Kirishima X Bakugou X F!reader

ON MY KNEES

made by bloodybeni

another 2 for the 15-min sketches on buymeacoffee

proheroes bakugou and kirishima

𝗡𝗢 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗜𝗖𝗞𝗘𝗗 *+:｡.｡

summary. “I’ve known Geto since we were kids, and trust me when I say that he’ll fuck you and forget about it.” | wc. 3.5k+

cw/ tw. fem!reader, college au, fratboy!geto, slightly dark content, obsessive behavior, smoking (not by the reader), frat parties, dubcon, cherrypicking, degradation, jealousy, slightly yandere, deception, pet names (ex. pretty girl, baby), intended for 18+ readers

an. I haven't posted in what? two weeks?? maybe three? and I'm surprised people are still following me after how dry it's been on here...heh (thank you if you stuck around while I was away). enjoy a repost, comments and reblogs are appreciated ༉‧₊˚.

You met Geto at a frat party Shoko dragged you to after listening to you complain (for the third time that week) about classes and a paper due next month—and you couldn’t say that you were too upset about it now that you were standing beside him. 

He was twice your size. Easily a head taller than you, which had your stomach twisting into neat little knots.

Geto was the type you’d usually avoid and admire from afar. Because rich, popular guys like him didn’t have time for unspecial girls like you. But he too easily derailed that thought without doing more than flashing you a smile.

It should be disconcerting how openly you were staring, not even trying to hide how your eyes traveled from the perfect bun atop his head to his broad, slightly tanned chest. His open, silky, short-sleeve button-up revealed a necklace dangling low around his neck and a glimpse of a tattoo that started at his ribs and trailed down beyond his shirt.

You almost felt a little underdressed, standing beside him in just a cropped sweater and tennis skirt.

“Hey, I’m Geto,” he said. 

His voice was nice. Low and sweet. Sly, in that way most guys like him tend to embrace after years of getting what they want.

Then you realized he had been talking to you, the corners of his mouth curling as he stared at you expectantly.

Embarrassment swam through your veins as you shyly gave him your name before shifting behind Shoko until the heat in your face melted away. Geto's lips twitched, bringing his cup to his mouth with a hand covered in rings—you wanted to disappear into the floor.

It wasn’t until after he plied you with a few fruity drinks, your head a little fuzzy and less anxious, that you relaxed around him, swaying on your feet towards him instead of away. The slight buzz had words easily falling off your tongue, and you were surprised to find that he listened instead of going glassy-eyed the longer you went on about classes and your work study.

Your fourth cup in, you followed him into the corner of the living room on a lumpy old couch where Geto sat with you in his lap—you weren’t even sure what you were talking about anymore—while he took long drags from a blunt you let him roll up on your thigh.

He offered you a hit, which you politely declined, and he pulled you along with him when he leaned back further into the couch, his voice close humming along your eardrums and his lips softly brushing against your ear.

Geto turned his head to blow out another hazy cloud of smoke before leaning in to ask if he could taste your drink.

“S-sure,” you breathed shakily, about to give him your cup, only to freeze when he kissed you instead.

He chuckled when you released a startled squeak against his mouth—the faint smell of weed on his breath fanning across your face and making you slightly light-headed. Then his tongue sought out yours, and the taste of mint and cheap vodka graced your tastebuds. 

You sighed, subtly rubbing your thighs together, and before you could even return the kiss, he’d pulled away with a wry smile.

“Tastes good,” he hummed, a warm hand gently running along your thigh. Your tongue ran over your bottom lip, and you watched his gaze track the movement. “Can I have another?” 

You were already leaning in before he could finish asking.

He texted you while you were hunched over a petri dish in the lab on Tuesday. 

Then, while you were studying in the library a week later—another victim to you venting about your paper, though it felt like he made an effort to understand—after a long shift and bus ride home, followed by a steady succession of texts for several days straight. 

You thought he was sweet, in his own way—little things that made your heart flutter like butterfly wings and stomach bubble with anxiety because this was bound to crash and burn. But one crooked smile, and you suddenly forgot why guys like him were off-limits.

Sometimes, he’d bring you coffee after long nights of studying, and it made you sway on your feet whenever he’d tuck hair behind your ear after it fell out of place.

You’d find yourself pressed against your soft bed whenever Shoko wasn't around while Geto licked away the little whimpers dripping from your lips. Some days it went further than that, where the messy grinding and needy kisses weren’t enough, and his hand would tease up your skirt to smooth over your drippy-wet cunt through damp underwear. 

However, it didn’t go beyond dry-humping and heavy petting because—

“I’ve never done this before,” you admitted softly, staring up at your speckled ceiling. Too afraid to see the look on his face until the hand still delicately wrapped around your throat suddenly forced your gaze back on him.

It was as if something about him almost shifted, dangerous, eyes as dark as pitch in the soft light of your bedroom lamp. But it dissolved with a syrupy smile as he squeezed your hips. “We’ll take it slow, okay?”

The amount of trust you had for him after only a couple of weeks should be alarming—

You grin at him instead of thinking about it too much. A dumb and foolish part of you held onto the fact that he promised.

And you believed him.

Or wanted to. 

“Slow,” you agreed, kissing the edge of his mouth.

A month goes by, and you could only keep the secret from Shoko for so long before she finally caught you smiling like a love-sick idiot over a text Geto sent one day. She wasn’t as upset as you’d expected; she almost seemed disappointed.

And that was somehow worse.

She warned you not to take anything seriously that came out of Geto’s mouth because he had a habit of running the same script on every girl he met.

“I’ve known him since we were kids, and trust me when I say that he’ll fuck you and forget about it,” she told you, pointing her coffee spoon in your direction.

“Oh.”

Shoko reached over and patted your shoulder at the look of dejection on your face. "I just don’t want to see you get hurt, alright?”

You turned over Shoko’s words in your head because you knew this.

Part of you knew all of this. And yet…

And yet, Geto made it easy to forget.

He texted you that night, inviting you to a party his frat house was throwing.

Are you coming? 

You told him you needed to study for a test coming up. Shoko insisted you go to it anyway.

At the party, you scanned the crowd for a familiar head of dark hair until you got dizzy from turning your head so much. And just when you were about to give up and leave instead, you spotted him from where you stood in the archway to the kitchen, and what you saw had your heart sinking bitterly into your stomach.

It shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise after what Shoko warned you of—how you already knew that he had an assortment of red flags dangling around his head like thick drapes since the moment you met him.

But you hoped that maybe…well.

You watched Geto share a blunt with the girl in his lap, that familiar crooked smile curling his mouth as cherry-red lips wrapped around the end.

Some of you wondered if someone else had looked at you with the same amount of pity when they witnessed you falling so easily for Geto’s soft-spoken words and recycled pick-up lines—the sweet, shy girl who didn’t know any better ensnared in a neatly woven trap.

He caught your wide-eyed gaze from across the crowd with his bloodshot one, though you didn’t stick around long enough to see what he did after that because you were already walking back home.

You were a bit heartbroken, or that was what you called it, for the first few days—ignoring the texts he’d send late at night and leaving for class earlier than usual to avoid bumping into him.

Avoiding him was more difficult than you thought since his friends ran in the same circles as your roommate. And lately, he seemed more interested in movie nights, or somehow, he always needed to borrow notes from Shoko for a class.

Those days, you sat next to Gojo when there was nowhere else to sit in your cramped living room—none the wiser about the fact that Geto had a strained relationship with your new couch mate.

At parties, you no longer paid attention to where he was in the room, choosing to hover by Shoko and her girlfriend the entire time. It was only during a moment of misplaced curiosity that you finally looked over, already finding Geto’s darkened gaze on you, sneering as you talked and laughed with other guys.

Decent guys.

This game of cat and mouse went on for two more months: Geto trying to get you to notice him, and you acting utterly oblivious.

Because it was easier this way, and eventually, this will all get brushed over and become nothing more than a minor slip in your decision-making.

It bothered him for reasons he couldn’t put into words. He could have a different girl warming his bed almost every weekend, and before he met you, he never batted an eye when they stopped talking to him once they found out that he wasn’t interested in anything other than sex.

Yet, here you were, taking over his every thought like a fucking disease.

He saw you walking around campus with guys that were nothing like him—guys that probably didn’t get high five days out of the week, that willingly took you out on proper dates, that bought you flowers and walked you to your door—then he’d creep onto your Instagram and get annoyed by the new number of male friends liking and commenting on how pretty you were.

He shouldn’t care. He didn’t. Really.

But he did.

Geto wondered if you held out for them as you were so hellbent on doing with him or if one of them managed to taint the innocence you wrapped yourself with before he could.

That put a sour taste in his mouth, one he couldn’t wash away with shots of cheap vodka. And after he watched you leave the party with a guy who looked like he didn’t know what to do after getting your underwear around your ankles, Geto decided he needed to find out.

That was one of the worst dates of your life, by far, since the guy didn't even show up. All night, you earned pathetic looks from the restaurant staff while you sat at your table set for two.

What an asshole.

He would get an earful whenever you saw him in your Psych class on Monday. You’d make sure of it.

You washed off your makeup and sticky hairspray, hoping a warm shower would help brighten your sulky mood.

Your soft, fluffy towel was at least a small comfort as you stepped out of your steamy bathroom to get a change of clothes. Only, you stopped dead in your tracks at the sight of Geto lounging on your bed in a black hoodie and grey sweats—his long legs hanging off the edge so he could spread his knees, accentuating the very obvious bulge between his thighs.

He gave you a wry smirk when he caught you staring. 

"Should learn to lock your doors, sweetheart. Never know what kind of creep might sneak in."

Finding him sitting on your bed, uninvited, should terrify you more than it did, and all the alarm bells going off in your head clearly indicate that you should tell him to leave instead of standing there clutching your towel to your chest.

"What are you doing here, Geto?" you asked quietly.

He blatantly ignored your roused suspicion, unable to stop himself from thinking about how cute you looked, skin soft and dewy from the shower you just took, a scowl painted on your features. 

Fuck. He wanted to ruin you, to see how flustered you could get, no matter how many cheap praises he whispered into your ear.

Although tonight, he was set on seeing what you hid behind a thin layer of fabric, finally having what he’d been craving for months. You just needed a little encouragement, that’s all.

Because he was tired of waiting.

Geto sat up, then, now so close that he could reach his hand out and grab your towel. And he did, tugging you closer and watching in amusement as you stumbled between his spread knees on coltish legs.

Finally, he met your gaze: "Isn't it obvious why I’m here?"

You swallowed. "Geto, I—"

He watched your confidence crumble a little when his hands snaked up your thighs under your towel, up, up, up until you were shivering underneath his fingers. 

"I-I made it clear that I didn't want to talk to you anymore."

His brow arched. "Yeah? You don't want to talk to me?” He swiped a thumb through your folds, and you gasped in shock, trembling. “Then why are you so wet?”

Geto could tell that you wanted to deny it, even as he pulled his hand out from under your towel to show off your shiny arousal clinging to his thumb, the pink string lights hanging around your room making it more glaringly obvious.

“I-I’m not—”

“I-I’m not,” he mocked meanly. 

His eyes swam with the same flicker of intensity he showed you that day you told him you were a virgin. Although this time, it swallowed his gaze entirely—the soft brown of his irises washed away by something that had your body betraying you with another rush of slickness between your thighs.

“Get on the bed, pretty girl. Leave the towel on the floor,” he said under his breath, patronizing. “And don’t make me say it again.”

Your back was in an uncomfortable arch as Geto curled over you from behind, large hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise.

“What do they have that I don’t, hm?” 

You ignored how your stomach plunged at the mere fact that he might’ve been jealous, that perhaps he cared just a little.

“Bet you were whoring yourself out for them, huh?” He sneered, grasping your hair and tugging so you were looking up at him upside down. The odd angle had you wincing in discomfort, and he laughed humorlessly. “You know what I think? I think that you’re secretly a little slut.”

“N-not a, ah, not a slut.”

He slapped a hand down against your ass just to hear the sharp cry he knew you couldn’t hold in, enjoying the pretty picture of tears prickling the corners of your eyes. “Liar.”

“M’ not,” you pleaded as the impact of the next blow against your tender flesh had you gasping for air, your empty cunt clenching almost painfully.

Geto smoothed his hand over the curve of your ass, smiling when you flinched. You looked so fucking wrecked, and he hadn’t even done anything yet. “Prove it then,” he said. “Prove that you’re only a fucktoy for my cock.”

You wracked your brain, head too dizzy with how fast this was happening to think properly—

“K-kiss me first,” you babbled.

"How about you beg me first," he threw the word back in your face. 

You didn't answer—everything you wanted to say was choking up in your chest. The smile Geto gave you was uncharacteristically sweet, yet it didn't meet his eyes, and he laughed. “Or are you too dumb to think already?”

“Please, kiss me,” you sniffled, lips wobbling. The sight made Geto’s cock twitch.

So fucking pretty, he thought.

You knew he would at least give you this when his eyes slightly softened.

Then his mouth was on yours. Heavy and unforgiving, teeth clacking and nipping at your lips. The familiarity of his lips soothed the overwhelming feeling in your chest and made you feel like you were touching the ground again. 

He always made your brain scramble whenever he kissed you, turning thoughts into air. And you didn’t even realize that he was lining himself up with your entrance. 

His cock heavily slid against your slit once, twice. Up and down, and back up again. You whimpered when he nudged your clit, parting you open slowly. It nearly gave you whiplash with how gentle he was being compared to how he treated you moments before.

"Open up for me, baby."

It was embarrassing when you parted your knees, showing him a part of your body that nobody else had seen before—

"Ah!" you squealed when he unexpectedly pushed in to the hilt, your walls straining to accommodate the new feeling of fullness and trying to push him out. You cried and squirmed in his hold—the stretch too much as you took big gulps of air to make room where there wasn't.

"Huh, looks like you still had a cute little virgin cunt after all," he grunted, jerking deeper inside.

Geto didn't even give you a moment to adjust to his length before he was roughly pounding into you, his balls slapping against the sore flesh of your ass. And all you could do was lay there and take it.

He loved this part, feeling a virgin pussy stretch around him for the first time. It made his stomach twist and his head fuzzy—he swore it was better than getting high.

Suddenly, he shoved you into the mattress, his hands pressing against your shoulder blades to prevent you from moving. The new angle had his cock going deeper, pushing against a soft spot deep inside you that felt nearly devastating when his tip hit it again and again.

Your thighs were shaking, no longer able to control the lewd noises leaking from your lips. The tight coil in your abdomen had you twitching, only coiling tighter as Geto continuously abused that sensitive spot in your cunt. It was so overwhelming and intense that you nearly burst when Geto reached between your legs to play with your sticky-hot clit.

It twitched violently against the rough pads of his fingers. "'m gonna—"

"Shut up," he sneered, his voice dangerously low before shoving your face further into the mattress with a hand at the back of your neck. "Shut up and cum."

No sounds left your mouth, your body seemingly obeying his command. Your thighs clenched, trying to close, but his broad body prevented you from pushing him away. And then—

“Fuck —look at that,” he groaned as you felt a gush of liquid spray between your legs, splashing his thighs and getting the blankets under you sopping wet. All you could do was sob, overwhelmed by how fast he made you cum.

He gave you a rough thrust, a long whine slipping out of your throat. “Gonna fill this pussy nice and full. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

With your face pressed into your comforter, it prevented you from shaking your head no; the only sound coming out through the mouthful of cotton is an mmph, nearly choking on your own drool.

“I’m ‘gonna make sure everyone knows you’re mine—shit, keep squeezing me.” He released a feral moan. "Just like that! Good girl."

Geto held you still, his mouth attaching to your shoulder to muffle the loud groan rumbling in his chest as his balls twitched and drew up almost painfully. His hips pressed flush against yours to cum as deep as your cunt would allow, trying to make it stick.

"Fuck," he panted.

Afterward, he tangled you up in his arms, his soft cock still nestled in your snug, tacky-wet walls. Cuddling was the last thing you expected, but you decided not to bring it up lest he got upset.

Nor did you say anything when you noticed the small bloodstain on his grey sweats after getting dressed and his slightly bruised knuckles pulling the cotton up over his hips. You never brought it up, not even as your date from Saturday showed up to class with a suspicious swollen lip and a black eye.

And you didn't ask if Geto wanted to hang out after class. It had just been sex—a one-time thing.

He'd already gotten what he wanted and left. That was always how this would play out: no extra dates or late-night texts. Guys like Geto didn’t do str—et cetera.

You knew this. 

You knew.

However, the dark look he shot Gojo when he pulled you into his lap for movie night could make you believe otherwise, that maybe it was more than sex—

—it was probably best just to keep your mouth shut.

A few weeks later, Geto muffled low groans into his shirt caught between his teeth as he fisted his cock to a picture of you—because you were avoiding him again. 

But that was okay, silly, that you ever thought you could. He already had it planned out how he’d have you again, and just the thought of feeling your tight cunt wrapped around him had Geto painting his stomach white.

Aftershock: Trials of Yandere Bakugou

Tags: @bakusquadimagines @inuyasha330 and thank you @sweetnsinfull and @theehoneybunii for the awesome title!!

Cw: mentions of rape, kidnap, stalking, mindbreak, slightly dark content, mentions of panic attacks

please let me know if I missed any tags!!

word count: 2.3k

DAY 1 of the trial Katsuki Bakugou vs. the state of California

9 a.m.

“Please state your name for the court, miss.”

The lawyer’s drawl made you shift in your seat. You had heard it countless times before over the last few weeks. It seems like his voice always rings in your head during the quietest moments at night, always asking questions, always pulling answers. His voice isn’t nearly as haunting as—

“Miss?” The lawyer asks again. Your head slowly pulls up from between where you tucked it in between your shoulders. Your eyes stay down though, stay locked onto the muted blue tie he told you to focus on when things got too tough. The process had barely even started.

Don’t even remember your own name, princess?

You almost answer the lawyer with princess. It was all you heard for the previous 3 years and seven months and six days, besides dumbass and idiot and shit for brains and bitch and worthless cunt and—

You finally spit out the first name that pops into your head. You hope its your own. You can’t really seem to remember.

It is your name, thankfully. Your lawyer just nods, thanks you, and continues on with his line of questioning. Your age, your date of birth, today’s date, do you know why you’re here, do you remember the man’s name who did this to you, could you identify him today?

You can’t lift your head, but you point successfully to the man. He sits cockily, scowls at your shaking finger, legs spread wide underneath the mahogany table.

You didn’t notice the sharp black suit he wore today. You didn’t lift your head to look at him or greet him when he entered the courts today. You didn’t come bounding up to him, wrap your arms around his neck, kiss him sweetly, just like how he trained you to, today. It feels backwards, everything out of order. The balance you finally found in your life, even if it was with a monster of a man, snatched from you only a mere few weeks ago. The balance that took months and months worth of training and beatings, all thrown out of the window just a mere few weeks ago. The balance that you had become grateful for accepting, realizing that this was your place in the world, only a mere few weeks ago.

(Was it wrong for you to think of missing the stability of always greeting him at the door?)

“Can you name that man for me, miss?” The lawyer asks, his voice delicate. He’s seen how you get whenever you have to call him by his full name. Seen the tears, heard the labored breathing, witnessed the panic attacks. You couldn’t remember it at one point in time. The only names that ever rang through that house were Daddy and his princess.

But today, you remember.

“Katsuki Bakugou.” Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth. You’re too afraid to look up, knowing the disappointed scowl and grit he would be giving you for saying his name. You have scars littering your body just from saying his name.

“Can you recount the first time you guys met?” You knew this question was coming. He had warned you that this question was coming. But it still makes your heart rate pick up, still makes tears sting your eyes, still makes you wring your hands together fruitlessly in your lap. You shake your head.

“You can’t recount, miss?” Your lawyer is pulling teeth. You want to apologize for worrying him and stressing him like this, but Daddy always said to stop apologizing if you didn’t really mean it—

You have to clench your eyes shut and suck in a shaky breath to calm yourself. When your eyes do open, they finally meet your lawyers hard gaze. He’s worried, a crease in his brow. More worried about you than the case, in the moment. You wonder how long he’s going to put up with your antics. Daddy always said that no one else would ever put up with your childish fucking antics except for him—

“I-I can.” Your voice is so hoarse, it tickles your throat to speak. Your lawyer nods enthusiastically, encourages you to keep going. You swallow, dare a peak over to the man that sits there and bores holes into the side of your face. Your lawyer side steps before you two can make eye contact.

“Please inform the court the first time the two of you met, miss.” Your eyes squeeze shut, a sob wanting to make its way up your throat. Everyones eyes are on you. Your parents, who have more worry lines around their eyes and mouths than you remember. Your friends, who clench tissues in their fists the moment you first stepped onto the stand. Your old coworkers, neighbors, old teachers you hadn’t seen in years. The court is full.

But the only gaze you could really feel, was his.

…

That morning, you could already tell that something was off. Your alarm never went off late. Your toaster was always set to the same dial, but for some reason, it was changed today. Your window was cracked open, even though it was 48 degrees outside.

Your apartment just felt…off. Like someone had ransacked the place while you were sleep, but put everything back in place the moment you arose. You were on edge the whole morning, and the moment you stepped out of your shower, you knew for a fact that you weren’t alone.

Laid out on your bed, was a matching orange and black lingerie set you had bought on a whim months ago. You had never worn it, some drunken spending one late night after a bad day at work. So what was it doing, laying all pretty and delicate, in the middle of your bed? You had tucked it away in a box the day you got it, and hadn’t opened the box since. Nobody else knew that you had bought it.

With a shaky breath, your heart rate accelerated as you hurried over to your night table, gasping when you realized your phone was no longer there. You always left it in the same spot.

“You brought that set they day I was ranked the Number One Hero. Even though stupid Deku swept the spot a couple weeks later.” You screamed at the first syllable, whipping around to find the source of the mans voice. He was nothing but a shadow standing behind the door, only half of his body and hair barely visible to the early morning light.

“You brought it fo me, hah? Wanted to celebrate my win?” Anyone could recognize that gruff voice anywhere. Could recognize the familiar growl with every word. Could recognize those blood red eyes that tilted up to take in your towel-covered form.

Pro Hero Dynamight. And by his words, you knew he wasn’t here to save you.

…

“So, what you’re saying is, Mr. Bakugou broke into your apartment?” The lawyer asked, starting to stride a few feet in place, always sure to block you from his line of sight. Before you could peel your dry lips open to speak, someone interrupted you.

“Objection.” The voice instantly made you cower, made you shiver in place, made your heart leap to your ears. It was booming, not a yell or a scream that you were so accustomed to. No, it was commanding. Deep and gravelly, gruff and in charge. Your lawyer’s back straightened at the sound.

“The police reports have stated that there was no evidence of a break-in.” The old you would’ve snapped, yeah, no shit, you climbed into my window and stole my fucking key to make a fucking copy of it, all in the matter of an hour. But the you now, the trained and scared and obedient one, sat shaking and silent, eyes casted low to focus on how much you’ve picked at the skin around your nails.

“Sustained.” The judge answered, short and to the point. You could hear your lawyer huff under his breath before fixing his tie and walking to stand in front of you again. He rests his weight on his hands as he leans on the mahogany wood.

“What happened after he made himself known to you, miss?” Again, you fucking knew this question was coming but fuck—you can’t answer it!

Can’t let your family know that he made you drop your towel in front of him. Can’t let your family know that he made you slip the lace panties up your thighs, slip the bra up your arms and onto your shoulders, turn around and let his snap the straps into place. Can’t let your family know that he pressed his erection against your ass, pushed you onto the bed, grabbed your arms in large hands and manhandled you onto your stomach. Can’t let your family know that he ate you out for what felt like hours, ignored your pleas and cries for him to stop. Can’t let your family know that he laughed at you the moment you screamed when he thrusted the first half of his cock in, how you cried bloody murder before he shoved two fingers down your throat. Can’t let your family know that you came around his cock, made a mess of his length, and continued to do so for almost four years after that.

“Miss?” The lawyer’s voice makes you flinch. He takes a step back, hands raised in the air to show you he’s no harm. You can make out the frowns and sympathetic looks the jury gives you from the left of you. It only makes you curl in on yourself more.

“Do I have to say it?” Your voice is meek, barely a whisper made out by the crowd who listens in. You glance over at the judge, her eyes sad and mouth twisted down as she gives you a single nod. Your lawyer leans in to murmur,

“I know it must be hard to think about, but you have to tell us. We just want to know what happened.” He tries to encourage you to look at him, but it only makes you curl into yourself more. Your eyes brim with tears once again, a sniffle that resonates into the mic.

“He,” you swallow, shaking your head as you will the words to just come out, just slip up through your esophagus.

“He t-touched me.”

“In what way?” You could barely get the words out before your lawyer was greedily pulling for more. You couldn’t see much anymore, too many tears that you refused to let slide down your cheeks clouding your vision. Your bottom lip trembled in embarrassment at having to say it all out loud.

“R-raped me. Made me take o-off my towel a-and then he touched m-my breasts and my,” Fuck, you couldn’t finish the sentence. You just couldn’t! Couldn’t tell anyone that it felt weird and foreign not to refer to your vagina as the “princess parts” he had labeled them. It makes you feel so fucking stupid, nothing but the stupid baby he was told you that you were. Never knowing shit else but what he told you, told you that everyone before him had lied to you. That he was the only one that knew everything that was right, that it wasn’t called a cunt or a pussy but your fucking princess parts and that didn’t even fucking make sense but it had sounded right coming from his mouth, everything sounded right coming from his mouth—

“Please take a deep breath for me. Don’t work yourself up, miss.” You hadn’t realized that you were hyperventilating into the mic until your lawyer laid a soft hand on your shoulder. You whimpered, the pain from a dislocated shoulder never fully healing right after Katsuki shoved you down the steps, after you threw yourself down months later when you found out you were—

“I’m sorry. I won’t touch you again, okay?” You’re nodding before the words fully register. The lawyer stares at you for a moment before turning briefly on his heel to bring you a glass of water. During the silence, you remember the count you would use to even your breathing.

In for four seconds, hold for seven, release for eight. In for four seconds, hold for seven, release for eight. In for four seconds, hold for—

A loud sigh interrupts your concentration. It comes from his side of the room, loud and obnoxious. He always needed your attention. Always needed you to constantly look at him and talk to him and praise him for being such a good hero, such a good daddy, such a good caretaker, and soon, such a great father—

Your eyes cut to his before you can stop yourself. He’s already looking at you. Red eyes slitted and narrowed, staring deep into your soul. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you try to bite back the sob that works its way up just from looking at him so defiantly in the eye. You were never allowed to look him in the eye unless he commanded it, or if you were on your knees in front of him.

He smirks before you break eye contact. Your lawyer is setting down a cup of water in front of you a few seconds later. You hold it, let the condensation make your hands wet and slippery, hyper-focusing on the dew that drips down the sides of the cool glass.

“Now, please tell us the first thing you remember after being taken by Mr. Bakugou.” Your lawyer snaps you out of your daze, that same muted blue tie back in your face. You don’t want to think about it. You don’t want to remember. You don’t want to be here.

(Couldn’t they just leave you alone? Let you go back to the normalcy of being beat? Let you continue fighting him for fresh air, and panicking when you realize he’s not holding your hand anymore? Let you go back to being his housewife, even though the therapist keeps insisting that you weren’t a housewife, but a victim? Can everything just go back to his normal?)

Nanami’s entire gym routine revolves around his ability to fuck you. Let me explain:

His program is focused on the practical uses of his muscles.

-Hip thrusts with twice your weight so he can fuck you on his lap with ease.

-Bicep curls so his arms are strong enough to lift you, flip you, restrain you with no effort.

-Pushups and planks so he can maintain his position on top of you for as long as you’d like.

-Every variation of squats and lunges. Solid legs are the foundation for his ability to pound into you mercilessly. It also helps him pin your legs down when he puts you in a deep mating press.

-Squats are also for aesthetic reasons, he knows you can’t resist a nice ass on a man.

-Sit-ups so he can lift himself up to kiss you while you ride.

When he gets back from the gym he repeats his whole routine but this time he’s fucking you.

cw: threesome (mmf), spitroasting, creampie, degradation

Loud moans and deep groans fill your small living room. Katsuki’s eyes move from where your mouth is wrapped around him, shuddering at the sight of Eijirou taking you from behind. His hips begin to rut faster into your mouth, matching the other man’s thrusts. He bites onto his lip to stop the loud whine from escaping his throat as Eijirou's eyes meet his own. Both sets of red hooded with lust, before Kirishima lets out a low, “Fuck,” at the lust filled stare coming from the other man.

Bakugou eyes move back to you, the way you take him fully down your mouth. Feeling the vibrations of your moans shoot up his cock when Eijirou begins to rub your clit in harsh circles. “Such a dirty bitch, takin’ us like this,” Bakugou sneers, hips rutting harsher into you as he feels his release building deep in his core. “Ya like when we use you like this? Make ya our little cock sleeve?”

You whine loudly at that, mouth moving faster, hips pushing Kirishima deeper into your pussy. It’s filthy really, how wet you are. Your cries of pleasure fill the room as Katsuki pulls you off his cock, hands clasping around the back of your neck as yours grip his wrists. His thumbs cradle your chin, brushing softly against your cheek. And fuck- you look so good like this. Getting fucked on another man’s cock. The kiss he pulls you into is nothing short of dirty. Whining and drooling into his mouth as Eijirou angles his hips up, his cock hitting the soft spot deep in you every time he thrusts back into you.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he whispers, “how good it feels taking another man’s cock.”

“So- so good ‘suki. feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah- yes! Yes, fuck, he’s fucking me so good! Gonna make me cum.”

Your eyes roll back as Katsuki begins to move you, using his grip on the back of your neck as leverage to fuck you harder against Kirishima’s cock.

“Go on then, cum for me. Be a good little bitch and milk his fucking cock.”

Mewls and whines spill from both you and Kirishima’s lips at his words. You move a hand from his wrist to wrap around Katsuki’s cock, moving in time with the way he fucks you onto Eijirou. “Fuck- shit, Baku- Kat-Katsuki,” Eijirou moans, “I’m-I’m gonna cum.” His fingers circle your clit faster— harsher. Kirishima’s thrusts becoming sloppy as he nears his end.

“Yeah? Gonna cum in this sloppy fuckin pussy?” Katsuki says, “my fuckin pussy.”

You cry out at his words, walls clenching down on Kirishima as you cum. Mixed whines of both of their names fall from your lips as Katsuki moves you harder on Kirishima, riding out your high. Both men groan your name as they finish, Katsuki rutting into your hand faster as he finishes where you and Eijirou are joined. The feeling of Kirishima stuffing you full of his own release has your eyes rolling back.

“Good girl,” Kirishima whispers to you, rubbing your sides gently.

“Yeah,” Katsuki says in agreement, pressing a kiss to your head, “good fuckin girl.

Men suck! So why not drain their bank accounts for wasting your time?! It would be foolish not to. Even more foolish to push the buttons of a very powerful man in the underground world of Tokyo.

But hey wait! He messaged you first! He wanted you to be his sugar baby so badly it makes him look stupid!

Although Bakugou Katsuki is anything but stupid.

It was supposed to be an easy mark. He followed all of the rules of the unspoken game between sugar baby and sugar daddy. He reached out to you first. He set the time and place for the first date and he asked about your pricing.

To which you told him was a steep two thousand consultation.

Immediately there was a notification with your fee plus a little extra for the expedited meeting in your bank account before he messaged you again.

Wear somethin nice.

His profile was vague as most marks were. Choosing to keep their identity a secret, embarrassed to have to buy a woman's time with their endless cash flow for one reason or another.

Some because of their looks, some their abhorrent attitude, some because they were too busy drowning in their work and some because they just couldn't be bothered for much of anything real only to fall in love after the third date thinking they could buy your heart like they did everything else.

Because at the end of the day all of these marks had something in common. Something to exploit.

They were all terribly lonely.

And despite how forward this mark is, like others have been before him, he was no exception to this rule.

You roll your eyes as you doll up for tonight's meeting. You always wore something nice and appropriate for the setting yet undeniably sexy. Something that made every eye rove over you with the heated gaze of envy. Something that made you everything those men wanted you to be.

A trophy, a status symbol, a yes I'm fucking that.

Scrolling his profile or lack thereof, a little bit more in an attempt to be his perfect baby girl. Knowing that to have a good long lasting con to afford you the luxuries you sat in now, you had to shed your true skin and stuff yourself into something two sizes too small.

Because all men expected that of all women. Of anything of their desire. One must cut away the truest, deepest parts of themselves in order to hold a man's attention span for longer than five minutes. The second you start to look anything relatively human and anything more than a walking sex kitten or cock sleeve is the second they lose interest.

A man often times doesn't want to actually fill the loneliness, not with anything long term, they just want to relieve the ache in their cock.

At least that's all you've ever known and so who was anyone to judge you to exploit them how they exploited others.

Smiling at your reflection as you apply dark eyeliner to your lid, dragging it across your lash line as you go for a more noire mysterious look since you cannot find out much about your potential benefactor. Not that that worried you, you'd worn many skins before.

A recently divorcee, a 'single mom', but most benefactors liked a heavy power imbalance. They lived for the broke college girl act. Showing up in threadbare dresses that were still cute in an old shit box car you'd borrow from a friend and some classical piece of literature those fucks could recognize but knew they'd never read.

Mostly you figured they enjoyed that broke college girl act because they felt they were "helping you build a solid future" all while neglecting their own real daughters at home that they constantly compared you to. Showed you pictures of, similar in age to you and you'd have to stamp down the disgust at these men who probably didn't even know their real baby girl's favorite color.

Absolving themselves of guilt you supposed.

However this new benefactor was something to be excited about, mostly because of the unknown that he seemed to shroud himself in. No interests filled in, no movies or hobbies or songs that he likes.

Not even a profile picture or his name. Just GZ for now and when you checked the banking information on your wire in, it didn't give you any real leads. Received from a business or estate account that google results had no address or number for.

Only his age, 32. Three years your senior.

Which wasn't too bad of a gap well to you anyway, he saw your age as 25 because anything older than that, even one fucking year, men's interest dropped by sixty percent.

Another message comes through the little app.

GZ: Give me your number.

Aggressively forward as you giggle to yourself reading the message, let the read receipts show your interest when you lock your phone and don't reply. Taking the time to apply a nice dark shade of lipstick that made your mouth absolutely sinful as you wore a skin much too close to the real you. Going to your closet for your dress, knowing he was taking you to a very expensive, very highly rated restaurant, most likely to both flaunt and prove he has money.

Zipping up the velvet body con dress with a halter top, the hem stopped just above the knee and you knew it would ride up when you sat down or walked in your black heels with the pearl strap. Pulling on bicep length lace gloves and putting on an onyx ring on your middle finger before adding your pearl necklace to make a suggestion of what he could do to you at the very steep price of seven thousand dollars.

Some men even paid it and even asked to do it in the parking causing them to pay an expedited fee of four thousand. It meant nothing to you and every bit of power they thought they held over you to them.

Opening a drawer to your vanity all with unused pairs of underwear. Choosing a black lacey pair where the ass would be half exposed by lace and strings digging around for the to go tide pen so you could lightly bleach the crotch to make it seem as if they'd been worn all damn day "just for him"

Fuckin gag me.

Your phone pings again, another notification from the SDSB app.

GZ: I don't like waiting, Sweetheart, give me your number.

This time you reply but only after looking over your outfit in the mirror, debating if he'd be into stockings and ripping them before you realize it might make you look a little too conservative for his tastes.

Bbgrl: tell me what GZ stands for and I'll give you those special digits

GZ: I don't barter

Bbgrl: Everything comes at a cost. You know this otherwise you wouldn't be messaging me.

You watch the bouncing bubbles pop up before his quick reply.

GZ: Ground Zero

GZ: Now give me your fuckin number Princess.

Bbgrl: maybe in person, Mr Zero.

Not giving away your actual number was your number one rule and because the last sugar daddy you cut off went full tilt you had to disconnect your other phone and just hadn't had a chance to get a burner yet.

Picking up a small clutch purse you shove inside your lipstick for the night, your phone, the doctored pair of underwear and you don't even bother to bring any sort of wallet.

Walking to a public place a block or so from your luxury condo before you flag down a cab giving them the address as the man smiles down at your cleavage. Enjoying the view in the rearview and it's a wonder he doesn't crash and kill you both. Leaning down to meet his gaze with a disarming smile, wearing a skin to protect both you and him from harm as you force a giggle.

"Eyes on the road silly." When really you wanted to take the knife strapped to your ribs and slit his throat for thinking he even deserved to stare at you like that.

You wore this dress for attention yes but there is a fine line between appreciation of a body and straight up eye fucking you.

And just because you wore this dress didn't give him the right to stare. Counting down from ten as you have pretty visions of gouging his eyes out only for him to pull up right to the restaurant, acting as if he was going to get out and help you.

"No need." You smile politely, "And the fare?"

You look at the triple zeros and his eyes flash to it in embarrassment, so busy eating you alive with his eyes he forgot to start it.

"On the house for a pretty lady."

Forcing a smile as you give him a thanks, leaving the cab as quickly as you can before you walk inside, twenty minutes late for the date.

Tardiness was a big part of the game, whether it agitated them or made them anxious, it would certainly place a little more power on your initial interaction. Gaging their reaction to your power play always determines how you'll respond. Clueless, lost, down right stupid.

The hostess gives you a warm smile as she welcomes you into the restaurant asking of your party size. You're quick to tell her you're here for GZ.

"Or maybe under the name Ground Zero if the initials are too vague." You smile and watch the hostess blanche a moment before she fixes her face.

"Right this way." Expect she doesn't lead you all the way over there, stops just before the darker corner of the restaurant making a gesture with her hands and you chalk it up to nerves. That maybe he owned the whole fucking restaurant.

Watching his large palm swirl a bourbon straight, watch his other heavily ringed hand card through his ash blonde locks.

"Mr Zero?" You ask with a cat like smile, coming to stand beside the table. He glares up at you either oblivious or acting it as you wait for him to pull out your chair.

"Yer fuckin late Princess." He doesn't wait you out though can tell from a glance you'll stand there with your sexy ass heels rooted to the hardwoods of the restaurant before you'd ever sit down. He doesn't give in, this just happened to give him a chance to show his stature. He slams his drink down, clattering the water glasses and your wine glass filled with a pinkish color. Most likely something sweet. For a moment it makes you wonder if he read your profile considering most men didn't bother and showed it often on their first dates that they hadn't when they ordered you red wine. Which you had as your top dislike.

When he rises he's much much bigger than you. Tall enough you have to crane your head up to look at him, broad shoulders and now that he's fully facing you you can see his scarred face. A deep fissure of discolored skin from just over his eyebrow cutting through his eye flaring over his cheek before tapering off at his throat before it meets another deep scar that's hidden under his shirt.

He didn't even bother with a dress jacket, only a dress shirt, black, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows exposing his tattoos and even more scars, his black vest if swirling velvet on the front only emphasizes his broad chest and tapered waist.

He stands there a moment watching you take him in and he cannot lie he is surprised. Most women cowarded at his size especially when they see his scar and his half clouded bromine eye but you just smile. Maybe even a bit of excitement flashed in your eyes but you stand unmoving still that fuckin cat smirk on your dark stained lips.

"My chair, Mr Zero." You remind him and he snarls, leaning in close to your face tipping your chin up to him. It's here you realize how large his hands are, especially when the other settles at your ribcage a moment. You just hope he doesn't feel the knife nestled there and take it as a threat to himself.

"I told you I didn't like waiting." He growls, "So what makes you think Imma continue this date?"

"You're still here aren't you? Besides," You half guide him by moving your face gently from his grip, stepping towards your chair and he follows, "You wouldn't want to cancel a date with such a pretty girl would you?"

"A pretty woman." He corrects with a growl, pulling back your chair and shoving it in roughly when you sit, leaning behind you to whisper in your diamond clad ear, "Yer no girl that's for sure."

As if to say a predator recognizes a predator but you feign ignorance.

"Year?" You ask, smelling your wine before taking a sip. It's fruity, peach you realize with hints of citrus and angel food cake.

"Didn't ask." He bites waiting for you to ask where the menus were, he makes eye contact with the waiter to signal to start their meals. Oblivious, you take another sip of this amazingly delicious wine.

"Bit of a dessert wine isn't it?" You comment, usually men would blunder by now realizing they aren't as prestigious or well versed as they pretended to be but this man proves to be different once again.

"Peach pairs well with spicy and smokey." Glaring right back at you before a mean smile curls his lips, "Unless ya lied twice on your profile."

You set the wine glass down thanking the waiter when they leave fresh bread. Zero is faster than you grabbing for the crusty pre dinner treat as he butters the rich white center before placing the slice on your plate before starting his own.

"Hmm, I haven't lied on my profile." You refuse to touch his offering for now.

"Sweetheart, you may look twenty five but I know that you're closer to thirty than what you want to admit." There's that cruel smile of his again.

"It's quite rude to make a woman seem older than what she is. Touchy subject ya know?" Going back to sipping your wine as you've decided you may need a buzz to endure this date, "Or maybe you don't have a lot of experience with women. Is that why I'm here?"

Smirking over the vein protruding from his throat but the satisfaction only lasts so long, thoughts rounding back to wondering how the fuck he knew your real age and so quickly.

Suddenly you feel his fingers wrapping around the back of you knee as he pulls you forward leaning over the table.

"Haaah? Ya think I don't have experience with women? Oh sweetheart I could have you begging to take my cock in this bathroom in under ten minutes. But I need you for somethin else." He lets his bruising grip go when he sees a flash of the real you, sees your pretty lip snarl in disgust before you fix your face so quickly it would have him wondering if he ever saw that snarl or not.

He thinks he likes this version more than what his right hand picked out from your profile.

Your profile was vague but your photo album was filled with a lot of photos that men could easily project on or imagine themselves with you. Looking demure, easy going, a submissive.

Really Bakugou can tell you're a fucking brat at best and far from demure.

"Is that true Mr Zero? Sex on the first date is quite expensive." You smile cutely, make it a giggle all while the steak knife whispers to you that it belonged shoved through his hand on the table.

"I bet it is sweetheart." He spits back.

"So…our contract?" You're ready to rush this along thinking that maybe this benefactor isn't going to work out and that you'll have to save your underwear for another time.

He leans back, finally looking a little more relaxed as you bring up business as if contracts and dealings were part of his expertise. Taking a sip of his bourbon as he looks you over in that fine velvet dress he imagines on the floor of his expensive bedroom.

"Dunno can ya behave long enough to talk about it?" Deadly smirk on his lips now, one that makes your stomach clench.

"I always behave, Mr. Zero." A purr, one that changes the tone of the entire dinner, at least for now.

A light scoff but he's smiling, genuinely and he looks so handsome like that. His eyes catch something you don't see before the waiter comes over with two starter salads.

You look down at the fresh bed of greens matching his and try not to grimace that he's most likely ordered dinner for you. Hating when benefactors took it upon themselves as they never paid enough attention to order even remotely right.

"Let's see how dinner goes first yea, princess? Gotta make sure I like it before I buy it." A clear taunt and stab at you to which you give a tight smile. Him placing himself above you but you were determined at the very least to secure the after dinner deposit fee from him that was clearly stated on your profile.

Any dinner lasting longer than two hours or is set after eight thirty pm is considered to be equal to two consultation fees.

He already violated the time since he messaged you at exactly six pm tonight and you were always sure to take your time getting ready.

But you had to finish the fucking date first.

"Okay." Agreeing without issue as you bite your tongue. Finishing your salad and your wine, asking him to order you another glass. Batting your eyelashes and for a second you see his face flash with something other than his gruff nature. Standing with the brief explanation of "freshening up."

Annoyed as you enter the ladies room, looking at your reflection as if to share a what the fuck glance with a friend before rooting around in your bag. Touching up your lipstick, spraying yourself with a bit of your perfume that made all the men insane for you before turning your attention to your hair.

Making sure it was still in perfect placement as you angle your pretty face this way and that. Clutch open on the vanity, the dummy pair of underwear threatening to fall out. Checking your account to see if the rest of this date was worth it when you see your stipulation fee is sitting in your account despite the date only being an hour long thus far.

Figuring you'll make this date worth it now, mostly curiosity getting the best of you over what is going to make this contact so fucking special he's more than willing to pay everything upfront.

To deal with your more cheeky side you used to scare off weaker men.

Clawed fingers curling around the soft pair of underwear, rubbing them between your hands vigorously to make them warm to the touch. To have him thinking that this sexy lingerie style underwear was nestled right to your cunt.

Balling them up as you make your way out of the bathroom while the waitresses gossip over the fact that some violent ringleader was dining there tonight and that he was "dangerously hot." Hushing when they see you pass the refreshment nook before you make your way back to the table.

Thankfully his left hand with all his rings is resting on its side on the table giving you more than enough space to press the warm fabric into his palm and curling his fist around it before sitting back across from him. Giving a flirtatious smile to the large blonde who turns his hand to see what you placed into his palm. Smirking and shaking his head as he looks down at the fabric.

Unfurling it with his large hand and seeing the pair of underwear with a little spot on the crotch that makes him chuckle.

You look over your meal that's been set out, can tell he was polite enough to wait for you as the aroma of spicy smoked meat sits before you. Breathing deeply and hating to admit that you'd actually like this dish. Picking up your fork as you let him become dumbfounded over the thought that you were bare under your dress when that was far from the truth.

Bakugou leans over the very expensive meal on the small table. Grabbing at your jaw a bit tightly so he can turn your face to husk in your ear.

"Now gimme the ones you're actually wearing, Princess." He growls, pulling back to hold out his hand expectantly.

Feigning innocence you look up at him and bat your eyelashes since that worked earlier, even letting your eyes get a little glassy.

"Wh-what are you talking about Mr. Zero?" Voice soft and going softer still when you add, "Those are my underwear. I wore them just for you."

He laughs loudly in your face and his grip tightens, mouth back at your ear with a deadly tone. A mix of playful flirtation and restrained anger.

"Now Princess, 'fore I get mad."

It sends a chill down your spine and a jolt to your cunt. Breaking your facade entirely when you let sharp nails bite into his thick wrist as you yank away your face. Looking around trying to come up with an excuse that this was too much of a public place before he adds.

"We're secluded enough." Letting his fingers wave impatiently with his palm up. Your eyes widen as you see how serious he is. Unable to hide the snarl on your lips or the flash of deep seeded anger in your eyes as you obey a benefactor's command instead of tricking them into thinking they had control.

Shimmying up your little bodycon dress, hooking sharp clawed thumbs into the band of the underwear to bring it down past your thick thighs that part for just a moment exposing your pretty mound to Bakugou by accident. It makes saliva coat his tongue and his cock twitch in his expensive pants.

Quickly fixing the hem of your dress that still tries to ride up thanks to your hips and thighs, balling up the black underwear and slapping it into Bakugou's waiting palm harshly. The corner of his lip curls up as he realizes it's a thong, much better than the dummy pair you gave him moments ago.

"You're such a fuckin pervert." You cross your arms over your chest, pushing up your tits giving the ash blonde a snarling pout. Wholly forgetting about your dinner now as you look away from him, can't believe he's won this round.

"Yea? Who's fault is that? Yer the one who gave me a clean pair of underwear to make me love sick for ya so I'd cough up all my cash." He makes no move to pocket the thin pair of underwear you've just given him, making your eyes dart to look for the approaching waiter, "This work on most men Sweetheart?"

"Tsk, yes." You scoff, "Then they send me whatever I fuckin want."

Pushing away a bit, thinking of leaving from how condescending his tone is. Inspecting the first pair you've given him now that he has the actual pair you'd been wearing, looking closely at the crotch.

"Did ya use a bleach pen on these 'fore ya came in?" He laughs when he watches your face blanch, most men couldn't tell. Just thought it was real and went with it, asked for more.

The waiter starts to come back to the table with another glass of Bakugou's bourbon and your wine, trying not to crack. Shoving down the panic and letting your nails bite into your palm letting crescent moons form in your soft skin. To try not to shove his hands into his lap to save you the embarrassment because the last thing you want him to know is that he's actually getting under your skin. He looks over his shoulder to follow your gaze, feral smile on his mouth.

"Besides, who's the real pervert here, Me for enjoying a pretty woman's time," He rolls the dark fabric around in his hand, still warm from your cunt and when he gets to the crotch it's damp, sticky, "Or you, for getting off to playing some dumb ass men outta thousands."

"I'm not-"

"Not what? Wet?" He laughs, letting his thumb slide through the slick of your underwear, uncaring that the waiter is here now. Setting down the drinks and forgoing asking how the meal was quickly slipping away in hopes of not bothering Ground Zero.

"Sweetheart I bet I could run my fingers through that sticky cunt and everyone in this restaurant would hear it." Bringing his thumb up to his mouth licking at it as one would to get sauce off their fingers, his eyes flutter and suddenly your cheeks burn.

"You're insufferable." You hiss, crossing your legs now, still unable to look at him.

"Ya know, I hate liars." He tosses your fake pair of underwear, pocketing the thong you wore with one hand while the other swirls his drink, "Ya've lied three times now."

"I have not."

"Ya have. Yer age, yer whole personality, yer underwear." He lists them on his fingers and funny enough you chose to die on only one of those hills.

"I am twenty five." You hiss, grabbing at your wine and downing it in three swallows.

"But yer not." He chuckles, eyes flicker to your face, you don't have foundation on, going for a mostly natural look, and Bakugou has good eyes where most men didn't, "Ya've got crows feet sweetheart. Seems like ya've smiled a lot in your life."

Reflexivity you go to hide the corner of your eyes, they crease heavily when you really smile. Everyone who knew you, actually knew you, always made the comment of "you smile with your eyes."

"Ah come on they're barely noticeable and nothin to be ashamed about." He chuckles, pulling at your wrists so he could see your face again, "Gimme a smile."

"Fuck off." You hiss waving him away dismissively trying to regain control, "The contract Mr Zero."

He sighs, annoyed as he leans back, "We haven't finished dinner."

"I'd like to skip to dessert." A snarling hiss as you push away what was probably the best meal you could've ever had.

"Oh would you?" Deadly smirk, "I could skip to dessert iffin ya want. In my car or the bathroom, your pick Princess."

"Again you're fucking insufferable." You make motion to stand, to leave, only for his strong hand to catch your wrist and pull you into his lap making this somehow worse.

"What's wrong? Embarrassed now?" He tilts your chin to him and you squeeze your eyes shut in defiance he chuckles lowly, "Tell me yer real age and I'll stop teasing, for now."

You open your eyes to glare at him for a long, long time. No judgment in those bromine eyes as he patiently waits for your answer. You sigh, scratching roughly at his undercut with your long nails whether it was a strategic move or your fingers having a mind of their own, you weren't sure. The only thing you were sure of was that this man was trouble.

Big trouble.

Yet you answer honestly anyway.

"Twenty nine." It's soft, genuinely this time as if you might be a little embarrassed about it when you know you shouldn't. He smiles up at you, letting his thumb linger at one of the corners of your eyes before he lets his fingers trace your face down to your jaw.

"See, won't so bad to admit it was it?" Genuine gentle tone, his hand on your hip squeezing at the fat there.

Your heart races and that foreboding feeling creeps up your throat as you're slowly realizing that you are no longer the one who was hunting.

No, no, now you were being hunted.

Nails bite harshly into his nape as you stand, snarl to your lips and all he can do is chuckle at your flippant attitude.

"M leaving." Holding out your manicured hand, "Give me my underwear back."

"No, I paid for it." He growls really spurring on your temper now.

"All you men are the same. Pigs who want to keep their dicks wet." A scoff as you snarl your pretty lips.

"And I can say all women are the same. Bitches who want to keep their pockets full." He retorts forcing your sharp claws to grab onto the cheeks of what you don't realize is the most powerful man in the entire country.

Even making sure your nails bite into the skin of his cheeks, "I don't need your fucking money."

"Then why're ya here sweetheart?" He smirks up at you, grabbing onto your wrist tightly.

"Fuck you. You don't know me." Shoving his face and escaping his tight grip before you begin to stomp from the restaurant with your head held high.

"You'll be crawling back to me, princess." He calls out with a chuckle.

"I won't!" You send a snarling growl back, unable to get through the too quiet dining room to the exit of the five star place.

Hissing through your teeth with an echoing groan as the night air hits you doing little to cool your temper while you hail a cab.

Pulling up the sugar baby app on your phone going to his profile to block him but before you can a message pops up.

GZ: See ya in two months sweetheart.

You'd never blocked a mark faster in your entire life.

But the thing you don't know about him yet is that Bakugou Katsuki always kept his promises.

A/N: yay! You've gotten to the end! Thank you so much for reading! Now I have plans to make this a series however I'm not very good at long term things if I'm being honest. Lmfao but please! If you liked or loved this reblog it! I'd love to hear in my inbox or in the body of the reblog or even in your tags of your reblog what you thought of this!

“Whore.”

You could’ve sworn the teacup in your hands cracked a little from how hard you’re gripping it. If you were Illumi, it would’ve shattered into a fine powder by now. But you’re not, which makes you susceptible to being called such things.

They’re at it again. You’re unsure as to what you’ve done to upset some of the butlers and maids, but god do they not like you. No matter. You hate everyone in this stupid boring ugly manor anyway. Huh. Maybe that’s why they hate you, too.

It must’ve been a shock to see Illumi of all people one day bring home his future wife. One he never cared to mention to anyone else beforehand, and one that was still kicking and screaming over his shoulder.

You’re not really sure how long you’ve been here. Months? A year now? However long it’s been, it didn’t take anytime at all to realise that maybe you’re not as safe here as Illumi swears you to be. His mother most definitely hates you, but, oh well, she’s never really tried anything, as far as you know.

The help started muttering things when Illumi wasn’t around, things that hurt more than you wanted to admit. When you didn’t go running off to Illumi at the first few instances of it, it got worse, as though they knew you would never tell him about it.

First off, you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being your saviour when someone says mean things to you. Secondly, you may hate these assholes, but you have a conscience.

Only last week Illumi came into your shared bedroom, absolutely drenched in blood, asking if you could shower together. You quickly found out that whoever he had been torturing wasn’t dead yet, and he still had more to do.

Thinking about what Illumi does to people he doesn’t care about, those he’s only hurting for a job, makes you shiver at the thought of him actually harming someone who did him, or you, wrong. But, despite your mercy on them, this time you’re considering just telling him. Only a little.

You’ve had a notably stressful day, being pranced around by his mother who’s insistent on ‘training’ you to be the perfect wife for her son. Her explaining to you that the family expects at least six children from you both had you rushing to the bathroom to vomit.

Then you ran into his father, on your way back to your room. He doesn’t seem to actively dislike you, but he scares the absolute shit out of you. The man seems to think you’re some house pet rather than an actual person with thoughts and feelings, but you suppose that’s a modicum better than wanting you dead.

You also bumped into Illumi’s grandfather. You’re not sure if you can bring yourself to hate him, but you do hate the look of pity in his eyes whenever he sees you. Sometimes he’ll save you from a lecture Illumi’s mother is giving you, so he’s nice in that regard. He’d never free you, though, so he’s just another kidnapper you can’t become friendly with.

You eventually got back to your room, expecting a nice nap before being forced to attend family dinner, only to find Illumi had gotten back earlier than expected. You cringed at how hungry he was, and not for food, but just allowed him to do as he wished. You were too tired to argue. After he was done, he seemed to take note of how quiet and exhausted you were. Too bad, dinner time. You hated dinner times more than anything else.

You ate the admittedly lovely food in pure silence, but quickly became sick to your stomach at hearing Illumi and his mother discuss the prospects of you becoming pregnant. You didn’t eat anymore after that. You’re pretty sure his brother, Milluki, made some comment about you that Illumi didn’t like, which explains why his wrist was snapped in half a few seconds later.

Illumi tried spoon feeding you when noticing how full your plate was, but you managed to convince him that you weren’t hungry. That got you another lecture from his mother about how you’ll soon be eating for two. You were tempted to tell her that if you ever got pregnant you’d throw yourself into Mike’s jaws, but managed to refrain.

After that, you finally got to go to bed. It wasn’t something you were looking forward to anymore; you struggled to sleep when Illumi was home because he’d spend the majority of the night just staring at you.

“Can I go outside?”

You don’t remember why you blurted it or where the thought came from, but you remember the confused blink Illumi gave in response.

“Um.. just for.. ten minutes? O-Or five..? I just want to sit in the garden by myself for a bit… If not, it’s alright..”

You hated how pathetic you sounded, unsure as to what Illumi was thinking when he stared at you with that expressionless face.

“Alright.”

“What?”

“Would you like me to ask a maid to bring you out a cup of tea?”

You didn’t really think about his words too much, just happy you got something your way for once, and nodded rather enthusiastically. You should’ve said no.

The first few minutes of being in the garden, sat on the bench and allowing the cool nights breeze to settle on your skin had you relaxing for the first time in a while.

“Your tea, mistress.”

Oh. It was one of the ones you were sure hated you, and behind him was another. Oh, well. You took the tea from his hands, thanking them nonetheless.

It was much more bitter than you liked it, but you didn’t complain. You didn’t really want tea in the first place. They didn’t leave, but you didn’t complain. Illumi probably asked them to watch over you, maybe to make sure you didn’t try to run. It’s alright, you still have a nice view to relax with.

“Whore.”

Your eyes widen a little, and your grip on the cup increases. They continue muttering amongst themselves, but you catch small, demeaning phrases that you’re certain are aimed at you.

Why are you a whore? You’d never even had sex before you met Illumi, and if you had, it wouldn’t be their business. You’re hardly allowed to interact with anyone other than who Illumi allows you to. Where would you have the chance to sleep around? The insult doesn’t make much sense.

That’s what you tell yourself, despite the fact that your shoulders and hands are shaking and you feel something cold and wet running down your cheeks.

Shit.

You put the cup on the floor, hands moving to cover your face and wipe away any evidence of tears. Illumi hated when you cried.

Why are you still crying? What they said doesn’t make any sense. Stop crying, enjoy the view. You don’t have long left before you have to go back inside.

You’re still crying. You don’t notice that it’s gone eerily silent aside from your own muffled sobs, too busy working on shutting yourself up.

“[Name].”

Shit. Shit!

He’s been sat next to you for god knows how long now, and you didn’t even realise. God, this sucks.

“Why are you crying?” Illumi asks, and you can feel him move closer to you on the bench.

“I-I’m not,” you say, a hand still covering your eyes. What excuse do you give? If you say hay fever will he never let you out in the garden again? If you say you have a cold, will he keep you inside your bedroom for a few weeks? Months?

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel him staring at you.

“Would you like to stay outside for a bit longer?”

Oh.

“Ye-Yeah. Y-Yes please,” you eventually reply, gulping down another sob.

He doesn’t leave, but you’re less bothered by his presence than usual. Despite it being… him, it’s not horrible to have some company, even though you’d never admit it out loud.

You’re not sure how long you sit outside before he stands, prompting you to do the same. Neither of you say anything, not until you reach your bedroom and Illumi tells you in a tone softer than you’d usually hear from him that he has something he must do, so you’ll be sleeping alone tonight.

You turn to go to bed, but he grabs your wrist. He doesn’t look at you for a moment, seemingly considering something. Then, he stiffly leans forward, pressing his lips to your forehead rather robotically. Sometimes you wonder if he is a robot, it really would explain a lot.

The kiss ends soon after it begins.

“Get some rest. You look bad.”

You huff a little, but can’t bring yourself to actually be offended due to the thinly veiled concern in his tone.

The sleep you get is better than you expected. Maybe not having a mass murderer eyeing you up while you try and rest is a reason for that.

Illumi doesn’t show up for the entirety of the next day, which is a little strange. He likes seeing you off in the morning, giving you a kiss before he departs - you’re certain he copied it from a romance movie you used to enjoy watching from time to time. You don’t question his absence too much, you don’t exactly enjoy his company, after all.

The day you have is better than the last. Illumi’s mother seems to be a bit less of a bitch than usual. That’s a win in your book.

It doesn’t take long for you to be back in your warm bed, wrapped up in covers and drifting off to sleep.

You wake up to the feeling of something wet hitting the tip of your nose, and quiet breathing above you.

“Are you awake?”

You are now. It’s pitch black in the room, but you can make out Illumi looming over, his hair framing around you like some makeshift cage.

Still sleepy, you groan a little, “Illumi? What… time is it?”

Something wet hits the bed.

“2:57 AM.”

Huh. You breathe in through your nose. Illumi absolutely reeks. Metallic, is it? You’re not sure it’s the best idea to comment on it.

“Oh. Okay.”

Another drip of something onto the blanket. He doesn’t seem to be in the talking mood.

“Have I done something wrong?”

“… Yes.”

Another.

You gulp. “Are you mad at me?”

“I don’t think so.”

Another drip, this time it hits your arm.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

You could’ve sworn you saw his eyes narrow in the darkness.

“No.”

The silence is deafening. Your hands clutch onto the end of the blanket. He leans impossibly closer, and the stench of whatever is on him becomes all to familiar. He’s smelt like it before, but never this strong.

“How long were the help bothering you?”

“Since I got here.” There’s little point in trying to lie about it now.

“If you hide something from me again I’ll break three of your fingers.”

A little specific, but the threat certainly does the job.

“Okay. I’m… sorry.” You’re not.

Finally, he pulls away, eyes still trained on your face.

“Go to sleep.”

You don’t. You’re certain that you can’t, at least not for tonight. Especially not after hearing him turn the shower on, and after he’s done leave the room once more.

Instead, you sit and stare at the ceiling, and wonder if any of those in the basement will even have three fingers left of them, by the time he’s done.

Secret boyfriend!Bakugo, who is meticulous about keeping your relationship discreet, goes above and beyond in being overprotective to maintain its privacy.

Secret boyfriend!Bakugo, who diligently makes his way to your apartment every evening once his shifts conclude, ensures your time together is a cherished part of his routine.

Secret boyfriend!Bakugo, who secretly adores cuddling, finds solace in laying with his head nestled on your tummy or lap as you gently run your hand through his spiky hair.

Secret boyfriend!Bakugo, who cherishes intimate moments, savoring slow, vanilla sex with you. He holds you close, telling you how perfectly you fit around his thick, heavy cock.

Secret boyfriend!Bakugo, who adores your unique scent and warmth, reveling in it when he goes down on you. His head nestles between your thighs, and he delights in the sensation of your legs gently squeezing his head as he skillfully brings you to the brink of climax.

Secret boyfriend!Bakugo, who can't help but moan like a whore whenever you kiss his neck or hands, shivering under your gentle touches.

Secret boyfriend!Bakugo, who radiates pure happiness upon learning you're pregnant. He eagerly anticipates the sight of your belly growing round with the new life.

Secret boyfriend!Bakugo, who finally decides to make your relationship public when you're around halfway through your pregnancy, proudly sharing the joyous news with the world.

Secret boyfriend!Bakugo, who, during the press conference you both attended, tenderly holds his hand over your baby bump in a protective manner while answering the reporters' questions.

[ nsfw ] - no penetration ; dry humping ; a hint of virgin bakugou bc i said so (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ ; a little angsty at the end

[ word count ] - 3.3k

[ part two ]

childhood best friend bakugou is probably a wrestler. a lil' rough-houser.

games of tag end with you tackled to the ground, squashed underneath him until you finally agree that he's the king of the world. whenever your hair is long enough to pull back into a pony-tail or little bun, he's yanking on it to get your attention, harsh, especially if you're ignoring him to talk to anyone else. scraped knees and bruised elbows, coming home missing a single shoe, shirt stretched out and wrinkled at the bottom corner: all katsuki's fault.

it makes you a little volatile, too, in turn.

not so much as him, but you grow up defending yourself; the first black eye he gets is from you (if you don't count the time he hit himself in the face by accident, when you'd started a slap-fight because he was trying to hold you down) and you very quickly learn how "unfair" it (apparently) is to kick him in the groin. your parents spend a lot of time separating you, putting you in opposite corners of the room until one of you stops crying and the other is ready to mumble out an apology. you're not allowed to sit next to each other at holiday events. whatsoever. under any circumstances.

he's your best friend. you wouldn't have it any other way.

in middle school, he's just as insufferable, hardly allows you to talk to any of your girl friends without butting in some how, too loud for anyone's own good. he tries to embarrass you in front of other boys, puts you in a headlock even when he's sweaty — which he is a lot at that point, during puberty — and calls you names that make you want to hide in the bathroom.

("why is he such a jerk?" your friends will ask, brushing out the tangle he leaves in your hair so they can french-braid it during lunch. all your butterfly clips are either missing or broken, crunched under bakugou's scrawny arm. "you should tell on him for being such a bully.")

nobody else treats you the way he does, and you don't treat anyone else that way, either; you never make ugly faces at your girl group, never punch them as hard as you can in the arm, aiming to leave a bruise. with all other classmates, you're — normal, trying to discover what that even means in the grand scope of things, who you want to be as the years pass. you avoid bakugou and his little posse of brats like the plague, because detention is what awaits both of you, should your paths ever cross.

things start to change, seriously, in high-school.

bakugou goes to u.a and you — don't; instead you continue on to the shizuoka high-school without him, along with your group of girls. his time at home and in the neighborhood lessens, even moreso when he moves into the dorms on campus, and the only time you see him becomes those few and far in-between family visits he has time to make; some holidays, he doesn't come home at all.

at first you think it's a good thing, because you've never gotten to flourish while trapped in his armpit. yanking at his hair until he finally lets go in the middle of the hallway has always garnered you some weird looks, odd stares, and you finally stop being labeled aggressive, too, with him gone. boys can talk to you without being stalked by your angry, wiry, chihuahua of a best friend, and you go on dates, ride in cars, have your first kiss.

you miss him from time to time, though you'll die before admitting it, and the yearning doesn't last long whenever he does come home. even when you're seventeen, eighteen, he still lays on the couch and puts his stinky feet in your lap and in your face, purposely puts things too high up on your shelves, leans against the front door so you can't get out when it's time to leave.

(he becomes an immovable object, much to your annoyance; in the past, you've always stood somewhat of a chance against him, knowing all his weak spots, like the clump of hair at the crown of his skull and how ticklish he is on his thighs, but now, after all the training he's been doing — he's huge, unfortunately.

if he grabs your wrists in one hand — like he's never been able to do — and holds them above your head, you're useless to defend yourself; there is an absolutely zero-percent chance you'll ever manage to overthrow him if he sits on you; tickling him is impossible, because his thighs have gotten so muscular that it's hard to grab him, and even if you do manage it, he can nearly crush your hand if he closes his legs together.

bakugou doesn't even look like your scrawny best friend anymore; he looks like the guy that ate your scrawny best friend.)

you graduate and go to college. bakugou graduates and goes to work for best jeanist, in the heart of tokyo. seeing each other means planning on it, making an effort neither of you have ever had to, and there's a lot of radio silence for months at a time. somehow it always comes full circle, though, and it always ends in violence, because you two don't know any other way to be.

you're twenty the first time his touch becomes tight, bruising, purposeful — for new reasons.

it's one of the few times he's off, and you haven't seen each other since his mom's dinner party four months ago. you only agree to come over because his patrol route had taken him through your campus and you'd spotted him across the street in the early hours of the morning, after you got out of class.

now you're both tired, lazing around despite planning to get lunch once the heat died down. together doing nothing; sometimes it's a little alarming how easily the two of you fall into each other, but you've been doing it for so long that it doesn't take a second thought.

bakugou strolls out of his bathroom with damp hair, in nothing but a loose pair of sweats, and you're laying on his couch half-asleep and he puts his wet towel over your face and you ball it up and throw it at him and then he tries to whip you with it.

"stop," you groan, serious, "you're so annoying." when he only twists it tighter, you stick your arm and leg out, deflecting against the wet smack he tries to leave against your skin.

his sharp teeth flash with his ugly little grin, and you try to grab the towel twice, ending up with an angry, stinging lick up the inside of your arm, before he gets too close and you can finally yank it from his hands. you sit up to get a better angle, but you're not as quick as he is, as adept at being a brat, and when he yanks on the towel, your whole body nearly comes off the couch, arms almost coming out of their sockets.

"bakugou!" you squeal, and he cackles, evil, and grabs your hands when you try to smack him. your massive, stinking, freight train of a best friend deposits his entire body on yours, crushing your lungs with his back as you cough, "get off!"

he doesn't say anything, choosing to pretend he's watching whatever is on tv and that he can't hear you — which you could believe, because bakugou likes trash television more than he lets on — and your hands are trapped at your sides and you can't breathe and so you bite him, right in the neck.

"ow, fuck!"

when he moves, he moves fast, and you're only hope of retaliating before he flips around and grabs your wrists and holds you down is to roll the both of you off the couch. his body thuds, deep and heavy, against the carpet, and you trap his hands beneath your knees as you straddle his hips, adjusting your full weight so you can at least try and keep him down.

beneath you, bakugou sneers. "you've got five seconds t'get off me before—"

"one!" you shout obnoxiously, rolling your eyes just to hear his annoyed snort. "two! three! f—"

his body snaps up into a sitting position, nose bumping yours as he rips his hands from beneath your legs. a scream tears out of your throat as you wiggle, surprised, trying your best to stretch your arms over your head and around your back so he can't grab them; if he does, it's game over for you.

"stop!" you shout, choking out a shock of laughter when he brings his legs up, trapping you in his lap against his chest. a little grunt leaves him as you jostle, but the tension at your back never lets up, not even when his mouth sets in a firm line and a sharp exhale leaves his nose. "let me go," you tell him, squirming again as he reaches for your hands. "i'm not playin' around."

"too bad, y'shitty nerd." he says, gruff, and when you stick your tongue out at him, he buries his face in your neck and bites, too, taking advantage of your shock as his fingers close around your wrists.

"no!" you scream again, trying in earnest just to get away from him completely, but he holds your hands behind your back and keeps you squished so tightly into him that you can only breathe shallowly, and his free hand goes to ball into your shirt at your side and —

— and his face is red, you realize, delayed. you can almost feel the heat from his cheeks with him so close, and you take in the flush of his neck, how it spreads down to his bare chest, crimson and fevered. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, nervous, almost.

"what?" you breathe, quiet, as if speaking too loud will break your playful bubble, and his eyes jump around his living room before landing back on you, narrowed and black.

"what?" he echoes, voice pitched and mocking. "you lose, dumbass." and even though he closes his eyes and grits his teeth, there isn't any hiding from how hard he's breathing. how subtle he's trying to be about spreading his legs.

all at once, everything kind of — falls apart.

bakugou is a man now, much to your horror; it feels like you've closed your eyes and opened them in the lap of someone else wearing your best friend's face. there's serious muscle definition in his shoulders and biceps, and you can feel yourself getting lost in the curves and valleys of him like never before. he's — you're — so close. more than it feels like you've ever been, even though you know that's far from true.

this boy used to pin you down in the yard and threaten to lick your face, the both of you grass-stained and covered in sweat. you've tackled him face first into the ocean on various vacations, running behind him quietly and plunging his scrawny, shirtless body into the waves as they rushed forward, uncaring of what you were wearing or how it twisted when you both came up for air.

saliva is still drying on your neck from where he bit you and, unthinking, your eyes dart down to his lips; plumper than you ever realized and parted, just a bit, enough that you can feel his breath on your cheeks. and you wonder —

bakugou grunts quietly, shuffling himself so that his back is leaned against the couch, and you half-expect him to just let you go because things have — changed. but he doesn't.

instead the new position has his legs a little wider and you've sunk a little further and you're now very aware of exactly what's changed, and how much. you can feel him twitch, just barely, and the hand he has at your side balls tighter into your shirt, jostling you minutely in the process.

and finally he opens his eyes and stares at you — cheeks burning, eyebrows furrowed — and you stare back — heat lighting up your body to an uncomfortable degree as your stomach flips.

you wonder what he would do, if you kissed him. what it would feel like. what he would taste like.

you move your hips with purpose, stuck on the new and foreign change it does to him; bakugou's always been a tough little brat, and you made him cry a handful of times when you were younger, but this weakness is — different. there's so much you know about him and yet even more for you to learn, and you find yourself consumed with the desire to explore this new, enticing territory.

his lashes flutter gently when you grind against him, tentatively, and then his head thumps back against the couch as the muscle in his jaw sets. half-lidded, his red-hot gaze jumps from your face down to where you're seated against him and back, and it's only after you move again that you realize — he's watching you, too. discovering.

the fist he has in your shirt loosens and his fingers burn your bare skin when they slip under the material to grip your hip. at any moment, you're half-expecting him to tell you to cut the shit, to shove you off and ask what the hell is wrong with you. why you're being so weird, doing things friends don't do to each other. but he doesn't.

you're almost certain that if you put your hands on his chest, you would be able to feel the mirrored, nervous pace of his heartbeat; it only takes the faintest tug of your hands for him to let you go, his grip falling to the other side of your hips. you can't tell if he means to hold you in place, or keep you going.

you spread your fingers out and, gently, as if you've never touched him before, run your hands up his chest, watching the bob of his adam's apple when you rest them on the sides of his neck. stabilizing yourself a bit, before testing the waters again.

bakugou's eyes are nearly black and when you don't stop, he looks down to resume watching the movement of your hips, the way his sweatpants bunch up and tug, and you feel a little zing up your spine with his every sharp inhale and sharper exhale. even his jaw falls a little slack and, fuck, you've never seen him like this.

you never thought you'd want to, but now — you don't think you'll ever see him any other way again.

his eyes go a little wide when you lean into him, brushing the tip of your nose against his. neither of you have said anything and maybe you should keep it that way, lest the bubble burst, but you feel like you're going a little insane.

quietly, around your own heavy breath, you ask, "does this — feel good?"

you can feel the temperature of his cheeks spike, but he nods shallowly regardless, and you press your mouth into his throat to bite him again, just lightly. it should be so that he's a little biter; the feel of your teeth makes him jump, has him angling his head so that more of his neck is exposed to you. when you soothe the barely-there indentation with the flat of your tongue, his breath hitches and his shoulders shake on a shudder and he groans, like he's angry.

"hah, fuck."

the friction in his lap isn't doing much for you, realistically, but his reaction is what has you aching, has you drawn tighter than a bow string. you feel yourself growing antsy for something that you won't name, because friends don't do that, though you can't help but to wonder if he's ever done it before.

you've had a few boyfriends. had a few experiences that ended quickly and left you feeling exposed and uncomfortable and a little in pain, and even though your girl friends insist that's normal — it's nothing like this. bakugou might not last much longer, if the grip he has on your hips is any indication, but not a single piece of your clothing has been removed and you're hot and getting sort of desperate and you know your underwear are a little more than damp.

you want to dismantle his long-standing composure. you want to be — maybe — the only one that gets to see him fall apart like this.

he's been your best friend your whole life, afterall; this experience should be yours. he should be.

the thought has you shivering a little bit and bakugou bucks up against you, pulling you down hard in his lap. dragging across the thick and solid length of him becomes even more clear and another, stronger zing has you letting out a breathy little sound into his ear. it makes him groan again, this one almost whiny, but he closes his mouth to muffle it and you don't want him to do that so you tighten your fingers in the hair on the crown of his head and — just to see, in a way you've never done before — you quietly whisper,

"katsuki,"

and he loses it.

one of his hands slips up your shirt to splay against your back, forcing you closer to him so he can bury his face in your neck, and his hips become insistent, urgent, rutting up against yours eagerly.

"fuck, oh fuck, fuck," he groans into your skin, fingers gripping you so tightly that you think he might actually leave burns behind, and his shoulders tremble before he goes totally still.

for a little while, you both sit there and let your breathing even out as reality sobers you from whatever lust-drunk haze you'd both been in. distantly, you think you wouldn't mind if he pinned you to the ground the way he always does, only this time to peel all your clothes off, right here on his living room floor. but he doesn't.

doesn't say anything, just shudders every now and again, and you think you're starting to feel the wet spot soaking into the front of his sweatpants.

you pull back just a little to look at him and he lets you, face just as red as he stares back at you, like he's the one waiting for you to freak. a little bit of red has returned to his eyes, though they're still swollen and dark with want.

when you lean in again, to bump your nose against his, bakugou snaps back away from you.

"wh-the fuck are y'doin'?" he shifts his eyes to the ground and they go wide. horrified, maybe. all the blood rushes in your ears and you don't know what to say, so he continues. "i-i don't have time t-to sit around all day, so—" bakugou shakes his head and you think he's going to kick you out, and he must know it, from how stiff you go. "so, you better know what the hell you wanna eat."

your bubble has burst; you nod silently and he glances up at you twice before swallowing.

"well, i can't get dressed with you sitting on me, so get off." when you remain quiet, he finally raises his head to look at you head-on, fisting the edge of your shirt again so that you'll look back. "d'you..." bakugou wets his lips before biting them, "need anything?"

"uh," maybe to shove your head down the drain and drown yourself, so that you can get rid of all the not-so-nice feelings that are creeping up beneath your skin. instead of that, you tell him, "just the bathroom, maybe."

"hurry up then," he mutters and even tries to roll his eyes, though it feels anything but casual. "don't...take for-fuckin'-ever."

and then he's up, quick to stand so that his back is to you as he disappears around the corner to his room, leaving you to yourself, trying to smooth out the wrinkle he's left in the corner of your shirt.