He's Been Spending A Lot Of Time With Kaminari Lately.

He's been spending a lot of time with Kaminari lately.

DARLING PROFILE:

Gentle

It takes Illumi a long time to develop feelings for his darling for a multitude of reasons.

Emotional unavailability, high expectations, and disinterest, just to name a few, and while he isn’t actively searching for a partner, there are a few base requirements he knows his future partner must meet.

Strong, intelligent, hard working, everything desirable that he knows both he and his family would approve of.

But once he meets his darling, his interest slightly peaked in them, that list begins changing slightly.

Because while the feelings are slow to solidify, Illumi notices quickly that his darling is so, so painfully averse to being harsh.

They’re not confrontational, treat others with a level of attentiveness and care that initially makes him scoff, and he doesn’t think he’s once seem them ever lose control of themselves and explode.

It’s uncanny, unnatural, as far as Illumi is concerned, and yet it’s fascinating. He slowly grows to admire this trait in his darling, how they can be so unconditionally soft with everything and everyone around them, eventually finding himself more and more attracted to them with every kind deed they do. It makes them weak, easy to manipulate, easy to kill, but Illumi finds it oddly endearing.

He’s always firmly believed that mothers should be nurturing to their children, to help them grow and shape them into the best versions of themselves possible, and while they’re opposite to his mother in many ways, maybe that gentility they possess is a the perfect thing needed.

Once he’s decided that his darling is his future wife, he’s immediately moving to experience this kindness for himself.

He comes back from missions with a little more blood and bruising than was necessary, but the way his darling gasps and quickly grabs the medical kit makes Illumi blink in wide fascination, unsure what drives them to eagerly spring into action but more than ready to feel their soft touch.

(They don’t need to know that Illumi allowed the target to get a few more hits in than necessary, just to keep them fawning over him as long as possible, or that he had to refuse ten different medical personnel in the mansion before making it to their shared ‘bedroom’.)

He likes the juxtaposition between his darling and him, and while it occasionally irritates him that they’re so soft and weak, it’s more endearing than anything else – just don’t be soft with anyone else but him, yes?

Smart

Illumi may be morally misguided, but the man is intelligent. He knows more about the human body than many doctors, and is skilled beyond belief in the art of combat and stealth.

He understands the best ways to go about gathering intel on a target without being traced or caught, and is able to apply that knowledge to set up traps correlating to his employers’ requests.

And this is a trait he’s simply unwilling to compromise when it comes to a partner – they must be able to keep up with him mentally.

They don’t need to have the same kind of intelligence as him, but the ability to critically think and quickly understand is a necessity. Illumi has very little patience for stupidity, and the thought of spending time with someone who doesn’t understand most of what he says is irritating.

And so, once his feelings for his darling begin appearing, Illumi is putting them through a small series of tests to make sure they live up to his expectations. It’s nothing too intense, nothing he wouldn’t be able to do himself.

He’s leaving extra clues that he’s been in his darling’s apartment – clumsy signs that he’d never normally leave, in the hopes that they’ll realize they’ve had an unwanted guest.

Cabinets are left ajar, their bed slightly unmade, though the thing that really clues them in is the presence of long, dark locks of hair around their apartment that they know aren’t theirs.

They’d never leave hair on the kitchen table; they’d see it and remove it, mildly disgusted. And yet, here three locks lay, making them a bit paranoid as they call the police.

Illumi intercepts the call, making sure it never rings through, but he’s still proud of his darling, satisfaction pooling in his chest because he just knew they’d pick up on it.

He likes knowing his darling is competent, and that their future children will be so too – the next Zoldyck heirs can’t be clueless, after all.

Generous

In general, Illumi isn’t particularly selfish with those he holds dear.

With the exception of Killua, Illumi has always willingly done as he’s been told.

He’s never demanded much from his parents, never insisting on material goods. He’s never felt cheated out of anything, either – his parents have molded him into the perfect assassin, and he couldn’t be more grateful for the rigor and training he received as a child.

And yet, once his darling enters his life, Illumi finds himself feeling strangely overwhelmed. They always seem to be giving things away – their time, bits of food they’ve cooked, their love, other things material and not alike.

It confuses Illumi; it makes him wonder why they’re wasting their resources on people they don’t know well, on those who likely wouldn’t reciprocate.

It’s a mystery, and frankly he finds his darling to be foolish for it – until one day it’s focused at him.

Illumi can’t comprehend why his darling is willingly giving away a bit of their time when they encounters him – in another body – disguised as a homeless man begging for change.

There’s a pitied look in their eye as they hand him the bills – two dollars, just what they had in change and could afford to give away – and tells him there’s a gas station nearby with cheap snacks he can eat.

Illumi just stares at them, not understanding why they’re helping, and soon he’s asking just that.

They startle and awkwardly laugh, telling him it’s because they don’t like seeing others in need, and they were only planning on spending that money to buy junk foods for themselves, anyways.

Illumi blinks, but his darling is soon speed walking away, the interaction feeling strange and uncomfortable.

Illumi still doesn’t understand, but it becomes another one of the facets of his darling that he simply learns to enjoy.

He yearns to understand what compels them to put others before themselves (something that yet again irritates him a bit), but he finds that the more he interacts with them, the more he enjoys being the recipient of it.

He’s finally receiving a bit of love and support that isn’t forced from his parents, and he quickly grows addicted.

Enjoys children

The reality of the situation is that as Illumi’s darling, they will be forced to interact with children whether they want to or not.

Namely, their own.

Having a family with him is not optional, and Illumi will never present it as such – once he decides his darling is to be his partner, they automatically become his future wife, the future mother of his children.

He cannot be swayed, regardless of what his darling wants.

However, while it’s still possible for him to grow obsessed with a darling who isn’t especially fond of kids, it’s much more likely that he grows attracted to the ease with which they’re able to communicate with them.

He likes the way they get so happy when a child walks up to them, how they’re immediately squatting down and smiling, playing hide and seek with their own face as the child giggles and beams.

He never knew that sort of innocent and sweet interaction when he himself was a child, but he doesn’t view it as a bad thing if his darling is able to make a child happy.

It’ll only benefit them as parents – it’ll help strengthen the bond, and make their children more malleable and receptive to their guidance.

Besides, there’s something about seeing his darling next to a baby that makes his skin feel hot, eyes blowing wide and his trousers tightening.

The image just looks so right, so natural and perfect that Illumi has to hold himself back from bending them over and fucking them right then and there.

Talent with children is an incredibly attractive trait for Illumi, and likely it's the final nail in the coffin that seals his obsession with his darling – one giggling toddler is all that’s needed to seal their fate.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Stalker

More than anything, stalking you is the only method of ‘interaction’ with you that Illumi feels truly comfortable with.

He knows how to stay invisible; tracking others is easy, as is staying in the shadows and keeping that wide, unnaturally glassy stare on them. He’s used to watching but not being seen, and it’s only natural to extend this towards you. It feels right to be watching you, like he’s where he’s meant to be, and for the beginning of his obsession he spends every free moment stalking you, hiding in corners or shadows and just staring.

(And really, this behavior lasts all throughout his infatuation, even when he’s got you trapped in the Zoldyck manor, even when you’re nursing his baby, even when you’ve both grown old and death approaches – it’s just that in the beginning, you’re not aware of the black eyes that follow your every move. And that’s a luxury that gets taken all too soon, as you find yourself longing for ignorance of Illumi in every possible way.)

Not to mention, there is no part of him that feels any guilt for it – he’s a cold-blooded assassin, of course, but at no point does it occur to him that it may be strange to be following you, or that you wouldn’t appreciate him watching over you (and watching you, generally).

He doesn’t understand that he shouldn’t approach you like he approaches a target – of course, you won’t be on the receiving end of his needles (at least, not with death his ultimate goal – perhaps something less lethal, like love or submission or lust), but otherwise his intentions are the same.

(Well, mostly – not really, actually, because Illumi doesn’t feel this strange, pleasant warmth in his chest when he’s watching his targets, nor does he feel particularly intrigued when he’s staring at them as they sleep, watching their chest rise and fall and the relaxed, utterly content expression on their face.)

The process of stalking you is remarkably similar to his jobs – first, he’ll choose a place within your home that gives him a good, solid vantage point with minimal risk that he’ll be noticed.

(Though, it’s not exactly hard to hide when you’re so damn oblivious – Illumi swears you have little to no awareness of your surroundings, if the way you sometimes knock into tables or trip over shoes in your doorway is anything to go by.)

His stand-by places are usually in a rarely used storage closet with the door cracked open, just wide enough for his dark eyes to peer through, or perhaps behind a chair you rarely use, crouched and peeking behind the cloth, and when you sit down in said chair, it gives Illumi the opportunity to stand up slightly, towering over you and getting a perfect view of your pretty body and smelling your hair.

But if it’s nighttime and you’re already snuggled up in your bed, eyes glued to your phone screen as you scroll and scroll and neglect your sleep, he'll stand silently and deathly still in the corner.

He’s able to stay perfectly still and maintain the same position for hours at a time, hardly blinking, hardly moving, hardly even breathing, it seems.

And he’s utilizing this skill set to its full potential when it comes to you – Illumi is greedy, and while this doesn’t initially get channeled into being overly possessive of you (though that certainly comes later), it instead translates into this insatiable need to constantly have his eyes on you and to be in your presence every moment he isn’t needed on a job.

There are no boundaries with him, because Illumi genuinely doesn’t see the need to have them. You’re already destined to spend your lives together, so why shouldn’t he start the process of learning more about you?

Autonomy doesn’t really exist with him – he could be considered clingy if his view of your lives being so irreversibly intertwined wasn’t as clinical and matter of fact.

And so Illumi doesn’t operate barred by any sort of moral guidelines – so when he’s using his needles to morph into another face so that he can practice the lines and compliments he’s been told by his mother that will make you swoon, it doesn’t register to him that it might be creepy that he’s practicing wooing you in another body.

(The man is disturbing, and you’re uncomfortable with the way this stranger doesn’t seem to be getting the hint that you want him to leave you alone; why is he standing so close to you? Why is he staring at you like that? Why is he following you?)

It doesn’t register to him that it’s a breach of trust to be pretending to be someone you love and trust, just to extract more information about you.

(Your cousin is acting strangely when they speak to you – their words are clipped and sound just slightly off, and you’re sure they already know what your dreams for the future are. You’ve talked about this with them before, so why are they questioning you on what your ideal house looks like, your ideal partner, your favorite baby names?)

He spends a lot of time observing you, collecting information on you in every way he can, and this doesn’t stop once you’re trapped by his side and with the rest of his crazy, horrible family – it’s a habit, more than anything, but it’s so much worse when you’re aware, when you can see and feel his dark eyes boring into you, making you squirm under the intensity of his gaze.

Of course, talking to him about it won’t do a single thing – only earning you a slight head tilt and a question of does it bother you when I watch you? I apologize, I only meant to keep an eye on you, my dear.

He genuinely doesn’t understand that stalking you and keeping a tab on you at all times is something that you very much don’t appreciate, but you’ll quickly come to learn that with Illumi, there’s only so much you can change – so much being quite literally nothing.

Controlling

This particular manifestation of his obsession with you is a culmination of many different things.

Firstly, it’s simply his personality – when he loves, he possesses, this ugly, carnal feeling stirring in his gut that pushes him to be in control, to guide and oversee every little thing the target of his love does. He’s always felt this way with Killua – he loves his brother immensely, but that love translates as being controlling and always keeping a finger on what Killua does, says, and feels.

Secondly, it’s the intense pressure coming from his family. Kikyo expects your total obedience both to her and her son, and while Illumi can sometimes stand up to his mother on matters where your safety and wellbeing are concerned, he can’t deny her expectations of you being absolutely subservient to him, bending to his every whim and allowing him to dictate every aspect of your life.

And finally, it’s his own paranoia that pushes him to micromanage you in every way possible. He’s never had someone to call his before – he’s unselfish in nature, dedicating himself to his family in every possible way, and now that he’s been given a woman to call his own, to spoil and love and keep by his side, he’s not entirely sure how to react.

Your presence soothes him in a way he’s never experienced before; you’re so soft and caring and warm, all things he’s never had. His life has been hardships and tough love, training and never being good enough, and now that you’re in the picture, Illumi isn’t entirely sure how to handle himself.

He doesn’t doubt himself, per se, but he’s unsure how to successfully navigate a marriage. Would you like it if he was more physical with you? Perhaps you’d like more hugs or for him to hold your hand or kiss you more often – that’s what all the popular media resources he’s looked into have told him.

Or maybe you’d prefer a more quiet, subtle kind of love, where you both support one another with meaningful looks and the occasional touch, whispered words that carry more weight than they seem.

He’s not sure, despite all the stalking and information retrieving he’s preformed in your name, and that makes him nervous. He doesn’t like that he can’t anticipate what you’ll want or how to make you happy – it makes him feel less-than, as if he’s not quite the perfect match that his mother and father have always said his wife will be.

He doesn’t like not being sure of himself, and so this worry manifests itself as becoming firmer in his treatment of you, locking down on the few things he’s absolutely sure of.

It comes off as controlling, sure, but Illumi doesn’t mean to be when he’s telling you what to wear, rifling through the closet he procured for you and pulling out a dress he thinks suits your complexion – you may hate it, but he likes it, so you’ll wear it.

He’s not trying to be controlling when he’s clicking his tongue lightly and telling you to keep your posture straight, dear every time you sit down, even if your shoulders are only barely, slightly slumped.

He’s not trying to be controlling when he’s standing over the bathtub and watching you wash yourself, telling you to use more soap, darling, don’t you want to be clean?

(Nevermind his dark eyes blinking slowly and getting stuck on the soapy outline of your breasts under the warm water – surely you’re just imagining that, along with the tent forming in his trousers.)

He’s not trying to be controlling when he’s roughly grabbing your hand and forcing you behind him when you’re walking through the hallways of the manor, his gaze narrowing at the butler standing at attention, paranoia eating away at him because he could have sworn the man was staring at you as you entered the room, and he can’t have that. Even as an employee of the family, no one but Illumi can look at you with any degree of desire – you are his, and if it means cleaning up a body and finding a new butler to replace him, Illumi will do what is needed to keep you his.

IIlumi is quite frankly totally unaware of his controlling behavior – he doesn’t realize anything is wrong because in his eyes nothing is wrong. This is love – it’s how his father always treated his mother when he was young, his eyes cold and his heart even colder, his words cutting her down and remolding her into a woman more fitting of being the matriarch of the Zoldycks.

And while he doesn’t want to break you down or remake you, he’s following his father’s example in making sure that you’re entirely accounted for. You’re his responsibility, and while he doesn’t view you as merely a pet, you’ll often feel like a glorified dog with the way he controls your life down to every second, always telling you that it’s time to go eat, or time to sleep, or time to shower, or time to kiss him and let him undress you.

He's pushy without even meaning to be, but if you bring this behavior up to him, he’ll be surprised. Genuinely – his brows will quirk up ever so slightly, his already wide eyes getting a hair wider because really? I had no idea, my dear. Thank you for bringing this to my attention; I will reduce the frequency on my instructions towards you.

But he doesn’t, even if he promises he will.

And it’s not entirely his fault – he thinks he is, even going so far as to be expectant of your praise when he holds himself back from telling you to use the other fork when he’s dining with you privately. Surely you must be proud of him – he’s doing as you asked, being a good husband and fulfilling your desires and wishes.

So why aren’t you praising him?

Why aren’t you mentioning anything about how generous he’s being, how considerate he is?

You’ve blatantly disregarded his attempts at trying to be less ‘controlling’, as you claim, and Illumi takes this as a sign to only double down and become more omnipresent, because obviously you haven’t quite learned how to be a kind, grateful, adoring wife.

You haven’t quite yet learned the lessons he’s been trying to teach you – so you need more guidance. You need more advice, a firmer hand to push you towards becoming the best, most noble version of yourself, and lucky, lucky you has a loving, oh so eager husband right there willing to step into that role.

He’s domineering and in control of every aspect of your life, but there’s almost a small sense of relief that you’ll eventually feel. Because really, while it makes you feel weak and pathetic and pitiful to have him controlling how long you brush your teeth every morning and night, isn’t there something kind of nice about relinquishing your responsibilities? Isn’t there something oddly nice about not having to make your own decisions, to let Illumi take care of everything, to not have to worry about anything ever again?

It's the Stockholm Syndrome talking, and you may even know it – but it doesn’t matter, because the longer you spend under Illumi’s thumb, the less you’ll find yourself caring about things like choice and autonomy and preference. All that matter is what he wants, what he thinks is best – because really, doesn’t he know best?

Isn’t he superior to you in every possible way?

Protective

Illumi has a very, very good understanding of the human body.

He has to – his job depends on it, after all, and Illumi is nothing if not dedicated to his work. He knows every muscle, vein, and bone, their purpose and exactly what it would mean if it was removed.

He knows what organs must stay in tact for survival, how much blood a person can lose and stay conscious, how cold temperature can drop before hypothermia begins, even how long a person can survive without sleeping.

And it’s this wide breadth of knowledge that leads Illumi to know just how pathetically weak you are.

There are so many possible ways to hurt you – everything from a gunshot to a paper cut could potentially end your tragically fragile life, and the longer Illumi watches you, the more uncomfortable this knowledge becomes.

It’s not that you’re objectively incapable of defending yourself – perhaps you know some basic self-defense, or perhaps your survival instincts are sharp enough to keep you away from dangerous situations. No – it’s more that Illumi knows what other people are capable of, what nen is capable of, and he knows that you’d simply be no match if someone were to attack you.

And so, this puts him into a rather uncomfortable spot; at the beginning of his obsession with you, when his feels were still freshly formed and underdeveloped, he felt no sense of protectiveness over you. You’re an adult, you can care for yourself – you’ve survived this long, haven’t you?

But then he starts noticing how wide your smile can get, or how soft your hand is when you’re sleeping, or how pretty your voice sounds when you’re singing in your kitchen and making yourself dinner.

He starts noticing that you’ve been biting your lip, the skin a little puffy and swollen and stinging a bit. Did you know that your lip could get infected, and if you don’t get to a doctor fast enough, that infection could cost you your life?

He starts noticing that the skin of your hands is a little dry, and you keep getting hangnails. Did you know that dry skin can be a sign of serious nutrition deficiencies, and if you don’t enough potassium you could end up in the hospital and slowly waste away until you eventually can no longer hold on?

He starts noticing that sometimes your voice gets a little hoarse after you try to sing a particularly high note, your voice cracking and a series of coughs racking your body. Did you know that if you cough too hard, you can actually strain your lungs and affect their ability to take in oxygen, potentially suffocating you?

Time passing brings him to the realization that the idea of you dying makes him frown, something unpleasant brewing in his chest that he guesses is sadness. He doesn’t like the idea of you passing away – he wants you alive, and if you were to die, he wouldn’t be able to watch you anymore, to feel that warm, addicting feeling in his heart you give him. If you were to suddenly keel over and die, he’d be left all alone – like normal, yes, but now that he knows what it's like to have someone, to want someone, Illumi doesn’t think he could return to his old existence.

And so, the solution is simple: keep you alive.

Except, it’s much harder to keep someone living and breathing than it is to simply kill them, and quickly Illumi is realizing just how tall an order this is. Because really, there’s just so much that could potentially injure you, that could potentially lead to your life being in danger.

You’re just so damn clumsy – he’s watched you trip over air, and if you’re that naturally unaware of your surroundings, who’s to say you wouldn’t be susceptible to even the most minor injuries? How can he be sure that you’ll manage to evade even the most innocent of accidents?

You won’t. He’s sure of it.

And so, he’s growing slightly paranoid because every new object you encounter is immediately a threat to him, five different ways that object could endanger you immediately flashing through his mind.

A pair of car keys? They’re dull and blunt, sure, but if they were thrust into your chest just right they could rupture something, cause you to bleed out, give you tetanus or metal poisoning.

A book you’re obsessing over? You could get a papercut, a slice across your pretty skin, and Kalluto has proven that paper can be incredibly deadly.

Your damn cell phone? Well, the screen is horrible for your eyes, your information could be sold and land in the hands of someone nefarious, and he knows you look at it while you’re walking on busy streets.

There’s just so many avenues for you to get hurt, and Illumi works himself to the bone to prevent any of them from successfully causing you harm. And he’s effective, too – you’ll find your knives have suddenly disappeared, your razors too, even any sort of pill you have that’s stronger than Ibuprofen.

All your outlets have suddenly stopped working, your ovens too, even your dishwasher.

Your shower doesn’t seem to be able to get as hot as it used to, and you don’t remember your pillows being as fluffy or numerous as they currently are.

You’ll know something is wrong, your anxiety shooting through the roof because someone must be robbing you, setting foot into your home and stealing all your things.

The reality is much more sinister, much more terrifying, and as soon as you wake up in Illumi’s hold, you’ll realize that your situation is much, much worse than you’d imagined.

He’s going to every length to keep you safe and sound from potential harm, even if it leaves you feeling pitiful and beyond ashamed, the babyproofed bathroom he lets you use making you ill when you see the way there’s locks on the cabinets to prevent you from rooting around for anything that could cause irreparable damage.

It’ll make you feel incompetent, embarrassed even when Illumi tries to comfort you by saying that he doesn’t think you’re incapable, just not entirely trustworthy, my dear. There’s a difference.

(His voice is always just slightly condescending when he talks to you, and this is surely no exception – it’ll make you feel worse, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care.)

Because really, all that matters to Illumi is making sure that you stay alive – he’s selfish, wanting to keep you solely to himself, and even if that means making sure you go nowhere unaccompanied, to nothing without his help, make no decisions by yourself, he doesn’t mind.

He’s doing it for you, for your shared love, for the good of your relationship.

And if you don’t seem to understand that for now, he’s sure someday you will. Someday you’ll realize the extent to which Illumi cares for you – why else would he do so very much for you, his devotion to you spanning long before he finally got to sink his claws (and cock) into you?

So really, shouldn’t you be grateful?

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Jealousy is very much not something Illumi has ever really had to deal with.

His whole life has been training, killing, devotion to his family and the Zoldyck name, and as an assassin he’s never really been envious of anyone, or really had strong enough feelings about anything to want something.

It’s a concept he understands in theory but begins questioning it when it comes to the way it makes people crazy, the way people act so strangely in circumstances where envy and jealousy are concerned. It seems entirely stupid, something that only serves to derail situations.

And yet, once a strange nagging feeling begins at the edges of his mind, Illumi finds himself wondering if this is the famous jealousy he’s always heard of.

It doesn’t feel good – it’s like there’s something pulling at his heart, a hand wrapped around it and squeezing every so often, the feeling almost painful and certainly irritating.

But the more he’s around you, the more it persists – almost seeming to grow by the day, even if you’re fully alone, in your apartment reading a book or scrolling through your phone. Illumi very suddenly understands why jealousy is known as something so horrible, something that eats you up inside and won’t leave you alone – that is, Illumi quickly begins noticing that he isn’t the only man vying for your attention and love.

Because he’s constantly watching you, following you and making sure that he knows everything there is to know about your life and relationships with others, he doesn’t miss the situations where you interact with another man, where you smile and laugh and even compliment other men, all right in front of him.

(Illumi tends to conveniently disregard the fact that you aren’t able to sense him, that you aren’t aware that you have a dangerous, murderous stalker trailing your every move.)

It’s irritating, frustrating, distracting enough to be seriously affecting his work – he’ll have a fleeting thought of the way you’d smiled at that other man a week ago as he goes for the final stab into the target’s chest, but the slight snarl he lets out has him missing just slightly, instead nicking the target in the shoulder and giving them an opportunity to scramble away.

Illumi’s irritation only increases at that, and soon there’s blood splattered along the floor as he breaths deeply, the red staining his clothing standing out bright.

He really tried to ignore it at first, but once it began affecting him even when he’s not in your presence, Illumi knew he had to solve the problem. And after a quick, rather detached conversation with his father about it, Illumi was quickly enlightened that he was in fact jealous, his father having laughed lightly and patting him on the arm, telling him that it’s natural to feel that way about your wife, Illumi. Your duty is as an assassin, but as a member of this family. If the woman you’ve chosen to bear your heir is giving you such feelings, I see no harm in acting upon them. It will serve you well to focus more on your work, as well.

And so Illumi embraces this newfound permission to foster this emotion - it’s odd, the way what he’s fairly confident is anger coils around his heart, making his fists clench slightly, his nails digging into his palms as he watches you talk and laugh with that man. That man, who probably doesn’t even know how to use nen, who probably doesn’t even understand how perfect of a wife you could be, how good of a mother and perfect addition to his family you’d be.

It’s strange, and while Illumi doesn’t particularly enjoy it, he can’t deny the odd sense of finality that comes with killing without being paid to, the strange sensation of enjoying ending a life. He finds himself smiling after plunging his nails into a man’s jugular, but Illumi isn’t too horribly bothered.

It’s new and strange, but so is everything else you make Illumi experience, after all. Why should this be any different?

As he trails behind you in the shadows, his dark eyes train in on your figure as you bite your lip and look over the selection of fruit displayed out on the cart of the farmer’s market.

Illumi stays perfectly still, completely focused on watching you. You’re wearing a pair of jeans today, pants that hug your figure a little too tightly for his tastes, along with a sweatshirt that does quite the opposite – hiding your upper body, which Illumi only finds slightly more agreeable.

(In the back of his mind, he makes a mental note to have a talk with you about proper dress for a woman such as yourself – a woman who’s to become part of a powerful, wealthy family, and as such must represent them - and her husband - with her head held high and confidence oozing from her. He’s sure a nice skirt and blouse will do the trick – silky or satin, shimmery and soft like you. Or, perhaps, a dress – maybe a floral pattern or a deep magenta. Of course, you’ll eventually be wearing purple, the Zoldyck family color, but he knows women enjoy fashion, and he's interested to see what you’d pick.)

As he thinks through what he’ll say to you, already planning out how the conversation will go, he notices a man with shaggy brown hair and honey brown eyes take a deep breath and walk beside you, standing next to you and looking over the selection of apples, pears, oranges and various other fruits.

Illumi’s expression makes no change as the brunette says something about how there’s always too many options at markets like these, types of fruit that he’s never heard of making it difficult to choose, to which you laugh and full heartedly agree.

The assassin makes no move, but as he watches and listens with distaste lodged in the back of his throat, you continue on the conversation, asking the man’s advice on which type of apple you should get.

It’s a short interaction, in all honesty - maybe a minute maximum, but Illumi is still watching with a heavy, piercing gaze, feeling the same odd, sickly feeling rise up from his chest.

He’s already decided that if the man moves to lay even a finger on you he’ll emerge from the shadows, swiftly and triumphantly piercing his chest with his entire hand.

Maybe that’ll get him to stop talking.

But the man doesn’t, and so Illumi begrudgingly lets the conversation run its course. You eventually say goodbye to the man and ask him if he’d like to meet up at the same booth in a week to compare the types of fruit.

Immediately Illumi’s fist clenches, his nails sharpening and digging into his palms, drops of blood littering the pavement below him as his eyes never stray, keeping trained on you as you walk in the opposite direction of the man, who is now blushing and smiling like a fool.

Disgusting, Illumi thinks as he follows the man.

The world won’t miss him, is all he’s thinking as he pulls a pin and flicks his wrist, the needle sinking into his neck. He watches with a dull gaze as the fast acting poison renders the man immobile, falling to his knees as his chest slows its breaths, eventually no longer moving.

You most certainly won’t, he thinks as he picks up the body, unsheathing the needle after life has left the body, finding a nearby trash bin to stuff the man into.

It isn’t the most efficient method of dealing with a body, but Illumi can’t be bothered – after all, in the some thirty seconds it’s taken him to deal with the man who thought he had a chance with what Illumi has already claimed as his, you’ve managed to make it a bit further from him, wandering through the maze of stalls with the bag full of produce in your hands.

He’s immediately falling into step behind you, the flexing of his fingers doing nothing to distract him as he brings back his stare, internally sighing as he sees another man – this time blond – look over at you and not so subtly rake his eyes up and down your body.

Illumi’s brow twitches – he only brought twenty needles this morning, and you’ve only been at the market for some fifteen minutes. Already he only has three left, and with a small sigh he reminds himself to bring more tomorrow, as he’ll surely use them.

And really, while Illumi doesn’t enjoy that other men are looking at you, being deluded enough to believe that they have a chance with you, he needs to make sure that there are no complications with your union, that there will be no problems to take care of when he eventually whirls you away to his home, where you’ll be his lovely wife that provides him with children and a warmth he can’t explain.

There’s a certain thrill that comes with letting himself feel, with not pushing down the emotion as his father said – a certain thrill that he can only feel where you’re concerned.

After all, you’re just that special.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

From the moment Illumi decides that you’re a good match for him, it becomes a known fact (at least, among his family) that you would eventually be living alongside him in the Zoldyck manor.

You don’t have a choice, really – all of his family lives together on the mountain, and you will be no exception, despite your temporary status as an honorary member.

(This status is temporary if only because now you aren’t an official Zoldyck, but the moment you become pregnant with his child, this status changes – you’re a real Zoldyck then, because inside you grows the family’s next assassin, a product of Illumi’s devotion to you and proof of your resolve to commit yourself to the Zoldycks. It’s all terribly romantic to Illumi, even if it makes you want to hurl, and he’ll have no qualms telling you this information – he’ll even frame it as if it’s some sort of incentive to get you eagerly spreading your legs for him. He treats it like you want to be accepted into the family – like it’s your deepest desire, and no amount of arguing or pleading with him will convince him otherwise.)

You will be sharing a bed with him, living under the same roof and spending all your time beside him when he’s not away for a job, whether you like it or not, and Illumi has known this from the very beginning. You’ll be curled up in his arms, his skin cold and slightly clammy as he holds you, his grip much too tight and stiff even as he sleeps – you can hardly move, every breath you take feeling constricted and controlled, as if Illumi is doing you a favor by allowing you just a bit of space to breathe.

It takes him a while to fully develop and understand what his feelings mean, but once he does he isn’t holding back in any form - his family was, for lack of a better word, floored the night that their eldest son casually mentioned having selected his future wife. Kikyo was immediately pressing him for details, wanting to know every fact and scrap of information about her future daughter in law, which Illumi was happy to provide.

He immediately spouted off your name, age, basic personality, physical features, hobbies, interests, important life events, past and current jobs, relationships with your parents, friends, partners, anything and everything he can think of, Kikyo listening all the while with a scowl on her face. She’s confused on why her precious son has chosen you, considering you weren’t a skilled nen user, a fighter or even someone of great importance.

She’s not completely convinced of her son’s choice, but there’s a strange determination to Illumi’s normally lifeless eyes that she can see that makes her back off a bit, leaving her with an odd sense of finality in his words, confidence in his decision that makes it hard to argue.

(Besides, everyone knows Killua is the true heir of the family – as long as Illumi produces members to join the Zoldyck ranks, it’s not so important who chooses to wed. As long as they’re suitable for conception, she’ll begrudgingly accept – perhaps not with enthusiasm, but she’ll relent nonetheless.)

Silva is listening as well, though not as intensely as his wife, and after Illumi finishes his some twenty minute recall of your information, he merely takes a sip of his drink and nods, telling his son to treat her with care, she sounds weak in comparison to you.

Milluki is rolling his eyes, wondering why his brother decided on someone so normal, though he doesn’t dare say anything. Internally, though, he’s already imagining what you look like, his mental picture of you built upon Illumi’s descriptions, but with just a bit more detail – things his brother hadn’t mentioned, like the size of your chest or if you’re clumsy or if your voice is high and feminine and whiny.

Kalluto only nods, wondering what you’ll be like in person if you’ve managed to catch his older brother’s eye.

His mother is still disappointed in his choice, but wastes no time helping Illumi prepare for your eventual arrival, helping him create a regiment for how to integrate you into the family, how to work with your needs, considering your status as a mere commoner.

And while Illumi lets his mother plan and schedule and bustle about, he’s merely thinking of how he should take you away, tuning out his mother’s shrill words as she yells and commands butlers, telling them to prepare and clean and do everything so that Illumi’s new wife will be received well.

In all reality, Illumi – while very much concerned with his family’s acceptance of you, considering the tightness and loyalty instilled into him – isn’t especially concerned about the plans his mother is running wild preparing. He knows that with enough time and training, you’ll eventually fit right into the mold his mother wants you to, or at least as far into it as Illumi is allowing.

Because really, while he agrees that you need to be toughened up at least a little bit in order to survive in the mansion and be strong enough to bear his children, he doesn’t want your core personality to change – he fell in love with you for a reason, and while you must be trained a bit to survive as a Zoldyck, he doesn’t want you to become a stranger.

And so instead of listening to his mother’s plans, he’s slipping out under the cover of nightfall and climbing through the familiar window of your bedroom, your sleeping form laying so still and peaceful, like you’re just waiting for him to come steal you away.

A pin (as much as he hates piercing your skin with the needle, it must be done) is applied to your shoulder and your sleep is suddenly much heavier, your body visibly going limp, your breaths getting longer and deeper, and for a moment he worries that he’s infused too much nen into the needle, that your breathing will just keep slowing until it eventually stops.

His grip against his spare needles tightens at the thought, the force so strong that it snaps the metal in half, the sound knocking him from his thoughts as he blinks down at you, a small sense of relief filling him because your chest is still steadily rising and falling.

Illumi carries you in his arms back to the manor, not minding the weight of your body holding him down.

And just as he passes through the gates, he feels what he thinks might be excitement brewing in his chest.

Life with Illumi will be, in all honesty, hell.

It’s not so much that he enjoys making you miserable or seeing you uncomfortable, but rather that he’s grown up with such intense expectations, such strict regimes and schedules that he upholds you to similar standards.

Of course, you won’t be going through training to become an assassin while you’re with him – no practice with combat or anything so violent, if only because Illumi’s worry over your safety prohibits him from allowing you anywhere near a knife or a fist cocked and ready to be swung.

(Not to mention the fact that he plans on you going absolutely nowhere without him, and as such there’s no reason for you to learn how to defend yourself. You don’t need to build up immunity to poison, how to most effectively snap a neck, or to learn any number of the cruel things that he thinks are much too unwomanly for someone like you.)

No, the schedule and timetables he puts you on are much more general, humiliating, dehumanizing – being told when you can and can’t use the restroom is something you’ll quickly come to realize takes away even the barest scrap of dignity and independence you have left under Illumi’s control.

He dictates what time you wake up, what you eat for each meal of the day, and your activities between meals - comprised mostly of more feminine things, as his mother advised you learn, like sewing and mending, floral arrangement, proper dining etiquette, and of course, lessons on how to properly raise children, taught by Kikyo herself.

(From the get go, it will be extremely apparent to you that the entirety of the Zoldyck family – Illumi included – expect offspring, assuming with little thought that you’ll be bearing the eldest son’s children in what Silva has expressed as sooner than you think with a small nod and poignant stare. Shivers had run down your spine at the way Illumi’s gaze on you seemed to only grow in intensity at his father’s comment, his cold fingers pressing against the small of your back in a way that made your skin crawl. Besides, the built in conception time, as Illumi so lovingly puts it, makes it more than obvious that he’s fucking you with the intent of getting you pregnant.)

It’s demeaning, the way you’re treated like some toddler, some incompetent idiot with the way Kikyo flutters around you, her shrill voice echoing through the corridors as you cower and obey.

It isn’t that you want to be obedient to a family you’ve come to realize is beyond fucked up, but you’ve also seen Illumi at work. He’s come home to you covered in blood, giving you a small smile as he awkwardly leans down to press a chaste kiss against your lips, his dark eyes staying open the whole time.

You don’t particularly want to be the submissive, obedient future mother of Illumi’s children like everyone in the manor is expecting you to be (with the exception of Killua, whom Illumi desperately wants you to get along with, and he may honestly be the only ray of light within this dark, musty home – at least he somewhat understands how fucked up the situation is, though he’s told you many times that there’s nothing he can do to help you).

But the constant threat of the fact that anyone in the house could kill you with a simple flick of the wrist is not lost on you, and while Illumi genuinely terrifies you for much of the first few months of your captivity, you quickly learn to obey his every word, to live to please him.

He’s really the only ally you have – he’s more forgiving, easier to try and wiggle your way out of a less severe punishment with, especially as you learn to predict his wishes.

He wants you to wear a certain kimono that he thinks looks beautiful on you? You hate the pattern on it and the way the style makes your figure look, but you scramble to slide into the fabric, trying to ignore his ever present stare boring into your naked body.

He wants you to come play with his hair, because he’s been told by his father that it feels nice and he’s seen couples do it? immediately you’re clambering to sit on the chair behind his seated position on the floor, running your fingers through his dark locks while he sits stick straight, silence enveloping the two of you.

He wants you to lay beside him while he rests, recovering his energy from a recent mission? You’re already slipping underneath the sheets, clearing a space for him and letting him wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him.

(He’s so stiff even when he ‘cuddles’ you – his skin is so cold, his back straight, his grip on you tight enough to make you squirm, and the hot breath against your neck when he tells you that he’s missed you, my dear, my day is less bright without your presence will make you wince.)

Some of his wishes are, admittedly, much more difficult to obey than others, however – when he tells you to lay back and spread your legs while he’s shimmying off his pants, it’s difficult to not fight, to not cry and scream as he pushes into you, his eyebrows twitching together and his pale fists clenching by your head as he slowly begins humping into you.

He isn’t necessarily bad to you per se, though quickly his family picks up on his cluelessness on how to truly treat a spouse, and so after a few comments from Silva about how to properly woo you (maybe she will be less unruly, and you may have more luck producing children this way as well) he actually does take his advice and try to make at least some attempt at romancing you.

He’s telling you robotically delivered compliments, buying you bouquets of roses, even rewarding your good behavior with small knick knacks from your old apartment and life – but it’s not enough; the fear of him is still far greater than the almost charming awkwardness he exudes in moments of intimacy and tenderness will ever be.

You’ll essentially become a submissive, sweet little housewife under Illumi’s care, and even if you hate it, even if you try with everything you have to not be subjected to the future of bearing his children, holding the famous last name of Zoldyck, and being completely subservient to the man who kidnapped you and forcefully began a ‘relationship’ with you, Illumi and the rest of his family have ways of making sure you stay in line.

And before long, you’ll grow to accept your place, to realize that there is absolutely nothing you can do.

PUNISHMENTS:

In all honesty, Illumi rarely gets actually mad at you – he’s much more frequently disappointed when you don’t behave correctly, when you fight him or make some weak attempt at escaping.

He doesn’t get mad, but there is this small sense of pity that he feels when he watches you cry and beg him to not come any closer, to please let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone what happened! Please, I don’t want to be with you or your sick family!

It hurts, if he’s being honest, but he knows that in order to train you, to mold you into the perfect spouse and future mother of his children, he needs to be patient.

Dogs can’t be expected to follow commands from the very beginning, right?

And so, when he kneels down to where you’re curled up in the corner of your shared room, his dark hair hanging around you like a curtain while his wide eyes never blink and stay situated on you, he’s merely tilting his head and asking in a voice much too serious to be natural, oh but darling, can’t you see you’re already part of this family? Now, dinner is to be ready in thirty minutes. I need to properly prepare you.

He actually has a surprising amount of patience with you – you make him soft (or at least as soft as he can be, though anyone that knows him well can spot the differences in his treatment and air around you), and he doesn’t really want to harm you or scare you.

It’s a necessary evil in his eyes, though if he had his way, he’d train you to the point where you’re willingly looking at him with love.

He’d train you until you’re welcoming him home with a sweet kiss to his cheek after a long job with a toddler clutching at your legs, a baby suckling at your breast and a swollen belly telling him and the rest of the world exactly who you belong to, your lovesick cry of his name when you see him making the smile plastered onto his lips that much more genuine.

You make him feel, something so foreign and strange, and to Illumi this new, small amount of emotion feels downright overwhelming, something so strong and powerful and wonderful. It’s addicting, truly, something that he finds himself actively wanting, a concept he’s never felt before towards anything except bringing back Killua.

And so while he doesn’t particularly enjoy punishing you, it’s worth it to keep those feelings alive, to build up to the point where his fantasies of your domestic future with one another come to fruition.

So really, while he doesn’t get mad at you very often, he won’t hesitate to dole out punishments where he sees fit – it’s all for a greater purpose, he tells you, though you have your doubts.

Besides, there’s something even more disturbing about him punishing you when he isn’t even angry – it’s worse because it all just seems so pointless; maybe if he was yelling you would understand why he’s doing what he’s doing. He’d seem human, maybe, capable of emotion – instead, you get those familiar, dead eyes staring at you, his expression carefully neutral as he tells you that this is for your own sake, my dear, and one day you’ll see that.

When it comes to actually punishing you, Illumi’s aversion to causing you any sort of physical harm prevents him from inflicting a whole varietyof punishments onto you – he doesn’t want to taint your delicate skin, to break a bone, to do any number of things that he’s been told over and over by his family would help.

(Milluki insists that breaking both of your legs would be a good way to prevent any kind of behavior targeted around trying to escape, and while Illumi understands the logic and even agrees with it, the look of your teary eyes staring up at him and your desperate pleads to not hurt you are simply too much.)

(Milluki also suggests, with a crude grin and a gulp, that perhaps letting him try a hand at getting you to cooperate would be helpful – besides, he’ll add with a smarmy smile and his tongue flicking out over his lips, a Zoldyck heir is a Zoldyck heir, doesn’t matter who knocked her up, right? That night, Milluki ended up with the broken bone rather than you.)

He isn’t sure why he’s so incapable of hurting you considering his profession, but he just can’t – and so, he finds other methods.

Namely, your mental state is completely fair game; he’s training you after all, and when the basement of the Zoldyck mansion is just so expansive, so cold and wet and so very dark, how can he not use that to his advantage?

Your eyes are casted downwards, your voice soft and unsure as you ask if you can see my family again? Kikyo mentioned that it’s December, and there’s an important birthday in the family this month that I’d like to celebrate with them…

Illumi had been cuddling you (or, at least holding you in his arms while he lay on his side, completely frozen and inhaling the scent of your hair again and again while you uncomfortably squirmed around), but the moment those words tumble from your lips, he’s blinking pensively, pondering your statement.

I don’t know of any birthdays in the family this month.

When you try again, telling him that it’s your family you’re talking about, the one you were raised in and that you love, immediately he’s cutting you off.

My dear, you must be mistaken. The nearest birthday is Grandfather’s, and that isn’t for another month.

His voice is firmer this time, as if he’s trying to tell you something, but some part of you refuses to silently accept his blatant dismissal of your request.

Illumi you don’t understand, it’s –

his grip is tightening even more, practically suffocating you as his nails dig into your exposed arms, his voice somewhere between a hiss and a scold.

No, my love, you don’t understand. Don’t speak of them. They are no longer your family – you are a Zoldyck now, and you’ll forget all of those past imposters. You will not, under any circumstances, be allowed to see them again. Now, come with me.

And it’s not like you have much of a choice – as he picks you up and brings you down the stairs, endless winding hallways that steadily grow colder and colder the deeper you head, you’re flailing, apologizing profusely, anything to not have to spend another few nights in the basement.

And while Illumi doesn’t enjoy the tears that stream down your cheeks, he stays strong and ties you to the chains connected to the walls – loose enough that you can be seated on the ground, but tight enough to restrict any movement.

Once you’re stationary, he stands before you and stares, the light from the door behind him illuminating his figure.

I expect you to tell me who your real family is when I return.

And with that, he’s walking out the room and slamming the door shut behind him, leaving you shrouded in darkness, with nothing but the sound of your own breathing and heartbeat to entertain you.

He generally leaves you down there for three days, give or take – enough to have you dehydrated, your stomach growling and rumbling painfully at the lack of food, cold seeping into your bones and leaving you shivering and shaking, all the while fear envelopes you because there’s something here with you, you just know it.

The sounds coming from the corner of the room are too difficult to ignore, though you have no idea what it could be. You presume it’s some sort of creature, designed to kill you if Illumi so desires, the scuttling noise making fear creep up your spine every time you hear it. The sounds are ryhtmic, predictable, always going off in roughly thirty minute intervals, leading you to believe the creature is smart, or at least trained to be so.

It’s terrifying and your mind will conjure up images of terrifying, grotesque beasts in its bored and fearful state, but in reality the monster in question is Illumi himself – he grows so dependent on you that he can’t be away from you for more than about a day, so he treats himself to hiding in the shadows and simply watching you.

You’re very pretty, even when you’re crying and covered in dirt and covered in your own piss, and it’s in those moments that Illumi truly realizes how deeply his feelings for you run, how badly he wants you to be his everything. He just can’t stop looking at you, those dark eyes raking over your figure over and over and over, moving his position roughly every thirty minutes to get a new angle of you.

(Though, it’s not like he needs to see you to remember what you look like from this angle, he’s stalked you so thoroughly and so heavily that he could draw your face in his sleep with pinpoint accuracy, your features metaphorically carved behind his eyelids so that he’ll always see you you you when he blinks.)

And when he eventually opens the door once more, light cracking into the room and making you violently blink, he’s asking if you’ve learned your lesson yet, if you’re finally understanding who your real family is, and immediately you’re practically yelling that yes, I understand! I’m a Zoldyck, the Zoldycks are my real family! I love them and I love you, Illumi, because I’m your wife and that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be!

(If you were in a better state of mind you’d have the energy to be ashamed of yourself, but you’re so desperate to get out of this cellar and into the warmth, to drink something and eat something and be away from the thing trapped in there with you that you just don’t care.)

He nods, satisfied, and opens the locks, only to blink in surprise when you wobbly embrace him, sobbing into his chest and clutching onto his clothes because even though he’s unnaturally cold, he’s still warmer than the hell you’ve been in for the last three days.

And while he’s not the best at physical affection, he’ll wrap his arms around you and pull you tighter, crushing you against his hard chest whispering in your ear that he’s so glad you’ve finally accepted your place.

OVERALL DANGER:

9/10

The danger that lies with being Illumi’s darling is honestly just the fact that once he chooses you, there is absolutely no chance of escaping him.

He’s a trained assassin with connections everywhere; outside of death itself, there’s no way for you to get away from him, no matter how hard you try or who you manage to recruit into aiding you.

(And even if you were to somehow manage to kill yourself, Illumi will keep your dead body by his side – holding it at night while he sleeps, propping you in a chair across from him while he eats and carries on a one sided conversation about work that day, even going so far as to fuck your cold, lifeless body just to feel you.)

He’s lived his whole life feeling nothing at all, and the second that you inspire any bit of emotion within him, his whole perspective seems to alter just slightly, something warm and strange and good blooming in his chest. It’s something completely foreign, but the longer it goes on the more he decides the likes it, growing used to the feeling and craving more of it, finding himself yearning – yes, yearning – to feel it once more when he’s been away from you for long periods of time.

Once he realizes that the common cause of this feeling is you, Illumi is deciding that you’re the one he’ll be adding to the Zoldyck family as his partner, his spouse, his lover.

You’ll be the one to bear his children and continue on the name, all while he gets to enjoy the strange warmth in his chest, the odd protectiveness that forces him to keep you locked up, safe from the outside world, the strange urge he feels to reach out and touch you, to see you smile, to feel your lips against his own.

And so while he won’t ever directly physically harm you, your mental state will be destroyed, and you’ll be in constant fear that someday he’ll decide you aren’t worth the trouble, that once he impregnates you and you give him a few heirs, he’ll kill you off effortlessly.

These fears will never, ever see fruition of course, but the trouble with Illumi is that you just never know.

He’s skilled in the art of killing, but his skills in lying are quite formidable as well – you can never truly tell when he’s being honest with you, and while he’s never fully lied to you (only misrepresented facts and led you to believe something that may not be entirely true), you’ll live in a constant state of unease because you’re so, so very aware that he could kill you with a mere flick of his wrist if he so desired, and what’s stopping him? He claims to be in love, but in what world is this love?

And you, lucky lucky you, get the lovely package deal of not only him, but his fucked up family as well – so good luck, and really, just let him mold you into the perfect, obedient little wife he wants you to be.

You’ll be much, much happier in the end.

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beefybkg

1 year ago

DIE FOR YOU (8.2K)

— viking bakugou katsuki x reader

synopsis: your fiancé, chief of the strongest village, doesn’t believe you can protect yourself so when returns from a raid, he makes you prove him wrong.

warnings: 18+ content, minors don’t interact, ageless blogs don’t interact, female reader, referred to: (princess, baby, my lady), arranged marriage, lovey dovey, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, fingering (f), p to v, pull out method, chief kink lol, whole load of kissing, big three: (angst, fluff, smut), arguing, separately they physically wrestle lol, mention of blood, beard bakugou, yn is a girl boss.

notes: PART THREE TO FOR YOU MY VIKING BKG SERIES! can be read as a standalone! this is another big boy so if there’s typos don’t look at me.

life with your new fiancé has improved dramatically since you told him everything you hated about it.

mornings are filled with your feet in the lake, face filled with pastry as you kiss the sugar off katsuki’s lips. evenings include you eventually shifting from your seat at the dinner and ending up in his lap at the head of the table, licking your thumb to remove a scrub of dirt on his skin as he stuffs a spoon of food in your mouth.

the days are much longer too now, filled with books, new friends and helping out the people in the village. some days you’ll find yourself helping a family bake for their youngest’s birthday or chatting with an old man at the river. your favourite times are randomly turning up wherever katsuki is.

this time they’re in the basement of your home, planning the next raid in a town far over. the mood is nothing but vulgar and violent, with drawings across a half-torn map, knives stabbed in the wooden table, and candlelight helping their vision. all the men are so large, furs at their necks from an animal they recently killed with laughs that rock their whole bodies. you only see him though, slouching in his seat, sighing at his army’s rambunctiousness and raking a hand through his blonde hair.

he meets your eyes from across the room as soon as you open the door. you think it’s mostly his sharp instincts but you like to think it’s mostly because it’s you. katsuki quickly sits up straighter, wiping his mouth in case there are any stray crumbs and opens his arms out to you. he makes your heart sing, your head lightweight as you make your way over to him.

“uh oh, it’s lady bakugou!”

your fiancé always curses his army and even more the closest ones out of the bunch. these four barely listen, they’re too loud and excited over nothing. but to you, they’re all quite cute despite their rather beastly demeanour. you know them by name now and they only refer to you as my lady or lady bakugou. you’ve said they could call you by your first name and while they say they will, you think katsuki is telling them otherwise.

you cover your mouth at the newfound attention, the whole room cheering at your arrival and laughter erupts from you. especially with how bakugou glares at his men but when he lands back on you, his eyes shine with pride.

“you look beautiful today, my lady!” deku, or izuku says. deku is what your fiancé calls him.

“i hope you bring up the chief's spirits, he’s being a pain tonight,” kirishima chuckles and he’s the only one who could get away with saying that about katsuki.

“thank you for the cream you made for me! it doing great for my scars!” kaminari smiles, the womaniser of the group.

you even get a small wave from todoroki, who’s much calmer and always so stunning. katsuki says he only seems calmer because everyone else is so loud, he’s just as crazy as the rest of them.

you send your smiles and nods, replying to each comment and noticing how none of them touch you.

lastly, you’re back on katsuki who yanks you in his arms right when you’re in his vicinity. he speaks right into your ear and tingles trickle down your spine, “i told you not to come down here, baby.”

baby is a new pet name he now calls you since you cooed at how kirishima called his new wife that.

“gorgeous,” you moan. gorgeous is your new pet name for him because he is exactly that. he used to frown at the word, adamant at how he isn’t anything like that. that word should be reserved for you. but you kept with it and annoyingly, his head turns every time you say it.

“i don’t like you hearin’ this shit,” he’s firm, hands at your hips as you stand between his legs, peering down at him.

you roll your eyes, “you do realise i’ve heard this shit since i was a child back home, right? none of this is a surprise.”

“i don’t give a fuck. if you don’t need to hear it, then you’re not,” he slaps your ass as if to get you moving but you stay still between his legs, your face turning into stone.

you’re about to snap back at him, ready to dispute everything he said when kirishima speaks up from behind you.

“oh yn! momo told me about what happened a few days ago? are you alright?”

you turn your head in slow motion, your already furrowed eyebrows hardening with a glare that could kill. kirishima stills looking between your anger and bakugou’s confusion.

you begin, “oh erm—,”

“what the fuck happened a few days ago?”

the room simmers to silence, bakugou’s hands on your hips burning through your clothes and into your skin. all his men are on edge, darting between every face and avoiding you and your fiancé. kirishima is bright red, filled with regret.

you put on a face of nonchalance, crossing your arms across your chest, “nothing.”

bakugou exhales roughly, pinching the bridge of his nose in impatience, “fuck that, tell me what happened. why’s he askin’ if you’re okay?”

“i said it’s nothing, katsuki!” your arms shake in the air in exasperation, trying to get out of his grasp but he holds on tight.

“yn look at me. you’re gonna tell me or he is. who do you want me to hear it from?” he bites, ruby eyes glowing and staring down your soul. he looks like everything a chief should look like. fur around his shoulders, his bare chest showing underneath, ropes and ropes of jewellery around his neck. thick hoop earrings litter his lobes, shining in the candlelight. he doesn’t intimidate you, all the wealth and strength he breathes. especially since half of it is yours now.

you growl, shaking out of his grip and to your surprise he lets go of you, “momo and i went out to the neighbouring village and this man cornered me. he said stuff about you, but it’s fine i kicked him off me and momo and i came back here.”

bakugou blinks. his jaw close to locking as he studies your body like it’s something he should have known just by looking at you. how the fuck did this not get back to him? why didn’t you tell him? were you not as close as he thought?

his heart races in his chest, questions flooding his brain. he looks to kirishima who nods slowly, confirming his thoughts and then his gaze snaps back to you.

“this was two days ago? the day you brought me back flowers?”

you grit your teeth, folding your arms against your chest and looking away defensively, “yes.”

“did he fuckin’ touch you?” he spits and you refuse to look at your fiancé. “kirishima!” he barks and you shy away from the volume.

the redhead sits up straight, scratching his head, “uh, yes chief, my wife said the guy had his forearm on my lady’s neck.”

“he wasn’t even there!”

“is that true?” he sounds steady, flaming anger under his words. he looks much calmer than your uncontrolled annoyance though you can tell exactly how he feels. so much rage that he can only stay this unsettling calm. you don’t know what else to do but nod.

“but i fought him off me!”

bakugou ignores that, “why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“because you act like this! you don’t think i can’t fight for myself!”

“i’m actin’ like this ‘cause you lied to me,” the realisation hurts, burns.

“i never lied—,”

bakugou leans in to your face, the sweet lover you know in your mornings and evenings gone.

“and i’m actin’ like this because you shouldn’t be fightin’ anyone and nobody should be touchin’ you!”

you push him out your face by his shoulders and the whole table freezes at the contact. you climb out from between his legs, “oh fuck off, bakugou! you don’t know anything about me and what i can do!”

you storm out of the room, your dress blowing behind you with the speed as you slam the door shut. everyone can hear your footsteps rushing up the steps into the main house.

the silence is deadly in the room, bakugou resting his chin in his palm deep in thought and boiling anger.

“wives, am i right?”

“shut up, kaminari.”

“sorry chief, i thought you knew—,”

bakugou rises to his feet, leaning over the table, “fuck the old plan, we’re changin’ the raid.”

you don’t come to dinner which bakugou expected though he can’t deny how his vexation fizzles out at the sight of your bedroom door closed and is replaced with sadness. you’ve been sleeping in his room since the first night you spent together and somehow it feels as if you’ve both gone backwards.

he’s not apologising, he’s still furious that you didn’t tell him that someone tried to hurt you. how the fuck is he supposed to be a good husband if you don’t tell him shit?

he knocks his hand on the door, exhaustion from the evening finally seeping into his bones. he leans his forehead onto the wood, “baby, it’s me. lemme talk to you.”

his men would be shocked at how he’s acting right now, that there isn’t a grudge towards you as he has for so many people. bakugou’s fury can last lifetimes, he isn’t one to forgive and forget. but right now with you, he wants nothing more than to have you in his arms again.

katsuki knocks again. “baby, open up,” then he pauses, this time pressing his ear to the door, “are you even fuckin’—,”

his hand goes to the handle, swinging the door to find out you’re nowhere to be seen. he doesn’t know if it’s hope or worry that shakes him first. bakugou stomps down the corridor into his room and you aren’t there either.

“where the fuck did you go?” he speaks to the open air before running down to the lower floors.

“sophie! have you seen my wife? where is she?” he barks but sophie, his head housemaid, doesn’t jump. instead, her green eyes soften with empathy and worry.

“chief, i have not seen her? is my lady missing?”

he doesn’t want to admit that he doesn’t know where you are, or the worst, that you’re missing or you left him. who knows what his enemies will do with that information?

“no she’s… fuck,” he rubs a rough hand down his face, “she’s not missin’ but if you see my wife tell me immediately.”

bakugou doesn’t catch sophie’s response, rushing out to the back of his home. where would you go? he flings his head up to the midnight sky like it would give him answers but the sound of the wind brushing through the leaves only makes him think of how he could have made your last conversation smoother.

bakugou kicks a rock, “fuck!” glancing up from his boot to his lake hidden within greenery and trees, the one he bathes in. “if you’re not there, may god help me.”

at this point, you’re all out of tears. you’re not even sure what you’re crying about, to be honest, maybe everything. you don’t want to be treated like a helpless little dear, unable to do anything herself, hidden away from the intricacies of the world. you don’t think he should be the one to decide what you can and can’t see either.

you hug your knees to your chest before dropping them in a crossed leg position to take your hand through the lake. it always brings you peace to be out here, the beats of the crickets and the faint hoots of owls. even knowing daisy, your fiancé's horse isn’t too far away. though worst of all, it reminds you of him and all the kisses you’ve shared in this exact position, your feet dipped in the water.

you sniff into your hand, then not even bothering to feel alarmed at the footsteps behind you. you know all the exits where someone can find this lake and you know the pattern of the steps.

“there you are. i went fuckin’ crazy back there.”

you don’t bother to turn around, staring at how the moonlight reflects off the water.

you feel him sit beside you, the same as you did in the morning when you ate breakfast. just his proximity makes you feel warmer like it’s instinctive to wrap your arms around his neck in a cuddle. you don’t though, just like he expected so he sighs.

“i’m not apologisin’ to you, i meant what i said,” he states, glancing at your side profile before staring back at the lake. he crosses his legs beside you too.

“if your mind’s already made up then why did you look for me? go back inside.”

bakugou grunts, you have a tight grip on his heart because he doesn’t know anyone else who talks to him like you do. he craves it.

he decides to lie back on the grass, opting to look at the sky.

“i can’t be a good husband if—,”

“if i don’t talk to you,” you whisper and bakugou hums softly.

“yeah, baby. so talk to me.” it’s almost pleading, to hear the thoughts rattling through your head.

“you treat me like a princess who you can just lock away in a castle. nice for you to look at and touch but i can’t do anything else,” you lay back in the grass, studying the stars, “i am a chief’s daughter, the same way you’re a chief’s son. i grew up learning the same things as you.”

you let your words hang in the air and bakugou crosses his arms across his chest.

“okay, i’m protective over you. i don’t want you dyin’ when i can just keep you safe instead.”

you let out an annoyed sigh, “you’re not listening to me. i can fight and plan raids too. i’ve been on raids since i was a teen. i don’t need protection to get a man off me when i go visiting villages. you’re going to be my husband, not my prison guard.”

bakugou knows he knows these things. you’ve mentioned bits on how you can fight, he’s seen your aim when you throw knives that day you were showing kirishima and deku. he knows you’re not ignorant to what happens on raids, the murders, the stealing, the brutality. though he guesses he never connected that part of his life to you, the most beautiful person he knows.

“i know that, i get you’ve never been sheltered. still doesn’t mean i want you around that shit,” he turns his head to stare you down, “it also doesn’t mean you should be lyin’ to me. if people are hurtin’ you because of me, it hurts me too.”

“then the issue isn’t me! it’s you, they hurt your pride by hurting your possession!”

“you’re not my fuckin’ possession! anyone who hurts you, hurts me and should pay—,”

you begin to sit up at the same time bakugou reaches out to you. you're too emotional, angry and you don’t have time to perceive the hand as anything close to caring. you snatch his wrist with speed, twisting it so if he moves pain will shoot down his forearm.

he stops mid sentence, staring up at you with pent up fire behind his eyes. you stare back with warning yet surprised at yourself for reacting so quickly.

you hold his wrist tight and even though he can use his other hand to pull you off him or even his legs, he doesn’t. you both narrow your eyes at each other. he knows he’s ruined because he finds your lips first to stare at, then how your chest heaves and the soft curve of your breasts under your dress. katsuki forgets about his wrist in your grasp until he tries to touch you again.

“fuck, who taught you this?” he winces and to his luck, you let go.

“my father.” you snap, tearing away from the beauty of your lover. he’s got his engagement ring on a silver chain around his neck instead of his finger and it’s something you find yourself staring at. your possession over him.

then you sigh, “fine, i should have told you but you can’t blame me for not. i’m not a precious little thing that can’t defend herself. i can.”

he hates going back on his word though he will for you, “you’re precious to me.”

you roll your eyes, ignoring the warmth that spreads around you, “katsuki.”

he huffs a small laugh, “i get it. i’m underestimatin’ you and i know you’re strong. you’re stronger than me in so many ways.”

you want to smooth the two lines between his brows with your thumb, kiss the stubble on his face. “and?”

“i’ll stop sayin’ you can’t be around the boys when we talk about raidin’ and other shit,” though you notice the frown deepen when he says it, “i will be getting revenge on those that hurt you though because they deserve to feel the fuckin’ pain. you’d do that for me, wouldn’t you?”

you don’t turn away from his gaze, you nod, “yes i will.”

“the first agreement of the night.”

you exhale, “the difference is you wouldn’t want me to though. you’d think i’d get killed.”

bakugou grunts, “we’re goin’ in circles, princess.”

you rise to your feet, calling it a night, “i can trust you will come back alive, that you’re good at what you do and you’re strong. you don’t think i’m strong enough to even hear about what goes on let alone believe i can be apart of it. that’s the difference.”

“princess, don’t walk away,” katsuki sits up, but you’re already off.

you ignore him, making your way towards the main house.

“i’m out tomorrow, i’ll be back in a few days,” he blurts, referring to the raid he’s been planning in the opposite village.

you always spend the night together when you know he’s not coming back soon. you have enough faith to know he will always come back so it’s mostly messy, ego-boosting sex about all the shit he wants to impress you with. you’ll miss him tremendously and you know you will even more this time round without it.

you continue your route indoors, running straight up the stairs and into your room.

bakugou holds his head in his hands before letting out a roar of anger. “fuck!” after spending so much time together, he has so much to learn about you and so much to change about himself.

it’s late by the time katsuki makes it indoors, pausing at your door before turning away. by the time you wake up, you’re told he’s already set out for the raid.

usually, the duration of raids depends on how long they need to travel for. sometimes it can be done in an evening and most often it’s three days long. the first and third days are for travelling and prep and the second for the raid itself. the previous couple of times, katsuki loved to kiss in your ear, that he’ll be as quick as possible and how being away from you causes more pain than a stab wound ever could.

it’s been five days now and your fiancé isn’t back. villagers keep asking you when is he returning or when is their husband who went off in bakugou’s army is coming back. maids keep staring at you in worry when you opt to eat dinner alone by the lake. your friends keep you company and so does the library but despite it all, you miss your husband terribly.

you know he will return, you know he’s strong enough to destroy anything in his way though it doesn’t mean you want him out somewhere hurt. you’d much rather have him in your arms, head on your chest as he begs for you to read something to him.

what does piss you off the most though, is how he never said goodbye. that annoyance is enough for you to know he has to return unscathed so that you can push him around for doing that to you.

“y’still mad at me, princess?”

you’re in the kitchen after dinner in one of your comfy dresses and a head in the clouds. after many pleas that you could wash your own plate and cutlery, the maids and servants finally left you alone. the feeling of the cool water on your hands and staring out at the dark sky through the window somehow soothes your worrying thoughts.

however the familiar voice behind you brings your daydreams to life, a sharp scream bursting out of you. you spin around and clutch the bucket you were using behind you. your heart races as you lock eyes, his usual bright ruby pupils dimmer. he’s got a tired, almost deluded grin on his messy beaded face. a fresh cut slashes through his eyebrow and his right cheekbone, causing your hand to fly to your face in a gasp. he’s filthy, dirt across his skin and his clothes are in tatters. his black cloak that he usually wears is nowhere to be seen, instead, his trousers are torn across the thighs with cuts at his black tunic over his arms and chest.

bakugou takes one step towards you and there’s no control over your body when you run up into his arms. no care for the dirt and blood that coats him either. bakugou’s arms circle you, his nose breathing in the lavender scent of your hair.

“i’ll take that as a no?”

he’s warm, familiar and your heart feels like it’s mending just from his presence. until you realise what he said and you rip away from him with all your force. you’re arm's length away, giving him a deep frown.

“yes, i am mad at you! y-you can’t leave without saying goodbye to me!”

your fiancé seems to be all over the place, only half registering your words. you notice how there’s no limp in his step and his belt where he usually carries his weapons is still full though stained. stained with blood but the sight doesn’t sway you.

bakugou chuckles deep like his throat is dry then grabs your throat to slam his lips to yours. you accept it, letting him drink you in like you can cure his thirst.

katsuki moans, his arm curling above your ass to hold you close. you curve into his body, relaxing you after so many days on edge.

he parts for a breather but keeps his mouth over yours. you’re exchanging breaths back and forth, “holy fuck, i missed that. i missed you, princess.”

you’re sure he’s getting blood and dirt on you but it doesn’t bother you.

you nip down on his bottom lip, feeling him flinch in your arms before his mouth curves into a smile.

“fuck you for taking so long to return home too,” you snip, your arms linking around his neck.

he doesn’t smell great, he smells like five days away from home with odd baths, grime and metallic bite of blood. you feel insane for the hot burn washing down your body at him being away for so long unexpectedly and finally appearing before you.

“i’m sorry baby, had some issues along the way,” he mumbles, pressing kiss upon kiss to your lips. they're quick pecks and he’s half amused by your neediness. there was a large part of bakugou expecting this to go the wrong way. you storming off from him again, continuing your argument from before. he loves the heat in your eyes, it’s what he needed after being away from you for literal days, the confusion between whether it’s lust or anger.

“i missed you too. hated not knowing,” you whisper, jumping up so he can catch you, your legs wrapping around your waist.

bakugou pushes you against the kitchen wall, ignoring the clangs of the bowls and pans and his nose stroking up your neck, “knowin’ what? you didn’t think i’d come home for you? can’t fuckin’ live without you, ‘course i’m comin’ back.”

your breaths are shaky as he ruts his hips against you, five days without him have been unsatisfying on top of the fear. you whine, lips parted as you take him in for another kiss. bakugou sucks your tongue hard, lifting you higher by the ass.

“i knew you’d come back to me. i didn’t like n-not knowing that you could be out there…,” a whine dribbles out of you as he opts to bruise your neck with nibbles of his teeth, “h-hurt.”

his hands roam your body, sneaking under your dress to feel your waist, the trim of your underwear and your soft breasts. katsuki groans into your neck like a beast, rolling his hips into you, “you care about me princess?”

you tap bakugou’s cheek, not hard enough to hurt but enough to wake him up out of his lust filled reverie.

“of course, i care about you,” you say, your tone softer than expected.

bakugou’s shoulders drop, tension releasing from his body. he didn’t know he needed that to come from you, despite all the rabid need in the room.

katsuki sighs, a grubby hand holding your chin and he presses a kiss to your lips, before slotting his tongue against yours. you feel heavenly, you are heaven against him, especially after experiencing hell these past few days. you don’t care how he’s come back. it’s his first time stupidly thinking about his appearance and how you’d view him looking so vulgar, but from the way you’re trying to feel every part of him, he knows you don’t care.

“i care about you too,” his thumbs press into your soft stomach and your chin lifts when kisses land at your jaw, “i did so much thinkin’.”

you hum in reply, pulling his tunic up so he can drag it over his head. you feel every part of his chest, the smooth dips and curves. you’re breathless, “about what?”

“you,” he rumbles, katsuki’s hand moving to rub your clit over your underwear. there’s not much pressure with the fabric in between but it makes you weaken all the same, “how i sounded like i didn’t believe in you.”

you can barely remember your last conversation before this now that you have your legs wrapped around katsuki’s bare waist. he licks a stripe up your neck, his thumb rubbing slow circles just where you need.

“what?”

“i do believe you, princess,” his voice is honey in your ears and you’re burning up so fast you can barely register what he says next, “but i want you to show me.”

bakugou puts you down on your feet slowly, and you’re holding him close to you so he doesn’t leave you again.

“what? what are you doing, katsuki?”

he pulls your arms from around his neck and gracefully the skirt to your dress falls. you’re beautiful, he cannot put into words how five days apart felt. the white of your dress has splotches of blood and dirt from him and it only riles him up more. nevertheless, he keeps to the plan.

bakugou rubs under his nose, “last time we were together, you said you could fight, you could protect yourself and that we were brought up the same. i don’t need to be so protective.” a calloused hand rubs against your cheek before stepping away, leaving you all flustered and flushed.

“i’m always gonna be protective over you but i want you to show me that you can protect yourself.”

you blink at the man who stands completely serious before you.

“what are you asking me to do?” you cannot quell the heat in your stomach, how raw and masculine he looks before you. bakugou looks even bigger than he did when he left, with a new scar on his left pectoral, and bruising under his right rib. you notice no wounds apart from the open one on his eyebrow. there’s only one small candle by the bucket where you were cleaning and aside from that it’s the moonlight shining through. it makes him look gorgeous, white light on the left side of him, the other side in the shadows. the knives at his waist shine beautifully, multiple different shapes and sizes. you’d much rather fuck him than play this game.

“fight me, baby, take me down,” he says, expression ready for anything.

you frown, “really? but you’re already injured and sore.” your voice is featherlight, your hand coming up to touch his abdomen though bakugou snatches it before you can touch.

“just wanna see what you can do.”

now your eyebrows rise, “oh, you’re so confident i can’t do it that you’re offering yourself injured?”

there’s a cocky rise to his left cheek and a shrug, “you show me, princess.”

bakugou knows how to get you going in more ways than one, tilting his head to watch your pupils roam his body, thoughts going at a million miles.

does he really think you won’t be able to take him down? judging by the smirk on his cheeks and the way he scratches his head, leaving all the blades hanging by his waist free suggests so.

you lift off the wall, “don’t go easy on me, chief.”

before bakugou has a chance to reply, you use the one thing you have over opponents who are clearly stronger than you, speed. it’s easy for you to manoeuvre around bakugou while he’s off guard, spinning around to him to harshly kick behind his knee. you’re sure to only kick one, leaving his large body to stumble awkwardly to the ground. a loud boom resonates throughout the house at the weight of his body.

bakugou grunts beneath you and you’re thinking of him in parts. his arms, his legs, his hands. what can go where and how you can stop them. you’re next to kick him in the back, so his chest is on the ground, his cheek on the wooden floor. you rest a foot in the centre of his back, leaning all your body weight to keep him down as you reach to grab his arms to keep them behind his back.

however, your half injured chief of a fiancé is better than that, grabbing at your ankle and spinning around to lay on his back. you’re off balance as he chuckles, “speedy, are you?”

he’s got your foot but you’ve still got your arms. you hold onto his forearm that has you, twisting your hands against his skin in a burn and stomping on his bicep to let you go.

he does release you, not before locking your body around his thighs and with his hips, he thrusts you forward to lay on top of his body.

you’re out of breath, breathing warm and heavy over your fiancé’s face. you’re trapped between his thighs, and he grabs at your wrist.

“you’re beautiful, you know that?” he grins and it only makes you furious.

he’s flushed, bruised and bloody beneath you, plump lips you’d love to kiss and his hair is a complete mess. there’s a slight shine to him with the dirt and the sweat that’s stuck to his body for hours.

you growl, “i can knee you in your balls right now which will make you release your legs. don’t forget you left your waist open this whole time so i can grab a knife and stab you in your throat.”

you even unsheath a knife from his holder with your free hand, resting it on his throat, “flip me around and it goes right below your adam's apple with your own body weight as a force.”

your words are ragged and you notice bakugou’s eyes flick from each body part you mention. how honestly, right now, you’ve got the upper hand.

“does this turn you on, chief?” you tilt your head, eyes wild even though he’s got you pressed firmly against him andhe’s holding your arm at an awkward angle. you’ve still got the knife in your hand that could go through his throat. you try to move your hips in his tight lock around his meaty thighs but you can’t. instead, his grip presses his hard cock further into your stomach.

bakugou grins, “sorta. actually yeah, i think so.”

you roll your eyes, despite the red hot coil burning in your lower stomach. you know that if he flipped your dress up, he’d find your underwear completely damp.

“you’re also covered in me,” he notes, biting down on his lip at the dirt and blood that streaks your dress, all clean before he came in. you bite back a sigh at the animalistic feelings of this all. the roughhousing, the proof that you could kill the chief of the most powerful village and how bakugou stares back at you with nothing but arousal and pride.

with the arm he’s using to hold yours, you twist your elbow over his to pull out of his grip. you use your free arm to rest your weight on his shoulder.

“believe me now? i could have killed you three times over,” you say, your voice pitching lower by the end and you don’t mean to stare at his mouth but you do.

“i do, princess,” bakugou murmurs, tone so deeply honest, your eyes widening and your grip loosening on the knife you’re still holding. “shoulda believed it before but i guess i needed to see it in action. what did you do to that guy that attacked you?”

“he had his arm on my throat so i just elbowed his arm out and kicked his chest,”

“right in the centre? it still had bruisin’ four days after fuckin’ idiot,” bakugou spits and you frown down at him, brushing his hair off his forehead.

“how do you know?”

“that was the village we went to raid,” he smirks, then finds your chin to pull you for a kiss, it has you chasing after his lips for more, “got you some pretty shit. they had lots of rubies there.”

“i thought you were going to—,”

“changed my mind.”

“did you kill him to protect your pride?”

“did it to protect yours,” he nips at your bottom lip, “you bruised him, i get to kill him.”

you laugh into his mouth, throwing the knife to the side and caressing katsuki’s cheek as your kiss only becomes deeper.

“did it all for you,” he mumbles, swiping his tongue against yours messily, “we took so long ‘cause i had to kill them all… all his fuckin’ men.”

your fiancé makes you needy, feral. your brain is cotton as you haphazardly tug at his trousers but bakugou’s too engrossed in your mouth to shuffle to pull them off. though the grip on his thighs loosens, and he joins in shoving the fabric of your dress up to your waist so you can hump his cock.

“t-thank you,” you moan into his mouth, hand roaming across the light dust of dark blonde hair over his chest. together, you’re burning electricity, sparks setting off whenever you touch.

“don’t fuckin’ thank me,” he snaps, rolling over and bringing you with him so your back is against the ground.

he is gorgeous above you and you’re so close his new thick fuzz of facial hair tickles your cheeks. much thicker than you’ve ever seen it. you take note of the new scars that are about to form on his face and the ones that are halfway to healing on his chest.

you brush your fingertips over his abdomen, “i hope i didn’t hurt you too much.”

bakugou grunts, rubbing his clothed cock against your clit beneath your underwear. the contact has your eyes fluttering to shut, your hips tilting towards him.

“it hurt more when you never told me what happened to you that day,” he digs his teeth into your neck, then sucks softly to soothe the pain, “how am i supposed to be a good husband if—,”

“i know, i know,” you whine and now it’s your turn to lock your legs around his waist keeping him with you in case he even thinks of leaving. you’re not sure where the build up of emotions comes from, perhaps the lack of sleep without him by your side, the silent goodbye, the anger mixed with glee at his return. tears well up on your waterline though they don’t fall, “i’m sorry, katsuki.”

he’s quick to notice the change in tone, darting up from his attack on your neck to your pouting face.

“no, don’t fuckin’ cry,” he coos and you keep the fact that you have the chief cooing and consoling you deep in your back pocket. he kisses your lips softly, his hips rocking sweetly against your clit, “i’m sorry too. baby, no tears for me, yeah?”

“i missed you so much and i-i felt so bad since our last conversation was an argument—,”

he shuts you down with another kiss, “princess, an argument isn’t gonna keep me away from you. i thought i’d come home to an angry wife, you had me fuckin’ nervous.”

you laugh as his massive calloused thumbs wipe away the tears, “i was angry.”

“you’re not now?”

“no.”

“that’s good.”

then to your hell, he pulls away from you but not too far, just sinks further down your body. your breath hitches in anticipation. you even forget momentarily you both are still on the floor in the kitchen, though you guess it makes sense with the way he’s about to eat you.

bakugou’s large palms rub over your thighs like a massage. thumbs kneading the skin like dough, before he pushes your knees to your face. you note how he licks across his bottom lip as he stares between your legs. you’re not sure if he can see the damp between your legs with the poor lighting. you’re sure he’d laugh at you if he could. “thought about the taste of you every fuckin’ day i was away from you, princess. every fuckin’ day.”

the rumble of words set you on fire, “thought about you too.”

a single eyebrow rises, “you touch her?”

he feels for your underwear, pulling it off under your ass and over your legs. bakugou groans at just the smell of you, aroused and waiting for him.

“yes,” you breathe and a thumb flicks over your clit. to finally be touched feels glorious, you never realise how attached you get to his touch until he leaves. he presses your thighs so your knees are at your ears and the burn of the stretch is welcome. “thought of how you would do it.”

“did you come too?” he’s transfixed between your legs, laying flat on his chest to bring his face closer and you can no longer see him over the fabric of your dress. your whole body withers in excitement, the thought of having his mouth on you again, the lewdness of having your legs open and exposed.

you arch your back for more of anything, “yes, chief.”

bakugou darts his eyes up to the mountain of fabric on your chest. he can only see your breasts rising and falling. fuck, he’s lucky. he’s also not stupid, he’s aware of this little chief thing you’ve got for him. why not indulge? he’s been away for so long, you had to take care of your pretty pussy all on your own. he should be face first on you all night in apology.

“keep callin’ me that. anythin’ else and you’re not comin’.” he kitten licks your clit and you mewl delightedly, your hand brushing through his hair.

“yes,” you squeak and you twitch when he bites your thigh lightly, “yes chief.”

bakugou starts with pure skill and technique. licking a stripe from your asshole to your clit before swallowing all the goodness. “fuck, aren’t you the prettiest?” he groans, spreading your lips apart with two fingers and resting his hand on the hair at your mound. he sucks harshly on your clit and your whole body rumbles, “aren’t you?”

“oh fuck—, yes chief, i am,” you tremble, rocking your hips against his face. if you could see him right now, you know his face would be wet from you, especially from the way you feel him moaning as he eats.

he focuses on your clit with his tongue, brushing around the bud in circles and adoring how you keep mumbling nonsense every few seconds. there’s no warning when he takes two fingers and thrusts them into you.

“c-chief, oh my… fuck, kats—,” you pour out and as soon as you slip up, his tongue comes off you. he does keep his fingers inside you but they’re not moving. you pulse around him, beginning for a release and he knows, he can feel it.

“not my name, princess. get it right and you get to come all over me,” he rests up on his arm to see you fully. only now, does bakugou fully understand what he was missing not being able to see your face over your dress. you can say the same thing to him too. “i was willin’ to die out there for you. all the anger i felt… so fuckin’ mad at the way he touched you.”

“you’re all—,” you begin, but the tips of his fingers begin to stroke against your walls. bakugou laughs at how easily you succumb to him, your arms reaching out to his face. he leans in close to you, always finding it hard to say no. you pout your lips at him, and his fingers curl inside of you, “i’d die for you too, chief.”

bakugou shakes his head, a crazed grin on his face. he loves you saying that to him, it sends a wild thrill down his spine that you’d put yourself on the line for him. but he doesn’t need that from you. “you won’t needa do that princess. i’ll be here for you.”

you know your fiancé is one for confessions during sex. dramatic ones that rack your brain and have you thinking about the words for days after until you corner him at dinner about them. he’ll confirm them again completely sober.

there’s no question, when you bring him in for a kiss. bakugou’s fingers piston inside of you, the same speed when he fucks you after a long day. you’re moaning into his mouth, holding him with strength he didn’t know you to have. you only pull away because you’re unable to focus on two things at once. your back begins to arch and your clothed breasts press against his bare chest.

“y-you taste like me,” you whine and all of a sudden you grab his wrist between your legs. he stops his hand out of confusion and frowns over at you.

“what’s wrong princess?”

“wanna come with you inside me, your cock,” you whisper, lust laced through your words.

bakugou nods like there’s a spell over him, dragging his hand out of you and roughly pulling down his trousers. his cock springs out, slapping against his bare chest and you sigh longingly.

“it’s okay, baby, you’ll be gettin’ him,” it’s not long at all for bakugou to grip his cock and tap it against your clit. he grins at how you twitch, locking your arms around your knees to hold them up. “you’re so good for me aren't you, princess?”

“i’d be better if you fucked me,” you barely manage to voice and bakugou huffs a laugh.

“say it again politely,” and he teases you, his tip dipping into your hole. a cute “oh” passes your lips at the sensation. “baby.”

“i’ll be good if you fuck me, chief. please,” you plead, biting your lip as you stare up at him.

bakugou groans loud enough to wake up everyone in the village. being with you, like this, feels like religion. willing to give up everything to please and honour you. he can’t think of anything else he’d rather do than to see you satisfied because of him.

“yes baby,” he whispers as if in a trance and he’s tending to you quickly, holding his cock at the base and slowly pushing inside of you.

it feels as if all the tension in your body releases at the feel of him. up in the clouds with your fiancé with his thickness stuffed within your walls. you exhale blissfully, closing your eyes as you keep your thighs in place. the angle is delightful, quenching your thirst slightly.

bakugou balances on a palm by your head, his other hand palming at your clothed breast. he’s missed you more than he could describe, but knowing this raid was for you made everything worthwhile.

“oh you make me feel, oh,” you try but bakugou begins to slide in and out creating a rhythm that has your heart beating out your chest. he’s slick and smooth with your wetness and the pat pat of your bodies only makes you wetter.

“like what, princess?” he manages, squeezing your breast to make you open your eyes.

“amazing, chief,” you smile at him and it’s a smile he’s never seen before. it’s round eyes, a layer of sweat giving you a shine, and a toothy grin. he can tell you’re not all here on the earth but you’re in the same place as him.

he kisses roughly at your jaw and you laugh at the feeling of his new beard against you, “want you to come with me, yeah?”

he punctuates his question with quicker jolts of his hips. each only pressing against your softest parts causing your back to arch. you’re so close, the heat in your stomach burning up that you’re sure you’re marking your thighs by holding so tight.

“c-chief, katsuki, i’m about to—,”

“all for me. come on,” he whispers in your ear and he sees how you get enveloped by your pleasure. it washes over you, your fingertips tense, your mouth parted to whine. you even push back onto him, the hot fuzzy sensation reaching your toes.

it’s not too long before bakugou has to regretfully slide out of you when it gets too much. he pumps thrice, coming all over your dress with a groan that’s on the edge of pain.

“motherfucker, fuck,” he mumbles before laying beside you on the floor of the kitchen.

you’re both lumps of heaving, sweaty bodies and like always, his hand finds yours and he plops it on his heart.

“can’t believe you came on my dress, i like this one!” you glance down at the newfound stains and lay your head back down with a sigh.

“princess, you’ve got my blood and dirt on that too. it needs a clean.”

“you need a clean,” you turn your head to face him, tiredness but relief all over his face. you smirk, “when was the last time you cleaned your dick?”

bakugou laughs drily, stretching his arms above his head whilst still holding your hand. your body drags with him, “you didn’t care a second ago, i know you don’t now.”

you make a noise of disapproval, looking over your fiancé with fresh eyes, “i’m happy you’re home.”

bakugou tilts his head, blinking at you softly like a friendly cat. your heart warms.

“i’m happy i’m home too.”

—

your fiancé carries you bridal style through your home and you can’t stop touching the thick beard growing at his chin and cheeks. even the moustache on his upper lip has you fascinated.

you like it. a lot. and once you’ve softened him up by complimenting his new look, even suggesting keeping it, you try something else.

“so, since you know i can take you down, does this mean i can go on a raid with you?”

bakugou narrows his gaze at you in his arms. happy, sweet and sated. your fingers are touching every bit of skin above his shoulders. he has no clue why you thought to put your finger in his ear a second ago but he didn’t say no.

“princess, i am fuckin’ tired. i want to sleep until next year and not think about another raid until i wake up,” he deadpans but to his detriment, you pout.

“okay,” and he thinks it’s over when you snuggle against him, fingertips brushing against the hair on his chest, “i don’t need your permission anyway.”

“i will throw you out of the window,” he threatens but his grip tightens on you when he says the words.

you giggle and he thinks the sun is rising outside, “no you wouldn’t.”

“i could.”

“but you wouldn’t.”

VIKING MASTERLIST

3K notes View Post

beefybkg

2 years ago

You like to call your boyfriend cute when you talk about him to your coworkers, saying things like: “He’s so cute, he cooks for me all the time!” or “My boyfriend just bought me this flower bouquet for our date! Isn’t he the cutest?” and it planted an image into your coworkers mind of your boyfriend being this soft looking guy. So they definitely didn’t expect a tall muscular guy with a face that literally embodies “if looks could kill” to walk into the building claiming to be your boyfriend and that you had asked him to pick you up. But it did help a little when you run into his arms telling how much you miss him and for a moment, they catch his hard face turned soft. Ok maybe he was a little cute.

-Sakusa, Ushijima, Kageyama, Iwaizumi, Tsukishima.

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

24K notes View Post

beefybkg

1 year ago

DEAD RECKONING : TODOROKI TOUYA X READER

DEAD RECKONING : TODOROKI TOUYA x READER

SUMMARY: A makeup artist at a haunted maze, all you want to do is make it to the end of the season with a little extra cash in your pocket and no murder convictions on your record. Scare actor Todoroki Touya makes that last part a challenge. (7.8k) CONTENT & WARNINGS: no quirks au, halloween, enemies to lovers, fem + afab reader, slight scumbag touya, haunted maze workers, smut, semi-public sex, smoking, heavy swearing, touya likes having his hair pulled + girls who are a little mean to him, sort of good girl vs bad boy vibes, 18+ minors please dni NOTES: Happy Halloween from me!! This fic is part of the Willow's Haunted House collab. Dedicated to cat-slippered and ofmermaidstories, for workshopping what eventually became this fic with me about a thousand years ago. I’m sorry I turned Bakugou into Dabi. And I’m sorry for dedicating the now Dabi fic to you. But not sorry enough to not have done it. Love you. :)

If there was one thing you hated about Halloween, it was Todoroki Touya.

Shockingly, this was not a commonly-held sentiment, which was the only reason there even was a recurrence of Todoroki Touya darkening your Halloween seasons in the first place.

For the last three years, you’d spent your fall semester working as a makeup artist at the Musutafu haunted maze alongside a slew of other college and local kids looking to make a little extra cash. The hours were fairly flexible, and the wage covered your textbooks, with a little left over to keep you in the occasional coffee between lectures.

But your wages did not nearly cover the amount of psychic damage you had been dealt, managing Todoroki Touya’s obnoxious, sarcastic, chain-smoking ass day after day for seasons on end.

On lucky days, someone else was on Touya duty. But on unlucky ones, you found him sprawling in the plastic makeup chair opposite you, those intense blue eyes tracking you with no small amount of pleasure, like he was this afternoon.

You stopped in the doorway, a curse slipping out of you. You’d been hoping that you’d get lucky today, as the day was otherwise an excellent one. You’d invited a group of friends to do the maze with you after you got off shift, and you had been looking forward to it all week.

But it figured Touya could never let you have too good of a time.

“Missed you too, sweetheart,” he drawled over the noise of displeasure that escaped you. He was at least already dressed in costume, so he wouldn’t go smearing his makeup as he pulled it on, a tumble of stitches and frayed edges that had once been a dark-blue duster, but now just mostly gaped open to show the hard planes of his chest.

“I’m so sure,” you told him, averting your eyes from his pecs. You sighed, resigning yourself to his presence, and made your way in, dumping your bag on the staff room couch.

“This is a very hostile work environment you’re creating,” Touya rasped, his grin sharp. Years of chain-smoking outside the maze had left his voice even lower and raspier than when you’d first met him three years ago.

“Don’t worry, it can always get more hostile,” you told him, affecting your own sweet grin as you moved over to the vanity, digging through all the makeup and prosthetics for the ones he’d need.

Touya himself was severely scarred, which was likely why he’d applied to work at the haunted maze in the first place. You’d never asked him about his scars, but you’d heard enough gossip from the other maze workers to know that they were the product of a childhood accident, involving the burning down of his father’s—the then-and-current mayor’s—house.

He’d accentuated them with a shit load of facial piercings, and was sort of off-putting to look at the first time you caught a glimpse of him. The issue was that, once your eyes made sense of what they were seeing, he was infuriatingly handsome.

You’d heard he’d initially been unleashed on the maze with no makeup or prosthetics, and within the first evening was causing line backups, with all the parties of teen girls who were taking a little too much time lingering around his section of the maze.

So now he was subjected to prosthetics to make him uglier, a fact that he seemed to absolutely relish.

You dug out the monster prosthetic pack that gave him jutting forehead ridges. “Let’s make the outside reflect the inside, shall we,” you told him as you flapped the rubbery pieces at him, smirking your own little smirk.

Touya’s answering grin was wicked, and he relaxed back in his seat, sprawling his legs out wide in that infuriating way men had. “Think my outside is too pretty then, huh?” he asked, sapphire eyes flickering over you.

Your face went hot in a weird combination of anger and embarrassment. “I try not to think of your outside,” you told him pertly, making sure to slap the forehead piece onto him hard enough to make a splat noise.

His mouth twitched again but he let you go to work, gluing the pieces down against his face, careful not to press them to the seams of any of his scars. He was tall enough even lounging in his seat that you only had to lean over a little to focus clearly on his face, all long legs and rangy muscle.

This close, he always smelled like cigarette smoke, with an undercurrent of something rich and dark, like cinnamon or chocolate. You could never put your finger on it, but you were not about to go sniffing him at any length to figure it out, even if it was annoyingly appealing.

He’d probably love that, and would absolutely never let you live it down.

Touya’s eyes tracked you closely as you worked, but otherwise his expression was still, and you thought not for the first time that it really was too bad he was so obnoxious. He was actually quite handsome, with a soft, sensuous mouth, a blade-straight nose, and vivid blue eyes that all but glowed like the embers of a crackling fire when he was provoking you.

It was a shame he wasted all his beauty being the most annoying man on earth.

You’d heard from the other maze workers that he was relatively well-known around the area, having spent his teen years doing petty criminal shit to destabilize his father’s reelection campaigns, netting himself several jail stays and a record a mile long. He’d settled somewhat since he’d gotten a job at a piercing parlor downtown and several side gigs like the maze, but people weren’t fully convinced he’d abandoned his old ways, and he still clearly relished any opportunity to discomfort and destabilize anyone who got on his bad side.

Apparently including you.

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking too hard, sweetheart,” Touya said, those cerulean eyes blinking up at you.

You realized you’d paused over him, midway through blending his prosthetic forehead in, and another annoying little smirk rode his mouth.

You took care to roll your eyes at him, gesturing at him with your brush. “I know several places I can stick this if you’re not careful.”

Touya’s smirk melted into an unholy grin. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he rasped, eyes glittering up at you.

You went back to work on him with a little more force than necessary, blending hard enough that you saw his broad shoulders shift in an effort to keep his neck braced. “I doubt any time with you could be classed as good,” you said pertly, giving a final few brushes before stepping back, satisfied with your work.

The forehead made him look unhinged as he offered another smirk, leaning forward. “True—the feedback I usually get is ‘incredible’, ‘mind-blowing’, ‘earth-shattering’, ‘toe-curling’, ‘scream-inducing’—”

“Oh I’ll scream if you keep talking,” you said hotly, even as your cheeks warmed. Even with the stupid fucking forehead he was annoyingly handsome. You needed him a thousand million miles away from you before you herniated something, jumping back and forth between annoyance and attraction.

Maybe it was time to stop signing up to work here.

“Now get out of my room, I have other people waiting,” you commanded, thankful when you heard the scuff of a boot at the door confirming another maze worker waiting.

Touya didn’t look at all chastened, but he unfolded himself from the chair in an unfurling of broad shoulders and long legs. He leaned in close as he passed, voice dipping low. “See you later, sweetheart,” he said, a smile curling his mouth.

Annoyingly, his proximity crossed a bunch of the wires in your brain, and you fumbled before managing, “Not if we’re both lucky.”

“Stop, I’ll blush,” he drawled, another unholy grin splitting his cheeks before he saluted two fingers at you and ducked out of the room. The scent of smoke and cinnamon followed him, and you let out a sigh of relief, the air and your brain clearer now that he was gone.

No sooner were you free of him, however, than another problem was immediately introduced.

“So…he actually talks to you?” The other maze worker’s head poked through the door, her eyes resting on you intently. You recognized her as a local highschooler who’d just joined this season, who usually ended up getting in early enough to get her makeup done by the other artist.

You blinked. “I…unfortunately?” you answered, confused.

She stepped into the room, and you reflexively gestured her over to the chair that Touya had just abandoned.

She hummed as she took her seat, eyeing you curiously. “Wow. How’d you get him to do that? He doesn’t really talk to any of us,” she informed you.

You could feel your eyebrows lift towards your hairline. “He…doesn’t…?”

She shook her head, her pretty golden ringlets swaying with the motion. “He’ll chainsmoke with Tomura and he sometimes talks to Himiko. But the other girls—they say he just laughs and walks away if they try to chat with him.”

Well. That sounded rude enough to be true to form, you thought. But when Touya was in your makeup chair you couldn’t get him to shut the hell up. You shifted, uncomfortable with the idea that Touya had any special soft spot for you. Maybe, like a cat, he could sense who didn’t much like him and decided to latch on out of spite.

“You might be a little young for him,” you decided, going over to the vanity and digging out the prosthetics she’d need—a witch chin and a raised gorey slash that would open along one cheekbone.

“No—it’s all the other girls too. And most of the guys,” she told you. “He must like you.”

A laugh escaped you, and you turned back to her with the prosthetics in hand, a few new brushes and a white, cakey paint palette shoved beneath your elbow.

“I don’t think he likes anyone,” you told her, setting everything down and applying the tacky glue to the underside of her chin prosthetic. “I think he just likes to inflict himself on people he knows it will annoy. You could act disinterested in talking to him and he’d probably come flitting right over.” The image of Touya suffering at the hands of a league of flirty high school girls pleased you—better they suck up his time and energy than you.

“I don’t know,” the girl said uncertainly. “Maybe he likes you.” But she was forced to leave it at that once you started applying her chin, making it difficult for her to speak.

You certainly didn’t think that was the case.

But the seeds of doubt had already been sown, a question that you thought would probably haunt your evening now that it had been formed. Just why did Touya talk to you if he was so standoffish with other people? And what did it mean that he made such a point of it?

You knew for sure it wasn’t because he liked you, his obnoxious manner said that well enough. But why did you get treatment that was significant enough that even the other maze workers would comment on it?

And, perhaps even more concerningly, why did the thought agitate you so much?

You decided to try your best not to think about it, and have a good time with your friends once they got there, putting Touya out of your mind. You returned to doing the girl’s makeup with vigor, suddenly as eager to get her out of your chair as you had been Touya.

She was finished in record time and she thanked you, carefully not to smile too widely lest she dislodge the prosthetics. You took in the next person waiting as she left, slowly working your way through the line of people as the hour drew ever closer to the maze’s evening opening time.

Eventually you finished up and collected your things, making your way out front to find your friends already waiting for you. They’d clearly dressed with the intent to go out after—something you hadn’t considered—their dresses short and slinky and their makeup smoky. You’d have liked to have joined, but you were still in the sweater and leggings you’d come straight from lectures in.

Maybe you would have time to go home and change after the maze.

You were scooped up into several hugs, breathing in the sweet scents of various perfumes, and informed that you absolutely did have to go home and get changed after so you could come out and get “Hallowasted!” too.

“Okay if I’m not busy peeing my pants, which monsters are the ones you did?” your roommate asked, dancing around to warm herself in the cool fall air. “I wanna see ‘em.”

You named several of your creations, conveniently leaving off Touya. You knew that if your friends took too close a look at him and figured out what he looked like under the cakey makeup and forehead prosthetic, they’d never leave the maze. You knew he sat somewhere around the end of the set up, in an alcove that had been decorated to look like an abandoned village with burned out cabins, a mess of bones dotting the ground at the side of the walkway.

You were also hoping you could pass unnoticed in the group of your friends, as there was no doubt in your mind that Touya would take special care to annoy you in particular. So you did not want your group to linger long enough for your friends to scope him out.

You would know it was him under the makeup you’d done yourself, but being cornered somewhere in the dark with the soundtrack of screams echoing in your ears would not exactly have you feeling your boldest.

Your group had dinner at the food trucks parked out front, chatting and laughing and waiting for the crowds to die down, each indulging in one drink for bravery before joining the line. Eventually you ended up at the front of the queue, late in the evening, your friends crowding in behind you, whispering nervously.

“You first,” your roommate hissed when you looked back at them questioningly. “You work here, you have to do the honors.”

You sighed, accepting your fate, making a mental note to subtly shift to the back of the pack as you made it further into the maze.

Then you were being greeted by Shigaraki Tomura, whose makeup you’d done last. He’d been given layers of prosthetic peeling skin and a scar at his mouth, and he was decorated with a layer of disembodied hands gripping him all over. He shredded your tickets, looking unenthused.

“Remember that inside the maze, none of the monsters can touch you,” he recited dully. “You are not permitted to touch them in return; do not hit, kick, push, bite, slap, lick, scratch, or otherwise assault the actors. Don’t tamper with the props, do not leave items behind. Be respectful of other guests and do not linger too long in the rooms. If you need to leave for any reason, every room or alcove has clearly-lit exits marked in red.”

His eyes briefly met yours as he waved you through, and you thought you saw a pale brow go up.

But then you were being shoved forward by your friends, several hands clinging to your arms and the back of your shirt, and you stepped forward into the dark of the hall.

The maze truly was a labyrinth—it started indoors in a pitch black room, with fake body bags hanging from the ceiling. Toga Himiko, a highschooler whose makeup you usually did, stalked you around the edges of the room, dressed in a torn school uniform with fangs peeking out of her widely grinning mouth, and a dripping knife clutched eagerly in her fingers.

Once you made it past her, the maze spilled outdoors, into a tangle of hedges and artificially-constructed set, steering you in twisting loops around the property.

You were pleased with how terrifying all the actors looked, even having done most of their prosthetics yourself, and found your heart racing as you took every new corner, found yourself freezing up and stumbling back whenever someone jumped out at you, suppressing a shriek.

Your friends participated with gusto, shrieking and ducking away from the monsters, holding you like a human shield between them and the maze workers. You would have been insulted if it hadn’t been so funny.

You made it through most of the maze with little trouble, passing through a haunted swamp, a graveyard with mummies twisting and screaming in their bindings, grasping for you. You stumbled past a man wielding a chainsaw and a set of clowns waving axes, making it through in record time thanks to the push of your frantic friends behind you.

It was only on the last leg of the maze that you finally ran into Touya.

You peered around the corner, recognizing the set up instantly. The burned out houses flickered with blue flame, lighting up the set in an eerie, unsettling sapphire light. The fake bones on the ground sat in piles of ash, glowing stark white in the light. You couldn’t spot Touya anywhere, and you slowly crept forward, trying to shepherd your friends in front of you.

You even almost thought you had been successful, until a rasping voice drawled behind you, “Hello sweetheart.”

And then your roommate screamed, bolting forward, knocking into you and sending you stumbling over a pile of the fake bones. You landed hard on your ass in the patchy grass, the wind punching out of you.

“Oh fuck—” you heard one of your friends say as she too was steamrolled, and you watched the group of them trip over one another in their desperation to get through the alcove, dissolving into chaos in a matter of seconds.

You quickly tried to get to your feet to follow, but a hiss forced its way through your teeth when you tried your ankle, a wave of sharp pain washing over you.

Oh fuck. Not good.

The tread of a boot in the grass next to you made you jump, and your head whipped up to catch sight of Touya crouching over you.

“You good down there?” he asked. His eyes glinted in the dark of the maze, and the blue light cast shadows over his features, twisting them in the dim. Your heartbeat picked up, even as your brain recognized him for who he was.

You cringed, embarrassed that you’d had to hurt yourself in his part of the maze specifically. It figured.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, trying to climb to your feet again. Your ankle twinged in protest, and Touya must have caught the flash of pain on your face because then his hand was under your elbow, supporting you as you rose in an unexpected show of courtesy.

Although he broke the illusion immediately when he opened his mouth again.

“Yeah you look real fine,” he said, quirking an eyebrow. With the prosthetic forehead it made him look sort of demented.

“Well I’ll be fine,” you insisted, even as those blue eyes flickered over you assessingly. His fingers tightened a little on your arm before he bent down, tapping his other hand on your leg.

“Which leg, sweetheart?” he asked. “And where?”

It took you a minute to catch up to what he was asking, confused at seeing him on his haunches before you. A scream went up in the background, some terrified maze goer, and a little shiver went down your spine.

“Uh, the left ankle,” you supplied, startling when Touya’s fingers slid underneath the cuff of your legging over the aforementioned ankle, rolling it up gently. You blinked, surprised at the careful touch.

“Can’t see too well in the dark,” he announced. “But it looks like you ripped it open on something.” He peered back up at you. “Think it’s sprained?”

You shook your head. “Probably just rolled. It hurts but not like go-to-the-hospital level,” you said. “Just give me a minute, I’ll be good.”

Touya considered you for a moment, then got to his feet, moving closer. That scent of smoke and cinnamon drifted over to you, and he bent his head to look into your face.

“Much as you’re the most terrifying thing in this maze, I don’t think people are gonna wanna see you here,” he told you, a smirk cutting into his mouth. “Would ruin the experience. So we’re gonna have to get you out of here.”

You scowled up at him, crossing your arms over your chest. Well no thanks for the concern, then. “I’m going, I’m going, keep your shirt on,” you told him, preemptively gritting your teeth before readying yourself to take another step.

But before you could, one of Touya’s hands was suddenly sliding under your knees, his other slipping behind your shoulder. In the next second the burning buildings were swinging wildly in front of your eyes, and then you were being hefted up into Touya’s arms. You let out a startled yelp, your own hands shooting out to grab his jacket, giving him a wild-eyed look.

“Touya—!” you garbled out, as a smile pulled at his expression.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he told you, looking a little too smug about the situation he’d just put you in. He strode towards the exit, kicking the door open with a heavy boot, carrying you down the hall and back into the building. He was hard with wiry muscle underneath you, and so deliciously warm against you. Your ears went hot with every sure, easy step he took, like carrying you was little effort for him.

Thankfully it was barely a minute before you reached the staff room, where Touya laid you out gently on the couch, much more carefully than you might have expected from him.

Your cheeks and your nose burned, flaming even hotter when he squatted down in front of you and took your ankle in his hand again.

His dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he took note of your injury. In the light you could definitely see that you’d caught your ankle bone on one of the fake bones you’d tripped over, as there was a long gash up the side of it, but nothing else looked bruised or otherwise concerning. You thought you’d probably be fine in a couple hours, just a roll.

It was definitely nothing Touya had needed to princess carry you through the staff halls for!

“Don’t move,” Touya told you, and you watched, bewildered, as he stepped away, stalking over to the other side of the room where the staff lockers were. He dug out a shabby backpack, pulling something out of it, and then returned to your side, spreading out his haul on the couch next to you.

You noted a little tube of rubbing alcohol, an antiseptic cream and a bandage, as well as an ice pack. One of your eyebrows went up.

“You rob a hospital or something?” you asked reflexively, heart fluttering a little bit weirdly when Touya’s eyes flickered back up to yours. His eyelashes were long and thick, startlingly pretty.

“Nah,” he said, his gaze cutting suddenly away from yours. “Usually keep shit on hand for my burns.”

Your stomach flipped, and you realized how rude your question had been. Embarrassment welled up in a hard lump in your throat. Well shit. “Oh—fuck. Of course. I’m sorry, Touya.”

A pinch to your leg had you yelping, and his handsome face was serious when he stared back up at you, his eyes practically glowing with intensity. “I don’t need your sympathy.”

You rolled your eyes, rubbing the skin he’d pinched absentmindedly. “It wasn’t sympathy, asshole,” you said. “It was an apology for being thoughtless. Although if that’s how you’re gonna be then I take it back, geez. As if you need sympathy when every girl in this maze—” you froze, clamping your mouth shut when you realized what you’d been about to say. “Uhhhh.”

Touya’s eyes slowly slid down your face, flickering over you as another fucking obnoxious smirk started to twitch at the side of his mouth. “When every girl in this maze what?” he asked, pleasure turning his tone a little silky.

You rolled your eyes, leaning forward to grab the rubbing alcohol off of the couch so you didn’t have to look at him. “When every girl in this maze would like for you to shut up and stop asking questions,” you said, unscrewing the top with a deliberate focus.

Calloused fingers came up to yank the tube out of your grip, however, and Touya leaned in, his grin sharp and white.

“Lemme do it, sweetheart. Return the favor for my prosthetic,” he said. You winced, remembering how forcefully you’d applied his forehead earlier. As you braced yourself, however, his fingers brushed gently over your skin.

You suppressed a shiver at the feeling of him wiping off the blood with the rubbing alcohol, then going over it with the antibiotic cream, smearing it delicately, your nose going hot again. He took his time, careful to cover every inch, kneeling on the ground in front of you with your ankle clutched in one large hand. His duster fanned out behind him, dragging on the ground as he bent over you, but he didn’t seem to care, too absorbed in his task.

When he was done he carefully applied the bandage too, and you looked on, mystified, as he cracked the ice pack with long, strangely elegant fingers, and pressed it over your ankle bone as well.

His eyes flicked back to yours when you let out a short hiss, feeling the zing of the ice all the way in your teeth. Some of his expression looked squashed, given the obstruction of his prosthetic, but you thought he looked maybe just a little bit concerned, before he realized you were just being a baby. You were suddenly overcome with the urge to rip off his prosthetic so you could see his expression in full, and had to pin your arm to your side to stop yourself.

“This was—unexpected,” you admitted, watching him closely. “You’re…a surprisingly good nurse, Touya. Thank you.”

His answering smile was nothing short of wicked. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

You fumbled with the antiseptic and sniffed pointedly, just to have something to complain about. “Well. Your bedside manner could use some work.”

Touya leaned in, his smile suddenly going dark. “Oh, angel, now that’s not what I’ve been told—”

Your palm shot out to cover his mouth, horror overriding your normal brain function. Touya just laughed into the skin of your hand, however, shockingly boyish and sweet-sounding.

You pressed harder, hissing at him to shut the hell up, until you registered the feeling of dry, raised skin under your fingers. You jumped, realizing you were pressing down on his scars.

“Shit, did I hurt you—?” you asked, yanking your hand back, only for Touya to catch your wrist. He blinked, looking surprised that he had.

“No it’s—you didn’t—” he said. His fingers shifted over yours and his eyes darted over your hand in something like shock. “They get dry and pull but they don’t—it wasn’t that.” He sounded annoyed, but not that you’d touched him. That you’d pulled away from touching him.

Somehow, that settled you. Before you understood what exactly was possessing you, you reached back in, satisfied when Touya let you. The pads of your fingers met the edge of a scar again, feeling along the seam. You carefully traced over it the way Touya’s had just traced the cut on your ankle.

Touya’s eyelashes fluttered, and he let out a slow breath. “You don’t need to touch ‘em, sweetheart,” he said finally.

He said it as lightly as he’d said all his earlier nonsense, but he’d been giving you shit for long enough that you recognized there was something deliberate about the ease of his tone this time. This wasn’t his usual, natural timbre.

“Does it bother you?” you asked.

It seemed to take him a minute to decide.

“...No,” he answered, those cerulean eyes catching on yours again. You felt like you could feel your heartbeat in your own fingers, and your skin prickled with something—annoyingly not annoyance.

“Well then shut up,” you told him. “Or I’ll pinch you right on the seam.”

Touya laughed, a slow rolling sound. “Promises promises,” he said, but he seemed more relaxed.

You felt along the contours of his face, mystified by what the hell you thought you were even doing, until you reached the edge of the prosthetic you’d applied. It only took a second for you to give in to the impulse you’d had earlier and start peeling it from his skin, slow and deliberate.

You reached down and helped yourself to the rubbing alcohol, applying it around the prosthetic, letting it dissolve the adhesive before pulling gently. Shockingly, Touya let you do it. He just sat there, watching you with an intensity you’d never experienced before, hardly blinking.

You kept careful track of the prosthetic, unable to look him in the eye, focusing on rubbing off the makeup you’d used to blend it in for good measure. You tried not to examine the weirdly satisfied feeling that settled in your stomach when his natural face was visible to you again.

It was probably just his looks. He really was so handsome for such a grating personality.

You set the prosthetic aside, lost on where to go from here. Touya probably thought you were so fucking weird for just like, rubbing his face like he was some kind of cat. He certainly looked like he had no idea what to do now, which was such a departure from his usually snotty self-assurance that it threw you for an even bigger loop.

“Always thought you’d be a little rougher with me, sweetheart,” Touya finally managed, flashing you a smirk. It looked a little smaller than usual though, like he was drawing it up like a shield, but your hackles raised instantly, like always.

You always, always responded to him.

“Trust me, that can be arranged,” you promised darkly, trying to crack your knuckles. Only one of them crackled obligingly, however, and Touya blinked, before laughing again.

“Yeah?” he asked, leaning in closer. Cigarette smoke and cinnamon clouded your senses, fogging up your brain. “Gonna fuck me up nice and good, sweetheart?”

You dredged around for something snarky to say, but words were suddenly failing you as those infuriatingly pretty features drew closer. Seriously could a makeup artist not catch a break around here?

“Uhhh,” was all you managed, your brain bluescreening, as Touya huffed a laugh, exhaling over your mouth.

“Shut up,” you finally spat out, catching a fistful of that black hair. Touya groaned, however, looking like he liked that of all things, and a red hot flash of something jolted through you.

There was a pause, then, a tiny sliver of a moment where it seemed like one of you might pull back—move away and snipe at one another from a safer distance.

Things somehow seemed to be spiraling out of control, in a way you hadn’t expected, after just one kind gesture from him. You didn’t really understand how you’d suddenly found yourself with him leaning over you, your hand pulling at his hair, but if you had any good sense you’d have pulled away immediately and told him something extra mean, just for good measure.

Except then Touya opened his mouth and escalated things, as usual.

“Make me,” he said, the most absolutely heinous line of all time. You yanked his hair harder, deeply disgusted that he’d try that on you.

And then, like a thread had snapped, you leaned forward and crushed your mouth to his.

Touya reacted like a lightning strike. He surged up over you, weighing you down into the staff room couch. He tasted like spearmint muddled under bitter smoke, and he was broader than he looked under that duster, heavy with lean muscle. You could feel every kilo of it press you down into the cushions as Touya licked hot and filthy into your mouth.

His tongue curled around yours, wet and teasing, and he exhaled on a groan like he’d never tasted anything better. It sent little sparks of electricity jittering up your spine, especially as he shifted between your thighs, that trim waist slotting between them perfectly.

“Fuck, angel,” he said, his tone somewhere between sweet and nasty. “Wanted me this whole time, huh?”

You yanked harder on his hair, telling him to shut up, but the swelling of something hard against your thigh told you he only liked that more. “You are so nasty,” you told him, and you could feel his mouth curl into a wicked grin against the side of your face, before he leaned in and bit the shell of your ear, grinding the evidence of his interest even harder into your thigh.

“I can show you nasty, sweetheart,” he promised, his tone going silky-soft again. A calloused hand slid up into your shirt brazenly, long fingers teasing the underside of your bra. When you didn’t immediately try to yank him out of there he wiggled in further, until his fingers met your nipples, and he got even harder against your leg.

He pinched carefully, moving back to kiss you again so that the sound that escaped you was muffled into his mouth. He kissed you harder as your nipples tightened, pebbling in his fingers, something far too satisfied filling the air around you. His hips canted up, grinding himself into you again, this time a little closer to your core.

Your own hips shifted, moving to increase the friction, trying to shift him closer to your center. His fingers and tongue teased you, each flick of his tongue mirroring the caress of a finger, the soft pinch of his index and thumb.

You couldn’t have controlled yourself if you wanted, too focused on the sensations he was drawing from you, the desperate need to get closer to him though you were already pressed together from mouth to shin. You realized you’d been pulling at his coat when he finally withdrew from your shirt and let you yank it down his arms, exposing a patchwork of scars over dense, mouth-wateringly well-defined muscle.

You inhaled sharply, and Touya paused for a minute—until he seemed to realize that you were fixated on the shape of his arm, rather than the purple bruise of scar tissue. The quickening of his grin in the corner of your vision told you that you’d pleased him.

“You like that, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice obnoxiously sweet. “Want to see the rest of me, angel?”

You ripped your eyes off of his arm to glare at him, which only made his grin wider. The fluorescent lights behind him limned his hair in a pale light, blinding you when he moved his head—and all of a sudden you recalled where you were and what you were doing.

“Here? No! Touya, anyone could walk in!” you said, trying to scramble out from beneath him.

Touya caught you around the thigh, hauling you back underneath him. You noticed he was careful to angle your leg up so you didn’t catch your ankle against the arm of the couch.

“This is far from the worst thing I’ve done in a public place,” he said, laying himself back out over you.

You pushed at his shoulder though, casting a worried glance back at the door. “I am not trying to get fired,” you hissed, even as you shivered with the delicious heat of him over you.

Touya sighed through his nose, and then heaved himself off the couch. You watched him seize the plastic makeup chair and haul it over to the door, stuffing it under the knob at an angle so that it held the lock in place. Then he turned around and prowled right back to you with predatory intent. Your stomach fluttered.

“Better, angel?” he asked, tone soft.

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of nodding, but he seemed to know what you wanted anyway, leaning back in to kiss you fiercely.

You melted into the feeling of his mouth over yours, kissing him back just as passionately. You hated how good he was at that, hated how pretty he was under all those scars and piercings, hated how his obnoxious personality wasn’t even a factor in what you wanted to do with him right now.

Touya groaned again when you pulled at a fistful of his dark hair, and then you were dragging him down to the couch and climbing into his lap. Touya seized your left leg as you did, pointedly guiding your ankle away from the edge of the seat, and it only inflamed your desire for him.

“Like you a whole lot better like this,” he said into your mouth, as calloused fingers slid into your leggings.

Your reply was cut off by a moan as he traced his index finger lightly over the center of your panties, before pressing down firmly over your clit. A thousand little points of electricity lit up under your skin, and you shifted into his hand unthinkingly.

A smile formed against your lips, and it was only Touya’s hand making its way into your panties that suppressed the annoyed buzz that started in the back of your brain.

“You kick up such a fuss, sweetheart, but look at what you really think of me,” Touya purred as his fingers slid up into your incriminatingly wet folds. “All this for me, angel?”

You wanted to bite him for his cheek but you feared breaking the skin of his scars, so you settled for giving him a pointed look. He just laughed, his smile smug.

“I’ll show you what I’ve really thought of you too, sweetheart,” he promised, taking hold of your leg again to slide your leggings and panties down. He settled you back over the hard line in his pants, grabbing your hips and pulling you firmly down over it, grinning.

“Love when you’re a spitfire little fucking brat. I’ve imagined taking you right over the vanity every single day for the last three years, sweetheart. Taking you against the lockers and then right here over the couch. Fucking you so hard that you scream and everyone comes running in to see you squirming and crying and begging on my cock, and you want it so much that you don’t even care—”

He laughed when he felt you clench up in his lap, working to unbuckle his belt and free himself, immediately angling you over him. “You want that too, sweetheart? Want to see if I can make you scream so loud that people come to see what’s wrong?”

“My god you never shut up,” you told him, pointedly avoiding the question. In lieu of an answer, you shifted, guiding him to your center and sinking down onto him instead. You watched with satisfaction as he threw his head back and hissed at the feeling of you slipping down around him.

“Fffffffffffuck,” he said to the ceiling, a hand tightening in your sweater. You had to agree, gritting your teeth with the delicious slide of him inside of you, hot and thick and full and perfect. You leaned in, putting your mouth over the scar tissue on his neck, smirking when he exhaled shakily again.

“I think,” Touya huffed. “I should have put you over my lap three fucking years ago.”

You thought back to your first glimpse of him, flicking ash at you as he chainsmoked outside the maze entrance, and thought you would have probably gouged his eyes out if he had tried. Honestly he’d barely scraped together enough good will with his little ankle treatment as it was.

But maybe this is what that girl had been talking about, when she said Touya didn’t talk to anyone besides you. Had he really been more into you than he’d let on, these three years? Is that why he’d been at your throat this entire time?

The thought was lost when Touya’s hips lifted into yours, grinding himself into you just right, and your head fell back with a shivery moan. Touya’s mouth found the skin of your throat and sucked as he bucked up into you, picking up into a faster pace. You rocked back and forth over his lap, guided by Touya’s grip on your hips, relishing in the feel of him inside of you.

His fingers slid back down, brushing over your clit, and you bit down a yelp as he dragged his thumb over it firmly.

“That’s it,” he said, biting down softly on your neck. “Let me hear you, sweetheart.”

You pressed a hand over your mouth instead as he slid in and out of you, those clever fingers working you deftly. He pinched softly, then swirled the pad of his thumb firmly over your clit again, groaning and pounding up into you. “I wanna hear you, sweetheart. Always want to hear your mean little mouth.”

“Touya—shut up—” you panted as he moved you how he wanted, played you like an instrument. Between his fingers and the hard press of him inside you, you felt like you couldn’t escape the pleasure, the feeling mounting within you. No matter how you moved your hips, his fingers were there to meet you, rubbing maddening circles, teasing you mercilessly, and he filled you so good that it felt like he was pressing against that spot from the inside too.

You writhed with the feel of him, as he steadily covered your neck and shoulders with marks of his attention. You couldn’t help but moan, much much louder than you would have liked, and Touya leaned back to look at you again, looking pleased.

“That’s it, yeah,” he said, another grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Louder for me, sweetheart. Want you to come for me.”

You huffed, unable to do anything but squirm in his lap, chasing the feeling closer, ever closer to the edge. You weren’t going to let his infuriating attitude ruin this for you, not when you were so close—

Without input from your brain, your hand reached out to grab a fistful of Touya’s hair again and his hips stuttered, slamming up into you with more force than he had previously. He looked a little shocked, and then a little dazed, and the grip he had on the side of your hip tightened almost to the point of bruising as he forced you down onto him harder, gasping.

“Fuck, yeah, sweetheart—fuck yes,” he rasped.

His fingers rubbed you harder, and his hips slapped up into you frantically. The uptick in intensity had your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head, and you bit your palm to keep the sounds in.

Touya ground into you with a renewed fervor, and it was only another matter of seconds before something inside of you was being wrenched loose. You lost the grip on your control, every nerve ending in your body lighting up and coming alive, singing with pleasure. You seized up, crying, “Oh my god, Touya!” and then you were cumming hard, harder than you ever had, Touya’s talented fingers still working you, his cock still fucking you mercilessly.

Touya swore, spitting out your name like a curse, and then again in almost reverent tones, before he too was following you right off the edge. He slammed you down on him once, twice, and then he was cumming too—shivering against you as he held you tight against him.

The silence of the room around you was ringing, once you managed to return to yourself. Touya was a long, hot, hard wall of muscle between your thighs, his hair mussed and a patch of makeup you’d missed smearing into the hair at his temple. His cheeks were flush with effort over the seam of his scars, and he looked, irritatingly, even more beautiful than he usually did.

Like he could sense what you were thinking, the corner of his mouth rose as those cerulean eyes searched over you, blinking like a pleased cat.

“Fuck, sweetheart. I knew I liked you mean,” he said, his raspy tone rougher than normal.

“And I don’t like you at all,” you sniffed, though you knew the protest was pointless when he was quite literally softening inside of you. You let go of his hair, remembering yourself.

“Aww angel don’t be like that,” he drawled, his grin widening. He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss over your mouth. “I can make it up to you—all three years, if you’ll let me.”

You knew he felt your involuntary shiver, pressed up against you like he was. And that was definitely answer enough for him, as his smile went more handsome and boyish than you’d ever seen it. You hated that you liked it.

“I’ll clean up and clock out,” Touya told you, gingerly helping you off of him and back into your leggings, his eyes fixating a little too closely on your legs as you did so. “You tell your friends you’re gonna go home and rest that ankle. And I’ll pick you up out front, angel.”

You flushed, embarrassed that you’d completely forgotten that you were at work, and you’d intended to go out bar hopping after. But you figured you could be forgiven just this one time.

“Fine,” you said, though your insides were feeling a little fluttery at the thought of leaving with Touya. “But I expect penitence or there’s going to be a reckoning.” You supposed you were owed, for all these years of suffering.

Touya looked down at you from under his lashes, dark and beautiful and still as infuriating as ever. “I’ll give you my best, sweetheart. Over and over until you can’t even walk,” he promised, “Gotta keep you off that ankle, after all.”

You flushed again, yanking your sweater down over your leggings, and fled out the door. Touya’s laughter floated after you, sounding pleased.

You sped up your pace, your ears burning.

And if you were actually rushing not to get away from him, but to return to him sooner? Well, then, nobody needed to know that but you.

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beefybkg

1 year ago

Thanks for giving me a chance ❤

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beefybkg

1 year ago

Satoru calls you “princess” almost exclusively to the point where it catches you off guard when he uses your actual name. When you wake up together he says “How’d you sleep princess?” with a gentle kiss. During the day you’ll hear him ask “What should we do today princess?” or “You hungry princess?” or “Need anything princess?”

He uses the name for you so often you almost wish your name was princess just because you love how it sounds when he says it. He loves that the title makes you feel like you’re his princess, and that you can see how much he loves to serve you.

But you knew the original motive behind this name was not as sweet and innocent as others who heard him use it thought. You learned that his favorite way to use the name was when he was relaxing in bed, and asking his princess which throne she wanted to sit on tonight (his face or his dick).

Whichever throne you chose he would make sure you wouldn’t regret picking it, and more often than not you’d take a seat on both at some point. As you sat, you’d hear him say “Good job princess” and “Just like that princess” encouragingly like he was proud of the little work you had to do while riding his face or dick. All you really had to do was rest, and he’d move his tongue in between your folds or bounce you on his lap. You’d quickly see how effective his princess treatment was at making you cum.

He’d say “Cum for me princess” and you always listened to those words and came for him. He could fuck you like that all night, and make you cum so many times that a stranger could ask your name the next day and you’d say “Princess.” By the end of every night, he was almost bathed in your cum, and he’d ask you how he did. If you could even find the words to express how well he did and how lucky you are, he’ll kiss you goodnight and say “Anything for my princess.”

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beefybkg

1 year ago

In my art school au kirishima works with metal and you’ve never met him before but one day denki asks you to go by his studio for him to give him back his notes and when u do kiri is huge and tall with bulging muscles and big hands and he’s got a welding helmet on that makes him look sort of scary but when he takes it off and gives you that boyish grin you feel suddenly weak in the knees

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beefybkg

1 year ago

Study Date

kirishima x bakugou x f!reader

summary - you and your boyfriends attempt to study. attempt.

a/n - smut, threesome, bakugou and kirishima are both bi and so is reader, college au, quirkless au, praise, degradation, shy reader, sorry for slandering shinsou, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, face fucking, impact play, cumplay ig im, i forgot that this was mostly filth when i went to re edit it. repost from my old blog, katsupeach. kirishima and bakugou's heights are described but they're bigger than you, daddy kink. poly au <3

this is within the kiribaku au that this fic is in

MINORS DNI - You must have an age visible on your page somewhere to interact with this post.

“So if you look over here,” You guide Kirishima’s gaze to the painting on the glossy page of your $300 art history textbook, “This is a scene from the tempest, by William Hamilton,” you turn to look at the redhead, who is chewing on the end of his pen. “Are you listening to me?” He blushes.

“No.” He admits, reaching over and smoothing your hair. “You look so pretty today.” You swat at his hand and across the study room table, Bakugou scowls.

“Shitty hair. You cannot fail this class if you want to graduate on time.” He gets up and sits down on the other side of you, scooting his chair over. “What are you trying to get through his thick skull?” He growls. You turn to the blonde.

“It’s just that he has to remember that this is from the Tempest, which wouldn’t be as much of an issue,” you cock your head a little, “If he’d bothered to read it.” Kirishima groans.

“It’s so long, and I read a bunch of the other plays, maybe I read the Tempest!”

“Kirishima!” You say indignantly. “This is not a class that you can pass without doing the reading!” Bakugou puts a calloused hand on your thigh.

“S’not your fault the idiot doesn’t care about school.” An evil grin spreads across his face, “Baby just needs some incentive to pay attention, is that right?” Kirishima blushes at the pet name and looks away.

“I don’t need anything,” He mumbles, “I’ll, I’ll try harder, promise.” Bakugou shakes his head.

“You’ve got an exam tomorrow.” He raps his boyfriend’s head with a plastic pen. “The time for tryin’ harder was about two weeks ago.” He pushes you to your feet and moves one chair over, taking your seat.

“Katsuki,” You say quickly, “What are you…” You trail off when you see him unzip his black skinny jeans, and free his hard cock from his green boxers. “We. are in. the library.” You hiss.

“You say that like it’s church.” Bakugou snorts.

“It is to me!” You snap, and he shakes his head.

“We’re in a study room. It’s 2AM. We’re probably the only one’s in the fuckin’ building.” He argues.

“Probably isn’t good enough for me.” You respond haughtily and he grins.

“Princess.” Blood pools in your cheeks. “Princess,” he growls again. “Take those panties off and be a good girl, bend over for daddy.” You look over to Kirishima, his mouth is open, eyes wide. You bite your lip and bend over a little, slipping your hands under your skirt and pulling your pale blue lacy underwear down to your ankles, and stepping out of them. You go to hand them to him and he shakes his head. “Shitty hair will hold onto those.” A low whine escapes Kirishima’s lips as he takes the soft fabric in his hands, watching as Bakugou reaches a hand under your plaid skirt,

“This is what you wanted, right?” Bakugou rasps, squeezing your bare ass, now positioned in front of him. “Fuckin’ slut, wearin’ that skirt, knowing what it would do to us.” You feel the cool air between your legs and let out a low hum. Kirishima reaches for you but Bakugou glares at him.

“Shouldn’tcha be studying dumbass? I’m fucking busy. If you want to get your dick wet you better finish that fucking chapter.” Bakugou squeezes your soft thighs then runs a finger up your slit. “Oooh,” he almost coos, “Baby’s wet, huh?” He grabs your ass so hard you gasp. “Keep tutoring.” He orders, and you look back at him, surprised. “Did that sound like a suggestion to you?” You shake your head. “Then get to it.” You clear your throat and attempt to focus.

“So in, um,” You turn to Kirishima, whose eyes are lust drunk, but you can see he’s trying as hard as you are to focus, “In the Tempest, when Prospero,” you take in a gulp of air, as Bakugou parts your folds with a finger, “When Prospero is seeking, uh, ah,” Your eyes widen, and your pupils dilate as you feel him slip a single calloused finger inside of you.

“Focus.” Bakugou taunts.

“When Prospero is seeking justice,” You get out, “He really does um, after losing his throne,” You take a deep breath as Bakugou scrapes your velvet walls roughly, “He does believe he’s in the right.” Kirishima nods.

“Uh, uh-huh.”

“And you have to remember,” You say, closing your eyes for a moment, squealing softly as Bakugou adds a second finger, “That, that, um,”

“Help her out, Kirishima.” Bakugou says, “What’s she gettin’ at?” Kirishima wracks his brain, lost in your already debauched expression.

“Uh, if he believes he’s okay to uh, do whatever he wants to get his throne back?” You swallow.

“Y-yes!”

“And uh, but he does do some bad things, to try to get it back.” Kirishima continues. And you nod emphatically, eyes unfocusing when Bakugou scissors his fingers inside of you.

“Right, so justice,” you pause, hands curling into fists when Bakugou presses up against that spongey spot inside you, “Um, in this world, justice is, justice is subjective.”

“Prospero could be like, an unreliable narrator!” Kirishima exclaims, forgetting for a moment, that Bakugou was knuckle deep in your core, so proud of himself for getting it right.

“He-he could be!” You choke out. “G-good job.” Bakugou withdraws his hand and you let out a shaky sigh. He holds the two fingers out to Kirishima, who sucks on them hungrily, groaning.

“Can we uh, take a break?” Kirishima asks desperately and Bakugou looks livid.

“You got exactly one question right and you wanna take a break?” He pulls you onto his lap and spreads your legs across his. “No fuckin’ way.” He taps the textbook in front of him. “Keep going.” You turn around a little to protest and Bakugou snatches your wrists. “And you,” You melt under his stern gaze, “Stop fuckin’ squirming.” He lets go of one of your wrists and you shiver with anticipation as he rubs the head of his cock against you. “Yeah, baby,” he says, “You want this, tell me what you want?” Your face burns. It’s late but anyone could open the to the study room, and it makes your heart race.

“W-want daddy’s cock.” You mutter and he shakes his head.

“Louder.” You look at him desperately and he chuckles. “Think you heard me just fine.”

“I want daddy’s cock.” You say, a little louder, but it’s enough for him to, thank god, start easing himself inside you. “Ah, fuck, Katsuki.” You groan as he settles you on his lap, and scoots the chair in, under the table.

“Get back to work.” He snaps and you turn around, he can’t be serious, you’re so full you’re dripping down his cock, you squirm a little and he presses your thighs down against his. “Stay. Still.” He growls, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“O-okay,” You say softly, “Kiri, um, Eij,” Your eyes are glossy and unfocused as you turn back to your boyfriend.

“Katsuki,” Kirishima says turning to Bakugou, “That’s not fair, to punish her because I haven’t studied enough.” Bakugou moves, and even a small thrust of his thick cock against your walls is enough to elicit a tiny whimper from the back of your throat.

“If you don’t want her to suffer,” Bakugou emphasizes the last word, “I suggest you buckle the fuck down.” Kirishima nods, blushing a bright red as your face contorts in frustration. You try and move a little but Bakugou holds you fast to him, not allowing any friction or pressure to change, you feel so full, you can feel his cock stretching you but you can’t get any relief for your aching core, for the coil tightening in your stomach. “Focus.” He growls in your ear, and you whimper again.

“R-right.” You chirp. “S-so, back to the painting.” Kirishima nods, you have his full attention now, “William H-hamilton was an architect,” you swallow, Bakugou leans back on the chair, enjoying the feeling of your soft walls, tight around his cock. “This isn’t one of his well-known works, but if, uh, if we think about it in terms of the themes of justice, or uh, subjective justice.” Bakugou snickers. “Katsuki,” you whine, “Please move, please please please.” You turn around and beg him, eyes wide, pleading.

“You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree.” He rasps, shrugging. “Beg him.” He gestures to Kirishima.

“Tell me about the painting,” you whine, tears pricking in your eyes with frustration as you struggle against Bakugou’s iron grip on your soft thighs.

“What’s your color, first?” Kirishima says, eyes flicking to Bakugou.

“Green,” you choke out, “Green, green, green, just tell me about the fucking painting.” Kirishima’s ears go as red as his face when he stairs down at it.

“Uh, uh, the angel, the angel is choosing, right?” You bite down on the bottom of your lip, “She’s like lighting up the guy in the right,” you nod emphatically, “Prospero,” you nod again, a single tear rolling down your face, you need some kind of relief, you need something, the agony of the gentle press on your g-spot was enough to make you choke out a sob. “But he isn’t necessarily the good guy. Because he did bad things, so um, if I look at the painting, again, uh,” he runs his fingers down the page and Bakugou thrusts up cruelly, pressing his palms down on top of your thighs so that he’s buried in you to the hilt.

“Fuck,” you warble, a sad little song as you bury your face in your hands. “Please, please daddy, need you.”

“When he gets it right we’re gonna make you feel so fucking good.” Bakugou snarls, pressing a burning kiss to your neck. “So hurry up, shithead.”

“Oh oh, could he be, could he, uh, the villain, is he protecting the girl, from the other guy?”

“Possible.” You whine. “With oil paintings, watch the light,” You close your eyes quickly.

Then open them again, squinting in the harsh industrial flourescents.

“Oh shit, he’s uh, he’s standing in the shadow.”

“Yes!” You say, too loudly because Bakugou lifts a hand and covers your mouth with it.

“That’s good enough for me.” He groans, lifting you and bouncing you up and down on

His cock. Even once, your vision goes white for a full second at the feeling of his withdraw and then the return of the pressure against that bundle of nerves he always found so easily. Your mouth drops open, a harsh cry escapes your lips, only slightly muscled by Bakugou’s huge hand, at finally receiving the relief you’ve been seeking. Bakugou keeps your legs spread and thrusts up into you, groaning. “C’mon dumbass,” he snaps at Kirishima, “Say thank you to your tutor.” Kirishima wrenches the chair out from under the table, diving onto his knees and flipping your skirt up over his head. He licks up from Bakugou’s balls all the way to your clit, and you cry out sharply when he starts to ravish it with his full attention, rough tongue flicking over your sensitive nub as tears stream down your face from overstimulation. Bakugou feels you clench and flutter.

“Does she want to cum?” He growls. “Does my little bitch wanna cum?” You nod vigorously, words fail you, your mind is completely and utterly blank as Bakugou fucks you brutally, with your legs wrapped around his, he frees his arms up to touch your chest, pinching your nipples hard through your shirt. “Cum for me, slut.” He rumbles, and you go to scream, or you would, if Bakugou didn’t shove three of his fingers in your mouth as you come undone between the huge men, gushing all over Kiri’s face, as he slurps it up hungrily, making loud smacking sounds in the quiet of the library. You gurgle around his hand, eyes rolling in the back of your head, drooling a little as Bakugou keeps fucking you through your orgasm, getting impossibly hard and groaning loudly as he finishes inside.

“Gonna paint that pretty fuckin’ pussy with my cum,” he rasps, and when he hears your choked sobs he swears, “Fuck yeah, you like that baby, wanna be fuckin’ mine?” It’s so much, you can feel everything, Kirishima’s huge hands on your shaking thighs, Bakugou’s cock filling you up all the way and then some, and of course, Kirishima sucking on your clit to the point of painful pleasure. You’re twitching and crying as you come down from your high.

“Jesus Christ,” Bakugou says, “You bit the shit out of my fingers.” You mumble some kind of apology, but he just slaps your thigh. “Shitty hair.” He says. “Fuck her brains out. We’ll carry her home.” Kirishima grins, standing,

“Come here,” He coos, positioning your limp form over the table. “Open up,” he says, just as sweetly, as he tucks your panties into your mouth, “Gotta be quiet for me, okay princess?” You mewl softly into the fabric, tasting yourself as you bite down on the cotton. He puts one huge hands between your shoulder blades, forcing your back into a slightly harsher arch. “Wrists please,” he says, and you extend them behind you. He takes both of them in one hand, you’re still trembling from cumming a few seconds ago, as he eases gently inside of you. “Good girl,” He says kindly, “Takin’ me so well.” Even after a month of dating you’re still not really used to how big Kirishima is, and you know he’s marveling at how you stretch to accommodate his huge mushroom head, pink with need, pushing Bakugou’s cum further into your pussy with a lewd squelch.

“Kiri,” you whine through the panties, “S’so big,” he chuckles, brushing his fingers through your hair with his free hand.

“I know baby, I know.” He lightly runs his nails down your back and you shiver. “Bakugou’s so rough with you, so rough with baby, hm?” You nod. “Aww,” He says, and then cruelly shoves his whole cock inside of you in one thrust, and you let a harsh whine out that even the panties can’t muffle.

“Fuck,” Bakugou says, getting up and stabilizing the table as Kirishima rocks into it and knocks it back and forth with his brutal thrusts. “Careful, idiot, don’t break her.” Kirishima nods, keeping a firm but careful grip on your wrists for leverage,

“She’s so good for me though,” he coos, “So perfect,” you hum with pleasure as he fucks you slowly you’re so wet that you’re creaming around his cock, your plush lips open, eyes teary and glossy. You can feel every inch of Kirishima, and you’re becoming accustomed at least, to the painful pleasure when he fucks you. He groans loudly every time he bottoms out in you, every time the tip of his cock kisses your cervix you see stars.

“Mmmh,” you whimper, your toes curl in your sneakers, he presses you down harder on your back, flattening you against the table.

“What do you want, sweetheart,” He says, “You can have it, whatever you want?”

“M-morrrruhhh,” You choke out from around the panties and he chuckles.

“You want more,” he asks, looking up at Bakugou, “Our little slut wants more, huh?” Bakugou shrugs, smiling evilly,

“Better give baby what she wants.” Kirishima pounds into you, hard, and the tears start to fall again, and you bite down, you’re so distracted by Kirishima fucking you into oblivion that you don’t even notice Bakugou sitting down in the chair next to you. “I want her mouth.” He orders, and Kirishima spins you around so that you have to stare directly at Bakugou while Kirishima rails you. The blonde is lazily stroking his cock, which is mostly hard again, you lean down to suck him off but he catches your chin.

“Uh, uh,” He growls, He removes the panties from your mouth, shoving them in his pocket before he pushes your head down to his balls, and you try to focus on what you’re doing, try to lick and suck softly at them while he jerks off above you, while Kirishima fills you up completely, you feel your stomach tightening, listening to Bakugou groan with pleasure as you drool on the base of his cock,

“Fuck,” Kirishima snaps, “Gettin’ tight again, huh babe, gonna cum?”

“Yeah,” you pant, lifting your head, looking up at Bakugou, “Can, can I daddy, please, can I cum?” He takes your head and shoves it all the way down his cock, so that your nose is buried in the tuft of blonde hair at his base.

“Yeah baby,” He snarls, “Go ahead and cum.” You’re so full, you can’t breathe, with Bakugou’s length all the way down your throat, but you let go of the coil in your stomach and he moans when he feels the vibrations of the sounds you can’t hold back from him. Tears leak down your face as your orgasm rips through your body like a knife, you feel Kirishima finish inside you at the fluttering of your walls, he always cums so fucking much you feel it leaking down your leg. Bakugou lifts your head off of his cock and you fall to the ground of the study room, sputtering and gasping for air, curling up in the fetal position as the last aftershocks of your orgasm run through your body like an electric current. Bakugou finishes himself as Kirishima wipes his brow, gathering you from the floor and peppering you with kisses.

“Baby,” He sings softly, “You alright baby, come back to me.” You moan in his arms, snuggling into his chest. “Such a good girl, the best girl.” You smile a little and open one eye. “Anything hurt?”

“Uh,” your hoarse voice says it all, “My throat a little.” Kirishima nods.

“Katsuki will make you tea, okay it’s late, we should get back to our place if we’re going to crash there.” Bakugou cums again with a loud groan and a viscious stream of swears.

“Didn’t mean to get hard again.” He admits. “Somethin’ about watchin’ you fuck her just drives me fuckin’ feral.” He leans over and kisses Kirishima’s forehead as he stands. “Good boy.” Kirishima’s face burns at the praise.

“Just uh, takin’ care of her.” Bakugou nods, gathering the backpacks and textbooks while you yawn in Kirishima’s arms.

“Eij,” You say, sighing, “M gonna be sore tomorrow.” He nods.

“Yeah, baby.”

“Will you give me a massage,” you whine needily and he chuckles.

“Of course.”

“What the fuck’s wrong with my massages?” Bakugou roars, leading you out of the little study room and into the empty top floor of the library.

“We always end up fucking again.” You mumble and Kirishima laughs.

“Ohhhh, baby needs a break, is that it?”

“24 Hours without getting my brains fucked out, yes,” you pause, “I think I do need that.” You think about it. “The question is, do I want that?” Bakugou barks out a harsh laugh as he stabs the button for the elevator, running his hand absentmindedly up and down Kirishima’s arm.

“Think I know the answer, princess.” You yawn again.

“Yeah I think you do.”

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beefybkg

10 months ago

Thinking of 21+ Toge Inumaki who makes you come whenever he wants

"Can't anymore- no more-- Toge please-"

"Hmm.." he hums to himself and gets between your legs, removing the vibrator he's been pressing there for what feels like hours, with endless orgasms, some so hard they've left you all but melting in a puddle of your own arousal.

Sliding his fingers through your mess, sinking them into you, he seems to be inspecting.

A mischievous smile crosses his face and he curls his fingers, hitting the plushy spot inside you that makes your legs shake.

"T-To-ge-- Toge- wait-!!"

And with that grin and the pure devilish look in his lilac eyes, you know what he's going to do.

Unzipping his turtleneck, he leans right up close to your pretty face, making direct eye contact with his fingers knuckle deep inside you and he utters-

"come"

It makes him giggle every time he does this. Seeing you helplessly squirming, your cute hole gripping his fingers from his words alone.

He thinks this is what his cursed speech was for all along. He's found its purpose.

"come" again, he keeps going, seeing the sweat begin to glisten on your forehead, your hair sticking to your face, the sheets getting soaked.

And that's when he has another brainwave straight from hell.

He wonders if you'd mind.

Well, in this state he's sure you'd do anything even if he gave you a choice.

So he stands up from the bed, watching your dazed and confused expression for a moment, until his next command comes-

"on your knees"

And he watches your face shift from hesitant, shocked, and finally landing on... aroused.

He was right.

He knew a little freak like you would love this.

Now, he makes you come over and over until you're moaning and drooling all over him, giving the messiest head he's ever received.

But he knows you enjoy how he torments you, so he got cocky and started doing it in public.

Standing close enough so only you would hear, whispering directly in your ear-

"come"

And that's all it would take, to have your body shaking in his arms, biting your lip to stifle the moans. Sometimes you'd even try to hide your face in his chest, but he'd just push you back gently and continue as if nothing happened.

Every time he does it, he can't help but think about that perfect, dripping pussy, the slick that's pooling in your panties, then running down your legs by the third or fourth time, and it gets him undeniably hot.

He can't help but take pleasure in this, smiling to himself all day, when you're out shopping, getting lunch, or meeting friends.

Your friends do wonder why he looks so happy all the time...

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