“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who reads romance manga.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who’d listen to his dad talk about how infatuated he was with his mom when they first met and fully believed he’d never be able to feel that way for another.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who finds himself in his third year, surrounded by classmates who have already had their first kisses and relationships.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo giving his friends dating advice even though he’s never experienced it himself.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo wondering why it’s so easy for his peers to allow themselves to get so close to another.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo whose “love” language is acts of service. He always does things for his friends even if they never asked and acts like it’s no big deal when they thank him for it.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who always seems to be way calmer when it’s just you and him. No screaming, no sarcastic tone, he’s just allowing himself to be present with you.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo with a staring problem. His eyes are on you in every room, every setting but he’ll never let you know that.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who notices you tend not to ask for help, preferring to do things yourself in hopes that you’ll prove yourself as useful.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who watches how you pick up your classmates’ slack without asking for anything in return.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo watching you struggle to carry two trash bags outside (even though it’s not your day to carry it out) while the others are watching a movie.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who takes both of the trash bags without a word, heading outside to throw them away.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who shrugs when he heads back inside and you thank him.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who tells you “Next to you need help don’t be so afraid to ask.” in that calm, hushed tone he only reserves for you.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who finds himself helping you out much more frequently, sometimes because you asked, most times because he wanted to.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who offers to help you study for an important test coming up, inviting you to his dorm room (the dorm room no one else has seen before.)
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who never makes you feel stupid for not understanding something, sensing how anxious you are about the test and probably about him of all people helping you.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who explains every concept with such articulation and precision, making no fuss if you ask him to go over it again.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who catches you glancing at his bookshelf during your study break and lets you take a closer look.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who doesn’t take offense when you tell him you would have never guessed he’d be so into romance. He only laughs, saying he just tends to enjoy the genre.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who admits he’s never seen a future in romance for him when you mention never seeing him show any interest in anyone.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who goes stiff and red in the face when you tell him that you think he’d make a great partner, listing off reasons such as “You’re super reliable, honest, strong… handsome. I think you’d make someone really happy one day.”
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who tosses and turns that night because he can’t get what you said off his mind. He’d never thought about what it’d feel like to be someone’s ideal partner. He knew he was a hard person to like and he didn’t mind it but he never really tried to be liked, never tried putting himself out there. If you didn’t like him, then that was that.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who stays up that night for the first time in years, reading his favorite series, imagining what it’d be like to let himself love and be loved.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who began courting you from then on, making you a special breakfast, carrying your bag for you, always asking you to join during whatever was apart of his schedule for that day of the week as well as finding ways to fit you in his schedule in general.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who found it difficult to make his romantic interest in you feel natural. He couldn’t flirt, hell, he had a hard time expressing his feelings towards you on the whole.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who for the first time, understands what it’s like to genuinely be nervous and unsure of himself. He stumbles over his words, the palms of his hands are much sweatier than usual and he feels like a complete idiot every time he opens his mouth to say something.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who learned from his books that to be in love involves humility and sacrifice.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who swallows his pride and asks his mom how she and his dad started dating.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who immediately regrets his decision when her voice goes up five decibels and begging him to tell her who he’s got a crush on.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who thinks long and hard when his mom tells him how important it is to be honest with himself as well as you and that if he wants this to go anywhere, he’s going to have to be much more open than he may feel is comfortable.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who hasn’t spent much time with you during finals week, both of you way too busy studying to have any time for anything else.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who’s confident he knows everything he needs to and begins getting ready for bed before he hears a knock on his door.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who opens his door to see you standing in front of him, eyes red and holding a plethora of books and papers.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo letting you inside without a word, ignoring your unnecessary apologies as he asks you what you need help with.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who stays up until midnight helping you study but you still feel anxious.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who grabs you by the shoulders and showers you with praise, saying “There is not an ounce of doubt in me that you will pass this exam. Stop tearing yourself down when you’re clearly so much more capable than half the people around you.”
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo feeling his heart practically beat out of his chest as you pull him into a hug, thanking him for how good he’s been to you.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who knocks on your door the next morning, two plates in hand, asking you to have breakfast with him.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who finds himself reaching out to you when you begin fidgeting after Bakugo mentions the exam.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who holds up his pinky, promising to you that you’ll pass the exam with flying colors.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who feels an immense amount of pride when you show him your results a week later.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who almost trips you when he pulls you into a hug, mumbling in your shoulder an “I knew you could do it” as you two stay like this for the next five minutes.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who freezes as he pulls back slightly, your nose brushing over his, his eyes darting to your lips. He wants to kiss you but he’s scared. What if he’s bad at it? What if he leans in and you pull away?
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo’s eyes widening as you in fact, do not pull back but instead lean into him further, he can feel your breath on his lip and he knows that this is his chance but he just can’t.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who pulls away, telling you that you deserve something nice for your paper.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who takes you to the mall, urging you to get whatever you want.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who can’t help but notice how close you two are next to each other. Your arms brush against one another with each step and he’s sure that there’s a faint blush on his face.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who ends the day with getting you frozen yogurt, watching your pleased face when you have your first taste.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who notices a couple not so far from you both. He watches as the boyfriend stands behind his partner, hands on their hips and eating the yogurt they offer him.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who wonders if this day would have gone similar to theirs if he had just kissed you when you wanted him to.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who’s pulled from his thoughts when you ask him if he wants to taste your yogurt, bragging about how good it is.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who sits there for a moment unsure of what he should do. Are you offering to feed it to him? No, that’s what a couple would do. Should he use his spoon?
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who just shakes his head, too stressed with all that he’s not saying, all that he’s not doing.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who walks you back to your dorm, handing you your gift and just nods when you tell him you had a good time.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who stands at your door even after you’re inside, ashamed of himself and how cowardly he’s been.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who knocks on your door and when you open it, he simply blurts out “I’ve never kissed anyone before. I wanted to. The other day. I just… didn’t want to be bad at it.”
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who can feel the slight tremor in his hands as he waits for your response, barely looking you in the eye as you smile softly and admit you’ve also never kiss anyone but you’d like him to be your first.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who stands in the middle of your room, having no clue what to do with himself, thinking that he should have paid more attention to the way couples would kiss in movies.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who watches as you slowly walk over to him, resting your arms on his shoulders, biting your lip to contain your smile.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who sees you lean into him and this time, doesn’t pull away. The tip of his nose bumps into yours and you let out a small giggle, looking into his eyes that are uncharacteristically soft.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who lets you take the lead. He lets you pull him into you, soft lips meeting. At first a peck, then something more. Your lips move against his slowly, gently. You let out a whine, murmuring something able barely feeling it.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo whose eyes widen as you grab the back of his head, deepening the kiss. He backs you into your bed, knees giving out as he practically falls on top of you.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo keeping his hands on either side of your head and a slight gap between your bodies, giving you enough room to move if it becomes too much.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who lets out an embarrassing gasp as he feels your tongue brushes against his bottom lip, hesitantly opening his mouth wider.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who lets you explore his mouth, finding it strangely appealing the way your tongue feels against his.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who has to force himself to pull away from you as your hands begin to wander his sides and legs begin to wrap around his torso.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who doesn’t want to rush things and ask if you can take it slow.
“Never was much of a romantic” Bakugo who takes you on a date, your last week of school.
"Never was much of a romantic" Bakugo who spends the entire summer with you. Basking in the bond you've formed.
"Never was much of a romantic" Bakugo who invites you to dinner with his family and makes it known that he wants to me yours as well.
"Never was much of a romantic" Bakugo who finds any way he can to bring up his relationship.
"Never was much of a romantic" Bakugo who feels zero shame in the new found softness he has allowed himself to feel because of you.
"Never was much of a romantic" Bakugo was says "I love you" first. He didn't plan on saying it. He just knew. He wanted you to know too.
"Never was much of a romantic" Bakugo who goes to bed with a permanent smile across his face, knowing that tomorrow is another day he gets to spend with you.
I NEED MORE PUPPY KATSUKI PUHLEASEEEEE I LOVE UOU BRO
This feels so ooc but idk I think this is buried inside him
Puppy!Katsuki is the type of guy to get on his hands and knees to beg for a taste of your pussy.
His crimson eyes well up with tears as he slams onto his knees, as Katsuki collapsed you couldn't help but think on how his knees would definitely bruise after this. The pleas split from his lips so easily. "Baby, just- just one taste.. I've been so well behaved, been such a good boy! You'll feel so good.."
He rubs his face on your thigh, his ears dropped and his tail wacking desperately against the floor of your room. Katsuki whined incoherently, you could only tell what he said every few sentences. "Mffgg.. so good, so, so good.."
When you finally cave to his crying and begging he laps at your pussy through your panties. Katsuki buries his snout-like nose into you and takes a deep inhale. The sight makes you shiver and moan.
content: fluff, gender neutral reader, lots of kissing :)
izuku likes to kiss you gently. his lips brush against your before slightly parting, pressing a little harder, letting his tongue enter your mouth, letting you taste him. his lips are warm and hydrated, so it's calming and easy to kiss him. he kisses your cheeks pretty often.
katsuki kisses you rough. he'll press his mouth against yours, mouth already open, weaving his tongue into your mouth and kissing hard like hes eating. he likes to hold your face to stabilize you with one hand, while the other holds your waist. he likes to kiss your neck and jawline a lot.
shoto kisses you very smoothly. hes straight out of a shojo manga, gazing into your eyes, and kissing you with his eyes closed, brushing your hair away from your face. he doesnt kiss with tongue in public a lot, but its still so romantic, it makes your heart flutter. he kisses your hands like the gentleman he is.
kirishima likes to bite your bottom lip gently with his sharp teeth. he kisses you as often as he can, lips smooth and warm against yours. he likes to put his fingers in your mouth and suck them after, grinning as if he wasnt giving you swarms of butterflies in your stomach. he likes to nibble at your ear, biting gently against the sensitive skin.
denki kisses you like a man starved. he'll make a simple peck a full on french kiss, mouth open and tongue swishing around in your mouth, and sticking his tongue out as he parts with you, a string of saliva connecting you two. hes the definition of 'swapping spit'. he likes to kiss your neck and shoulders, giving you hickeys everywhere like he's marking his territory.
shinso tends to refrain from kisses in public, but behind closed doors he likes to tilt your chin up, which 'gives him more room', as he claims. his tongue moves like magic, but he's still so gentle. he acts lazy while doing it, but you know he enjoys it even more that you do. he kisses your forehead when with people.
tamaki is very shy, only giving small pecks in front of people, scared of being a bad kisser (you were his first partner, after all). he likes to 'practice to be better', but you think he just likes to kiss you, since hes so good. his mouth tastes sweet, a little like caramel, and he holds your face while he kisses you, and he's always blushing. he kisses your nose and cheeks, and he brings up your hand to kiss it when you two are holding hands.
this was so fun to write i was giggling the whole time
Kiribaku x reader SMAU A SMAU where the reader joins Bakugou's and Kirishima's agency as a sidekick!
Chapter 14 - Dr. Adrian Voss! YOU ARE HERE!
Chapter 13
Chapter 15
Series master list!
THIS CHAPTER IS ALL WORDS
The shuttle eased to a stop before the largest building on campus.
Floor-to-ceiling glass reflected the morning sky so perfectly the structure seemed to vanish into the clouds. Employees waited outside the entrance in identical charcoal suits, white badges catching the light.
The doors folded open. One of them stepped forward—a woman who couldn't have been older than thirty, her smile warm, professional, and unnervingly genuine.
"Good morning, everyone." She clasped her hands together. "My name is Ayaka Sato, Director of International Research Relations. On behalf of everyone here at Apex Biotechnologies, I'd like to personally welcome you to our campus."
The researchers filed off the shuttle.
"So many brilliant minds from around the world in one place—we never take that for granted," she continued. "Over the next four weeks, each of you will contribute to research with the potential to improve millions of lives."
Four weeks.
Hearing someone else say it made it feel longer.
"Before your departmental assignments, we'll start with a brief orientation—Apex's philosophy, our expectations, and the resources available during your residency."
Residency. Not internship. Not visit.
The word lingered.
"If you'll follow me."
The lobby alone was bigger than most museums. White marble stretched beneath a ceiling four stories high, sunlight pouring through windows that overlooked the ocean. Living walls climbed the architecture, green against glass and steel—somehow both luxurious and welcoming.
Employees smiled as they passed. Some greeted Dr. Sato by name. Others nodded at the newcomers before vanishing into elevators.
You caught yourself looking for something wrong—armed guards, restricted hallways, and hidden cameras. Instead: reception desks with fresh flowers, researchers arguing over coffee about enzyme sequencing.
It didn't add up.
Dr. Sato led the group into an auditorium, rows of polished wood curving toward a massive screen glowing faintly with the Apex logo. Researchers filled the seats, conversation rising and settling again.
You took the second row. Kirishima sat to your right. Bakugou, your left.
The lights dimmed.
A man in his late fifties walked onstage—no security, no extravagant suit, just a tailored navy blazer and a plain silver watch. He smiled like he was greeting old friends.
"Good morning. My name is Dr. Masato Ishikawa, and I'd like to personally welcome you to Apex Biotechnologies."
Polite applause. He let it settle.
"When people hear the word 'science,' they picture laboratories." A slide appeared—researchers laughing over coffee. "But science was never about buildings." The image changed: a child smiling from a hospital bed. "It's about people." Doctors. Families. Patients. "Every discovery made inside these walls carries the potential to change a life outside them. Our responsibility isn't simply to innovate." He smiled gently. "It's to leave the world healthier than we found it."
You almost believed him.
Almost.
Beside you, Bakugou hadn't applauded once. His attention wasn't on the stage—it was fixed on the pair of steel doors set discreetly into the back wall.
No signs. No labels.
The applause lingered long after Dr. Ishikawa stepped away from the podium. It wasn't forced. It wasn't polite. It was genuine.
Researchers smiled to one another, trading quiet comments as the screen shifted back to the Apex logo.
"Inspiring," someone behind you whispered.
"I've wanted to work here for years," another voice answered.
You glanced toward Bakugou. He hadn't moved—elbows on the armrests, fingers loosely laced, expression unreadable as his eyes drifted across the room instead of the stage. He wasn't listening to the conversations around him. He was cataloguing exits. Cameras. Employees. Anything even slightly out of place.
Dr. Sato returned to center stage, her smile as effortless as before.
"Thank you, Dr. Ishikawa." She waited for the room to settle. "Before departmental introductions, we'd like to give everyone a chance to become acquainted with their fellow researchers. Many of your projects will involve collaboration across disciplines, so please introduce yourselves."
The auditorium erupted into conversation. People stood. Hands were shaken. Business cards appeared from portfolios. The room transformed from a lecture hall to an academic conference.
You rose with everyone else.
A man in his early forties approached first.
"Kenji Watanabe." He extended his hand. "Geneticist."
"Elena Cross. Cellular regeneration."
His eyebrows lifted. "The Cambridge publication?"
"I've been told people have actually read it."
He laughed. "My department debated it for nearly three months."
"I hope that was a good thing."
"We never reached a conclusion."
More researchers drifted into the circle. Within minutes, you were discussing grants, funding, and regenerative medicine with people from five different countries. It was easy. Disturbingly easy. Every fabricated paper you'd memorized the night before surfaced exactly when you needed it—every conference, every professor, every mentor. The lies flowed so naturally they almost stopped feeling like lies.
Across the room, Kirishima looked just as comfortable. His warmth translated perfectly into Marcus Reed; researchers laughed at something he'd said, someone scribbled down the title of one of his "published" studies, and he smiled modestly like he'd actually published it.
Bakugou, meanwhile, had attracted a crowd—not because he was trying to, but because Adrian Voss apparently had a reputation.
"Your paper on pharmaceutical adaptation after quirk degradation was fascinating."
Bakugou gave a small nod. "I appreciate that."
"I was hoping to ask—"
"The sample size wasn't large enough."
The older researcher blinked. "Excuse me?"
"My own criticism," Bakugou clarified. "If I'd had another six months, I would've doubled it."
The researcher smiled. "I completely agree."
You couldn't stop staring. Yesterday morning he'd been blowing up training robots. Now he was dissecting pharmaceutical peer review like he'd spent a decade teaching at a university.
He caught you looking. Only for a second. One eyebrow lifted—focus—and you turned back to your own conversation.
Nearly half an hour later, Dr. Sato clapped her hands gently. "If everyone could please follow me."
The conversations died away. Researchers gathered their bags and filed out behind her—but instead of returning toward the bright glass lobby, she led everyone the opposite way.
The architecture changed almost immediately. Warm wood gave way to polished concrete. Natural light gave way to cool fluorescents. The hallways narrowed, and conversations dropped with them. You noticed the first security camera mounted high in the corner. Then another. Then another. No one else seemed to think twice.
At the end of the corridor stood a pair of tall glass doors. Beyond them: security. Not one guard—eight, dressed in charcoal uniforms with discreet earpieces. Metal detectors stood beside full-body scanners, conveyor belts stretching toward machines that looked more suited to an international airport than a research facility.
Several researchers ahead of you smiled knowingly.
"First day jitters."
"They're thorough."
"Gets easier after today."
Dr. Sato stopped beside the first checkpoint. "I know this may seem excessive," she said pleasantly, "but Apex handles research too valuable to leave unprotected." She gestured toward the belts. "Please place all luggage, electronics, and personal belongings on for inspection."
You watched Bakugou's jaw tighten, almost imperceptibly. Just enough that you noticed. Nothing more. His suitcase rolled onto the belt. Your duffelbag followed. Kirishima's backpack after that. One by one they vanished through the scanner and emerged on the other side.
A security officer opened your duffel bag. He worked methodically—folded clothes, a notebook, pads, research papers, and everything exactly where you'd packed it. He smiled politely. "Thank you for your patience, Dr. Cross." The suitcase clicked shut.
Next: Kirishima. Same process. Professional. Quick.
Then Bakugou's.
The officer unzipped the case. His hands paused. Carefully folded beneath several changes of clothes rested two heavy metallic gauntlets.
The room went perfectly silent. Another officer approached—not alarmed, not suspicious, simply curious.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Voss." His voice stayed warm. "I'm afraid these items can't be brought onto campus."
Bakugou met his gaze evenly. "They're medical support equipment." A lie delivered so smoothly it almost sounded real.
The guard tapped something on his tablet. "I understand." He looked back up. "However, no medical accommodations were listed in your employee profile."
Bakugou didn't blink. "They assist with an old injury."
"I'm sorry." Another polite smile. "Without prior authorization, I'm unable to approve them."
One of the guards lifted the gauntlets from the suitcase, handling them with surprising care despite their weight. "They'll be stored securely until the completion of your residency."
Residency. There was that word again.
Bakugou's eyes followed the gauntlets for exactly one second before returning to the guard. "Understood." No argument. No hesitation. Just acceptance.
The guard seemed genuinely appreciative. "Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Voss."
The suitcase clicked shut. As it rolled toward the end of the belt, you caught Bakugou's eye. To anyone else, he looked completely unfazed.
You knew better.
Those gauntlets weren't just equipment. Without them, the strongest explosive hero in Japan had just walked willingly into enemy territory with nothing but his own hands.
And somewhere deep in your stomach, a quiet realization settled.
That hadn't been an accident. Apex hadn't stumbled across them. They'd expected them.
The line moved at a steady pace, researchers clipping newly issued badges onto their lapels. A few admired the sleek design; others laughed quietly over the tiny employee photos. The atmosphere stayed light despite the extensive security.
Dr. Sato stood near the front, hands folded neatly. "I'd like to thank everyone again for your patience. We understand our security measures can seem excessive on your first day, but the work conducted at Apex is unlike anything else in the world. Protecting our researchers—and the discoveries they make—is our highest priority."
Polite nods rippled through the crowd. No one questioned it. Why would they? The world's brightest scientists worked here. Of course security would be strict.
The guard behind the scanner accepted Bakugou's badge with the same pleasant smile he'd given everyone before him. "Thank you, Dr. Voss."
He scanned it.
A soft chime sounded — different from the others.
The guard glanced at his tablet. His smile never faltered. "Hm." Barely a sound. Then he looked back up. "I do apologize, Dr. Voss. It appears your employee profile didn't finish synchronizing with our internal system after yesterday's registration."
Bakugou didn't blink. "I see."
"It happens occasionally with international researchers." The guard gestured toward a frosted glass door just beyond the checkpoint. "If you don't mind stepping into verification, we can have everything sorted in just a few minutes."
You glanced toward Kirishima. He looked as unconcerned as Bakugou did.
"Everything alright?" he asked.
"Tch, Probably just paperwork," Bakugou grumbled, already following the guard. "Go ahead. I'll catch up."
The guard bowed slightly and opened the door. The frosted glass slid shut behind them.
That was it. No raised voices. No urgency. No reason to think twice. "First day?" a woman beside you asked, smiling in understanding.
"Is it that obvious?"
She laughed. "My profile glitched too when I started. Different system than most research facilities."
"Oh." That made sense. Or at least it sounded like it did.
Dr. Sato clasped her hands together. "Verification is usually very quick, so while we finish processing Dr. Voss, I'd like everyone else to continue introducing yourselves."
The group dispersed. Conversations picked back up as though nothing had happened. Someone asked where you'd completed your doctorate. Another researcher complimented one of Elena Cross's publications. You answered automatically, smiling at the right moments—but every few minutes your attention drifted back to the frosted door.
Nothing. No shadows. No movement. Just white glass.
You weren't worried. Why would you be? If anything, you felt a little embarrassed that your eyes kept wandering over.
The door finally slid open. Bakugou stepped out, adjusting the cuff of his blazer as though he'd done nothing more than sign a form. Same composed expression. He looked normal.
"There he is," Kirishima said, grinning. "Told you it'd be quick."
Bakugou tucked his badge beneath his lapel. "They had to resync my profile."
"And?"
"It's fixed."
"See?" Kirishima nudged your shoulder. "Nothing to worry about."
"I wasn't worried." Not really.
Still—as the three of you fell back into step behind Dr. Sato, something felt different. You couldn't explain what. Maybe the interruption had just broken your rhythm. Maybe you were overthinking it.
You reached over absentmindedly, brushing at the sleeve of his lab coat. "There was a—"
Before your fingers touched the fabric, he stepped aside. "I've got it."
You stopped. "Oh."
He glanced down at his sleeve, brushed away an invisible speck of lint, and looked back at you. "What?"
"Nothing." A smile, awkward. "I thought there was something on your jacket."
He looked down again. "There isn't."
"Guess not."
Kirishima laughed softly. "Looks like Adrian Voss is taking this thing a little too seriously."
A quiet huff from Bakugou. "Maybe."
The conversation moved on. So did you. By the time Dr. Sato led the group through the next set of glass doors, you'd already convinced yourself you'd imagined the whole thing.
He was just staying in character. That had to be it.
Because if something had been wrong, you would've noticed.
Right?
Every morning for two weeks went the same way.
At exactly seven-thirty, the shuttle arrived outside the hotel, carrying the same group of researchers through Apex's towering gates while conversations floated effortlessly between them—grant approvals, experimental data, quirk-cell degradation rates, and the kind of scientific jargon you had spent the last twenty-four hours before the mission desperately forcing yourself to memorize.
At first, pretending to be Dr. Elena Cross had felt like wearing someone else's clothes. Everything was too stiff, too unfamiliar. Every answer had to be carefully chosen, every mannerism rehearsed, every conversation approached like a test you couldn't afford to fail.
But somewhere between reviewing tissue samples, sitting through department meetings, and casually discussing research theories over lunch, the act started to fade into something easier.
But enough that sometimes you forgot you were supposed to be pretending.
The three of you had been placed in different departments that would sometimes overlap, to avoid suspicion, which meant most of your days were spent apart. Your assigned lab focused on quirk-cell analysis, where you spent hours documenting the effects of artificially damaged cells and studying recovery patterns beneath researchers who treated you less like an undercover operative and more like another scientist who belonged there.
Kirishima was stationed one floor above you in the structural analysis department, where his cover as a researcher specializing in protein reconstruction gave him access to different areas of the facility. You usually only saw him between experiments or during brief moments in the cafeteria when he would find some excuse to sit beside you, offering you a tired smile and quietly asking how your day had gone.
Bakugou, unfortunately, was the hardest one to keep track of.
His cover placed him in Apex's pharmaceutical division, a section of the facility that dealt with developing and testing new compounds before they were transferred into restricted areas that most employees never even heard about. It meant you could go hours without seeing him, only catching glimpses of him in passing—walking through another hallway, leaving a meeting, or appearing at the hotel later that evening with the same unreadable expression he always wore.
Every night, the three of you regrouped in one of your rooms with food from the cafeteria spread across the table, comparing notes that would never see the light of day until you were safely back home.
Kirishima usually tried to keep the conversation from becoming too overwhelming, reminding everyone that gathering information was the goal, not uncovering the entire operation in one night.
Bakugou usually disagreed.
"There’s something missing," he would say, staring down at the documents scattered across the table.
You'd look over your own notes, then back at him. "You say that every night."
"Because every night there's something missing."
And maybe that was what bothered you most.
The researchers were kind. The facility was impressive. The work itself was fascinating enough that, if you ignored the reason you were there, you could almost understand why someone would dedicate their entire life to studying it. Even the security measures that had seemed excessive on the first day slowly became part of the routine.
Everyone accepted them because everyone here had a reason to believe they belonged.
Everyone except Bakugou.
He never walked through a hallway without glancing at the cameras above him. Never entered a room without noticing every exit. Never accepted an explanation without picking apart every detail afterward.
If a researcher casually mentioned a restricted wing, he remembered the name.
If a security guard changed shifts earlier than usual, he noticed.
If a delivery shipment arrived five minutes later than scheduled...
He noticed that too.
"You're going to stress yourself into a medical emergency," Kirishima joked one night while you sat around the hotel room, surrounded by half-finished coffee cups and mission notes.
Bakugou didn't even look up from the map he was drawing.
"Not until I figure out what they're hiding."
You had rolled your eyes at the time.
You had even laughed a little.
Because that was just Bakugou. Always pushing. Always searching for something nobody else could see.
Except... There were moments.
Small ones.
Things you tried not to think about because thinking about them meant admitting something was most likely wrong.
Like the way Bakugou asked you to repeat information you'd already explained earlier that day.
A hallway number.
A security schedule.
A meeting location.
Things he normally remembered after hearing them once.
Or the way he'd sometimes pause before answering a question, just for a second too long, like he was trying to find the answer instead of already knowing it. Once, you watched him stop halfway through writing something on one of the facility maps, his pen hovering above the paper while he stared at the markings like they belonged to someone else.
When you asked if he was okay, he immediately snapped at you.
"I'm fine."
And because it was Bakugou, you believed him.
Mostly.
You told yourself it was stress. Four weeks undercover would wear anyone down. Constantly pretending, constantly watching your words, constantly remembering an entire identity that wasn't yours...
Eventually, something had to slip. That was normal. That was all it was. Except every time Bakugou forgot something, it was never the mission. Never his cover. Never Dr. Adrian Voss. Never the carefully constructed identity he had spent days memorizing.
It was only the pieces that mattered most. The pieces that were real.
And every time it happened, your mind went back to the first day.
The frosted glass door.
The security guard's easy smile. The employee profile that refused to finish synchronizing. The strange pause before Apex finally approved your access.
You kept telling yourself you were imagining patterns where there weren't any. Because the alternative was impossible.
You didn't even know if Bakugou realized anything was missing.
‘//
Apex had a way of making everything feel normal. The security checkpoints that had seemed excessive on your first day became little more than another stop between the front gate and your laboratory. Badge. Retinal scan. Smile. Good morning, Dr. Cross. Same guards, same greetings, same polished hallways that somehow never smelled like chemicals despite housing some of the most advanced laboratories in the world.
It was easy to forget why you were there.
Almost.
Every evening, the three of you met back at the hotel, spreading notebooks and hastily scribbled observations across whichever room had the least clutter. Some nights you chased theories until well past midnight, trying to connect fragments that never quite fit together—restricted laboratories, researchers whose names never appeared on any employee directory, and supply deliveries that arrived long after the buildings had officially closed.
It was enough to know something was wrong. Not enough to prove it.
"Katsuki?"
You looked up from the map spread across the hotel desk. Bakugou didn't answer, still hunched over a notebook, pen moving steadily as he copied the campus layout from memory.
Kirishima tried again. "...Kats?"
Still nothing.
It wasn't unusual for Bakugou to tune people out when he was concentrating, so neither of you thought much of it until Kirishima reached across the table and nudged his elbow.
Bakugou's head snapped up, looking a bit disgusted by the touch. "What?"
"You deaf or something?" Kirishima laughed. "I've been calling you for like thirty seconds."
A crease formed between Bakugou's brows. "...You were talking to me?"
"Yeah."
"No."
Kirishima blinked. "I said your name."
Silence. Bakugou stared at him a beat too long.
Then—"Oh." His expression smoothed over. "I thought you were talking to someone else."
The room fell strangely quiet.
It was such a small thing. So insignificant. You were the first to laugh.
"Wow," you said, leaning back in your chair. "The Number Five Hero finally losing his hearing?"
Bakugou snorted. "Shut up."
"There he is," Kirishima teased. "I was getting worried."
The next morning, you told yourself you'd imagined it. People got distracted, especially after ten hours of pretending to be someone else.
That had to be all it was.
...Didn't it?
The afternoon passed slower than most.
Dr. Nakamura had assigned your team to document cellular recovery over an extended regeneration cycle—mostly staring through a microscope, recording minute changes every fifteen minutes. Not difficult work, only repetitive, leaving your mind plenty of time to wander.
Twice you caught yourself looking toward the clock.
Three more hours. Then the shuttle. Then the hotel. Then another evening spent trying to piece together a puzzle that still had too many missing pieces.
"...Dr. Cross?"
You blinked, realizing Dr. Nakamura was looking at you expectantly.
"My apologies." You straightened in your chair.
"I asked if you could bring these samples to pharmaceutical research before you leave." He slid a small insulated container across the counter. "They're expecting them."
"Of course." You accepted the container, glancing at the label.
PHARMACEUTICAL RESEARCH — BUILDING C
Bakugou's building.
Building C was somehow even quieter than the rest of Apex. The laboratories sat behind long stretches of glass, researchers moving silently between workstations while robotic arms transferred vials with mechanical precision. Everything felt ordered. Deliberate. Even the air smelled different — less disinfectant, more sterile plastic.
You approached the reception desk. "Excuse me. I have a delivery for Dr. Voss's department."
The receptionist smiled. "You must be Dr. Cross." She picked up the phone. "I'll let them know you're here."
A minute later, the elevator doors slid open. Bakugou stepped out—or you guess Adrian Voss did. You still weren't used to seeing him in the white pharmaceutical coat instead of your division's. His sleeves were rolled neatly to his forearms, a clipboard tucked beneath one arm, his visitor badge swaying against his chest. He looked professional. Comfortable. Like he'd worked here for years.
He spotted you immediately. "Dr. Cross."
You smiled despite yourself. "You're really committing to the bit, huh?"
He frowned. "...What?"
"You know." You lowered your voice. "We're alone."
For a second, he simply looked at you. Then he glanced around the lobby. "...We're still on campus."
Your smile faltered. "I know."
"So?"
"So..." You laughed awkwardly. "You don't have to call me Dr. Cross."
His brow furrowed. "I don't understand."
The words came so matter-of-factly they stole the humor right out of the room.
"...Katsuki."
Nothing. Not even the faintest flicker.
"...Who's Katsuki?"
Your heart stopped. Just for a second.
Then his expression shifted—almost imperceptibly. He blinked once, twice. "Oh.” A quiet scoff. "Very funny."
Your stomach loosened. "You scared me."
He took the container from your hands. "Thought you were testing me. Seeing if I'd break character."
"...No."
He nodded once. "Good." Then, almost as an afterthought, "Thanks for bringing these over."
He turned toward the elevator. You watched him go.
Something about that had sat wrong. You couldn't explain why. The pause had been too long. Not theatrical. Not teasing.
Long enough that, for one terrifying heartbeat, he hadn't known his own name.
///
That evening, the three of you met in Kirishima's room. Maps, notebooks, and cafeteria containers were already scattered across the coffee table by the time you arrived. Kirishima was halfway through recounting a conversation he'd overheard in the protein analysis lab when you interrupted him.
"...Can I ask you guys something?"
Both of them looked up.
"What?" Kirishima asked.
You hesitated. "It might sound stupid."
Bakugou leaned back in his chair. "Then spit it out."
"Earlier today, I called you, Katsuki." You swallowed. "You didn't answer."
His expression stayed blank. "I was working."
"No. I mean—you looked at me like you'd never heard that name before."
Silence. Kirishima's smile faded slightly.
Bakugou frowned. "...You're imagining things."
"I don't think I am."
"I would've remembered."
"Would you?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.
The room went quiet. Bakugou stared at you for several long seconds.
"...I've been pretending to be Adrian Voss for nearly two weeks." He folded his arms. "If my first instinct is to respond to that name while I'm on campus, that means I'm doing my job."
It was a perfectly logical explanation. One you couldn't argue with.
Kirishima nodded slowly. "I mean... it makes sense."
You looked down at the notebook in your lap. "...Yeah."
Maybe it did. Maybe you really were overthinking it.
Across the room, Bakugou reached for his drink. For just the briefest moment, he hesitated—as though trying to remember which can belonged to him. Then he picked one up. The wrong one. He took a sip and immediately grimaced.
"...This isn't mine."
Kirishima laughed. "Dude. That's mine."
Bakugou blinked. "...Right." He handed it over.
Nobody said anything.
But this time, you noticed Kirishima looking at him—and for the first time since arriving at Apex, there wasn't amusement in his expression. There was concern.
However, it wasn’t until the end of the second week where things took the case for the worse.
It was around 9pm, and by the time you left your laboratory, the steady hum of conversation that normally echoed through Apex had dwindled to distant footsteps and the occasional chime of an elevator arriving somewhere deeper in the building.
Most of the researchers had already returned to the shuttle. You'd stayed behind to finish organizing one last set of observations, promising Kirishima you'd meet him outside in five minutes.
Five minutes. That was nearly ten minutes ago.
You adjusted the strap of your satchel higher on your shoulder and quickened your pace down the immaculate hallway. Overhead lights reflected off polished white floors, their sterile glow stretching endlessly ahead as one identical corridor bled into the next.
Everything about Apex was designed to feel open. Comfortable. Safe.
Yet the emptier it became, the more oppressive it felt.
Your footsteps echoed. Once. Twice. Three times. Too loud.
Had the air conditioning always been this cold? A strange shiver crawled across your arms. You rubbed at your sleeve and kept walking.
The nearest elevator sat at the end of the corridor, its brushed steel doors reflecting your approaching silhouette. Just a little farther. You reached for the call button.
Click. Nothing.
You pressed it again.
Before the button could illuminate, the lights died. Not flickered. Not dimmed. Gone. Complete darkness swallowed the corridor so suddenly your body froze before your mind caught up.
"...Hello?"
Then, pressure. It settled over you without warning, not against your skin but inside your chest. Your lungs expanded instinctively. Nothing. Your breath caught halfway. You tried again. Air refused to come.
Panic flared. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears as you staggered backward, one hand flying to the wall for balance.
Breathe.
Nothing. Your vision blurred at the edges. The hallway seemed longer — the white walls stretching impossibly far in both directions, darkness bending them into shapes that couldn't exist. The silence became unbearable. No footsteps. No voices. No ventilation. Nothing.
Your fingers tightened against the wall until your knuckles ached.
Move.
Your body wouldn't listen. Time slowed, painfully, every heartbeat separated by minutes instead of seconds. You couldn't even tell if your eyes were still open.
Then—a sound. Deep. Somewhere beneath your feet. Not loud, a low mechanical groan that vibrated through the soles of your shoes before vanishing as quickly as it came.
The floor shook. Barely. Just enough that you questioned whether you'd imagined it.
Another heartbeat. Another impossible attempt to breathe.
Then—thunk. Emergency power surged to life. Soft red light flooded the corridor. Air rushed violently back into your lungs. You doubled over, coughing as oxygen hit your chest so suddenly it hurt.
"What... the hell..."
The building hummed back to life around you. Ventilation resumed. Somewhere in the distance an alarm chimed once, then fell silent.
Emergency systems. Nothing more.
Your breathing slowly steadied. Probably just a power outage. You swallowed hard, trying to convince yourself that was all it had been. People had panic attacks. People got lightheaded. You'd skipped lunch. That was all. It had to be.
A metallic ding pulled your attention toward the elevator. The display above the doors blinked erratically as the system rebooted.
The numbers descended one by one before disappearing altogether. You watched absently, waiting for the lobby indicator.
Instead, a new light appeared.
B1
You frowned. "...What?"
The display continued.
B2
Another soft chime.
B3
Your pulse quickened. There weren't any basement levels. You'd studied the campus maps dozens of times. There was no—
B4
The elevator itself hadn't moved. Only the display. As though the system were remembering something it wasn't supposed to show.
Then, one final light.
B5
Silence. Every hair on the back of your neck stood up. The doors stayed closed. No one stepped out. No one stepped in. The numbers lingered for one long, impossible second.
Then the panel blinked. Everything vanished. The display reset.
L1
The elevator doors slid open with their usual cheerful chime. Empty. As if nothing had happened.
You stared, heart still hammering against your ribs.
Five basement floors. Five. Hidden beneath a campus whose official blueprints insisted they didn't exist.
"...Y/N?"
Kirishima's voice echoed faintly down the corridor. You turned so fast your bag slipped off your shoulder.
"There you are!" He jogged toward you, slightly out of breath. "I was about to come looking for you."
You looked back at the elevator. The display still read L1. Nothing else.
"...Y/N?" Kirishima slowed, his smile fading. "...You okay?"
You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.
Because for the first time since arriving at Apex, you weren't thinking about the mission. Or the drug. Or the scientists.
You were thinking about the feeling — that crushing, impossible pressure that had stolen the air from your lungs.
"Kirishima."
Your voice came out sharper than you intended. He stopped beside you, immediately following your line of sight toward the elevator.
"What happened?"
You swallowed hard. "...There are basement floors."
He frowned. "What?"
"The elevator." You pointed at the display. It quietly read L1. "It showed five underground levels."
"...Y/N."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
"No, you don't understand." You grabbed his wrist, pulling him closer. "It wasn't just B1. There were five of them. B1. B2. B3. B4. B5. I saw all of them."
Kirishima's expression shifted from confusion to concern. "...Could it have been a maintenance reset?"
"It wasn't. I know what I saw."
He opened his mouth to answer—
"...What's going on?"
Both of you turned. Bakugou walked toward you from the opposite end of the corridor, one hand tucked into the pocket of his lab coat, the other adjusting the strap of his satchel.
Relief flooded through you. "Katsuki."
He stopped a few feet away. "...Who?"
The word barely registered. You blinked. "What?"
His brows knit together. "I'm sorry... who's Katsuki?"
Silence.
You laughed—a nervous, confused little laugh. "Okay. Very funny."
No one else laughed. Bakugou's expression didn't change.
"...I'm afraid I don't understand."
Your smile faltered. "...Stop."
"I don't know anyone named Katsuki."
The hallway suddenly felt colder.
"Kats," Kirishima stepped forward. "...Cut it out."
Bakugou looked at him, then smiled politely. "I'm sorry. I think you've mistaken me for someone else."
Something in your chest tightened. "Katsuki..." You took another step. "...It's us."
His crimson eyes met yours. Empty. Not emotionless — just unfamiliar. The way you'd look at a stranger asking for directions.
"I'm Dr. Adrian Voss. I work in pharmaceutical research." He glanced politely between the two of you. "Have we met before?"
Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs. "...What are you talking about? You know exactly who we are."
His forehead creased. "I don't believe we've been introduced."
The words were so sincere, so utterly genuine, that they hurt more than if he'd shouted.
"Dude. Enough." Kirishima reached him first, his hand coming up to touch him on his shoulder.
Bakugou looked down at the hand, then backed up. A flicker of discomfort crossed his face. "...Please don't touch me."
Kirishima froze. "...Kats."
"I'm sorry. I understand there's been some misunderstanding, but I really should be heading back to the hotel."
The hotel. He remembered the hotel.
Your heart leapt. "Katsuki. You remember the hotel."
"Of course." Relief. Tiny. Fragile.
Then—"My colleagues are probably waiting for me."
Colleagues. Not teammates. Not friends.
"...Your colleagues?"
He nodded. "The other visiting researchers." He looked at Kirishima. "...Marcus." His eyes settled on you. A polite smile. "...Dr. Cross."
No. No, no, no.
He didn't know your name. Not really. He knew Elena Cross. Nothing else.
The blood drained from your face. Kirishima finally understood—you watched it happen, the exact moment realization crashed into him.
"...Katsuki." His voice cracked. "...Tell me my last name."
Bakugou blinked. "...Reed."
"No." Kirishima stepped closer. "My real one."
Silence. A long, terrible silence.
Bakugou searched his face—you could see him actually trying, trying to remember, trying to understand why they were asking. Nothing came.
Finally, he shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't think we've met before arriving at Apex."
The words shattered the last thread of hope. You couldn't breathe.
The pressure from earlier—the suffocating heaviness in that hallway—suddenly made terrifying sense. Whatever had happened during that blackout, whatever Apex had hidden beneath those floors, it wasn't just the building. It wasn't just the elevators. It wasn't just the security checks.
It had already reached him.
And the man standing in front of you, wearing Katsuki Bakugou's face, no longer knew who Katsuki Bakugou was.
Idk, guys, things are getting a little scary.... but Eji is there for you! Right...?
Hehe, thank you so much for reading this! I know I've been doing only writing, but I promise the texting will come back!
If you'd like to join the tag list, the link is in my pinned post!
I had these chapters stockpiled for a while, but I edited them, and now I'm sending them your way! I'm glad the suggestion someone left made me realize I could use these because I genuinely had no idea how I would have gotten this all out through text only.
a/n: i havent wrote something for mha since april😟 very sorry abt thatt also check out my thorne (link in my pinned post)
nsfw, mdni !!
Izuku gets flustered easily but can't stop staring at your chest. He loves how soft and full boobs look, especially when they're hugged tight by a shirt. Watching them bounce a little when you move makes his face heat up, and he imagines squeezing them gently while kissing you.
Katsuki is all about your thick, round ass. He likes grabbing it hard during makeouts, pulling you back against him so he can feel every curve. The way it jiggles when he slaps it or fucks you from behind is what really gets him going.
Shoto has a quiet obsession with your thighs. He loves the smooth, strong feel of them wrapped around his waist or head. Running his hands up and down those legs while he buries his face between them turns him on fast, especially when they squeeze tight.
Denki can't pick just one, but boobs win out for him. He loves how they look spilling out of a low-cut top, and he gets excited imagining sucking on nipples while his hands roam. The softness under his palms drives him wild during foreplay.
Eijiro is into your nice, firm ass. He appreciates the strength and shape, especially when he's lifting you up or pounding into you. Gripping those cheeks while he thrusts deep makes him feel manly and turned on.
Sero leans toward your thighs too. He likes how they look leading up to your ass, and he enjoys tracing his fingers along the inner parts. Wrapping his tape around them lightly during play or feeling them press against his sides when you're on top really excites him.
sighh the only reason i havent posted in a while is because i have 0 post ideas😓
I have a deep need for a beefy Tenya Iida oh my goshhhh
After a few years of being a pro hero Tenya starts to relax more and he ends up gaining a little bit of weight. And he just looks so good.
If you thought he was big before you should see him now. His body is thick and broad and so sexy. You love when he lays down on top of you and completely covers you and crushes you under his weight. It feels like a cuddly and squishy blanket.
Not to mention how it makes all of his muscles look even bigger, yes they are not as defined but he seems to be a lot stronger. Tenya can most definitely pick you up and hold you in one arm. And it makes your heart flutter to see something so strong and powerful handle you with such care.
Even if he is roughhousing you a little, like throwing you onto the bed, every move is calculated to keep his precious girl safe.
cw: noncon/dubcon, somnophilia, captivity/kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, emotional manipulation, rough sex, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), minor choking, creampie, pls lmk if i missed anything!
pt 1. pt 2.
love.
aizawa proves he loves you.
Shouta did not think himself a bad man. He wouldn’t describe himself as good either, but maybe somewhere in the middle - as most people are.
Despite his honorable work as a hero, he knew he had faults - quick to anger in some aspects, too lenient in others. He could be rude and dry and sometimes violent. But, overall, he did not feel he was bad.
Not even now, as he crept into your room in the dead of night, lock clicking with a soft finality. He did not think he was evil, not even when he leaned over your sleeping form, clad in nothing but his t-shirt and a soft pair of panties. He wasn’t out of his mind when he brushed his fingers over the small bow above your pussy. He wasn’t insane, like you often said he was. Shouta was in love.
So in love, in fact, that he knew what you needed. What you craved, even when you were too scared to admit it. He wasn’t blind to the way you’d slowly let him in over the months, how you went from clawing at him to clutching his shirt when a nightmare hit. He could see the way you looked at him when he came back from patrol - your eyes lidded as you watched him unwind. Your body wanted him, even if your brain didn’t want to accept it yet.
It didn’t matter what you thought while you were awake though, not with the way you’d been crying out all night. Not in the way you usually did over the past couple months - with tears and fear - but instead, his name. Whimpers and moans and his name, over and over again.
An obvious sign you needed him. And who was Shouta to deny his darling what she needed?
He slowly crawled into bed, arms braced on either side of you. His hair fell, creating a curtain around your faces as he whispered a kiss over your lips. One hand moved - slowly tracing its way from your shoulder, down to your waist, to your hip, stopping to feel the fabric of your panties. He knew what pairs you had, of course, but feeling them was a whole different thing.
His thumb hooked the outer leg, pulling them up, up, up just to let it snap back down into your skin. You jerked softly, scrunching your nose but staying asleep. He pressed his lips to your neck, ghosting over the veins as he worked his way down to your collarbone. Your - his - shirt was gently pushed up and over your chest, nipples perking up in the cool air. So pretty. Always so pretty, even when you’re being stubborn.
He shifted lower, broad shoulders settling between your thighs as he eased your legs apart with careful hands. The soft cotton of your panties was peeled down your hips and off one ankle, leaving you bare to the cool night air and his hungry gaze. A low, appreciative hum rumbled in his chest at the sight of you already glistening - your body honest even while your mind fought.
Shouta pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another higher up, until his breath ghosted directly over your folds. He dragged the flat of his tongue along your slit in one long, deliberate stroke, tasting the slick evidence of your dream. The flavor of you made his cock twitch hard against the mattress. He did it again, firmer this time, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue before sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth with gentle, rhythmic pressure.
Your hips twitched involuntarily. A soft, sleepy whimper escaped your lips as he licked deeper, lapping at your entrance and pushing his tongue inside you in slow, wet thrusts. One large hand slid under your ass, tilting your hips up so he could bury his face more fully between your legs. His stubble scraped lightly against your inner thighs while he devoured you - slow, thorough, and utterly focused. Every moan you let out in your sleep, every unconscious roll of your hips, he answered with more pressure, more heat, sucking and licking until your thighs began to tremble around his head.
He could feel you getting wetter, your walls fluttering against his tongue as he worked you open. Two thick fingers replaced his mouth for a moment, sliding into your soaked heat with ease while he flicked his tongue rapidly over your swollen clit. The obscene, wet sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the quiet room, mixing with your growing whimpers.
Your eyes fluttered open just as the pleasure crested sharply, dragging you from sleep into gasping awareness.
“Shouta!” Your hands shot out to push him away.
He pulled his head back but didn’t move - not even with you shoving on his shoulders - hushing you as he pressed another wet kiss to your inner thigh, “You were crying out for me.”
“That doesn’t matter! I was asleep!” You jerked your legs, trying to break free, but his grip around your thighs was iron tight.
He ignored your protests, eyes trained on your open sex, “What were you dreaming about?” He flicked his gaze up to you, “Only took one touch to get you to leak for me.”
Your whole body was tense - a live wire. You could feel your walls flutter with every exhale he let out, breath fanning over the wet folds.
You stilled, no longer fighting - but not relaxing either, “None of your business.” Your voice was as strong as you could muster - weak and breathless even still.
The corner of his mouth twitched, “Everything involving you is my business.” His right hand moved to trace the soft skin between your leg and your sex. You felt your body twitch.
“This is- You can't-" you whimpered, pushing back on his chest with your free foot.
He caught your ankle with ease, wrapping both legs around his waist as he stretched to hover over you. Your hands pushed against his chest as he leaned into your neck, “Why are you being so stubborn, love? I know you feel it, too. You’re only punishing yourself.”
Part of you knew he was right. You did want him. In some weird, twisted way, you were starting to let him in. You craved the warmth of his body pressed to yours when the nightmares were particularly bad, or the way he gently brushed your hair for you every morning. He was never violent with you, always gentle, patient, understanding. He let you attack him, threaten him, spit in his face. And he was still here, broad and intimidating above you, the heavy weight of his hardening dick resting against your skin - almost scalding you through his sweatpants.
A horrible, sickening realization spread through your veins.
He hadn’t touched himself yet. Hadn’t tried to get inside you, just… elevated what was already happening in your mind. Someone who didn’t care about you wouldn’t do that. They would take and take and take, and yes - Shouta took you from your life, but he hadn’t left you with nothing. You had a soft bed, homemade meals, access to a TV. You had him. And right now, he was warm and hot and intense, breathing into your skin as his arms caged you in.
Your whole body shook - whether it was from fear or desire, you could no longer tell. You knew he was telling the truth, that you were calling out for him. Somewhere along the line he had turned from your captor into something… softer. Easier to love.
You were snapped out of your thoughts with a gasp as he ran his fingertips over your folds. He gathered up the growing slick, spreading you open slightly. His voice was nothing but a brush of lips against your jaw, “Talk to me, darling. Tell me to leave with your words if that’s what you want.”
“I…” You couldn’t. You didn’t want him to leave, not really. You wanted him to be normal. To be someone you ran into at a cafe, or a bystander that caught his eye. You wanted to be able to love him. But here, in this place, love would be an admission of defeat. An acceptance of the cards you’d been dealt. You didn’t want that, either.
You didn’t tell him to leave. But, you also didn’t push him away anymore. Letting your hands twist into his shirt slightly, you spoke with a whimper, “What are you gonna do?”
“What did you dream about?” He repeated himself, raising his head to look you in the eye as two fingers circled around your entrance.
You turned your head away from his gaze, too nervous, too scared, too overwhelmed to look him in the eye. A soft ‘You.’ was all that came out. His head fell back to the crook of your neck.
“Me…” He breathed, humming against your throat - the vibrations bleeding from his chest to yours. “What was I doing?” His hand still continued its path around your hole, soft squelches sounding in time with his movements.
You squeezed your eyes shut. Your brain was screaming, fighting for you to shove him off, tell him to leave, bang your fists into him until he gave up. You did none of those things.
“You… You had me, um,” You cut yourself off with a gasp as one finger pressed against the rim of muscle he was teasing. “I- I was…”
He pushed one knuckle in. You squeezed your fists tighter into his shirt.
“It was like this,” Your voice dropped to a whisper, face still turned away from his. Shame curled its fingers around you, amplifying everything bad about this. The chain around your ankle clanked softly.
He hummed again, right against your pulse point - where he had left more than a few marks by now. “Like this, how?” He punctuated his sentence with another knuckle, lips tilting up as you fought the roll of your hips.
You kept your head firmly turned away, eyes still closed. You swallowed heavily, words stuck in your throat. You’d already admitted to too much. Had already been defeated.
“Was I gentle?” His stubble scratched softly against your skin. “Or maybe…” He pulled his finger out. “A bit rougher?”
You felt him press three fingertips to your hole, “W-Wait-!” You squirmed, hands flattening against his chest to push him away.
He did. He waited, pulling his hand back enough to ghost over your clit, lips still pressed into you - kissing softly. His other arm was wrapped firmly around you, pulling your chest into his. It forced your arms to wrap around his neck instead.
You felt sick. You felt loved. You felt disgusted that you felt loved and that made you sick all over again. You knew very well he could take what he wanted right now - tie your hands up and cover your mouth and take, but he wasn’t. He was waiting. For you.
“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured into your ear. His fingers stopped moving to grip the meat of your thigh, as if he was grounding himself. You could still feel his thick cock through his sweats on your leg, pulsating in time with his heartbeat against your chest.
“What do you need, love?” His tone was gentle, breath tickling your skin.
You couldn’t speak. The weight of the loneliness you’d been feeling pressed down on your chest, far heavier than the man above you. Slowly, like you were scared you would startle yourself, you turned your head into his. Pressed your chapped lips to surprisingly soft ones. It wasn’t a kiss, not really - neither of you moved. He was waiting for you, like he always did. You were fighting an internal war.
He sighed softly into your mouth as his grip on you tightened. You could feel the heat of him through his shirt against your bare chest. It felt nice. Your body was reacting to him - the way your hole clenched around nothing, craving him - and it made your head spin.
His tongue flicked out, testing the waters, moving his lips ever so slightly. Your heart jumped - in the good way. It was nauseating.
You kissed him back anyways, through tears brimming in your eyes, stubble scratching your face lightly. Lust and fear and love and hate all swirled through your veins until it created a muddy mess in your heart.
You were never going home. You knew that. You’d known it from the start, that he was right. It didn’t change what you wanted, though. Didn’t change the fact you had waking dreams of walking through the parks outside, or going out for drinks with friends. None of that would happen again. Life was now marked by periods of soul-crushing loneliness, interspersed by time with the man who kidnapped you.
The fight in you was gone, however. Your mind was breaking, bleeding out into the rug he’d taken from your apartment. He’s inescapable, the little voice in the back of your mind was stronger now. Maybe it won’t be so bad if you give in.
He kissed you deeper, forcing your lips open with his tongue. He tasted like black coffee - bitter and strong. Something in your chest twisted, pulled you further into him.
He backed away long enough to peel his shirt off, before resting his hands on the pushed up hem of the identical one you were wearing, “Arms up, dear.”
You untangled yourself from him, numbly allowing the man to pull your shirt up and over your head. Not that it made a difference in how exposed you were, but it certainly felt vulnerable. The cool air kissed your shoulders, creating goosebumps along your arms that Shouta readily kissed away - left shoulder first, then right. He was even warmer against your skin now - bare stomach brushing against yours. It all made you feel hot, wanted. He’d gone through so much to keep you safe, and you’d repaid it with violence and hatred.
The switch inside you flipped. Your hand flew to his hair, pulling him up and back to your lips. Your stomach twisted with guilt - you were betraying yourself, letting him win.
His mouth claimed yours with a low groan, the kiss turning hungry as your fingers tightened in his hair. It was messy - desperate, tears slipping down your temples and onto the pillow.
You pulled him back slightly, your voice a broken whisper against his mouth, “It was rough… the dream.”
The confession was permission - you both knew it.
He let out a muted groan, kissing you once before pulling back fully, one hand holding your chin steady. His eyes were trained on yours, “Is that what you want?”
It felt ridiculous. He was asking what you wanted, while a chain he bought was secured around your ankle. And yet, even still, something in your chest moved.
You nodded.
His hands found your waist, flipping you over easily. He hiked your hips up until they met his as he kneeled behind you, one hand smoothing down your back - resting in between your shoulder blades. He wasn’t pushing you down - never forceful - but you pressed your face into the mattress anyways.
“Good girl,” his low response was immediate.
His hands left you momentarily as you heard the shuffle of fabric - before landing right back on your hips. His thumbs rubbed small circles into the flesh.
“You understand I love you, right darling?” His voice had taken on a predatory edge - you could feel his gaze on your twitching folds.
“Y-Yes,” you were breathless with anticipation, the edges still wrapped in fear. He lined himself up, the thick tip sending sparks through you as it ran through your slick.
“Good,” he growled. “I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.”
That was all the warning you got before his hips snapped into yours - hard and fast - at a bruising pace. It hurt - the feeling of his cock splitting you open reached all the way to your throat. You cried out, instinctively reaching back to push him away.
He caught your wrist - an unfortunately familiar feeling - and pinned it behind your back. “If you want me to stop you have to say it,” he growled into the charged air, hips never slowing. His other hand pulled your hips back into him with every thrust.
You could have - should have told him to stop. Every nerve in your body was on fire, every rational part of your brain screaming at you to at least try to escape. Escape him, this room, this new life.
But, what if he was right? You did suffer out there, in the real world. The only strife he’d put you through so far was an initial kidnapping - everything else at your hands - and you did hold him at knife point, to be fair.
Somewhere in between that first night and now, you’d slipped. Let your brain find an attachment in him, good in the bad acts he was committing.
You had practically anything you could want for in this room - besides freedom. How large of a price to pay was that, really?
None of these thoughts you could dwell on for long, not when Shouta’s free hand was wrapping around your throat and squeezing lightly.
“Stop thinking,” his voice was strained as he let go of your wrist to lean over your body.
“Just feel.”
He let go of your neck to push his weight onto you further, pressing you flat into the mattress, legs trapping yours as he pounded into you - arms caging you in. “Is this what you dreamt about?” he snarled in your ear. “You want me to ruin this pretty pussy?”
You whined, forcing your face into the sheets even further. Your voice came out broken, little sounds leaving you with every thrust, “Yes- ah!- Please-”
“That’s my girl,” he rasped into your shoulder, sucking a purple mark into the soft skin.
His thrusts grew even more relentless - the wet, filthy sound of his cock driving into your soaked cunt echoing with every snap of his hips. The new angle crushed your clit against the mattress with each movement, forcing sharp, overwhelming bursts of pleasure through your already sensitive body. You were a mess - drooling into the sheets, tears streaming, body trembling as your orgasm built dangerously fast under his brutal pace.
Shouta’s hand slid back around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin while his other arm hooked under your chest, pulling you back against him so he could growl filthy praises directly into your ear, “Taking me so fucking well… squeezing my cock like you were made for this. My perfect girl.” He bit back down on your shoulder, hips stuttering as your walls fluttered wildly around him again.
You came hard, a broken sob ripping from your throat as your pussy clamped down on him like a vice, gushing around his length. The intensity left you shaking, barely able to breathe through the overwhelming waves. Shouta cursed low and deep, fucking you through every spasm until his own control finally shattered.
With a guttural moan, he buried himself as deep as possible, flooding your heat with pulse after pulse of hot cum. He ground against you through it, milking every last drop while keeping you pinned beneath him, bodies locked together in the aftermath.
Slowly, the room quieted except for your shared, ragged breathing. He stayed inside you for a long moment, pressing soft, almost apologetic kisses along the fresh mark on your shoulder and the back of your neck. His arms loosened but didn’t release you, holding you close as if you might disappear.
The silence stretched. Tears streaked down your face that he gently kissed away. Eventually, he pulled out and rolled you both over, resting your head down on his chest. His hand traced sonnets into your back.
