annual Hero Gala was fast approaching, and in all his years from sidekick to owning his own agency, Bakugou had never once been bothered about going. The theatrics of it completely lost on him, distracting from his focus of becoming number one. And knowing that any awards would be packaged and hand delivered to his agency the next morning with or without his attendance solidified the fact he did not need to attend (despite numerous pleas from his PR team). All of his appearances at the Gala's had been forced, until now.

This year felt different, he wanted to go— and he wanted to go with you. Picturing the pretty dress you'd wear, and being able to spend the entire evening with you away from this building— just like a real date.

But he'd fucked up. He waited too long to tell you that he liked you, and now he'd lost you forever. This guy would probably be your perfect match and now he'd have to watch you hopelessly in love with a man who isn't him.

Opening the new notification from Kirishima on his phone as he text back. 

Kirishima[5.58PM]: Hey man, so did you ask her? What did she say?

Kirishima[5.59PM]: She said yes right?

Kirishima[5.59PM]: C’mon man, please tell me that you asked her? 

Kirishima[6.01PM]: You said you’d ask today, man.

Bakugou[6.43PM]: She’s going on a date tonight. 

Kirishima[6.44PM]: Wait, what?!

Kirishima[6.44PM]: With you? 

Bakugou[6.45PM]: No.

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”.

The Whisperer

Pairing: Villain!Shinsou x Reader

Warnings: smut (18+), mind control, violence, blood, murder, yandere behavior, umm a bit of dubcon I think because of the mind control (want to be safe)

Y’ALL PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS.

Word Count: 2K

A/n: Alrighty roo, This was born from an idea that wouldn’t leave my head because the potential for Shinsou to be fed up with everybody sleeping on him is just GLORIOUS.  However, my mans loses his mind so this isn’t a romantic justice story aiight? It’s creepy.  Be aware it’s a bit dubious because the reader is being mind tricked so if that is something that will bother you please don’t read. 

Happy Halloween Everyone!

Special thanks to @linestrider​ for not only encouraging me to write it but ALSO beta reading it. I love you forever. 

tagging: @tomurasprincess  @pleasantanathema @dymphnasprose @elektraeriseros

Keep reading

Coming Undone | Part One

Hawks x Reader (NSFW)

Part Two

Summary: After a slip up from a drunk Hawks leads to your own confession, you spend the next day trying to avoid him fearing that he remembers what the two of you said to each other. However, just because you're trying to avoid Hawks and your building feelings, that doesn't mean your mind is going to let you off Scot-free when you close your eyes for a quick nap. Warnings: teasing, dirty talk, slight humiliation kink (sorta), dick riding A/N: Tired while writing and editing this piece. Apologies for any errors. Word Count: 1.5k

Like my fics? Buy me a Ko-fi! | AO3 | Masterlist | Google Docs Taglist

“I want to watch you come undone, songbird.”

It was a drunken slip. You and Hawks had gone out for dinner after a successful mission; he deiced to order a few drinks, which he drank all of, and the next thing you knew, you were telling him not to fly drunk and helping him back to his place. He had his arms wrapped around you as you struggled to unlock his front door, his head resting in the crook of your neck. His mouth, then teeth grazed the shell of your ear before he whispered the words to you, and the keys nearly slipping from your fingers.

“Hawks,” was all you managed as a response.

He just hummed in response, his mouth leaving gentle kisses down your neck. You dropped your head partially to the left as Hawks found your sweet spot, and you felt your legs wobble. A muffled moan slipped out as he dragged his teeth over it before sucking harshly, surely leaving a mark that will make you opt for a scarf the next couple of days. His hands traveled up your arms and up to your shoulders. One hand slipped under the thin strap of your dress and toyed with it before letting it fall off your shoulder. You moaned as one of his hands grabbed a fistful of your hair and jerked it farther to the left, exposing more of your neck to him to absolutely ravish.

“Do you want me to stop?” His breath was hot against your neck.

“No,” you whined as he lifted his mouth from your neck.

“Do you want me?”

“Keigo,” you muttered, trying your best to put your focus on unlocking his front door. You needed to get him inside before you admitted too much to him, but you were struggling with lining the key up with the lock.

“Do you want me, (Y/N)?” Him saying your name was almost your undoing. Your knees threatened to buckle, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Hawks, who tightened his hold on you and chuckled quietly. “I want to hear you say it.”

Somehow you managed to get his front door open, and you stumbled inside. You kept your mouth clamped shut as you maneuvered Hawks to his bedroom. You managed to deposit him onto his bed with relative ease. You half expected him to drag you down with him when you dropped him onto the springy mattress, but he didn’t. As soon as you started to guide him, he had dropped his arms from around you and let himself fall back with a small bounce. When you tried to leave, he reached out and grabbed your wrist and looked up at you through half-lidded eyes. He sat up, resting on his elbow, head cocked to the side.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” he muttered before pressing a light kiss to the inside of your wrist; you guessed he already forgot or at least hadn’t noticed that you hadn’t answered his question.

All you could do was nod in response, your legs barely carrying you out of his place and out to your car. Hopefully, you told yourself, he wouldn’t remember anything beyond getting dinner and waking up in his bed. That’d be significantly easier, wouldn’t it? Tomorrow, you’d go back to bickering and annoying one another like nothing ever happened. Yeah, that’s what was going to happen.

That’s not what happened.

You chickened out going into work. Working at Hawks’ agency meant you were going to run into the hero. And you were definitely not interested in seeing him after last night; it’d be way too awkward if he remembered even the tiniest detail. So, you stayed home. And everything was going fine until you decided to have a quick nap after lunch. You blame the nap. The nap was the catalyst.

“Just like that, songbird, good girl,” Hawks whispered in your ear.

A moan fell from your lips as you sunk down on his cock. You hand one hand on his shoulder and the other tangled in his curly blond locks as your eyes clamped shut. He stretched you as you took him to the hilt, and it felt so goddamn good. You let out a shaky breath, forehead dropping forward to rest against his.

His lips met yours as his hands grabbed your hips and guided you back up. He devoured you as he brought you back down, relishing in each and every sound that came from your lips as you rode him. You tugged on his hair and dug your nails into his shoulder as you moved up and down, anything coherent now incomprehensible, mind completely white.

“Look at you, fucking gorgeous.”

Hawks’ grip tightened as he lowered his head to your chest, alternating between licking, sucking, and grazing his teeth against your hardened nipples. He hummed happily when you arched your back, pushing your chest more towards his mouth, and you realized that Hawks wasn’t guiding your hips anymore; you were moving all on your own. Embarrassment flowed through you as Hawks watched you, and your cheeks burned, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. It felt so good; he felt so goddamn good.

“Don’t stop until you’ve cum, songbird, not for a fucking second.”

Curses fell from your lips as Hawks’ hips snapped up to meet yours, and he chuckled just as easily as if he wasn’t the one you were riding. He leaned back on an elbow, keeping one hand on your hips, as he railed into you. Your eyes trailed down his bare chest, over his wings, on the headboard of your bed, anywhere but the smug expression he had plastered on his face. It was like he was enjoying this solely because of how much you were enjoying it. Enjoying him. The familiar feeling that was building between your legs was getting ready to burst, and you grit your teeth. For one, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of climaxing from this. And, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you weren’t ready for the dream to end. You wanted more. You wanted so much more. So you tensed what felt like every muscle in your body in an attempt to delay your climax.

“Tsk, songbird, I can tell that you’re close. Trying to hold off your orgasm like that, bad girl.”

Hawks’ name ripped from your throat as he dropped the hand that’d been on your hips down to your clit. All hope was lost from there, and your entire body tensed as your orgasm tore through you. Your body shook as you fell forward, nails pressing harsh crescent moons into Hawks’ shoulder. Your eyes closed as you saw stars, and you bit your lip to hold back the whimpers as Hawks kept thrusting into you. His hips stuttered for a moment before he let out a quiet curse followed by your name. He hooked an arm around your waist and held you close as he came, your foreheads pressed together once more.

“That’s my good songbird, so fucking beautiful coming undone like that.”

His lips pressed against yours with a tender kiss.

“But I’m not done with you yet.”

You jerked awake as Hawks bucked his hips against you, skin grazing your over-sensitive bundle of nerves in a painful jolt of pleasure. You sat up and ran your hands over your face, chest rising and falling quickly, warmth pooling between your legs that made your cheeks burn. You were hopeless. That wasn’t your first dirty dream about Hawks, but that was your dirtiest and the most vivid. Usually, you dreamt of light touches, forbidden kisses, hands in places they shouldn’t be, but never full-on vivid sex like that. There was no way in hell you could face Hawks after that dream if he remembered what happened last night. You’d combust on the spot.

You glanced at your phone and contemplated calling out for the next three days. You could afford that. It’d be selfish, but facing him now felt impossible. Especially with the mess that was between your legs and the dream fresh on your mind. You ran your hands over your face once more and let out a loud groan which was then followed by a slightly muffled “ fuck .” Yeah, completely and utterly hopeless. But first things first: you needed to clean yourself up, and then you’d figure out what to do about work. At least you could procrastinate that for a few more hours. You could always call out tomorrow morning again.

“Yeah.” You nodded to yourself as you rose to your feet. “I’ll think about it tonight.”

You let out a quiet sigh as you stepped away from your couch, picking up and folding the blanket you’d been using. It’d be fine. You’d figure it all out later. It’d be completely fine.

You made it two steps towards your bathroom when a loud knock sounded at your door, and your heart stopped. You glanced at the bathroom before turning back at the door. You groaned before choosing the latter, your manners kicking in. Manners that you desperately wished didn’t exist when you opened the large wooden door and found that familiar shit-eating grin, curly blond hair, and gold eyes.

“Hey, songbird.”

Taglist: @pinktrouble

splintered machinations - pts one & two

Mer!Dabi x fem!Princess!Reader (SFW)

Hi guys! I've never done anything for MerMay before--I've never written any mer!characters/content before--but @meliapis graduated, I wanted to write something for her, and she mentioned mer!dabi...so, I just had to write a (not so) little something. This is still ongoing and will be updated periodically throughout May, but this is just a fun little idea I got from her and I wanted to share it as a graduation gift! Go check out her MerMay requests, too! <3

Synopsis: Boarding a ship per your father's orders, you begin the voyage across the deep blue sea toward Haliware Island. Despite the easy sailing the first few days, it seems the last isn't going to be the smoothest sailing.

Warnings: descriptions of spooky sea creatures in the deep ocean, descriptions of drowning, a hint of sailor!hawks, story will also contain: lots of future nsfw content, sexual tension, mer!dabi being a teasing & dirty talking kinda rogue, courting, idk what to call it but it kinda has regency era vibes but in a fantasy setting and not as stuffy, political stuff/politics between nations, a bit of reader x OC (but it's for the plot, I promise), and more (tbd as I write)

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: This is my first time writing mer!stuff. I hope y'all like it! This is for you, @meliapis!!

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. No wind. No birds. Just sun. Beautiful, warm, wonderful sun. A soft creaking came as the boat beneath you gently bobbed; the nails holding it together stayed firm amongst the calm waters. One more day.

You’d be at the castle in one day. 

Your dress fluttered in an unmistakable breeze as the crew maneuvered around you. Ropes were pulled, sails were checked, a wheel was steered. Crates were secured firm to the deck, a thick cannon had its wheels stopped so it pointed out at sea regardless of the waves' strength, and songs were sung around bottles of liquor.

“Your Highness,” a smooth voice said, a head almost blocking the sun. “Care to join us?”

The blond, with cheeks that always seemed to burn and gain freckles than ever tan, peered down at you with a cheery smile. He wiggled a mug of beer that sloshed at the brim, his playfully slurred words fell across the empty span of where you sat. Two protective guards stood behind you. As if you were some treasure meant to be protected, not cargo. 

“I’d prefer to have my wits about me when at the mercy of the ocean,” you cooed, pushing up to your forearms. “You should know that, Keigo.”

“Mhm.” He raised his glass and glanced back at the group chugging down theirs below him. “But, surely, you ought to have a little fun before we arrive.”

Behind you, the guards shifted. A warning to him. His sharp golden eyes quickly stared back at them. A shhhh came as a sword was pulled partially out of a sheath, but Keigo remained. His sharp canines showed in his smile.

“Hence why I decided to look for shapes in a cloudless sky.”

You motioned up, but your point went unproven. A few puffy white clouds crept onto the scene. One looked like a barrel from a shootout, the cloud breaking the wood as bullets shot through the sky; another resembled your castle back home. Tall peaks, overlapping points with red and white flags attached, a door that often stayed closed until ceremonies. 

Keigo’s eyes narrowed at the sky.

“Well, Your Highness,” he said with a teasing bow. His slender frame curved, his oversized white shirt dropped down to expose his chest, and the tight fit of his brown pants stretched. “Enjoy the show, then.”

You threw up a sarcastic wave before sinking back down. The flash of skin was nothing new on the ship—the crew walked around only caring if their skin burned beyond repair. And as a few more clouds joined the castle in the sky, even more shirts were opened while beer was spilled, humidity rose, and laughter shot across the open air.

Keigo raised his glass when your eyes danced from the sky to the group. Some sat on barrels, others on the edge of the ship, more on the floor. The clinking glasses sounded like the chains around your wrists. The chortle was met with gruffs behind you. Under the breath comments idiots and pigs. Their royal breastplates had refused to be removed unless it was underneath the hottest suns. 

Breakfast could’ve been cooked on them—sprays of water sizzling as they were propped up on the side of the boat. 

“I rather think you two are,” you murmured, glancing back at the two soldiers. “They’re drinking while you think I’m somehow going to jump ship in the middle of the ocean.” They stared daggers at you like always. “What? Where am I going to go?”

You shoved up despite the eyes from the crew turning your way. A playful hint joined your tone as you spun, shade casting itself across the desk. The soldiers, sunburnt and peeling, glowered and tightened their grips on their swords. Just like the concept of you jumping ship, there wasn’t a chance they’d raise a blade to you. You were precious cargo. No harm could come to you before you got to the castle. They simply just had to make sure you got to the castle. 

“We’re still a day out; there’s nothing here.” 

You ignored the grumbled version of your name and their stiff movement toward you as you trotted to the edge. Carefully yet swiftly, you hopped up on the thick edge and threw your arms out, the blue ocean sloshing against the boat just behind you. A gust of wind caught your thin dress, throwing the thin skirt up. Despite the decorum—or lack thereof—on the ship, all eyes were glued to the glimpse of your legs. 

“Get down,” one of the soldiers—Hyatt—said. His hand tightened on his blade. “Now, princess.”

You bowed slightly with a smile that made a few of the crew holler and laugh. More glasses clinked together, and more chattering crawled across the dark deck. The loud thump of your feet hitting the thick wood made Hyatt and Thorne–the other soldier–both relax slightly. But, still, their hands remained on their blades. 

“Have you always been so defiant?” Thorne grumbled to himself as he shifted, peering out over the ocean. 

“Yes,” Hyatt muttered softly. 

“No,” you corrected, walking over and looking over the bow. A soft sigh snuck out at the sight. The vast ocean was a rich, dark, deep blue. Bluer than you’d seen during the past three days. “But waking up and being told I’m going on an involuntary trip tends to make the demure vanish.” A soft sigh snuck out as you closed your eyes and took in the salty air. “The sea is beautiful, though.”

Wait.

Something caught in your chest as you cracked your eyes open. The low rumble crawled up the back of your neck. It seemed to make the boat shake, yet the water remained undisturbed. The dark water turned into an unknown shadow beneath you—what creatures swam below made your hair stand on the back of your neck—but you were safe on board. 

Another low rumble.

The clinking of glasses got a little louder and laughter grew heavier.

“Hey, Princess, get away from the edge,” Hyatt said behind you, but your eyes remained down on the ocean.

You couldn’t normally see the bottom the far out, but this felt different. Maybe there was no bottom. Maybe the rich dark blue found itself attached to a creature ten times the size of the ship. In moments, it would open its eyes and blink up at you, encompassing the whole expanse of the color. One flip of its tail would split the boat into two. Or maybe thousands of splintered pieces. 

Your heart thumped faster.

“Princess,” Thorne tried.

The ocean remained undisturbed as something wet splattered against your skin. No. Not undisturbed. By living creatures, yes. There weren’t any eyes blinking back at you or massive jaws unhinging to swallow the ship whole. No dangerous tentacles to rip you to shreds or even carnivorous fish aiming to nip at your legs. 

But there were waves. White-capped waves.

You made the mistake of shooting your eyes upward. Dark clouds had gathered into a dangerous conglomeration. Where they’d come from remained unknown, and that bright sky felt permanently out of sight. The sudden movement of your head, accompanied with a strong wave below, knocked you backward. Even Thorne and Hyatt lost their sea legs, staggering away from the boat’s side and trying to regain their stances. Hyatt, still, called for you, his hand finally leaving his sword.

Air was thrown from you as your back collided with the floor. There was that low rumble again—it crawled across the sky like a serpent waiting to strike. Lightning flashed bright in the sudden darkness. Gone was the sun, and pouring, pelting, painful rain swallowed everything. The sound became too loud to bear while blinking up at the sky, and as Hyatt and Thorne loudly cursed, it went unheard.

It all went unheard, even when they stepped toward you and yelled at you. 

But you couldn’t move. The way the boat jerked, the thought of it falling apart at its seams came far too easily, and those creatures that could be lurking below would devour you the second you were overboard. Their sharp teeth would sink easily through your skin and tear you apart without hesitation.

“Princess,” a familiar voice whispered. It drew you from your sudden choke-hold in your throats while a hand went to your wrist and hoisted you up. “We need to get you inside.”

Keigo’s gold eyes blinked down at you, his smile unwavering even as yours twisted in fear. You nodded. 

“Move carefully and quickly,” he said loud enough for you to hear, both hands going to your waist. In otherwise less life-endangering scenarios, Keigo would’ve been reprimanded for even considering touching you, let alone on your waist. A sailor putting his hands on the Princess? Blasphemous. Yet you leaned into him as he balanced you and guided you down the stairs. All you had to do was get inside the Captain’s quarters, then you’d be safe. You both knew that. “Keep going, Princess. We’re almost there.” 

But almost there wasn’t a simple turn around a corner and through a sturdy door. Multiple steps descended onto the deck as water gathered upon everything. It slickened the boards that normally kept you steady; it weighed your dress down and made it cling to your legs; it pushed a ringing in your ears that sounded so high-pitched, it hurt. 

Your eyes went overboard as the ringing got worse. It was unwise to never heed a sailor’s warning. Just as it was unwise to never heed any warning from anyone so well-trained, experienced, and skilled in their field. You wouldn’t tell a world-renowned chef how to cook. You wouldn’t ignore a soldier’s careful heed before going out on the battlefield. You certainly wouldn’t ignore the stories told around the crew that the ocean was as beautiful as it was untrusting. It could be a person’s life and so obviously their death. Whether the fins and tentacles they saw after days of travel were real, it was always smarter to not take the chance.

So when Keigo braced you against his chest as the ship jolted, you leaned into him more. When he muttered to hold still for the next few seconds, you did. And when he told you to go, you trusted him. His gut. 

But he was still only a man. One without the blessing of foresight. 

The wave hit the boat harder than the others while a gust of wind knocked you back as if you were nothing more than a piece of paper. A slippery board caused your demise as Keigo’s grip struggled on your wet skin. They skated over you, his short nails barely scraping, until he threw his other hand out for you. Desperation clawed at him the way it did you, but his fingers only got a grasp on your dress. And that silky material was hell in his grip–slippery and betraying without a moment’s thought. 

There was fear and panic in those golden eyes as the thick banister meant to keep you safe dug into your back. The unkempt splinters snagged on your clothing as the world went upside down, and there was no ground beneath your feet. 

Was the rain coming from the ocean or the sky? Which dark sea was which? 

It felt like falling onto the floor when Keigo became a small speck on the boat. The air was knocked from your lungs so ineloquently, and you barely managed a gasp before you knew what was coming next. 

Darkness.

Soaking wet, impenetrable darkness. 

A sharp pain caught your back, then your arms, down into your legs. Cold. It was cold. Perhaps shock? Swim. You felt yourself sink deeper as you blinked through the salty water. The ache got worse, your body threatened to stop, and farther away the boat got. Swim, (Y/N). The surface distorted the image as you tried to see if anyone would save you, but alas—you couldn’t even get yourself back up to the surface. 

A burst of bubbles caught your attention to the right, heart rate spiking. You blinked into the abyss looking for those massive eyes, the tentacles, the carnivorous predators. Something touched your foot beneath you, and you screamed, the sound lost a mere inch in front of you.

Another splash of bubbles got you as you threw your arms up, kicking your feet and praying what’d touched you had been your imagination. Please. A silent plea that burned your lungs. I don’t want to die. Although, it’d be fitting, wouldn’t it? You clawed at the water until your nails would’ve bled. You kicked until the current simply laughed in your face. A harsh swirl that tore you further down like an anchor chained to your ankle. 

Please. If your eyes weren’t burning from the salt water, you were sure you were crying. I don’t want to die. I don’t. 

A gulp of water entered your mouth when you begged for oxygen. The fear skyrocketed as a barrel fell into the sea, sinking just low enough to get caught in the edge of the current. It smacked against your arms as you tried to reach for it, but as it bounced back up, you were shoved down. Another breath of water sent death knocking on your door.

Colder. The water got colder.

Your body stopped moving as you replayed the only pivotal moment that mattered, your father’s words pressing for you to get on the boat without a fight. Do what must be done, or you are not truly my daughter. A shove from Hyatt as you boarded the ship while the crew stared, never once having royalty aboard their boat. But your father had needed the royal sailors for his voyage. It’s a three-day trip; see her there safe.

You felt a sickening smile as the world went blurry. Safe. If he only knew.

- ch two -

There was once, when you were younger, you got to see snow. A family “vacation” to visit some Duke. A business meeting your parents often tried to pretend wasn’t that. You’ll get to meet his children. They’ll show you around the estate. But the prospect of something other than the dead winter so known in your kingdom was what drove you to be one of the firsts inside the carriage that morning. 

But it’d been a long trip into the mountains; your father switched between talking with your mother about the necessary duties upon arrival and departure and discussing with the soldiers to maintain protocol. And, desperately, even as you tried to maintain some composure, the long, exhausting, impatient ride could only keep a child still for so long. The second the doors opened and you saw the snow, you were off. 

The snowy scape had been otherworldly. You’d known nothing that beautiful before and all you knew was that you had to touch it. See it. Taste it. Follow it to what other beauties it could produce.

They yelled your name, but there’d been a little white rabbit hopping through the forest outside of the mansion. It called to you as the snow did, beckoning you further as cold seeped through your fur-lined shawl. With only about ten years of knowledge then, you hadn’t known why, as you tripped and fell into the icy tundra, tumbling down a hill and out of sight, how dangerous the chill was. Only that when it turned warm and your eyes got heavy, something was wrong. 

The soldiers—a young, sixteen-year-old Hyatt with his superior—found you hours later. It’d felt like an eternity, a hurt arm that was the first to go numb in the snow and a spiraling warmth shooting over your skin. But when you felt like you were close to falling asleep beneath a warm blanket, they appeared at the top of the snowy cliff you’d fallen down. 

Hyatt carried you back to the mansion, wrapped in his coat, while his superior ran ahead. A fire was started in one of the living spaces where your mother and father stood. You barely heard the scolding from your father as you sat in front of the burning flames and given a cup of warm milk. Stay by the soldiers’ sides from now on. Do you understand me? You merely nodded so softly and politely, the tone pressing its way inside your head as you kept your eyes down. 

Demure. It felt stuffy. But still, you nodded.

That cold. That was different than the one violently permeating your bones. Were you shivering? Your vision going dark made bubbles around you move. Your arms wouldn’t reach, your legs wouldn’t kick. And that rumbling, vibrating every part of you, was it above or below? Was an eye about to open, or maybe some jaws aiming to end it quickly? The pressure pushed hard against your head, and that was all you could take as seawater went down your throat again.

The surface disappeared behind closed eyes. What would get you first–the Reaper or a hidden predator on the brink of starvation? 

Perhaps both.

Warmth.

Were you dead? Where there was warmth, as your father so woefully explained, there was death. In the cold, at least. Perhaps the Reaper had found you and tore you down to his level, your soul rising—rising? You tried to open your eyes, but all you were met with was pale contrasting the darkness. 

Had you been able to move, you would’ve done something other than peer up. There were arms wrapped around you, shoulders in front of you, the curve of a neck, hair that blended in with the sea, but those eyes. You blinked yours hard at the rushing movement. It made the pressure in your head dissipate far too quickly, and bile rose in your throat. But those eyes, outlined by sharp features, a mouth pressed into a fine line, spiky dark hair pushed back from the momentum; they were so bright they nearly glowed. Never had turquoise look so beautiful.

And when he dared to glance down, taking what felt like a dreamy moment before death and making you remember that your heart could still beat, he smiled. One of secrets. Of knowing. Of saving as you suddenly broke through the surface and the rain pelted your sore skin.

Your pulse ticked higher while those eyes stayed on you; the sudden gasp for oxygen became you barreling over, vomiting into the sea. Puke and mouth-drying seawater mixed into the darkness as your guts heaved, lungs burned, and throat tore with every hack. What the hell was going on? Who– Again, the world spun as the stranger moved, and your eyes widened as you tried not to vomit once more. 

He wasn’t from the crew, even delirious, you knew. Two days with them, you knew most of them. Not all by name, but you knew them. Their faces, their demeanor, their connection to your home. And this stranger…he moved you closer to the boat at a speed unfathomable to you, even on your best days in the water. 

You tried to speak, but as your vision grew blurry and your eyelids heavy, the pain in your throat became a blockage. 

Who are you?

“Don’t,” his cool voice murmured. It would’ve shocked you had there been any feeling left in your body. He spoke. “Save it for your real rescue party.”

For some reason, you did as he said. He held you closer, arms swallowed in areas of dark ink you couldn’t make out. Glinting jewelry that managed to shine through the storm clouds. Over his fingers which pressed firmly into you, on his nose in a little trio to create a triangle, and over his ears. And his entire upper body—bare. 

Had your guts not been twisting into a fine tornado and you stopped tasting the salty mix of your lunch on your tongue, you would’ve been scandalized. But as you were draped over that devilish barrel, the wood managing to bob in the water, you felt nothing but grateful as his hands slid down over your back, waist, hips. 

“Scream,” he whispered beneath the rain, and all you could do was glance back. Those otherworldly eyes were all that poked out of the water for a moment as he slinked back. He kept them locked on you, burning with an intensity you could barely understand. He popped up just enough to speak again. “I won’t save you again.”

His grin revealed sharp canines before he disappeared beneath the water. A beat, two, three of piercing rain dropped down around you. Then it surfaced. A sparkling tail of black scales, a mix of blues were dulled without sunlight, and a silver ring on one side of the arcing flipper. 

The silence roared in your ears as you stared at where he’d disappeared. Tail. But as you tried to call a thought, tried to piece together a puzzle so desperately right in front of you, you hacked up another breath of water. 

Tail.

A scream followed it as black started to dot your vision. The cold water froze your body stiff, and you clawed to stay on the barrel through another wave. It was broken and choppy, no way audible through the storm, but the boat was right there. You could almost touch it.

You screamed again.

Louder. 

Until you tasted something metallic in your mouth.

Hyatt, Thorne, Keigo. One of them had to be looking for you.

A splash in the water gathered your attention as you started to slip off of the barrel. Your nails ached as they pressed into the fine wood. Stay afloat. But as your body went limp, that water crept higher toward your mouth. Weakly, you screamed again.

This time, as a wave threw you off the barrel, it was met with two arms and two legs going out for you.

“Gotcha, Princess,” Keigo’s voice whispered in your ear. “You’re safe. I gotcha.”

A thick rope was tied around your waist and wrapped as skillfully as possible around your legs. A seat of sorts was created as Keigo swam you back toward the side of the boat, dragging you with your head never dipping back into the water. Those golden eyes were sharp first at the ship and then softer down at you. 

The world went dark as Keigo tugged on the slack of the rope and yelled upwards. His mouth was pulled away from your ear, yet his volume should’ve carried. How your scream was heard all the way up to them, you weren’t sure. Keigo’s was nearly drowned in the violent pitter-patter of the storm.

“Hey, hey. Stay with me, Princess.” 

His lean arms were strong as they gripped you. The rope went taut, and everything moved. But the world, as you blinked one last time, never returned to the gray-scaled color scheme the storm created. 

“Princess. Stay with me.”

There was sun. A cot. A blanket. A dress that reeked of sea, storm, and something clean. The ceiling looked familiar. The blinds on the window were cast open to shine the sun on your cheeks. Clouds shot across the sky in the opposite direction the whole room seemed to lurch toward. 

A wrap of gause went around your right forearm. 

One blink. Two. Three. Four. Pain throughout your whole body burned as you sat up, a thin blanket falling from your upper body. Dress. It was dry. The thin material bunched up and wrinkled in places that pressed the same patterns into your skin. Storm. You tried for a long breath and were met with the same burning sensation in your throat. Overboard. Sea. Drowning. 

Outside, there was commotion. Some yelling, hollering, excitement. Orders were shouted. The captain, some burly guy whose name was out of reach, yelled to slow. Again, the boat lurched. 

“Oh, finally, Princess.” Hyatt’s voice came through from the corner. Thorne was asleep next to him, both in a change of clothes, their weapons discarded. Worry pressed into Hyatt’s tanned and peeling skin. “Are you okay?”

Turquoise. You stared at Hyatt’s rich green eyes and turned back toward the window. Anchor was dropped as you coughed, hacking up something sweet in the back of your mouth. Your fists tried to rub sleep from your eyes, but it barely helped. Yawning only accentuated the pain in your throat. 

“The medic gave you some medicine to assist you in sleeping. I think the bastard misjudged the amount.” Hyatt nudged Thorne’s foot. “Wake up, idiot.”

You coughed again, eyes stuck on the window. The cold of the water stayed with you in a shiver, the smell clinging to your dress and seeping through your skin. Thorne said something half-asleep and under his breath. Are we there? Your gaze, stuck outside, watching the sky grow into an island. A castle that stretched larger than your father’s. A town filled with buildings of every color of the rainbow. A spread of docks with ships docked within and a harbor waiting for new arrivals to shop and sell.

A tail.

“Yeah,” you croaked, the word tearing at your throat. 

A sense of purpose and dread coursed through you as the boat came to a halt. 

“We’re here.”

Soul On Fire Ch.2 I Get It

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

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

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

Bakugou X Reader, Soulmate AU

Ao3 / Prev Chapter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Had shit to do. Ei and I will be gone most of the day. Take both of these when you wake up.’

It was a simple note and definitely along the same kind of notes Bakugou would leave for you at the office. His neat handwriting was always so pretty, coming from such a masculine guy. You almost expected him to have chicken scratch instead of the somewhat dainty script he writes with.

You were actually kind of jealous of it if you were being honest.

You start the coffeemaker and pick up the pills to inspect them further. Both of which were prescribed to you, and one seemed to be anti-inflammatory and the other a mild painkiller.

You sat them back down on the counter for now. You weren’t in a lot of pain at the moment, but you never knew you might want them later on.

After making your coffee, you sit at the kitchen table and play on your phone. Going through emails and checking your social media for a while until your cup was empty. Locking your phone and sitting it down, you wondered what you could do to pass some of the time for the day.

When I idea hit you that you could always swing by the agency and pick up your computer and a few of those long overdue reports you hadn’t found the time to finish yet.

Maybe one of the side kicks could give you some information on the copycat Bakugou and if he was still there.

That was all the motivation you needed to lace up your new shoes and grab your bag. Making sure that you stopped back by the kitchen for a bottle of water and your medication, in case you needed them after a while.

The clouds completely covered up the sun, and the wind was a little harsh, but you didn’t let that deter you from your destination. It was only a few blocks away if you remembered correctly, and it would do you some good to get some fresh air.

People were busy just like you were. Walking briskly to make the next train and hopefully beat the rain before they got caught up in a storm that was headed their way.

Following your GPS, it was an easy couple of turns before you found yourself outside of the agency building and all of its glory. Tall and modern with lots of windows, it was perfect for letting a ton of natural light in on the days when the sun was shining. The large double doors swing open as two of the girl from the third-floor head out for lunch.

Slipping I’m before the door closed, you stopped by the front desk and asked how things had been in the two days you had been gone. The old lady at the reception desk fanned over, being able to see your face once again. Offering you a piece of candy as she did every day that she worked.

It was always from the same stash that she kept locked in one of the drawers, a little Carmel salt water taffy. Only today she hands you the rest of the bag, giving you about a dozen pieces, as a welcome back to work present.

It was very sweet of her; you know how much of a sweet tooth the Older woman had, but ever since you had started here she had taken to spoil you a little like this.

She takes a little time to talk to you while you pop the taffy in your mouth but finding the opportunity to leave her behind once her phone starts to ring, waving softly as you head towards the elevator.

People got on and off on different floors as you rode all the way to the top. Pulling out your phone, you pay them no mind as they keep to themselves.

Once you made it to your floor, you walk over to your desk. Packing away your laptop in your bag and grabbing the various files that you had stashed away. You look around to see if either of your bosses were in, but it looked like it had been a while ago. Sighing, you pack away the rest of what you need and head back down towards the main floor.

But once you made it down there, it seemed like you had picked the wrong time to come to ask any questions. All the sidekicks were either out on patrols or on a lunch run. But you didn’t let that get you down for long.

If you remembered correctly, Kirishima had said that they were keeping the mystery man in one of the holding rooms a couple of floors down. Maybe you could soothe your curiosity and take a peek and see if he was still there or if they had found a more permanent place for him.

Hopping back on the elevator, you ride it down four more levels, the soft ding signaling that you had made it to the bottom-most floor of the building.

You hated it down here. There was no sun, and it was always so much colder down here than anywhere else. You understood completely why they had these rooms down here, but that didn’t stop you from getting the creeps each time you had to venture your way here to find one of your bosses.

There were four holding rooms in total, with a small kitchen space and a spare room that could handle paperwork or be used as a meeting room. But you spotted him almost immediately as soon as you stepped into the spare room. It gave you a view into each room via a two-sided mirror. Exactly like you have seen in countless cop movies.

But he was there.

Sitting head slumped forward and hands restrained to the table in front of him. He was still covered in plaster and soot from the other night.

You felt a pang of sadness settle in your chest at the sight of him. And before your mind could catch up to your body, you were quietly cracking open the door and stepping inside. He still didn’t lift his head, but he was clearly awake. Because you could hear him no doubt forming words in his native tongue.

Whatever he was saying, he said it a little sluggishly. Like he hadn’t been able to move or stretch since he arrived here.

“Hi,” you say softly from the door.

And the sound of your voice had his head snapping up in an instant, a smile on his face even though he had dried blood caked on the side of the temple and a busted lip.

He was smiling at you, and your name rolled off his tongue with a sigh of relief.

You give him a tiny wave, and watch as he attempts to mimic you, raising his hand as high as he could with the restraints on his wrist to wave back. But he was looking at you the same way the other night.

Like you were a sight for sore eyes.

Feeling brave, you decide to step a little closer but still stay far enough away to keep yourself safe. Despite the previous encounter with the strange man, you didn’t want to give him another chance to overpower you again.

But you feel your guard being let down when he softens and says your name again. Not gruff and harsh like the other words he had been putting together, but gentle enough to tug at the strings of your heart.

He looked tired the closer you got to him. Dark circles under his eyes and the blood crusted on the corner of his mouth were starting to aggravate his skin, and the wound on the side of his head looked like it was still painful.

And by the time you even realize it, your hand was reaching out to touch his cheek.

His skin felt like it was on fire under your fingers. As he leaned into your touch, much like a cat when they want you to pet them. Nuzzling his head further into your hands with a soft sigh.

You watch as his shoulders lower and his body starts to relax with you near him like he felt safe enough to let his guard down. You felt the need to at least get him cleaned up. And you wished that you could find out if he had eaten anything or not.

That was when you had the idea that you could run and grab a first aid kit and something to eat from the kitchen upstairs. It would be quick in less than ten minutes. Get him fed and cleaned up and out of here before anyone notices.

“Bakugou.” You say the name softly, hopefully gaining his attention.

You hear him grunt and open his carmine eyes and look at you.

“Katsuki.” He grunts out the first name you know so well.

You pull away from him, and he frowns at the loss of contact. But you stand and make the motions with your hands, hopefully trying to ask him if he was hungry. Nodding his head slowly, you understood he was willing to accept your offer.

You hold up a single finger, letting him know you would be back, and rush out the door. Despite his angry-sounding complaints, you head back to the elevator and beeline to the kitchen a few floors up.

The company hired a new chef to make lunch for most of the employees here. The new chef prepared fresh salads and a selection of fresh foods that could be eaten in a rush.

Lucky for you, nobody else was in the kitchen when you arrived. Giving you ample opportunity to sneak in and out without being noticed. You grab one of the small salads and started filling up a takeaway container of other foods. Some rice and fried chicken. A heaping helping of roasted veggies before closing the container and rushing back the way you came.

It was easy to locate the first aid kit once you got back to the basement. Put away and easily visible sitting on the wall, you snatch it off with your free hand and make your way back to your mystery man in the next room.

His eyes were on you as soon as the door started to open. Walking inside, you go and sit both of the items in your hands down on the table in front of him. But you quickly realized his hands wouldn’t be able to feed himself.

It left you in a tough situation.

You either kept your distance to keep yourself safe, or you could sit on the table in front of him and feed him as quickly as possible, and clean his wounds.

It wasn’t like he could really do anything to you restrained like he was.

It was an almost automatic response. Climbing across the table until you could sit with your legs hanging outside of his own. Your feet dangling just outside his muscular thighs, you try to scoot yourself closer before reaching behind you to grab the food.

Instantly, his hands reach as far as they could and rest on your hips, squeezing the fat beneath his fingers softly before he tries to pull you closer to him. The heat from his palms felt burning hot even with a barrier of your leggings separating you from him.

It seemed like having you in close quarters like this was soothing something inside of him. His features soften and a lazy smile graces his lips as he looks up at you. Opening the takeaway box, you grab the utensils and gather a bite of food, motioning with your mouth for him to open his.

And he let you feed him with no problem, eager to receive the small intimate act of you taking care of him. More than content at the moment to feel your body against his while you fed him bites of food. This felt oddly like the right thing to do. It wasn’t something you had an answer for but you didn’t question it either.

Just happy to live in the moment.

And to no surprise, he ate every single bite you offered him. You started to wonder if he hadn’t eaten in a while or if he just seemed to like you as you set about opening the salad you grab. Still feeling his loose grip on your hips as you pour your dressing and toss the vegetables around. Taking a couple of bites before you offer him some as well. But unlike before, he turns his nose up at your leafy greens and grunts in disappointment.

The sight of him acting childish about eating vegetables made you giggle. This was the first time you had ever seen an adult ever turn down something that was good for them.

But the way he looks up at you when he hears your voice made your stomach jitter around with butterflies. He was giving you that soft little smile again, and it was becoming harder and harder to deny you enjoyed the look of his happiness.

“You sure you don’t want a bite?” You ask, offering him yet another bite of the salad in your bowl.

And yet again, she scrunched up his nose and turned his head.

“Bakugou. “You coo sweetly at him. Hoping that maybe he would answer the name of your boss again.

“Katsuki.”

Much to your surprise, he corrects you. So far, the only word you had understood from him was your name, and that he liked to be called by your boss’s first name.

You had to remind yourself, though, this wasn’t actually your boss. The two of you didn’t speak the same language, and even if he was your boss, he would never allow you to be familiar enough to use his first name so casually.

Sitting down your food, you decide now was the time to try to clean him up, or at least what you could. You knew that you didn’t have long left before people would no doubt start flooding back into the agency, and someone was bound to catch you in here.

Placing the med kit in your lap, you get to work opening it up. Pulling out ointments and bandages, hoping he didn’t suffer anything worse than a few bruises and cuts like the real Bakugou had.

He lets you take a wipe and clean at the cut above his brow, your hand gently holding his chin in place as you examine the small injury. It wasn’t deep, but it was irritated and red around the edges. Sighing softly, you pat around the area in hopes of keeping his anger at bay. You didn’t need two angry blondes after you today.

Even when he winced from the sting of the antiseptic hitting the wound, he didn’t try to pull away or scare you off. He just closed his eyes and leaned more into your touch.

“The fuck are you doing in here?”

The angry bark from the door causes you to squeak in fear, instantly the Bakugou in front of you tightens his grip on your hips and pulls you from the table and into his lap, your legs clumsily landing outside of his as he attempts to hide you from the other very angry blond in the room. The rough growl he sends his way rumbles through his chest and vibrates off your own.

You can hear his angry stomps towards you like a warning bell for death. He was pissed, and he had a right to be. Despite the intense and feral sounds coming out of the man you sat on top of, the real Bakugou leans down and wraps his arm around your waist, freeing you from the lap of the other man. His yelling only got more aggressive and desperate the further Bakugou carried you away.

“I was only feeding him, and making sure he was ok!” You try to reason with your boss.

It wasn’t like you came here to let him loose in public or anything.

“Thought I made myself clear last night that you weren’t gonna go anywhere near him!” Now it was his turn to scold you.

He struts all the way to the door and finally sets you back down to stand, his body almost shielding you away from the imposter still tied up halfway across the room. His glare made you want to run all the way back home, but you had good intentions of coming here.

“Yeah, but I-!”

“But what?” He barks, leaning down further into your personal space. “Thought that I wouldn’t know where you went?” He asks mockingly. “That I didn’t think you would try to sneak off at some point? I’m not an idiot, sweetheart.”

All the while, is he berating you, you hear the other blonde that just a minute ago was so soft and willing to let you touch and bandage him, matching the volume and tone of the original in front of you. Ranting and raving about who knows what, but either way, the harsh-sounding words escaping his mouth you felt were directed towards your boss.

Only serving to piss him off more.

Whipping his head around, he snaps at the copycat at the table.

“Nobody can understand, you dipshit!”

But that didn’t make the other blonde stop running his mouth at all. If anything, it only served to have him amplify his already booming voice even louder, quickly jutting his middle finger toward your boss with a nasty smirk on his face.

“Yeah fuck you too, you copycat bastard!” And Bakugou, as childish as it seemed, only meets his middle finger with one of his own, before he drags you out of the room.

Your name echoed off the walls as you both left the still-injured blond locked to the table.

“Will you just listen to me?” You yell at him and dig your feet into the tile.

If he wanted to, he could easily start to drag you again, but instead, he stops when you start to resist. His shoulders move up and down as he tries to calm his breathing, refusing to turn around and look at you just yet.

“What you gonna tell me he is just some harmless puppy? Cause he fucking smiled at you?” He says lowly turning his head to the side. “Did you forget who had to come to save your ass in the middle of the night from him? Or the way he had you pinned to the fucking bed, two seconds away from rap-“

“Woah! What are you doing here, sweetpea?” Kirishima asks as the elevator doors open and he sees the two of you standing there fuming.

Bakugou’s snarky reply was cut off by his partner, a look of worry in his ruby eyes as he walks off the elevator and towards you. Quickly trying to diffuse the situation by placing himself between you and the explosive blond.

“I don’t think he wants to hurt me!” You yell, looking to the redhead that tried to separate you from Bakugou. “Or else he would have done it already!”

It wasn’t like you to get this emotional over a complete stranger, but you felt the pain of his isolation start to weigh on you.

“We talking about copycat?” Kirishima asks, turning his attention towards you.

“Little sneak was in there alone with the fucker.” He seethes, glaring at you over Kirishima’s shoulder.

“And look!” You say, turning your body in a circle as if to prove your point. “Not a single thing wrong with me!”

“See! I knew that he wasn’t going to hurt her.” Kirishima says all too happily for Bakugou to stand.

“Don’t encourage this shit. Just get her out of here.” He barks at his friend.

You can see the reluctance brewing in the redhead’s eyes as he goes back and forth on who he should side with.

“I, I think he maybe you!” You blurt out after a moment of silence, the tension becoming too much for you to stand any longer. “Or at least a different version of you.”

But all Bakugou does is roll his eyes at the statement.

“Yeah right. And why is that, hah?”

He was trying to stare you down, intimidate you to back away. But even if you couldn’t explain what it was that was keeping to try to plea for this mystery man…

You knew you were right.

“Please. Can you just trust me?” You ask, finally letting the anger fall from your face in hope that a softer approach would work on him.

And he tries for a good minute to avoid looking at you. He stares at Kirishima and then to the floor. Only to look down at the new tennis shoes on your feet before he slowly takes a deep breath and drags his gaze to meet the big doe eyes you were trying to kill him with.

“You get five minutes to prove this shit, or else.”

You could tell he hated to give in, as pigheaded as you knew he could be. It took a lot for him to bend to someone as delicate as you.

It wasn’t easy to convince Bakugou to stay outside the room and simply study what you saw from the two-way mirror, but with a little extra convincing and help from Kirishima, you agreed.

Steeling your nerves, you give yourself a moment before you walk back through the door. And the Bakugou still shackled to the table was back to having his head hung low, his arms resting on the table in front of him.

You walk inside and gently shut the door behind you, taking your time to be cautious of the blond in front of you, just in case.

It was only when you gently reached out to touch his shoulder did he react. His movements were defensive with a loud roar as soon as you touched him.

But when his eyes land on you, the fire and rage in his eyes dies almost instantly, replaced once again by the calm demeanor he had graced you with before.

Your name fell softly from his lips.

“Hi,” you offer him softly with a small wave of your hand.

He smiles as he mimics your gesture with a wave of his own. “Hi.”

And honestly, him being able to understand you, even if it was something small, made your heart flutter. You motion back to the medical kit that had fallen to the floor in the scuffle earlier and he nods his head as if giving you permission to finish what you started.

And once you pick up all the scattered bits and pieces and place them back in the box, you resume your position from earlier. This time he leans back far enough so you could climb over his arm and helps you sit back on the table, his hands once again coming to rest gently against your hips.

This time, though, he kept himself busy studying your features as you worked on his injuries. His hands toying with the hem of your shirt like he was trying to remember the way it feels between his fingers. Occasionally, the tips of his fingers would touch your skin. Skimming along the elastic waist of your leggings.

He wasn’t doing it with any real purpose; it was just something to soothe himself and maybe you too. The warmth of his hands keeps you in place as you look him over once more.

Satisfied with your work, you finally turn to put all the unused supplies away, ready to set the box aside until you glance down at the table and see just how best up his hand was. Quickly, you turn and pull his other hand to where you could see it better.

Sure enough, it looked just as rough.

Patches of green and purple lined his knuckles and fingers. A couple of his massive fingers were swollen and looked too stiff and sore to move. Not to mention the condition of his wrists.

Turning towards the two-way mirror, you motion for either of the men on the other side to come into the room.

“What’s up, sweetpea?” Kirishima asks popping his head into the room.

You can hear the rumble of Bakugou’s chest as he prepares for another round of arguments, but you were quick to reach out a hand and run it through his soft spiky hair.

“I wanna fix his hands, but,” your trail off, not exactly sure of how to ask for what you wanted.

“You know he will never agree to that,” Kirishima says, almost disappointed.

“Please, I can’t leave him like this. It’s bad enough he’s been chained to this table for days.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

It only takes about thirty seconds before you hear a boom and a no in the form of a yell. Rolling your eyes, you count the seconds until the familiar stomps of your angry boss steadily grow closer.

“I said you had five minutes to convince me. I didn’t say jack shit about uncuffing the bastard!” He barks.

“Look at his hands!” You plea with the blonde, turning to face him.

“What about my fuckin hands huh?” He yells, and you feel the tell-tell signs of the exact situation happening once again.

The yelling, the growling. The way his hands started to latch onto your thighs, ready to jerk you into his lap as a means of protecting you. You needed to stop this petty argument before it had a chance to start back up. If any of you stood a chance at figuring out what was happening here, you needed to be quick.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath before you give them both a yell of your own.

“Katsuki Bakugou!”

Both men freeze up at the use of the shared name. There was an overwhelming moment of silence following the boom of your own voice. No longer was anyone trying to grab at you or argue. Eyes wide as they almost reel back from the anger you displayed.

“Please. He isn’t going to hurt me. I need to take care of his hands.”

It takes him longer than you thought it would before you hear him speak again, although this time his voice was softer now.

“And how do you know that?” He grumbled

And it was simple.

“Would you hurt me?” You ask him, and you watch as he shakes his head no. “Then he wouldn’t hurt me. He is you. I know you don’t want to believe it.” You say, turning back to the injured blond between your legs. “Help me help you.”

The room was silent yet again. The only sound you hear is the jingle of keys by your side, and the sight of something silver floating to your left. Your boss stood there still skeptical, but willing to let you prove him wrong.

And when you turned to take the keys from his hands, you gave him a smile. Noticing just how busted his hands looked as well. Looks like you had more than one reckless blond to take care of today.

“Thank you.”

“He’s dead if he hurts you. Hope you can tell him that.”

You nod and wait for your boss to leave the room before you attempt to reach for the other Bakugou’s hand. One by one, you move the cuffs around and unshackle him from the restraints.

He just sat there patiently with his hand still on the table. Not moving until you reach for the medkit again and grab a couple of things. Letting you guide his hands into your lap as you look over the bruised and broken skin.

He hisses slightly when you apply some pressure, but nothing that made you worry. To make your boss feel better, you worked quickly to bandage his hands.

Luckily for you, it didn’t take long at all, even though you had two sets of identical crimson eyes staring at you. Working diligently, he keeps his hands to himself this time.

“I know we can’t really understand each other, but,” you start giving his bandaged hands one more look. “But I feel like I can trust you to behave.”

Peering up, you lock eyes with the copycat in front of you. He looked exhausted, and a little worse for wear at the moment. Now that his injuries were taken care of and he had some food, you could see the way his eyes started to feel heavy. A loud yawn escapes his mouth just as he goes to try and wipe the creeping sleep from his eyes.

He surprises you when you feel him trace his fingers over your hand, causing you to show him your palm as he gently turns your wrist. His thumb caresses the pulse point in your wrist as his hand covers yours.

He mutters softly as he looks at you. His eyes filled with a longing that you could almost mistake for homesickness. Both of you could feel the way your quiet time together was coming to an end quicker than you would have liked. But he was more understanding this time around.

He leans forward, shortening the distance between the two of you, his forehead resting softly against yours, and just sighs. His eyes closing as he finally relaxes for a moment.

You don’t know what he said, but you feel the butterflies erupt in your stomach when he cups your cheek and pulls you in the short distance to place a gentle kiss on your lips. Although this time they were a little chapped and still sore from where they were busted in the corner, he took the pain in stride.

Brushing his nose against yours in an act of intimacy you haven’t partaken in for what seems like years. It didn’t last long, but you felt the heat of them even after he pulled away. Finally, dropping his hands away from you and back down to the table at your sides.

As much as it hurt to have to place the cuffs back on him, you still did it to appease your boss. He was just on the other side of the glass, watching you.

No doubt angry and filled with anxiety as he waited for this whole thing to be over with.

Your copycat didn’t fight this time, as you finally drag yourself away from him. He simply just stared at you as you gathered your supplies and head back toward the door.

“I’ll try and come back soon, ok?” You say with a sad smile.

You really didn’t want to leave him here.

But the last thing you wanted to do was push your luck even further than you already had with your shenanigans. Because as soon as you close the door, leaving the sad blond behind, your vision was soon filled with one that was seething.

He was standing just off to the side of his redheaded friend, who looked like he was trying to talk him down, but his focus was on you. Eyes overflowing with anger, but something else just lying underneath it.

‘Take her home Red." He says, eyes locking with you briefly before he turns his attention back to the redhead at his side and walks off.

You felt horrible that he was so upset with you. The last person you wanted to piss off was him. He saved you. He was housing you as well. And all he wanted was for you to rest up in his home and leave him to do his job.

Your feet start to move towards him as he hits the button on the elevator, but Kirishima’s arm shoots out to stop you before you could get any closer.

“Give him some time to cool off.” He says as he pulls you gently to his side.

But you couldn’t just leave him like this. It was clear he was angry at you, and the last thing you wanted to do was get even more on his bad side. You had seen the wrath he could bring down people who didn’t know not to test him.

“But I need to apologize.” You say softly, still looking at the closed door.

Glancing back to the tall redhead next to you, he just gives you a knowing look.

“He’ll be alright in a couple of hours. Let’s get you home for now.”

And that afternoon Kirishima walked you back to your shared home. Making sure that he kept a watchful eye on you the entire time. Bakugou, on the other hand, was avoiding you like the plague. He was coming home late and leaving before you had the chance to even crawl out of bed.

And after four days, you couldn’t take it anymore.

It was eating away at you that he was avoiding you like this. So you made the decision to follow him to the agency. Dead set on making him finally speak to you.

You woke up early. By looking at the time on your phone, you saw it was just shy of five am. With a soft yawn and a few minutes of bending and stretching your body back to life, you slip into your clothes. Tiptoeing your way to the front door with your tennis shoes in your hand.

You heard the door shut about ten minutes ago, and you wanted to give him a chance to get to the agency and settle in before you confronted him.

You had it planned out perfectly.

He had a routine he liked to follow. On days that he had a light load, he took a jog to the agency. Spending some time in the gym there before he showered and made his presence known. Leaving the door to his office open and available for you to come in and deliver notes and go over reports.

Always at the ready with your clipboard and a fancy pen.

He always told you just how ridiculous you always looked when you walked, in the same way, each morning. Coffee in one hand, while you carried your clipboard, clutched to your chest. Telling you it didn’t have to be right that second that you had to go over everything and you were allowed time to fully wake up. But still, he never complained about having you there.

And by the time you made it to the doors of the agency, you saw that the lights were still dim. No sight of anyone or anything alive, stirring behind the tall glass doors to the lobby. But as per usual, you typed in your security code and let yourself inside. Greeted with the silence of a still sleeping building and no one around to wake it quite yet.

Wandering your way into the kitchen, you set yourself up to make a cup of coffee and a tea for your grumpy boss. While he was never the type of person to need caffeine, a little peace offering couldn’t hurt.

But as you finish your drinks and move to the front door of his office, you notice the lights were off and the door was still locked. Leaving you to wonder where the angry blonde might be. So, with a curious walk, you make your way down to the elevator once again and head down to the floor with the gym. If he wasn’t in his office yet, maybe he was still down there.

But instead of being met with the harsh drums of some heavy rock song blasting on the speakers, you are once again in the dark. No lights or sounds, anything that would give you the indication that life was around.

Maybe he made an extra stop on his way here? Or maybe you missed something on his schedule. Pulling out your phone, you pull up the pro’s calendar and look at the date.

And it all made sense once you saw what today was.

Both Kiri and Bakugou were going to be out-of-town today, some semi-annual ‘bullshit’ meeting on the other side of the city. The same one you basically had to force him to attend, even if he thought it was pointless.

Which meant both of your bosses were going to be gone for most of the day.

Almost instantly your mind wanders to the almost barbaric copycat still sitting in the basement. You had promised him that you would come back to see him, and conveniently Bakugou wasn’t going to be around today.

And before you even realize it, you are in the elevator and heading down to the lower floor. The silence of the morning is almost soothing as you wait. The automatic lights turn on as soon as the doors open. Each step you take causes another light to come to life, all the way down the short hall.

Only your mystery man wasn’t in the same room as he was before.

It was clean and showed no sign of having anyone inside of it. Which you hoped meant that they had placed him in a holding cell. Picking up your pace, you hit the button that would bring you to the set of rooms you needed.

In a secure location, with only one exit. There he was. An arm was thrown over his eyes as he lay on his back. The harsh fluorescent lights shone too brightly for the small space he was locked in. You watch him for a moment, relieved that he looked to be ok. The steady rise and fall of his chest was an indicator that he was still breathing.

Even from this distance, he looked like he was fairing far better than he had been just a short while ago. His hands were now bandaged better than what you were able to do, and he looked clean. He didn’t have any lingering specks of soot or dust clinging to his hair or face. His clothes had been changed out of the primitive attire, for something that looked more modern. Simple and light, more than enough to have him pass as a normal citizen of the city.

Now that he was in the black sweatpants and matching black t-shirt, it would be almost impossible to tell the difference between him and the real Bakugou. The only real indication this was your copycat was that he was slightly bigger than the real one. Bulkier than you were used to seeing every day, but still so much alike.

It hurt to see him still locked up in here. It had been days since he had seen the sun, let alone step a foot outside. The thought crossed your mind about just how scared he might be. Even if he only showed himself to be fearless and unstoppable, being in a whole new world and not able to speak or understand how anything works must be upsetting.

An intrusive thought crossed your mind.

What if you let him out? Nobody was around to stop you, and maybe you could pry some kind of answer out of him if Bakugou weren’t around to stop you. You could slip him out of the agency and hide away for a while. IT wouldn’t be just beneficial for you to help him out, but you would be helping your bosses figure out a little more about this guy. Maybe put you back in the good graces of Bakugou.

It didn’t matter at this point, anyway. Your boss was already avoiding you, might as well give him an actual reason to be mad, right?

Right?

Logic and reason didn’t have a lot to do with the events of the past week. Nothing made sense, and you hoped that your theory was right.

The pad that kept the room locked was staring at you. The keypad mocking you for not realizing that you would need the password to unlock it. So you type away all the important dates you could remember. Bakugou’s birthday, Kirishima’s, the date the agency was officially handed off to the pair.

But nothing seemed to work.

As a joke you go to type in your birthday, frustrated that you didn’t think your plan through. But what shocked you, even more, was the keypad lighting up green and the sound of the door unlocking.

That roused the head of the sleepy copycat to pop his head up towards the door. Waiting for you to turn the knobs and enter his room.

“Hi,” you speak softly to your copycat.

A small smirk finding its way to his lips as he sits up, speaking your name, his voice still drenched in sleep. You can’t deny the sight of him brings a smile to your face. Even if he wasn’t your boss, there was just something that was pulling the two of you into the same orbit.

With a roll of his shoulders and popping his knuckles, he sits up and stands from the bed. Giving his stiff neck a gentle roll before he walks over to you. His still-bandaged hands reach out to you and pull you to his chest. Hot hands land on your hips as he envelops himself in you. Dipping his nose down until you feel it nuzzle into your hair. His soft puffs of air soothed your nerves about what you were doing.

As much as you enjoyed this, you had to get him out of here.

It wasn’t fair. He had proved to you that he wasn’t a threat, not just physically, but you could feel it deep in your gut.

Pulling away, you set your half-baked plan into motion. Taking his hand into yours and quickly leading him out of the small cell and into the elevator. You didn’t ecstasy know what you were going to do once you were out of the agency, but anything had to be better than this.

The world was still in the early stages of waking up. Lucky for you that meant that there would be fewer people around to witness a giant half-feral man who was letting you drag him along down the sidewalk. The sun was just starting to poke its head above the horizon, and a slight chill ran through your body.

Taking your time, you slow down as you walk. Allowing him to take in the world around him. His eyes bounced from the signs hung above the roads, to the way the neon signs of the coffee shops and bakeries flashed brightly.

He seemed so enamored with everything; you hadn’t thought about it before but it must be off-putting to be here. Thrust into a part of the world that didn’t look the same. You had no idea what his home looked like, but by the way, his eyes were on high alert. You can only assume it was nothing like this.

From the way his eyes lit up like that of a child when they see something new, you couldn’t help but feel bad for him. The noise and hustle of the city was making him overstimulated, as far as you could tell from his body language anyway.

Maybe you could take him to the park? Or away from the main part of the city for a while. Just something to calm down his overstimulated mind, and spend some much-needed time without others around.

As you pass the huge display window of a shop, the idea hits you.

You could take him on a small picnic over by the mountain. You didn’t have to hike it, of course, but it would be perfect. Spend a little time tucked away in nature, and make sure he ate a proper meal.

You’ve heard the stories that Kirishima and Bakugou would talk about when they went. On the slim chance they had a day off together, they would make the plan to explore a new area. The mountain in question was a favorite of theirs. Easy enough to climb in a few hours, and offered a wonderful view from the top.

With the weather still warming up, the chance that you would run into other people up there was slim.

With an idea finally settled on, you squeeze his hand softly to gain his attention. His eyes finally settle back on you as he hears the honk of a car passing by.

“I know you can’t understand me, but I have a plan.” You smile as you speak, hoping that he would trust you.

He meets your smile with one of his own. The small lopsided smile filling you with a sense of peace. And he lets you lead him down the street. Flowing down the sidewalk until you reach the place you needed to go first.

The grocery store.

Luck was on your side when you read that it was open. Tugging him gently behind you as you enter the store. He watches the place with a cautious eye as you pick up a basket and start to make your way down the aisles. Picking various items and placing them in your basket.

Anything and everything you could think of that would be convenient to eat on your adventure to the mountains. Fresh strawberries and apples. Cheeses and meats, hoping that you could make a lazy charcuterie board.

You still glance behind you every so often to check on him. He would occasionally reach out and look at the items on the shelves. Poking and squeezing the items, figuring out what each thing was.

He really was taking in the world much like a child would. Touch and sounds being his guide on working out what something might be.

It didn’t take long at all to gather up a nice spread of food to be eaten. Satisfied that you had managed to grab enough to at least keep him full enough until. you could bring him back. They even had a picnic basket kit of sorts on the shelf. Everything you would need to have a convenient outdoor experience. They included cute but simple plates and utensils, along with a small blanket.

You swipe it fully, intending to use it.

As you tug him along through the check outline, you are quick to place your food into the basket and pay for your items. Tapping your phone and paying before you leave.

After that, it was an easy path to get to your destination. Pulling out your phone and following the path, it directed you down. Past the busy lights and sounds of the city and into something softer and less daunting. The air already felt fresh here.

Crisp and clean as the trees started to grow thicker and taller the longer you walked. The smell of dewy grass and flowers invades your sense of smell and you take in a deep breath.

It felt like a whole other world out here.

And as you expected, the hiking trail was empty except for the two of you. The cool temperatures of early spring were more than enough to ward away most novice hikers.

Katsuki seemed to be feeling a little better if the quick glances you gave him were any indication. His eyes weren’t bouncing back and forth anymore, and his head wasn’t snapping towards every sound, looking for a threat to appear.

No, now he was doing the same as you. Taking in deep breaths and sighing out of relief. His hand gripped yours a little looser now that the city's busy life was behind you.

Turning your head back to face in front of you, you point to a worn sign just up the trail.

“I figured we could hike a little way and stop for some food if that’s ok.” You tell him more than to ask.

Forgetting for the moment that he couldn’t understand anything you were saying. He gives you a soft nod as if he could and lets you lead him. Cupping his hand tighter in yours as you pull him to stand beside you. You had the fleeting feeling like he would let you lead him to the end of the earth if you desired.

Which was a feeling you never thought you would have about anyone.

But like everything else in your life as of late, you couldn’t exactly explain what your life was anymore. Not a lot made sense, especially when it came to Bakugou or his clone. You were simply letting your heart move on its own, and so far, it hadn’t led you into too much trouble.

The further you walked up the trail to the forest, the more you realized you weren’t meant for hiking.

What were once steady breaths of air leaving your lungs had become labored. Your shoes that used to be comfortable were now hurting the arches of your feet. You were struggling, and you hadn’t even made it to the difficult part of the hike yet. You slowly started to curse under your breath the longer you were walking. The incline of the hill stole your breath before you could muster up more than a few words.

But the chuckle at your side stops you from muttering.

Glancing over, you see Katsuki’s amused expression. He had the tiniest amount of teeth showing as he watched you attempt to scale the start of the mountain. Stealing the insult you were about to berate him with as he poked fun at your misery.

Before you could utter the words, he tugs you to a stop, pulling you into his arms. Leaving you a little confused for a moment before he is moving you around. His hand leaves you for only a moment until he is bending down to one knee in front of you, offering you an uninterrupted view of the massive muscles dancing behind the compression shirt on his back.

Turning his head slightly and wrapping a hand around yours, he guides you to stand closer, leaving you to catch on to what his plan was. His other hand wrapped around your thigh, and in one quick movement had you lifted onto his back.

Easily baring the extra weight as you adjust your arm to grab for stability. He was just as quick to take the basket from your other hand and continue on your walk. He wasn’t struggling in the slightest to carry you up the steadily increasing terrain. His muscles worked effortlessly, moving with smooth precision as he enjoyed himself.

And you were too after you got over the initial embarrassment of being carried around like this. The heat radiating off his body pulled you into him further, enjoying the way he kept the chill of the morning from your skin.

It was so calm out here, so different from what you had grown accustomed to. There were no honking cars or people shouting, just the sounds of nature to soothe your mind. You could get used to this, the birds chirping and the gentle sway of the trees as the wind moved them. The moment felt almost perfect.

Until you felt the jarring vibration of your phone in your back pocket.

As safe as you can manage, you reach around and pull out your phone, looking at the screen. It was Kirishima’s happy and sharp-toothed grin filling your screen.

You heavily debated for a moment if it was safe to answer his call, or if you should let it go to voice email. But after, it would seem more suspicious if you ignored it.

“Hi,” you speak into your phone as you hold it up to your ear.

“Hey Sweetpea, just wanted to call and see how you’re holding up?” He says happily.

“I’m OK, just taking the time alone to catch up on some things. I completely forgot that you were both out of the office today.”

“Yeah, thought about shooting you a text this morning, but figured it would be easier to call.”

Katsuki turns his head slightly, slowing his movements as he looks back to you and the device held up to your ear. He goes to try and open his mouth before you are shaking your head in a silent plea for him to remain quiet.

“I’m actually about to get in the shower. Want to call me later? I’ll be fine by myself. I don’t want to distract you from your duties.”

“It’s not a problem to check up on my favorite assistant.” He says way too fast for your comfort.

It was like he already knew that something was wrong. Like he knew exactly what you were doing.

You try to make yourself sound convincing, but you were never that great of a liar. The only thing working in your favor was that Kirishima could see your face trying to work out a decent lie.

“I’m fine, really. I appreciate you calling to check up on me. But I left the shower running while I was getting my clothes! Sorry to have to cut our talk short.” You force yourself to get into character. Apologizing softly as Katsuki picks back up walking with you on his back.

“Is that all?” He says, a little disappointed. “Well, guess you better get in the shower before the hot water runs out.”

“Your right! Well, ill see you this evening!” You sigh as you feel the lick of victory set in that you had managed to pull off your half-assed lie.

Fumbling with your phone and mumbling a curse under your breath, you go to hit the red button to end the call before Kirishima’s voice catches you off guard. Your name is echoing out of the receiver, making you pause and lift the phone back to your ear.

“I caught the alarm before Bakugou saw it, by the way.”

Fuck.

You were stupid to think that you would ever be able to pull anything over on either of them. Of course, they would have an alarm on the door. That was probably the entire reason why he called was to get you to confess.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

It was a last-ditch effort on your part and a lame one at that. But you couldn’t help but want to continue with your little jailbreak.

“Look, I don’t get it. But I do. And I covered for you. But please don’t make me regret it.”

You can hear him sigh, and you can almost picture the disappointment written on his happy face. But he was at least willing to indulge you in this endeavor for a while longer. Both sides of your conversation are silent as you agree to keep this secret from the real Bakugou.

“I’ll have him back before you get back, I promise.” You tell him softly before glancing down at the massive man carrying you. Readjusting his grip on your thighs, digging his fingers into the plush skin beneath his fingers.

He felt all too real just to be a dream. The heat emitting from his body matched that of your hot-headed boss. He wore the same sour face, his hair stuck out the same. His arms and hands felt just as real as the ones you were used to grabbing for when Bakugou would demand to escort you home after those long nights at the office.

Strong and lean but no less warm. On that rare occasion, he was in a decent mood, offering to make a stop by a restaurant on the way and pick up dinner for you. He wasn’t much for conversation, be he had a way of making you comfortable in the silence. Tugging you closer to his side when you would pass others on the sidewalk.

In the end, you owed it not just to yourself, but to your boss as well, to find out what was going on.

“I’ll message you about an hour before we will be back. But if anything happens, don’t forget to hit the panic button on your phone. I’m serious. I would rather you stay safe than hurt sweetpea.”

“He isn’t going to hurt me, but I’ll keep my phone close. Thank you for trusting me, Kiri.”

He doesn’t say anything else other than a small hum of acknowledgment before he hangs up the phone. Leaving you once again to keep your attention on the burly blond that was now leading you off the well-worn path of the hiking trail and into the woods.

It was now or never. You either made some kind of breakthrough with Katsuki, or you were sure to be swept up in the wrath of Bakugou if you didn’t have any results from your little act of rebellion. 

Master List

Chapter One - Never overstay your welcome, keep moving.

Chapter Two - Never loot the same place twice, no supply is worth a second trip.

Chapter Three - Never help a fuckin soul, the cost is your own

Chapter Four - Everyone lies, especially men

holding out (just for you) masterlist

pairing: dragon!bakugo katsuki x reader (ongoing)

mentions: sfw, aged-up characters (24+), fantasy au, fem healer reader, descriptions of injuries, near death experience, cultural misunderstandings, fluff, second person, part of the bnha big bang collab

summary: after getting caught out in a vicious storm, you seek refuge in a dark cave, not knowing that it is already occupied by a large dragon who really doesn’t want you there.

too bad you aren’t planning on leaving anytime soon—not when he looks like that.

(or: in which you find a horrendously injured dragon in a cave and make it your duty to heal him, not knowing that he’s the infamous dragonshifter, bakugo katsuki, who has been cursed to remain trapped in his dragon form forever—unless the spell is broken)

with art done by the lovely @your-fellow-passerine !!! here is a link to the original post (give it some love!!!!) <33

also on ao3 and quotev!

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four - TBA

KIRISHIMA SPINOFF - TBA

MIDORIYA SPINOFF - TBA

TODOROKI SPINOFF - TBA

brighter than ever (we'll burn, baby) - SEQUEL TBA

SYNOPSIS: Sure, you have more than just a tiny crush on Suna Rintarou, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get to know him as friends… Right?

Or, in which: It’s hard to get Suna’s attention when he’s at the center of it all, especially not if he might have someone else he already likes.

PAIRING: Suna Rintarou x f!Reader.

TAGS: strangers to lovers. mutual & one-sided (?) pining. fluff. crack. angst. jealousy. slight college au. lowkey some bullying. explicit/sexual content. set in timeskip. friends with benefits.

WARNING: NSFW & extremely suggestive themes, MINORS DNI (this means that if you’re below 18, go away); mentions of alcohol use. profanity.

NOTES: has a few written parts. also, she/her pronouns are used for the reader.

TAGLIST: closed.

STATUS: on-going. / on hold. UPDATES: irregular. once a week, as much as possible.

start date: June 3, 2021

PLAYLIST.

Keep reading

𝐀 𝐇𝐘𝐌𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 || 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

On a diplomatic trip far from home, Prince Bakugou must contend with his hatred for you. A woman who lives to take orders. The last thing the warrior prince needs is a babysitter but it’s a feat, not a coincidence, that you are the only apprentice to the captain of his royal guard. Feasts, balls, and festivities await you and your new friends at Takoba, and in the seaside kingdom you must reconcile with the idea that your prince is not so noble as the queen who raised him. All while something half dead and long forgotten festers on high tide.

𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 [𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔] prince!bakugou x royal guard!(fem) reader, slow burn to eventual smut. y/n has a personality and it is business formal, she grows. individual chapters will have specific tags-warnings-ratings— in general please expect violence/descriptions of injuries, strong language, two aloof fools, the classic motley bnha crew, seaside shenanigans. bakugou is an absolute piece of work, y/n is professional to a fault and it drives him insane. travel companions ー civil teammates ー genuine enemies ー confused friends ー lovers. plenty of ridiculous tension accompanied by angst and 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄

❂ ー 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 this story has been my baby over the past few months (was this a direct response to mha ch 362? yes) — so I hope you cherish it as much as I do. I am not immune to roy/riza (fmab) and many of the dynamics in this au are heavily inspired by their relationship! just gotta build up that trust first (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ be prepared to absolutely hurtle this man out of harm's way TAGLIST | AO3

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈

𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆. ✦

You terrify him and it breaks his heart.

𝒐𝒏𝒆. 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩

In the warm forests of Aldera Castle you and the prince grew up in periphery. A soldier without magic and the boy who never spoke to her. Suddenly, he is your only responsibility.

𝒕𝒘𝒐. 𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

With the first day of travel under your belt and introductions well collected, your Alderan company finds time to unwind together. Thankfully, nothing bad ever happens around a campfire.

𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆. 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝

Are all carriages of the east made for prisoners of war? Prince Bakugou despises the close quarters and their snagging silver fixtures, but it is a special kind of fate that would deliver you to the safety of the sea and to the feet of the fire that bars your entrance. And deliver you together at that.

𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓. 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞

Hats off to dying!

𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆. 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

What a vivid dream you’ve made, of the prince and his heavy hands wrapped around your body.

𝒔𝒊𝒙. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐨𝐛𝐚

It is at exactly the wrong moment that you realize where all the guards have gone, and just how desperate you must appear for the prince to take such pleasure in destruction.

𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏. 𝐡𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

Would he treat you this way in the presence of others? Is it only when you're alone that hell raises?

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈

𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕. 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐰𝐨.)

In the immortal words of your prince, this was a dogshit idea for a dinner party. You are haunted by blue flames and scarred ghosts no matter how hard you focus on work, and a punishment for your distraction is in order.

𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒆.

(april 22.)

Tacenda

Definition: Things better left unsaid

Summary: A continuation of this, this, and this idea. Bakugou knows you don’t share his feelings, so why does his heart pick up everytime he’s close to you? And why do you seem to gravitate to him just as much?

Genre: angst with no comfort

CW: pining, mentions of drinking, foul language, makeout, lip-gloss smearing, fondling, handjob, emotional makeout, both Bakugou and reader have been drinking

Word Count: 3,693

Bakugou’s friends joke that he’s always by your side, at your feet, or not too far behind. Always hanging on to your last word.

He’d never admit it, but they’re right. He finds that being around you is addicting and finds himself doing things he never thought he would, just cause it’ll make you smile. He can’t help it.

Things like hosting parties in the apartment. It’s not his scene; He doesn’t like many people in his space messing up his stuff or drinking his booze. But whenever you suggest it? He can’t figure out how to say no.

It doesn’t help that you’re especially affectionate when you’re a little tipsy, and he’s a little less guarded than he should be. He should be hiding his feelings, keeping them close to his chest, and yet, he finds his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see. And everyone does see. Except for you.

When you playfully jump onto his back when he won’t hand over the remote on the couch, he just laughs and stands, hands gripping your thighs around his lean waist, so you won’t slip off. You’re both a little drunker than you meant to be, and he tips over slightly after he spins with you, causing you to shriek and laugh, face buried in his neck.

He blames the blush that covers his cheeks on the alcohol when Sero makes a joke about it, and you brush it off, demanding he takes you to the kitchen so you can talk with the group gathered around Kiri.

He’s gentle when he sets you on the counter, and you expect him to leave again for the couch, but he doesn’t. He leans back into you, his elbows resting comfortably on either side of your thighs, fingers rubbing soothing circles on your shins. After a while, you find yourself leaning into his warmth, arms winding around his neck again as you tilt forward to rest your head on his shoulder.

His eyes slip towards your face every few moments, and he’s acutely aware that all he’d have to do for his lips to brush yours is to turn his head the tiniest bit. He finds himself wondering if the gloss on your mouth is the same as that one night after the last party, tuning out the conversation around him completely, even if you’re fully immersed in it.

Keep reading

'The Forbidden Flame.' Masterlist Prince Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Synopsis: In a world where royalty are born and bred to sit upon a throne built by their ancestor's aeons ago, there is a prince who is destined to sit upon the throne but there is worry amongst those of the high council. Will this Prince ever be able to shake the shackles of his ancestorial rage and become a just and rightful King? Or will he simply be another spindle in the wheel that continues to crush those of lesser importance?

Warnings: Similiar setting to House of the Dragon (the era, how royalty works) but not entirely, dragons, eventual smut, deceit, violence, blood, all characters are over the ages of 18, mentions of different religions, misogynistic themes, character deaths. No beta readers, we die like kings. (Will update individual chapters with warnings also.) MDNI.

The Glossary

Chapter I: ['The Barbarous Prince'] [28/08/22] [5086 wc.]

Chapter II: ['The Summer Solstice'] [31/08/22] [6829 wc.]

Chapter III: ['Seeking Respite'] [04/09/22] [8181 wc.]

Chapter IV: ['Dance of the Dragon'] [10/09/22] [7677 wc.]

Chapter V: ['The Crimson King'] [15/09/22] [7469 wc.]

credit for the background image/banner: @vampyrsm please do not plagiarise, or recommend my work to places such as TikTok. Date format is DD/MM/YY.

i'll find my way (back to you) | todoroki x reader | masterlist

pairing - todoroki shouto x reader

summary -

Your life is going the way you want it to - a restaurant of your own, great friends and a mostly successful escape from the clutches of canon. It’s just the infuriatingly attractive and interested Pro Hero that complicates things.

(Todoroki Shouto x Reader: the one where you realize that dodging the world of Heroes is impossible. Especially when you’ve got Todoroki popping up at every turn.)

disclaimer - I am not Japanese and I am not a chef. This fic is the result of a lot of thinking and research. Isekai/reincarnation also plays an important role in the story so just keep that in mind.

chapter links

one

two

three

four

five

six

cross-posted on ao3 here

Love Comes Tsundere - ch.1

Bakugou Katsuki x Female Reader

Work In Progress AO3

I write for attention. <3

A complicated villain takedown puts Bakugou Katsuki in a cumbersome position with the Hero Safety Commission. To appease the commission, Bakugou reluctantly agrees to enter an arranged marriage with you, the quirkless daughter of a prominent member on the commission. Now you and Katsuki have to figure out how to live and maybe even learn to love someone you don't truly know.

Warnings:

R-18 Adults Only, Explicit Content, Arranged Marriage, Fluff, Comfort, Strangers to Lovers, Gradual Romance, Eventual Smut, Tsunder Bakugou Katsuki, Female Reader, Loving Sex, Sweet Sex

Chapter 1 - The Catch of The Lure

The warm scent of freshly printed paper and the still silence of an empty office made for a boring wait, especially if you were a pro hero strongly accustomed to action. The drone of professional gray walls, chill of metal filing cabinets, and the reek of power from a fancy polished desk told the young hero that person who occupied this office was powerful but most likely impotent. On top of that, the office jackass was making the hero waiting damn near forever to talk about damage control. Inconsiderate bastard.

Finally, the door opened and the overcompensating ass himself walked in. "About damn time!" The young hero growled, his piercing red eyes shooting the older man a death glare. "I've been waiting for damn near an hour."

"My apologies, young Bakugou," The drawl of his false regret caused Bakugou's eye to twitch as the man moved past Bakugou's chair to sit at his desk, "it's quite a mess out there, you know."

"Of course I damn know!" Bakugou huffed, running a hand through his spikey, blonde locks. "I got stuck in the middle of all that damn shit and there was nothing I could do to stop it!"

"Yes, quite an unfortunate turn of events. It's a shame but also understandable, you were off-duty and were ill-prepared for dealing with the chaos. It is a bit of a complex situation but I think I can manage to resolve with minimal damage." The man's tone dripped with satisfaction and Bakugou couldn't help the feeling that somehow this guy had something over him and planned to use it against him. "I can have this whole little 'incident' cleared up for you in no time, but in return I have a request to make of you."

Bakugou let out an exasperated sigh, "Of course you do. Well, what the hell do you want?"

The smsug smile on the office bastards face made Bakugou's skin crawl. "Why, I'm so glad you asked. I've noticed that throughout your entire high school and rookie hero career, you've never had yourself a pretty little lady to swoon on your shoulder. Now that could be because you're waiting for the right little lady or maybe you feel as though you don't have time for petty relationships with your line of work and wanting to be number one, but I have my own theories... Personally, I think you just lack the drive for it. Instead of pursuing girls like most men, you chase after power and success. I've heard a few rumors that you're simply not interested in the opposite sex, but I think if that were the case you would have made a move on that Red Riot you used to go to school with. Either way-"

"Is there a point behind all this or do you just like hearing yourself talk?" Bakugou interrupted, disliking how the man brought up his love life.  Lack the drive? Bakugou's blood boiled. Unlike this impotent ass I don't need some random bitch to help me get off! Just 'cause I'm not chasing horny ass females like a dog in heat doesn't mean I'm impotent. And what the hell is he implying about me and Kirishima? Who the hell does he think he is? He'd never admit it, but he had always thought of Kirishima as a brother. He'd never thought of his red-haired friend in that manner before.

The man tapped his fingers on his desk and eyeing Bakugou and taking into account the blonde's obvious aggravation. He considered his next words carefully. "Yes, I suppose I should be getting to the point. I, and many of my colleagues, are not particularly thrilled at the idea of helping you clean up this mess, nor are we obligated to. That said, I'm willing to resolve the outside issue for you if you agree to marry my daughter." 

"You want me to do what?" Bakugou blinked, knowing full well what he'd heard but wanting to confirm it.

"Marry my daughter." A slimy, satisfied smile plastered the bastard's face. He turned a photo on his desk for Bakugou to see. "Marrying her off to a powerful, young hero is my best course of action for making sure she is cared for when I'm gone. You see, she's quirkless so she needs someone strong with a good head on his shoulders to take care of her."

Bakugou stared at the photo, the young woman in the picture wasn't terrible looking. Plain, [s/c] skin and simple, [h/c] hair framing a shy face with [e/c] eyes. She didn't look like she would be a bitch, she kind of looked like a nerd. Like damn Deku. He glanced back at her bastard father. What if she was like him? "What happens if I don't marry her?" He had to weigh all his options. Even if she wasn't horrible to look at and had a decent personality, he still wasn't overly fond of marrying a complete stranger.

"Well, let's just say without me to help clean up the mess then you'll likely lose your hero license and any chance at being a hero down the road. No one else will help you, especially if I tell them I tried to help you and you turned me down. Add to that the fact that you aren't exactly equipped with the tools for fixing this mess and your chances at getting everything resolved disappear completely and leave you and your hero career in the dust."

Bakugou stiffened, sparks popping from his hands. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

"True, but the public won't see it that way." The man pointed out smugly, clearly not intimidated by the little explosions going off. " If it helps, you can think of it this way-you don't necessarily have to love her, just marry her and take care of her for the deal to be in place. If she doesn't satisfy your needs or neither of you are interested then just get you a little honey to keep on the side."

A long moment of silence passed before Bakugou spoke again, his head spinning. He hated how nonchalant the bastard was about implying having multiple girls to satisfy different needs. It certainly didn't feel right, but if he wanted to become the number one hero then he couldn't afford to lose his hero license even if only for a short while. With a defeated sigh he asked, "When do we get married?"

𝐀 𝐇𝐘𝐌𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 || 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

‎‎‎On a diplomatic trip far from home, Prince Bakugou must contend with his hatred for you. A woman who lives to take orders. The last thing the warrior prince needs is a babysitter but it’s a feat, not a coincidence, that you are the only apprentice to the captain of his royal guard.

Feasts, balls, and festivities await you and your new friends at Takoba, and in the seaside kingdom you must reconcile with the idea that your prince is not so noble as the queen who raised him. All while something half dead and long forgotten festers on high tide.

𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 [𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔] prince!bakugou x royal guard!(fem) reader, slow burn to eventual smut. y/n has a personality and it is business formal, she grows. individual chapters will have specific tags-warnings-ratings— in general please expect violence/descriptions of injuries, strong language, two aloof fools, the classic motley bnha crew, seaside shenanigans. bakugou is an absolute piece of work, y/n is professional to a fault and it drives him insane. travel companions ー genuine enemies ー civil teammates ー confused friends ー lovers. plenty of ridiculous tension accompanied by angst and 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄

❂ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ー this story has been my baby over the past few months (was this a direct response to mha ch 362? yes) — so I hope you cherish it as much as I do. I am not immune to roy/riza (fmab) and many of the dynamics in this au are heavily inspired by their relationship! just gotta build up that trust first (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ be prepared to absolutely hurtle this man out of harm's way TAGLIST | AO3

𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆. ✦

You terrify him and it breaks his heart.

𝒐𝒏𝒆. 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩

In the warm forests of Aldera Castle you and the Prince grew up in periphery. A soldier without magic and the boy who never spoke to her. Suddenly, he is your only responsibility.

𝒕𝒘𝒐. 𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

With the first day of travel under your belt and introductions well collected, your Alderan company finds time to unwind together. Thankfully, nothing bad ever happens around a campfire.

𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆. 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝

Are all carriages of the east made for prisoners of war? Prince Bakugou despises the close quarters and their snagging silver fixtures, but it is a special kind of fate that would deliver you to the safety of the sea and to the feet of the fire that bars your entrance. And deliver you together at that.

𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓. 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞

Hats off to dying.

𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆. 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

What a vivid dream you’ve made, of the prince and his heavy hands wrapped around your body.

𝒔𝒊𝒙. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐨𝐛𝐚

It is at exactly the wrong moment that you realize where all the guards have gone.

𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏. 𝐡𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

(april 2.)

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈 - 🔒

(in production as we speak; my favorite parts are down here!)

KEEPING UP WITH KATSUKI & SHOTO.

❝everyone knows katsuki and shoto shares absolutely no similarity at all. a complete polar opposites. until you had them thinking twice.❞

genre: fluff, angst, romance | pairing: katsuki x fem!reader x shoto | rating & tw will be mentioned in each respective drabbles | others: SIMPING BOYS , love triangle

Keep reading

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

ALT

A Place at Your Table — Chapter 3/7

Love is a place at someone you love’s table. Bakugou Katsuki… is still looking for that place. A Pro Hero!AU where Bakugou, after enduring a decade-long crush on one Todoroki Fuyumi, meets—you.

word count: ~10,750 tags: pro hero!au, aged up characters

There’s room for an invitation there, if Katsuki wants to make it. Instead, he hedges.

click here to read on ao3

other links: spotify playlist | fic tag | chapter recipe (yakisoba~)

Oh, and Happy Birthday @andypantsx3!

unconventional | masterlist

pairing: Midoriya Izuku/Reader

summary: HeroExpo is incredible, and that’s not even counting the really cute hero fanboy you just met. Well, you think he might be cute under that Deku cosplay. It’s hard to tell because it’s really, really good. Like, too good.

length: 21,000 words | 6 chapters

tags: romance, pro hero au, misunderstandings, conventions/fandom culture

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

chapter links:

one

two

three

four

five

six

cross posted on ao3: here

EDIT: Now with art by the deeply talented absolutely lovely @volatilematters​

it lives where i live

part 2 is here! this was a difficult one to write because there’s so much i want to say and i have no idea how to say any of it. but this is an important one and i hope you enjoy it :)

wc: 3.4 k. cw: angst, unintentional self-harm (touya scratches himself in his sleep), injury (scratch), blood (scratch), reader is not well mentally, gn reader, no pronouns used 

read part 1 here

There is a warmth against your cheek when you stir, creeping up to heat the skin of your forehead as you stretch and squirm—fighting the lure of just a few more moments of sleep. Blinking slowly, you study the beam of light peaking through the sheer curtains—the way the little refraction cuts through the otherwise dark of your room.

For a moment, in the light, you forget.

But when you roll to your side—away from the light, looking to the door—you feel everything with a force that leaves you breathless.

Despite the weight of it all, you push up off your bed to sit, head hung a little as you take in a few deep breaths. The house is quiet, but you didn’t expect anything else. Your eyes burn a little, and you wait for the tears to come. When they don’t, you sigh—there’s nothing good to come from crying, anyway.

You stand and move to the door, opening it quietly and distantly wondering when you started moving around like an intruder in your own home. There’s a heat that comes with the thought—it curls in your stomach, slithering around the other feelings you’ve been holding there, and you shove it down, down, down, because you don’t want to be angry at him. Because he’s been through enough.

You don’t listen to the thought that tells you: so have you.

When you walk down the hall, the bathroom door is open, and Touya’s bedroom door is not. He must have woken up before you, if he slept at all. You don’t imagine you’ll see him today—at least not during the day. You fight the urge to hover outside his door, ear crammed to the wood to try to hear him breathing.

Keep reading

A "Nonstop Nut November 2022" Production

Pairing: Vampire!Dabi x Reader

Warnings: Dubcon/noncon themes, “sacrificial lamb” scenario + fear play, vampire feeding + bloodplay, aphrodisiac usage, mind break, injury + pain play, (slight!) bondage, dom/sub dynamics, cucking (indirectly), (forced!) voyeurism, pet name usage, humiliation, light! description of death + murder (twice)

Summary: Years after a great war breaks out between your homeland and another nearby kingdom, your father has died in battle, and your family has been displaced from the village you used to call home. The village you find yourselves relocated to is shady, the people in it even moreso, and you struggle to maintain good faith about staying here – especially after you start to witness your younger, adopted sister making friends, and these other girls gradually start to vanish. You’re certain the townspeople are keeping something from you, but your mother refuses to acknowledge your fears, saying you’re ridiculous, paranoid, too young to understand anything – until a priest from the village comes to your home and sits your mother down to ask something of her, something that shocks you to your core. The priest wants your sister, the sweet soul who was recently promised to a boy from your homeland, only just having reached her seventeenth summer, and having just become a woman. Disgusted, afraid, and absolutely revolted when your mother agrees, however much she wavered, you insist the priest takes you instead, going so far as to promise that you will do whatever he wants of you. And when you’re dragged from your home without so much a second of hesitation from your mother, you’re delivered to a stone slab outside the village, where you’re roped up and offered to some kind of demon as a sacrifice. A vampire who goes by the name Dabi.

A little girl stares up at you with delighted, innocent eyes, and you can’t help but grin down at her pretty face, her pale flesh alight with the midday sun filtering in through the leaves above you.

She reminds you of warm summers, of the safety you always felt in your father’s arms at her age, and you can’t help the way your heart aches and yearns to feel that way again; you’ll never re-experience your youth, so you feel you can settle for watching the youngster experience hers, for holding her hand and walking with her through the woods. This much, you’re happy to do.

“Will mama like this one?” the little girl asks you as she holds up a wildflower, pink and slightly wilted, its stem crushed from the force of her little hands on its delicate green length. You don’t have the heart to tell her that mama would probably throw it out, so you nod.

“I think it’s very pretty.”And then you smile, and she giggles, as you say, “Just like you are.”

“Would you… like to have it?” she asks you, and you nod eagerly.

“Of course – but isn’t it for mama?”

She shrugs her little shoulders, and her eight-year-old form looks even smaller as she looks down at her feet, poking out beneath the layers of her skirts, and she says, “Mama doesn’t need to know I gave it to you.”

Your heart yearns for her youthful innocence, your sister’s kindness overwhelms you tremendously, and you make to kneel before her with a tender look on your face, holding your hands out to take hers as you softly say, “You’re a sweet little thing, you know that? I’m lucky you’re my little sister.”

She giggles, nods cutely, and reaches a hand up to stroke your cheek as she says, “You’re sweet, too. That’s why this flower should be for you.”

“Oh, Eri,” you say softly, and the ache in your heart swells and pounds in your chest as you let out a soft, broken chuckle, “Thank you.”

The little joyful thing she is, Eri tucks the flower behind your ear, her hands warm and her kindness lighting a fire within you. You would always look into her eyes as she smiled at you and see someone else’s child, the baby that had been left on your home’s doorstep one night and raised thereafter as your mother’s, but now you see her eyes glowing with something familiar, something you used to think was rare and not meant for you; Eri smiles at you with love.

Your arms wrap around her little shoulders to hug her lovingly without consulting you about the motion, but you’re glad they do, and you hold her there for a minute. She hugs you back with weak arms, but you’re happy to be in her embrace. You’re happy to embrace her as your family.

It’s as a warm tear slides down your cheek that you break from her embrace and clear your throat to whisper, “Let’s go back home, Eri. Mama must be worried, hmm?”

“Wait!” she presses, and you pause before straightening up, while Eri reaches for your hair – and you nearly start to cry as she slips the flower in her hand behind your ear, giggling adorably as she looks at it and says, “There – all done.”

The journey home is filled with elated giggles from Eri as you tell her stories about other little girls, fictional ones that walked this same path to grandma’s house only to grapple with wolves, to share porridge with bears, to enter homes made of delightful, rare candies and lived-in by an ugly witch. The autumn leaves fall around you, and the smells of the woodsy wonderland around you fill you with elation as you watch Eri skip around and smile, the beauty of her youthfulness filling you with elation in turn.

That elation doesn’t last past the moment you step into your home.

Your mother, usually a proud and self-assured woman who stands with her back straight and her chin held high, her entire body buzzing with confidence and positivity, is slumped over a table and weeping, a letter grasped in one hand. Eri sees this scene and nearly runs forward to hold your mother herself, but you stop her with a hand on her shoulder and whisper a soft, “No, let me.”

You approach her slowly while Eri backs her way toward the next room, and your mother’s sobbing makes your heart ache as you take a seat beside her.

“Mama,” you whisper, reaching for her hand, “What’s happened? Why are you crying?”

She doesn’t hear you, and if she does, she just refuses to acknowledge your questions. You gulp down the bubbling fear, the growing anxiety, that builds its way up your throat, hot like fire. The letter, you realize as you glance at it from your seat, is marked with the local militia’s seal. Your father, the only man who has ever meant anything to you, had left home when he was conscripted into the army.

“Mama,” you whisper, but it comes out scratchy, distressed, “Mama, where’s Papa? What’s happened to him?”

Still, not a word. Your vision becomes steadily more bleary as you stare at the flimsy piece of paper under your mother’s hand, and as you hiccup, the realization hits you hard and dread sets in. You reach for it, slowly, and as you do, you fight the desire to claw at your throat and scream at the top of your lungs. It’s a thick letter, writing scrawled on paper that is unrefined, rough. The script is nigh close to illegible, but you can make out enough of it to fuel the tears that pour from your eyes next.

Your father is dead, and your family will be forced to relocate to a village south of the kingdom border for the purpose of safety.

"Eight years," you say with a scowl on your face as you tend the kitchen, kneading the dough you'd prepared for dinner as your mother watches from the doorway. "It's been eight, almost nine, years of just you, and me, and Eri, all of us suffering – and you're still mourning, Mama, you've been mourning since the day the letter came."

She stares blankly at your hands, at the motions you make as you press into the dough, fingers between bits that poke out and protrude before you pull them back and do it all again. She just waits, wordlessly, for something. For what, you don't know. You scoff, though, as she just blinks away your concerns.

"When are you going to be a mother again?" you ask her this seriously, with eight years of resentment behind your (e/c) eyes aimed right at her, and she doesn't react at all. "I'm sick of being the only one who cares for her – she's a child, Mama, and she needs you as much as she needs me. More, in fact!"

As much as you wish she'd say something, anything, she just watches you knead the dough, and you sigh. It's disgusting, really, that she forces you to do so much and simply watches like an onlooker. You raise her child, care for yourself, tend the gardens and the livestock – and she watches, she attends the local church on weekends like she's expected to. But no more than that.

"Eri received a letter yesterday," you finally say with a soft sigh, "from that family we knew… before Papa…"

She doesn't stir, you don't know why you still expect her to.

"Kota has asked for her hand, Mama," you say. "He wants to marry her, and she… wants to marry him – so I've sent word that we'd be happy to allow him to court her."

You think, for a moment, that you hear your mother gasp. But she just lets out a sneeze, and you sigh. Of course, she didn't even care about that announcement. Why would she?

The town bell rings, then, a sound you're all too familiar with, and in robotic fashion your mother moves to grab her shawl from the dining table, and you watch her make her way out of your home without a word. She has never given up on religion – you suppose you should be grateful, but if anything the knowledge fills you with resentment.

It's when she returns, with strange men and women at her side, when she thinks you're asleep but really you're just sat at Eri's bedside watching her breathe slow and steady so that you feel alive, that the past eight years of trying to keep your family safe come crashing down in your lap and you can do absolutely nothing to pick up the pieces.

"We need Eri," a voice, hushed in the dead of night, says to your mother in the main hall, "a sacrifice must be made for the safety of our townsfolk."

It's strange, watching the eight years of your life you'd spent in the run-down village of suspicious men and quaint women trickle down the drain all at once with one painful realisation – strange, but not altogether unwelcome. You'd felt disappointment before, felt your hope and your optimism gripped within your chest and crushed all at once, and this was not the same.

No, it didn't hurt nearly as much to walk in and interrupt the awful conversation taking place in your own home as it did when your father had died in the war and left your family with no choice but to relocate here. It didn't hurt nearly as much as when your mother decided she would no longer be a mother to you, nor to your sister. Frankly speaking, it didn't hurt nearly as much as you felt it should've.

"You can't have her," you say softly, smoothly. With a shake of your head and a warning glare at your blank-faced mother, you go on, "You can't have her for your disgusting ritual – she's betrothed, she has a life ahead of her, and I won't have it. You can have me."

"You must understand, we need someone young and supple, or the One will not take her," the village priest says to you, his eyes as old and evil as he himself. "It must be a vir–"

"Me, or no one," you insist, scowling. You can feel spittle flying from the cavern of your mouth as you say, "Me, or there is no ritual – because I will burn your godforsaken church to the ground while you pray in it if you lay a single finger on my sister."

You watch the old man gulp, the bob of his Adam's apple in his throat giving away his fear of you suddenly, and in his cowardice you see the look of the stupid baker boy, the look of this priest's own pathetic son, as stupid and as easy to manipulate as he himself. And then as he nods and accepts your bargain, you feel a weight fall off your shoulders.

Your sister will be safe if you do this. You're certain of it, certain that the village will back off of her and pick off her friends instead – the way they had done before. Your mother always called you crazy, but as you lock eyes with her once more and for the first time in years she shows a sign of emotion, you see it in her old face.

You've never been crazy. Always been right. There truly was something off about this village.

The priest's hands clasp around yours before you can even think to speak to your mother, and when you avert your eyes from her to see him, he's grinning like a madman at you, teeth on display in a sickly Cheshire cat smile. You can tell, just that easily, that you're in for something awful, a kind of fate reserved for those who deserve no more than to be punished, truly.

"Your sacrifice will not be forgotten," the old man says, and you have a feeling he isn't speaking to you at that moment – rather, his words are aimed at your mother.

"Blessed be the fruit!" one of his goons, a woman in the corner whom you recognise as the mother of a missing girl, yells excitedly.

"May the One guide us!" the rest of the group, in unison, chant thereafter.

Your skin is clammy and cold as you're finally tugged along, out of your own home and into the dead of the night. The streets are cold, and the lamps guide you down a path toward the outskirts of town. And as you step, more and more townsfolk join in the parade, parents and elders all chanting their stupid ritualistic babble into the night until you finally come upon your destination at the center of the cornfield.

"May the One guide your soul to heaven above," the priest finally says as he takes a step aside and gives you a view of what stands before you, "and may He proffer the fruits of His mercy and grace to the Earth below."

With a gulp and a frightened but brave step forward, you approach the stone slab laid out at the centre of the field, and you in your night dress finally accept your fate. This is a sacrifice – you wouldn't be going missing, disappearing, mysteriously vanishing, never to be seen again. You will be dying, all for the pathetic beliefs of this town's mad religion.

You're still processing your fate when your hands are bound before you, and you simply follow blindly as you are dragged toward the slab, laid down on your back atop its cold surface by the men who'd thought to grab you first. There's no use in fighting it – not when the alternative would be your sister in your position. No, you'd rather it be you.

You watch, with teary eyes and in absolute silence as the chanting townsfolk take to tying your bindings down to the hooks on the slab, rendering you motionless. And you feel the bile rise in your throat as the priest comes upon you, standing dead in the centre of his cult's act of repulsive, blind faith.

"The One will like this one," he states, and his Cheshire cat grin is back as he reaches down to stroke your cheek, "she has some fight in her, that youthful ignorance he so adores."

"The girl is the fruit of our labour! Give thanks to the One!" the cult chants, and your teeth clench as you stare hatefully up at the priest who simply chuckles at your aggression.

"The hour of the One is upon us," he says to you, and you swallow down your hatred as he steps back to announce to his cult, "Let us depart! And let the One have his sacrifice!"

The group silences, and they step into a line to retreat from your body as the priest gives one last yell before you're left alone, roped up in a field with no particular reasoning.

"Blessed be the fruit!"

The tears stream from your eyes, but you barely notice them. You feel numb, feel nothing – at least, that's what you're telling yourself as you shut your eyes.

The feeling of being watched comes suddenly, and it hits you hard as a brick to the face – and it doesn't go away. Really, it m akes your heart race and your eyes shoot open, your body bristling with sudden and overwhelming terror. You don't know when you might've fallen asleep, but it couldn't have been long ago. Regardless, your flesh bristles with fear as you fall into a complete panic.

"Is someone there?" you're not sure why you would bother to yell, why anyone would bother to answer, but if there's a chance you'll be safe, you'll take to desperate bargaining. "If you're out there, please…come and untie me! Please!"

Nothing. Not a sound in return. But you still feel eyes on you as you begin to sweat, the prickling panic filling your pores.

Your arms jolt of their own accord, and you gasp at the sting of rope as it catches on your flesh. You'd forgotten in the rush that you were bound – but that realisation doesn't stop your body from thrashing, because suddenly you're filled with the fear and adrenaline of prey, and you're whimpering for help from someone you're not even sure really exists, not even sure intends to help you rather than harm you.

It's dark, but you're grateful there's an assortment of candles not too burnt out that they can still light up the clearing, especially when you finally hear the snap of a twig in the maze of crops you're surrounded by.

"H-hello?" you whimper out, your voice a squeak and your heart beating in your throat as you struggle against your bindings. "Who's there?"

No response, once again. But this time you feel different – the panic sets in deeper, and fear starts to course through your veins. This doesn't feel normal, and you don't feel the slightest bit safe. Your body is trembling, and your arms struggle more than before to escape your binds – but the knots around the rope are too tight, and no matter how hard you tug, or how hard you pull, you only serve to burn your wrists with the rope.

"Please, just – help me! Help me and… and I'll repay you!" you yell helplessly, feeling your cheeks grow warm and your nose start to run as you sob. Reality sinks in fast, however, when you hear a voice, finally.

It starts with a chuckle. A dark, low chuckle that reverberates through and then fades within the wide openness of the clearing, and your sobs start to get louder in the instinctive fear that cools the blood that runs through your veins, turning icy with terror. You stop struggling against the rope, though, praying that the intruder is kinder than the laugh they'd let out was.

"P-please, help me," you finally whisper, desperate and afraid and hoping for just… an ounce of mercy, pity? You aren't exactly sure.

Instead of a chuckle that reverberates through the clearing, this time you hear a soft laugh, so soft it might be an uneven breath – and the source stands right beside you suddenly, with red eyes aglow and a smirk that tells a devilish tale of intentions no better than those of the priest who'd landed you here.

"The ropes," you whispered, panicked, pathetic, "untie the ropes, please!"

"Why would I do that?"

You aren't sure, honestly, what you had been expecting from a stranger amongst the crop fields – kindness, pity, perhaps just naiveté? – but in the glint of mischief in the darkened eyes of the white-haired man above you, you recognize none of those qualities. Instead, you see yourself in the reflective surfaces of those orb's, you see fear and you see shame.

Had you not volunteered for this fate, had you not been willing to die for your sister before?

As the ropes above your head suddenly fall free from the stone beneath you, albeit still binding your wrists, confusion adds itself to the long list of your emotions in the moment. Was he freeing you? No, not with the smile on his face – really, the wicked way his lips curl upward in the moonlight says you are caught in his web.

But his hands still reach for the ropes at your ankles, still untie the bindings as he scoffs and chuckles at your rigid posture despite the leeway.

"Did you not ask for freedom?" the stranger asks you, and he laughs, "Did you not pray for mercy, for a hand to guide you to safety?"

"Why did you free me?" you whisper, voice hoarse and throat suddenly burning, aching with the aftermath of your yelling before. Shameful.

"To give you a headstart, little rabbit," his lip quirks up evermore, a tilt upwards in a snarky, devilish way as he says, "To give you a chance to survive me."

"What?" – you're confused, rightly so, and he laughs at it before you say, voice hoarse and body trembling from the cool night air that suddenly overcomes you, "Why would I need to run from you?"

Your question doesn't really need a verbal answer, because the moonlight suddenly begins to dim as the clouds pass over above you, a storm brewing as you lay. As the darkness overcomes the clearing, the night sky paints itself with the colours of the witching hour, and the man above you changes before your eyes from man, to something far, far from it.

His hair, stark white before, blackens from the roots. The darkness spreads, shadows taking over his jaw and his under-eyes, a cyan tint in his eyes that makes him evermore menacing – and as he laughs again, his teeth grow and sharpen, catching the glint of lightning as he flashes you a smile. You don't want to chance a look down again once you've already glanced down at his blackening, clawed hands.

The churches preach of demons that stalk the unwary, that prey on the wicked and on the innocent – the sight before you is no different from the image the priests would paint in your head of one before. A particular demon, one your prior village priest had proclaimed himself a hunter of, proudly so. The thing that this village worships, the thing you're sure you were meant to be a sacrifice for.

The One, as the priest had called him.

"You're… a demon!" you sputter helplessly, whimpering in fear, "A-a vampire! Godless and merciless, a monster!"

"You can call me Dabi, if you'd like," the devilish male says to you. And he chuckles as he shrugs, which would be enticing to watch if he wasn't horrifying, "Your priest likes to call me The One – you like that one, hmm?"

He laughs as he watches you roll off of the stone slab, away from him, and listens to the hitch in your breath as you fall to your knees. He can smell the blood the second you scrape one knee against the ground beneath you, and he breathes in your scent delightedly as he ignores your retreating form. You won't get very far, after all.

"Oh, what perfect prey," he chuckles as he stands and waits, silently counting off the seconds.

You reek of dread, of adrenaline and of terror – and he turns his head to chuckle as you stumble, the scent of you wafting off your form heavy and hard.

"What's the matter, doll?" his voice booms across the clearing, and you turn your head in horror at the excited grin that crosses his face, exposing his teeth to your view. "You're fallin' all over the place, like a newborn fawn…"

You gulp, unsure of what you're thinking as you open your mouth to respond with a hushed, frantic, "Please – don't hurt me."

He crosses the distance between your bodies in an instant, and your heart sinks to your diaphragm in realisation before he even speaks another word – you can't escape him, won't escape him, because at that speed he'll have caught you in a single stride. You're hopeless as he clutches the ropes that bind your wrists and gives your limp form a tug.

"Now, now," he tuts, the devilish glint in his eyes unyielding, "I thought you had a little more fight in you, huh?"

"Please, don't –"

"Ah, tut tut tut, doll," he hushes you, a low chuckle reverberating through him as he lifts you, up and up and up until you're dangling before him by his clawed hand gripping the rope around your wrists that dig into your flesh and force cries of pain from your swollen lips, "don't beg – it's unbecoming, hmm?"

"You're hurting me," you whimper, and you'd cry if your eyes weren't already dry enough, "Let me go, it hurts!"

Your body trembles at the sound of his bellowing guffaw as he dangles you higher and higher in the air, so you can barely stand on your tip-toes – and you cry out pathetically the longer you're up there, the pain you're in amplifying by the second.

"That's it," he coos, and you gasp as his other hand goes to caress your cheeks, squeezing your face 'til your lips are mushed together, and you can't make a peep without your sounds being garbled. "That's how you get what you need, doll. Demand it."

You'd spit on his face if you weren't mortified, if you weren't weak and useless under his grasp – as you have this thought, you start to curse yourself inwardly, and he starts to lean in toward your neck. His teeth, sharp and animalistic and ready to tear your flesh, are far too near your throat and far too quickly at that. If only you were stronger, smarter, better —

"Let her go!" a voice, familiar to you but only in the back of your mind, calls out as your assailant presses his lips to your throat, and you cry out as his teeth break skin

A slick, hot liquid seeps down the flesh of your neck before a mass of warmth coated in it trails along your throat, and as the voice repeats its call, the vampire – this Dabi – chuckles, and the sound reverberates through you as the slick substance drips down, down your clavicle and into your skin. His saliva, you realise with horror as he continues to lave away at you with his thick, hot tongue, is what it is.

You want to yell, to stop him, but your limbs become useless quickly as his saliva takes effect on you – vampire venom, after all, is a known aphrodisiac. It's been sold by witches as such for centuries.

A loud thunk resounds through the clearing then, and Dabi drops you carelessly from his grasp, like a sack of potatoes at market, so you hit the ground. Your body aches all over from the fall, but as you watch his head turn to find the source of the noise, of the pebble that you realise had knocked him in the head – and even you're a little shocked by the sight that graces you there, bravely aiming a second pebble at the vampire's head.

"L-leave her alone!" the priest's boy, someone your age and who'd offered you fresh-baked bread rolls free of charge many a hungry night before, yells at your captor – and if he didn't look ready to piss his pants, you might be honoured he'd thought to come to your rescue.

"You've a death wish, then?" Dabi asks the question with a smirk, but his voice betrays his immediate annoyance with the priest's son. He offers you a look, one with a quirked brow and a toothless grin, of amusement and says, "Is this your alternative to death, then? A man with a weak arm and an even weaker bladder?"

Against your will and against your better judgement, his voice in that tone makes your core throb, and your mouth water – you ignore your body's unwanted urges, however, and shake your head. Truth be told, you'd never have picked the baker boy simply out of disdain for his family's closeness to the church, their bloodline defiled by its very existence.

"Get away from here, you monster! Stay away from our home, from our women!" the boy yells, and you yelp as you feel Dabi claw at your bindings once more, tugging you to the epicentre of the clearing once more until you're stood up before the altar.

"You reek of the priest, boy," Dabi sighs before he stands before you, staring down at your face while he scoffs out a soft, "Go back home."

You quiver as clawed hands grip your shoulders, and your flesh burns wherever his darkened, black fingertips and claws trace over the fabric of your white nightgown – from your waist that prickles with delight and gooseflesh, to your breasts where your nipples harden pathetically. Dabi chuckles, dipping down to lave his tongue over your lips without a word of disagreement from you, and he chuckles at your compliance.

"Oh, you're behaving so well for me now," Dabi notes, and he smirks as he runs his clawed fingers down your jaw, "Tell the baker boy to go home."

"Yes…" you sigh, and then your head lolls over to face him and you spit a harsh, "Go home, boy… go home to your stupid father."

"Good girl," he whispers, and your mind is numb and your body is like clay in his hold – mouldable, pliant. "No use fighting when you're already mine."

"No use fighting…" you whisper in agreement, eyes clouding over, and your mouth stays open just enough that Dabi slips his tongue between your teeth and kisses you in a way no one ever has before – it's a slow, passionate dance between his lips against your own, and his tongue adventuring round the cavern of your mouth, all while his clawed hands grasp and mould around every part of you that he can touch.

The baker watches in horror, falling to his knees as he hears you moan and whimper in this monster's grasp – once, he had begged his father to let him marry you, he had wished he could have you in this way. It aches in every bone of his body to watch you share such a lewd moment with someone who isn't him.

"So you won't go?" Dabi asks, quirks up a brow without even glancing at the boy now, and he laughs. He says a simple, "Fine. Then stay where you are."

It's as a clawed hand tugs your night dress up to your knees that you manage a small, whimpered, "No!" – this makes the boy flinch, and he tries to turn his head in shame, to look away, but his body suddenly feels heavy. His blood weighs more than ever before, and he can't move.

"No?" the vampire chuckles, pressing on and hiking the fabric around your hips, exposing your lower half to the elements and catching the scent of your sweet centre on the wind, "But we're just getting started, doll…"

You gasp, breath catching in your throat as his lips find your neck and hover dangerously over your jugular, and his clawed index finger carefully, softly, traces a path over the mound of your core. You've barely been dosed with his venom, and yet its effects have left you pliant, soaked through – he feels this with a chuckle as he taps his digit to your slit, and immediately his finger is wet with the juices that flow from you like a fresh peach.

"Just getting started, and you're already soaked," Dabi coos against your throat, and then he groans as he sinks his teeth into you.

It should hurt, at the very least like a thousand pinpricks stabbing into the flesh of your throat at once, but each fang sinks into your flesh like a pleasant, orgasmic, featherlight kiss – and you whine like a bitch in heat at the feeling, sinking your fingers into the flesh of his upper arms that dip and flex with every motion he makes for support. You cry out his name, pathetic, and Dabi groans as his fangs part from your bleeding throat so his tongue and his lips can take their place and drink as he bleeds you dry.

It's painful for the priest's boy to watch, and every second wounds his ego more – he can't tell what makes his heart ache more, the way you mewl for the monster, or the way his body prickles to life with pleasure at the sound of it.

Dabi's index finger finds the pearly bud of your clit while his tongue laps at your blood and he chuckles into your flesh as you shiver familiarly – like your body's felt him on your skin a thousand times or more, and liked it – at the soft touch he gives it, and then as he retracts his finger so that just his claw taps against the bud you shiver once more. He finds you fascinating, arousing. He smirks.

Next, he dips that same digit a little further down your slit, to trace the shape of the hole of your cunt and just barely offer you relief from the pulsing within your core, from your growing need, and you squirm beneath him, whining. Your fingers falter for a moment in their grip on his arms, and he sighs with delight as you moan for him at the slightest intrusion of his digit within the cavern of your pussy.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" Dabi coos into your throat, "You're a filthy whore, aren't you? Oh… you desperately need me to touch you, don't you?"

The baker boy whimpers pathetically at the sound of it as you cry out a loud, "Oh, please… touch me inside! Dabi, please!"

"You must be so disappointed," Dabi coos at the baker boy, glancing devilishly over his shoulder as he presses a digit inside you, listening to your keening whine in his ear as he continues, "that this isn't you touching her body, that you can't have her like this, hmm?"

"Please… she deserves better than —"

"Shut up," Dabi commands, and the baker boy immediately complies despite the words he desperately wants to say bubbling up inside him. "She's so tight down here, God – and she's so hot inside. The perfect little toy."

You whimper as you arch your back, whine as Dabi lifts you so you're seated on the altar, and keen as he dips a second clawed digit into your cunt, stretching you out and groaning at the feel of you clamping down around him. It's heaven, and he wants to relish in it as he dips his head down to drink from your throat once again.

"Dabi!" you call out his name like you're begging for salvation, and he chuckles at it. He forces your head to loll to the side, your eyes shut but your face in full view of the stupid boy who'd come to your rescue. "Oh, Dabi, please!"

"Look at her," Dabi says with a cackle, licking a lewd stripe up the other side of your neck and sinking his fangs lightly into the supple flesh there, too, "she's begging me for more. This will never be you."

"Please!" You're calling out below him for nothing in particular, just begging at this point to be used the way he wants to use you, and Dabi obliges easily as you lay there and let him drain you of your lifeblood and your willpower, "Dabi, please – 'm yours, so use me! More, more, MORE!"

"God, you probably wish you could bury your pathetic cock deep inside her, don't you?" Dabi chuckles at the priest's boy, unashamedly stretching your cunt open and stepping back to look at his handiwork. "I'm gonna fuck her real good now – and then I'll finish her up, and y'know what I do to 'em when I'm done?"

The priest's boy, in fact, does know the answer to that one. "You'll bury her under the crops," he says, deadpan, "to fertilise them for the rest of the season."

Dabi laughs at that, nodding, "You do know something, huh?" And then he falls silent, glaring at the boy, and says, "Now, be quiet – or I'll kill you first."

You've never been touched before – let alone been fucked. So, when Dabi's thick cock prods at your entrance and then bullies its way into you, even just his tip, it doesn't matter that you're wet – your cunt aches at every inch that he sinks into you until he's sheathed himself inside. His cock is big, and he doesn't make it easy for you to take it.

"Hurts!" you yell, but you whimper out a desperate, "So good!"

Tears slide down your cheeks as the vampire wickedly chuckles down at your confusion, grinding his hips into you so his navel bumps into your clitoris with every single thrust of his cock, and absorbing your hiccups and sobs of pained pleasure with delight in his devilish eyes – and when you whimper out that he needs to be gentler, he barks a laugh into your face.

"Gentle? Don't forget why you're here," he chides you. "You're mine – so take it. Take my cock –" he fucks into you harder and faster, and the slick from your cunt messes all over your thighs as he does, "– like the sacrificial lamb you're supposed to be, without complaining!"

The baker boy sobs as he watches, despite Dabi being able to control his movement. He can't run away, can't avert his eyes – but he cries from watching you, cries from hearing you. And as Dabi turns his devilish eyes to glance at the boy, he tugs you up by your bindings and turns your body to face away from him.

Your back hits the hard, cool surface of his chest as his hand closes around your cheeks, and his cock sheaths itself inside you still. From this angle, the baker boy can see everything – from your cunt, slobbering all over Dabi's girth, to your tits, popping out from the confines of your nightdress with the effort of his harsh fucking.

And from this angle, Dabi has access to all his favourite spots to drink you dry from.

His teeth sink into your shoulder as he fucks his cock into you all over again, and you scream out at the pleasure of it as he hits all the right spots inside you while his lips suckle the red from your body like a lamb from its mother's teat – except this drink is deadly to one of you, and it's not you.

All the while, his eyes cross over your body and lock onto the sad, little baker boy's – and if he could laugh without wasting the delectable, sweet drink on his lips, he might, for the boy looks distraught and broken. Dabi would love nothing more than to make him feel worse. So he does.

He tosses you to the ground and listens to you whine in pain, and laughs as the sound is replaced by the whimpers of someone whose respite was stolen from their grasp, and he cackles as the baker's boy tries desperately to free himself from Dabi's telekinetic hold to save you.

"It's no use, stupid boy," Dabi explains with a smirk as he kneels behind your form, drags your body upward so he can free your flesh from the confines of your tattered, bloodstained nightdress, and he laughs as your naked flesh trembles in the cold of night, and the loss of so much blood that makes you so much paler than you should be. "She'll beg for more, until she dies from the blood loss – and you're stuck where you are, until I loose my grasp on your body. My magic is stronger than your pathetic love for her."

"She's not your toy!"

"And she's not your property, hmm?" Dabi coos, and you mewl as his huge hands cup your breasts and he tugs your body toward him so you lean your back on him, and he angles you so he can lick a stripe up your ribcage before grazing his teeth along the side of your breast, "Unless you paid for her?"

"I… didn't."

Dabi laughs, and you squeak out pathetically as his sharp teeth sink into your breast mercilessly, and the baker boy's eyes water as he watches in fear the way you lose yourself in the vampire's grasp. He knows you won't survive, knows you won't make it til dawn, but a part of him is thick with hope that he, himself, might. Maybe he can outlive your captor, stake his heart and –

Dabi practically moans, and the baker's eyes go wide at the sight of your hand wrapping around the vampire's girth, stroking his cock in his lap and whimpering as you beg him for more of it, for more of him – "Please, just a little more, I'm so close, just give me some more —"

"Greedy," Dabi coos into your flesh, and the baker gulps as he realises just how much blood you must've already lost. "Let's show the priest's boy just how good I can make you feel, then, hmm?"

You're on all fours in a moment, mere inches from the baker boy's face, and he looks on in horror as Dabi's cock slots itself right back between your folds and he fucks into you until you quiver and shake, screaming like a pig at just how good you feel with his venom running through your veins and his length inside you – but his eyes drift between your flesh, draining of colour, and Dabi's, slowly turning more and more… humane, persé.

"So good!" you cry out, "Please, Dabi! Use me more! All of me is yours!"

Your cunt quivers around his thick girth, and Dabi groans out as he fucks you stupid, listening to your noises and your squeals, but watching the stupid boy intently all the while, waiting for the fire in his heart to die. Surely, the boy's courage will waver when he watches you cum? Surely, the boy will realise there is no saving you, and accept that your fate is either death or eternal damnation?

"Stop it," the boy whispers, and his eyes are red as the tears streak down his face, but he has not lost his will to save you – typical, Dabi thinks, as all men of the age seem to believe damsels in distress should be rescued.

"Harder! Dabi… oh, faster!" you cry out, but your voice has weakened and your volume wavers as you yell, and as Dabi leans in close to the skin of your back for another bite, another drink as his cock sinks deeper and deeper into you with every thrust, he catches a whiff of a scent he knows all too well, sitting right beneath your flesh. The scent of disappointment.

"Cum for me," he orders you, as he rests a hand hard on the flesh of your shoulder, and his eyes turn harsher in the sight of the boy before the two of you.

"I-I c-can't…"

The boy can see the reason why, too.

"You're dying," he whispers to you, hoarse and pathetic, "please – make him stop!"

"It's time to cum," Dabi presses, his other hand drifting down to draw soft, slow circles around your clit as your weak arms drop and your form falls to the sandy ground, shivering in the wake of his touch, "don't waste my time."

But you give out one last loud cry, before your breath turns ragged and your chest begins to heave – you have nothing left to give, and Dabi can sense it. He growls out, annoyed, and reaches for your neck the second he unsheathes his cock from you, and speaks in a low, demonic growl.

"Pathetic, weak mortal woman," he chides you, and his eyes return from cyan to red as he speaks, "I was wrong to suspect you'd be able to change anything, to give me any more than the rest – you are as useless as every other sacrificial lamb before you."

"Please," you whisper, voice broken and hoarse, but you've no clue what you're begging for – and he rolls his eyes this time, before he stands up, bringing your pathetic, limp form with him. He carries you like you weigh naught but an ounce.

"You disappointed me," he says to your body, floppy and weak as your eyes flutter shut and your breath grows gradually weaker, as he walks you back to the altar, and the baker's eyes go wide at the threat of what he may watch the vampire do to you. "I had higher hopes for you than for the last few."

"Stop it!" he yells.

"But that's hardly anything new – they always disappoint me," Dabi continues, and your eyes slide shut, fluttering for a moment.

"Don't do it! Not to her!"

Dabi chuckles, and he glances over his shoulder as his hand begins to tighten around your neck, ready to pop your head clean off your shoulders as he says, "What will you do to me if I ignore you, boy? Bake me some bread?"

"I-I'll…" he starts, in retaliation, but nothing comes from his lips but a string of sobs as a crack! fills the clearing. He stares in horror at your corpse, and how the vampire callously disposes of you in two parts, filling a hole with your remains.

"Now," Dabi sighs, dusting off his hands on his shirt as if he's done measly yardwork, as his eyes cross the clearing to offer a glance at the whimpering baker boy, "It's your turn, yes?"

It's been a good four hundred years now, since Dabi felt the draw of a soul that might be able to handle his curse and share it with him, and not once since has he felt the same way. It's been enough time of roaming the world and learning new skills that Dabi has become wary of things he didn't know he would need to, things he never thought about in the old times. He knows about climate change, about Einstein, about the rise and fall of Twitter, and about the declining popularity of Dracula in fiction. But that isn't what intrigues him anymore.

Now, he's in New York, and he's thinking about his next move. A vampire in the city that never sleeps – ironic, isn't it? Dabi, for one, believes it simply must be as he pulls up a seat at the bar and orders himself a bourbon on the rocks.

He knows the city is looking for him, knows that he's been branded a sicko and a serial killer, but he wonders if your ilk have ever considered that he isn't simply a monster; he has to eat, he has to sate himself somehow – and so what if he kills a few of your kind in the process? He's just doing what you humans do with your livestock.

He sips the bourbon, it stings, makes him nauseous. It must be watered down; high quality bourbon never burns, but he could care less as he glances down at his bruised knuckles and the bloodstains on his dress shirt. Any sane person would've turned him away at the bar the moment he sat down – he looks a mess, like he's already been to three pubs and started five bar fights in one night – but this place is run down. It's cheap. They need the customers, and can't afford to turn even the questionable ones down.

"Another," he calls toward the bartender as he tugs the glass to his lips and chugs the liquid down like a chaser, and the barman nods quickly as Dabi watches him, reaches behind him for the bourbon in question, and stands before his questionable patron with the bottle again.

"More ice?" he asks Dabi as he pours the drink, the man who's covered in scars and the marks of the aftermath of his escape from another of his gruesome kills without so much as an ounce of concern at his appearance, and Dabi shakes his head.

"No – I need the bourbon, not the ice," he clarifies, and his cyan eyes burn into the barman's as he says it, offering a sly smirk as he drops enough cash on the counter to pay for another few drinks after this one. He'll be drinking for a while.

"Yessir," his bartender affirms, and without so much as another word, continues to serve him without fail.

Dabi feels curious, watching the youngster work his way around the counter. He's diligent, careful, knows when to stop his customers before they've hit their limits, and the vampire is incredibly fascinated by it. He's never seen a man like this one. And he's seen a lot of men.

The barman has a few distinct features about him – blond hair, fair skin, amber eyes – but perhaps the most notable of these features, to Dabi, is his scent. His smell is inviting, with the same effect on the vampire that a steamy cup of hot chocolate might have on a human, calling him in with sweet notes and a musky undercurrent.

Dabi starts to wonder if this is the one he'll devour next – until the door dings, a new entrant in the pub giggling as she presses her cellphone to her ear and chats away with someone. Her scent wafts through the room, and Dabi can taste it as it curls around him, wraps tendrils around his throat and creeps into his nostrils slowly, teasingly, making him drool and his fangs drip with venom.

It's her that he wants now, and he decides quickly as he chugs down the rest of his bourbon so that the sting accompanies the burning sensation of his unholy gaze on your flesh, and he watches her every move. He watches the way she slings her pretty coat over the back of a barstool, the way she gracefully sits down. He admires every inch of her confidence, because he can tell she works hard to be able to show it off.

She's sweet, too, he can tell from the way she smiles as she speaks to the person she's calling, a real, true people-pleaser. That will come in handy later, if he chooses her. He likes her smile. He likes the way she giggles. God, he loves the way she flexes her fingers across the specials menu and makes an order for something cheap, something to take the edge off the day she's had.

He could take the edge off her just as easily.

He waves the barman over before he has the chance to offer her a card machine to make her payment, and with a charismatic chuckle, he tells the man that her drinks are on him. And then, dramatically, he drops a few more crisp bills on the bar. He's lucky the barman doesn't question the blood spattered on one note, not his intentions with the woman.

He walks over to her with a smirk, devious as he takes the seat beside her this time, and she giggles as she ends her phone call to lock eyes with him. And his eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets as soon as she speaks, when nearly four hundred years worth of memories wash over him like some insane realisation.

"Hello there," she says, enunciating every syllable carefully and grinning like a Cheshire cat, "Dabi."

"So you survived after all," the demon chuckles, reaches for what he now notes is your neck, and caresses the flesh tenderly, warmly, like an age-old lover might. "I never knew – but perhaps I should've, hmm?"

Flashes of memory flicker in his cold eyes, of a midnight he'd arrived in that village to collect his due, another virgin in the dark of night – but instead he'd been greeted by ash and fog, the village burned to a crisp with not one survivor. The bones of the villagers who'd worshipped him so, painstakingly arranged in an eternal freeze-frame of what must've been the most torturous massacre by arson in the time period.

"You really showed them not to play god, didn't you?" he coos, and as his thumb toys with your chin, you grimace.

"They deserved worse than they got from me," you huff, tearing yourself from his grasp, "As did you."

And he chuckles, watches how your (e/c) eyes sparkle with vengeance and your body brims with the blood from a fresh kill pumping through your veins, giving your undead corpse life so that you may present yourself to him that way. It's then that a cocky grin graces his lips and he shows you his fangs.

"I never did get your name."

"You never asked," you spit under your breath, and he sees the way your body gardens with a hostility he admires. "You were otherwise occupied with my body."

"Four hundred years," he sighs, and a playful smirk graces his lips, "and you've just now tracked me down. Has your anger kept you warm through all those winters?"

"Anger?" you scoff, baffled by his nonchalance. You stand, and your eyes burn into his skull as you glare into his turquoise orbs, "Anger has never warmed me – it's only ever been the hope for vengeance that's kept me warm at night, Dabi."

"And the fire," he jests, and you frown tremendously at the statement.

He's not wrong, of course – you can remember waking, the night your body had returned to life with a shuddering gasp, only for every inch of your flesh to burn with an immense desire for vengeance, an immense hatred for the people that had put you in the ground. And after clawing your way out from your grave, you'd risen to exact that vengeance.

You had a list: The priest, the vampire, but most of all, the mother who'd let it happen.

With naught but your hatred to guide your movements, you'd made for the town on wobbly legs. It was dark out, cold, but you paused for nothing in your journey, until you found yourself in the square, and with a lit torch in-hand, you exacted your revenge on the townsfolk, burning them all in their pathetic church, where they were holed up celebrating their fertile land.

You hadn't stopped there, either, not when they'd wronged you so terribly. And not when a thirst, a hunger, overcame you at the scent of blood and flesh.

You'd sought out your mother, the woman who was hiding in a room, praying to the monster that had put you in the ground. You could hear her chanting, her sobbing, her whimpering. It disgusted you, terribly, so much so that you tore through the home you'd once called your own and picked her up with your bare hands and threw her to the floor, screaming into her blanched face and demanding an apology, and when none came…

Her blood had sated your first thirst. Her body burning, your second.

"And," you say, eyes slitted and body hot with anger, as you lock eyes with Dabi, "the fire."

When you reach forward with one hand, grasping onto the vampire's thigh, he barely takes note and scoffs at what he assumes is your promiscuity – you fit in with the modern age, that he believes wholeheartedly, naively. Your form is perfectly complimented by your outfit, by your makeup, by your aura, and you fit perfectly in the little pub.

"What do you say, we get out of here?" you ask him, and he chuckles but fails to note the look on your face, the look of a woman with a plan.

"Sure thing," he says, voice low and sultry. "Wanna redo our last night together, hmm?"

You laugh like he's told you a joke, and you nod, a mischievous smirk gracing your features as you agree – but really, your stomach twists in disgust as flickers of the last night you'd spent with him flit through your vision. Why you would laugh sincerely, why you would agree excitedly, you don't know – and you don't understand why he doesn't even question your lack of hesitance.

"Let's go, hmm?" he suggests.

And he stands up in a moment, reaching out for your hand to tug you along. Just like that, you follow the monster out of the bar. You're patient, letting him lead you down an alleyway and giggling like a little girl as he pushes you against a wall with the strength of five men, so hard your skull beats against brick but you don't flinch at the impact.

"Oh, you wanna play rough?" you tease him as he hikes one of your legs up his side, a hand delving under your skirt, and he nods as he presses warm, well-fed lips into your throat.

"Fuck, yeah," he huffs, and you giggle at the lust that burns primally in his eyes and in his breath as it hits your throat.

"Okay," you coo, and you grin as he retracts his head to stare down at you, your hands tenderly reaching up to grasp his jaw on either side with animalistic claws that lengthen as your eyes shift in colour, glowing neon under the pale moonlight. "Then let's play rough, hmm?"

He smiles down at you, and you can barely believe he's the same man, no, the same demon he was before – but it doesn't matter, not really. Not when your cold heart suddenly beats again with a force like no other, with a purpose like none before.

"You're beautiful," he tells you, and he's serious. And you flinch from the sound of the words rolling so smoothly off his foul, sinful tongue.

You smile, and you mouth an insincere "thank you" before you pull his head to his chest and twist, violently and urgently with the strength only a demon could manage, until you hear the click of his spine from the pure force of the motion. And then you pull, hard and fast, until you hear the rest of his body flop to the ground, and your eyes flick up to the head of the monster that you hold in your hands.

"Four hundred years," you say softly as you eye the cyan orbs that stare lifelessly at you. "I stalked you for four hundred years, Dabi…"

You chuckle, and a relieved tear slips from your eye as you grip onto his hair with your right hand, dropping the head to your side where it dangles pathetically, and you step back to admire the limp pile of limbs that the rest of him has become on the ground underneath you. It's a pathetic sight, seeing the object of four hundred years of rage finally fallen to ruin.

"What perfect prey you were," you say, smiling.

Artfully, you swipe a bloody hand over the spot of your neck where the monster had kissed you, leaving it smeared with the fruit of your vengeance as you giggle, and you walk away leaving his body behind. The scent of him, a predator and a monster, wafts around you and filters through your lungs, smells of relief and of freedom.

After all, if you have his head, he'll stay dead as a doornail until you put him back together like a jigsaw puzzle.

bunny's taglist: @bihwhatever2 @mssuguru @feral-creep @thechroniclesofawriter @xsmilesx @kat-sukiii @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @obeythemasters @aeanya @softkao @ccoralineee @blaize-hewwo

As You Command Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Pairing: Dragon king! Bakugou x Fem Reader

Summary: Since you were children, Prince Bakugou has taken a special interest in making your life as hellish as possible. As his future advisor, it's your job to grin and bear it, no matter how much you wish you could teach him a lesson. When the chance for you to leave the kingdom presents itself and the Prince stops it, you're sure it's just another one of his poorly planned pranks that will end badly for the both of you. But could there be more to his actions than you realize?

Genre: childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, romance

Series Warnings: (I will add specific warnings to each chapter) this series will contain smut, cursing, violence, kidnapping, character death, drinking, and may mention dark themes (non-con/dub-con)

Based off this blurb

Schedule:

Chapter 1: February 1st

Chapter 2: February 7th

Bully

Bully!Dabi x F!Reader Series

Warnings: +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! This series contains: HEAVY Noncon, smut, bullying, manhandling, penetration, binding, threatening, creampie, breeding kink degradation, humiliation, abuse, violence, anxiety, spoilers, trauma, bruises, choking, spit play, cussing, dirty talk, oral sex (m.receiving) cum swallowing, semi public, noncon selfie, mention of alcohol, manipulation

Summary: After joining the League of Villains, you started facing bullying from a certain arsonist. Little by little the harassment grew to the point of physical violence that culminated to you being his personal fucktoy.

A.N.: If there’s any warnings missing, please let me know! 

Disclaimer: Characters mentioned belong to Kohei Horikoshi

Part 1.

Part 2.

Part 3.

Part 4. 

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9 

Frankly, if you like classic literature and/or fairy tales (and speak well enough French), then this book is a Must. It collects four stories written by Henriette-Julie de Castelnau de Murat, one of the 17th century noble ladies who were writing fairy tales in France. They used those stories to engage with their lived realities, for example, speaking up against arrange marriages was a recurring theme.

Anyway, one of them was a lesbian. That is Madame de Murat. The stories in this book are not explicitly queer, for the obvious reason of being written in the 17TH CENTURY, but the subtext is definitely there, plus you get a biography of the author.

It is a short book, interesting read, and I love it SO MUCH to see one of the conteuses get some recognition. It is beyond time that we start reprinting the stories of these women.

It is so wild to me that the Trigun manga was just on the fringe of the fandom before Tristamp, with ‘98 being the main focus.

I can see how it happened–when the anime was airing, anime was way more niche than it is now, and not everyone would have had easy access to buying it. And if you wanted to read it online… good luck, as someone who was in those forum/Livejournal/Yahoo Groups trenches. Someone on translating your favorite manga was so much work, and it was incredibly uncommon for people to scan officially released manga back then. And from what I hear, the first scanlation was awful, willfully mistranslating things and painting the story and characters in a terrible light. By the time the full manga was released, many of the original fans probably moved on. It’s very different from the first anime, and for the younger audience that likely saw it, maybe a bit too much!

But now that Tristamp has thrust us all into Trimax hell, I deeply understand why Trimax Vash is one of the most common Vashes I see popping up in fanart and such. I love and am feral for ‘98 and Tristamp, you’ll find no slander for those here, but the manga stripped me down on an molecular level and rewired my entire brain and all my emotions. That story and those characters haunt me. Sometimes I’ll see a panel from the manga, not even one of the most impactful ones, and I need to take a moment to recover. I think about it daily. Though I just think about Trigun all day at this point who am I kidding. It’s so good. It’s too good. WHO GAVE IT THE RIGHT TO BE THIS GOOD.

Anyway, if you haven’t read the Trigun manga yet, go check out @trigun-manga-overhaul​ because you’re missing out on one of the best stories ever written.

i wish people didn't try to filter geto's decision through a western lens because they're forgetting a huge part of the puzzle and it's the fact that sorcerers are oppressed by non-sorceres in the world of jujutsu kaisen. geto’s whole thing is "there's so few of us and yet we work ourselves to death for your peace of mind, while you remain ungrateful".

it's all more equivalent to health care workers trying to treat a virus. which also aligns thematically with the subject of labour across the series (jujutsu sorcerers being spread thin to the detriment of inexperienced workers, a job you value vs a job that compensates but drains you of your spirit, the myth of meritocracy) .

which is why controlling the output of cursed energy should be seen as the equivalent of being born with or developing an immunity to a disease. this is why a "culling" sounds possible to geto to begin with— people being pushed to adapt or die in their lifetime to prevent future outbreaks, like one would with a virus. strongly differing to kenjaku, because they essentially yearn for this disease to spread out of morbid curiosity (while geto wants the work to end):

geto is a character you are meant to see yourself in. as, in all likelihood, a laborer yourself or someone that will become one. his story is that of exploitation at the hands of a system that only cares for results. leading to isolation in hopes of achieving high productivity.

tangentially, i think a subject that is often ignored in these discussions is the financial incentive to take on more and more work onto your plate too. mei mei is perhaps the clearest example of this, no explanation needed. nobara, a second, when she explictly tells us sorcerery work is the only way a small town girl like her can make it in the big city. megumi, a third, when we learn the money the school gave him helped keep him and his sister tsumiki afloat.

while gege does not delve into geto's past, we can safely speculate part of the reason geto keeps working day after day, after day— despite his wavering convictions is because there is something that encourages him to do so. financial stability would not be an odd motivater. after all, why do we push ourselves everyday to work jobs that no longer add anything meaningful to our lives? geto is the type of character that forces us to examine such things.

as an aside, when he first dons the robes of a cult leader, money is at the forefront of his concerns. if it wasn't obvious before, gege tells you again— choosing not to be a sorcerer, implies a serious loss of income.

i think, all in all, geto's spiral does not hinge on the fact that he was secretly evil the entire time. it lies in disillusionment of a system that only seeks to preserve itself. note that this is why yuki works outside of it. no doubt her experiences as a former star plasma vessel informed her reasoning. it's also why gojo decides to become a teacher and change the institution from within, wielding his privilege as a shield over others.

ooo i like this

ANOTHER PLACE: THE QUARTER QUELL

✑ pairing: victor seonghwa x victor fem. reader.

✑ genre: hunger games au, angst, fluff.

✑ warnings for this part: first person pov, angst, hunger games canon level violence, appereances from the series’ og characters, inaccuracies to the books/movies. 

✑ word count: 3.9k

✑ a/n: reposting this series because i love it and i hope you’ll really like it as well! please do send feedback my way and support my works by reblogging!♡

𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 // 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 // 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

The first thing I thought when I saw him was that someone so beautiful could not possibly be deadly. It didn’t matter that I had already been proved wrong. Seonghwa was a Hunger Games Victor,  and he held one of the highest death counts.

Some of it also had to do with the fact that he was twice as charming as he was beautiful, sponsors rained upon him the moment he got to the Capitol. Seonghwa represented District 2, which meant people knew he had been raised to kill, and he was good at it.

Keep reading