on that note….thinking about izuku’s girlfriend who just haaaates bakugou and is happy to let him know. thinking about bakugou who can’t fucking stand deku’s snippy brat of a girlfriend. thinking about poor izuku, stuck in the middle of their constant bickering, until he gets an idea one day…that maybe they’d be better if they just. yk. fucked it out.
you and hitoshi are the most shameless couple in your (and most) friend groups. two cocktails in and he’s got you pinned to the wall of the party, wrists locked in one strong hand above your head while he licks into your mouth, thigh wedged between your legs to give you something to rub on.
soooo you guys talked me into sharing unethical evil sadist shoto so here he is. all credit for this brainworm and building him goes to @ironmoonz thanks for letting me piggyback on your fabulous idea!! read the warnings before you move forward, and that will apply to other continuations of this verse. despite myself…..i love him. and i’m afraid of him. enjoy <3
wc: 1.3k
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Despite your snippy comments to the contrary, there are plenty of times Shoto finds you pretty. Beautiful, even. Maybe he should tell you more.
This is one of those times.
Shoto opens his apartment door already smiling. You’d lasted longer than he’d anticipated, but he’d waited you out, and here’s his reward, already pouting up at him through angry, bitter tears. You’re stunning. It hits him square in the chest– how lovely you look, cheeks already pink and damp, eyes sparkling with something that you want so badly to be hatred. Shoto looks at the desire in your watery eyes and sighs.
“Back already?” The lie comes easily– he can’t have you thinking he was eager for you, but his fingers twitch by his side, aching for the give of your soft body under his strength. He hopes you’re hydrated.
“Fuck you,” you sniffle, pushing past him irritably, as if you hadn’t come of your own free will. Shoto doesn’t love you, but he has things about you he loves. He thinks. This is one of the things that make you so fascinating to him: you are so stubbornly persistent in denying yourself what you crave. It’s almost admirable.
Shoto trails you to the kitchen, admiring the lines of your body. He’s not shy about the way he watches you when the two of you are alone. He likens it to an artist and their preferred medium, but you hate it when he “says it like that”, so he follows the sway of your hips silently. Besides, he wants you to do the talking tonight.
“Did you break up with him?” Shoto asks tepidly as you round the corner into his kitchen, already making a move to dig through his fridge. You emerge with a bottled water, and something with claws stirs behind his ribcage.
“Fuck you,” you say again, but it’s a little sadder this time. His cock twitches. You have a rather nasty habit of this, keeping around the little boyfriends that Shoto lets you entertain even if you’re coming to him to get your fix. He tilts his head, studying you.
“You’re very toxic,” Shoto says mildly, holding his hand out expectantly. Your jaw drops by a fraction, but you bite back whatever snarky comment you were about to make, handing him the bottle anyway. Shoto notes this– you don’t seem in the mood to antagonize him too much. You’re learning. It thrills him.
“We got in a fight.” You don’t meet his eye when you tell him this. Shoto cocks an eyebrow; you don’t often give him any details about the pests you waste your time with when you aren’t staining his sheets.
“Do you…” he thinks for a beat, “want to tell me what it was about?”
You look up at him, surprise plain on your face. “You care?”
No. Shoto doesn’t want you to think he doesn’t care about you– well, he does sometimes. He will admit that he wouldn’t want your feelings hurt by someone so beneath you. You’re too good for anyone to hurt. Anyone else, anyway.
You smile lightly at him, but it’s a mean thing. “Didn’t think so.”
“You usually don’t like to tell me these things,” Shoto says. He’s feeling generous today, elated that you’ve come to your senses at least partially, and he grabs you by the waist, pulls you up to sit on his counter. He thinks while he comes to stand between your spread legs. This is unfamiliar territory for the both of you– you, hurt…emotionally. Coming to him. The realization is unexpectedly pleasant, gluttonously so. Shoto rubs a thumb absentmindedly over the warm skin of your thigh. See? I can be kind.
You eye the slow drag of his finger over your thigh, suspicious, but you sigh.
“We got in a fight about you,” you tell him, the bite returning to your voice when you shoot him a mean little look.
“Me?” Shoto fights the smile that threatens the corner of his mouth. It won’t be a kind one. “Why is that?”
“Because you, you fucking– ugh.” You dig your hands into your eyes, fingers balled into fists. When you look up at him again, it’s accusatory. “You paid for our dinner.”
“You’re welcome.”
You look like you want to slap him, and Shoto so hopes for your own good that you can control yourself.
“That’s fucked up, Sho.” You’re glaring at him. “You can’t do that. We were on a date, that’s like– like cucking him, or something.”
“You were taken care of like you like to be,” Shoto says, feeling dangerous annoyance rising in his chest. “I don’t see why you care who footed the bill.”
You furrow your brow. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m a fucking lapdog.”
Oh, aren’t you though? What a picture you’ve painted in his head: you, coddled and complacent, locked away in his apartment just waiting for him to come home and play with you. Shoto smirks, and you scowl outright at him.
“You’re sick,” you tell him, and he can hear the very real malice behind it. You get so testy with him when the mask slips. Shoto just scoffs.
“Then leave,” he says, tilting his head toward the door that he made sure to lock. Something flashes in your eyes, like panic. His blood sings. “Or, you can thank me for dinner.”
Shoto knows your decision was made the second you left your apartment, but he’s feeling merciful, watching interestedly while you pretend to fight yourself on it. He doesn’t often have patience for you in this way, but he’s missed you. You’ve spent weeks apart now, letting that asshole you’re playing house with drape his arm over you like a cheap coat in front of all of your friends. It had taken every modicum of Shoto’s self-control not to drag you into the bathroom and remind you exactly who you really belong to. He was rather impressed with the restraint he’d displayed.
“What do you want?” He sees the shift in your eyes, probably before you even feel it. That gorgeous, submissive thing that you become for him when you finally stop pretending. The gratification Shoto feels at watching you crumble, bit by bit, makes him lightheaded.
“What do you want?” He lobbies the question back at you, not because you have any control here, but because he likes making you say it.
You waver, eyes flicking toward the door. Shoto’s throat grows thick with the sticky rush of dark arousal that floods him because he’s just remembered that you still don’t know about the new lock he’d installed. The key weighs heavy in his pocket, as his pretty bird eyes the door of her cage. You just don’t know that it doesn’t open anymore.
“I…” you trail off, a fresh wave of tears welling in your eyes. Shoto sighs, thumbs at the wetness and sucks it off his finger while he waits. He knows this part is difficult for you.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to fuck me,” you whimper, shoulders shaking with a small sob. Shoto almost rolls his eyes; you’re always so dramatic.
“And?” Your bottom lip wobbles, threatening more tears. Shoto tsks down at you disapprovingly. This is why he won’t let you go for so long next time; you forget so much of yourself when he loosens the leash. “Go ahead. Say it.”
“I want you to hurt me,” you say, watery and defeated but so hungry all the same. Shoto nearly hisses when the lovely admission reaches him. Your lips to god’s ears.
“Alright,” he agrees softly, tucking a gentle hand under your chin to tilt your face up to him. Now that you’ve conceded, there’s too many things fighting for room in your eyes: self-loathing, lust, shame, hunger, hatred. Shoto leans down, brushes his lips over yours. “Only because you asked so nicely.”
the gaps between verse - katsuki bakugou x izuku midoriya x reader - 18+
Sea salt drying sticky in your hair. Smoke thick enough to taste days after the fire’s out. Blood-stained fingers caressing soft over your cheek. Life’s texture never survives to make it into the song— verses move on, the years wear memory smooth like water over rock. The aoidoi sing only of the heroes, never of the men that are sacrificed to the legends. They won’t remember you, but you’re always here, tucked in the shadow of every verse. You’re the reason they have a song to sing at all.
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lil moodboard for the bkdk x reader iliad retelling ive kept tight under my belt for a few months now…drowning in wips but i cant hold this one too much longer. it’ll be slow rolling, but so so so much fun. can’t wait to see u there 🤍
