notes: trying to force myself to write smut but alol i can thing about is angst
Todoroki Shouto watches porn the way other people watch weather reports—mechanical, detached, cataloging the ways bodies can burn without ever touching. He has playlists organized by temperature. Ice play. Fire play. The ones where actors scream like they're being murdered and he turns the volume down because it sounds too much like home. He tells himself it's about control, about seeing something he can start and stop with a click, unlike the frost that lives in his bones or the anger his father planted there. But it's 3 AM and he's watching the same clip for the seventh time, not touching himself, just staring at the way the actress's eyes go blank in the middle of the frame, and he thinks: there. That's the place I want to be. Nowhere.
Bakugou Katsuki doesn't watch porn—he consumes it. Aggressively. Competitively. His search history is a battlefield of tags he won't admit to in daylight: rough, forced, crying, ruined. He jerks off like it's training, like if he doesn't come hard enough or fast enough or right he's failing some invisible metric. The only time his brain shuts up is when he's watching someone else get taken apart, piece by piece, until they're nothing but need and saliva and the wet sounds of being used. He hates how much he needs it. Hates that he bookmarks the ones where the bottom looks broken afterward, stares at the screen with his hand still around himself, thinking about Deku's face when they were kids—I'm sorry, Kacchan—and comes so hard his vision whites out. Then he deletes his history and screams at his reflection until his throat bleeds.
Shinsou Hitoshi found porn at twelve because he was tired of being invisible and the people in the videos looked at the camera like they saw him. Now his laptop is full of POV shots, first-person perspectives, you and your and look at me while I— He doesn't want to touch anyone. He wants to be witnessed. His favorites are the amateur ones, the ones that feel accidental, where someone forgot to turn off the camera and you can see the real thing underneath the performance. He collects them like evidence. See? People are like this when no one's watching. Desperate. Animal. Just like me. He tells himself he's studying human behavior for his quirk, for the day he'll make villains kneel with a word, but really he's just lonely in a way that porn can't fix but can numb for twenty-three minutes at a time.
Dabi Touya, whatever, names don't matter when you're ash—uses porn to feel something, anything, the way other people use pain. His skin is scar tissue and regret so he seeks out the roughest stuff, the kind that would make most people flinch. Blood. Choking. The moment where someone realizes they can't breathe and the panic sets in. He watches it with the sound off, blue flames flickering across his palms, thinking about how his own lungs used to burn, how his father used to look at him like he was already dead. The girls in the videos never look dead enough. He keeps searching. Keeps clicking. Keeps his hand steady even when the rest of him is shaking apart.
Hawks Keigo, only Keigo when he's alone—has a subscription to seventeen different sites and he doesn't pay for any of them with his own money. Burner accounts. Shell companies. The Commission taught him how to hide everything, so he hides this: the hours he spends watching things he shouldn't want, the way his wings tremble when he sees someone held down by wrists or feathers or both. He's supposed to be the symbol of hope, the pretty bird, and here he is at 4 AM with his wings spread wide, watching degradation like it's a mirror, thinking about Endeavor's hand on his shoulder and how easy it would be to just—stop. To fall. To let someone else hold the weight. He comes with his teeth gritted, wings snapping shut, and he's already searching for the next video before the afterglow fades.
A/N: oooook since anon have been asking for some relationship bakugo stuff, here’s my version for it. it’s my first time ever writing for him but i tried my best to picture him canon, soo enjoy!! you fell asleep on your boyfriend’s shoulder and you got caught too, what did he do?
The night was quiet, and the halls of U.A were empty. It was late—later than Bakugo usually stayed up, especially with a brutal training session awaiting him in the morning.
Still, here he was, sprawled on the common room couch with textbooks and notebooks scattered on the coffee table in front of him. He wasn’t one to study in the dorm’s common area, much preferring the solitude of his room. But tonight was different.
You were there with him.
He hadn’t planned it this way. Bakugo had been cramming, prepping for an upcoming test that Aizawa had threatened them all with. Normally, he would’ve told everyone else to stay the hell out of his way, barking at any idiot who dared to disturb him. But when you suggested studying together earlier, something in him gave.
He wouldn’t admit it, but the thought of you by his side made it tolerable—maybe even enjoyable.
The two of you had spent hours working in a comfortable silence. Well, comfortable for you. Bakugo had his usual scowl, occasionally muttering about the idiots in the class or cursing out loud when a particular formula or hero law didn’t make sense immediately. Despite his fiery demeanor, you could tell he was laser-focused, determined to come out on top. That was just who he was—always aiming for the number one spot. It was one of the many things you admired about him.
At some point, though, the exhaustion caught up with you. Katsuki had noticed you rubbing your eyes, trying to keep yourself awake as you scrawled down notes. He’d been keeping a sideways eye on you ever since, but said nothing, too proud to outright suggest you stop and go to bed. But deep down, he could see you were tired.
It had been a long day, and between morning classes and the intense afternoon training led by All Might, you were wiped. The sofa was comfortable, and the rhythmic sound of Bakugo flipping through pages and scribbling notes was strangely soothing.
Before you knew it, your eyelids grew heavy, and your body leaned unconsciously towards him. Your head found its way onto his shoulder, and before either of you realized, you had drifted off into a peaceful sleep.
Bakugo stiffened at first, feeling the weight of your head gently resting against him. The sudden warmth of your body against his side sent a jolt through his system. His first instinct was to wake you up with a sharp nudge—he wasn’t exactly used to people being this close to him, much less while he was supposed to be studying.
But for some reason, Bakugo couldn’t bring himself to do it. His eyes flicked down to your face, now completely relaxed in sleep. The furrow between your brows that had been there during studying was gone, replaced by a soft, peaceful expression. Your breathing was steady, slow.
“Damn,” Bakugo muttered under his breath, careful not to disturb you. You looked so calm, so vulnerable like this.
He wasn’t sure what to do with the feeling creeping up in his chest.
It wasn’t something he was used to—a strange mix of protectiveness and warmth, a side of him that he hadn’t fully come to terms with yet.
He shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position without moving you too much. He glanced around the empty common room, the soft glow of the single lamp casting long shadows on the walls. The dim lighting, paired with the quiet ticking of the wall clock, made the atmosphere feel almost intimate. His usual instinct to keep people at arm’s length was quieted by the sheer peace of the moment.
Still, he couldn’t help himself.
He muttered low under his breath, “Tch, idiot. You’re drooling on my shoulder…”
But there was no real heat in his voice. In fact, there was a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, though he’d never admit it. He reached out, grabbing the throw blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch, and carefully pulled it over you. His movements were slow and deliberate, making sure not to wake you. Normally, the thought of someone leaning on him, invading his space like this, would piss him off. But somehow, with you, it was different.
His red eyes softened as he watched your chest rise and fall, lost in your dreams. You trusted him—enough to fall asleep on him, enough to let your guard down entirely.
Katsuki knew what trust meant in this line of work. It was something you built through blood, sweat, and tears. It wasn’t something he gave away freely, either. But somehow, you had managed to crack through that thick, explosive shell of his.
Not that he’d admit that to anyone. Ever.
“Damn extras would never let me live this down,” he muttered to himself, feeling the slightest flush of embarrassment. His pride wouldn’t survive the onslaught of teasing that would surely follow if anyone saw him like this. Soft. Vulnerable.
Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, and Bakugo tensed. His eyes snapped towards the door just as it opened, revealing none other than Kirishima. Of course, it had to be him. The red-haired idiot had a knack for showing up at the worst times.
Kirishima’s eyes widened the second he took in the sight before him—Bakugo sitting stiffly on the couch, you curled up next to him, sound asleep. And there was a blanket.
Bakugo had covered you with a blanket.
A wide grin spread across Kirishima’s face, and Bakugo could already see the teasing coming a mile away. “Whoa, man, this is too cute!” Kirishima’s voice was loud, his words brimming with amusement. He took a step closer, clearly ready to capitalize on the rare sight.
Bakugo’s glare could’ve melted steel. His hand curled into a fist, and he raised a single, deadly finger to Kirishima. “Oi. If you wake her up, I swear on everything, you’re dead.”
Kirishima froze in place, hands raised in surrender, though his grin only widened. “Whoa, whoa! Chill, dude. I’m not gonna wake her. But come on, Bakugo, this is a side of you I never expected to see.”
Bakugo’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly. “Shut it, Shitty Hair. Get lost before I blow your dumbass to pieces,” he growled, keeping his voice low enough not to disturb you.
But Kirishima wasn’t backing down. He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he shot Bakugo a knowing look. “Man, you’ve changed. You know that, right? I mean, I didn’t think I’d ever see the day you’d let someone fall asleep on you without, you know, blowing up half the room.” He gave Bakugo a thumbs-up, his smile genuine, despite the teasing. “She’s good for you, man.”
Bakugo’s eyes flashed dangerously, and for a moment, it looked like he might actually follow through with his threat. His hand twitched, tiny pops of sparks dancing at his fingertips, but he held himself back. Barely.
“You got three seconds to get out of here before I wipe that dumb grin off your face,” he hissed, his voice a low growl.
Kirishima laughed again, clearly enjoying how riled up Bakugo was getting. “Alright, alright! I’m going. Don’t get all fired up.” He took a step back, still grinning. “But seriously, Bakugo, it’s nice to see you like this. You should let it show more often.”
Bakugo’s eyes narrowed to slits, but before he could retort, Kirishima had already slipped out of the room, leaving Bakugo to seethe in silence.
“Tch. Stupid idiot…” he muttered under his breath, glaring at the door where Kirishima had been standing. His hands unclenched, and he leaned back against the couch, letting out a long breath. The tension that had built up in his shoulders slowly melted away as the room fell silent again. He glanced down at you, still fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the brief interaction.
The scowl softened on his face. He wasn’t one to express his feelings easily—or at all, really. His love was shown through action, through the way he looked out for you during training, or the way he pushed you to be better, stronger. But moments like this, where he allowed himself to be close, to let down his guard, were still foreign territory for him.
Carefully, Bakugo shifted his arm, resting it along the back of the couch behind you. He glanced at the clock. It was later than he thought, and the weariness in his own muscles was starting to catch up with him. He hadn’t planned on falling asleep out here, but with you curled up beside him, warm and steady, he could feel his eyelids growing heavier.
His eyes flicked back to you one last time. For all the hell you went through at UA, for all the chaos and danger they faced in their training and in the field, this was one moment of quiet he wasn’t going to take for granted.
Bakugo let out a quiet sigh, his body finally relaxing against the cushions.
His hand, still resting on the back of the couch, slowly found its way to yours under the blanket.
He laced his fingers with yours, feeling the warmth of your skin against his.
He closed his eyes, letting the steady rhythm of your breathing lull him into a rare state of peace.
Before he knew it, he had drifted off too, his head leaning back against the couch, his breathing evening out into soft, steady inhales and exhales.
When Bakugo woke up the next morning, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight creeping through the common room window, casting long, golden beams across the floor. He blinked, his mind still foggy with sleep, before realizing he was still on the couch. And you were still nestled up beside him.
His heart gave a brief, surprised lurch before he quickly masked the feeling with a grunt. He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb you, but the movement must have been enough because you stirred, your head lifting slowly from his shoulder.
“Mmm… morning,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes as you blinked awake.
Bakugo turned his head slightly, trying to sound casual. “Morning,” he grunted, his voice still rough with sleep. He felt you pull away a bit, and immediately, the cold air hit where your warmth had been. His first instinct was to grumble about it, but instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets, standing up quickly. “You drooled on me, idiot,” he said, his tone sharp, but not biting. It was more teasing than anything else.
Your face flushed with embarrassment, a small, sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “Sorry…”
Bakugo rolled his eyes, turning away as he stretched, trying to shake off the lingering drowsiness. “Tch. Just don’t make a habit of it,” he muttered, though the usual harsh edge in his voice was absent. There was something softer, more subdued, as if last night’s vulnerability had lingered in the air.
As you stood up and stretched, Bakugo glanced towards the door, half-expecting Kirishima or another one of the extras to barge in with more teasing remarks. He wasn’t in the mood for any of that right now. But the common room was still empty, the rest of the dorms quiet in the early morning.
Bakugo walked towards the door, glancing back over his shoulder at you. “C’mon,” he said, his voice back to its usual gruffness. “Let’s grab some breakfast before the damn extras wake up. And don’t expect me to wait for you,” he added, though there was no real bite in his words.
But as you fell in step beside him, your hand brushing against his briefly, Katsuki felt that familiar warmth bloom in his chest again.
for a pro hero, Shouto is impossibly hopeless with all things social media. it's not that he doesn't have the ability to understand it- he just doesn't care. all his accounts are managed by his agency, and while he has all the necessary apps installed on his phone—not by choice—they sit there gathering dust, never once opened by his own hand.
so he’s sitting in his favorite soba restaurant one weekend, his mop of red-and-white hair tucked under a baseball cap, enjoying the pleasing hum of the kitchen when Bakugou poses the question. who, as always, is taking up far too much space, one leg casually draped over a neighboring chair. Shouto dips his head in silent thanks when Midoriya returns with their orders, setting the trays down before shoving Bakugou's leg off the chair to make room for himself. the blonde lets out a grunt of irritation but chooses instead to refocus his attention on his true target.
Shouto takes a bite of noodles, chewing carefully before responding. “i have not…made my intentions known yet,” he says calmly, gaze not leaving the dish in front of him. "that would be a bit of an invasion of privacy, wouldn't it?"
"jesus, you sound like an old geezer. s’not like i’m askin’ ya to climb into her bedroom window! it’s just so you can see some pictures of her, dumbass!" Bakugou snaps, but quickly reveals his true purpose with a sly grin, "and then, so can we."
Shouto shoots him a sharp look but then lets out a sigh. it’s not a conversation he hasn’t had before with his fellow heroes. “you’re not going to let this go, are you."
Bakugou just grins sharply.
Midoriya shakes his head. “you’re too nosy for your own good, Kacchan,” he murmurs, but then, casting Shouto a sideways glance, adds, “you could try opening instagram and just typing in her name. takes two seconds. besides, there’s a good chance her account’s private anyway, so we—i mean you—might not see anything."
with another resigned sigh, Shouto finally complies and does just that, if only to get the two off his back so he can enjoy his noodles. he frowns when he can't find the app for a second, then hesitates again, taking in the unfamiliar interface. eventually locating the search bar with some direction from Midoriya, his thumbs tap on the screen as he begins typing.
"how do i know which one is her?" he says, his tone slow and measured.
Bakugou groans, tipping his head back dramatically. "well do any of the small circular pics look like her, genius?"
a heavy silence stretches between them, punctuated only by the soft clatters of utensils from other patrons. Shouto nods once, his gaze fixed on the screen. then, after another pause that feels even longer, he asks, "what does ‘follow back’ mean?"
"wait-" Midoriya rushes to say, "don't hit that just yet."
it’s too late. the two other heroes watch, mouths agape, as Shouto’s thumb, deliberate and unhurried, lifts from the screen.
Bakugou lets out a snort. "well if she doesn't know you’re sweet on her yet, she will now. she's gonna see you followed her. oh, the noble half-and-half, internet stalkin' pretty girls now."
Shouto’s brows knit together, his voice edged with defensiveness. “you told me to do this.”
“i ain’t tell ya to follow her just yet. was just meaning for you take a look. there are rules to this stuff. you’re a public figure and she’s not, idiot."
Shouto squints down at the screen as if trying to make sense of it all. “i can see pictures now. i couldn’t before.”
"that means she accepted your follow, it’s a good sign! she must be active right now." Midoriya grins broadly. "definitely doesn't hurt that she was already following you."
Bakugou leans back, looking far too pleased with himself. "oh man...you know you just told the whole world you want to bang this chick, right?"
Shouto casts Midoriya a dubious look, who grimaces and says, "you...do only follow like fifty people, pretty much all of whom are heroes. one of your fans...and you do have a lot of them...will likely notice, if they haven't already."
deciding to ignore this bit of unsettling information, Shouto looks back down, lips curving downward in a slight frown. "and these pictures...anyone can see them? "
"well if the account's public, sure." Midoriya glances at Bakugou questioningly. "but if it's private, which it must have been, no. only her followers can.”
"oh." Shouto’s expression softens. "good."
"for god's sake," Bakugou snarls, finally snatching the phone from Shouto’s hands, knocking Midoriya’s chopsticks off the table in the process. the green-haired man sighs and ducks down to retrieve them.
“the suspense is killing me. let's see what you've been prattling on about all this...oh.” Bakugou freezes. “what."
Midoriya’s head pops back up from under the table.
Bakugou lets out a long whistle, eyes glued to the screen. his thumb swipes rapidly, post after post, jaw dropping more with every pass. "you've been keepin' this to yourself? christ, half-and-half.”
Midoriya leans into Bakugou’s space to take a look. his brows lift, eyes widening as he glances between the phone and their friend. "she's the one? she's...something else, Shouto."
Shouto wrestles his phone back from Bakugou and glances down at the screen, which is paused on one of the older posts. he lingers for a moment, gaze softening as he looks at the image frozen in front of him: you, looking over your shoulder, your pretty features lit up by the golden glow of some late afternoon light. his thumb kisses the edge of your smile on the screen. "yes," he says, "i know."
there's something warm and unfamiliar in his tone that makes Midoriya beam proudly at Bakugou, who rolls his eyes.
and then—
"what does it mean if the heart symbol here is now red?"
wc: 3.6k
a/n: LMAOOO not me getting inspired/making new WIPs when i should be focusing on my old ones and WARRIOR😭. i swear i am...after a few more👀 Song Inspiration: POSER by PARTYOF2; recommend you listen while reading!!
The chair bites into Bakugo’s spine like it was built to punish pride.
Not the cheap plastic kind either—the kind with a hard back and unforgiving angles that knows where it’ll hurt.
Every shift scrapes against his skin, and the sting of it makes his temper flare all over again because he shouldn’t be sitting anywhere that smell like mildew and old cigarettes and people who think they’ve won.
Though it doesn't lessen the way the heavy cuffs clamps his wrists to the arms of the chair. They know exactly where to press—right against the softer part of his skin where the metal digs in every time he tests them.
And he does test them.
Tiny movements at first; a roll of the wrist...a flex of the forearm...a slow pull that would make weaker restraints squeal.
Nothing.
Bakugo jaw tightens until his molars ache.
He can still feel the fire of the forest. Where the smoke had clawed down his throat while he fought through flame and falling branches.
Where he'd been in the middle of training—his training—when the world decided it wanted to test him in a different way.
Shigaraki stands in front of the turned off TV with a slouch that gave off he’s both bored with the world and personally offended it still exists.
His pale blue hair catches the dim light while on his face rests a hand (that damn hand) like a parasite, fingers splayed across his cheekbones as though it owns him.
“This system has a strange way of transforming people’s lives into money or glory," The leader of the League of Villains talks like he’s reciting scripture.
“A society that sticks tight to those rules...citizens who blame the losers rather than encourage them...” He gestures vaguely as if the air itself is his audience. “Our fight is to question: what is a hero? What is justice? Is this society truly just?”
Bakugo’s glare hardens until it’s almost physical as Shigaraki’s eyes fix on him.
“We’ll have everyone thinking about it,” he says, voice dipping into something sharp and pleased. “That’s when we’ll know we’ve won.”
He pauses, slyness creeping into his tone like he’s dangling bait.
“You like winning too, right Bakugo?”
Winning
That makes the spikey blonde's stomach twist with disgust.
As if it’s the same kind of winning. As if Bakugo's winning is about watching the world burn.
The audacity of it all makes the prickling under the teen's skin surge.
Shigaraki finally stops circling his own sermon long enough to order something useful. “Dabi,” he says casually, “release his restraints.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Huh?” Dabi’s voice drags out, low and rough as he raises a brow. “You know this kid’s gonna fight.”
Bakugo’s gaze flicks toward him with dry acknowledgment. 'Yeah. No shit.'
“It’s fine,” Shigaraki answers unfazed. “We need to treat him as an equal since we’re recruiting him. Besides,” a malicious smile is heard behind the decrepit hand, sickly and self-satisfied, “he’s smart enough to know he can’t take us all and win in this situation, right? After all you U.A. students are so clever.”
Equal. The word lands like an insult causing the cuffs on Bakugo wrists to click faintly at his straining.
Dabi’s mouth twitches, unimpressed before flicking the annoyance away like a cigarette butt. “Twice,” he says. “You do it.”
Twice jerks like he’s been slapped with responsibility. “What, me?! No way.” He laughs wrong before suddenly blurting, the contradiction tumbling out in the same breath. “Absolutely!”
“Do it,” Dabi flatly orders again.
“Man...okay okay!” Twice mutters under his breath as he shuffles forward, hands working at the locks with light complaint. The moment Bakugo’s wrists are free, his shoulders roll like a predator finally allowed to stand.
Mr. Compress glides forward like he’s hosting a show, arms spread wide with a flourish.
“I do apologize for using such forceful methods,” he says, voice silky and theatrical. “But please understand that we are not just some unruly mob trying to commit crimes. We didn’t kidnap you by accident.”
Bakugo says nothing, simply flexing his fingers as the last restraint falls, feeling blood rush back through his hands. He doesn’t bother hiding the way his lip curls.
Shigaraki steps closer, voice dropping into something that tries to sound sincere. “Even though our situations differ, everyone here has suffered. Because of people... rules... and heroes who tried to hold us back. I’m sure you feel the same way—”
Bakugo lunges forward.
Hand swinging straight for Shigaraki’s face, he detonates—an explosion so close it’s a slap across everyone’s faces.
The blast blooms white-orange, loud enough to rattle the room, as the shockwave pushes dust and ash outward like a violent exhale.
When the haze clears Shigaraki’s is seen stumbled back, face still turned sideways from the impact. He does nothing for a moment, shaking eyes taking in the sight of the hand that now lays discarded on the floor, steam emitting from the severed appendage.
Bakugo plants his feet and squares his shoulders.
“I’m done listening to your endless jabbering,” he spits sharply. His eyes rake the room—taking stock of every villain, every angle, every threat—before bouncing back to Shigaraki. “Can you not get to the point or do you just like hearing your own voice?”
His lips peel back in a snarl. “Basically what you’re saying is you’re nothing but trouble and you want me to join you.” He lifts his chin, refusing to be talked down to by any of them.
“Well screw you,” Bakugo growls.
“I like to win. And I'm gonna win just like All Might. No matter what you have to offer me, no matter what anyone says—that will never change! Do you understand?!”
There’s a heartbeat where he thinks they’ll rush him. He wants them to. He can feel the fight vibrating under his skin begging to spill ou—
He stops.
It’s not dramatic at first. It’s a tiny shift: his mouth goes still mid-snarl, head angling as if he’s caught a frequency no one else can hear.
A deep distant boom rolls in from far away.
It rattles the ceiling causing dust to sift down in a soft sprinkle, landing on shoulders and hair like a warning.
Everyone freezes.
Twice blinks rapidly, voice splitting in two. “That—uh—that wasn’t us!” one voice says anxiously. “Yes we definitely did that!” the other argues louder in defense.
Spinner’s nods toward to the boarded windows. “Heroes already?”
Dabi tilts his head, eyes narrowing, listening with the patience of someone who knows what an approaching fight sounds like.
“No,” he says slowly as if tasting it. “Heroes don’t sound that pissed.”
For a second Shigaraki’s expression glitches—irritation, confusion, a flicker of something like calculation.
Bakugo’s mouth twitches from it all. A grin starts at the corner of his lips, small and mean, like a secret he’s savoring. “Heh.”
Shigaraki’s gaze snaps back to him as his scowl deepens. “What are you smiling about?” he demands.
Bakugo doesn’t even give him the satisfaction of a full answer. His grin simply widens, this time showing teeth.
“Nothing,” he says lazily.
And then, like he can’t help himself—like the thought is too good to keep in—he adds low and delightfully:
“Guess you’ll find out.”
Another boom answers him.
The old building tremors with it; a thin jagged crack spiders up the plaster near the corner as the hanging lamp swings violently on its chain casting a nauseating sway of shadow across the room.
One of the lower-ranking villains (a kind of extra Bakugo doesn’t even bother to memorize) edges toward a boarded-up window. She leans in, face pressed toward the narrow gap between two warped planks—
only to instantly jerk back as if slapped.
She blinks once. Then twice.
“No...” she shakes her head with a mutter, a short incredulous laugh slipping out of before she can stop it. “That’s—no. I’m tripping.”
She leans in again for another look. This time she stays there longer, so much the room goes quiet behind her as if holding their breath.
Shigaraki’s patience finally breaks under the pressure of anticipation. “Well?” he snarls. “Spit it out.”
The villain straightens and turns around slowly, almost as if she’s afraid the room might change if she does it too fast.
“I—I think...” Her voice comes out unsure of itself. “...I see daylight.”
For half a second no one reacts.
Then confusion ripples through the room in low murmurs and scoffs, disbelief layering over itself.
“What?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“At night?”
Before anyone can laugh it off—
BOOM
The hideout seemed to flinch, boards creaking as a section of nailed wood rattled loose enough for a harsh beam of white-gold light to slice through the gaps.
It spills across the cracked concrete floor, flooding the dust-choked air in violent flashes as if the sun itself was slamming its fist trying to break in.
The surrounding villains could only stare in uneasy silenc—
Bakugo laughs.
It starts low, a sharp huff through his nose before the sound grows. Loud, wild, and gleeful—it echoes off the walls as another pulse of false daylight goes off.
“You guys really fucked up,” is all he says through the laughter, eyes blazing brighter than the light spilling in. “You know that?”
Dabi’s flames of irritation flares. “If you know what’s happening,” he steps forward intimidatingly, “start talking.”
Bakugo just looks at him as his teeth bared in a feral grin. “Nah.”
The explosions get closer—close enough that the floor quake in short angry bursts. Close enough that dust rains from the ceiling in thicker streams.
Then—
Silence.
For a moment the only sound is the faint crackle of something burning somewhere outside, the LoV’s own breathing suddenly too loud.
It's a quiet that makes the room loosen a fraction—shoulders drop, stance weakens, quirks idle.
A smaller villain near the door scoffs under his breath, courage returning now that the noise has paused.
He steps forward, swaggering into the space between Bakugo and the exit like he’s going to reclaim control with words.
“See?” he starts smugly. “All that talk and nothing. Just a little few b—”
The door doesn’t open.
It implodes.
Wood splinters into a storm of shards, the entire frame bursting apart as a thick spike of debris spears straight through the villain’s torso, lifting him off his feet in a grotesque second of shock—eyes wide, mouth open, no sound coming out.
He doesn’t even finish dying before a wave of fire surges in, swallowing him into an inferno that incinerates flesh and fabric so fast it leaves nothing human behind.
Stench from the steam hits hard—burnt wood, burnt hair, burnt meat—enough to make even hardened criminals recoil.
The League staggers back as one. Even Dabi’s flames reacted, the heat flooding the room feeling nothing like his.
Bakugo stands in the chaos like he belongs in it, soot and dust catching in his hair, eyes locked on the ruined doorway with a predator’s focus.
His laughter is gone now, replaced by the cold certainty of a bastard King watching his enemies finally understand the price of a mistake.
A figure steps into view through the smoke—silhouette carved out by the bright flare behind them.
The voice that follows is calm—almost emotionless—and that lack of emotion makes it worse.
“Who fucking thought kidnapping my bestfriend was smart?”
The sun is warm enough to make the air feel thick.
Not hot. Not oppressive. Just that soft golden light that settles over quiet neighborhoods when the day is almost done and everyone assumes nothing bad can happen anymore.
You hate it.
You sit cross-legged in the grass, arms folded tight over your chest, jaw set so hard it aches. The blades of grass itch against your calves as a tiny pebble keeps pressing into the soft part of your foot, but you refuse to move.
Because moving would feel like giving in. And giving in would feel like losing.
Bakugo Katsuki is doing the exact same thing across from you.
He’s sitting with his knees up, arms crossed, face twisted into a scowl that looks permanently carved there despite how young he is. His blond hair sticks up in uneven spikes, catching the sunlight like sparks frozen mid-blast.
He keeps glaring like you personally offended him by existing in his space (apparently you did).
Near the small garden patch off to the side of the yard, your mother and Bakugo Mitsuki are deep in conversation. They sit in mismatched outdoor chairs, leaning toward each other in conversation, hands moving as adult laughter drifts over loud and unaware.
Your mother’s voice is calm but animated, her posture straight even when she relaxes. She listens more than she speaks, sharp eyes always flicking back toward you even when she’s smiling.
Mitsuki, on the other hand, laughs with her whole body. She slaps her knee once, completely unapologetic about the volume of her joy.
“So you’re telling me,” Mitsuki wipes at the corner of her eye, “they have to burn dinner at least once or it doesn’t count?”
Your mother hums in amusement. “It’s practically a requirement.”
You glance over at them, irritation bubbling low in your stomach.
Well...they’re having fun. Meanwhile you’re stuck on another forced playdate.
This was supposed to be a polite and civil affair. Reasons for exposure and socialization and he’s around your age.
You didn’t care about any of that.
But your mom told you to put your shoes on anyway. She always has a way to tell you to do something. A voice that doesn’t rise, doesn’t waver, or doesn’t argue back no matter how hard you push so you might as well stop fighting.
You fight anyway. You always do.
“What’re you pouting for?” Bakugo breaks the tension with aggression, “You gonna cry again or somethin’?”
“I’m not crying,” you shoot back, heat flaring in your chest. “You’re just annoying.”
He scoffs. “Annoying? You’re the one who won’t even play.”
“I don’t wanna play your dumb games.”
“They’re not dumb!” he yells, springing to his feet. “You’re just bad at ‘em!”
Your face burns. You stand too, movements jerky as anger sifts through your limbs like static. “I am not!”
“You are!” he shouts back, pointing at you like that settles it. “You don’t even try!”
“I try harder than you!” you're screaming at this point, voice cracking with the force of it. You hate the way your feelings always spill out too big—like you can’t keep them inside where they belong.
Your mom glances over then at the commotion causing you to clamp your mouth shut.
Bakugo notices. “What, you gonna tattle?” he sneers.
“I don’t tattle,” you snap. “I don’t need to.”
He snorts. “Yeah right.”
The silence settles back into place, heavier now. You both stand there, breathing hard, staring each other down like this is a battle neither of you know how to walk away from.
This wasn’t supposed to be permanent.
You and your mother were supposed to leave. Japan was just another stop—another borrowed house, another almost-home.
Then your father didn’t come back from war.
You don’t understand all of it yet. You just know that your mother stopped packing boxes and started planting roots. That she speaks Japanese more often now, keeps her voice steady even when her eyes go distant. That everyone else seems to accept this life faster than you do.
Japan still feels strange sometimes—too many rules, too many looks that linger too long on your skin, on your hair, on your mom.
Your dad used to say it didn’t matter. He used to pick you up and spin you until you laughed so hard it hurt, until the world blurred into color and nothing else existed.
You don’t remember his voice very well anymore.
Only the way the house went quiet after he was gone, and how your anger got bigger to fill the space.
From the garden Mitsuki calls out without looking, “Hey Katsuki! Show her that hero thing you’re always bragging about.”
Bakugo freezes for a beat before his chest puffs out in reflex.
“Tch. Fine,” he says, already turning away from you and stomping toward the back step. He digs through a plastic bin, tossing aside rocks and broken crayons and something that looks suspiciously like a chewed-up glove.
When he straightens again, he’s holding it up triumphantly like a trophy: an All Might toy.
It’s scuffed and worn, paint chipped at the edges, one arm a little looser than it should be—but it’s unmistakable: the pose, the grin, the cape frozen mid-sweep.
Your eyes follow it without permission.
“This is All Might,” Bakugo declares, thrusting the action figure toward the sky like he’s presenting evidence. “He’s the strongest hero ever. He always wins. And I’m gonna be like him.”
You take a good look at him; at the confidence, the way he says it like it’s already decided. “I know who All Might is.”
His glare jumps back to you. “Then why are you acting like you don’t care?”
“I do care,” you counter, pride flaring hot and fast. “I just don’t brag about it like an idiot.” You step closer despite yourself. “You don’t even hold it right.”
“What?” He jerks away from you when you get too close. “Yeah I do.”
“No you don’t. He stands like this,” you insist, mimicking the stance with your own small body, feet planted wide, chin lifted. “He’s strong, not sloppy.”
Bakugo stares at you for a beat. Then he laughs—sharp and disbelieving. “You think you know All Might better than me?”
“I know him just as good,” you say curtly. “Maybe better.”
The blonde child's fingers tighten around the battered plaything. “No way! You don’t even have one.”
“It doesn’t matter!”
“It does matter,” he insists haughtily. “If you don’t have one, you don’t get it.”
“I get it!” You lunge forward before you can stop yourself, grabbing the plastic's arm. “I'll show you. Give it to me!”
“No!” He yanks back, and suddenly you’re both pulling, feet digging into the grass, the toy stretched between you like a fuse about to snap.
The adults are still talking...laughing. Unaware of what's conspiring.
Bakugo’s face is red now, teeth clenched. “Let go!”
“You let go!”
“I had it first!”
“That’s not...FAIR!” you scream as you pull harder, and then—to both your surprise—you begin to gain ground.
You’re stronger than he expects, and Bakugo doesn't like that.
“You—!” His face twists, voice cracking with fury. “Fine!”
A sharp crack of sound snaps against your hands and arms. You stumble back with a cry, the figurine slipping from your grip allowing the toy to jerk free into his hands.
Bakugo looks shocked for exactly one second before pride takes over. “I won,” he says breathless.
You could only stare at him as your eyes began to sting—not just from the pain, but from the realization settling in too fast for you to dodge it:
He hurt you...on purpose.
Something inside you breaks loose.
You feel it crawl up your spine, pooling thick and sour in your stomach. Your hands tremble as the air around starts to feels wrong—thick and buzzing, like it’s holding its breath too.
“No,” you snarl through tears. “You didn’t.”
The ground under your feet shudders causing Bakugo’s smile to falter.
Pressure bends close to your skin, a deep vibration thrumming through your bones. It’s not clean nor controlled; instead a wave of rage, hurt, and humiliation crashing together with nowhere to go.
You look at the miniature All Might in his grasp and you hate it.
You hate that he had it. You hate that he used it. You hate that it mattered so much.
Your cry turns sharp as the heat continues to spike. “You cheated! So—”
Bakugo yelps at the sudden temperature making him drop the toy with a flinch.
“Nobody wins!” you finish through sobs.
The action doll begins to melt just as it hits the ground before shattering into fragments. Plastic warps as the force of the explosion scatters it across the yard; bits of cape, a broken grin, an arm uselessly in the grass.
The sound is enormous.
Your mother moves faster than Bakugo has ever seen an adult move. She’s there in an instant, hands on your shoulders, pulling you back against her chest.
The world drops into quiet like someone pressed a palm over reality itself as the pressure collapses inward. Vibration dying mid-thrum, the energy disperses harmlessly into nothing.
Your knees buckle as your power vanishes leaving you shaking, exhausted, and furious all at once.
“I’ve got you,” your mother murmurs as she holds you steady, one hand firm between your shoulder blades, the other cupping the back of your head. “Breathe.”
Mitsuki is already up, eyes wide. “What the hell—Katsuki! What did you do?!”
Bakugo doesn’t answer.
He can’t.
He could only stare, watching the ruined pieces of the All Might figurine across his backyard. At the scorch marks on the green grass.
Your mother turns, already apologizing, posture composed despite the tension in her lips. She bows deeply. “I’m so sorry. I should have kept a closer eye on her. I’ll make sure to replace the toy.”
Mitsuki waves it off reflexively even as she grabs Bakugo by the collar. “Didn't I tell you about using your explosions on people?!” Then softer to your mother, “It's fine, kids will be kids. Guess they both got tempers huh?”
Your mother nods with a tight smile in place, already steering you away.
You don’t look back the entire time. Your fury still simmers within as you leave the yard, heat lingering in your wake like a memory burned into the air.
You don’t see Bakugo standing there watching you go. He ignores Mitsuki's scolding as she drags him inside the house. Hell he barely even register her threats of 'taking away his games' or 'no hanging out at the arcade after school'.
All he sees is the aftermath.
The broken toy...
The heat...
The power...
A small smile tugs at his mouth before he even realizes it’s there.
You're just the average student, perhaps even a little above average. You did get into U.A after all.
[Starts at the sports festival arc. Reader will later join class 1-A, but first, shenanigans ensue.]
"It's too early for this nonsense," You grumble. It's 8:45 in the morning, and usually you'd be trying not to fall asleep in homeroom around now, but instead you were outside, walking to the U.A sports stadium.
You shrugged your gym uniform jacket tighter around you, teeth chattering from the frigid morning air. You agreed with the grumpy mutterings of your classmates, this 'sports festival' was simply a way to make the hero course students look good; it was their opportunity to appeal to hero agencies after all, to be scouted. It served no purpose to you, so why were you getting an anxious, giddy feeling in your stomach?
You'd always liked to win things, quizzes and scores- academic validation was your bread and butter, and you couldn't help but think of what a cool thing it'd be to win this entire festival- to sweep the gold medal from right under the noses of the top students. Were you maybe getting a little ahead of yourself? Perhaps.
The huge stadium soon came into view; the flashing lights and cheering of a crowd of at least eighty thousand invigorated that competitive spirit of yours. Okay, maybe you'd put some effort into the festival; unlike your classmates, a few of whom were planning to sit out or not compete at all, nonchalant Olympics indeed.
With all the first-year classes gathered, the festival begins with Ms Midnight, the R-rated hero. You and quite a few others can't help but avert your eyes from her costume with a blush.
"It's time for the player pledge!" She says sultrily into the microphone, snapping her hand whip. "Representing the students is Bakugo Katsuki from Class 1-A."
You squint, seeing a spiky mop of blonde hair make its way through the student crowd and onto the raised platform next to Ms Midnight. The red-eyed boy stares down the crowd before simply saying, "I pledge... that I will be number one."
This is met with immediate booing and jeers from the students of the other classes. You can't help but scrunch your nose in irritation- yeah, you definitely needed to win now with this pompous brat declaring victory so boldly. You side-eye Class 1-A and find most of them mortified at Bakugo's words; it's a little funny that they don't want to be associated with him.
"At least be a nice bouncey stepping stool for me." Bakugo offers a thumbs down before casually swaggering back to his place, ignoring the complaints of the other students.
"Okay!" Ms Midnight chuckles, "Let's get started right away! This first game is what you'd call a qualifier. Every year, many drink their tears here." Man, they were really hyping this festival up, huh?
She continues, "Now, here is the fateful first game! This year it's... An obstacle race!" Oh, goody, a four-kilometre cardio session. How fun. Maybe you should've just stayed home.
Nevertheless, you're kinda pumped up to really play now. You can feel your quirk beginning to manifest under your fingertips, and you start to stretch your arms and legs as you line up with the others in front of the starting line. The green lights begin to flicker off one by one until ... "Start!"
There's a mad rush into the tunnel. People are shouting, yelling, screaming, and you swear, you can see someone just snacking on a bag of chips. Yeah, no way you were going to make it out of here without several broken ribs unless you activate your quirk...
_______________________________________________
MANA MANIPULATION!
You can manipulate energy into tangible constructs: whips, platforms, shields, beams, and more! You can move these constructs however you wish!
_______________________________________________
Your palms glow orange, and beneath you, a flat orange surface forms. You're 'Aladdin's magic carpet-ing' this bitch. You rise above the crowd, and just in time, a sheet of ice pervades the tunnel and freezes many people's feet to the ground thanks to the quirk of Shoto Todoroki.
Now, flying casually above everyone, you float over the obstacle course like you're in a pool floatie on a lazy river. It's times like these that you're grateful to have such a versatile quirk. If Hero Society weren't in such a state as it was, perhaps you would've considered being a hero a viable career choice...
You keep your distance from the front, watching as they deal with each new threat. You lie on your stomach, legs kicking idly as you weave through robotic obstacles and people. The Fall! More like 'the bore'. You easily float over the huge chasms in the earth, not minding the envious side-eyes from your peers.
"And we've come to the last obstacle, it's a minefield!" Present Mic's commentary echoes overhead, "They're just for games, but they're loud and flashy enough to make you wet your pants!"
"Maybe just you." Is Eraserhead's dry response.
You give the camera a thumbs-up and a quick grin as you pass it. You're not a part of the action up front, but not far enough behind to be out of the running.
Hey, even your classmate Shinsou Hitoshi had made it this far; that was pretty cool. First place in the obstacle course is stolen in the blink of an eye by a plain-looking boy called Midoriya Izuku; his clever manoeuvre of using the mines as a propellant sends him flying over the finishing line.
You finally make it through the tunnel and over the finishing line, deactivating your mana, you sigh softly and sit down, conserving what energy you have for the next task by taking a quick power nap.
_______________________________________________
((Hey!! Fair warning I haven't been in this fandom for like... 4-5 years. And I haven't watched anything past like season 4-ish, so... yeah. I've been seeing a lot about the ending of it recently, so ig the inspo came from that, but yeah! I'll try my best to be faithful to the anime.))
• 0.2⠀( dogs don’t want, they beg , silly puppet . )⠀by aswanlake.
synopsis: waking up is the last thing Kyo thought would be possible after her accident. however now she doesn’t remember the last two years of her life and something is off. her body is put back together, skin repaired and injuries basically faded. how is this even possible? her only answer is a very short and awkward looking doctor, peering over her whenever she awoke.
content warnings: non canon timeline (season 1 now takes place in third year instead of first year), description of injury \ blood & death, fem!reader, 3rd person POV, cussing, villainous activity, murder, hurt / some comfort, canon violence, suggestive themes, angst, fighting, adult themes, language inaccuracies, medical inaccuracies, no use of y/n, non-sexual mentions of nudity (not real), degrading language / behavior, father-like kurogiri, implied grooming, dehumanization,
a/n: reader is referred to as “puppet” as a name, this being used to refer to the reader in a dehumanizing way, if you don’t like it then please ignore it. Reader has no canon name however I never use Y/N throughout the story, reader will always be referred to by a nickname of some sort. headers by @diviniyae
There were vivid flashes of life. Memories that she didn’t remember to be her own, she had never been to such high class establishments or these back alleyways of Musutafu and yet her mind knew them as if a map had been implanted into her brain. There was a chill that ran over her body after each shattered memory, the shiver running up her spine before it all went blank again, completely white. She wasn’t allowed to keep these memories for long, as soon as her mouth remembered how to open and words could form, the memories were forgotten and she was back to the white room and ceiling with that chill making her body shiver. It wasn’t that cold in Japan and it was obvious that she was at least in a room so she shouldn’t have been that cold, there was no reason for her body to shiver and yet every time she got even a smidge of her eyes opening and any recollection of what happened the chill returned.
However this time it didn’t, her eyes opened adjusting to the dimly lit room, no windows, just white walls that added to the harshness that continued to nip at her body. Her body took a moment to remember how it worked, arms dragging her down with its weight before finally inching upwards towards the destination her brain had in mind, however her eyes noticed before her head did that her arm didn’t belong to her. It wasn’t her own, she wasn’t sure how she knew that but it was just a gut feeling, an inkling, her entire body felt brand new, nothing felt like it belonged to her. The skin on her body felt fake as if she was a mannequin who’s clothes had been rearranged, put in a display case for everyone to look upon her naked form.
Her sulking and questioning was interrupted by a man entering, he was short and lacking hair, clearly old and his coat forced the assumption that he was a doctor of some sort. His hand adjusted the eye glass he wore before an expiration of pure surprise and joy replaced it. “You’re awake. I thought you would be out at least a little bit longer, I went to go get lunch. Onigiri?” It was uncanny, why was he being so welcoming and nice to her? Where was she? Who was he? Who was she? Her mouth opened to respond but it was dry, lips cracked and rough so she simply shook her head, she wasn’t sure if she could stomach it right now. He still pushed one towards her, salmon, it’s easy on the stomach and good for her anyways. Next he passed a chapstick next to it, watching her curious expression as she attempted to figure out what it was, with a heart laugh he opened it for her, walking towards the table she laid upon. “Forgot that you don’t know how to use this, or what this is. This is chapstick, it’s for your lips that are chapped, that dry feeling.” She simply nodded her head at his explanation, reaching for it and cautiously applying it to her lips. 
They almost instantly felt better, however the few pieces of dead skin ruined the completely smooth glide that she would have had. “Where am I?” Her mouth finally allowed words to leave and that was the only question she could ask, the others were jumbled in her brain refusing to give her a single answer. He nudged the onigiri closer towards her before walking towards a dimly lit tablet set up on a desk. It monitored her vitals, her heartbeat, blood sugar, but the weirdest thing was her brain waves showing up upon the small screen. She squinted her eyes to get a better look and the doctor gave a quick chuckle, pulling what looked to be a clip from a project and it rolled up into a little ball on the ceiling. Instead of the all white wall room she was used to, it was replaced by a huge monitor, the information that had just been on the tablet now showing up on the huge screen in a much clearer picture.
However the action only made her more uncomfortable, now being able to see things appear on the screen. Her mouth mindlessly nibbled on the onigiri in her hand while her eyes scanned the screen. “You’re home. Soon you’ll be able to leave.” She didn’t remember her home but this place did feel a little bit familiar, not much but a little bit. She didn’t nod or shake her head, no approval or denial, she wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth or not. “In a little bit you aren't going to be yourself-” Her gaze finally flicked in his direction, unsure of what he was truly referring to. She felt like herself right now, hy would she not feel like herself in a little bit? How long is a little bit? “You’re not going to remember me telling you this, I should know. We’ve done this little routine plenty of times. How do you think I know salmon is your choice?” Slowly she placed the item of food down, assuming it to be drugged or perhaps worse but the man before her only laughed. “It’s not drugged sweetheart. We don’t need something like that after all we’ve done to you. I’m gonna say a few words and you won’t remember what happens but once you finish your mission everything will be good as new and I’ll bring you back.” Fear shot through her body for a reason she didn't understand, was he gonna hurt her? Were these words gonna hurt her? Her body tried to move away from him but it was fruitless, his mouth opened and words droned out, she barely heard him as everything started to hurt. Her head started to burn as if erasing her freewill before her eyes, any ties to independence were forgotten and co-dependency were the only things keeping her alive. The only word that stuck with her was “制御”, which meant control.
When she awoke or rather gained just a pinch of consciousness again, she was inside of a building that she didn’t remember, at this point she didn’t remember anything so that was a terrible analogy to show her discomfort. It was cold but not as cold as the lab she had woken up in, vials filled the area with unknown liquids and all the scientists that seemed as though they had been working on them now covered the floor. Some blood seeping into the soles of her shoe, did she kill him? Did she hurt them? She was never a violent person, she wasn’t sure why she would hurt these people out of nowhere. What did they do to her to deserve such a treatment? Her mind swirling questions were interrupted by the moaning from a man on the floor, crimson oozing out of his injury with every move he made. Her eyes glared at him, wide and wild, filled with a mix of fear and concern which were returned by him with nothing but terror.
“Please, please let me live. I won’t tell anyone I swear, just let me live.” He looked her dead in the eyes, maybe she should be wearing a hood or a mask for protection from things like this, now she had to kill him because he had seen her face. She had to kill him or someone else would. She had to kill him to put him out of his misery. She had to kill him because she would be the most merciful about it. The more she said it, the more it became true in her mind. Her body stalked back over to him consciousness running to hide in the back of her mind to accept its fate and escape the guilt. She didn’t want to kill him but she had to right? Why did she feel the need to hurt him? To kill him? To get rid of him? Why was she so worried about being caught? Didn’t she want to escape? The questions still ran rampant in her mind as her foot was on his throat, pressing deeply, harder and harder as if she was going to use him as a stepping stone. The crack of his skin was silent but the crushing of his veins sounded like the breaking of a saltine cracker or the shelling of a hard boiled egg. Then finally her foot went through, landing on the ground covered in a sticky substance, her eyes couldn’t look down to witness what she had done but she knew he stopped moving and that was enough to still her mind.
“Doctor. We have a problem.”
Reviewing the security footage from the incident at the science lab did not help with the investigation. There was absolutely nothing, as soon as even a small image of the person responsible showed up on screen the video began to blur and warp as if it was tampered with. Asking for interviews was useless, everyone on the scene was dead. The police suspected that it was a personal attack due to the treatment of one of the scientists, the others had been killed somewhat humanly, the actions mimicking that of a hunter and it’s way of killing animals but just one, his entire throat had been crushed, it took hours to even clean him up completely, it was disgusting. The more confusing thing was the fact that nothing was taken from the lab, not a single vial was touched, dangerous chemicals that any villain would have been happy to get its hands on were left in the same spot they were yesterday. They went through the entire catalog just to ensure nothing had been taken, even tested the materials to ensure they weren’t switched or changed with anything but everything was exactly where it should have been. This was odd, Aizawa knew it but there was nothing he could do about it rather than just keep asking questions that would never be answered so the police eventually had to let it go. It became a cold case in the matter of 48 hours. Despite having the culprit on video there was nothing they could do. Families were upset, rightfully so but there was nothing that could be done.
“Did I kill him?” She asked, sitting on the same table she was woken up on, munching on another packaged salmon onigiri that she had been given while her vitals were being measured. She was allowed to have a TV now, watching the news as if she was being punished by her actions by being forced to rewatch them. “I told you to. So of course you did.” It was uncanny, this sense of having no control over her body and the man next to her being so uncomfortably calm about it, however this was more freedom than she was expecting so that was somewhat a good thing but she still didn’t understand why she was here and what she was doing. “Are you just going to make me kill people? All the time? What if I don’t want to?” The doctor laughed at her, a hearty chuckle that came from his belly as if it was the first time he had ever heard “a joke”. “I don’t care if you don’t want to. You aren’t here to want. Dogs don’t want, they follow directions and they beg if they want something. Are you going to beg me to not kill someone?” He was clearly gauging what she was going to say and she wasn’t sure what the correct answer was but she was compelled to tell whatever truth would leave her lips. “If I have to. I’m not a killer.” She blinked at him, stone cold and unwavering as he shook his head, making a “tsk” sound with his mouth. “I guess you weren’t ready to come out yet. Who would have thought that he would have been right- of all people?” Fear, now she remembered what it felt like and she hated it, her body shaking uncontrollably, mind running relentlessly because her legs wouldn’t move no matter how hard she tried. She didn’t remember what she was running from but she knew it couldn’t be good. “Please don’t.”
She swallowed heavily as she stared at him with an expression of pure glee, he was sick. This was a man who was fucking sick, he didn’t love her or care about her, he cared about his investment in her. She wanted to crawl away, maybe crush his throat like she had the scientist but couldn’t move, not unless he told her that she could. “You talk too much, you know? I’ll fix that next time. Lay back.” Just like that her mouth zipped itself shut, lips sewn together with red thread and her body laid back, eyes staring helplessly at the ceiling, this felt familiar, from what she wasn’t sure but she knew that it was something she didn’t want to experience again. Her mouth only opened again whenever he waved a mouthpiece in front of her like a treat, like she was a dog. She wanted to scream out in fear but nothing came, beg for the life that he said he might give to her if she gave up her pride, her arms and feet were shackled but even without it she wouldn’t have moved, not without permission. “This will only hurt a little bit.. A lot a bit, but you can take it can’t you? You’re my prize, I made you so strong, so that you could take it.” She wanted to shake her head at him, disagree with his overestimation of her strength but there was nothing, the only thing that came were tears welling up her eyes, she looked pathetic and it was insufferable. She returned to her line of sight, placing what felt like stickers along her body, the same ones she had earlier to measure her heart rate and brain waves, was he really going to do this to her again? What was this? Why was she so afraid? Why couldn’t she stop the tears from falling? He shushed her tears, wiping them with his hand, disgust filling her senses as she tried to pull away from him. “Stay still, it will hurt less.” What a liar.
She didn’t think she’s ever screamed louder, the reason for restraints made a lot more sense as she fought against them with every sense of strength she had. Her legs kicked aimlessly at the table, arms flailing as they tried to escape their prison and her head twisting to find a break from the excruciating pain that came with no break. Her voice cracked but her sobs and screams never stopped, it was as if her limbs were being ripped from her body, slowly to ensure the most anguish. What made it worse is that she started to remember, her mind started to flash memories of a boy with blonde hair, an unruly temper but never raised his voice at her, soon it began to scratch itself from her mind, everything that had been etched into stone was wiped clean. It was unknown how long she had been going through this torture but it felt like forever, she was on fucking fire, her body wouldn’t still and her mind never knew calm, even small movements were met with pain until she was basically thrashing across the table, trying to escape this hell. The scientist she killed was erased, such a small insignificant detail and yet she still wasn’t allowed to hold onto it, anything her arms tried to keep close to her was ripped away and destroyed before her eyes. Until finally, it stopped. Her body falling limply onto the table, chest rising heavily up and down, her arms didn’t even twitch and her eyes opened, bracing for the white ceiling once again. The mouthpiece was removed and her body was tilted forward, the table moving without releasing her from her chains, just holding her up-right so she could look the doctor in the eye or rather below his eye level. She didn’t deserve to look him in the eye. “Puppet?” The air between them was silent for a moment as she caught her breath. Finally she looked up, not at him but at something behind him. “I await your word, Doctor.”
The doctor introduced her to “father”, a tall man with a mask for a face, who wore all black, a suit if she was correct. “You’re a gift for my son. You are to protect him no matter what, even if it costs you your life. Your life is insignificant compared to his. He is the next me, the new hope for the next generation without heroes.” She looked near him, never at him, she didn’t deserve to look him in the eye, father was gracious enough to keep her alive so she had to give him the respect he deserved. However he forced her gaze towards him with his finger, his hand was too big for her face, he probably would have crushed her skull if he grabbed her. “You are my doctor's greatest achievement, Nomu. The only one of your kind, the others are brainless and can’t speak, stuck in a trance but you obey without question because you want to.” Somehow it almost sounded real, almost as if she had a choice in the matter. “Nod.” She nodded without hesitation, eyes staring into the mask that only showed her expression. “See. Everything you do is because I tell you too but because you want to do it. You have the choice not to do it but we both know that won’t end well for you, isn’t that right?” This time he didn’t have to tell her to nod, she did it without question, he asked her a question directly so she could respond. He looked almost proud of her, there was no smile shown in the mask but she could feel it. She wanted him to be proud of her, if he was proud of her then maybe it would be worth it in the end.
‘Son’. Shigaraki Tomura technically, his official parents and family were labeled as dead in the police database. She spent hours going through it, storing everything in her head as if she was a computer, a storage compartment for any information he might need or need to know about her. He had a scratching tick, whenever nervous, upset or overwhelmed he would scratch at the skin on her neck as if he needed to rip it off to feel a sense of comfort. Had she been capable of moving without direction then she most likely would have developed it as well, however her hands only slightly twitched whenever he did it until “Kurogiri” gave her the command to stop him anytime he started. Kurogiri was another gift that father had given Shigaraki, he was weirdly compassionate with his gifts, he never threw things or hit them like the doctor did, however he also didn’t feed them or tell him jokes. Kurogiri had more control over his body than she did, basically human, so he took care of her whenever Shigaraki would forget to.
The routine was quite simple, staying in the abandoned bar and drafting up plans to destroy the heroes, she didn’t want to destroy anyone. Her body stood behind Tomura like a shadow, arms crossed behind her back, eyes scanning the board he’d (father) put together with red string with the perfect plan. “After that, we can kill All Might! He’ll be weak and all alone.” Tomura spoke, his scratchy voice unsoothing to her ears, Kurogiri wasn’t convinced that this plan was full proof, shaking his mist filled head at the board. “What if he has back up from someone with a long range quirk? Tomura you’re short range and won’t survive in a fight with someone with better endurance.” His question was answered with a childish groan from Shigaraki. “No one will be able to get in! That’s why we block the doors! Who even has a long range quirk anyways? Puppet! What heroes have long range quirks that could be a threat to me.” Her eyes glanced at the board and then back at Tomura. “Eraserhead, quirk Eraser. Present Mic, quirk Voice. Nejire-Chan, quirk Wave Motion. Endeavor, quirk Hellflame. Midnight, quirk-” He quickly cut her off, “Ok I get it!” She would have explained why they were people he should be concerned for but he never gave her the chance, she just went back to staring at the board without any more commentary but Kurogiri seemed to be happy with her input. “See. Even our puppet knows it, this could go quite badly.”
Tomura let out what seemed to be a mix between a groan of annoyance and a moan of pain, her body tensed up at his sound, eyes scanning him to ensure his safety. “He’s fine, puppet. Just annoyed.” She didn’t know that Kurogiri was aware of her watching but calmed her staring and went back to the board with a quick nod. “Puppet is basically a machine, she calculates everything based on percentage and statistics that she’s memorized. She doesn’t make space for things like chance or human error.” “You don’t make mistakes. There was no human error to account for.” Both men in the room stared at her, it was the first time she had ever spoken out of turn. Her head bowed to him immediately in an apology for speaking without even being talked to but he only laughed. “I don’t make mistakes. Only others do, their stupidity messing up father’s plans is insufferable.” They could both agree on that, she hated to see one of father’s plans messed up purely because of human error, despite being human she never felt like one, almost growing a distance to them in her mind– she didn’t have to account for human error because she was never wrong, she never made a mistake. Never. With her words being the last solidifying factor, Tomura was set on his plan and stormed away to his bedroom to converse with father. She rarely got to talk to father nowadays, it had been almost eight months since she had seen him face to face and two months since he’d actually talked to her, it was insufferable. She wasn’t sure why she was being deprived of his love, she didn’t recall doing anything wrong or being punished for something that Tomura didn’t like so it didn’t make sense. Even though she tried to hide it, Kurogiri could sense the longing in her eyes everytime they followed Tomura whenever he was planning to talk to father.
He hated it but there was nothing he could do about it, he had no true control over the situation. “Puppet-” Her body turned in his direction, eyes immediately returning contact. “Come sit.” His head nodded towards the bar, he was usually behind it, for a man with smoke for a body he was surprisingly a good bartender, or at least she assumed so, he didn't let her have alcohol. She sat on one of the crusty bar stools, hands laying flat on the table to show that she had no weapons on her. Usually if she held something she’d place it before her, the doctor said that any commander should be able to use whatever weapon on her without any stress or worry. Only if she deserved it. He passed her a glass of water but she didn’t even glance at it, looking at him directly. “Take a sip.” She hated words like that, ‘sip’, ‘handful’, ‘part’, they never had a definitive value and she was scared that she would overstep or disappoint purely because she didn’t understand what that meant.
Puppet grabbed the glass, the cold rushing a shiver over her body but she didn’t react, staying completely still and taking a gulpful of water, eyes watching to see if he wanted to stop but he never indicated that he wanted her too. She finished the cup, placing it down and if anything Kurogiri looked happy for some reason. “Do you drink water often or is your first cup of the week?” She didn’t know if he was seriously asking her how she got her nutrients, did he not know the answer? “I get my nutrients and water intake from an IV, delivered by the doctor. I am not dehydrated if that was your question.” She wasn’t sassing, just answering his question with the knowledge she knew. “Well that’s good to know. Are you ready to fight with Tomura tomorrow?” All of his questions felt rhetorical, he was asking how she felt as if she actually had a choice. “I am always prepared to fight to protect Tomura. Even if I have to-” He cut her off, this was the second time today, was she talking too much? “Give your life. I know but you won’t so don’t worry about that.” She was not worried, she did not worry. Why was he like this? He was aware of how her mind worked. “I don’t worry. I do not feel, Kurogiri.” He looked almost disappointed by her answer however she didn’t continue to speak instead waited to be dismissed so she could sleep for the night and prepare for tomorrow.
On the floor is where she sleeps, her body does not reject the bed however her mind does. she doesn’t deserve it, she isn’t human, not enough to deserve the comfort of a bed at least. she could not fall behind whenever it came to sleep or nutrition, it would affect her work ethic and that was unreasonable. Sleep wasn’t that important to her, it could be bypassed if she truly needed to, however it eased Kurogiri’s mind that she would sleep through the night even if it was a blank space, no dreams because she needed memories to be able to dream. Puppet however hated sleeping, it was tedious and uncomfortable, the rest of the world all slept at the same time and it would be the perfect time to plan or attack however there was a weird common courtesy amongst human beings to allow others to sleep through the night even if their world was ending. That was what made her human counterpart nonexistent, there was no courtesy that existed to her, slang made no sense and words with no true value or meaning were stupid, she was a calculated machine with no room for error. However tonight of all nights was the one where she couldn’t sleep, her body laid still on the floor with her eyes to the ceiling but nothing made her tired. She tried running through the database that was her mind of facts or details to tire herself out and even that wouldn’t work.
It was insufferable, she could count down the minutes of how long she had been awake, fingers lightly tapping her opposing hand to count each minute. “Can’t sleep?” The sound of Kurogiri’s voice shocked her body upwards, bowing at his presence before simply shaking her head. “I did not mean to neglect my sleeping pattern. Please forgive me.” She couldn’t even make it through the night without getting in trouble, what a terrible puppet she was but Kurogiri wasn’t angry with her, he never was. “You do not have to bow to me, nor do you have to be sorry. It was merely a question, I won’t punish you for not being able to sleep one night. I won’t tell the doctor about this little situation if you promise to answer a question for me.” He sounded sincere but she took it as mockery, she was forced to answer the question whether she wanted to or not, why even bother asking if she’ll answer it? “Of course Kurogiri.” He seemed to be soothed at the sound of her voice, despite it being the same monotone as normal it was calmer, quieter, to adapt to her surroundings. “Do you really think this plan will work?” He was asking for her opinion. She was inclined to always agree with what Shigiraki said, however he was asleep, wasn’t within ear shot and wasn’t the one asking her the question. She was being asked based off of statistics and what she knew of the heroes and her own handler. Puppet was ashamed to even answer the question but both of them knew the truth even if she didn’t say it. “No. We will fail tomorrow but we will not die.” Despite Kurogiri being nothing but smoke, his physical body was there somewhere and it helped him form what looked to be human expressions like the smiles that graced his face after her answer. “That is all. Goodnight puppet.” She wasn’t able to sleep before but after that, she fell right asleep.
Tags/Warnings: fantasy AU, medieval AU, witch!Touya, witch!reader, time skip, creampie, mating press, fluff and smut, soft Touya, teasing
Synopsis: Time has now passed since your initial meeting with Touya. You've come to learn more about yourself and your new abilities, all with the gentle guidance of Touya. But... you find yourself feeling more for him than just someone who lives in his home. When he speaks, your mind blanks, too busy on watching the way his lips move to even absorb a word. Your feelings come to a fever pitch when you playfully steal his hat. So what happens when you decide to act on your desires?
Author's note: HAPPY HALLOWEEN (early). Okay so I know I have been gone awhile buuuuut I figure with halloween right around the corner... I should rly get around to showing witch!Touya some love. And so, here you are.
Word Count: 6.2K
Heavily inspired by this art by the lovely shoucolate
Masterlist
Link to AO3
Part Two
It has been some time since you first arrived. You’ve grown accustomed to both life in the forest and life with Touya. The seasons have since changed. All of the trees have shed their leaves and a thin blanket of snow covers the ground. Usually, around wintertime, you’d struggle to stay warm and heat your shop while you drowned in needlework. But now? Touya’s home -no- your home is never cold, the fire always alit with his glowing blue flames. The only struggles you truly face are from attempting to understand runic language and from trying to stay awake with how cozy your home is. Which brings you to now, finding Touya has lost that battle and slumbers peacefully. It’s a sight that makes you smile, seeing him so serene.
He must not have intended to fall asleep, as he’s still wearing his hat. The pointed hat is now crumpled against the chaise. You’re able to really look at him like this, to fully drink in his features; the slope of his nose, his pretty white eyelashes, the contour of his lips… You try to push down these thoughts of yours when they come around, but you can’t help but think he’s quite attractive. It’s becoming increasingly distracting lately. Just the other day, when he was so close to you, attempting to help you understand a particularly confusing spell from his books, you couldn’t stop staring at his lips and thinking about what they would feel like against yours. You can’t even remember what he said then, it’s gotten to be that troublesome for you.
You’re pulled out of your thoughts when he seems to stir in his sleep, brows pinching together as he mumbles incoherently. You knew of his troubles sleeping, but you never had the chance to see what he was talking about, as the two of you slept separately. It seems to you as if he’s having an unpleasant dream. The thought of him having nightmares while you stand there and do nothing doesn’t sit well with you. You don’t want to disturb his slumber, so you decide against awakening him. Instead, you choose to soothe him.
You sit next to him on the available space of the chaise. Your fingers deftly trace the runes on his skin. The contact seems to calm him, as his brow slowly relaxes and his mumbling subsides. You wonder if he has bad dreams often, silently carrying that burden all on his own. The thought makes you determined to get to know him better. You want to become someone he trusts, someone he can rely on. You’ve been grateful for his help in understanding yourself and your new abilities, but you can’t help but worry the relationship has been one-sided, with you disproportionately benefitting while he gets nothing in return. You want to help him too, you’re just not sure how.
You must have been too enamored in your own introspection to notice he had awoken. His eyes flutter open and drearily peer at you. You feel frozen in place.
“Y-you’re awake,” you stutter. Your cheeks feel hot. You turn away as you apologize. “I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he dismisses. His voice is raspier and deeper than normal. Hearing him speak this way sends a tingle down your spine. Your eyes are magnetically drawn to him despite your embarrassment and you glance over at him. He gives you a soft smile as he rubs the remnants of sleep from his eyes. It seems the dregs of drowsiness are wearing off of him, as he flirts, “I wouldn’t mind waking up like that more often.”
“Waking up like what?” you ask, inquisitively.
He merely smirks at you, before clarifying, “To you.” His sweet words make you feel even more flustered.
“You tease me too much, Touya,” you huff.
“I do not,” he defends, sitting up as he denies your accusation and closing some of the distance between you. “I don’t think I do it enough, actually.”
“Well in that case…” you start, before trailing off at the end of your sentence. Touya looks at you expectantly. You snatch his witch’s hat from his head and dodge his reaching hands by leaping up from your spot on the chaise. “Until you stop teasing me, this will be mine.”
You place the hat atop your head. He’s staring at you with a shocked expression. His stunned demeanor makes you a little nervous, causing you to question if your attempt at playfulness has instead insulted him. You try to maintain the lighthearted mood by asking, “What, does it not suit me?”
His mind is flooding with thoughts of you wearing more of his clothes. Or better yet, you in nothing but his hat.
He’s gotta get that damn thing back.
“As much as it does, I’ll be taking that,” he says. You give him a mischievous smile.
“You’ll have to catch me then,” you challenge. And with that, the chase begins. Touya is much quicker than you expected, as he gains on you quickly. You duck and dodge his efforts to snatch the hat from your head. It’s after a particularly close call that you think of a devious idea. You still have the rune marks on your skin from practicing earlier, the letters temporarily stained onto your skin with simple ink. It’s nothing more than a simple spell, something you learned from him, in fact, but maybe it’ll help you prolong this little game. A chair is pulled out ahead of his path, so not as to cause him to trip and hurt himself but to serve as an obstacle, in an attempt to buy yourself a few more seconds. He catches it with his hand and pushes it out of his way.
“It’ll take more than a cheap trick to stop me,” he brags, before resuming the chase.
You maneuver carefully and quickly through the halls. You’re nearing the end of the hall, so you have to make the quick decision to dive into a room. You choose to bolt into your bedroom. It’s rather small and a dead end, but maybe you could figure out a way to dart past him and win this little game. His pace is slower as he enters your room, knowing full well that you’re cornered with nowhere to go. You attempt to run past him, but his arms circle around your waist. He grabs you and spins you around in his arms. You let out a surprised squeal.
“Alright, alright, you win,” you concede, speaking in between giggles. He gently places you down on the ground. You reach up and place his hat back on his head. Your arms seem to hesitate. You don’t want to stop touching him just yet, so you rest one of your arms on his shoulder, like a faux embrace, while your other hand adjusts his hat. He doesn’t seem to mind, as he leans into your touch. One of his hands rests upon your waist, pulling you slightly closer to him. You feel more secure in your gestures, and you drape your arms behind his neck.
You’ve been afraid of overstepping by touching him all this time, but his reactions make you realize he really doesn’t mind. It’s as if he’s been starved for touch. The thought of him being so deprived of human interaction makes you a bit saddened. You remember what you were thinking about on the chaise, how you wish to understand him more. How can you expect to learn more about him if you never take the chance to ask?
“Touya?” You ask, unsure. You’re curious, but you don’t want to make him uncomfortable.
“Hm?” He hums.
“Please forgive my prying and my sudden question, but… did you ever feel lonely?” you ask softly. “I just… I can’t help but wonder what it was like for you, to be alone all these years.”
“Even before,” he starts, referencing his time as a royal. “I never was much of a socialite. Being alone is natural for me.”
“Hm, is that so?” You hum, before continuing in a softer, almost somber tone, “I hope my presence hasn’t ruined that for you.” He’s quick to deny it, dispelling your worries.
“No, not a chance. I…,” he pauses. There’s a slight flush that begins to creep upon his cheeks as he hesitates to speak more. Your eyes catch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, before his next admission falls from his tongue.
“I have enjoyed your company,” he admits. His other hand finds itself on your waist and the two of you hold one another. Your heart seems to stutter.
“But would you continue to enjoy it?” You challenge. His gestures get bolder, as he pulls you flush against him, his arms wrapped around your torso. “You’re stuck with me now. Would that ever be tiring?”
“I don’t think such a thing is possible,” he reassures.
“I sure hope not,” you murmur. He gives you a soft smile that you find yourself returning, lifting the mood. The two of you embrace comfortable silence, gazing into each other’s eyes with enamored expressions, until he seems to be lost in thought. You don’t notice how his eyes flick from your eyes to your lips.
“Can I…” he trails off, shyly. You raise an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue. His face reddens more when he finally rushes out, “Can I kiss you?”
“Please,” you breathe, responding almost embarrassingly fast. A quick flash of relief crosses his face upon hearing your enthusiasm before being replaced by a loving smile. The space between the two of you closes as his face draws closer to yours. Instinctively, your eyes flutter shut and your lips part.
You can feel him fighting back a smile when your lips finally touch. The feeling of his lips on yours is everything you imagined and more; soft and sweet, loving yet passionate. Despite finally feeling his lips on yours, satisfying your desire, you find yourself yearning for more. You want to feel more of him, all of him. The thought fills you with a fire you’ve never felt before. You throw yourself to the flames and kiss him back with fervor as you card one of your hands through his soft, white hair.
He holds you tighter against him as his lips work against yours. Your heart feels like it could just burst when he deepens the kiss and runs his tongue along your lip. His tongue brushes against yours when you part your lips further. The action makes you sharply inhale. You’re intoxicated by him, drunk on every sensation he gives you, to the point it feels almost dizzying. The desire you feel makes you weak in the knees and your arm tightens around him in an attempt to not sway on the spot, but this task seems almost impossible when you feel something hard pressing against you.
Reluctantly, you part for air, trying to catch your breath before your knees really give out on you. He rests his forehead on yours as the two of you both pant in unison. Your stomach flutters when you lock eyes with him, noticing the way he looks at you, eyes half lidded. The sight of him like this… and all for you. All because of you.
It fills you with desperation.
A desperate need for more.
After the two of you catch your breath, he moves to give you space, taking your choice to part for air as a sign to stop, but you pull him closer and cling onto his shirt. You don’t want to stop anytime soon.
“M-more,” you whisper, want apparent in your breathy voice. He lets out a soft, airy chuckle at your neediness and leans in for a kiss, but gives you nothing more than a quick peck on the lips before pulling away.
“Why don’t we take this somewhere more comfortable, hm?” he suggests. “Is the bed okay with you?
You instantly agree, maybe a little too eagerly, much to your embarrassment. He doesn’t tease you about it, something you’re silently thankful for. In fact, he seems to reward your honesty and enthusiasm by pressing a few heated kisses to your jaw. His bold actions make your knees nearly buckle and a soft gasp escapes your lips.
Bastard.
Your steps are now clumsy, thanks to his flustering, as he leads you down the hallway. But now in your room, the magnetism between the two of you pulls you together once more. His lips find yours and he kisses you with renewed fervor. It’s equal parts passionate and desperate, carrying with it unspoken feelings of yearning and long awaited closeness. You return his feelings through your own actions, as you coax him forward by gripping his shirt collar.
Your movements are less than graceful as you both move. It’s a distracted waltz towards the bed, your minds too busy on the feeling of one another to focus on making controlled movements to your destination. Though, it doesn’t take too long, as after a few shared, airy laughs at your clumsiness, the back of your knees touch the bed. You yield to the furniture, lying down on the mattress and parting your legs. He soon joins you and kneels over you on the bed, his body tucked in between your thighs.
He moves on from your lips and slowly presses hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. He kisses a particularly sensitive spot on your skin along your collarbone, earning a whine from your throat. The sound of you keening for him only further spurs him on and he sucks the skin into his mouth, leaving behind a faint mark. Soft pants escape your lips as he continues marking your neck and chest, painting reminders of him on your skin, all the while he’s overcome with the need to hear more of your sweet moans.
You feel his hard length press in between your legs, now tantalizingly close in the new position. Your breath hitches and your heart leaps in your chest upon feeling his hips rut against you, grinding against your core. The feeling nearly drives you to the edge of blind passion, as you battle the desire to rip both your clothes off and feel his hot skin against yours. But as much as you’d love to throw caution to the wind and sleep with him now, there’s a gnawing worry in the back of your mind.
“W-wait,” you stammer between panting breaths. He freezes at your request and pulls back slightly.
“What is it, my love?” He asks. You can hear a faint twinge of worry in his voice. His hand finds your knee and traces circles through your skirt fabric, his own way of soothing both you and himself in this moment. He looks at you, expectantly, not wanting to move until you speak your mind.
“Maybe…” You start, before trailing off. A soft curse escapes your lips as you grapple between your desires and your relational mind. Your chest is heaving and you bite your lip. When your words finally find you, they’re hesitant and hushed, “Maybe we should stop.”
“Is that what you want?” He questions.
“Well, no, but… I don’t wish to have a child yet,” you explain shyly, insinuating what would come next. Touya raises a brow, as if he knows something you don’t.
“That?” He questions. “Something so simple is solvable with an easy spell, done after.”
“It is?” You ask, voice pitched an octave higher in surprise.
“Yes,” he assures you with a soft smile. Your amazement at magic is always so endearing to him. But, despite this problem being easily worked around, he knows such a revelation is sudden. He’d love to take you now, but he doesn’t want to push your boundaries. “Though if you’re unsure, we can just-”
“No,” you interrupt, quickly cutting off his next words. You tenderly cup his face. “It’s okay, I want to.”
“If you are sure…” He whispers. His eyes flutter close as he leans forward and presses his lips against yours in a soft kiss, before picking up where he left off. Only this time, he starts a new trail down your neck, adorning you with more marks suckled into your skin. You’re painted in his colors as he works over your neck, occasionally soothing over the now bruising skin with his tongue. Both the feeling of his mouth over your sensitive neck and the thought of him laying claim to you like this has you squirming underneath him.
His lips inch closer to your hemline, and you find yourself wanting to rip off your own clothes if it means you’d feel the sin of his lips grace more of you. He seems to sense your frustration and he pulls himself away from you. As he’s now sitting up, his greedy eyes admire the sight of you below him.
Through his eyes, you look absolutely irresistible like this; your eyes opium blown with lust, your neck mottled with love marks, your dress slowly slipping off your shoulders, and your lips parted and kiss-swollen. If you look this alluring to him still fully clothed, he wonders just how much more he’ll want you upon seeing your bare skin.
The thought spurs him on. His hands snake under your skirt and grip your thighs. The fabric hikes up your legs, exposing your skin to the cool air and to his gaze. Bit by bit, his hands ascend up your thighs and onto your hips, tracing the curves of your body along the way.
Even with your inexperience, you understand what he wants. You reach for your metal girdle belt and unlatch it, allowing the chain to pool against the bed. With your belt no longer in the way, he helps you pull your dress and chemise over your head. You lift your hips and he rids you of the rest of your underclothes.
You’re now fully undressed in front of him. The realization makes you feel insecure, only further worsened by his gaze on your body. You try to cover yourself with your arms out of reflex, but he tuts at your insecurity and grabs your arms, pinning them to the bed.
“Feeling shy, are we?” he teases, his husky voice only serving to worsen your embarrassment. You avert your eyes from his and worry your bottom lip in between your teeth. “Love, what is there to be shy about?”
“It’s just… I’m sure you’ve seen more appealing women than I,” you answer, speaking softly and unsure. “I’m worried I’m… disappointing.”
“Not a chance,” he assures. His voice drops an octave and he compliments, “Had I not already known you were a witch, I’d have taken you for a succubus.” He dives in for a passionate kiss on your lips, soothing your insecurity. When he pulls away, he breathily reaffirms, “You are heavenly.”
He punctuates his point by pressing a kiss in between your breasts. Both his actions and words fluster you, but you’re not able to hide your face from his gaze with your arms pinned to the mattress. His lips begin to roam the expanse of your chest until he reaches your nipples, where he places an open-mouthed kiss on them before taking your bud into his mouth. His tongue draws circles around your nipple. You moan and arch your back at the foreign sensation. Wetness pools in between your legs with every flick of his tongue.
“So sensitive,” he teases, speaking against your skin after pulling away from your breast.
“How can I not be when you’re-“ you start, before he latches onto your other nipple and chokes off your retort. You shoot him a glare, to which he smirks at upon releasing your chest with a wet pop.
“‘S not a bad thing, my dear,” he says. “It’s flattering.”
“Ugh, you’re so unfair,” you groan.
“How so?”
“You keep teasing me and…”
“And?”
“And… you’re still…” you struggle to say the rest, trailing off at the end. This situation on its own is embarrassing for you, much less speaking your mind. He looks at you expectantly, urging you to continue. You swallow down your shyness and avert your eyes from his intense gaze when you speak again. “It’s easier for you to fluster me when I’m unclothed and you’re not.”
“So you want to see me naked? How naughty,” he chastises, though his words lack any true admonishment and are instead laced with amusement and cockiness.
“Oh shut up,” you shoot back. You groan at his taunting. “I just want to touch you, all of you, without your clothes in the way.”
“Then let me give you what you want,” He obliges with a smirk. His warmth leaves you momentarily for him to shed his clothes. You prop yourself up on your forearms to watch him.
First, his loose robe is lazily guided off of his shoulders. Then, he pulls his white shirt off, allowing you the full view of his stomach. It flusters you more to see a modest set of toned muscle along his abdomen, hiding underneath swaths of his torso adorned with more runic tattoos. His arms flex slightly as the shirt is completely pulled off and thrown elsewhere.
You push yourself off of your arms and sit upright, now closer to his bare upper half. Your hands trace over the now bare skin of his arms, trailing along the tattooed runes, and eventually making your way to the planes of his chest. He shudders slightly as your fingers dance further and further down his body. His breathing significantly picks up when your twitching fingers dare to graze the beginning of his pelvis.
You look up at him and bat your lashes. It’s a silent demand. He hasn’t fulfilled your wish yet; there’s still clothing between the two of you. His hand caresses your jaw, tenderly, before acquiescing to your request. He withdraws from you and stands to undoe the fastening of his pants. And with that, he’s now bare before you.
Your eyes travel down the contours of his abs and to his pelvis. Much like the hair on his head, there’s a patch of white at the base of his hard length. You’ve not seen much of the male anatomy, but from what you can gather, he’s rather large. You start to worry, just how is this supposed to fit?
You must have said what you were thinking aloud, and he answers your worries.
“It will. I’ll make it fit, my love,” he promises. He sees your apprehension and reaches for you. His knuckles tenderly strokes your cheek as he reassures you with a gentle voice, “I’ll go slow, just relax for me. Trust me.”
He gazes at you with an expression nothing short of adoration. Your heart swells at how softly he’s treating you, how he has never once through this interaction pushed you farther than you were comfortable with. With him, you know he’d treasure this part of yourself that you’re giving to him. You take a deep breath in to steady your nerves.
“Okay,” you answer. You look at him, reflecting back his look of love and smile. “I trust you.”
He closes the distance between you, bare bodies now touching, and presses a kiss to your lips, loving and soft at first. His tongue slips into your mouth and you moan at the intrusion. His hard cock brushes against your thigh at the sound, twitching all because of your moan.
His warm fingers slowly trail down your body, soothing over the goosebumps that pebble your bare skin. The pads of his fingers graze between your breasts, down your stomach, and over your mound. Your heart begins to race with anticipation when he drags closer to your core. He finally touches where you’re most desperate and your breath instantly hitches upon the contact. His fingers trace up and down your slit, drawing soft whines from your throat with every pass over your clit.
A few deliberate, harder presses against your clit sends soft waves of pleasure through you. The teasing, slow touches have you growing wetter for him, coating his fingers in a sheen. Seemingly satisfied with your evident arousal, he alters his goal, his touch now descending from your clit and focusing elsewhere. His fingers prod at your entrance before he slowly inserts one finger into your hole. You gasp at the foreign intrusion. His fingers feel so long yet delightfully thick. The feeling of makes your hips squirm.
He tests the waters cautiously first, pulling out of you at an agonizingly slow pace. When his digit has nearly slipped out of you, he searches your reaction, and upon seeing no traces of discomfort, slides back inside. His fingers then pump in and out of you, setting a comfortable pace. You let out soft gasps intermittently, finding pleasure in his movements.
Though, he seems to be looking for something, altering the angle of his fingers as they dive in and out of you. His gaze is affixed to your face. He’s searching for some sort of reaction. When his fingers press against the spongy bundle of nerves in your walls, you instantly keen. Your toes curl at the shockwaves of pleasure that scatter through your core at the feeling of his touch against your g-spot. He smirks at the sight.
“That’s it,” he cooes. “Feels good?”
“Y-yes, oh god, Touya,” you moan loudly, with a drawn out keen of his name. Your walls flutter around his finger as he continues to bully into your most sensitive spot. The feeling of you pulsing around him clouds his mind and he enters a lust filled haze.
“Yeah, keep saying my name like that,” he breathes. His eyes are half lidded as he starts to imagine the way you’ll feel around his cock. Fuck, the thought has him realizing he needs to get you properly prepped and stretched for him. “Think you can take another?”
Your legs instinctively part wider for him, at the thought of being stuffed full on his fingers. You nod at his question. You’re eager to feel more of him. He sucks in a breath and pulls out until just the pad of his middle finger is nestled in your cunt. His tattooed ring finger collects the beads of wetness slipping out of your core, before slowly pushing in alongside his other finger. The delicious stretch has you moaning and arching on the bed. And with the new position of his hands, the palm of his hand grinds against your clit with every slow thrust of his fingers. The surprise of the new sensation has you throwing your arms around his neck.
“T-Touya,” you whimper. The pleasure he’s giving you is too much, yet not enough at the same time. There’s a pressure that’s building up inside of you, a white hot pleasure that threatens to spill over. It’s a foreign feeling, yet it’s something you find yourself chasing.
“M-more. Please Touya,” you beg sweetly. Your eyes are welling with tears, all from the sexual frustration. It makes his heart stutter when you bat your lashes at him, now damp with tears threatening to spill over. The hands behind his neck now card and tug through his hair.
You’re driving him fucking crazy.
He surges forward and captures your lips. His pace quickens. The pleasure drives you crazy, especially when the fingers delving into you keep curling up and hitting that delicious spot inside of you. It doesn’t help that now his palm firmly presses against that sensitive bundle of nerves with every inward thrust of his fingers. You moan and whimper into his mouth desperately, to which he eagerly and greedily swallows by tangling his tongue with yours. Your fingers harshly tug his white locks as you find the pleasure coiling up your spine. You let out a salacious, sinful sound as your release dances on the edge.
He pulls away from the kiss to whisper a warning against your lips, “If you keep moaning like that I won’t even last.”
True to his words, you glance down at his cock, instantly feeling flustered upon seeing his tip leaking precum and his whole cock throbbing. It just barely brushes against you with each furious bob up and down.
You bite your lip and swallow down your sounds, wanting him to last. Despite your release so close, you find yourself wanting something else instead.
“Please take me, Touya,” you blurt out. His pace falters and he releases a curse under his breath.
“You temptress,” he hisses. He groans and squeezes his eyes shut. His jaw clenches as his chest heaves slightly. “What did I just say about me not lasting if you keep…” He grits his teeth, a shaky, tense sigh slipping past.
Who is he to deny you though? He’ll cave to your wishes every time, giving as much of himself as he can before falling apart. He scissors his fingers inside of you, the sudden movement accompanied by a mild twinge of pressure.
“Are you sure you’re ready for me?” He asks. His crystal blue eyes stare at you intently, half lidded yet still searching for any hint of hesitation in you.
“Yes,” you reply. “Take me, please Touya. Make me yours.”
He sucks in a breath. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear that,” he admits.
He takes himself by the base and aligns with your slit. It’s teasing how he runs himself up and down your lips. You feel as if he’s still torturing you with pleasure, not realizing he’s gathering up your slick. He’s staying true to his words that he’ll make it fit.
With his head now coated in a layer of sheen, his cock head pushes into your twitching hole, inching in slowly. You feel a slight pinch at the intrusion. The pain makes you gasp and whimper. Unwittingly, your nails also dig into the back of his neck.
It reminds him to go slow with you, despite the intense pleasure he feels upon your tight walls clamping around his head. Seconds drag on as he pushes himself further inside of you, every inch stretching you beyond what you’d think physically possible. It’s dizzying how full you feel.
With one more slow cant of his hips forward, he’s nestled into you to the hilt, his pelvis meeting your thighs. He sighs at the feeling of your body wrapped around his full length. His forehead rests against yours as the two of you take a moment to breathe. He soothingly runs his thumb over your cheek, silently acknowledging your initial discomfort.
When your breathing normalizes and the traces of pain leave your expression, he pulls his hips back, allowing his shaft to almost slide out of you until only the head remains. A whimper escapes your mouth as he slowly slides back in. It elicits a strange feeling inside you, bordering between not quite pain, but not quite pleasure yet.
“Shh,” he coos. He’s reassuring and gentle as he speaks, “I’ve got you. You’ll feel better soon, my darling.”
Soft praises consisting of ‘you’re doing so well’ and ‘I’ll take care of you’ spill from his lips with every slow, deep thrust of his hips. His praises make you dizzy, and the feeling of his length pressing against your cervix doesn’t help. You feel so full. You’re sure you’d see the outline of him inside of you if you looked down.
A particular thrust seems to brush against that gummy spot inside of you, and the initial discomfort gives way to blissful pleasure. Upon seeing your relaxed and lustful expression, he sets a faster rhythm. Every drawn out drag of his hips against yours starts to build up.
A thick sheen of sweat coats his pale skin and his thrusts become faster, more purposeful. You’re writhing underneath him, arching your back and dipping your hips to meet his thrusts. It’s clear you’re becoming desperate for more.
He hooks his hands under your knees and presses your thighs to your chest. You gasp at the mating press he pushes you into, feeling the burn of your thighs and a burn in your ears from the embarrassment of being splayed open. His cock seems to go deeper in you and is angled at the perfect spot. Your walls clamp down on him as his head nudges against your g spot. He feels your reaction to the new angle and lets out a groan.
His hips snap forward harshly, causing an audible smack between your bodies. The contact taps your clit and has you instantaneously keening. Eager for more of the feeling on your bundle of nerves, your hand snakes between your legs to toy with the hood of your clit. He catches sight of your sneaking hand. His eyes go dark at seeing you chase pleasure.
“Hold these for me, will you?” He requests, guiding your own hands to the back of your thighs. Words of protest, regarding how indecent you feel, die upon your lips. With his hands now free, his fingers find his way to your clit now, rubbing tight circles.
He feels you tighten up around him, your walls contracting in an impending orgasm. His eyes focus on you in this moment as he’s attuned to your every reaction. You look so beautiful to him in this moment, with your face contorted in pleasure, your lips parted from panting and moaning, your pupils opium blown and dilated. He just knows you’ll look even prettier when you fall apart under him.
“‘S too much,” you whine. Despite your assertion of overstimulation, he ignores your protest. His movements on you clit fasten and he pushes harder against your bundle of nerves.
“Shhh, you can take it. I know you can,” he assures. He slightly quickens his pace and continues to rub your clit. “You’re close, I can feel it. Just let go. Cum for me.”
“Fuck, Touya!” You scream, his words urging you to come setting you off. Your legs shake and convulse with the intensity of your orgasm. A flood of wetness escapes your hole, allowing his thrusts the lubrication to work you through your climax, despite how tightly your walls attempt to suck him in.
He steals a quick glance to where your bodies meet, seeing a ring of cream coating the base of his cock. His eyes nearly roll back at the sight and his hips slam into you harshly out of impulse.
“God, you’re so tight. ‘M gonna-” he warns, before he lets out a punched out sound, the words dying on his lips. His hips stutter as he reaches his end. You feel his hot release spill over inside you, filling you with warmth. He continues to pump shallow thrusts, working himself through his own climax. Your ears burn upon hearing the sound of faint squelching coming from your hole.
You relax the grip on your thighs and allow your legs to relax. He takes the hint and slowly pulls out of you, causing a trickle of your shared releases to gush from you.
“Wait here,” he whispers. “Let me get something to clean you up.”
You nod at his command and wait for him on the bed. He returns quickly with something to wipe you down with. Soreness starts to settle between your legs, your body now aching from the stretch of him. A sharp hiss escapes your lips when he touches your cunt with the fabric, and in reaction, mutters a soft apology. He gingerly runs the dampened cloth against your folds, wiping away the flood of your shared releases.
“Touya?” You ask. He hums in response, urging you to continue with your words. “The spell?”
“Don’t worry, that can be done within the day. You deserve some rest now,” he assures. You sigh in relief and motion for him to come closer. A chuckle escapes him, along with a playful tease of ‘so needy for me’, but he happily obliges your request.
He lays behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. The two of you lay like this, in harmony together, basking in the closeness. Your breathing steadies as one, and you’re sure your heartbeats begin to sync. The love you feel for him threatens to spill out of your soul.
The tenderness of the moment turns humorous as he shifts and grumbles behind you. “Mm, this bed isn’t very comfortable,” he complains. You instantly bark out a laugh.
“And you just now realized that? Now you know what I have felt in this bed,” you agree. He shakes his head.
“Apologies for that, my darling,” he apologizes. He seems to think for a moment before his voice deepens suggestively, “You know, mine has room for two. Why don’t you stay with me in mine from now on?”
You reach behind you and crane your neck to kiss his lips. “I’d love to,” you answer. He smiles against your lips and goes to move for another kiss, but you pull away to add. “But later, ‘m too sore to move.”
“But of course,” he laughs. You nuzzle back into his body and chase his warmth. Tattooed arms pull you flush with his chest, allowing all of your skin to meld with one another. Your eyelids feel heavy as sleep begins to wash over you. The last thing that crosses your mind is how staying here, with him, forever, sounds like heaven to you.
