#hall-o-week

[tru-yuu]

Just in time for Halloween ♡

[superiordragonlorde]

Relief

Day 6 (October 29) - Animal/OmegaVerse/Fantasy

Oof, sorry for the delay. This the first time I’ve ever done an Omega Verse, so... bear with me, please!

Here we go for @month-of-wonder!

This work is SFW, so no worries there (and sorry smut lovers, ace/aro has difficulty writing smut scenes...)

Alright then, I hope you all enjoy it!

     Bakugo looked down the hallway, nose raised in the air, sniffing. Thousands of scents hung in the corridor, tangling with one another in a cacophonous mass. Bakugo growled, sorting through the smells, looking for a specific one.

     “Hey, Bakugo,” Kirishima called behind him, jogging to catch up. He nudged his shoulder, grinning. “Whatcha looking for?” Bakugo jerked his shoulder away, irritated.

     “Deku,” he snapped. Kirishima’s face partly fell.

     “What’s wrong? Is he ok?” Bakugo flashed him a glare, his scent flaring like a billow of smoke. Kirishima took a step back, raising his arms ins surrender, head tilted enough to bare his neck.

     “Woah. Woah, chill,” he soothed, his own scent spiking in instinctual caution. “I’m just worried about him. Last time you acted like this, he ended up in the infirmary for three weeks.” Bakugo turned his face away, huffing. His chest constricted whenever he thought of that failed mission. When he’d awakened in the infirmary a day later, groggy and covered in bandages, he’d nearly torn the building to the ground trying to find Midoriya. It had taken three Dominant Alpha pro-heroes to force him to calm down, including an assertive bite to the back of his neck.

     “He ran out during training,” Bakugo ground out, replying to Kirishima’s concern. “Looked like he was about to puke. But I can’t find his scent anywhere.” He sniffed again, taking in enough air to make him light-headed. Kirishima put a hand on his shoulder, noticing Bakugo’s split-second dazed look.

     “Ok, where have you looked?” he asked. Bakugo shrugged his hand off again, his skin feeling like lightning was sparking underneath it.

     “Locker rooms,” Bakugo listed, his stomach twisting as he named each place. “Bathrooms, all of them, classroom, All Might’s office, cafeteria, infirmary-” He swallowed, throat growing dry. Kirishima nodded, his scent sharp with worry. 

     “Alright, that leaves us with...” he trailed off, eyes widening as he raked his brain for other places Midoriya might have hidden in. “Teacher’s lounge?” he hazarded. Bakugo shook his head.

     “Already checked,” he growled.

     “Gym?”

     “Did that.”

     “... Girl’s locker room?”

     “He’s not fucking Mineta!” Bakugo shouted, storming off down the hall. Kirishima scrambled to catch up.

     “Ok, ok, well, is there any place you haven’t checked yet?” Bakugo halted. Kirishima rushed past him, his racing brain noticing a second later that the person he was trying to catch up to was now behind him. He turned around, Bakugo’s scent smacking him in the face. It stung his nose, prickling and sharp with his unease, and curdled with smothered anxiety. Bakugo was looking at the ground, eyes wide with furrowed brows.

     “Dorms,” he mumbled. His head shot up, meeting Kirishima’s own gaze. “He’s in the fucking dorms.” He spun on his heel, tearing down the hall. Kirishima ran after him, yards behind.

     “Bakugo, calm down!” he cried, his scent sharp enough to cut.

     “FUCK YOU!”

     “He’s probably fine!” Kirishima continued on. “We have scent cancelers around our doors. No one’s going to bother him.” Bakugo only pulled further ahead, putting on a burst of speed. Kirishima tried to keep pace.

     Bakugo slammed open the door to the dorm building, skipping the elevator to climb the stairs two at a time. Kirishima clambered after him, closing the door Bakugo had left wide open. When he finally got up to the correct floor, there was a scorched mark around the doorknob. A scent lingered in the common room inside that made Kirishima tense, senses strained for something that called out to him.

     “Fucking move!” Kirishima jumped, hearing Bakugo’s booming yell. He followed it, finding a crowd of their classmates as well. They were gathered around a door, milling about and murmuring to each other, the air dripping with knife-like edges of concern. Every classmate was worried, and the air reeked of it.

     Bakugo was snarling at Iida, who barred his way to the door, the name “Midoriya, Izuku” labeled on a sign beside it. Kirishima felt something cold and heavy settle in the pit of his stomach.

     “Bakugo, you cannot enter Midoriya’s room!” Iida shouted back, arms spread wide to prevent his passing. Sparks and smoke hissed off Bakugo’s palms, a low, primal growl rumbling in his chest.

     “You better fucking move,” he hissed. “Or I’ll blast your face off.” Most of the betas and omegas took an involuntary step back, hearing the commanding tone, a deep instinct forcing them to obey.

     “I cannot let you barge into a distressed omega’s room,” Iida reiterated. Kirishima gulped, the scent in the common room making more sense. Distressed omega scents were strong and permeated the air, hovering for hours even after the omega had been calmed. Combine that scent with an enraged, distraught alpha’s and things went downhill fast.

     “I need to get in there!” Bakugo tried to barge past. Iida braced himself against the door. Todoroki jumped forward, pulling Bakugo back. The blond teen lashed out, fists and feet flying as he thrashed in Todoroki’s grasp. Shoji stepped in, wrapping his arms around Bakugo, trapping him against his chest, leaving enough space for Todoroki to slip out.

     “Fucking let me go!” Bakugo spat, his scent coming off of him in thick waves. “Let go of me, you bastard! Piece of fucking shit! I need to get to him! GET OFF ME!” he roared. Shoji, a poor beta, flinched at the command, hesitating. His grip loosening just enough for Bakugo to maneuver an arm. His explosion hit the floor, toppling him and Shoji over. In the midst of confusion, Bakugo shoved Shoji’s arms off him, lunging for the door. His hand enclosed over the doorknob. With a sharp turn, he yanked the door open, shot inside, and slammed the door close, leaving the room smelling like smoking nitroglycerin, raging alpha, and anxious omega.

     Bakugo clutched the doorknob, pressing his forehead to the smooth wood, willing his scent to lose its sharp, frightening edge.

     “Kacchan?!” Bakugo glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of Midoriya pressing himself into the corner of the wall, perched on his bed. Bakugo fought the urge to breathe in through his nose, absorb Midoriya’s scent, or rush to him, which could have been seen as a dominating move. He turned his attention back to the door and closed his eyes, breathing through his mouth, slowly and deeply. Simply knowing that an alpha wasn’t standing between him and Midoriya helped soothe Bakugo’s scent, leaving it smoother and more approachable instead of defensive and dangerous.

     When his mind had calmed and the rampaging thoughts of needing to protect Midoriya had been shoved back to suffer in some dark corner of his mind where the rest of the instinctual desires were held, he turned, getting his first complete look at Midoriya since barging into his room. The omega was curled into the back corner of the wall, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His hands held the fabric up to the scent glands on his neck, like he was trying to smother the smell. A bucket sat between his legs, reeking of something putrid. Bakugo stumbled forward, the impulse to take care of him taking hold of his mind. He crawled over the bed. Midoriya flinched as he came closer, his chin tilting up of its own accord. He blinked and visibly shook himself, growling. It was a shaky breath of a sound as he shoved his chin into his chest, making it inaccessible. Bakugo paused, mind scrambling for a reason why he wouldn’t want him to come closer.

     “Hey,” he whispered, reaching a hand towards Midoriya. “It’s ok, I’m here. I’ve got you.” Midoriya didn’t budge, his eyes, pupils contracted, flicked over Bakugo’s body, green eyes analyzing and cutting. “I’m not going to do anything to you,” Bakugo continued, hand stretching further. “I was pissed at everyone outside. They wouldn’t let me get through to you. I had to make sure you were ok.” His fingers brushed over the edge of Midoriya’s cheekbone. The omega relaxed under the touch, closing his eyes. Bakugo heaved a sigh, scooting closer.

     “Sorry,” Midoriya breathed, opening his eyes as he looked up at Bakugo, pupils returning to a normal size. “I got... There were a lot of noises outside. It kind of freaked me out.” Bakugo nodded, bringing himself closer, his shoulder a hair’s breadth from touching Midoriya’s.

     “What’s up with this shit?” He tapped the side of the bucket with a knuckle. Midoriya ducked his head, turning his face away. He fidgetted, fingers tapping a rhythmless tune on the bucket’s edge.

     “I got sick,” he mumbled. Bakugo leaned towards him, careful to keep his distance. Sick omegas typically preferred to have extra space when they were ill, which was always an issue if they had alphas nearby that cared for them, who were already notorious for hovering over those they wanted to care for. Bakugo was certainly no exception, but neither was Midoriya which meant he had to smother his instincts and keep a respectable distance between them.

     Bakugo sniffed the air around Midoriya. Sorting out the stench coming out of the bucket, there wasn’t any other stomach twisting smells surrounding him. He leaned back, brow furrowed and an eyebrow arched.

     “You don’t smell sick,” he faltered. Midoriya’s shoulders hunched up.

     “I’m not that kind of sick,” he reassured. “I just... I think my new suppressants might be... There may be something I’m allergic to in them.” He shifted, still refusing to look at Bakugo.

     “You got new suppressants?” Bakugo asked, frowning. Midoriya nodded.

     “My old ones weren’t keeping up anymore. My scent was getting stronger, so I thought I should try out some new ones,” he shrugged, sighing. Bakugo made a small “oh” noise as he thought back to when he had been trying to find Midoriya after class, unable to catch his scent. It must have been because he wasn’t emitting one anymore.

     “What’s wrong with people smelling your scent?” Bakugo tilted his head, fingers itching to curl between Midoriya’s. Midoriya scowled, finally looking at him, hardened green meeting confused red.

     “Omega, Kacchan,” Midoriya grumbled, gesturing to himself, as though that would answer everything. Bakugo could only blink. “I’m an omega,” Midoriya reiterated.

     “I know that,” Bakugo snapped, reigning back any form of heat that might be transferred through his words, willing his scent to remain calm and smooth. “I’m just trying to figure out why the hell that has anything to do with it.” Midoriya sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, expression growing taut with weariness.

     “I’m the only male omega in this school, Kacchan,” he spelled out. “My scent is unique enough as it is without everyone knowing that I’m the only one here.” He pulled his knees closer to his chest, resting his cheeks on them. “I just thought it might help with some things if no one knew what I was based on my scent.” He exhaled through his nose, eyes downcast. Bakugo scowled, trapping the growl that was building in his chest, suppressing it.

     “Sounds stupid,” he hissed. Midoriya whipped around, snarling, eyes wide in a mixture of disbelief and pain.

     “Look,” he barked. “Just because you don’t have to deal with that kind of shit doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I’m supposed to be weak and dependent, but I don’t want to be! I want to be treated just like any other student here, that’s all. It’s not even that hard to do! I don’t want special treatment. I’m just asking for people to stop seeing me, or any other omega, as our stereotype!” Bakugo, his eyes wide and expression growing more surprised by the second, shot forward, nose almost brushing Midoriya’s, growl crawling up his throat. He swallowed it down.

    “I wasn’t saying any of that shit,” he yelled. “I meant it sounds stupid that people can’t just forget about scents and focus on how other people act!” His own scent reared up, filling the small space between them with jabbing, harsh smells, mirroring his irritation. Midoriya trembled, forcing his body to stay where it was.

     “See?” Bakugo pointed at him, leaning back to cross his arms. “Omegas are supposed to cower and shit, right? But you don’t. You don’t fucking budge when any of us try to be dominant. Hell, those fucking Dominant Alphas can’t give you shit either. You won’t fucking take it. It’s fucking stupid that people can’t see that instead of smelling instinctual submissiveness.” He huffed, finished with his tirade. Midoriya’s gaze stayed glued to him, mouth open, blinking. He closed his mouth, licked his lip, and opened it again.

     His face twisted into panic as he knelt over his lap, clutching and retching into the bucket. Bakugo moved closer, their argument thrown out of his mind for the moment, sole attention focused on Midoriya’s health.

     He continued to retch, the putrid stench of bile rising in the room, stabbing Bakugo’s nose with its bitter scent. The last half were dry heaves, leaving Midoriya shaking and panting.

     When his stomach had calmed and stilled long enough, Midoriya sat up, eyes bleary and sweat beading his skin. Bakugo reached out with slow, soft movements, trying not to spook the ill omega. He tangled his fingers into the green fringe clinging to Midoriya’s forehead, stroking it away to the sides of his face. Midoriya groaned, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch. Bakugo inwardly preened, the alpha instincts within him pleased. His fingers happily repeated the soothing motions, drawing Midoriya closer until the omega’s head was propped onto his shoulder, body growing limp as he gave a content sigh. Bakugo couldn’t help the soft smile that stretched over his face at a nearly purring Midoriya. He nuzzled his head, burying his nose into green, curly hair.

     He sniffed the hair. Beneath the smell of sickness and bile, the neutral, forced scent of suppressants, and sweat, a tantalizing, soothing scent found its way to Bakugo’s nose. His smile grew, soaking in the faint smell, committing it to memory. This was the scent he’d missed today, the one the suppressants had tried to take away.

     “Go back to your old suppressants,” he ordered, voice muffled and soft. Midoriya made a mumbled response that sounded like an affirmation, but when Bakugo pulled away to look at him, his face was relaxed, mouth partly opened, breaths deep and steady. Bakugo smirked. He pressed his lips to Midoriya’s forehead then wrapped an arm around him, securing him in place. As a second thought, he moved the bucket further down the bed, still accessible but not in danger of being kicked over. Nodding in satisfaction, he propped himself up against the wall, resting his cheek on Midoriya’s head, giving a quiet sigh as he absorbed his scent and warmth, all tension in his muscles seeping out in a steady stream, pushed out by a solid weight against his side and comforting scent in his nose.

Yay, one more down!

I hope you all enjoyed it. Thanks of reading!

[actualdevil]

Soft Wings

For @month-of-wonder’s Eight Days of Halloween! (Prompt: Wings)

Or, a quirkless AU where everyone has wings for no reason.

bakudeku | actualdevil | 1533 words 

As someone already prone to accidents, it was no surprise when Deku took a bad fall during track practice.

At 13, most other kids his age were still dealing with growth spurts. Deku was no exclusion to this rule, though he gained more noticeable inches in wingspan than height. It was during this time - like many adolescents - that he was at his most clumsy. Wings that used to barely stretch past his shoulders as a child now reached further than his arms could spread - downy feathers traded for coarser ones that demanded regular grooming to keep smooth and sleek.

Deku laid still in the dirt for a moment after his fall, head spinning and the taste of kicked up dust gritty in his mouth.

AO3 LINK

[tru-yuu]

He always comes to visit!

Happy Halloween and Day of the Dead~

[superiordragonlorde]

Life

Day 5 (October 28) - Wanted/Historical/Robots 

Here we go for @month-of-wonder!

Warnings: vulgar language

I hope you all enjoy it! (This one might be my favorite so far, but I’m not sure as of yet. It was fun to make though!)

     Bakugo tore his hands through his hair.

     “Fuck,” he growled. He kicked a toolbox, sending its tools scattering across the floor as it clanged a couple feet away. “Fuck!”

     “Kacchan?” Bakugo whirled around, glaring at the robot that watched him from across the room, fingers wringing together, gears creaking from the motion.

     “That’s not my fucking name!” he yelled, throwing his workbench to the ground. “Bakugo. Bakugo Katsuki. How fucking hard is it for you to compute that?” He grabbed a crowbar and chucked it. The claw jammed into the cement wall.

     “I’m sorry,” the robot whispered. Bakugo roared, smashing his fist onto his work table.

     “No!” he screamed. “You’re supposed to be a fucking badass, all-powerful fighting machine. You’re not supposed to take shit from anyone. What the hell is wrong with you?” He banged his head onto the table, body trembling. The robot watched him, green visual receptors lowering in the human signal for shame.

     Bakugo straightened, glowering, and grabbed a wrench.

     “Get over here,” he growled, gesturing for the robot to follow him. Metal tapped across the floor, following Bakugo to the back workroom where a repair station stood, one of the few things in good shape in the limited space. The robot was well aware of the drill and stepped into the repair station, allowing Bakugo to secure his appendages to the steel frame.

     “Let’s figure out what’s fucking wrong with you, D.E.K.U.,” Bakugo muttered, spinning the wrench between his fingers. He opened a panel on the robot’s chest. A green core glowed in its center, two switches on either side. Bakugo flipped the one on the left. The green visual receptors dimmed and closed as the robot powered down. Bakugo slapped the panel closed and walked around to the robot’s back. He used the wrench to loosen the bolts holding the back section together, exposing the wires underneath.

     “All right,” Bakugo rubbed his hands, a vicious grin on his face. “Let’s get a killer machine going here.”

****

     Bakugo strolled out of the stadium, pockets filled with money, and the new title of Champion to uphold it all. D.E.K.U. walked behind him, gears creaking and turning with each step.

     “Yo, Bakugo!” An arm slung around Bakugo’s shoulders. “Bro, that was awesome!” Bakugo glanced over at Kirishima, a smug grin taking hold of his face.

     “Of course it was, Shitty Hair,” he barked, allowing his friend to hang off him.

     “I thought you said D.E.K.U. was a huge pile of junk.” He turned his head to call out over his shoulder, “Sorry, no offense.” The robot looked up, startled.

     “I can’t take offense,” he replied. “I wasn’t programmed to.” Bakugo rolled his eyes.

     “Didn’t program the piece of shit to cry every damn hour, but he still does anyway,” he muttered darkly. Kirishima laughed, pulling Bakugo closer.

     “Yeah, I’ve got a couple bugs to figure out with Uravity myself,” Kirishima chuckled. “She keeps randomly jumping for no reason, and I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why.” He sighed, sagging against Bakugo, who’d decided he’d had enough and shoved him away.

     “Dude,” Kirishima perked up, brushing off Bakugo’s sudden change in mood. “You’ve got to let me see what you’re powering D.E.K.U. with.” He spun on his heel, running up to the timid robot. Bakugo halted in his steps, the babbled sentence finally catching up to him. He whirled around, eyes wide and body tensed.

     “Kirishima, don’t-” Kirishima opened the panel on D.E.K.U.’s chest. His excited, grinning face morphing into confusion. Horror dawned took hold of him as Bakugo yanked him back, slamming the panel closed.

     “What did I fucking say?” Bakugo growled, pinning a deadly glare on Kirishima. “I said, ‘don’t’.”

     “Bakugo,” Kirishima started, voice hoarse and shaking. “Was that-”

     “It wasn’t anything,” Bakugo interrupted. “Just a power source, that’s it.” He stomped away, jerking his head for D.E.K.U. to follow him.

     “Bakugo, wait,” Kirishima sprinted to catch up, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around. His eyes bore into him. “Don’t tell that you’re using one,” he begged. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.” Bakugo stared back at him, leveled and stoic.

     “So what if it is?” he hissed. Kirishima’s eyes widened, then just as quickly narrowed. He shoved Bakugo away, lips curling in a snarl.

     “’So what if it is?’ That’s all you have to say for yourself? ‘So what if it is?’!” Kirishima took a threatening step closer, pointing an accusing finger at D.E.K.U. “That power source is a Life Essence. You know how much trouble you’re going to get into if someone else finds out you have that and are using it? A lifetime in the Caves, or a slow, painful death at the Arena. Bro, neither one of those are good!” He took another step closer, pained, desperate worry dripping over his face. “Why, Bakugo? Why are you using it?”

****

     Bakugo looked down at the glowing, obscure green object in his hands. It was the size of a small orange, energy pouring from it, as though it were too full to contain it all, so different compared to the body it once resided in, sick and ridden with disease.

     Bakugo cradled it, holding it close to his chest, the energy pulsing with his own heartbeat. A heaviness settled in his chest, a nagging voice at the back of his mind telling him that this was a mistake, that he’d done it without his permission, that he was breaking the most important promise they’d kept between themselves.

     If one of us dies, we won’t take the other’s Life Essence. Let the one who died leave this world in peace, not chain them here for eternity, ok, Kacchan?

     It had seemed like a foolish promise to make, one that would fade with their youth as they grew together. But life hardly went as planned. Like a sandstorm, it tore through Bakugo’s life with hardly a warning and left destruction in its wake.

     He couldn’t afford to lose him. In the midst of this apocalyptic wasteland, he’d been his oasis and salvation. He couldn’t survive another day without him. It had only left him one option.

     “It’s ok, Izuku,” he murmured to the glowing, misshapen orb. “I’ll get you into a new body. It’ll be better than your old one. If something doesn’t work, I’ll just get some more parts and patch you up. It’ll be easy for the best mechanic in the world.” He gave the silent object a shaky smile. He hadn’t been expecting an answer.

     He walked with smooth, careful steps to a robot held in his repair station. He’d spent months on it, shaping and crating it to perfection, making it the metal likeness of someone close to his heart. He tried to keep his hands steady as he placed the orb into a divot in the robot’s chest panel. It sank in without an issue, the metal surrounding it bending and forming to its shape. Bakugo grinned, excitement rushing through him in a thrill. His hand hovered over the left switch, fingers trembling as he flipped it on. Gears and cogs spun, whirring to life as the green energy spread to the entire robot. Bakugo watched, holding his breath, fists clenched, eyes alight.

     The energy reached the robot’s eyes, filling them with the green glow. The robot blinked, its visual receptors landing on Bakugo. HIs smile widened, trembling in relief. The robot blinked.

     “Hello,” it spoke, voice achingly familiar, with a metallic undertone added to it. “I am D.E.K.U.” Bakugo’s smile fell, a cold panic seizing his chest.

     “No,” he stepped forward, shaking his head. “No, you’re Izuku Midoriya.” The robot tilted its head, a puzzled look passing across its face.

     “That is not a part of my programming,” the robot replied flatly. “I am D.E.K.U.” Bakugo tripped forward, slamming his hands onto the robot’s chest.

     “No!” he screamed, voice cracking as tears rolled down his cheek. “No, no, you’re Izuku Midoriya. Izuku! You’re- you’re him! That’s who you are. You’re Midoriya!” The robot stared at him, green receptors unblinking.

     “I am D.E.K.U.-”

     “NO!” Bakugo’s voice tore out of his throat. His vision was blurred from the tears. His mind blanked, racing off on instinct and pure, untaintable rage. His fingers scrabbled for a purchase on the panel, nearly ripping it off. His hand enclosed on the glowing orb. He dug his nails into the cavity it was kept in, yanking and pulling on it with all his strength. The robot gave panicked whirs of noise, but Bakugo didn’t listen to it, didn’t bother to figure out what it was trying to say. He caught a hold on the orb, prying it out.

     “Kacchan!” The name screamed in a virtual fear, froze every muscle in Bakugo’s body, including his brain and heart. His eyes slowly looked up, meeting wide, frightened, synthetic green ones that shouldn’t have held even half of the emotions that were running through it. Bakugo searched the eyes, looking for... something.

     The robot whimpered, scared and confused. Bakugo looked back down at the misshapen orb, its glow flickering. His fingers slowly unfurled from their grasps, releasing it. Its glow steadied and grew brighter. Bakugo took a staggering step back, eyes fixated on it. The robot watched him, a mixture of worry and caution flickering through the receptors. Bakugo took another shaking step back, hands trembling.

     The memories, his life, he’d almost destroyed everything that was Izuku. If the Life Essence was harmed or damaged in any way, the life inside of it was released, and could not be recaptured. He’d been so close to...

     “Izuku?” he asked, voice cracking and timid. The robot formed a crestfallen expression, lowering its head in shame.

     “I’m sorry,” it whispered. “I don’t know who that is.”

     Bakugo’s knees slammed into the cement with a harsh thump. The tears were flowing freely now, unhindered by any other emotion than sorrow. He doubled over, clutching his shirt, right over where his heart was, and screamed until his throat was too raw to make a whisper of a sound.

Augh! Angsty again! Oh no...

I think I’d like to make this into an AU. Tell me what you all think!

I hope you all enjoyed it, thanks for reading!

[superiordragonlorde]

Distraction

Day 2 (October 25) - Costumes/Candy/Make-Up 

Here comes another one for @month-of-wonder. Woohoo!

Warning: a little gory at the end, but it’s not described in extreme detail. Please proceed with caution though.

I hope you guys enjoy it!

     Midoriya stuck his tongue out, eyes narrowed as he concentrated.

     “Kacchan,” he scolded. “You have to hold still or else I’ll mess up on your makeup.” Bakugo grunted, suppressing the intense urge to fidget.

     “It’s taking so damn long,” he complained. “What are you even doing?” Midoriya took a step back, giving him a pointed, unamused look.

     “You wanted to be a zombie,” he snapped, exasperated. “And you said to make it look as authentic as possible. That means I have to do a lot of details, which takes a lot of time.” Bakugo huffed but voiced no other grievances. Midoriya nodded, satisfied, and continued working.

     It wasn’t even thirty seconds later before Bakugo felt like roaches were crawling beneath his skin.

     “Just try to distract yourself,” Midoriya murmured, soothing. “I’m hurrying as fast as I can.” Bakugo exhaled loudly through his nose and looked for something to preoccupy himself with.

     He couldn’t use his phone. That would require looking down or holding up the phone at eye-level, neither of which would help Midoriya work. There was nothing overly interesting to look at in the bathroom. Pale colored walls with a porcelain tub, toilet, and sink, white tiled floor, and gray countertop. His eyes landed on the most colorful thing in the room, Midoriya’s costume.

     He was dressed as a medieval peasant, or so he’d said. Dark blue pants with a white shirt and green vest. A sword strapped to his hip, a pouch filled with “coins” on the other side, and out in the hall laid a pack filled with his “supplies”. It was clear Midoriya had spent a lot of time and effort on his costume, but Bakugo had seen it hundreds of times before, watching Midoriya create it, try it on, make adjustments, then retry it again. Bakugo knew every stitch and piece of fabric sewn into the costume. It just wouldn’t keep him busy for long.

     As his eyes trailed up the costume, they landed on Midoriya’s neck. That was a good place to start, Bakugo decided. He traced the tendons that twisted and stretched with his eyes. He looked for each ticklish spot he knew, wishing he could lean up and kiss them right now without messing up Midoriya’s work.

     His gaze went further up, to the lips pursed in concentration, a tip of pink tongue poking out between them. Bakugo wanted to touch them, with his lips, with his fingers. They were always soft, or at least softer than his. They could morph and form into the brightest smile, or the most heartwrenching pout.

     Midoriya leaned forward to get a better look at the bloody wound he’d just finished, bringing his cheeks into Bakugo’s line of sight. There were hundreds, maybe even thousands of freckles, Bakugo guessed. He always tried to count them, but there were too many, or he got distracted by something else and ended up losing count anyway. He tried again, just because it’d be one more thing only he would know about Midoriya. He got to twenty-three before noticing two freckles he was sure hadn’t been there yesterday. Then, while contemplating that, he’d lost count, as per usual. He scowled.

     “Kacchan?” Bakugo looked up, catching the dark green eyes. They were soft, warm, and lighted with an inner fire that could put his explosions to shame. “Are you ok? You look mad.”

     Bakugo couldn’t control himself any longer. He shot up, lips smashing into Midoriya’s, who gave a startled noise. Bakugo backed off a bit, finding it in himself to wait long enough for Midoriya to return it. He pressed further, trying to urge the soft lips open.

     Midoriya pulled back, giving him an exasperated smile.

     “That’s going to have to wait till after,” he commanded, giving a final peck on Bakugo’s lips. “I spent a lot of time on your makeup, I don’t want it messed up in the next five minutes before we even head out the door.” Bakugo pouted, but another light kiss gave him the patience to wait a little longer. But he couldn’t promise all night.

     “So, how’s it look?” Midoriya asked, stepping away to put their costume makeup away. Bakugo slipped off the counter to turn and face the mirror.

     Sunken cheeks, rotting flesh discolored to a foul green and yellow, bloodied lips and chin, and maggot-ridden wounds stared back at him. Bakugo grinned, the monstrosity trying to match the expression.

     “This is fucking awesome!” Midoriya watched him, elated and glowing with pride.

     “I’m glad you like it,” he beamed, storing the brushes. “Now, let’s go or else we’re going to be late.” He grabbed Bakugo’s hand, pulling him out of the bathroom. Bakugo leaned down to grab Midoriya’s pack, handing it off to him, soaking up the contagious, brilliant smile that was sent his way.

~Dun dun dun... another one bites the dust!~

I like to think that Bakugo has a hard time keeping still when it comes to boring things (like waiting for your boyfriend to put makeup on you).

Ok, I hope this worked out...

Thanks for reading!

[superiordragonlorde]

Losing Hope

Day 4 (October 27) - Cult/Captured/Hide-n-Seek 

Here we go, another BakuDeku for @month-of-wonder.

Warnings: some blood mentioned

I hope you all enjoy it!

     Bakugo struggled against the chains the kept him trapped against the wall. A muzzle was strapped to his face, muffling his bellowing screams of rage.

     “Relax, Fiery One,” a slick, oozing voice hissed. “He will come soon enough.” Bakugo sent a scathing glare into a dark corner, where an obscure silhouette stood, far out of his reach. He pulled against the chains again, shoving his entire weight forward. The metal groaned but did nothing else. He yanked and pulled, slammed his foot into the anchoring point in the cement wall. Not a single scratch was made.

     “Patience,” the voice growled. “Consequences will be made if you don’t obey.” Bakugo halted, foot poised to kick again. He lowered it, glaring hot daggers at the silhouette.

     A door to the room opened. Four figures, each wearing long, tattered bandages that encased their entire body, struggled to drag a squirming body. Bakugo lunged forward, a noise lost in the clamped restraint. The young man they were carrying writhed in their hands, refusing to calm. An energy crackled around him, filling the entire space with its electrifying power. One of his legs swung out, catching one of the figures and flinging them out the room, their back smashing into the wall outside. The three remaining figures tried to pile on top of him, shoving him down to the ground. He collapsed under their weight, the sparking energy from before suddenly gone, leaving the air devoid of the raw power. The man’s face was slammed into the floor. Bakugo howled out a muted string of curses and unheard threats. No one listened to him.

     One of the robed figures grabbed a fist full of green hair, yanking it up to expose a bruised face. Green and red eyes connected for a moment before the figure slammed his head down. The struggling renewed with vigor. The energy returned, weaker than before, and instead of controlled and precise, it felt unstable, frantic. Like their last hope was hanging in its balance.

     “That’s enough,” the voice commanded, striding out of the dark corner. The followers glanced up, watching them approach, a hood pulled over their face. Bakugo’s eyes flickered between them and Midoriya, teeth clenched and grinding, body poised to pounce. Midoriya refused to still. He lashed out an arm. A knife embedded into it, jamming its tip into the cemented floor. A strangled cry ripped from him, tearing through Bakugo as it echoed around the room.

     “I said,” the voice repeated, their hand extended in the aftermath of the throw. “That is enough.” They stalked closer, two pairs of wide, glaring eyes, one filled with rage, another pain, watched their every move. Kneeling down, they pulled back the hood on their head far enough to reveal and mouth.

     “Understand, Promising One,” they spoke. “The Hero Killer: Stain, has deemed you worthy to become a hero. We must shape you as such.” They released the hood, obscuring their face in shadow, and stood.

     “He requires more training,” they muttered. “Take him back to the grounds.” Bakugo screamed, lunging forward. The chains yanked him back, nearly choking him as the collar around his neck cut into his throat. Midoriya bucked and thrashed, trying to dislodge the cloying captors. They tore the knife out of his arm and hauled him up, dragging him away, out the door, and into the dim hallway. The hooded figure followed them out.

     The door shut with a resounding boom, cutting off the stifled, desperate cries from Midoriya.

     Time passed in a sluggish march as thoughts, worries, and reckless plans doomed to fail chased one another in Bakugo’s mind. He yanked at his chains in vain, slammed his metal-encased hands onto the ground, the covering hardly dented, and bashed the muzzled into the wall, all with the fading hope that he’d be able to break free.

     His prize was only scratches and bruises he had only himself to blame for.

     The door opened again, only two figures entering this time, with a limp body pulled behind them.

     Bakugo’s stomach dropped with the weight of an anchor pulling it down. 

     The followers dragged the body to the wall Bakugo was chained to, another set of chains placed several feet away, farther than Bakugo could reach. They took each set of chains, clamping the metal cuffs around each arm and leg. The largest one went around his neck, just like Bakugo’s. The followers stepped back, revealing Midoriya slumped against the wall. His face was beginning to swell on the right side, right where purple was starting to appear. A cut ran from his brow to his jaw, a crooked, jagged line that oozed blood. It ran down his jawline, dripping off in a steady beat. Blood dripped from the lower holes of the muzzle in a slower rhythm. There must have been newer tears and blood stains on his uniform, but Bakugo couldn’t differentiate them from the older ones. The knife wound from earlier was bandaged, but the strips of cloth looked dirty and worn.

     “He has trained well today.” Bakugo whipped his head around, the hooded leader silhouetted by the lights in the hallway. He snarled, the only sound that had ever been audible through the muzzle. The leader waved a hand in an encouraging motion. “Give them their reward.” The followers nodded, walking towards a far corner of the room where a pile of extra chains was placed. Each one carrying five, the two followers headed for one of the young men, the obvious loser giving Bakugo a disdainful look that didn’t quite reach his terrified eyes. Bakugo made sure to growl. The man’s flinch felt like a power trip.

     The new chains were attached to the cuffs and older chains, allowing Bakugo to reach half of the room now instead of a few feet. The woman with Midoriya unclasped the muzzle, pulling it off with a disgusting care that set Bakugo’s veins boiling. Blood dripped out of the metal restraint. Dry burgundy lines ran from his nose to his lips. Three more stripes fell from his mouth, gathering at his chin where the muzzle stopped.

      “Don’t do anything rash, hero,” the leader warned, as though reading his mind, or just his body language. Bakugo hoped looks truly could kill so that bastard could die a miserable, painful death. But the leader’s warning couldn’t be ignored. If he attacked or lashed out... He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat, shoving his pride down along with it. He’d learned his lesson. It had only taken one punishment to get the message through.

      The man that had been stuck with him reached the back of his head with shaking hands, fingers trembling too much to grip the clasp. Bakugo stared at him, unblinking, letting the heated stare intimidate him even further.

      When the muzzle fell away with a click, Bakugo blinked and the man was suddenly at the door’s threshold, muzzle clutched in white knuckled hands, The woman was beside him, shoulders trembling from smothered amusement.

     “Enjoy your reward,” the leader bowed their head, a smirk evident in their voice. The three bandaged figures disappeared out into the hallway, the door closing behind them with a hope-crushing clang.

     Bakugo wasted no time, rushing to Midoriya’s side. He hadn’t moved, unconscious and bleeding, a rasping sound following each breath he took. Bakugo fell to his knees next to him.

     “Deku,” he hissed, cold claws scrapping at his heart. “Deku, come on, wake up.” He nudged his shoulder to Midoriya’s. There was no reaction. Bakugo pressed his back to the wall, sliding down to the unforgiving floor. He slipped his shoulder under Midoriya’s bruised cheek and rested his head on green curls. The acrid stench of sweat, blood, dirt, and chemicals had overpowered the usual scent Bakugo had come to love. His gut twisted at the thought of Midoriya disappearing before his eyes. His power was being dampened by a drug that was daily forced into their systems, the so-called “training sessions” were lasting longer, and there were days where Bakugo watched the spark in his shining green eyes flicker and dim, leaving an empty shell of a human, lost within his own mind.

     Bakugo buried his nose further into Midoriya’s hair, hands clenching in their metal casing, fingernails cutting into his skin.

     “Hang on, Deku,” he murmured. “We’re gonna get out of here. I promise.” Cold silence met his vow, punctuated by the rasping breath of Midoriya, the only thing showing Bakugo that he was still alive.

Angsty mess... oof.

I think that, just like the Pro-Heroes, the villains have fan bases too, it’s just they’re a bit more... intense... and more like cults...

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!

Thanks for reading!

[superiordragonlorde]

The Unknown

Day 3 (October 26) - Shrines/Spirits/Exorcism

Another one for @month-of-wonder!

Warnings: foul language (because of our beloved Bakugo mostly)

I hope you all enjoy!

     Bakugo glared at the empty room, a spell book in one hand and three candlesticks in the other.

     “Hey, bro. Do you really think this is going to work?” Kirishima asked, carrying a package of salt, a bag of talismans, and various herbs and stones. Bakugo huffed.

     “Of course I’m sure, Shitty Hair,” he growled. “This stuff fucking works. I’ve seen my old hag do it thousands of times.” He knelt down at the center of the room, placing the candles on the floor and opening the spell book to the page he’d marked earlier.

     “If you’re sure,” Kirishima shrugged, setting his items down next to the blond man. “I mean, you are the witch.”

     “Damn right I am.”

     Bakugo grabbed the stones, placing them between the candles in a line, creating a triangle. A leaf from the herbs nestled between each stone. He checked over his work, gave a stiff nod, and grabbed the salt. He poured it into the shape of a circle, encompassing the stone, herb, and candle triangle.

     “You sure you didn’t get this off some supernatural show, or something?” Bakugo ground his teeth as he spun around, snarling

     “Are you doubting me, you ass?!” Kirishima quickly brought his hands up in a placating gesture.

     “No, no,” he assured. “I’m sorry. You know what you’re doing. I’ll shut up now.” Bakugo gave one last final glare, then huffed, turning to look at the spellbook in his hand. He squinted at it, nodded, then held a hand over the center of the triangle. He took in a deep breath. Kirishima copied him, his lungs holding the air hostage.

     “Show yourself, you fucking spirits!” Bakugo bellowed. Kirishima flinched at the unexpecting scream. The room remained still and quiet. Not a breath of wind stirred inside.

     “Well,” Kirishima sighed. “That was... anticlimactic.” He clapped his hands, rubbing his palms together. Bakugo shushed him.

     “Stop moving,” he hissed. Kirishima blinked, surprised by the forceful request as well as his friend’s intense gaze. He was staring at the center of the triangle, as though his will alone could pull spirits up from the floor.

     A head suddenly popped up from the wooden floor, staring at the two men with wide, obscure, and surprised eyes. Kirishima released a strangled yelp and scrambled back.

     Alright, maybe Bakugo could summon spirits with his willpower.

     “Get out here,” Bakugo growled. The spirit looked up at him, face blurred of detail and dripping with an unknown substance. With hesitant, slow movements, the spirit stretched their arm out, placing their hands on the floor, and pushed themselves up. A chest, torso, and legs followed the head. The spirit, fully formed and above the floor, sat, legs tucked beneath them. Their white, faded eyes fixated on Bakugo, unmoving.

     “Alright, spirit,” Bakugo started, voice low and commanding. “Get lost.” The spirit blinked at him, face blank.

     “Maybe he doesn’t understand what you’re saying,” Kirishima whispered. The spirit’s eyes landed on him instead. Kirishima flinched but offered a queasy smile and a wave. The spirit blinked again. It raised a tentative hand and waved back. Kirishima’s smile widened and softened.

     “Aw, he doesn’t seem so bad.”

     “Don’t trust him,” Bakugo snapped. “These little shits are tricky.” Kirishima gave him a disbelieving look but kept his mouth firmly closed. “Now get out of here!” Bakugo tried again. The spirit turned its haunted gaze to him again, the substance dripping from his face falling and gathering on the floor.

     “Fucking go!”

     The spirit continued to stare.

     “Get out!”

     It didn’t move.

     “Go! Leave! Fucking book it, you piece of shit!”

     The spirit blinked, slow and innocent, but still refused to move. Bakugo ground his teeth, wishing he could strangle the supernatural being.

     “Maybe he doesn’t understand you,” Kirishima reiterated. “Do you think he speaks Latin?”

     “That’s a fucking myth, you moron,” Bakugo growled, rubbing his hands roughly over his face. Kirishima leaned closer, his face hovering over the salt circle. He offered the spirit another soft smile. The blurred, white eyes blinked again and bunched at the bottom like it was trying to smile.

     “Aw, you really don’t look so bad, huh?” Kirishima crooned. He stretched his hand towards the spirit, leaving it hanging in the air between them. The spirit watched it, dim body perking up. It reached out, slow and hesitant like when it had waved, moving with cautious, jerky motions. The fingers unfurled a hair’s breadth away from touching Kirishima’s.

     “You fucking idiot!” Bakugo screamed, shoving Kirishima’s hand away. His thumb brushed against the spirit’s hand.

     A light flashed around the spirit, engulfing it and blinding the two men. Bakugo threw an arm over his face to protect himself, shoving Kirishima back. When the light faded, spots filled their vision, leaving them squinting and blinking in near blindness.

     “Holy shit,” Kirishima breathed, hand clutching Bakugo’s sleeve. “What the hell was that?” Bakugo didn’t answer. Kirishima glanced towards him, seeing his friend staring at something with a slack jaw and wide eyes. Kirishima followed his gaze, his face morphing into Bakugo’s.

     “Woah,” he breathed.

     The spirit sat in the same triangle, unmoving, but far different than it had been before. A blurring silhouette was replaced by sharp, clear details and colors. Green hair sat in curls on their head. Freckles splashed over pale cheeks. Wide eyes opened, revealing soft green irises. The substance dripping from their face was clear now, trickling from the watery eyes. The spirit rubbed their hands over their cheeks, drying the water there, its tears ceasing to flow.

     It stared at its hands, one scarred the other unscathed. A smile, soft and trembling, lit its face. They lifted their face, eyes flicking between the awed men.

     “Thank you,” it whispered. Bakugo’s heart seized at the gentle sound. When the calm, teary eyes landed on him, his heart restarted, beating faster than it had before. “What can I call you?”

     “Ka-” Bakugo snapped out of his stupor, almost too late. He silently cursed himself for almost giving his name away so easily. Stupid spirits and their stupid tricks. His mind scrambled for a solution to the problem he’d just created. “Kacchan,” he decided. “You can call me Kacchan.” Kirishima snorted, shoulders shaking with laughter.

     “Seriously?” he wheezed, before flashing a grin at the spirit. “I’m Eijirou Kirishima.” Bakugo whirled around, giving his friend an incredulous look.

     “What the fuck, man?” he screamed. “You can’t give a spirit your name! That gives them control over you, you fucking idiot.” Kirishima scratched his cheek, frowning.

     “I’m pretty sure that’s something you’d have to worry about with faes,” he murmured.

     “Who’s the fucking witch here?!”

     “Oh, you’re the one who summoned me?” Kirishima and Bakugo turned. The spirit was watching Bakugo with his innocent gaze, head tilted to the side. Bakugo grunted, letting the spirit decide for himself. The spirit stood, bowing, a smile growing on his lips.

     “Thank you,” he repeated, straightening up to beam at him. Bakugo’s heart hammered his ribcage, wanting to break free. He briefly wondered if he was an angel that had Fallen, rather than a spirit.

     “So, what’s your name?” Bakugo elbowed him in the stomach. Kirishima doubled over, groaning.

     “What the hell are you doing?” he snarled.

     “I’m just asking,” Kirishima hissed. “I thought we were doing introductions.”

     “You don’t ask,” Bakugo huffed. “You demand.” He turned to the spirit, holding out his hand. “Give me your name.” The spirit’s face fell, a timeless sorrow seeping into the depths of his eyes.

     “I can’t give it to you,” he sighed, voice heavy and ancient. “I don’t have it.” Bakugo scowled, puzzling out the spirit’s words.

     “Ok, then what do you want us to call you?” Kirishima asked, deftly avoiding the second elbow that was sent flying his way. The spirit’s face lifted, the weight from before fading and sliding off like a silk cover. The smile he gave Kirishima was grateful and bright. Bakugo felt something grow in the pit of his stomach, crawling up to his chest with slimy claws.

     “Deku,” the spirit exclaimed, shining. “You can call me Deku.”

Welp, there’s some Kirishima for ya! (Is it obvious I know next to nothing about supernatural things?)

I hope you all enjoyed this! I might make an au out of this. Please let me know if you think I should.

Thanks for reading!