Sitting In Your Sweatshirt, Crying In The Backseat
sitting in your sweatshirt, crying in the backseat
ph! katsuki bakugou x fem! (though i don't state pronouns) reader summary: katsuki realizes his feelings a little too late contains: mentions of sex, angst (with a maybe happy ending) word count: 2.8k words masterlist
Under the shadows of the coming morning—the sun rising through the blinds of the bedroom windows in your apartment—Katsuki liked to pretend that you were his.
Just his.
He tended to be up earlier than you anyways—with years of waking up for hero work instilled in his sleep schedule—but he liked that time. It was quiet in the mornings; only the sounds of the early morning traffic and the birds nested in the tree next to your apartment to keep him company besides your breathing: breaths that were soft and sweet and slow.
He would curl his palm over your cheek, pressing your figure closer to his as he watched your chest rise and fall under him, stroking your skin softly with his rough thumb—because you were his in that moment.
Just his.
In those times, he would forget what the reality of his life was—the way you would stare at him tiredly every time he knocked on your door past 1 am, the lingering feeling of your fingers on his cheeks when he leaned in for a kiss, how you would oblige him no matter how many times you’d called him while drunk and upset, the kisses he left on your forehead before he left you alone the next morning—
—That you were not his and he was not yours, no matter how many times he liked to repeat it to himself.
It’s because of my work—he said to himself in the morning, stroking your hair out of your face.
It’s because I don’t have the time to commit—he whispered, nestling himself into the crook of your neck so he could smell the lingering scent of mint, strawberries, and sex.
If only we met under different circumstances… If only my job wasn’t so demanding… If only it was easier… If only I could commit…
If only…
After a while, you only nodded when he whispered those words at three am and your head was resting on his bare chest—like you believed him.
(Before you would get upset, turn away, tell him to leave—and the cycle would repeat.)
You’d kiss his neck in acknowledgment, curling up in his arms like a cat would—uncaring, unaware.
He wished he could do the same; just accept the reality in front of him.
But it didn’t matter, because right now, you were his.
Just his.
It was the complacency that let the cycle continue; but it was the complacency that became his downfall. He realized this when he stopped leaving you after ten minutes of waking up—waiting for the pink sky to turn bright, watching your eyes flutter open under the light of forthcoming day, the small smile that creeped into your eyes when you realized he was still there—mornings spent in the kitchen drinking coffee and sharing laughs while you paraded around in the sweatshirt he left the first time he came over.
(It was his favorite in school—black and oversized with a small embroidered insignia of All Might above the right breast.
He didn’t even know he’d lost it until you came out wearing it one morning—and some of his old cologne was still lingering on the collar.)
He let himself forget—deluded himself—into thinking it would last. That he wouldn’t eventually have to pull away, and the dream-like haze he’d lost himself in with you wouldn’t end.
Just his.
It happened five weeks later, after a month-long mission: the morning after, and you were standing in a shirt that wasn’t his with a coffee mug pressed up to your lips like it would hide what you were about to say.
“I think… I think we should end this here, Katsuki.”
The words didn’t register at first, and he stood there staring—trying to come up with an answer.
“This?”
“...us.” Your lips pressed together solemnly, as if whispering a prayer under your breath—and you let out a tired sigh. So very tired. “Our relationship.”
He grunted, unwilling to open his mouth in retaliation. The fear that had been festering in his head began to rise, ugly and thick like bile coming up his throat—and he stood still, silently, staring at the coffee you made for him with too much sugar in the mug he got you from a mission a couple months ago.
“...I’ve been seeing someone,” you let out—but Katsuki didn’t dare look at your face; Venom sat at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be spit out—
—Because you were supposed to be his.
Just his. “Don’t call it a relationship,” he settled on—enough spite in his voice that he knew it would deter you. “It never was one.”
He expected you to look relieved when he finally stared up at you again, but your expression seemed more soured than before: like you were expecting a different answer to push past his lips. It was quickly replaced though, by a smile that didn’t seem to meet your eyes like they did when you’d wake up in the morning to still find him in bed next to you, before taking another sip of your too-sweet coffee.
“Thank you, Katsuki.”
He didn’t know what you were thanking him for—your time together? For letting you go when you’d both been hooking up like this for almost a year?
And he wasn’t even sure why it felt so bitter. He’d known from the beginning that, whatever this was, wouldn’t last forever.
Why would you stay in something like this, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to give you more than the little bit of time he already did? Why wouldn’t you want someone who consistently woke up with you in the morning to give you breakfast in bed, or brought you flowers after work, or could take you out in the evenings for dinner?
You deserved that—you deserved all of it.
So why did he think (hope) you would settle for the little moments he offered you when you could have the world?
He kept his face blank when he left your apartment that morning—drilling the hole in his brain that had been dedicated to you in silence—simultaneously missing the sound of sobbing that came from your apartment as soon as he stepped out the door.
He thought he would be okay—that in a week or so, it’d be back to how it was without you.
But it wasn’t.
One week turned into two; two weeks turned into four; and four weeks turned into sitting at the bar, drunk while still in his hero outfit, with Kirishima sitting next to him as he rambled on about you.
You were the only thing he thought about, the only thing he could think about—he missed the scent of your body wash, the warmth of your skin on his, the small teasing smiles you’d give and the dimple that only appeared on one cheek, the too-sweet coffee he’d subject himself to drinking, watching the sunrise while feeling you laying next to him…
Everything about you felt like home.
He’d even gotten distracted the other day during a villain attack because there was a civvie who looked just like you in the line of fire and he’d panicked.
“It was such a fuckin’ rookie, stupid ass mistake, and I still made it,” he took the last sip of his pint before letting out a small, frustrated grunt because it was finished.
Eijirou moved to prevent Katsuki from flagging the bartender down for a refill—he was drunk enough after two pints; instead, he signaled for the check while Katsuki groaned in response.
“I’m not fuckin’ finished.”
“Yes, you are,” Eijirou stared at him with a pinched expression. “You have patrol first thing in the morning—you’ll thank me for it then.”
Katsuki huffed under his breath in resignation—unfortunately Eijirou was correct. Not only that, but the upcoming lecture he knew would be coming from the higher ups would be infinitely worse with a splitting hangover.
“I’ll pay for it,” Eijirou shooed him off his barstool. “Just go stand outside for a bit, maybe the cold will help sober you up a little before you go to sleep.”
Katsuki could only huff in response; his mind was swimming and blurred and his head felt heavy enough that he could only comply with what Eijirou had said—he’d have to pay him back for it later. Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, he trudged outside.
The late-winter-early-spring winds nipped against his skin as soon as the door shut behind him, and Katsuki pulled the scarf he was wearing higher up to fully cover his neck and chin—shifting uncomfortably in the cold while he waited for Kirishima. The street was basically empty except for the couple people walking in and out of the bar; he guessed that it was too cold for people to be wandering around at night. Most of the shops on the streets were closed too, leaving the only illumination to come from the blinking street lamps that lined the sidewalk and the gibbous moon above.
“What’s takin’ so fuckin’ long…” he muttered under his breath—trying to peer into the window to see what Kirishima was doing.
When he turned back, he spotted a couple walking in the distance; though he couldn’t make out their faces, their intertwined hands and the closeness they exuded was enough. Katsuki could see his breath in the air when he sighed, loudly, mind buried in the memories of what could have been—until they were close enough that he could make out their faces: and he realized, it was you.
And you looked happy with the extra, he couldn’t lie—all cheeky, rosy smiles and giggles as he told you some joke that he could barely get through without laughing himself; you were holding a bouquet of pink and yellow tulips in one hand, with the other hand clasped in his (which he occasionally brought up to his lips to kiss the back of); he was carrying both the leftovers of the restaurant you both just went to and a shopping bag from a store you’d always liked.
You looked… at peace—with yourself, your situation.
But as happy as you looked, he couldn’t help the ugly, selfish feeling boiling in the back of his throat.
Because you were just his.
Because… that should’ve been him.
It should’ve been him—holding your hand, leading you through the night with confidence, and the other holding everything you wanted to buy while you smiled and giggled on his arm.
You’d love teasing him. You’d loved spending time with him, as little as it was.
And though he’d refused it for so long, you’d loved him too.
He’d spent weeks, months, trying to ignore that fact when the two of you were together, if you could even classify it as that—and here he was, stuck in the same fucking position; he was destined to just watch you from afar as you moved on from the cycle he’d pushed you into, while he lost himself in it instead.
Maybe he was just selfish.
Katsuki didn’t even know when he started following you both, distantly (maybe he couldn’t help it, maybe he just wanted to make sure you reached home safe)—Eijirou was an afterthought at that point—and when you’d finally reached your apartment.
The extra even offered to come up and drop the bags off so you wouldn’t have to carry them up the stairs yourself, but you declined: kissing him shortly before waving goodbye and watching him leave.
Watching you kiss him seemed to wake Katsuki up, his glazed over eyes finally seeming to register his surroundings: the streetlamps overhead, the light from the apartments lining the building, the little crack in the paint of the building where he’d once apprehended a villain to save you, you staring at him—
—you were staring at him? Katsuki didn’t shift from where he was standing as you walked up to him, leftovers and shopping and tulips forgotten on the sidewalk in front of your apartment.
“Katsuki?” Your lips barely moved, and your hands were pressed to your sides. You were trembling slightly—and he couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or him.
He didn’t answer; he couldn’t will his mouth to open in front of you.
“Wh–What are you doing here?”
Even worse, he couldn’t bear to tell you the truth.
“I uh… I was on patrol nearby.”
You stared off to that little crack in the painted wall as if you were reminiscing, avoiding his gaze—your fingers rubbing together red in the cold with wobbly knuckles.
You were freezing.
“Here,” he grunted, slowly pulling his scarf from under his neck to hand it to you. Your expression instantly changed, and though you tried to dissuade him, the visible puffs of air coming from your nose were enough to tell him that it was something you needed.
“I… Thank you…” you whispered, letting him wrap it around you. “You always said you hated the cold, so…”
“Doesn’t matter. You clearly need it more than I do.”
This was his final act, he’d decided. He couldn’t hold you back any longer—not when he couldn’t give you what you wanted and needed out of him; no, it was what you deserved. Maybe his final act of stupidity would mean enough to him in the future that he’d be able to move on; and maybe one day the stupid scarf would just be a memento you had, instead of a reminder of the hurt he knew he’d brought.
And it was all so fucking dumb and poetic—standing in the spot you’d both met, saying your final goodbyes with your happy ending just waiting in the distance: waiting for him to get out of your life so it could be whole and right again.
But when you turned around, and started walking back towards the tulips he never bought you, leftovers from the restaurants where he never took you, and the clothes he’d never offered to buy—your apartment where his sweatshirt was laying in the first, top drawer of your dresser—the words were choked out of his throat.
Because you were supposed to be just his.
And maybe the alcohol in his system had the influence, but he couldn’t let you go: not when you were the best thing that’d ever happened in his entire life.
The echoing sound of boots slapping loudly against the pavement and your name being called out by his heavy cries was enough to stop you in your tracks—and at first he thought it was because you didn’t want to see him again: but when he called your name once more and you turned around, he learned it was because you were already crying.
“I…I love you,” he whispered when he was close enough, fighting the urge to wipe your tears away like his own weren’t following quickly behind.
“Katsuki…” you smeared your cold fingers over your face, trying to wipe away the evidence that kept falling. “I-I…Y-You…Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for those words to come out of your lips?” you couldn’t really stop the tears from falling now—and he could only pathetically watch as they did. “Do you know how much I’ve fucking ached and cried over those three stupid fucking words? And now… Now that I finally feel okay, you’re standing here—pretending like you can make it alright again? How can you–”
“I love you,” he repeated, grounding his stance in the pavement. He couldn’t let you slip straight through his fingers. “I’ve loved you since I blasted that idiot against that wall to save you. I’ve loved you since you dressed my wounds in your apartment. I’ve loved you since we met at that coffee shop again down the street. I’ve loved you through every night spent together, and through every mission spent away…” He repeated your name once more, cradling your face in his rough, cold palms like he would an oath to his heart. “And—m’sorry… I-I know I was a fuckin’ idiot this whole time not realizin’ it, and you can hate me all you want but I… I just needed you to know, ‘kay?—I couldn’t let you walk out of my life without knowing.”
He couldn’t even face you anymore, not when he could feel the tear that’d begun leaking down his cheek at the thought of you rejecting his admission: a secret he’d kept close to his heart, burying it underneath years of repression and loathing.
And now it was out in the open, left for you to stomp on if you wanted to.
“You say that now, Katsuki,” you uttered, the tears now drying on your cheeks. “But we both know that whatever this is isn’t gonna last.” You scoffed bitterly, putting your hands over his—perhaps in an attempt to remove them from where they were plastered to your skin—but instead they just rested over his while your bottom lip wobbled dangerously.
He knew you were right. He knew that everything you said was true.
And yet—
—he kissed you anyway.
Because you knew: that you were just his and he was just yours.
More Posts from Zukowantshishonourback and Others
summary: in a season where you're determined to fly under the radar, newly-returned crown prince!touya todoroki has other ideas.
cw/tags: touya todoroki x fem!reader, royalty!au and regency!au, fake dating, strangers to lovers, canon-typical violence and swearing
update status: in progress!
HAND ONE - HIGH CARD, or the duels
HAND TWO - PAIR, or the deal
HAND THREE - TWO PAIR, or the date
HAND FOUR - THREE OF A KIND, or the debutantes
HAND FIVE - STRAIGHT, or the deal, revised
HAND SIX - FLUSH, or the dinner
HAND SEVEN - FULL HOUSE, or the deceiver
HAND EIGHT - FOUR OF A KIND, or the flop
HAND NINE - STRAIGHT FLUSH, or the turn
HAND TEN - ROYAL FLUSH, or the river
if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)
can we have another yandere bakugou bully? i have nothing unique maybe the common on where he likes to bully the girl severely all throughout highschool and then when they are abt to graduate that’s where he kidnap. If u want to add smut it’s okay but i don’t really mind i kinda just like the fear when u write like that little scared feeling THATS ITTTTT OMG I LOVE UR FICSSSSS
yandere bully ! BAKUGO KATSUKI
TIP-JAR
goodiebag WARNINGS: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, jealousy, stalking, obsession to the extreme, manipulation, blackmail, sexual harassment angst, bullying, trauma, threats, death/near death of a third character, slut shaming
BAD GUY
How long had she known Bakugo?
All her life.
That was the short answer.
He’s made himself known. Without fail, without break, without mercy.
Childhood friends?
Neighbours...
That’s what she’d say.
As though there was nothing more to it. Like he wasn't a stain on her life. A stain no amount of bleach or vinegar-and-soda or peroxide-and-dish-soap could ever hope to remove.
Come to think of it, he was more like a scar than a stain. Or really, more like an open wound refusing to heal.
Which was why it felt like a rusty blade being twisted in her gut when she opened the door to find him the one who’d rung her apartment’s bell.
“I guess... what I’ve been trying to say- what I wanted to say... was... I’m sorry.”
He’d been scratching the back of his neck throughout the entirety of what jumbled, struggled, sorry excuse for an apology he’d forced from somewhere unknown in the hard clump of ember he had for a heart.
Something which unsurprisingly made for an insulting effort to erase what effects he’d had on her childhood.
One staggering sentence after the other of frustrating confessions, wishes gone to waste, things he hadn't meant, things he would have done differently if only he were fourteen years younger, and he could start again right when his quirk manifested before he turned into a self-righteous narcissistic prick of human waste. One dedicated to making everyone revere him by fearing him.
“For everything.”
He put his hands in his pockets, but she could still see how they twitched inside the hoodie and bet they were weeping with sweat, adamant about starting fires.
“For all the years I put you through hell.”
He was taller now, she noted. While calculating how she’d have to call the police if she were to stand a chance of making him leave if he decided to do what he always did and make himself comfortable.
He was bigger as well. Probably thanks to UA, making him look like a true right and shining Hero... but all she could see was how it was as though he’d swelled like some blister or bruise, like some boil ready to pop and leak its nasty contents all over her life.
“Well?” He urged, ripping her from her heavy train of thought.
She blinked.
“Well, what?” She bit out. Still holding the door. Ready to close it if he were to try and step inside.
“Do you accept the apology?” He asked, leaning forward. Where, on pure survival instinct, she immediately drew back. While the gap between the door and frame became slimmer as she pulled it like a shield in front of her.
Her brows dipped. Eyes not daring to close. Not allowing him a single second of rest under her justified judgment.
“No.” She barked, only barely managing to avoid the scoff that wanted to follow, yet surprising herself with the strength her voice carried.
“W-what-” He started, but she wasn't feeling particularly eager to listen to any more of his dumb excuses or half-hearted regrets or too little-too-late so-called apologies.
“You fuck with me for eighteen years...”
It was strange looking directly into his vermillion eyes, watching him be the one to shrink away, him be the one to switch his footing, tense like a shamed pet under his owner's harsh, scolding voice. It almost wouldn't even have surprised her if he'd whimpered just a little with how round his eyes were, looking just like a kicked pup.
“And you think some half-assed apology is just suddenly going to make everything okay?”
“W-” He tried, his gaze shifting to look down at his feet.
“No.” She stopped him.
Opening the door to its original cavity. She struck a dominant pose even though he was a full head taller, her eyes narrowing in something that could only resemble disgust.
“You’re the reason I went through all of middle-school scared and alone.”
His ears drew back meekly. Feeling small under what look she was giving him.
“I left classes early in fear of meeting you in the halls. I made sure to look around the corners before walking down them. I ate lunch in the bathroom and listened from behind the door in case you were out there waiting.” She confessed, her eyes still maintaining contact with his, firmer the more he shrunk away. “I ran home unless you hadn't already caught me, I cried myself to sleep, I lied to my parents every single fucking day because I was afraid that if they got involved with your parents, you’d have to face the wrath of your mom, and I didn't want that for you.”
With water welling in her eyes now, she looked to the ceiling. Taking a breath, she clenched her jaw and almost chuckled at the absurdity of it. Not caring how Bakugo’s eyes seemed to widen even more.
“I was afraid to play on our block ‘cause I knew you would come out and make me regret it.”
She bit her lip, looking at the guy that would yank her hair to pull her inside his locker, leaving her there for entire periods.
Make her listen as he beat Deku up in the hall, his friends like goons on his side, laughing as Izuku snivelled.
“People were afraid to be seen with me.”
Knuckles were white and hot from how hard she clenched her fist at her side, the other gripping the door with nails marring the wood.
“Not because I’m quirkless, but because of you.”
Her hard gaze met him like daggers. Plunged right between his ribs into that thing that seemed to only beat faster the more she spoke.
“You had me think that was my fault.”
A tear slipped its confinement and went dripping down her cheek, a thin stream following it.
Her breath shuddered on intake.
“You made me think- you made think being quirkless was- was -a curse -a crime -a fucking abomination.”
Her shoulders grazed as she looked down to the ground and let more tears fall while Katsuki stood there frigid and so very rightfully uncomfortable.
“You made me feel like I didn’t deserve to breathe.”
He opened his mouth but quickly swallowed it as he realized he would only be repeating what dumb unsatisfactory words he’d given her before.
“You made me hate myself.”
She couldn't possibly hate herself more than she hated him, he thought.
“And if it wasn’t for Izuku... I wouldn’t be here.”
His thoughts flashed back to seeing her help the green-haired geek up off the floor each time he grew bored picking on him. After the halls had filled with enough smoke, it’d stain the walls grey, the scent of burning sugar a lingering reminder of who there runs the school.
“Still, you had the nerve to go about making him feel worthless too.”
She would shove him aside at once when he’d unlock his locker. She'd push at him to let her drop to her knees and tend to the green-eyed fucker who’d had the breath knocked from him. The twerp wheezing like a pathetic runt on the dirty school floors. So shamelessly unaware of how lucky he was to have someone like her tend to him.
Katsuki cleared his throat.
“I’ve talked to him too. We’re... working it out. Just tell me what I need to-”
“I’ll accept your apology when I stop waking up in the middle of the night because I think I feel you breathing down my neck.” She cut him off again. “When I stop looking over my shoulder because I think I hear you coming. When I stop hearing your voice in my head telling me that I’m useless, that I'm worth nothing, that I'm better off dead.”
Her eyes sized him up. Or, rather, took in his seemingly beaten state. Finding somewhat pleasure in the fact that there was at least one thing she could deny him.
“Until then, all you need to do is leave me alone.”
At that, she shut the door and locked it.
Her back pressed against the wood almost immediately as she drooped like drying paint. Sliding down to the ground, she listened while bating her breath for the retreating steps of the boy on the opposite side. Fearing that her speech hadn't slapped him hard enough for him to go home and lick his wounds.
Katsuki stood there for a moment, and years seemed to pass.
Hood lifted over his head, his body slouched with the terrible looming weight that pressed down upon him. Feeling so fucking tired and worn and defeated as he lifted his boot to saunter back down the stairs and make his way home.
A home, which was now not right across the street like it was back when they were kids, but a whole car ride away. Seemingly lives away. A beaten track of heavy regrets and loud, blinding, bitter disappointments.
All to be blamed on him.
~~~
It had been quiet lately.
A few comments were hurled at Deku here and there. Though they were dismissible in their dynamic as rivals.
But, as surprising as it was to admit, Bakugo had kept to her wish.
Where, overlooking those times she could feel his red stare lingering on her and searing notches into her neck, he had left her alone.
He would even give her a smile when their eyes locked gaze. Nothing like those blood-dripping battle grins but soft toothless quirks playing at the corner of his lips. Pleasant and weirdly hopeful, as though she’d come over and talk to him. Like they were friends.
Suppose she should believe Izuku when he told her Kachan was better. That he’d actually gone and grown up. That the hero course was succeeding in grooming him to become a fine hero, with the merit someone talented as him should have. That even they had a fighting chance at moving on, going back to how they’d push each other on the swing set back when they were four.
She doubted it.
She bet he’d be strung in his rightful and true colors not before long. Just red on red in red. Slipping right back into his ugly habits of making the world his playground and the people his toys.
This was just an act.
Those smiles he gave her were nothing but bait. Nothing but lies that would ensnare her in yet another decade of living under his boot.
But time is a funny thing. Where as much as you try fighting it, it always passes.
And paranoia is a difficult plant to grow during droughts.
And with months flying by, summer break being sweetly perfect for once, she’d soon enough discarded the notion that it was a trail bound to error or the calm before the storm.
In fact... she’d more or less let it fade like normal memories should. The open wound that used to be Bakugou’s sinister grin keeping her company at night had stopped bleeding.
And in the healing and pleasant quiet, she’d allowed herself to... let loose a little.
Or perhaps she’d just forgotten to be cautious when she was swept up in those ocean-blue eyes and that diamond-bright smile.
Maybe the warm, fuzzy feeling purring inside her gut was worth forgetting and even forgiving Bakugou in favor of getting lost to something else, someone else. Something a little warmer than hatred and a burning way more welcoming than what explosions Bakugou could offer her.
.
Meanwhile... Bakugou was going insane.
He’d been wrong.
He thought quitting his torment on her would be easier than with Deku, but Deku proved to be the least of his worries. In some form or way... they were actually getting closer. Going back to their roots and almost amounting to something he could only call brotherhood.
But with her...
It seemed he was only drifting farther and farther away.
He saw her hold hands with some blue-eyed fuck at lunch the other day. Heard her laugh, which pushed him with such force, thrusting him back in time. Retrieving some faint yet precious memory of her and him drying in the sun after bathing in the quarry on a warm summer’s day, back when no one and nothing could be more important than hearing that sound.
A laugh so light. So fluttering and blooming and beautiful. Followed by a snort that stuck in her nose.
It was enough to make his eyes shimmer and his ears burn while hanging onto every sound, trying to ingrain it, memorise it. Trying to ink down how it made him feel.
He made the mistake of finding her face in the crowd of what table she was seated at. Her small frame held inside the arms of the jerk she was pulled inside the lap of. A bright smile on both their faces, so bright he almost didn't even recognise her.
But it was her.
It shouldn't have surprised him.
He’d already seen the pictures on social media when going about his normal routine of checking up on all her different forums. Already fully aware of how the bastard was some summer fling she was the poor victim of.
He should have been prepared for it, but fuck....
It had hurt.
It had been loud and violent and jagged, like falling down a cliffside, yet so deathly silent as he sat safely in his room.
Kirishima and Denki were about halfway through their third or perhaps even fourth spliff. Laughing like clueless fucking morons without a shred or lick of issues and consequences. Having always just been nothing but laughs and smiles.
Fucking hell... He envied them so much sometimes. To be that dim. To be that careless and big-hearted and good-natured and...
It doesn't really matter.
Jealousy gets him nowhere.
He’s him, and they’re them, and fantasy is just that.
He knows this, and still, he finds himself fantasising about her smiling at him and giggling with him. Sitting in his lap. Whispering sweet little mischievous nothings in his ear and kissing him and talking to him and touching him and loving him.
He was so fucking frigid lately. So uncontrollably bothered and provoked and uncomfortable.
He’d even asked Deku who the fucker was. Had him spill all her dirty little secrets. How she’d been seeing the blue-eye fuck for a short while. How she thought he was really sweet and kind. How he made her happy.
And the more he let himself think about it, let it fester like acid bubbling and foaming on his heart, the more blinding the pain became.
And so following the pain, like it always does and always had with Bakugou...
Came rage.
She’d betrayed him. Broken his good will.
He should have known...
Give a bitch some lee-way with her leash, and she'll take a fucking mile.
He’d been so fucking good. So fucking perfect...
Leaving her be, allowing her friends, letting her prance about in her short school skirt without any comment, not even as much a curt whistle.
And this is how she chooses to repay him?!
Fucking with some fucking fucker right in front of him?
Right in his fucking face?
Fuck, he wanted to bash his brains out. Wanted to burn him from the inside out, watch his stupid blue eyes melt like runny rotten eggs.
He snapped the cafeteria chopsticks as easily as one would a toothpick in one hand. His eyes twitched while his nostrils flared, burning the wooden splinters in his white-knuckled fist as he watched them flirt.
Her in her thigh-high socks and tight white shirt, rubbing down against his slacks. Where he bet something was struggling to stay down. Stay hidden inside the fucker’s boxers.
But looking at his face and that bright, innocent smile shining as though he wasn't a disgusting man with ulterior motives, he could see why she chose the guy... instead of him.
.
He couldn't defend why he had him pushed into the wall behind the gym.
He could try and fool himself and the scared boy by saying he had responsibilities as her eldest friend. Alike a brother has responsibilities for his sister.
But that would be the dirtiest fucking lie.
Bakugou had no right, and he knew that, he really did. He felt it in his hands as they balled up the collar to the guy’s uniform. Had the poor sucker lifted off his feet with his bright baby-blue eyes freaking out when levelled by his own deadly red stare.
It wasn't done due to something noble like responsibility.
It was done out of pure toxic white-hot raging jealousy.
“Bakugou, man, what the fuck-” The guy tried, but the hero-course student was like a bull that saw red. Seething as he snarled into the poor boy’s face.
“Stay the fuck away from her.”
His knuckles whitened in their death-grip. Steaming with heat. Singing the fabric it clutched.
The poor boy kicked against the wall. Trying his best to reach down to the ground with the tips of his toes.
“Calm down- the fuck you talking about?” He screeched. His voice an unstable choked pathetic thing as he cowered in panic by the heat simmering close to his neck and the maroon slits that had him pinned.
“Quirkless.” Bakugou answered curtly. “Keep your fucking paws to yourself, shit-stain.”
“Quirkless?”
Split-second confusion narrowed into reliazation at the remembrance of what little information she’d given him about what strange relationship transpired between her and the loud hero-course student.
“You mean-” He started, but was once again pulled and slammed into the brick wall behind him. Knocking his head with a wince.
“Just stay away from her!” Bakugo barked again.
“Me?” The boy objected. Though, not really in any position to further anger the fire-wielder. “What about you? You’re the one she can't stand.”
Bakugo swallowed. Stopping.
“She said what?”
His grip loosened a pinch. Allowing the guy to drop down the wall to stand on his own. Though he still remained close.
His head hung slightly. Looking at his shoes. Put-out and thoroughly ticked off.
Dangerously so.
Nose flaring as he felt his eyes sting. Wanting to break something.
Preferably bones.
Meanwhile, blue eyes widened in realisation.
“Man... you... you like her, don't you?” He asked, or rather accused. His ears drawing back and hands rising in defence.
“Shut up.” Katsuki voice grumbled from a place the other kid couldn't see. Only the wild ash-blonde bush of hair that seemed to shake with either seething rage or a building sob.
He made the mistake of thinking it was the latter.
“You’re too late, dude... years too late.” He scoffed. Unsure if whether his disbelief outweighed outrage or amusement.
“I said-”
Bakugo lifted his head again. This time seemingly radiating with heat as sickeningly overwhelming as the scent of burning sugar.
“Shut the fuck up!”
Though with the threat of being charred into a crisp, the boy still hadn't the smarts to know when to quit.
“Should have thought about that before treating her like shit." He mocked. "She will never forgive you, Bakugou.”
Katsuki’s vision went blank at that, and the poor bright-eyed boy couldn't see anything but prickly spots of white in an otherwise sea of black.
Having had his head banged against the wall for one final time as he slumped down in a pathetic sack at Katsuki’s feet.
“Beating me up won't help your case.” He coughed. Groaning in pain.
A crisp chirp was heard and Bakugou snatched the phone that had slipped from the guy’s pocket.
Reading the label of a sweet nickname which made his stomach churn and head burn.
The text doing little to ease his building fuming boiling rage.
“She invited you to her apartment, did she? Tch- To watch Netflix.”
He put his fat military boot to the guys throat. Keeping it there with building pressure. Squeezing the air from his windpipe. Grinding him into the coarse bricks. Disregarding the weak hands that clutched to the fabric of his pant-leg desperately.
“If the little slut wants cock, she shouldn't be asking someone like you.” He sneered. Typing something back.
“Sick-fuck, leave her alo-”
The sweat boiling against his palm simmered in heatwaves, melting the phone before he finally ignited. Bits of glass and metal flying everywhere. Nicking his skin. Before he dropped the thing to the ground.
Unrecognizable.
A good reference to what the boy at the end of his foot would look like once Bakugou was through with him.
.
He could hear every little thump of his heart in his head.
Pumping in the tips of his fingers. Hot and numbing.
Tongue heavy in his throat as his jaw strained. Teeth grit in his mouth.
Fist clenching at his sides. Stained with crimson.
Eyes blood-shot as they focused on placing one foot in front of the other. Counting the steps while lifting his legs.
Boots sounding heavy and substantial in their echo as he climbed the stairs to where she waited ever so unknowingly.
Ever so excitedly. With a heart hammering quite similarly to how his was pounding. For much of the same reason.
Yet hers with an entirely different person in mind.
A person that was currently struggling to breath behind the gymnasium.
He bet she was getting ready with every virginal anxious thought running on replay in her head.
If she was sexy and sultry and smooth enough? Yet, not too much, because then she'd seem like a slut. But perfectly cute and shy and girly. Timid but lustful, precious yet wanton.
She was probably practicing batting her eyelashes and pouting and biting her lips. And how she would run her hands on his skin. How she would touch, when and what to touch. What to say, what not to say. How she was going to say it. What tone of voice. Like a whisper or a moan or a needy little whine.
Wondering if she smelled good. If he liked her perfume or if it was too pungent. Maybe he doesn't like her signature scent of fresh apples.
Pondering whether her hair was nice or not. If her skin was smooth enough. If her outfit was the right choice or if she should make a quick last second change.
She's probably hid her plushies. Taken down some childish anime posters she didn't want embarrassing her. Changed the sheets. Cleaned up the kitchen, cleared out the bathroom. Tidied up so he wouldn't know what a complete clutter-head she is.
She was probably getting all hot and bothered waiting for that blue-eyed shit-stain.
Rubbing her thighs together. Letting her hand dance down between them as she lost herself to the softness of the mattress. Letting the cool air nip at her fiery hot skin, kissing her blushed red cheeks. Eyes drifting to a close. Slight soft smile on her face. Legs spread on top of the sheets.
He bet she had lighted candles. Bet she had pre-picked a handful of movies. The soundtrack to what she would be losing her virginity to. Bet she had bought sweets, and cider, maybe even wine.
Bet she was planning to make the night perfect.
Too bad he was going to ruin it.
Just like he was going to ruin her.
Just like he had been ruining everything else for the past eighteen years of their life.
Just like he was going to continue ruining her until the day they die.
He banged on the door. Or rather, tapped a playful tune he thought would be similar to something the guy he’d bashed into a pulp not even half an hour ago would do. Something similar to what the girl behind the door was waiting to hear.
He heard her pad across the floor. Quick gleeful feet hopping to the entrance to swing it open with a great big goofy smile on her face.
Only to stop dead in her tracks.
Bakugou was taller. Bigger compared to what lean frame she was expecting.
Her eyes levelling at his chest, where she was expecting to see a familiar friendly face. Familiar pretty blue eyes.
Gaze rising to find him towering at the threshold to her home instead.
His sharp eyes looking every drop worth of red.
“Happy to see me?”
He pushed himself inside. Her along with him. Ever so rightfully in his stride. Stomping, like the floor beneath belonged to him. Like everything belonged to him.
“What are you doing here, Bakugou?”
Her tone was the same it always was when she addressed him. Annoyed and ugly. Like he was just another jerk. Just another face. Just another problem.
“I heard you were serving up your virginity...”
Her face grimaced.
“So... I came to have first take.”
Only now did she notice the blood.
Though not dripping from his fists anymore. The thickest parts were still glossy in texture. Still fresh. Whereas all else had turned sticky. Coating him like a second skin.
Her face shed its disgusted features and drained. Paled, chilled and tightened.
Scrutinising eyes turning wide like skies. Little flecks of shimmer flickering like starlight within the glossy pools.
Her mouth parted and hung open to let a gasp out as she eyed the blood-splatter on his jacket. Gaze glitching as she struggled to take in the maroon colour of his fists.
“Whu- what did you do? What did you do to him?”
She shook. Hands raising to level with her chest. Forming some type of feeble shield as she stepped away from the menacing man.
Bakugo simply followed. His dominant footing naturally succeeding hers. The space between them shortening quickly.
“Worried about your lapdog?” He laughed.
Stalking forward. He trapped her further into the apartment. Watching her petrified moves clumsily try and keep the distance.
“Don't think about it too much.”
“Get out, Bakugou. I'll call the cops.” She tried sounding strong even as she whimpered.
That made him crack a smile. And by All Might did it feel like it was the first time in such a very long time that he could finally breathe again.
“Why so hostile?” He barked out with another laugh. A growl like thunder behind that wide sharpened grin. “We’re friends, aren't we?”
His red-eyes gleaming. Just like they did all throughout primary-school. Just like they do when he’s about to beat the shit out of someone. Just like how they do when he can taste that addictive bitingly sweet flavour of victory on his tongue.
“Besides...”
He tilted his head to the side and looked at her like he was admiring something.
“You’ll never make it to the phone in time.”
She should have run towards the bathroom instead.
Granted, that’s why he’d made the comment.
Make her think that the phone was of importance. Where it laid blank and black on her bed. The exact destination he wanted her.
It was of no use to her smashed against the wall.
Nor was she ever in reach of it anyway. Not with Bakugo and his blood-stained hands keeping her down.
“I've wanted you our entire fucking lives.” He seethed.
Strong dedicated hands curled around her wrists. Pressing her down into the mattress.
“I’m the only one who deserves you!” He roared into her ear. His words hot on her cheek.
Her eyes scrunched closed. Her face tight as she felt the heavy weight of the brute on top of her.
“And no one-”
His grip tightened as his voice turned so gruffly dark it made her heart stop.
“No one is going to take you away from me.” He growled. “Especially not some blue-eyed shit-eating waste.”
Greediness got the best of him this time as he dived in to take a kiss. One hungry, open-mouthed, wanting, lustful, desperate, raw and wolfish kiss. Where in all her fuelled panicked adrenaline, driving purely on blind instinct, perhaps also due to Bakugo not being used to handling something so much smaller, she managed to angle her legs in a way that gave her permission to knee him right in the groin.
Second chances are only given once. But she was a smart girl and knew she wouldn't make it to the door in time. Knew that her best hope was to lock herself in.
And if being quirkless had taught her anything, it was to hope for a hero to come to her rescue.
That her only chance was to pray for her blue-eyed angel to come and save her.
The bathroom was the safest bet for now.
He had to laugh as he grabbed his aching ball-sack through the slacks of his uniform. Torn between being impressed and pissed off.
He'd only barely missed grabbing her ankle before she slipped through the door and pulled it to a close. The click of a lock sounding off soon after.
“I was never good enough for you.” He growled. The sound muffled into the floor where he lied.
His fist clenched as he banged the shoddy faux-wood paneling.
“All our lives! Didn't matter what I did... you were always gonna hate me.”
She fumbled around the bathroom in a shaky frenzy. Eyes spiralling. Trying to find anything sharp. Anything at all she could use as a weapon if the door proved too weak to withstand the force of Bakugou.
“You were always gonna fear me.” He scoffed. "Weak and quirkless- heh... heck... it wouldn't even matter if I was quirkless too. You'd fear me either way."
Her heart beating like a galloping racehorse. Mind reeling in on the fact that he was taking his sweet time. Just like predators do when they’ve already caught their prey.
Playing with her.
“More than Deku ever did... But I guess I fucked with him differently from how I fucked with you.”
All she found was an old nail-filer. Not exactly sharp and not really at all that long. But her best and only option.
She knew it wouldn't do shit in the end though.
And then it was quiet again.
And she shook as she held onto her tiny weapon. Tears burning down her damp aching skin while every shuddering breath she dared supply her lungs with felt like it would cause her to combust as though she was made out up of thin glass.
And yet, in the chaos of fear, it was still so dreadfully painstakingly quiet.
Until he decided to break the silence again.
“He’s bleeding out where no one’ll ever find him...”
His voice wasn't haunting. It wasn't amused, but dead and had the ability to make her feel dead as well.
Blood freezing over. Heart eerily sinking like a block of led inside her. Skin crawling. Cold and raw and naked.
She shook. Looking back at the door. Admitting the flimsy wood was as much defence as paper to the hellhound on the other side.
Though, in the light of his taunt, her safety seemed miles away from her biggest worry.
“He’s dying, Quirkless.”
She knew then all she could do was watch.
Watch the tacky white paint-job flake on the planks.
Watch the door and wait for it to come splitting and splintering to oblivion. Like there was no door there at all.
But it hardly mattered...
What happens to her hardly matters.
Just like running to safety when Bakugo caught Deku and her in the school-halls wasn't ever what she did. No matter how much Deku would plead for her to run. She wouldn't.
She would do anything to switch places with him. Anything so he wouldn't be the one limping home with a cut on his cheek and a broken rib.
“And it’s all your fault.”
She whimpered at that. Nail-filer held tightly in her hand, but only for a couple more seconds until it went clattering to the cold tiles by her feet.
“You know how this works...” He said calmly. “You come out here... and I'll make sure he survives.”
She took a step closer to his voice. Knees numb and weak yet steady. Her hand reaching out to the doorknob. Blood prickling where it rushed about.
“You unlock the door. Step out in your pretty little dress... and I’ll go fetch the wine.”
She swallowed. Burning fingertips touching down on the icy metal of the knob. Trembling as she drew in a shaky breath, and pulled the trigger.
He heard the click of the lock opening and scoffed out a curt chuckle. Lips curling into a smile that showed off his teeth as he watched her small bare-foot step out.
Shiny leg following. Knees then after. The hem of her skirt that frilled loosely around her thighs. Up and up to the swell of her breasts and her chest. Her collarbones and neck.
And that pretty defeated little face.
He sauntered over to the kitchen nook where he’d spotted the wine. Washing the blood from his hands first while thinking it weird and silly and slightly shameful that he’d imagined this so many times.
Her in a pretty dress. Thin summer fabric, easily torn. Silky and form-fitting. Leaving just her natural silhouette.
Drinking red in a dimly lit room. The taste still on her tongue when he kisses her.
“Drink.” He commanded. His hand shoving the open bottle to her lips. Tilting it up and spilling it over her chest.
She gasped but did nothing to stop him. Not so much as backing away even.
She just stood there and bowed her head as the maroon liquid, strong in scent, stained her skin. Seeping through her clothing. Spilling down the valley between her breasts.
Making her shift uncomfortably as the stream trailed down to drip between her thighs. Soaking her underwear.
And then she sniffled. Biting her bottom lip, with brows curled into such an adorable woeful look it made him want to lick the tears off her precious little face.
He lobbed the empty bottle into a cushioned armchair. Hand returning to raise her chin with his knuckles. Pushing down on her lip with his thumb, hooking it onto the bottom row of teeth, making her gape as she looked up at him.
He had the thought of spitting. But, found that he didn't really feel like it.
“You never dared put a word to it.” He stated instead.
His red eyes somehow seeming so cold, so lifeless. His lips a stern firm line. Features blank beside the tension in his jaw.
“You’re afraid to acknowledge it.”
Thumbing her lip a second time as he licked his own. He brushed her hair behind her shoulders with his other hand. Knuckles gliding over the spaghetti-straps to her dress. Amusing the idea of how easy they’d be to rip loose.
Then acting on that very same thought.
Torn fabric pooled around her ankles as she stood there bleating. Still not daring to move a single muscle. Not with his thumb still in her mouth and the wine spilled on her skin still dripping down her legs making her shiver on a coat of goosebumps.
He licked his lips again with his eyes drinking in the sight of her glowing dewy skin. Looking to her face and how the hot streams of tears ran down her cheeks as silently as she could muster.
Removing his hand from her mouth. He turned around with a scoff.
Walking off to her bedside table. He sighed as he begun removing his rings. The ones that made it easier to split skin open upon impact.
She guessed she should have seen it as a relief. But, she couldn't bring herself to it.
“You'd never say anything, but you knew.”
He threw his grey blazer to the floor. Un-cuffing his sleeves before rolling them up to his elbows. Arms flexing while unbuckling his belt. Ripping the leather out through the reims and dropping it to the floor with a sharp clatter. Tugging loose his red tie to free his collar so that he could pop open the first three buttons of his shirt.
Getting comfortable.
“Shit- you must’ve known.”
He returned to where she still hadn't dared move a muscle. Her eyes only skittering around as he preformed his rituals.
The wine drying to a sticky thick sheen on her skin. Tinting her with pink.
“You never cried either.” He stated.
Though, it wasn't true.
“Deku would fucking wail like a kicked bitch, but you’d just stare at me... So much fucking hatred in your eyes...”
His hands dropped to his sides and her eyes anxiously trailed the thick veins running like lightning across his bulging muscles.
“No tears. No rage. Just hate.”
A tiny whimper sprung form the confines of her tight chest as he fingered the thin silky material of the lacy racy red panty at her hip.
Knees shaking as she bowed her head some more.
Toes curling into their own comfort. Trying to escape the threat of being crushed beneath his big heavy combat boots.
“But you cried.. when I touched you in ways I really shouldn't have.”
One time, she'd dared fall asleep at her desk. So tired from a night spent crying because she couldn't get Bakugou to stop dunking Izuku’s head in the nasty toilet bowls of the school bathroom.
Only to be woken up by Katsuki’s thick warm sluggish tongue gliding up her sore cheek as she hugged the desk.
Finding the video in her inbox of someone jacking off right into her unsuspecting sleeping face. Knowing it was Katsuki but having not a single way to prove it.
“When it was just the two of us and I said things and did things, touched things-”
He’d sweet talk with her mother. Acting so trivial with his handsome charming smile that would easily have any of the girl’s panties dropping if only he’d use it more often. Were it not for him wasting it on manipulating and arranging it so that he would be the one driving her home after school when he turned sixteen.
Brand new car and everything. Meant to impress her.
Perhaps she would have let herself fall for it if he hadn't put his hand on her thigh. If he hadn't locked the doors and trapped her in there with him.
Maybe she would have thanked him for the ride home if he hadn't made her beg him to get off her. Only allowed to go after he’d marked up her pretty neck and twisted a nipple or two once or twice until they were left sore.
“Made you do things, say things, give me things.”
He’d bargain with her often.
Give him her panties and he’ll leave Deku alone at lunch. Give him a minute in an empty class-room with just the two of them and he’ll leave them both alone for a grand total of a day.
And to no ones surprise. Feed greed and greed will grow like a weed.
Soon small exchanges turned to threats.
Telling her to stop hanging out with Deku or else he’ll beat the nerd within an inch of his life. Come to his house after classes or suffer the nastiest of rumors being spread about her all around school. Send him a pretty picture and he won't leak what other pretty pictures he’s taken when she wasn't looking.
“I thought you’d call me out on it...”
She felt the puffs of his breathing hit against the top of her head. Her eyes dead-set on watching the movement of his hands that now had taken ahold of her waist. His thumb messaging around the hipbone. Pulling her closer before he stepped to her side. His large palm laid flat on her belly. The other gripping her midriff as he stopped behind her. Hot air running down her neck and spine where his breathing turned rugged.
“Went over battle-plans in my head-” He chuckled. “How I’d say you'd become just as fucking obsessed with me as Deku. How you shouldn't flatter yourself. How fucking desperate you must be to be falling in love with your own fucking bully.”
He wasn't always bad.
In all their years. In all fucked-up relations. He’d never let anyone else ever pick on her.
Where after fights. Sometimes drunken and other times not. He would never fuss when she rinsed out his wounds and patched him up. Instead always giving his thanks in the form of leaving in peace.
Sometimes she wonders if that was the reason he started getting into fights in the first place...
To have her stitch him back up again.
But she’d always deemed the thought foolish. And if not that then... scary.
She stopped at one point. After the time he’d fucked Deku up so badly, she hadn't enough bandages for the both of them. Favoring the freckle-faced one and his second-degree burns above the ash-blonde and the minor gash he got when she pushed him away and he fell to the ground.
But... still...
He wasn't always bad.
In fact, be it a brief moment. Sometimes she would even forget he was bad at all.
Sometimes he’d crack a few jokes when driving her home. Cackle out a laugh that somehow seemed to warm her gut. His eyes gentle as he peeked over at her from the driver’s seat. One hand held lazily on the wheel. Sun glowing on his face. Making him look like a dandelion in its prime.
So soft and so childishly happy.
Until and unless, of course. He’d lock the doors with her inside, and refuse to take her home. Sometimes leaving her on the side of the road when she wouldn't repay him for his kindness.
He’d come back though...
Sometimes.
He wasn't always bad.
Which is what made it hurt so much more when he was.
Sometimes he’d be sweet. Leaving cupcakes outside her home for her on her birthday. Offering her his jacket or hoodie on cold days.
So sweet. He’d ask her about things.
How her day was. What she’ll be doing once she gets home.
And seem truly genuinely interested each time she’d offer him an answer.
He’d even be cute on some days too.
When she’d ask him in return.
He’d talk up storms of ambition miles out of her reach. Of his hopes and his dreams and pursuits.
And she’d almost believe that the reasoning behind his quirk was passion and not violence.
He wasn't all bad.
Even when he’d forced her into yet another study-date at his house. He’d still provide much better tutoring than anyone else ever managed.
Patient and determined. As though he truthfully cared. Even with his hand drawing greedy circles on the fat of her thigh. With his fingers tickling over the thin fabric of her undies as he made her sit on his lap.
He wasn't only bad.
Because when she cried. When he’d make her cry. He’d always stroke the tears away with his thumb.
He would hush and coo at her. Tread loose locks of hair behind her ears and put her head against his chest.
Squeeze her until she felt like a human being again. Until her breaths would calm down to let her settle fully into his embrace.
He isn't evil.
But...
If he thinks she would or could ever...
Fall in love with him...
Then he must be...
Insane.
She placed a small hand over his knuckles once the grip he had on her waist become more like a pinch than a caress. Soundlessly asking him to loosen up.
But, only succeeding in making him even more rowdy.
Her small body was pulled harshly back into him. Her back pressed firmly against his stiff warm chest as he nuzzled his chin into the nook of her neck.
Letting his nose run along her jawline. Rub against her ear.
His thick arms coiling around her like an overbearing hug. One that had his heart thumping brutally against her spine when beating out of his ribcage.
And dick growing warm and heavy and pointy against her ass.
“You never said a thing though... you just looked at me, with so much... horror.”
She winced.
Her hands ever so gentle. Laying themselves on top of his arms.
Feeling like toothpicks against steel.
But she couldn't very well do nothing when he was squeezing her lungs free of air.
“You fucking hated me.”
It almost sounded like he was crying. Like he was sorry. Like he was pained and in regret.
His head rubbing against her shoulder. Trying to hold her even closer. Lifting her to her toes as he hunched over her small breakable frame.
And she thought she heard a sniffle before he spoke up again.
“So, I’ve been thinking...”
His tone was steadier now. Hot against her ear.
And even hotter as he flicked her lobe with his tongue. Making her cringe out a fearful whimper.
“You want me to be the bad guy?”
Everything stilled.
“Fuck it- I’ll be the bad guy.”
At that she was thrown to the bed.
Weak knees carrying her staggeringly. Receiving the edge of the foot-end with her hands.
Though not left slumped against the mattress for long as strong hands once again imposed on her being.
Pulling at her by snatching the band of her underwear and yanking her up to be placed on the bed with no hope of scurrying away.
“Please-” She whimpered.
Her tiny hands gripping the bedsheets for support. Trying to soothe the ache of the wedgie her childhood bully was giving her a great nostalgia trip with.
He smirked sadistically down at her before dropping her down with a bounce on the bed. Pulling her arm to flip her over on her back.
“Is that the only word you know?”
He quickly got on top of her. Fitting almost immediately between her thighs. Kneeling whilst looming above her half naked vulnerable self.
His hand placed at her throat. Keeping her down.
Whereas the other stroked tentative fingers down the smooth skin of her stomach.
“I think you know my name too, don't you?”
“Please, Bakugo-”
Her hands clutched onto his arm. Legs kicking though having no target to hit where they were spread out on each side of his torso. Looking like a ladybug on its back.
“No-” He clicked his tongue while his hand closed in on the elastic band to her perfect red lace-panties.
Ones that seemed entirely picked out for him.
“That’s not what you used to call me.”
“Katsuki-” She sobbed. Wiggling beneath his touch. Trying desperately to shake him off like he was some bug leaching off her blood. “Please stop.”
“Wrong again.”
Her efforts where ignored by the ash-blonde looming above her.
His hand utterly unbothered by her squirming. Brushing warm digits over the fabric to her pretty lace bottoms. Feeling her warmth seep through the thin silk as his fingertips ran up and down, dipping slightly into the squishy sensitive flesh. Almost as though he was cuddling with her tender sex. Coaxing for a reaction.
“Kachan, please.” She whined and he closed his eyes for a brief second to enjoy the sound of the nickname.
Such potent nostalgia making his heart fuzz and stomach warm. Pool with something sticky and sweet.
An appreciative soft hum slipped from him. Pushing his otherwise stiff lips into a small smile.
“There we go.... Perfect. Just like the good ol’ days.” He mused. His hand still rubbing abrasively large fingers between the space of her thighs.
Thumbing at where he felt her little clit wake up.
“Keep begging. You’re good at it.”
Her throat buzzed with warmth beneath the weight and simmering heat of the hand wrapped tightly around it. Successfully keeping her down and pushed into her pillow with no hope of shimming away from the other dangerous venturing hand.
She blinked away more tears. Felt them trail down into her hairline by her temple, itching on her scalp. Whimpering at the feel of his teeth nip on her collarbone, his warm tongue licking at the bittersweet dried wine, and the surprisingly pillowy lips kissing at her shoulder.
“You don't have to do this...” She attempted when the hand around her throat moved slightly to grip her cheeks instead. His fingers pushing into each their cavity of plush flesh, making her pout like a fish. Her lips pushed into a makeshift kiss.
To no surprise he chose to ignore whatever pitiful plea she’d wasted her breathe on. Too focused on drawing patterns into the heat between her legs.
“Fuck- I’ve missed this face.” He moaned. His breath hitting her lips as she shook beneath him. “This fucking adorable crybaby face.”
He licked his lips again, and his shameless wanton eyes stared lustfully down at her own glossy ones.
“You look so fucking pathetic.”
His mind couldn't help but stray as his heart clenched with fear for a split second. Getting lost to the unsavoury memory... Wondering if that was what he had looked like when the sludge-villain had him neck deep in despair. When he couldn't breathe. And how the whole experience had left him wanting for a type of comfort he in no way deserved.
Where in the self-loathing...
Being a villain had never seemed quite so inviting.
She didn't expect the kiss to be so soft.
She thought he was going to bite and chew and swallow.
But he brushed his lips quite smoothly against hers. Swiping his tongue over her bottom lip before pushing gently through to taste her.
With it she forgot to breathe. And in that darkness and stillness of having her lifelong fiend kiss her with the care no one she’d ever kissed had given her, she was left listening to what soft hums left the brutish male on top.
Wondering why he so suddenly sounded like he was nothing more but a boy kissing his crush for the first time.
And perhaps she would have forgotten who it was completely...
If only it weren't for the greedy hand that had finally decided to push aside the flimsy lace and push through the tender neatly-shaven lips of her drooling virginity.
“Aww-” His voice scraped mockingly. Gutturally low and sadistically gleeful. Hot on her lips. “Did you get yourself all nice and ready for me?”
She winced out a whimper as he pushed a thick muscly finger into her hole, playing with the tightness for a moment before filling her up with the entire length of his large long-reaching digit.
“So wet-” He commented, much to her embarrassment.
Though in her defence she had been awaiting someone else in silly thrill for the past hours, preparing like a little girl before the first day of school.
“All hot and bothered, waiting for me to come?”
She sobbed in disgust as he started pumping and messaging her aching needy arousal. Her thighs trembling at how much the sticky warmth in her gut seemed to hum in utter betrayal by the blissful pleasure.
“You. Little. Fucking. Slut.” He whispered.
A haughty smile carved on his face as he watched the way her cheeks pooled with red and the shaky intake of breath on her lips, while feeling her tightness clench and pulsate on nothing more but one measly lonesome finger.
“How does it feel? Huh?” He panted against her cheek as she still ever so foolishly tried squirming away. “How does it feel to cum on my fucking hand? Same hand that’s been pushing you around your entire fucking life?”
She tried winding her thighs shut, but every shift had him sinking his finger in deeper and hooking it cruelly into her tightness.
“I bet you like it. No, I know you like it.”
He sunk a second one in and she cried out a wince, biting her lip to try and suppress the terrible treacherous moan that wanted to bloom from her throat as her pussy clenched, sucking happily on the new digit taking up the taunt space inside her.
“I can feel it plain and simple. Your slutty cunt clenching my fingers like your fucking life depends on it.” He snickered, knowing exactly what he was doing as he slid and slotted the two thick digits in and out while having his thumb pressing evilly into her clit, making her back want to arch off the bed as he kissed at her jaw, whispering his cruel words. “Fuck... I can even hear it.”
She wanted nothing more but to twist away, thinking things wouldn't be half as bad if she didn't have his lips on her cheek and his words tickling her ear and his eyes watching her every move as he made her cum on his hand with that sick twisted smirk on his face.
All she could do was count her blessing that he didn't have the ability to read her mind, because then he’d also know of how the growl in his throat still somehow managed to make the adder in her gut coil and purr with pleasure and how it made her cry in disgust of herself.
But then she was there.
Lips parted to gasp out the last moan yet caught by his and locked in yet another soul-sucking kiss that she now had not the strength or the mind to fight because all she could do was think of the fluttering rippling from the little pressure point found beneath his coarse thumb, and how with every little flick it sent blitz shooting through her core, zipping along her thighs, making her back lurch off the bed and into his chest, where his heart was panicking like a fucking madman with a hammer on an anvil.
His stomach warming at the sight of her all silken and soft and coming undone on his brutish hand, with her lips caught between his teeth as he kissed her like he was pouring his soul down her throat.
Until she woke up, after only a few passing seconds, a fleeting moment of bliss.
“You- you’re a fuck-king monster.”
Pained bleary oceans looked up into scarlet bloodbaths, yet couldn't see the amount of awe found in them, or saw it only to feel a deep shudder of disgust on the account of it.
The hand around her throat, kept there like a noose or a collar, didn't take kindly to her words.
Far from happy at how she chose to rob him of his satisfaction a moment too soon.
And if there’s one thing people know about Bakugo, it’s how if one indecent desire isn't satiated, he’ll gladly indulge another.
The strong trained hand made to squeeze frail fragile pipes.
His lips turned grim and stiff. Bloodthirsty eyes beholding what he’d always wanted to call his. Spiteful and desperate to make his wishes come true by any means necessary.
“This is how easy it would be, Quirkless.” He commented while listening to her choking.
Scarlet eyes watched, seemingly indifferent to the sight of her hopelessly trying to gasp for the air his hand wouldn't allow passage through to her burning lungs.
“It’d only take a minute and you’d be gone forever.”
He squeezed tighter and listened to her squeak.
Her little useless hands loosening their hold on his larger paw. Giving out, before his fist detached and she sprung back to life.
Coughing and gulping for air. Her hand soothing her throat as she tried curling up into herself, though not allowed to go anywhere but where Bakugo wanted her. His hands finding new purpose in holding her by the hips.
He pulled her naked body closer to his, which had her tender slick-soaked mess brush against the rough fabric to his pants, and her sensitive nipples, perky from the cool air, rub on his cotton-shirt.
“If I were you, I’d try figuring out ways to stay alive.”
Her lips quivered. Brows furrowed as she looked at him, thinking she’d never seen him quite this stone-cold.
Feeling that little ounce of hope she still had left for the boy in her heart flicker with its last will. Snuffed out by how he dragged her off her back and made her sit on his lap.
His harsh fingers burying themselves in the dough of her hips while his erection laid like a large bump of scratchy material against her clit, making her cringe as she trembled with tears falling silently in thin streams down her cheeks.
“Remember what you said to Deku when the shrimp tried fighting back?”
She closed her eyes and bowed her head. Feeling a hand leave her hip, and soon after the rip of a zipper being pulled. Her shoulders sinking as her breath shuddered.
“He’s not worth it.”
She felt his thighs shift beneath her, but she didn't dare open her eyes.
All she could do was swallow and feel the cold air brush against her naked flesh as she heated up by the fact that Katsuki was pulling his dick out with the intention to sink it inside her.
“I slapped the old hag that day when she asked me what was wrong. Square across the face. She had burns for months.”
She whimpered when she felt his breath on her cheek, and recoiled back, though held firmly and painfully by the large hand on her hip.
“You want me to slap you?” His voice was weirdly sweet whilst a knuckle went sliding against her cheek to pull the curtain of hair out of her face.
His lips soon pressing against her cheek as she choked on her own whimpering shallow breaths.
“No, right?” He whispered and that’s when she felt it.
Plush like velvet, squishy and warm, burning, thick and rounded, bobbing against her clit, being pushed to slide through her folds, make her squirm on top of him.
“So be a good slut and ride my fucking dick.”
He added pressure to the small of her back.
The slight inclination of heat and sweat in his palm telling her to move closer until she was hovering above something else that was radiating heat between her thighs.
Brushing up against her opening.
Her breath hitched in her throat as she felt it push, and she opened her eyes to look at him with the most pleadful expression she could muster.
Her lips trembling to their complete own accord, and brows joining the same dance of tremor.
“Kachan-”
But there was nothing staring back at her.
Nothing she could call human.
Not kindness nor mercy.
Not even pity.
“Come on, Quirkless. Show me what you were gonna do with that blue-eyed fuck.”
He didn't make a single move, as though he was waiting for her to do it for him.
“Don't be shy. Come on, slut.”
His fingers dug into her hips and she knew, by the burning cold in his eyes, he was dead-set on making her feel every lick of his hatred.
And it was hatred.
She couldn't allow it to be anything else.
She couldn't bare the thought of it being anything remotely similar to love as she lowered her hips slowly for him to fill her up inch by thick inch, sliding inside her wet virgin walls, all the way to the hilt, until his bulging head kissed sweetly into her screaming cervix.
It couldn't be love.
She didn't get a second to think before his hand once again grabbed ahold of her face.
His sandpaper fingers mushing her soft cheeks, making her stare into his bleeding-red look with those moon-wide tear-soaked horrified pretty eyes.
“Is this what it takes for you to notice me?” He puffed. “Huh? Can’t fucking focus without me threatening your life?”
She still flinched at the sharpness of his words. Feeling cold and tense and so very dreadfully alone, even with him twitching inside her.
“Am I only worth it when I got my cock balls-deep inside you?”
She closed her eyes but it was a mistake.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you, fucking bitch!” He barked. Spit flying into her squished face a mere half-inch away from his teeth. “You want me to fuck you like one? Bend you over, make you take it from behind, on your knees with your face down, like a good for nothing cum-dump whore?!”
His other hand pulled her even closer, made her tits hug against his chest where he still hadn't bothered removing his shirt. Buttons sharp and abrasive against her flesh as she shook at the feel of his cock warming and stretching her out. Weirded-out with how it sat lodged so well inside the comfort of her pussy, and how she was unwillingly clamping down around the girth of him, sucking on him gratefully, happily and passionately like how they used to huddle for warmth at nap-time on playdates.
He kissed her again. His forehead pushing achingly into hers. Noses hugging. Lips strutting forward and pressing into hers like letting go meant dying, where even his breath shuddered as she could swear his eyes seemed a bit more glossy then than before. Though it could easily have been brushed off as just a trick of the light in the dimly lit bleakness of her apartment in the night.
"Do you-" He whispered in a voice like from a complete different person. “Remember our first kiss?”
It had been back when they were only four and having only the slightest clue what kisses even were, but she could never forget it.
“You told me I sucked.” He added.
“I- I told you not to use so much teeth.” She whimpered. Voice weak and blubbering like it had been back in kindergarten. Soft and sweet and shy and only barely above a whisper.
“Guess I never learn...”
He didn't pull away. Their foreheads still seemingly glued together. Noses bumping. Breaths cohesive.
“You haven’t changed much since then either.”
That broke her heart.
His hands tightened against her flesh.
“Now ride. Or next time I fuck you, blue-eyes rotting head will be watching us.”
TIP-JAR
Stain
[Five Hargreeves x Reader]
Summary : You Paint Five.
Warning : None? But feels like there should be. Romanticism?
"I want to paint you."
The words escape past your lips like a shot. Swift and precise.
You have been sitting in his room for the past two hours. The two of you are next to the window, on the floor, reading. Or trying to anyway, considering you cannot focus on anything apart from him.
Something about the sunlight filtering through the window, casting shades of warm hued colors— mixed in a way you couldn't decipher one from another, made him look like a real life painting.
Your hands itch with the need to capture it. To hold this moment in your hand and spill it on a canvas. The thought loads in your mind, and before you know the trigger is pulled.
And here we are.
Five staring at you, confusion etched across his face. As though he's not quite sure what you said.
"What?"
In any other instance, you would have changed the topic. But now, now that you've expressed your wish, you don't want to back down. If anything, it has your desire intensifying.
"I want to paint you," You repeat, this time soft. A plea.
"Wh—"
"Shhh."
He has questions. He always has questions. Right now, you can't see past your desire to paint him. So, silencing him is the best option.
"Please," a whisper.
He considers you, gear turning behind his eyes, contemplating, weighing the pros and cons. By the end of his thought process, his eyes soften, and he nods.
"Alright."
You smile. Biting the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning. "Could you blink into my room, and bring my supplies?"
He huffs in exasperation. Yet, the curl of his lips has a shadow of fondness to it.
30 mins in and you find yourself losing concentration.
It's not that you don't want to paint him anymore. Not at all.
The certain craving you had has subsided now that paint covers your hands. But not entirely, there's still something beneath the surface, a hidden ache of sorts.
That, and Five cannot seem to sit still.
"Stop moving," You order.
"I'm not," he retorts, as he leans over slightly.
Exhaling in annoyance, you decide to take matters in your own hands.
Shifting closer to him, your free hand closes around his jaw in a soft grip.
It works.
He's stiller than a statue, you muse, continuing with your task. A few moments pass before you notice thinking, I would say he's barely even breathing—
Your gaze snaps towards him.
You realize the gravity of the situation.
Lost in your painting, you shifted close to him. Far too close to him. Like closer than appropriate. Oh, you get the breathing thing now, you are on the same ground.
If you were to lean in just a bit, your nose would brush his.
The paintbrush falls off your hand.
You gulp. Eyes flickering between his.
Then something happens. Something magical, like a spell cast.
In a languid manner, he lifts his hand and covers yours—the one holding his jaw—in a grip similar to yours.
Eyes locking with you, holding captive, he makes your hands slide from the corner of his jaw towards his opposite cheekbone. Smearing the pale flesh in the shade of vermilion.
Your breathing quivers. Heart stuttering.
He lets go of your hand.
And said hand, seemingly on its own accord, trails down in a slow move—from cheekbone to jaw before stopping near his carotid artery. The pulse flutters against the tips of your fingers.
He lets out a shaky exhale. His eyes scan your face. You wonder, if they leave stains of blue in their wake. Imprinting you in a way unseen.
Your gaze peers into his. And you find yourself losing touch with everything, as though the world has gone blurry, and it's raining down upon the two of you.
You are lost. Lost in the sun dipping in the ocean of his eyes. Lost in shades of crimson. Lost in this honey glazed moment. Lost. Lost. Lost.
Blinking through hooded eyes, you watch him lean into your left, cheeks a breath away from touching.
"What are you doing?" you hush. Too afraid to speak louder, lest the noise disturbs the tranquility of stillness.
He presses his cheek against yours ever so slightly, the presence akin to a feather's touch. Yet, you feel the paint, from him to you, it seeps through your skin into your bloodstream and sings.
"Painting you," he whispers, voice strained as though the words escaping without his permission, leaning back—cheek against cheek, tendrils of warm crimson.—he spills the color from his being to yours, "in my color."
The words inject euphoria in your heart. It beats wildly inside the cage of your ribs, wishing for nothing more than to break free and surrender itself to him.
This is what you were craving, you realize. The ache dissolves. His confession. His admission.
With him, you wanted the colors of your essence to merge. Mixing the shades until one couldn't recognize him from you, and you from him.
Perhaps, you didn't want to paint him so much as be painted in him.
..................................................................................
A/N :
This feels so unpolished but I'm so tired that I cannot edit and stuff. So, sorry about that. Maybe I'll edit it later.
Out of context gif because using Five's gif felt wrong.
It's not even something like that or anything yet it feels like it. I went through the motions of, should I post it or not. But considering any review helps me improve my writing, I decided to post. Damn maybe I'll delete it later 😭
Still hope you guys like it.
Thankyou! ❤
ahh i love your writing and your dark!peter fics are the best, could we get a darkfic of peter bullying/harassing the reader and then things escalate if you know what i mean ??
rude boy | peter parker
[Warnings] dark peter parker x reader, bully peter, verbal/physical harassment, noncon/dubcon, fingering, public sex, mentions of intercourse/oral sex, peter being a jerk, fish sticks
A/N: I combined your ask with another bully peter request I got! I’ll post that asks right after this. Hope you like this!
In which Peter can’t make up his mind about whether he loves or hates you.
word count: almost 3k
Your gaze fell down to your lap as he entered the classroom. Everyone else’s seemed to lift, admiring their classmate who famously saved the world several times. It was safe to say that the fame had gone to his head. You nervously played with the ends of your skirt as you waited for the commotion in the room to die down and for the class to start.
That didn’t happen because an unfamiliar person slid onto the stool beside you and you lifted your head to see Peter. He gave you a bored look as he looked you over, “What’s up, fish sticks?”
Your eyes shut tightly as you winced at the name. He knew it got under your skin and loved to watch you squirm. He nudged your arm, “Hmm?”
Everyone remembered that time in fifth grade, on the trip to the aquarium, where you threw up your packed lunch on one of the employees. Your mom had packed you fish sticks and, as you sat through one of their fun presentations, one of the presenters picked you to come up to the stage. You were shy, even back then, and as he asked you something you learned that day, you completely lost your lunch on his shoes. This all led to one of your classmates shouting, “She barfed up her fish sticks!” and laughter ensued.
Even Peter seemed to think it was still funny, “You’re not my partner, Peter,” You said, not meeting his eyes.
“Now I am,” Your heart skipped a beat as you heard him, “I can’t work with Ned anymore, he sucks at cooking and I need a good grade in this class.”
You looked back at Peter’s normal seat to see your family and consumer science partner sitting with Ned. You liked her and she always did her fair share of the work. You were sure the opposite would be true for Peter.
Peter faked a smile at you, “So what are we cooking today? Fish sticks?”
You took a deep breath, your hands tapping nervously at the table, “You could try looking at the board,” You felt him scoot his stool closer to you, his body leaning over the counter.
“I think I’ll just look at you instead,” Your breathing hitched in your throat as he leaned into your ear. Just as he did, your teacher entered the room. You thought she was a good teacher, she graded easily, and Peter must’ve been a complete idiot to not be doing well. Clearly, this wasn’t his subject of expertise.
The room was set so each station had its own oven, stove, and appliances. This unit was all about cooking and today you were making dessert. Your teacher gave you a list of instructions before adding that you should all make sure you’re following safety protocols.
You stood up from your stool, mostly just to get some space from Peter and walked over to grab an apron.
The assignment went much worse than you expected. Peter refused to even lift a spoon or even wear an apron. He sat by as you did all the work, only offering to lick the spoon clean when you were finished with it. The times he got off his butt were to walk over to Ned’s table to chat with him.
“You’re good at this,” Peter said, as you poured the batter into a cake tin. You were a little out of breath from running around to grab supplies, “You should come over and make me a sandwich sometime.”
You bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to keep yourself from responding.
As soon as you got your cake into the oven, you took a deep breath, taking a look at the clock to see if you were going to finish on time, “Can you chill? You’re stressing me out.”
You rested your hands against the counter, “I’m …” Your voice raised only for a moment before you lowered it, “I’m stressing you out?”
Peter noticed your frustration and smirked, “Awe, I’m joking fish sticks. You’re doing great,” He winked.
Maybe you could talk to the teacher, tell her that you and Peter were not a good fit together. She’d ask you why you didn’t want to be partners and then you would have to tell her … and facing Peter after that would be a nightmare. You shook your head at the thought and convinced yourself you could go the rest of the semester doing the work all by yourself.
+
You were going to get into a good school, especially with the number of clubs you were a part of and the one that you created yourself. A book club because you loved reading and school was lacking one. There were four members in total including you and your friend Jess. If you wanted your club to seem serious on college applications then you needed more members.
Jess had the idea of hanging up banners and flyers during the free period and, of course, you were all in.
You went around the school with a ladder the janitor lent you and hung up your homemade posters. You were hanging a large banner towards the front of the school when the bell suddenly rang, ending the free period.
“Just a few more inches to the left,” Jess instructed you and you slowly moved the poster to the position she wanted before Jess reached up to hand you the tape.
There was something about you that Peter couldn’t quite wrap his head around. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to you. It was something about the snooty, preppy way you dressed that he a distaste for but turned him on to you at the same time. You were so intelligent but corruptible still. It was quite frustrating knowing you’d only see him as a nuisance.
He watched the back of your legs, your skirt slightly rose as you taped up your poster. He thought about those baby pink panties you were probably wearing.
You were admiring your work when suddenly the ladder shook and, for a moment you thought you might fall back until you barely caught yourself. A sharp shriek left your lips and the hall went silent until everyone was staring at you and then chuckling. You felt your cheeks warm as you quickly stepped down the ladder.
You looked around the culprit and found Peter walking backward in the other direction. He smiled, “See you at book club, fish sticks!”
Your hands formed a fist at your side as you gave Jess an incredulous look.
“Sorry,” She apologized, but you were already marching away.
+
Two weeks later, you were in a crowded subway car heading to school. Some soft pop song was playing in your headphones and you were swaying your head slightly to the music. Your eyes traveled around as you people watched.
You had done this route every day but you found yourself getting nervous now when you thought about school. Peter had seemed to take a special liking to you and wouldn’t leave you alone. He made you do all his work in family and consumer sciences and he’d make sure to shout something embarrassing at you when you saw him in the hall.
A few days ago you were heading to your lunch table with your tray when he walked up to you, “Sit with me today,” He had told you, eyes more serious than you had ever seen them.
“Why?” You asked.
“Because I said so,” He continued and you raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t think I can take any more fish stick jokes,” Anger settled over his features and it scared you, “No, but thank you.”
Any day before this, you would’ve said yes just because of how much he scared you. He was a superhero and what were you? Nothing. And everyone saw you that way. You were just tired of him torturing you.
You should’ve trusted your instincts because as you walked around him, you lost your balance, and tripped over his outstretched foot. The cafeteria went quiet and you moaned in pain as you pulled yourself up. Your spaghetti was now staining your bright colored sweater.
Peter leaned down, “Forgive me for trying to be nice to you, Y/N,” He held out his hand for you to take and, you only stared at him, before standing up yourself. Jess rushed over, napkins in hand, but you were already running from the cafeteria, tears stinging your eyes.
You shook your head as you tried to stop thinking about it. As if you had unconsciously summoned the devil, you felt a hand on your waist. You jumped, of course, and thought some middle-aged man would be standing behind you but it was even worse.
“Turn back around,” He spoke huskily in your ear and you shook your head. His arm wrapped around you, his hand wrapping around your throat as he pulled you back into him, “Don’t struggle. Wouldn’t want to make a scene, right?”
How long had he been watching you? How long had he been following you?
Your eyes darted around, looking for anyone who had noticed what was happening to you but you saw no one. Everyone so packed together and clearly focused on whatever was going on in their busy lives. Peter’s other arm wrapped around you, under your arm, and settled on your stomach.
You started to shake your head as his fingers trailed against the top of your skirt but his grip on your throat tightened, “What color panties are you wearing?” He whispered in your ear, “Hmmm?”
It was clearly rhetorical because, with every word you spoke, his grip tightened. You had to keep still in order to breathe. His hand slid between your skin and the waistband of your pastel skirt and he felt between your legs. A small whimper left your lips as his fingers rubbed your sex through your panties.
His nose pressed into your hair and he took in your scent as he began rubbing circles against the fabric of your underwear.
Peter had to see for himself if you were really what he wanted and he was tired of hiding his attraction. The confusion and tension in his mind had finally stopped. He was going to have you.
You had rarely even touched your private parts yourself so, the feeling rising in your core, felt completely foreign. A second later, he was dipping his fingers in the fabric of your panties. Your face completely warmed and you couldn't help how your body flinched at the sensation.
“You’re mine from now on, to do whatever I please,” You ran from the feeling, from the pleasure, for as long as you could but Peter’s fingers worked like magic. Your chest heaved up and down as your breathing became more erratic. You were nearing something and that scared you even more. Peter held you steady and kept you from going anywhere and you were forced to face whatever he had unleashed inside you.
“There you go, that’s it, Y/N,” It was a giant explosion deep inside you, and Peter moved his hand around your neck to cover your mouth as you orgasm.
You were shaking as his fingers still played with that sensitive bulb in your panties. When he finally released you, you felt more disgusted at yourself for feeling such pleasure.
Peter turned you around and you were so dizzy that you couldn’t even push him away as he slammed his lips against yours. Anyone around you would’ve saw it as annoying PDA by a couple of teenagers but, really, a predator had just sunk its teeth into its prey.
+
You sat with Peter at lunch from the day forward. You decided it was better than him humiliating you in front of the entire student body.
You weren’t sure what exactly you were to him. He seemed to want a personal punching bag as well as the intimacy you could provide. He’d tease you constantly, especially in front of his friends, but he’d want to make you cum right after being the jerk he was.
He’d invite himself over to your house so you could help him with a school project or rather have you do it for him. Then he would … use his tongue against your private parts and make you lay with him for hours.
One weekend, while you were walking home from a late-night study session at Jess’s house, a figure landed right in front of you. You hated how he loved to make his entrances by scaring you. Completely clad in his red and blue suit, Peter looked you up and down, “Why are you out walking so late?”
You took a cautious step back, “My apartment is three blocks away.”
“I’m aware and that doesn’t answer my question.”
“Can I at least have the weekends to myself, Peter?”
Peter cocked his head to the side and you wished very much to see whatever devilish look was. As he took a step forward, you took another backward, which caused him to laugh, “I’m offended, Y/N. I’m just a friendly neighborhood spider-man trying to help a poor, lost girl find her way home. There are sickos out this late.”
“Peter-”
Peter suddenly raised his hand and you saw a web shoot out into the distance. Before you could follow where it led, Peter’s arms were around you, and you were flying with him in the air. You squeezed him for dear life, your lungs unleashing every scream within you, as your stomach rose and fell with the swinging motion.
When you finally landed on your feet, you were standing on the fire escape just outside your bedroom. You lost your balance but Peter was there to catch you again. Peter pulled off his masks and you saw his tired face and messy hair beneath it.
He smiled at you, “Gonna puke, fish sticks?”
You tried to pull away from him, anger boiling up inside of you, “I-I hate you! I hate you, Peter!”
Tears were streaming down your cheeks and you were punching at his chest. It had no real effect on him and he simply grabbed your hands and held them in place. He pulled your hands down and pulled your forward, kissing you hard.
You seemed to calm as his soft lips moved against yours. You hated it but it did. Your hands calmed and he let them go. Peter’s brown eyes narrowed into yours when he finally pulled away. He grabbed your face then, “I’m sorry to hear that, Y/N,” He wiped a tear away from your face, “But I don’t think I can let you go just yet.”
He kissed you again and you started to move your lips against his. It was easier that way. You stayed there for a long time, your lips on his, as your tears began to dry. He wasn’t going to leave you be so you thought you might as well enjoy it. The most popular boy in school, in New York, wanted you. Shouldn’t that make you feel good?
Peter moved to open your window, “Peter … my parents.”
“I’ll be quiet,” Peter insisted as he slipped inside. You did the same and you watched as Peter slowly shut it back.
You moved over to the bed, taking off your backpack, and preparing for what Peter usually wanted to do. You looked up, surprised when you saw he was taking off the suit … all the way.
“Peter, I’ve never-”
He shushed you, “I haven’t either,” That surprised you to hear. He approached you on the bed, only wearing his boxers, and your eyes raked in his exquisite physique. A lot has changed for him in the last few years, “But I’m sure I can figure it out.”
He kneeled down by your feet and took his time removing your shoes and then your socks. He wanted to take his time admiring you and this made you feel like a piece of art, “Why me?” You asked hesitantly.
“I have this awareness of my surroundings, like something in the back of my mind,” You weren’t expecting an honest answer but Peter’s eyes were completely earnest, “When I’m around you, it goes haywire and when I don’t have it, I’m vulnerable. I hate that.”
“So you do this to me b-because you hate me?”
Peter stood up, leaning forward as he pushed you down towards the bed. You slowly moved back towards your headboard as Peter crawled on top of you, “Not anymore. I like feeling certain things … when my defenses are down.”
His face was hovering above yours now, his fingers trailing over the waistband of your underwear. He started to pull them down and you stared with wide eyes because he didn’t even look away from you.
“Oh,” was all that left your mouth as he spread your legs. Everything about him confused you but it was useless to argue with him. You reached up to touch his shoulder which surprised him, to say the least. You touched the skin there and then the hardness of his chest.
Peter tossed your underwear to the side, positioning himself between your legs. His eyes darkened as he looked at you and, suddenly, he was pinning your hands above your head. He kissed you as he used his other hand to pull down his boxers, letting his member spring free. He rubbed its tip against your sensitive bulb, trailing it up and down to tease you.
When he finally entered you, it was slow and patient despite the hungry look in his eyes. He watched as you winced and moaned in pain as he stretched you for the first time. He’d bury himself deep inside of you for the rest of his life if he could. He’d make you tighten around him as he gave you orgasm after orgasm.
“You make me feel human again, Y/N,” Peter grunted into your ear. After all, he had lived through and what he was meant to go through now, he’d use you to bring him down to earth. You were a toy, a tool, but maybe you could learn to enjoy the closeness. The intimacy.
Human.
Peter both desired and despised the feeling.
+
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cover shot (through the heart) | masterlist
pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader
status: complete
length: 16,521 words
summary: For years, you’ve been the only assistant in the business equipped to handle foul-tempered supermodel Katsuki Bakugou. That is, until he catches on to your weak point.
tags: model AU, sexual tension, snark, praise kink, reader-insert
warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, implied lighter-skinned reader
note: In retrospect, this work is one of my least inclusive. A large portion of the plot depends on the reader’s blush being visible on her skin. I just wanted to make this clear to anyone looking to read this fic, and apologize to any potential readers that this excludes. Going forward, I will endeavor to do better!
chapter links:
one
two
three
four
five
six
cross posted on ao3: here
ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏᴜ х ғ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
~sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs~ you have been scorned by one too many men in your past. because of these traumatic experiences, you take it upon yourself to become the protector to those who need it most. you become the Red Medusa, an infamous vigilante roaming the streets of Musutafu.
~ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs/ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴇхᴘᴇᴄᴛ~ slow burn, angst, betrayal, enemies to lovers, PTSD + flashbacks, trauma, harassment, a fear/hatred toward men, graphic depictions of violence, gun usage + gun violence, vigilante reader x pro hero Bakugou, nsfw in later chapters. there will be more specific warnings in each and every chapter, as well 🫶🏼
~ᴀʟsᴏ ᴀᴠᴀɪʟᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3~
~ɪɴsᴘɪʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ~
~ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀs ɴᴏᴛᴇs~ this has been bouncing around in my head since April of 2022!!! I’m just so happy to see this all come to fruition, no matter how long it’s taken me to get started. I hope you all enjoy this very vulnerable work of mine, as it hits a lot closer to home than I expected it to!!
updates will come every Monday (hopefully 🤞🏼) thank you all for reading and I hope you guys enjoy 🧡🖤
ᴍᴇᴅᴜsᴀ [ᴍᴇʜ-ᴅᴏᴏ-ᴢᴀ] ɴᴏᴜɴ - ɢᴜᴀʀᴅɪᴀɴ; ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛʀᴇss; ᴀɴ ᴇᴠɪʟ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴠɪʟ; ᴀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛ; ᴀ ᴠɪᴄᴛɪᴍ
_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ_
_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ_
_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ_
_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғᴏᴜʀ_
_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғɪᴠᴇ_
_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ six_
_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ sᴇᴠᴇɴ_
_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ_
_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɴɪɴᴇ_
_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴇɴ_
_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇʟᴇᴠᴇɴ (ɴsғᴡ)_
_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇʟᴠᴇ_
_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜɪʀᴛᴇᴇɴ (ɴsғᴡ)_
_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғᴏᴜʀᴛᴇᴇɴ_
_ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғɪғᴛᴇᴇɴ - ᴇᴘɪʟᴏɢᴜᴇ (ɴsғᴡ)_
"Are we going to live in the next day Or Not " 🥺💔
Verified by Butterfly effect project line 355 in spreadsheet🇵🇸🚨here
Yes this is the only thing that all of our family thought about it. Everyday we ask ourselves if we going to live anymore or not . Everyday in this cruel war we imagine one of us dead and feeling so sad about what will happen next day.
Now after the war all the building are destroyed here and there is no life around us please we need to evacuate 🙏🥺
Please help my kids and my family to evacuate from here. Gaza now is not for human being living we need you support to stand with 18 members of the family to travel to another place that could find some peace and start new life without wars. We live in many wars and we are so tired.
Please share for more people you know can help me and my family.
Please donate here
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
“𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐦𝐞…”
Part 1 | Dabi x fem!Reader
CW: yandere themes, some mentions of noncon, gaslighting, manipulation, kidnapping, complicated feelings, stockholm syndrome (?), this part contains only reader’s memories.
SYNOPSIS: you are finally saved from the hands of your captor, who was now locked up, far away from you. But to this day, the memory of him still haunts you in your dreams, still so present in your life, still reminding you that you are his girl.
Part 2 / REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!
“Baby..come to me”
“.. don’t leave me waiting”
“Pretty girl~”
“Wherever you are, I will come find you”
You awoke with a jolt, sweat dripping down your face. Your own heartbeats filled your ears, almost pumping out of your ribcage, as the voices you were hearing faded into the distance. Trembling, you pulled yourself out of the bed to grab a glass of water, your throat dry and sore. As the coldness of the water shook the tense feeling off your body and gave you some clarity, you took in a deep breath, calming yourself down from whatever nightmare, or sleep paralysis you had. Your eyes wandered around your apartment, at every corner and every furniture.
“You are alone” you whispered to yourself, repeating the words over and over. “You’re alone and safe. Nobody is here, nothing can harm you”
Nothing can harm you anymore.
It had been a year since since everything changed, since you finally managed to escape the claws of your captor, your lover. And yet you still get haunted by those events, still afraid of the darkness, often having panic attacks and anxiety hitting through the roof whenever you are alone. Paranoia was part of your life, to the point you had to consult with a professional and get help. Everywhere, at any time, you felt like you were being watched. But nobody was there.
Not anymore.
“I am safe” you repeated once again. “Nobody is there. It’s all in my head. Everything is okay. He is not here anymore”
Those piercing blue eyes that almost glowed in the darkness were not watching you anymore. Those eyes that could burn you just by looking at them, making you feel smaller and smaller, afraid to even move an inch as they studied you, devoured your appearance from head to toe.
“A sight for sore eyes” he would always say, his hand coming to grab at your chin, gently, making you look at him. And there it was again, a sly grin plastered on his scarred face, a grin that held nothing but danger. You knew just in that moment how much he wanted to hurt you. It made him feel good he said, the way tears rolled down your cheeks whenever he marked your body, the way you were so weak beneath him and broke so beautifully. The more you screamed, the more he hurt you. And as he hurt you, he would whisper sweet nothings in your ear, kiss your face so gently while his hand gripped your thigh and left a nasty burn mark. He would kiss your forehead and shush you, while he rammed inside you so ruthlessly, tearing you apart. He would lick off your tears and tell you how pretty you were as he took every inch of your body.
“P-Please… I-I can’t do this anymore!” the memories came back in your mind, clear as day, one of the many horrible things you had to endure from his hands.
“Hold on a bit longer for me baby..” he growled, his eyes rolling back in pure bliss. “Ngh-Jus’a bit longer..”
“N-No that’s enough!” you whined in desperation. “Stop it..”
Stop it Dabi.
Dabi.
Even the memory of his name made your skin crawl and your hands sweating, you couldn’t even say it outloud anymore. Because the only times you said it outloud were when you were begging for him to stop, to not hurt you anymore, to let you go.
And each time, he always replied by saying how good his name sounds rolling down that pretty tongue of yours, say it again, a bit louder this time for him.
“Dabi..” you whispered, not even aware that you said his name, completely lost in your memories as he ordered you to repeat his name again. You brought your hand on your mouth, realising what you just did.
You were alone in the living room, far far away from his reach and yet he still had a great impact in your life, as if he was still living with you everyday. You could still hear his voice in your dreams, you could see his shadow lurking, his tall figure towering over you, the scent of burned flesh lingering around.
It had been a year since he got locked away in Tartarus, a prison for high ranked villains which was said to be worse than hell itself. Though that had little to no impact on the devil.
You used to call him that, an evil man beyond words, how much you hated him, and yet..
Yet he made you believe that he was your true love. That no other person in this world could ever make you feel this way, fear, arousement, passion, warmth all at once. To Dabi, you were his goddess, the light of his life, as he used to say, the prettiest girl in the world, only for him to use. You were the cure to his heart, if he ever had one, your touch made his burnt scars feel less painful, it made all the pain go away. Your voice, your moans, your cries and your laughter were music to his ears, he wanted all of them. Dabi wanted all of you. He wanted you at your best, he wanted you at your worst, he wanted you broken, only for him to fix you as he pleased.
“You’re mine” Dabi would say, a possessive grip on your waist as he brought you closer to himself. “Don’t ever forget that. Even if we are far apart, even if years go by, you are forever mine princess..”
You gulped while remembering his words, those words he would always repeat until they were engraved in your brain.
He was locked away, with no chance of ever coming out of there, everything between you both had ended, you were a free bird.
And deep down you still felt his. You were afraid to not be his. You were afraid of what would become of you if you weren’t Dabi’s girl. Because you had forgotten who you were before him. He made sure of it. You could never be a normal functioning human being. He turned your brain into mush, designed you just the way he wanted to, to the point that no matter how much you hated him, your desire for him kept growing stronger.
You hated him. And you hated that you missed him. You should’ve been happy, this was what you always dreamed of, right? You always wished for him to just die, to disappear, you wished to be free. And now you were free.
And empty.
Was he really your true love?
“Tell me that you love me..” he grunted, sweat dripping down his chest as he continued to thrust in and out of you, your cunt greedily swallowing every inch of his cock.
“I-I love you..” you whimpered.
“Louder” he ordered, giving you one harsh thrust that made you yelp. “C’mon!”
“Love you. I love you, Dabi. I love y-you…nmmmhf I love you!”
And it did feel like love for a moment. When he kissed you through your orgasm, saying that you’re doing so well, both your bodies sticky and sweaty as you held into one another. As you fell asleep in his arms while he caressed your hair. It all felt good, it made you forget that in reality you were actually his captive.
You were cut off from the outside world, your friends, family, work colleagues, nobody could get in touch with you anymore. Dabi created a new world for you, and in this new world of yours he would be the only person in your life. Nobody was ever that worthy of you, he got rid of anything and anyone that got in his way.
“It’s not safe for ya out there baby..” he would tell you. “The world is ugly, and it can hurt you, just the way it hurt me. Just the way it hurt all of us that society calls villains today.. but I won’t allow it. Don’t you realise how much I am protecting you?”
He made you believe that you were much safer with him, yet he was the only one to hurt you. But he made that clear as well.
“You are not protecting me! You are hurting me!” you screamed at him while he had you tied down on the bed after another failed attempt of yours to escape and run away.
“Didn’t I tell you princess? I’ll protect you from everyone, except me..” Dabi smirked at your teary face. “I am the only one to love on you, the only one to hurt you and make you cry, the only one to break you. Nobody else. You were just made for me, dollface..”
You went back to bed, trying to make those memories fade away and fall asleep. Little did you know that tomorrow morning, another letter would arrive at your doorstep. The pile was slowly growing. You didn’t throw them, nor did you open to read them. They stayed in the box, unopened, you were terrified of what the letters would contain.
Letters from Tartarus.
It was clear, he never gave up on you. To this day, he would send you letters from time to time. You had the opportunity to call the prison and make it all stop of course, so he would never send you any letters again.
But you didn’t. You wished he would stop, and yet you couldn’t make him stop. It’s like one part of you wanted him, found comfort at the fact that you were not alone, that you still were his girl. And that very same fact made you throw up as well, you hated it so much.
What’s wrong with me, you wondered.
“Nothing’s wrong with you princess, you just miss me that’s all..” you could hear his voice answering in your head, amusement in his tone.
Maybe if you read all his letters it will go away, this feeling would disappear. Read them and then burn them. And then cut off contact for good. He won’t haunt you anymore, right? He can’t get out of there.
Dabi definitely will get out of there. And he won’t be pleased knowing that you have ignored him all this time. What will you do then? How will you explain yourself to him?
“Tomorrow morning I will read them” you whispered to yourself. For now, you decided to empty your head from all the dark thoughts and just go back to sleep.
During the same time, far away, to the heavy guarded area of Tartarus, he sat there on his cell, his eyes glued to the door, waiting. Patiently waiting, contemplating, while his fingers fixed each of the staples decorating his hand.
Finally a guard passed by, stopping right in front of the cell. Dabi stood up, approaching the door, peeking through the small hole to look at the guard’s face.
“So..” Dabi spoke. “Got anything f’me?”
“Nothing” the guard replied. “I looked through all the letters the prisoners received, though none of it was sent to you nor had your name. You sure your girlfriend hasn’t ditched you? You’ve been sending letters for a while and yet no reply”
Dabi chuckled, turning away and ignoring the guard’s words. “She’ll come around, little angel is just nervous..” he whispered to himself.
“Hey” the guard called him again. “Ya sure you don’t want one of us to check on her?”
The guard was in fact one of the PLF’s men, surely on Dabi’s side, making sure to check on him until the escape plan is executed.
“Send one of our people on her way” Dabi said. “Just to notify her that I’m looking forward to our reunion soon~”
🏷️ tagging some of the people who were interested in this fic + people from my taglist: @baby-tini @hunajan @touyalove @irinangels @marlenemckinnonsleftfoot @murderous-snail @holydayaria @cherryflavoredkisses @syrenkitsune @mossy-opal @dabislittlebeaniebaby
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!)
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