we hope you enjoy your stay.
admins - @vagabondings
this is the network blog for the treehouse server - applications closed for now <3
🌸 the server is 18+ and I do ID check
🌸 not everyone who applies will be accepted, it's not a place for self promotion or for cliques, it's a group of introverts who honestly didn't fit in anywhere else
🌸 this blog is for posting all server fics in one place, and to share information about server collabs. you do not have to be part of the server to take part in collabs.
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fics will be tagged by the title, the URL of the poster, and by the character pairing.
aaah they are not!!! im sorry ksdll they'll open again in a few months <3 i really just try not to overwhelm new people by putting them in too big of a group
(I’ll carry you with me, but I don’t have you anymore)
pairing: hawks / takami keigo x reader
length: 2.1k
genre: angst, hurt/no comfort
warnings: break up fic babey, vague talk of addiction but it’s mostly a metaphor, keigo and reader kinda hate each other, even though they love each other (and they leave each other, even though they love each other - sorry <3)
a/n: like always, no real plot, just vibes. listen to cigarettes by noah gundersen when you read this and if you leave feedback or a comment I’ll send you my heart in an express package
You thumbed the cigarette in your hand as you toyed with whether or not to light it. Not that it would’ve helped. Not that it would’ve soothed the burn in your chest. Your heart clenched as the thought of nothing ever settling it fluttered through your mind. But that was the price, you thought, then straightened your chin as you looked out onto the sprawling city and propped your feet up on the balcony rail. That was the toll, and you knew that, because you knew who you were, and you knew who he was.
haitani ran x call girl!reader(+some bonten stuff)
summary: after someone tries to kill you to send a message to ran he takes personal responsibility for your safety. sure he's killed every house plant he's ever had, but this will be easier than that, right?
cw - drugs, smut, guns, murder, praise, degradation, dub!con, reader is a sex worker w a sick brother. ran likes you!!! likes you a lot!! too much probably, probably far too much.
1/3
Haitani Ran cuts through the smokey front lounge of the most expensive brothel in the city like the bow of a ship through waves. Men on couches, with beautiful women sipping drinks, and giggling fill the air, the tinkling music just enough to obscure general conversation.
Still, his general demeanor attracted a fair amount of attention, and of course, the fact that this brothel, like almost every establishment in this part of the city, belonged to him made his presence even more intimidating. Waitresses bow out of the way as he steps to the back, touching the Madam on her upper arm.
“Where is she?” He asks, hands in his pockets.
“Room 914.” She says, looking up at him, concerned. “She’s a good girl, highest earner here, always on time.” Ran nods.
“I’m familiar.” His violet eyes darken. “She’s not in trouble. No one touches my girls and lives to talk shit about it.” The Madam nods, and points him down the hallway. He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he walks through the door to your room, the girl whose john had turned on her when it came time to pay, but it’s not this. He pushes open the door to what was tantamount to your office, the plush pink bed covered in soft pillows, a closet full of lingerie and costumes, and you, sniffing delicately and clutching a stuffed animal to your chest. You gasp at the sight of him, of course you do, he thinks, you know who he is. “F/n?” He tries, and you visibly tremble, the tears in your eyes spilling over.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “Please, please don’t fire me, I don’t have anywhere else to go.” He softens immediately.
“You’re not fired.” He strides over to you and sits down on the bed. “I need to know everything you can tell me about the man who attacked you.” You take a breath, and he notes the black makeup running down your cheeks. He hands you a handkerchief, but you only succeed in smearing it around. “Stop.” He orders, and you freeze, you sweet little thing. He takes your chin with one hand, and carefully wipes the makeup away.
“He was tall, um,” you sniff, “Dark hair, but unstyled, just a mop of it. He had a tattoo of a tiger on his neck.” Ran’s brow furrows. “He said something, something I didn’t understand, about Roppongi? That he knew you.” You wipe your face again, and he notices that you’re struggling to keep one of your eyes open, that it’s clearly bruising. The redness around your neck has begun to fade to purple. “That he was going to kill me, that I was um, a warning shot.” You let out another shaky breath.
“What did you do?” He asks.
“I st-stabbed him, with,” you open one of your palms and hand him the eyebrow styling scissors, soaked in blood. “With these, but he got away.”
“Tough bitch, huh?” Ran says, meaning it as a compliment but what little light was in your eyes dulls further. “C’mere,” he says, attempting comfort, an old, cold muscle, “C’mere, baby, you’re not in trouble. Bonten takes care of their own.” You break down as he pulls you into his lap. “Baby,” he tries again, as you keep crying, wiping your face self consciously. “Baby did you think we were gonna turn you in?” You nod into him, and he gathers you into his chest more tightly. He rubs a soft circle in your shoulder, wishing he still had time to make a point to test out the new girls, like he did in the beginning, so you’d have met before these unfortunate circumstances.
“Thank you.” You whisper. “I do well here, I promise,” He nods.
“You’ll need to take a break,” He says, giving you a little squeeze, “While we find him. Do you have somewhere to go?” Your head snaps up to him, and he sees it in your eyes before you say it.
“Nowhere safe.” He exhales, still absentmindedly rubbing your back.
“You can stay with me,” He offers, without thinking about it. “Of course you’ll keep
working, then.” It takes you a moment to understand.
“Oh, I don’t mind, whatever you want.” You say quickly. “I can follow orders.”
“Of course you can.” He pats your shoulder, grinning. “Get your things.” He stands, “I’ll wait outside.” You nod, and he steps into the hallway, beckoning the woman back over. “She’s going home with me till it’s sorted out. No need to call the police.” His hand flies to the gun he keeps on his hip. “We’ll handle it internally.” She nods.
“Her regulars will be disappointed.”
“Give ‘em a discount,” Ran says, bouncing his leg impatiently. “Princess,” He drawls sarcastically, “I don’t have all day.” You throw the last thing you have into your duffel, the one you use to take your costumes and lingerie home when they need to be laundered.
“Yes, sir,” you say, with all the brightness you can muster, wearing a wool coat over your lingerie and strappy heels. “I’m ready to go.” He offers you his arm and you take it, feeling a little awkward, and self conscious of the way your face must look to passerby.
“My car is out front,” He says, “I’m driving, unfortunately for you. Women hate the way I drive.”
“I’m sure I won’t mind sir.” You say quietly, barely audible over the low jazz and the hum of conversation at the front of the house. It’s raining outside and Ran opens the passenger seat of his Bentley for you, before scooting around the car. He takes a parking ticket off the windshield and tosses it in the gutter before flopping in the front seat. The bruised side of your face aside, you really were quite pretty in the low light, as you tighten your grip on the armrest rather than complaining about the way he runs red lights, and changes lanes sporadically.
“S’not every day I get to sit with someone who I didn’t know was ready to kill for us.” He jokes, filling the silence with words. You nod.
“I um, it was self preservation, I can’t take credit for that.” You shrug. “I don’t know much about um, Bonten?” He glances at you. “It’s just a job for me.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to learn a bit now.” He watches you shiver before making a left turn that pulls a screech from his tires. “So how does a girl like you end up in a place like this?”
“How do you know it’s not for the same reasons most girls end up in places like this?” You quip and he sighs, but takes the bait, revealing how much he’d already noticed about you.
“No track marks,” he says, “And you’re too clear headed to be into uppers, plus anyone with a real rap sheet would have bolted if she thought we’d turn her in, which you did.”
“I like xanax.” You say, crossing your arms and he laughs.
“Of course you do,” he reaches over the seat without looking and flicks your temple. ”Got too much goin’ on in there, huh?” You don’t bother trying to fight him. “Never mind, figured it out.”
“I doubt that.” You say serenely, before tacking on a “Sir.”
“Do you do that with everyone?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder before changing lanes. Your grip on the console gets tighter. “The honorifics?”
“Oh, no.” You shrug. “All the girls learn what the executives like, so that you don’t have to tell us if you decide to come by.” He can’t keep the smile from his face,
“Fuck, I love my life.” He slams on the brakes in front of a huge glass apartment building. “C’mon sweetheart, we’re home.” You reach for the door, and he shakes his head. “I’m a gentleman, please,” you can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic. The rain’s picked up, but he doesn’t jog, a few long strides closing the distance around the car and swinging your door open, offering you his arm again, like some kind of giant regency gentleman. He leads you back to the building, watching you shiver in the lobby, waiting until you’re in the elevator to speak again.
“Don’t you want to know,” he says, examining his own reflection, “What I figured out about you?” You sigh deeply.
“Yes sir.”
“That’s no fun!” He pouts, as you rocket up to the penthouse. “Engage with me.” He watches you performatively straighten, a practiced smile spreading across your face. “Nevermind, no acting with me, only real shit. That’ll be rule number one for staying at my place.” You nod. The doors swing open and he gets to watch the genuine shock as you step into his huge penthouse suite.
“Oh my god,” you look all around, from the wall of windows, to the balcony, you step out of your shoes and walk across the floor mesmerized. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” You feel his hand come to rest on your back.
“Yeah sweetheart,” he says, “Can I get you a drink?” You nod. “And I’ve got a first aid kit for emergencies.” You raise your unbruised eyebrow. “What?”
“I didn’t take you for the caring type.” You muse and his lips twitch downward.
“I have little siblings.” He says, pouring two glasses of whiskey and sitting on the couch. “I’m actually used to it.” He smirks. “So tell daddy where it hurts?” He’s surprised when you let out a shaky, honest breath.
“I’m so,” you take a big gulp of the whiskey, “I’m so scared,” your voice trembles, your hands shake, “I know I’m safe with you, sir, but I’m really afraid.” He can see it now, your eye is bad, it’s going to be swollen shut in the morning.
“C’mere,” he shrugs out of his jacket and opens his arms. You reluctantly move across the couch, still holding your drink, taking a big sip of it before leaning down against his chest. “Was that so hard?” You feel one of his long arms wrap around you.
“I don’t,” you start, “I don’t have a lot of experience asking for what I need.” He chuckles, bringing the drink to his lips.
“You don’t get to be the highest earner at a place like that by prioritizing your own needs.” He says, starting to rub a circle in your shoulder. “You get that by being observant, and versatile.” He rubs his eyes. “Did we poach you from another house? I’m trying to remember how you got hired.”
“You did.” You yawn, ignoring the throbbing of your head, drinking more, “You offered me healthcare.” Ran breaks into a wide smile.
“Subsidized healthcare for whores,” he finishes his drink, “Not even that expensive and suddenly we have the cleanest and the best girls in the city.” You nod. “Not gonna complain about me calling you a whore?” You laugh lightly, feeling the whiskey dull your pain, and warm your body.
“It’s pretty famously acknowledged that men hate listening to women nag. So I never do it when I’m working.” Ran nods slowly, scooting you off him and standing.
“We’ll see about that.” He takes the first aid kit and opens it on the coffee table, you sit up obediently and face him. He takes you in, now that he can look at you in normal light, even bruised and red eyed from crying, you were absolutely stunning. There’s something primordial about your beauty, like it’s not defined from your features, but by something burning inside you. He swallows, ripping open an alcohol swab. “C’mere.” He says and opens his palm, you lean forward, until your chin is resting in his hand. “Fucker nearly bashed your head in.” You don’t respond to that, but he clocks your little gasp of pain when he starts dabbing at the cut by your eyebrow.
“Really,” you mumble, “Didn’t expect you to do this.” It’s true, Ran could have had someone else, anyone else take care of you, he could have dropped you at a hotel, or one of the other brothels, but something, some instinct had him bring you here instead.
“When I was a kid, my brother got into more fights than me.” He explains, “I mean, no one would agree with that, because once Rin was in, I was in, whatever it was. But I got pretty used to patching him up.” A tear leaks out of your left eye, “I’m almost done.”
“Thank you, sir.” You whisper.
“You’ll make it up to me.” He says brightly, before carefully putting a little gauzy band aid over the affected area. “So, we were discussing you.”
“Were we?” You murmur, and then you remember. “Oh you said you’d figured me out.” He nods.
“Daddy issues.” He says, and you raise your good eyebrow, then wince. “Let me make some assumptions, you tell me if I’m wrong.”
“Okay.” You feel Ran’s hands move down your bruised clavicle, and push your jacket off your shoulders.
“I’m checking for swelling,” he murmurs, light touches down your shoulders. “But, you had no strong authority figures as a child.”
“Correct.” You answer.
“Maybe your mom was around, in some capacity, but daddy was always working,” You shrug.
“That’s one way to put it.” He raises his eyebrows and you sigh and continue. “My father worked in finance,”
“Rich little princess, huh?” He says, opening a new alcohol swab to dab at a scrape just below your collarbone from when the attacker dragged you across the rug.
“Apparently.” You say softly. “Till he went to prison, and my mom fell off the wagon.” Ran nods slowly.
“He screw a bunch of well meaning middle class people over or something?” He asks, slipping the strap of your lingerie off your shoulder.
“Something like that.” You inhale sharply as Ran experimentally presses the swab against the scrape, to see if you’ll squirm.
“If I asked you for something,” he says, smoothing some gauze over the cut. “You’d give it to me.”
“Yes sir,” you say, fighting the exhaustion, your head hurts, and your body aches, but you’re working, you remind yourself, it’s a job.
“So if I asked you to tell me the truth about how you were feeling right now, you would?” Your hands fly to your temples, massaging them.
“Everything hurts,” you mumble, “And now I’m exhausted, and a little drunk.” You glance over the shoulder. “Am I on the couch?”
“Nope,” Ran says, glee back in his voice as he closes the first aid kit. “My bed.” he lifts you like a child, cradling you to his chest, “There we are.” You shiver, then snuggle into the warmth of his body as he carries you across the penthouse. He deposits you on the bed carelessly, and you wince, curling into the fetal position with an arm wrapped around your ribs.
“Your ribs might be broken,” Ran muses.
“Why,” you say through gritted teeth, “Did you throw me?”
“Because if you’re not going to tell me what hurts I’m going to find out somehow, now get up you have to brush your teeth.”
“Are you serious?” You lift your head and he chuckles dangerously, enjoying the real pain and anger in your eyes.
“You still work for me.'' He says. “I’m not going to hit you, if I can help it, but it’s in your best interest not to push-” he stops when you don’t seem to be listening, your face screwed up in pain, and the last soft part of his soul tugs at him. “Alright,” he sits on the bed and rubs your forehead. “I’ll have a doctor here first thing this morning, alright,” you take a shaky breath and he sees a tear you're unable to blink away.
“This,” you press your lips together,voice tiny and tight, “This really, really hurts.” He massages his jaw, he’s not sure what he wanted, what possessed him to bring you here, what’s causing this odd protective stirring in his chest. It’s true, this was probably the best choice for Bonten, given that this man would be looking for you and causing trouble if you were anywhere else, but normally that wouldn’t have bothered him enough to open up his personal space to you.
“Why didn’t you tell me your ribs hurt?” He asks, but realizes as soon as he says it, “Oh, you want to get back to work, huh?” You nod, your eyes are screwed shut now. “Whaddya need money for, sweetheart?” He’s back to softly rubbing your forehead.
“Got a brother.” You breathe out slowly, “Sick. He needs the money.” Ran blinks at you in the darkness, withdrawing his hand. You hear him open and close a drawer and then feel something cold press to your cheek.
You open your eyes and he’s ice cold, all mirth and teasing gone from his face. You don’t move, just try to hold his gaze.
“How long have you worked for me?” He says, and you look confused by the question but answer.
“A-about eight months.”
“And where did we poach you from?”
“The silver dragon.” You answer, a slight tremor from your voice, “What did I-”
“Just answer some questions for me.” He says, pressing the gun harder into your cheek. “Did you know the man you stabbed?” You look up at him, eyes wide, “I asked you a fucking question.”
“N-no.” You breathe.
“You think you can show up here, with some sob story about a sick brother and get whatever you want from me, think I’ll let my guard down?” He still sounds calm.
“No, no please,” you plead, “I can prove it, if you look on my phone, I have pictures of us.” He nods.
“Get up.” You choke out a sob as the stabbing pain in your chest bursts forth, but struggle to your feet. He doesn’t help you, or let you lean on him, but he doesn’t push your pace as you struggle to walk back to his couch, barefoot in a silk slip, “Sit.” He says and you do, he keeps the gun to your head while he pulls your phone out of your coat pocket. “Passcode?”
“9965.” You whisper, and a shiver runs up your spine, causing pain to bloom in your chest. He clicks into your phone, it’s depressing, barely any texts, but if he opens your photos it’s true, most of the pictures are of a younger boy with whom you share several features. He looks sickly and thin, and in some of them he’s making faces in a hospital bed, posing with an actor dressed as spiderman. Ran’s heart rate calms a little, but he’s not convinced. He opens your internet history, scrolling through it.
“There’s a lot of porn here,” He muses, and the pressure with which he’s pushing on your head with the gun lessens.
“It’s not like most of my appointments are interested in my pleasure,” you keep your eyes closed, unwilling to witness your own end, “And I have to take care of myself.” He chuckles, but between the porn and occasional shopping link it’s clear you’ve been doing research on childhood illness for at least as long as he can scroll, which is 10 months. It’s a lot of detail and work to put into tricking him, especially when you couldn’t guarantee he’d even look at your phone. He pockets the device.
“This is mine now.” He says, but the only thing you really understand is that he withdraws the gun from your head. You try not to cry in relief, but end up barely biting back the sob, the pain tears at your chest. “Let’s get you washed up,” his touches are soft again, practically carrying you to the bathroom, giving you an extra toothbrush. He puts the gun away in a nightstand. You climb into his bed, scooting under the blanket, it’s a light but warm duvet. You’re making an effort to control your breathing, and you haven’t spoken to him since he took your phone. “Did I scare you?” He says, unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it on a chair.
“Yes, sir.” You whisper, and he notes that the honorifics are back. He takes his rings and earring off, depositing them in a little dish beside his bed. He steps out of his pants, and flicks the light off, the only light coming from the full moon and the city, silver white patterns from his window are painted across his bed. He hooks his thumbs in his briefs and steps out of them, laughing when you avert your eyes from the way his cock hangs heavily between his legs while he grabs a clean pair. “Modest, for a whore.” You don’t respond, shrugging then wincing at what it does to your chest. “I could give you something for the pain?” He offers, and you narrow your eyes. “What?”
“I’m trying to decide if I trust you not to slip me something because you think it’s funny.” He giggles.
“I mean it would be funny, but I’m a gentleman, and if I wanna watch a hot girl trip and lose her shit I coulda grabbed almost anyone else from your place of work on your way out.”
“You’re a gentleman?” You raise your eyebrows, “Did your mother teach you it’s polite to hold young women at gunpoint.” His eyes narrow.
“I think you don’t want to see what it looks like when I get impolite.” He says, and there’s a dark edge to his tone. Your eyes are on his tattoos as he lies down next to you, “Now come here.” You obey, ignoring the ache in your chest as he pulls you next to him. He digs in his drawer and pulls out a pill bottle, “Open,” he says, and you part your lips, sticking your tongue out. He puts a tiny blue pill out and places it on your tongue. It starts to dissolve and you watch him take one too. “Coulda left you there.” he grumbles. “Coulda just let you go home.”
“I know.” You say softly. “I was um, I was teasing you,” He glances down at you, you feel a warmth spreading over your body. “I’m glad,” you follow an impulse, “That you didn’t leave me there.” You take one of his huge hands with both of yours, and his heart flutters uncomfortably.
“So really,” He turns to you. “Not only am I a gentleman but I’m your knight in shining armor.” You sigh deeply, feeling the painkiller work its way through your system. “Say it please.”
“Say what?” You blink up at him dumbly and fuck, his stomach does a back flip. “Sir.” You remember, barely.
“Say I’m,” his head is clouding over, “Say I’m your knight in shining armor,” he needles and you squeeze his hand.
“Y-you saved me.” You mumble. “The knight thing is too cheesy, I can’t do it.”
“Then kiss me.” He demands, and you obey, struggling to prop yourself up. He leans down impatiently, pressing his lips to yours with a desperate hunger, not caring about the little whimper you make at the pain of this position. He only pulls away when you’re breathless. “Heal up.” He says, leaning over and kissing your forehead in an oddly caring and soft way.
“Mhm,” you agree, drifting off to a peaceful sleep, the medicine fogging your mind. Ran watches you for a while, amazed at how quickly you relax even with the drugs. They take longer to hit him, and he laces and unlaces your fingertips, plays with your hair, even presses gently on the bruises on your body, just enough to pull a sleepy whimper from your lips, determined to find your weaknesses before you find his.
You wake before him, nestled against his chest, your head tucked under his chin. You don’t stir, don’t move a muscle, every part of your body aches, from your ribs, to your face, to your neck. Ran’s got a tight grip on you, and he’s snoring softly. His alarm goes off a few minutes later, though and he smacks it with one huge hand, groaning. He sits up and examines you blearily. Overnight your bruises have gotten worse, you’re still pretty, but half your face is fucked, the bruises extend down from your eye to the corner of your jaw, and your neck is dappled with darkness and burst blood vessels. You hum softly and he rubs his eyes.
“I’m gonna shower,” he says, “Our doctor will be here in an hour, and then I’m going to work, and you’re gonna stay here.” You nod. “Don’t get into my shit.” he warns and you shrug. “You can order whatever you want for lunch,” he digs through his wallet and puts a black card on the nightstand.
“Can I have my phone back?”
“No.” He rolls his eyes.
“How will I order, then?” You bury your face back into the pillows and he thinks about it. “I’ll leave you a burner phone.” He opens a drawer and tosses you a blank cell phone. You nearly don’t catch it and he chuckles at you. “Stay put for a sec.” He jogs out of the bedroom, still in only his lavender briefs. He comes back a second later with a few bags, he’s got frozen peas, some frozen ore-ida french fries, and a bag of frozen pineapple. “Ice that shit.” He orders, “Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off,” he eyes you warily. “I’d tie you down but you’re gonna have to use the restroom, huh.” You nod, and he sighs deeply, taking his phone out and putting it to his ear, “Can I get two decent guys up to my penthouse in the next half hour, need them to watch a girl for a day. Tell them it’s a cushy assignment, a chance to ah,” he grins evilly, “Impress me.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes, but he still regards you warily while finishing the phone call. You press the peas to the side of your face and wince at the temperature. Ran puts the phone in the crook of his neck,
“Hold on a second,” he says. “Hey, dummy,” he snaps at you, “Gently.” You nod, and he rolls his eyes, annoyed, “Yeah, I got a girl who’s never put ice on a bruise before to deal with,” he says to the person on the other end of the phone, ignoring you as he slips more pillows behind your back. “Yeah, I told her she was dumb already,” He pats your head with one huge hand, still talking to the other guy as he disappears into the bathroom to shower. You relax against the pillows, curling up into the fetal position with the bag of frozen peas on your face. Ran come back in half an hour later, and you’ve got the pineapple bag on your neck.
“What a good girl,” he coos, condescension dripping from his words, “But you’re missing your ribs, are they swollen?”
“I, I don’t know.” You respond more quietly than he expects. He narrows his violet eyes and comes to your side of the bed, pushing you gently onto your back and removing the pineapple bag. “Sir?” You crane your neck to see what he’s doing as he peels the blanket back and then lifts your dress. You gasp at the sight of your skin, you knew you were injured, but the nebula of bruises and the slight swelling shocks you. Ran seems unphased, pressing lightly on the bruise, just enough to make you whimper.
“They’re not broken.” He murmurs, almost to himself, then remembers you, “But don’t fucking move too much, alright?” He stands, “Jesus.” He digs through his drawer, taking the bottle of pills and leaving one on the nightstand, shoving the bottle into his pocket, “Can’t have ya doin’ anything stupid.”
“Yes, sir,” you chirp, just a slight degree of mocking to your voice. He furrows his eyebrows, but doesn’t admonish you. He leaves shortly after that, in some monstrosity of a pastel suit, and no tie, a thin silver chain visible around his neck. You take the pill, and nearly don’t notice when two men come in, talking loudly.
“He said she’d be sleepin’ but we gotta make sure no one gets in here,” one of them says, “Oi,” You stir, opening your good eye. “Mr. Haitani said you should be icin’ your shit.” You sit up and turn to face them, hearing their collective intake of breath at your face.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” They’re both tall, broad and tattooed, one blonde, one dark haired. “You alright?”
“No,” you almost whine, “Where’s the doctor?”
“Runnin’ late.” One of them takes the iced food away and brings something else from Ran’s freezer. You hold it to your face as a tear leaks from your eye. Neither of the men talk much, which is fine, with the pill you’re drifting in and out of consciousness. You wake a few hours later, and an extremely hurried doctor pronounces you injured, hairline fractures on your ribs, no orbital fractures, and gives you a few painkillers that you’ll have to take with water, and that he tells you not to mix with alcohol or drive on. You scroll through the burner phone, then look up at the men.
“Um, he said I could get lunch?” They blink at you. “Do you want lunch?” You take the black card off the night table, “I was thinking um, burgers, or something?”
“Yeah, sure.” One of them says, and you hand them the phone and let them put their order in through the app, then add your own and put in the card information. You lay back, with the ice numbing your bruises.
“Can um,” you close your eyes, “One of you wake me when the food gets here?”
“Sure, honey.” One of them quips, and about an hour later you’re vaguely aware of an argument in the living room about which one of them should go down to get the food, because they both were supposed to stay up in the penthouse, when you hear the doorbell ring. It strikes you as odd for a full second. You hadn’t given the delivery person anything but the building address, no indication of the floor they should come to. Instinct overrides your terror and you fumble for the gun you saw Ran put away the night before. You hear a quick shout, and the smashing of furniture, as you stumble out of bed and click the safety off, holding it out in front of you.
“Stop,” you cry quickly, and the severity of your situation becomes clear. One of the men Ran left you with is bleeding on the floor, having been caught off guard, and the other is grappling with a much larger man, who has him pinned. It looks like two intruders have broken in, with the second stalking towards you, both with matching tiger tattoos. “D-don’t move.” You say, cursing your stutter. “I’ll, I’ll shoot you.”
“Stupid fuckin’ bitch,” the man snarls, and you can see something wild in his honeyed eyes, while his companion chokes the life out of the last conscious bonten member. “Put it down.”
“I will shoot you.” You plant your bare feet on the ground, unaware if you're dizzy or just swaying a bit from the drugs. What happens next you’re not entirely sure, even though you’d be asked to recount it many times. He lunges for you, and you squeeze the trigger a couple times, squealing at the noise it makes even with the silencer on the end of the weapon. The recoil makes pain explode in your hand, but when you’re out of bullets, no one is standing anymore. You sink, shaking, to your knees.
The man who lunged for you and his companion are both bleeding out on Ran’s expensive looking oriental rug.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, “Oh my god.” Almost on autopilot, you fumble for your cell phone, and find only the burner. You hover over the 9 for 911, but stop yourself, instead dialing the only number that’s saved.
“Haitani,” You hear.
“M-m-mr. Haitani,” you choke out, and Ran’s frowns at your tone, standing and walking out of the room he was in. “They, they came here for me and-”
“Are you hiding?” He interrupts, grabbing his coat and signaling to a few of his men to follow him.
“N-no,” you stammer, “I might have,” you can’t hear your own voice, you’re faraway from your own body. “I might have done something.” He’s in the elevator at this point. “Y-you know the gun in your nightstand?” He laughs. “Please don’t.” You beg.
“If you shot one of my men they get to shoot you,” He quips, “Thems the breaks.”
“No,” you swallow, “M-mr. Haitani, I shot,” the joy melts from his face as his car pulls up in front of the offices. “I shot them, the um, the people breaking in.” His eyes shoot open and he barks out a laugh.
“Don’t touch anything.” He says. “Don’t even move or breathe too much until I get there, understood?”
“Yes, sir.” You choke out, sinking to the floor again and sitting there. You’re not sure how long it takes for him to burst into the room with a few men, not sure how long you sit on the floor, dizzied and nauseated by the scent of iron. Ran strides into the room and surveys the damage, then looks at you, small and broken, on your knees holding the gun. He leans down, pressing his finger to one of the men’s neck before standing again with a little huff.
“Well, that’s that then.” You burst into tears. “Aw princess, don’t cry,” he coos, and reaches for you, “Let’s get you cleaned up,” He turns to his men. “And you, clean this up. I wanna know how the fuck they got up here, and I want to know yesterday. Clear?” The men nod, “They alive?” he asks about the bonten men and one of them groans. “Hey bastard,” Ran snaps, “Whatever rank you were, this bitch is now your fucking boss,” you’re still crying softly, wondering if he means for you to take his extended hand. He looks back at you, annoyed, and then plucks you off your knees, lifting you to a standing position. He takes you to his bathroom and helps you strip, you’re still bruised, and high, and a little concussed. “Gonna keep crying even if I tell you to shut up?” You nod, giving him a little hiccuping sob.
“S-sorry.” You choke out and he nods, turning the water on and kicking his shoes off, stepping out of his pants. “What are you d-doing,” you say wiping your face.
“We’re gonna burn anything that you were wearing,” he says, “Same for me, since I touched you, alright, but you’ve got blood on you so let’s get into the shower.” He’s a little impatient, tugging you into the steam. You cover yourself at first, nonsensically but he doesn’t peel your hands away. Instead he reaches for a bottle of soap. It smells like sweet almond oil, and he cleans himself first, washing his hair, his face, his shoulders. He notices the way you keep your attention up at his face, nearly ignoring his cock.
“I’m a shower not a grower,” he quips, and you sniff, still reeling. “Alright,” he takes a pump of the soap, “Okay, let’s just,” he starts on your shoulders, dexterous hands moving over your aching muscles, a bit of red running down the drain as the blood washes off of you. His hands dip lower quickly, and he pushes your hands away from your breasts. He groans softly at the feeling of them in his hands, running his thumbs over your nipples and squeezing them, delighting in the way you squirm, your breath evening.
“W-what’s gonna happen to me?” You whisper, and he shrugs, moving his hands lower, barely stopping at your waist before he slips them behind to cup your ass.
“I like a bitch who takes care of herself,” he squeezes at the soft flesh. “Because it means if I take that away, you don't have anything left but me.” A shiver runs up your spine. “I’m gonna keep you,” you feel his hand dip between your legs, “And you don’t get a say in the matter,” he crouches a little so that you can look him in the eyes. “Does that feel good?”
“A little,” you get out, as he parts your folds with one long finger, you can feel the cool of his rings as the warm water drips between you.
“You’re afraid of me?” He asks, eyes serious for a moment.
“Y-yes sir,” you press your lips together, “I sh-shouldn’t have taken your gun, I’m s-sor-” He cuts you off with a chuckle.
“If you hadn’t taken it you’d have just bled all over my sheets while you died.” He shrugs. “And I wouldn’t have appreciated that. I’m glad you took it.” You swallow. “Are you glad,” he asks, and you gasp softly as he slips a finger inside you, “That you killed those men?”
“N-no,” the tears burn in your eyes, “I didn’t mean to.”
“That’s what I thought,” he leans down and presses his lips to your forehead, “You’re just a good girl, caught up in something bigger, huh?” You nod, feeling the way he presses up softly against that spongey spot inside you. “Such a sweet little thing,” he muses as you draw a shaky breath, he knows what he’s doing, knows how to pull soft music from your lips, “Adorable little mouse caught in a trap.”
“Ah,” you close your eyes, sighing, and he moves you, pushing you up against the cool black marble of his shower.
“Since you’re such a good girl,” he repeats, “And you don’t wanna hurt anyone, I’ll take care of you, alright, daddy’s gonna make those bodies disappear,” you sniff, he adds a second finger, pulling the softest moan from your lips. “And in return, you’re gonna do everything I say, how does that sound?”
“It sounds,” you can’t think clearly, “It sounds, um,” you gasp, he scissors his fingers inside of you and you feel the pain dully in your ribs, “Sounds um, thank you,” you close your eyes leaning against the cool tile wall, lost in the drugs, in the feeling of his thumb rubbing soft circles around your clit.
“Just say yes, daddy,” he taunts and you let out a soft whine.
“Y-yes, daddy,” your back arches off the wall of the shower.
“You’re too high to fake shit with me right now,” he feels your legs start to tremble and you nod, “But it’s not allowed, understand?”
“Yes,” you feel the hot coil in your stomach tighten as he picks up the pace, “Yes, daddy.”
“Such a good girl,” he exclaims, dripping in condescension, examining you clinically. You’re bruised, and out of it, your eye is swollen shut to the point that you’re avoiding the gentle fall of water on the purpled skin. “My good girl.” You nod, whimpering. “You’re mine,” he repeats, “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” it comes out soft, and high pitched as he fingers you roughly.
“Cum for me, then,” he says, leaning further down and kissing your neck as you cum on his hand, gushing around him and crying softly, so overwhelmed with emotion and sensation that your knees buckle. He catches you handily, helping you into a soft white towel and laying you down in his bed. “Open.” He says and you obey mindlessly, letting him place another pill on your tongue, a different one, that makes your world so fuzzy at the edges that consciousness slips from you quickly. He gets dressed and strides back into his living room. The bodies are rolled up in rugs, the blood is gone, and Ran’s gun is sitting on the table, wiped clean of fingerprints.
“Did you need to fuck the girl first?” He hears, and Rindou walks out of his half bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel. “Was it absolutely necessary for you to fuck the girl.” Ran grins evilly.
“Would you be proud of me to know that for once in my life I was an unselfish lover?” Rindou retches.
“No,” He takes some black latex gloves from his pocket. “So what, you had to-”
“She was too injured to stand on her own in the shower,” Ran explains impatiently, striding to the kitchen and pouring himself a drink. “Why are you here, exactly?”
“Can’t I be worried about you, my only brother?” He says, crouching next to one of the bodies, pulling out one of their wallets. “This is,” he frowns, looking at the ID.
“What’s up?” Ran quips, joining him.
“The address on here isn’t a real place.” Rindou murmurs. “Because it’s the apartment building next to the one we grew up in in Roppongi.” Ran’s brow furrows. “And they tore that down a few months ago, I think.”
“Someone trying to send us a message?” Ran says, quirking an eyebrow. Rindou nods. “Well,” he draws himself up to his full height. “I’m gonna beef up security.”
“What’ll you do with her?” A smile plays on Rindou’s lips and Ran scoffs.
“She’s mine now.” He shrugs. “Shiny new toy for me.”
You don’t see Ran again until later, you wake alone in his bedroom, stomach growling. You stumble to the living room, half high, half awake, and Ran is waiting for you, sitting on the couch on his laptop.
“You’re up,” he says, lifting his head, watching you look around blearily. “It’s all gone, baby, all clean in here.” You nod, hands trembling. “Come here.” He pats the couch and you wince sitting down next to him. “You still need your brother's hospital bills paid?” He asks and you nod, letting him pull your body into his chest. “Consider it taken care of. You’ve been promoted in our organization.” You look up at him and he takes a big black gun from a shoulder holster. “C’mon,” he takes your hand and arranges it on the handle correctly. “Like this.” You bury your face in his neck.
“I don’t want to hurt people.” You mumble, and he feels your lips move against his clean shave.
“You need to learn how to use this.” He says calmly, “Focus for me.” He watches you direct your attention fully to his large hands on the gun. “This is a safety,” he clicks it on and off, “When you’re not using it, you leave this on.” You nod. “We’ll getcha some practice.” You take his arm, and he looks at you, surprised. You press your whole body up against his side, nuzzling into him.
“Thank you for not just killing me.” You whisper. He shrugs.
“You’re useful.”
“I want to um,” you blink up at him, eyes round. “I want to be useful to you.” He laughs.
“You’re in absolutely no shape to suck me off.” He gives your knee a little squeeze. “I’ll give you the chance to make it up to me sweetheart,” he leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. “After all, I own you now.” You swallow. It’s true, he has the bodies, the evidence, the power, not to mention he’s the one with a gun.
summary: Born a prophesied king under an exploding star Bakugou Katsuki is used to getting what he wants. That includes you.
cw: Kidnapping, bondage, spitting, choking, rough sex, drowning, ocean stuff, boats, like vaguely viking style but honestly more like barbarian aesthetic, please please let me know if i missed anything. Yandere undertones but it’s historical. Cursing. NS/FW or for ramadan. Dub!con, but bakugou does make her ask for it. MINORS DNI, all characters in their mid twenties, breeding, bakugou slaps you once - BUT A HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE OK I PROMISE
The mist hangs low on the edges of the water, lapping the sandy banks of the bay. The seawater is freezing, and you avoid it touching your shoes at all costs. It was early spring, and it would be many months before the water was even bearable, even then it was too cold to swim in. Somewhere, the sun was rising, but all you could see was its light elegantly diffused across an expanse of grey clouds. The wool of your plaid skirt keeps the cool off you as you carry the freshwater across the beach, back to the village. The bucket is heavy, your arms ache, but the freshest, sweetest water could only be found on the northernmost point of the island, where the snowmelt meets the sea. You have the two buckets on a yoke over your shoulders when you first see him.
He stands, like some kind of eldritch god, arising out of the reeds by the mouth of the river, face obscured by the bright sky behind him. For a moment you think it could be a boy from the village, but the silhouette is unfamiliar, you’ve never seen a helmet like that.
That’s when you hear it, the angry song of the horn, signifying the first Viking raid that your clan has experienced in years. The man in front of you takes a couple of steps forward, watching your eyes flash with fear before they steel over. You stumble backwards away from him, and you can hear on the horizon, the shouts of men roused from their late slumber. You’re weighed down by the water, but you’re the daughter of the chief, you know your worth, and you can recognize the fire burning in this man’s vermillion eyes. You make a decision, and let him stalk closer to you.
He removes his helmet, blonde hair ruffled by the wind, suntanned skin freckled and unmarred by smile lines. He watches you carefully, eyes skimming your figure, barely visible in your warm dress, long skirt, and soft shirt, your shoulders wrapped in a scarf your mother had knit for you. He gets closer, and closer, but you keep your eyes on the horizon, not even flinching when he’s only a few feet away, boots making heavy marks in the wet sand. His armor is leather and steel, helmet under his arm. His jawline is sharp, mouth angry, eyes narrow. The buckets swing next to you, sloshing gently. You take a deep breath and he reaches out to touch you, to grab a fistful of any of the layers of fabric obscuring your form, but you twist quickly at his actions, twirling and hitting him squarely in the stomach with freezing river water before turning and running deeper into the forest. He yells loudly but you don’t turn around to watch him get angry, you have the advantage here, you know the terrain. It’s rocky, mossy, and unforgiving.
You leap over rocks, hopping over rotting downed trees in the forest, but you still hear the heavy pounding of footsteps behind you. You know what happens to the women the Vikings take, you know what’ll happen to you, your heart thrums, you bite down on the inside of your cheek so hard you can taste iron, tears well and then stream past your face, the wind in your hair.
You’re doing well, or so you think. You hope that you lost him as your chest heaves, when something hits you hard. He tackles you from behind, strong arms pinning yours to your sides, rolling with you, protecting your soft body from the uneven ground with his armored one. You land with his legs around your hips, he smells clean, of musk, of men , and seawater, but somehow better than any man you’d ever been chased by in your village. But you don’t have time to dwell on this, you have one last desperate move, drawing the knife concealed at your waist, used mostly for cooking and household chores, glinting in the grey morning light, and plunge it into the chink of his armor at the shoulder. He grunts, words spilling from his lips in an unfamiliar language, but he doesn’t roll off of you, in fact, it seems to have the opposite of the desired effect. He pins both of your wrists above your head with his bad hand, as if the hilt of your knife wasn’t sticking in his shoulder. You mewl and squirm but he smiles as he pulls a leather cord from his belt, yanking you to your feet, not giving you a chance to run, shoving your body roughly up against a mossy tree. You set your jaw as he ties your hands behind your back. You think he’s done but he takes the rope off of his belt and wraps it around your waist, and then your wrists, securing it and taking the end of it in his hand like a leash, and then pressing his chest against your back, leaning down to speak in your ear.
“Walk.” He growls, voice low and angry. The ropes around your chest scoop under your breasts, pushing them up, plush pillows peeking out of the top of your dress. You struggle against them as you move back through the forest towards the beach. “Faster.” He taunts from behind and you pick up the pace, the sooner the better, maybe one of your younger brothers, your father, your mother, someone will see you on the beach. Without your arms, your balance is off, and you step on a rock only to slip in the damp air. He jerks on the leash, catching you with it, righting you, then urging you forward once more. Just before you get to the beach, you turn to him, eyes wide and pleading.
“Please.” You beg, eyes flicking to the smoke from your village. “Please leave me.” He shakes his head, a huge hand shooting out and curling around your throat, bringing your face near his chest, then he bends down.
“Mine.” He growls. “Understand?” Tears prick at your eyes but you aren’t ready for them to spill. You lean back and spit in his face. He backhands you, hard, only letting you fall for a second when you lose your balance, drawing your face back to his. He can see the tears flowing unbidden now, but carefully notes that your mouth is set, you’re not ready to cry. “Understand?” He says again, his hand held up, ready to make a matching red mark on your opposite cheek.
“I understand.” You respond, throat tight. A huge boat, in a style you don’t recognize pulls up in the sand. An even larger man peeks his head over the boat, unnaturally red hair in an intricate braided style.
“Oi, Bakugou, we weren’t supposed to get prisoners!” The man calls, huge arms bowing with muscles as he waves to a friend.
“Not a prisoner.” Bakugou groans, lifting you up towards the deck. “I’m keeping this one.” The redhead hops out of the boat and snatches you away from him, holding you like a child.
“Hey there,” he says cheerfully, then leaps back up onto the deck of the boat with you, the men manning the oars groan as Bakugou climbs aboard and pushes out into the sea. Your eyes are trained on your home, the smoking ruins of the place you grew up. “So why this one?” Speaking as if you’re not right there.
“She stabbed me,” Bakugou growls, pulling the dagger out of his shoulder, wiping the blood on his pants. “I’m fine. She nearly got away.” The redhead laughs, touching your shoulder.
“I’m Kirishima.” he says to you, squeezing gently, “And that’s Bakugou, doubt he had the wherewithal to introduce himself. You can sit.” He says, gesturing to the deck. You don’t want to, you keep your eyes on the horizon disappearing behind you. “Alright,” Kirishima grunts, forcing you down your knees. “Sorry, I know I didn’t phrase that like a command.” You swallow, and stare blankly out at the ocean, cool wind whipping through your hair.
“She’s also the leader’s daughter.” Bakugou studies the knife. “It’s got her name engraved in it.”
“A match made in heaven.” Kirishima crows. “Hey,” he says, waving a hand in front of
you, trying to wrench your attention from your smoking village. Both men watch as you part your chapped lips.
“I’d rather you throw me overboard than have him touch me again.” You say, voice hitched and rough, but your tone is still defiant. Kirishima nods, sitting next to you and inspecting your bonds.
“Mind if I redo these?” He asks the blond, who just looks away, which is apparently permission for Kirishima to carefully retie the ropes holding you as the sea sprays in your face and men manning the oars groan. You square your shoulders, back arched, chin out, every inch a princess as you sail into the unknown. You watch the blonde attend to his own stab wound, bandaging it carefully, making sure to keep it clean.
“Does that hurt less?” Kirishima asks quietly, and you nod. “Good.” He glances at Bakugou. “He was just in a hurry.” You swallow, twisting to face the man sitting next to you.
“What’s going to happen to me?” You ask, eyes wide and he takes a breath.
“You’re ours.” He clarifies, gesturing to your bonds and the boat. You nod. “And uh, he seems to like you”
“What?” You say, voice light and vulnerable. Bakugou takes your chin in his hand, leaning down. “She just needs to be broken.” He turns away and walks down the side of the ship moving swiftly through the sea. You summon some courage.
“I’m not afraid of you.” You say, sticking your chin out. “I’m a princess. I’ve led through more difficult situations than this. My people will rescue me or I’ll escape.” Both men stare at you. Bakugou’s eyes flick to the rope around your waist.
“Tighten that.” He says darkly, coming to stand in front of you on the gently rocking boat. He squats, his handsome face inches from yours. “Princess, huh?” He says, as Kirishima fiddles with your bonds. He spits directly in your face.
“I will take your fuckin’ virginity in front of all these men.” He snarls. “I’ll fuck you over the side of the boat and then throw you into the ocean.” You laugh lightly, the sound explosive and unhinged, tossing your hair against the wind.
“Not a virgin. So do it.” You feel the wetness drip down your face. “I’d rather die than be yours.” He rears back and for a moment you think he’ll hit you, and but he doesn’t just snarls,
“I’m gonna make you beg for me.”
“I’m praying for a curse on your house.” You say, starting to stand and Kirishima catches the rope around your waist, pulling you back onto your knees.
“Alright, alright, that’s enough out of both of you.” Bakugou scowls and Kirishima quickly continues. “Uh, especially you.” He takes a strap of cloth out of his pocket and slips it between your lips, forcing your mouth open, and tying it tightly behind your head. To your dismay, your kidnapper, Bakugou, sits on the other side of you, close enough so that you shoulders brush.
“Not a virgin huh?” He says and you shake your head. “Good.” He stares across the sea. “Maybe you won’t cry when you take my fat fucking cock.” You turn your face away from him and he grabs your chin. “Look at me.” He growls. “You are my property now, princess. Not cause you’re a fuckin’ woman, but because I caught ya.” You stare up at him defiantly, even next to you, he’s much, much larger. He takes you roughly then and shoves your upper half down into his lap, laying your head on his leather bound thigh, fingers carding through your hair. You whimper, the loss of the horizon takes a toll on your stomach immediately.
“Oh,” he coos, “She needs to see the water, huh, that where you’re gettin’ all this dumb shit courage from?” You squirm a little and his fingers snap together, so that they pull painfully. “Stay still,” he growls. You freeze, and his touches become soft again, gentle almost.
“Be nice, Bakugou, she’s probably terrified.” Kirishima chastises, and you mewl plaintively from Bakugou’s lap. “We’ll take care of you, alright?” He coos. “Don’t worry.” You struggle a little and Bakugou shoves you off of him, spending the rest of the trip staring out at the ocean pensively, while Kirishima keeps a tight hold on your arm. You can feel when it grounds, and Kirishima pulls you to your feet. The men unload the cargo and immediately Kirishima and Bakugou are overwhelmed by several friends who jump onto the boat.
“What’s this!” A young woman with brown skin and soft pink hair notices Kirishima’s tight grip on your upper arm.
“Bakugou took her.” Kirishima shrugs. “She’s a local princess apparently, Mina.” He carries you onto the dock, thankfully they don’t seem to expect you to be able to move much in your current state.
“She doesn’t look scared.” One of the other boys, who came to see Kirishima and Bakugou, with glinting amber eyes and yellow hair remarks. Before Kirishima can respond, Bakugou does.
“She will.” He snarls, taking the length of rope hanging from your waist and pulling you forward at an unforgiving pace. Kirishima and the others stay behind to tie the boat up, but Bakugou drags you up a hill, you barely keep pace with him in the wet new grass, sparse amongst the rocks. You can see his village then, at the base of the valley, much much larger than yours, bustling with people. The men catch up to him, having tied the boat and they walk into the town square with cheers at the things plundered, one of those things being you. Bakugou walks you like a dog, and if you go too slowly he kicks the back of your calves. You get to the center of town, hot humiliating tears burning in your eyes. There are cheers, and people dance, but you’re already trying to imagine what’s broken in the place you come from, your house, your neighbors, the stone walls of your old run-down castle.
“Oi,” Bakugou gets your attention with a low growl. “Don’t try shit.” You feel him loosen the ropes a little, and blood rushes back to your appendages. He hears your sigh of relief and makes a mental note. He keeps a tight grasp on your upper arm as he undoes the leather cord around your wrists, then shoves you to the ground, your back against a thick stone pillar in front of a large bonfire. He takes your arms and ties them around the back of the stone pillar, more gently than he’d done it earlier. It might be your imagination but you feel a quick soothing touch on the welts. “You injured?” He asks, tugging the gag out of your mouth.
“Just a little bruised.” You breathe, his face is inches from yours.
“Where?” He asks and you shift your weight.
“I hit my shoulder when you tackled me.” He nods sensing you’re holding back.
“And?” He says, eyes flicking to your lips and then back to your eyes.
“And I’m a little thirsty.” That was far from the truth, you were dying for a sip of water, you’d been thirsty when you’d gone to fetch water that morning.
“I’ll see to your shoulder.” He mutters, standing, turning back to the party at which apparently he’s the guest of honor. You shrink back into the stone as people laugh and dance and drink as the sun moves across the sky. He disappears into the crowd of people and you close your eyes, unwilling to be aware of the stares you’re getting. He comes back with a bandage and he kneels next to you. “Stay still.” He removes the wool scarf your mother knit you, and folds it beside you. He tugs gently on the shoulder of your dress and inspects the back of the joint carefully. You can feel the eyes, on him, on you, on your exposed skin, and you let out a little whimper when he presses on the swollen joint.
“Shh.” He says, glaring at others who look your way. “You’re mine.” You feel him brace your shoulder with careful hands, gingerly moving around the swollen joint. “Still thirsty?” He asks when he’s done, squatting in front of you. You nod vigorously and he smirks. “Yeah, that’s not gonna cut it bitch.” Your mouth drops open and he shrugs.
“Everything you get, you get because I feel like giving it to you. And I think for water, you gotta beg.” You nod.
“I understand.” Your voice is hoarse already and his grin widens, he takes your jaw,
“Open.” He says, and you obey. He spits right in your mouth. “Swallow.” He growls and it’s disgusting, he kidnapped you, the blood on his men’s clothing is probably your neighbors, your family’s. You squirm with displeasure but he seems to like that. “Let me know when you really fucking want some water.”
“Bakugou!” You call, desperately, you can’t take it, you need it right now, throat burning, and the fire’s been blowing smoke on you for hours. “Please.” You say, a note of desperation creeping unbidden into your voice. He looks at you for a moment.
“One more.” He says, face set.
“Please, can I have some water, Bakugou?” You croak, lashes wet. He nods, stalking off towards the well. The celebration swirls around you, people drinking and dancing, the leather of his armor discarded, he’s now in a loose white shirt, it’s crisp and clean, his pants tight and the bottoms of them muddy. He’s holding a worn skin, and he places one hand on the back of your neck and tips the end of it between your lips. The water is cool and clean and you drink as much of it as you can before he takes it away.
“Are you hungry?” He asks in a low growl and you nod, keeping your mouth shut. He takes some bread off a passing tray and rips off a small piece of it. “Open.” He says, and your face burns with humiliation as he feeds you, slowly, letting you swallow before letting you eat another piece out of his open palm. “The fuck are you crying for?” He asks you after a few minutes.
“I’m worried about my family.” You say quietly. “I had little brothers.” He nods.
“They might be dead.” You close your eyes, inhaling through your nose. He moves swiftly, and for a moment you think he’s going to comfort you, but you feel him slice through your bonds, and pull you to your feet. You wobble for a moment before he throws you over his shoulder. There are a few cheers as he carries you out of the party. The sun is sinking below the treeline, and it’s getting chilly. He opens the creaking wooden door to a one-room cabin. You squint in the low light. It’s exceedingly clean, furs on a bed and the floor, a chimney in the corner, made with rough grey stone, flecked with gold. He sets you on the bed.
“Do you sleep in all that?” He asks and you shake your head. Your cheeks are still wet from earlier but you put your face back on. If this was going to happen you certainly weren’t going to give him any more satisfaction than you had to. “Undress.” He says, and you fumble with the lace at the back of your dress for a minute before he loses patience at your contortions, pulling you up and shoving you roughly against the wall, undoing them himself.
“C’mon.” He grunts, shoving you down onto the bed, now that you’re only wearing a petticoat, a loose slip that covers your whole body. The air gushes from your lungs when you’re pushed down, a soft musical cry escapes your lips as he lifts the furs and scoots you underneath them. You watch as he slips out of his pants so that he’s only wearing the long, loose white shirt. He roughly wraps an arm around your waist, pinning your back to his hard chest. His arms hook upward, and he palms your breasts roughly, groaning, and rutting his hips against your ass. You let out a little involuntary whimper.
“Don’t worry princess.” He practically spits the word. “I’m not gonna touch ya till ya beg me, remember?”
“T-that will never happen.” Your voice trembles. You feel his breath on your ear, and you shiver as he speaks again, the vibrations awakening something deep in your core.
“Know why I picked you?” He says and you shake your head, trying to focus on anything other than the deep sound of his voice, his rough hands on your soft skin.
“No.” You confirm quietly. Trying to hold onto some of your dignity, you close your eyes. You were a princess. A princess from a small fishing village, but a princess nonetheless.
“I was just gonna take your knife.” He confirms. “I liked it. Lost mine, and I’ve needed a new one.” You swallow, and he laughs. “And then, I saw that haughty little nose in the air, and I thought, tch, that won’t fuckin’ do now will it? Can’t have some bitch running around sayin’ I spared her life, callin’ me weak.” You try to scoot away from him on the bed but he chuckles and holds you fast. “Then, ya had the fuckin’ audacity, to hit me.” He snarls the words as he starts to massage your chest, you can’t hold back the soft mewl that falls from your lips as he rubs his thumbs across your nipples. “And run away.” You’re squirming against him in earnest now as blood pools in your cheeks. You elbow him as hard as you can in the ribs, and he laughs harshly, undaunted.
“B-bakugou,” you get out.
“I never told you my name.” He says. “That’s just what the others call me. To you, I’m Katsuki.” You whimper again. “Fuckin love that sound,” he growls, “Make more, be louder, I’m gonna fuckin’ wreck you.”
“P-please.” You say softly.
“What?” He says. “Do ya want me to stop, princess, if you do, tell me, tell me you want me to take my hands off you, I fuckin’ dare you.” You bite down hard on your lower lip. “Ooooh,” he coos, “She can’t, can she, where’s that high and mighty attitude now, bet you’re soakin’ my goddamn bed huh? Should we find out?” You bury your face in the blanket, willing yourself to have the courage to scream, the ability to fight, but it feels - it feels so good. He releases your chest and you whimper at the loss of sensation, then you feel his teeth on your ear. “Stay. Still.” He hooks one muscled arm around your waist, you can’t help but notice, in this close proximity, how much he smells like pine and leather, as his hand dips beneath your skirt. His fingers ghost your thighs and move upwards, brushing the outside of your sex. He runs one calloused finger up your slit and you clench your thighs together.
“I said stay still.” He slaps your thigh hard enough so that you cry out, pinning your leg between his own, holding you open. “You’re gonna have to learn to follow orders.” He says as he touches the softest parts of you, fingers moving between your folds, but his demeanor seems to shift at what he finds. “Oh, you’re fuckin’ soaked.” Your eyes well with tears.
“What’s wrong,” He coos, “Don’t like that you’re my fuckin’ bitch, even though I’ve barely touched you?”
“‘M not your-” you don’t get to respond as he grinds his thumb against your clit and you squeal loudly at the stimulation, but Bakugou doesn’t give you a moment to relax, plunging two fingers into your core, and your hips buck against him.
“Fuckin’ hell.” He snaps, “Do I have to tie you down, are you genuinely too stupid to follow orders?” You don’t answer, you can’t, you’re losing control under his careful touch. He can feel the way your soft walls are squeezing around his fingers, loves watching how you lean away from him and hide your face in his blankets. He lets go of your waist and grabs your chin, forcing you to look directly into his eyes as you gurgle and gasp.
“H-hurts,” You choke out and he shakes his head.
“Poor slut’s never cum before huh?” You start to fight him a little but he’s so strong, it’s like pushing against steel. “Well I’m not gonna finish ya,” he growls, “Till you beg for my cock.”
“What?” You breathe.
“Beg. Beg for help. Beg for me to fuck you.” He says, eyes narrowing, reaching up and closing his fist around your throat, scissoring his fingers inside of you. You’re reaching for logic, for dignity, but everywhere there’s only Katuski. Smelling of pine, and sweat, and man, everywhere you reach he’s there, and the coil in your stomach tightens painfully, you want this, you want him to help you make it stop.
“Please.” You whisper, and he smiles wickedly.
“Please. What.”
“Please, fuck me.” You whimper, “Please please, Katsuki, I want, I want you.”
“What are you?” He asks and your eyes shoot open, you’re so close to the edge of something it’s painful, the tears that have been welling in your eyes spill over and he kisses them off your soft face, “Tell me what you are.”
“I-I’m… I’m yours.” He chuckles.
“That’s fuckin’ right you are.” He says, shoving you roughly to the center of the bed and climbing on top of you, “And I’m gonna fuck my sons right into that soft fuckin’ womb of yours,” you cry out, “That’s goddamn right.” he says, shuddering as he runs the head of his cock along your slit. “I’m gonna breed this prissy fuckin’ pussy.” He roughly sheaths himself inside you, watching your face carefully for your reaction, and fuck, do you you deliver. Your mouth drops open, eyes screwed shut, a high pitched keen escaping from your lips. He groans loudly as he waits for you to adjust to his size, starting to move slowly.
“Fuck,” he swears quietly, feeling how soft your walls were, pulsing around him, warm and perfect, everything he’d imagined when he saw that spark of defiance in your eyes, vowing to extinguish it. “Good slut.” He praises, “Good fuckin’ girl.” You whimper, the stretch was both pain and pleasure, more than you’d ever felt before, and you gasp when he reaches down and adjusts your legs so that he can bury himself to the hilt inside of you. To his surprise, you reach for him, tangling your hands in his braided hair, pulling him down to kiss you. He obliges, setting a gentle pace at first, one of your legs draped elegantly over his shoulder, he finds that you’re more skilled than he expected. You trap his lower lip between his teeth, and he shudders as your nails find purchase on his sculpted shoulder blades, then he opens his eyes to see a slight smile playing on your face.
“None of that, bratty fuckin’ bitch.” He snarls, and pounds into you, you scream, he has no doubt your voice is travelling out into the night, into the village, and he doesn’t fucking care. “Yeah, is this what you wanted, wanted me to fuck you like you’re a whore, princess?” He spits on your face and you choke out a sobbing moan, “That’s what I goddamn thought.” He leans down to your ear, biting it hard, feeling you push him away at the burst of pain. “Uh, uh,” He snarls, picking up the pace, snapping his hips against yours. You see stars every time his cock brushes your cervix.
“F-fuck, Katsuki,” You choke out and he smiles evilly in his victory.
“Yeah, bitch?” He snarls, “Cum for me, cum all over my cock like the whore you are.” Your back arches and you scream again, lips parted, eyes glossy, as he grunts, fucking you like an animal, biting at your soft skin, leaving his mark all over you.
“Gonna fuck an heir right into you, princess,” he grunts, “Gonna breed you like a fuckin’ bitch.” You can barely hear him as your first ever orgasm rips through your body, tears streaming from your eyes as he presses his sweaty forehead to yours. “That’s a good girl,” he says, listening to your little whimpers, feeling you twitch and shake, grunting loudly as he paints your walls with his seed. He keeps fucking you, pushing his cum up further inside of you, but you seem to know what to do, lifting your hips as he slips a pillow underneath them, clenching your legs together when he pulls out and lies down next to you as you cry softly.
“Beautiful.” He says, savoring how messy you look, your hair like a nest, your face flushed, your lips trembling. He kisses your forehead. “And mine.” You nod.
“Yours.” He pulls you into his strong arms, rubbing your head absentmindedly.
“I took you,” He says quietly, “So you’re my responsibility.” You nod into his chest. He kisses your forehead again. “I saw you, and I knew you were mine.” You sleep intertwined, when you move he wakes up, making sure you’re still there, and not trying to escape. You wake well into the night, with a nightmare, you’re wandering through the smoldering ruins of your home.
“Shhhh,” He whispers when he hears you cry. “Shhhh princess,” he rubs soothing circles on your back.
“W-want to go home.” You cry desperately. He takes your chin in his hand firmly, forcing you to look at him.
“You are home.” He pats the bed.
“Y-yes Katsuki.” He nods, something in his face softening.
“I’m home.” He attempts to clarify, clumsy with his words, swinging big with the meaning. You blink a couple of times.
“What?” He points to his chest.
“I’m home.”
“Oh.” He moves you so that you’re lying on his chest.
“You’ll understand.” He mutters. “I’ll teach you.”
When you wake the next morning he hands you new clothes, your old is dress discarded in a corner of his wood-panelled home. In the daylight, you can see how well decorated the room is, clean and organized but full of rugs and furs, warm-toned yarn woven together telling stories you don’t recognize. The clothes he hands you are simple, a long linen dress and cloak, cream-colored, with simple flowers embroidered on it.
“Thank you.” You say quietly, and he nods, then reaches around your body, tying a rope around your waist that he holds onto like a leash, but this time doesn’t restrict your movement, just keeps you close to him.
“Go.” He says, pointing towards the door of the cabin. He pulls you down to a grand hall, a building made of wood and stone and mud, where people sit, eating together. He pushes a plate of food in front of you, hands you a utensil. Quickly, he’s crowded by the people from the boat yesterday, you’d watched them at the party. The redhead, Kirishima, shoots you a warm smile.
“How’d you sleep?” He asks politely.
“We know how she slept,” The yellow haired boy, with a wide, teasing smile responds. “Don’t we, Bakugou?” Bakugou swats at the boy.
“Shut the fuck up.” Kirishima reddens.
“I wasn’t going to say anything.” He clarifies. You’re staring out the window, you can see the ocean from where you’re sitting.
“Oi,” Bakugou growls at you. “Didn’t you have questions for shitty hair?” You blink and then come back down to the ground, nodding, speaking softly.
“Are um, are my little brothers dead?” You ask quietly and he blanches, looking nervous.
“How little?” He asks finally.
“Very.” You say, voice barely audible over the chatter of people eating.
“We don’t kill children.” He says quickly. You nod, in a daze. So people did die, yesterday, while you were getting water. Bakugou watches you drift off into space, you push your plate away.
“That’s good, isn’t it stupid?” He hits the back of your head lightly and you shrug. “Eat.”
“I’m finished.” You say and he shakes his head.
“If you don’t wanna eat you won’t get any fuckin’ food.” He threatens, expecting you to bite back, to fight, but you don’t, you just nod.
“Alright.” He looks away. There’s an awkward silence and you go back to staring at the water, wondering how far you were from home. Wherever he goes through the small city, crowds part, and that means they part for you too. You cower, the unfamiliar faces and sounds making you jump. He reaches an arm behind him and to his delight you curl your body around it, holding one of his large hands with both of yours.
He notices though, that you’ve begun to slowly slip away from him. When you eat, it’s barely, and you don’t protest when Mina braids your hair, even when she yanks on a particularly tough tangle. You keep your eyes on him, where he leans on the doorframe, watching as all traces of your former identity wash away in the basin. All day, he catches you staring out at the ocean, even going as far as to walk you down to the water.
“Is this what you fuckin’ want?” He snarls. “Why won’t you talk to me?” For the first time in hours, you speak.
“Can we walk to the end of the dock?” He nods, so relieved to hear your voice he caves immediately, letting you lead the way until you’re standing a foot away from the endpoint, the sea spraying up and beading on your beautiful face. You turn to him. “My family is dead. Aren’t they?”
Bakugou has always been sure. Sure of his divine right to lead. Sure of who he was. Sure he was making the right decision, the best decision, he’d been born under a prophetic exploding star, signifying a new era, one he had decided would be an age of expansion. But he watches the tears fall down your face, as you refuse to cry, watches the pride he had admired in you crumble, watches you mourn, and suddenly that sureness ebbs from him. He takes a step towards you and you turn away, facing the ocean.
“It’s too cold to swim in here.” He says gruffly, and you nod, eyeing the rope around your waist. He tugs on it, but you stay where you are, watching the waves roll. “They aren’t dead.” He says. “Probably. Can’t account for anything that happened after we left.” You turn to him.
“What do you want from me?” You ask. “I’m submitting, I thought, I thought this was, what you wanted?” He struggles, clearly, it’s words you want, and he doesn’t have them. He doesn’t have an explanation.
“I was chosen,” he begins, and you laugh, it’s a harsh bitter sound. He yanks on the rope around your waist, drawing you back to him, forcing you to face him, his hips directly pressing against yours. “I was chosen,” he growls, “I was born under a broken star, to bring a new age to my people.” Your jaw sets and your eyes narrow.
“So you’re picking off fishing villages and stealing maidens from beaches?” Your lips curl into a sneer, you have nothing, absolutely nothing to lose, “What’s new or revolutionary about that?” You push against him and he moves backwards on the dock. “What’s new about war, about violence?” You ask the fire in your eyes back, you’re angry, and as the blood returns to your cheeks he recognizes you again.
“What’s new is the land, the ore, the riches -” You laugh again and he grabs your face in one huge hand.
“That’s pathetic.” You say as his eyes narrow, you’re testing his patience, you can tell but you don’t care, the hopelessness is finally gone from your stomach, as long as you can make this one point before he loses his temper and snaps your neck. You press a finger to his chest, “Peace. Peace would be revolutionary. Not violence, and plundering. You want to do something no man has ever done?” Your raised voice catches the attention of a few fishermen in their boats, who force themselves not to look. “Try impressing me.” You shove him, harder than you mean to, you’re angry, and you didn’t take into account the uneven planes of the dark wood dock, coated with salt and spray. But when he loses his footing and falls, you expect him to catch himself, to perform some kind of acrobatic athletic feat but he doesn’t, he just falls off the dock, it turns out under all that bravado, hes just a man. It happens almost in slow motion, wind whipping his little blond braid, the rest of his hair wild, expression livid, ready to swim back to shore, and make you pay, no doubt.
What he doesn’t count on, is a huge squall, a large wave pushing one of the canoes up, and bringing it down on his head. You see him go limp, then slip beneath the churning waves. You have seconds. Others are running, but they won’t get there in time, the current is strong, you can tell by the shape of the waves on the beach. You can let him die. You think. You could. And no one would blame you. No god, no man.
Time slows as you decide. You could let him die. You could. You could.
You rip your shoes off and dive into the black freezing waves. It’s been months since you’ve swum, but muscle memory is powerful and you counter each thrust of the ocean, opening your eyes in the burning salt, looking for your captor. A burst of sunlight, something catches his blond hair, glinting in the dark water, bubbles escaping from his lioa and floating towards the surface. You swim towards him, wrapping your arms around him tugging him towards the sky. He’s heavy, heavier than anything you’ve ever picked up on your own. You’re starting to feel the icy temperature of the water as the adrenaline wears off. The feeling in your fingers is the first to go, you’re holding him up on willpower alone as you finally break to the surface, gasping for air, kicking your legs desperately, taking a lungful of sea air before dragging him against the current towards the shore. His lips are purpled, a bad sign, and you’re losing feeling in your skin, the numbness starting to pinprick into sharp pain as the dark salty waters lap at your shoulders, your dress billowing underneath you. You summon the last vestiges of your strength. You can’t keep him above the water any longer and keep moving towards the shore. So as the men on the dock shout, their footsteps pounding on the wood, you take Bakugou back under, swimming perpendicular to the rip current towards the beach.
“She’s drowning him!” Someone shouts, but you ignore them, swimming down, swimming deep, you can hear the grind of the swirling sand, as your skin burns in the cold water, teeth chattering, pain ripping through your now stiff joints. You’re so close, just a few more feet.
You drag his body half out of the water onto the sand and immediately begin chest compressions with your trembling hands. Water gurgles out of his mouth, and when he begins to cough you collapse on his chest, shaking so hard you can’t sit still, your dress is heavy and soaked with seawater, you can’t move as practically the whole village thunders towards the beach and he moans. The first thing he sees is your face, cold, pallid, tendrils of hair sticking to your face. He reaches up and cups it, stroking your cheek as you shake and sob. He keeps coughing up water as the first people arrive on the scene. Kirishima falls to his knees next to Bakugou.
“She saved me.” He murmurs in a low growl. “You…” Your world starts to go dark at the edges, and you lose consciousness, falling on Bakugou’s chest. You wake, in warm soft water, the smell of wildflowers on the tip of your nose.
“Hi,” a voice says softly, Mina. “Hey there.” You’re alone, floating in a warm bath. You open your eyes, looking around a wood building filled with steam. “You’re alive.” She confirms and you sigh.
“Everything hurts.” You confirm. “So I know.” She lets you float in the steam room for a bit, leaving you alone, even if you hear the click of the lock on the door. You squint at the ceiling, bundles of dried wildflowers hang, which accounts for the scent. You take some water and wash your hair carefully, trying to get the sand out of it, out of your nail beds, out from between your toes. You don’t feel warm exactly, but neutral. The women come back in, they dress you and braid your hair, you don’t protest or fight them, sitting for hours on the floor with them, staring at nothing while they drink and talk.
“Where is he?” You ask after the sun starts to sink in the sky and Mina clears her throat.
“After you collapsed he gathered the men of the village for a raid.” She says quietly. “They’re all gone.” You nod. “When he comes back, he’s left instructions for your wedding.” You scoff.
“I’m sure he has.” Mina laughs.
“He’s rough around the edges, but I think he’ll be a good husband. Faithful, certainly.” You laugh and she shrugs. “He’s never been one to sleep around.” You spend the next week in routine, with the men of the village gone, the women work, feeding animals, cooking, and gathering. No one lets you do anything particularly strenuous, which come Friday afternoon, you’re beginning to resent.
Mina spots it first, a ship on the horizon while you’re all working on dinner. You squint at the brown dot. You’re stirring a pot, hair braided back, a couple of loose flowers in it from the field where you and Mina picked berries for dessert. She’s kind, but she never really knew what to say to you. You didn’t know either. She wrenches you away from the pot, pulling you into a large stone house by the river.
“We gotta get you ready!” She squeals, and you crack half a smile at her enthusiasm. “Come on.” You hear the men return outside, with unfamiliar voices, shouting and grunting, the stomping of boots on the muddy spring earth. The women paint your face in the traditional style, light black around the top of your eyes, they pinch your cheeks for a youthful glow, they dress you, in a linen gown with a low neckline and long draping sleeves, a soft pink, the color of the wildflowers they tuck into your hair. You don’t protest, letting them treat you like a little doll until Mina comes behind you and ties something over your eyes.
“Why?” You say, reaching out, and fumbling for something. “Is this traditional?” She snorts.
“Definitely not.” She leads you carefully out of the house, making sure that you don’t trip or fall. She takes your arm, and you make your way up some kind of outdoor staircase.
You can feel a cool breeze in your hair, your hands shake. What would he be like, this beast that had captured you, after a week away? Why didn’t he come to see you before he’d left? You’d been shocked he still wanted you, that the wedding was even being prepared at all. Mina lifts the blindfold from your eyes and your mouth drops. Standing in front of you is your father, dark eyes with crinkled edges, dressed in the traditional wool plaid of your family.
“My daughter,” He says in a low voice. “It would be my honor, to walk you down the aisle.” You burst into tears, throwing your arms around him, he smells of grass and linen and home. You’re standing at the end of an outdoor ceremonial ground, sculpted pews from cold grey stone, covered in lichen and moss. On one side, everyone from your home sits, some of them a little bruised, but each of your little brothers sits in the front row, even the baby squirming in your mother’s lap. The tears keep coming, as your best friend turns to you and smiles, giving a little wave. You wave back. You hear someone clear their throat and your attention turns to the altar. Bakugou Katsuki, dressed in your traditional ceremonial garb, stands in front of you, the smirk melting off of his face when he sees you, the angle of your jaw, the warmth in your eyes, the soft tendrils of hair in your face, it was all, perfect. Worth it. Your father takes your arm and leads you down the stone pathway, your leather boots tapping softly against the stone in the silence. The hills around you are muddy and green, and the sky is the kind of bright twilight blue that crackles with promise and electricity. A single puffy white cloud drifts across the sky. You stand in front of him, and he takes your shaking hands.
Wordlessly, he draws a knife from his pocket, your knife. He gets down on one knee, bows his head, and hands it to you.
“A life for a life.” He growls. You take the silver dagger with your name engraved in it and examine it. This glint of silver that had first caught his eye, that had brought you to the attention of Bakugou Katsuki. “If you will have me,” he looks up, “I will dedicate the rest of my days to provin’ that I am worthy of you,” he grins, “And uh, wipin’ that smug smile off your face.” You giggle, despite yourself, wiping your face clear.
“And if I won’t have you?” You counter, there are titters from the crowd.
“You’ve got the knife, princess.” He looks up, an evil grin on his face. You hesitate, turning it over in your palm. He rolls his eyes, and you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face.
“Stand.” You say, and he leaps up and kisses you so quickly he knocks the breath from your lungs, lifting you off your feet and swinging you around. You laugh a little, and he wipes a few stray tears from your face. “You did this,” you say quietly, gesturing to your family, “For me.” He nods.
“Thought I’d try something revolutionary.” He says.
“Peace?” You offer and he grins, kissing your forehead before responding.
bad to the bone nakahara chuuya has a big dick because I say so
Words: 1397 - closer to a drabble
Content and warnings: nakahara chuuya x fem!reader smut, chuuya makes you count the inches of his cock as he fucks into you for the first time, chuuya calls you a lot of petnames, mostly baby but also hun and sugar and love
Networks: @http-404-error-unknown , @planetonet
The first time you and Chuuya have sex, you almost can’t believe your eyes.
He measures it from the base of your mound to see how deep it will go, and it pretty much reaches your belly button. You cover your face at the sight. He glances between your cunt and face, and his lips upturn with a smirk.
“You gonna take it, baby? Take it all?” His voice is raspy, clouded with arousal, and you whine at the thought.
Hello! I saw u are accepting new members into the Treehouse network. May I apply for the same?
hi! im so sorry applications are closed now, i keep entry classes really small so that people have time to get to know each other, but im sure ill re open them again soon!!
hi hi!! im keeping the new entry classes really small so that people can get settled so i only had 6 people apply this time, i'll re open eventually I promise!
bakugou takes care of you w/ food when you're drunk, and you take care of his heart.
info. sfw, fluffy/comfort, lightly edited, reader is referred endearingly as “shitty woman” (reader is also described to be wearing make-up, dresses and having hair)
bakugou is making your instant noodles for you when you're drunk beyond belief because you couldn't find the packet you bought two weeks ago on your joint-grocery trip. he's cussing as he rummages the cupboards for it, shitty woman, who the hell told you to get this drunk? and you giggle as a response, watching his golden hair get fluffier from all the steam he's producing. only the stove light is on, garnet eyes shimmering and focused on the bubbles forming at the bottom of the pot.
"pretty," you mumble, resting your heated-cheek on the cool stone beneath you. if he's heard you, he doesn't seem to acknowledge it, so you try again, "kaaatsuggi, listen to me," you're slurring terribly and he snaps his head at you, eyes silently daring you to say more. you offer a grin, a nice, big one, "you're very pret-ty, y'know?"
"shut up," is the only thing that comes out of his mouth, water fully boiling by now. he dumps the spice packet and the vegetable packet in, making a note of the time on the digital clock in front of him. he'd scold you for making a racket coming into the house at a-little-after-3AM in the morning, but truth be told, he couldn't sleep anyway.
he's supposed to be - keywords: supposed to be - snoozing and letting his brain consolidate his memories from the day into dreams that never seem to make sense. supposed to be compressing them into something that looks vaguely like a coffee cup that jumps out of his hand, running down the pavement until it shoots a web out of the centre of its paper-sleeve, nose-diving straight into an ocean of pink that's oddly the same shade as the dress you wore three nights ago. except, today, his mind seems to have other plans for him, keeping him awake, letting him analyse every single detail of his day in real-time.
damage to the city is minimal; he's saved a few lives and captured a few petty criminals, but today just hasn't been the win he's looking for. something's lacking he supposes, so it's another mundane moment of the spectrum he calls his life.
he shuts the stove off when the clock strikes 3:23AM, adding a few ice cubes to the bowl so the ramen isn't too hot for you. he makes his way over to where you're slumped over, drool leaking from between your lips as you grin in your sleep. you look so stupid, work clothes wrinkled from the awkward position you're in and flakes of your eyeliner and mascara dotting the tops of your cheeks. setting the bowl down, gently, he brushes wisps of hair behind your ears.
leaning down, he can smell the perfume you normally wear. he also smells something citrusy, something exactly like his laundry detergent. you probably copped it from him during last sunday's load while he ran his errands, and he already knows what shitty excuse you'll give him when he asks you if you've run out of your own. he knows you'll say, by the time I got to the machine, i realised i brought yours instead! you're a terrible liar, but he thinks it's better than hearing it's so that you can sleep peacefully at night when he's away for his graveyard shifts. he's always been prepared to feel the sparks on the cracked palms of his hands; how could he possibly handle it if the sparks start in the middle of his heart instead?
his lips bump into the shell of your ear, only to pull back slightly to hover over your skin, "oi," your exhales have turned into soft snoring, your face angling more and more towards his marble counter-tops, but you don't seem to be making a move to wake up, "get up, you're getting your nasty drool all over my counter tops," there's still no movement and he kisses his teeth, sliding the bowl of noodles closer to your face, "your noodles are ready."
instantly, you shoot up, wiping your bottom lip with the back of your hand, "thank god, i thought my stomach 's gonna induce a nightmare with how... hungry i am," you slurp up a good amount, instantly burning the inside of your mouth. the ice cubes have already fully melted, doing a poor job of cooling the noodles down, but you ignore it, the rumble in your stomach overpowering the pain.
"slow down, you're gonna choke."
you shrug your suit jacket off, popping the first few buttons of your shirt open as your body heats up from the meal, "you'll be here t' make sure i don't," you bunch more noodles in between your chopsticks, "b'cause what can't ya do?"
the both of you already know the answer to that tonight.
you sit up, smiling-cheeks chubby and filled with the spicy msg. bakugou throws you a glare, but you think your noodles have more heat than that. you swear you see a flash of pink on his face.
the only thing he can't seem to do is sleep without you, the bed feeling exponentially colder, emptier, when you're not there to radiate his body heat back to him. or maybe, it's the way your nose is usually buried in his neck. or... ah, it's probably the way your fingers clutch at the front of his shirt throughout the night, right over where his heart lays beneath, wrinkling the hell out of the fabric. you already know he'll scold you in the morning too; you already know you'll joke that it's because he took your stuffed animal privilege away from you first.
you shut your mouth, leaning down for another bite. something heavy rests on your knee and instinctively, you take it in your hand.
it's comedic with how much bigger his palm is than yours, though it feels absolutely like home when you lace your fingers together, holding onto him as you work the rest of your noodles through. your hand is a little on the warm side, but it's soft... kind of nice when it's something else that's warming him, something that's not his quirk. he clutches it tightly and you give it a squeeze back, thanking him for making you food. he grunts, distracted with the way you're clutching at his heart instead.
he hates to admit it:
bakugou katsuki only wins if you are at the end of it all.
A/N: I wrote this as a way of conveying some of how I feel, so a lot of this is pretty much from my perspective, but a-n-y-w-a-y, enjoy. Also, as per usual, Minors DNI.
- There's some flashbacks to an argument, maybe a little angst, but it gets fluffy. Oikawa and reader are in their 20s
After hours of staring at your laptop, you fold it close, sighing and rubbing at your eyes. How could you think you would get anything done after that discussion with Tooru?
You lean back on the couch, preparing yourself to just take the couch, as you recall the argument. Once again, you had withheld some issues plaguing you, to the point that it was affecting your behavior at home. With Tooru visiting, you thought you could get away with hiding your issues away, but when Oikawa asked you what was wrong, you shook your head, frustrated and a little irate. A comment came out harsher than normal, and you immediately regretted it. What Oikawa was upset about was not that you had snapped at him, but at the fact that you did not trust him enough to bring your problems and issues to him, to allow him to comfort you.
You had argued about the basis of your relationship, and emotions swelled until you both could not take it anymore. You told him to take the bed for the night, since there was no way you would let him go home when the downpour was severe, and that you would take the couch, as you still had some work to attend to.
You remembered the look in his eyes--not anger, but anguish and helplessness. He was going to protest, but you shoved the earbuds into your ears, ending the conversation abruptly. Externally, you appeared cold, but internally, you were quaking. You never could handle the emotional discussions like this, as the only way you ever got them out was either in tears or in shouting matches with your parents as a defense. And here you were, lashing out at the one person who willingly decided to put up with you.
When you pull your hands away from your face, you note the slight trembling that seemed to manifest from your intense emotional distress. Your eyes begin to sting from the welling up of tears, but you shut them closed and breathe to hold them back.
You could not let things go like this, you had to apologize. You were in the wrong, you had let your irritation bleed onto him, and you had reacted to his concern.
Getting up off the couch, you decided to head to your bedroom where you had practically banished him to in favor of distracting yourself with an unproductive time over work. Surprisingly, he was lying in bed, asleep, but as you got closer, you noticed the few tears that had fallen down his cheeks. Kneeling down next to his sleeping form, your throat began to close up at the thought of him crying here alone after your bitter words, tears threatening to spill in response to the idea of him suffering at your callousness earlier.
Don't you trust me?!
"I--I don't know if I trust you… But I guess I didn't give you a chance," you whispered, more to yourself than at him. "I'm sorry. It really isn't you, it's just…" You paused, hating how cliche the words sounded, but they were true. "I could never let myself trust you because of my problems."
I'm here, I'm your boyfriend, does that not mean anything to you?
"You do mean something to me," you forced yourself to continue, hating how much of a coward you were to begin apologizing when the recipient is asleep. "I'm so sorry I didn't show that to you. You've been so good to me, all this time."
You keep yourself so distant, are you ever gonna let me in?
"I know, I hold back. A lot. But I'm protecting myself in what I guess if a self-fulfilling prophecy--if I don't let you in, I don't give you anything to hurt me with. But then it causes problems, and here we are."
Why won't you let me help you?
"I wish I could say," you muttered. "I just...never believe anyone can actually help me."
Damn it, I'm trying to make this work. But you keep me at arm's length, are you ashamed of me?
"I could never be ashamed of you, Tooru. I'm afraid that you're ashamed of being with me. I don't know what it's like to see a love that lasts."
I'm sorry I care so much, I'm just trying to understand what's going on with you.
"I know you are," your voice barely choked out, the tears slipping down your face. "I'm sorry I'm so difficult. It's just…"
The sobs began to rack through your body, the tears falling freely as you try to silence anything from coming out.
"God, you deserve so much better than me. I really am and have been happy with you, but... I'm so afraid that you'll end up leaving me, that you will see how truly awful I am and that you won't want me. And yet here I am, driving you away, just reaffirming my own actions. But it's not your fault... god, Tooru, I'm so sorry for being such a pathetic mess with you. I'm sorry for being a coward and for not letting go with you." Grabbing onto his hands and resting your forehead against it, you continue. "I've just been so afraid that I'll become someone you'll get tired of, someone you'll find overbearing and taxing as a partner. That one day, you won't want to maintain this relationship because I'm too much. So I don't give you everything, I can't, because some of those closest to me have said I am frustrating, I am selfish, I am too much. And I just wanted to keep you, because you're the best thing in my life right now, Tooru.
"I love you so much, I really do, and I know I'm a coward for saying it for the first time when you're asleep, but…" you take a moment to collect yourself, gently rubbing his hand with your thumb. "I do love you. And you've been so good, so generous with your affections, and I love every moment we spend together, and I wish I could spend more with you. I just don't want to burden you with my problems because I don't want to become dead weight to you. I want to be as perfect as I can be for you, so I handle everything, but I guess I just cause problems.
"But I love the way you smile, the way you laugh, the way you talk and tease and comfort, the way you hold me and kiss me, the way you never fail to make me smile and laugh--damn it, I could go on with how you make me feel, but I know I don't show it. And I'm so wrong for that, and I'm so sorry, I just--"
In a swift movement, Oikawa's hand squeezes yours and his other arm goes to pull you into him. Your face falls into his shoulder, and you struggle a little in his grasp. He readjusts his placement and rolls you onto the other side of the bed, squeezing you in his arms. His lips find your forehead, leaving a small peck there.
"Tooru, I thought you were asleep."
"I was about to, but then I heard you."
"I'm sorry--"
"Don't be," he cuts you off, letting his grip slack a little to look down at you, his sleepy eyes peering into yours. "I managed to catch every word you said, coward."
You huff at his reminder, hiding your face into his chest. "Yeah yeah, I know."
"Even the 'I love you' and the many praises you had for me."
"I will take everything back," you grumble, not really meaning it.
Oikawa leans in to kiss your hair, a small chuckle leaving his chest. "You can't. But it's ok because I accept everything.”
Wrapping your arms around him, you let out a sigh. You can feel his faint heartbeat, the rhythmic beating giving you a sense of peace. You murmur ‘I love you’ over and over again, hiding against him, trying to make up for all the times you missed out on telling him. His arms squeeze you closer, feeling relieved to have you in the bed with him. He could sense that you were falling asleep, your breathing slowing down and easing against him.
“I love you, Tooru.”
“I love you so much,” Oikawa replies. “And I’m always here for you.”
Summary: So he said to them, “I saw Satan falling like lightning from heaven.”
Atsumu was cast out of heaven for showing 'more favor' to his demon side—he looked different from the other angels, and the Elders (not the archangels or God) disliked it. When he gets older, he embraces the ideas the Elders had of him and is much more willing to watch the humans fall to shambles around him as he causes inconvenience after inconvenience.
Until, of course, he meets you.
Word Count: 7.8k
Warnings: Religious themes and religious trauma. Probably some blasphemy. Enemies to friends to lovers. Let me know if there are any other warnings I should add. Unbeta'd lol
A/N: This is for @semisgroupie's heaven and hell collab. I've had this piece in the works for much too long and it turned into something much bigger than intended. This is gonna be a series rip to me
Part one (here) / Master Post
Being cast out of heaven was nothing like the original fall of Lucifer. There wasn’t a war in Heaven and it lacked a lightning-like descent to Earth. There aren’t any theatrics nor glory in the falling of an angel that isn’t one of God’s most beautiful. Instead, when an angel falls, especially a child, there is only the sharp whistling of the wind and the decrescendo of a mother’s wail. A child with wings not yet fully developed, fluttering wildly against the sky, screams of their own ripped from the small body, and reaching back up towards a realm they can no longer return to.
This is how Atsumu fell.
At first, the air was nauseating; filled with the deadly sins of humankind and the noxious gasses released into the environment. They were killing themselves and the planet created for them. It was a dizzying shock to an angel as young as Atsumu, and for the first week he stumbled into streets and grassy parks, vomiting bile. Luckily for him, an older, more Earth-versed angel had found Atsumu and offered a helping hand. In the days after, Atsumu’s body adapted to the gut churning environment, curiously fast.
Now, it’s been at least fifteen human years since his descent and he’s learned how to be a proper member of society. He hates it, though, how they all flagrantly stare at him. How the ants gaze at him like he’s a hanging piece of meat in a butcher shop. It’s almost as sickening, he thinks, as when he first dropped.
Atsumu isn’t unaware of his good looks—honey brown eyes, golden hair, and a teasingly knife-sharp smirk which brings along curious eyes. It's what inevitably got him a job, but it is the way their eyes sparkle and their mouths hang open. It’s revolting. Humans are disgusting, lascivious creatures, and he will always wonder why God loved them more than he could love him.
“‘tsumu, ya gotta stop doing this.” Osamu’s wings flap atop a building, looking languidly at his twin. “They’ll never let you back in if—,”
“Shut up, ‘samu! What makes ya think I wanna go back?” Atsumu snarls at Osamu, watching as those opalescent feathers glimmer in the sun’s light. He knows they would have never suited him the way they do Osamu, but there is still a longing in his chest. “They put me here. Kita-san gives me enough shit for all the trouble I cause. Don’t need it from my lil brother, either.”
Atsumu keeps from the four story building onto the empty sidewalk, shielding his eyes from the swirling dirt when Osamu swoops down next to him.
“If you don’t want to go back, don’t look at me with that dejected expression whenever I have my wings out.”
“Tch.” Atsumu threads his fingers behind his head and rests them there. His throat is tight, but he swallows around the emotions and pushes his brother away. “Go back to where you belong, ‘samu. I’m sure everyone is much happier without me there.”
“I’m not.” Osamu says it so matter-of-factly that Atsumu turns around, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open. “You’re my brother, dumbass.”
Before Atsumu answers, there’s a tremor in Osamu’s wings and a shift in his expression. He glances up at the open blue sky and sighs.
“They callin’ you back?”
“Unfortunately. The Elders don’t like how often I come down here.” With wings outstretched, Osamu rises back up into the sky. “I’m no different from you. I don’t know why they’ve treated me like I am, ‘tsumu.”
“You’ve always taken more after mom, ‘samu.”
Osamu doesn’t agree, instead he gives his brother a warm smile and waves. “Don’t be too much of a pain t’ Kita, ok?”
“No promises!” Atsumu yells, watching him become nothing more than a speck in the sky.
Atsumu turns around, taking in the bustling streets and sidewalks of the city in the morning, happy that his angelic gifts didn’t disappear the same way his wings did when he fell. The humans can’t see him if he doesn’t want them to, only the odd animal can sense his presence when he’s like this.
There are moments—days—where he makes himself completely invisible to the naked eye. Just out of sight for the unsuspecting, and during this period, he causes tiny disruptions to worsen someone’s day. Setting parking meters back to zero if a parking officer is nearby. Making someone miss a step up to the sidewalk. An office coffee order spilling right outside of the building. A kid’s ice cream toppling onto the pavement, and his favorite: a bird shitting on an unsuspecting passerby. It’s this hobby of his that has Kita on edge and his brother worried about him.
A perfect example is walking by as he ponders on who to target next. The pretty one strutting down the sidewalk like you’re on a mission, and at 10 o’clock in the morning, you probably are. Your hair is neatly done and your blouse is tucked nicely into your skirt. Atsumu, however, is in a foul mood this morning and you look as if the higher ups have aligned the stars in your favor. It puts him on edge, so with a smirk and a snap of his fingers, a bird swoops in to do his bidding.
“Oh, come on,” you jeer, stopping dead in your tracks to glare up at the retreating bird. Atsumu is cackling, bent forward with his arms folded over his stomach. Like a bird dropping a large one right onto your cobalt blazer is the funniest shit he’s ever seen. “Laugh it up, you winged asshole.” You shrug off the blazer, mumbling under your breath. “Good for nothin’ angel.”
Atsumu’s laughter comes to an abrupt halt, and he’s gawking at you openly. You can see him? He watches how you hold the stained article of clothing out in front of you and sigh before folding it over your arm. You look at him one more time, eyes narrowed, and flick him off before stalking away. You can see him.
“Hey!” He shouts, following you. Fifteen years being on Earth and no one has seen him without permission, even the ones with the gifts to see and hear between the fabrics of the universe. “Come on, wait up!”
It’s clear you’re doing your best to ignore him. You walk faster, hoping that the longer strides will somehow work to leave him far behind. The clicking of your heels is booming between the two of you. He’s sure they’re already providing some discomfort to you, and although you’re trying so hard to leave, Atsumu just won’t allow it. Unfortunately, he’s just as quick, if not quicker, because now he’s a few steps in front of you, walking backwards without stumbling.
“I know you can see me! Don’t think you’re gonna get out of this so easily, gorgeous.”
Your eyes shift silently over others walking by. “People are going to think I’m crazy. Stop talking to me.”
“You screamed at nothing two minutes ago, and now you’re worried about what people think?” Thanks to his comment, Atsumu’s having to work harder than he wants to keep up.
“Shut up! Go away, you’re annoying.”
He clicks his tongue. “You’re so stuck up.”
Having had enough, you stop, grab onto the fabric of his coat and yank him into an alley, turning a corner to hide behind a building. Now you can touch him? Atsumu’s head is spinning. He refuses to believe you’re human.
Through clenched teeth, you seethe. “You had a bird shit on me! For no reason. You antagonize people every day to pass the fucking time and I’m sick of it. Go back to the sky if you’re going to be a nuisance!”
“You watch me?”
You balk. “No!”
“How do you know I’m an angel?”
“What?”
Atsumu pushes forward. Left foot slotting between your two as he advances, watching how you step back on instinct, but end up against the brick wall behind you. He makes himself visible then, knowing that the heaviness of his physical presence is much more intimidating in solid form. He’s so much taller than you and his arms frame either side of your head as he leans in closer than necessary.
“Tell me why you’re able t’ see me and how ya knew I was an angel.”
“I-I never said you were an angel.” The indignant fire you had smoldering inside you is now nothing more than a weak flickering ember. You won’t even meet his eyes. It’s thrilling. “You’re too close.”
“Hush,” to make the situation more uncomfortable, he leans in closer and hot breath fans over your lips. “I heard ya call me a ‘good for nothin’ angel.’” Your brow creases and you close your eyes, face turning away. He caught you. Excitement erupts goosebumps over his skin. “Come on, sweetness, tell me how ya knew.”
Your eyes open and zone in on him again. The wildfire is back and something in Atsumu’s stomach flips. Your hand comes up, encompassing the entirety of his face, and shoves him away.
“Leave me alone!”
A startled laugh bubbles out of him. It’s exciting, finding someone like you arbitrarily on a street. The first person he’s ever found interest in doesn’t want jack shit to do with him. Atsumu pulls your hand down and presses it to his chest, grinning.
“You’re somethin’ else. My name’s Atsumu, by the way.”
“I don’t care.”
He lets you go then, stumbling when you use the hand on his chest to shove him further away, stepping out of the alley and back into the bright yellow rays of sunshine. He trails behind, liking the way you squint at the shift in brightness, how you roll your shoulders back like the existence of him will sweep itself off too, and proceed to your original destination. There’s a prickly feeling on top of his skin that makes him want to follow you—he wants nothing more than to be a thorn in your side, and to see that adorable furrow in your brow. He’s a bit too invested in someone he just met.
Atsumu steps out into the sun, tips his head back and smiles widely at the blue sky. “Oh, this is gonna be so much fun.”
“I’m home.” Atsumu calls, slipping off his shoes and meandering into the kitchen. Kita’s there on the phone while he chops vegetables. He glances at him with a sharp look that prickles Atsumu’s skin. “What?”
“No,” he says into the receiver. “Aran, he just got home.”
Atsumu suddenly remembers Osamu returning to heaven and how he most definitely ratted him out to Aran like the little shit he is. He groans and rubs his hands over his eyes. Kita will give him an earful for whatever behavior his brother snitched about.
“I’ll talk to you later, ok? Keep me updated on things there.” Kita hums at whatever Aran says before hanging up. “Your brother visited.”
Atsumu sighs. Kita isn’t asking. He’s making a statement. “Yes, he did. Then he promptly left when the big guys upstairs didn’t want him talking to his unholy big brother.”
“Atsumu…”
“Don’t do that.” He shakes his head, frowning. “Don’t speak to me like you feel sorry for me. Everyone feels so sorry for me. It makes me sick.”
Kita looks at the dejection on his companion’s face and sets aside his knife to face him.
“I don’t feel sorry for you.” He says, near expressionless. “You have a great life here. You’re a public personality with your celestial features, your brother comes to visit whenever he can.” Kita gestures to their surroundings and the food he was preparing. “You have a place to sleep and food to eat.”
“I don’t need to eat.”
“Yet you still stuff your face.” Atsumu grumbles. “Despite the beginning of your journey, this life isn’t a bad one.” He turns back to his half cut vegetables when he hears the oil sizzle on the stove. “Don’t torture the humans because the angels treat you unfairly.”
Atsumu steps in to help, piling the chopped up veggies into the pot to sauté. There’s a quiet understanding between the two as they work seamlessly together. When Kita’s finished chopping, Atsumu adds the remaining things to the pot before pouring in the broth, tomatoes, bay leaves and thyme. He knows this recipe. Kita’s homemade vegetable soup. Most of the ingredients come from the garden he tends to in the backyard. It was the first thing he made Atsumu when he found him. He remembers its flavor and the warmth that flooded his stomach.
“They’ll never accept me, Kita.” Atsumu salts the pot and adds fresh ground pepper. “What’s the point in tryin’?”
Kita reaches his hand up to the taller man and rests his hand on the back of his head. “You’re a smart kid.” Atsumu scoffs. “The point is you don’t betray yourself and your own sense of morality. Not the ones higher above.”
Despite Kita’s gentle suggestions, Atsumu does not let up on his antics. Except instead of picking on a different individual every other day, he’s latched onto antagonizing you.
He tells Osamu about you whenever he can spare a moment to come down. About the air of prestige you carry, the fire your soul shows when you scold him, and the twinkling beauty of your eyes when you look at him.
“It’s disdain,” Osamu says, unimpressed. “She’s looking at you with disdain.”
Atsumu, like any brother who’s blind and infatuated, ignores him and continues forward about the power you wield over the space you occupy. And your beauty, the overwhelming presence of it always leaves him with shivering goosebumps.
“Tell her you watch her like this.”
“You think I should?”
“Yeah, so she can know how weird you are and run.”
Atsumu gasps dramatically. “You’re so mean to your big brother!”
It’s been a month of constant nitpicking and harassment by the so-called angel, and now another week rolls around only for him to sprinkle more pieces of bullshit into your life.
It starts on Tuesday when the elevator is suspiciously out of order, forcing you to walk down ten flights of stairs.
“Get that exercise in hot stuff!” He yells, dangling off the edge of someone else’s balcony, looking down at you in front of the apartment building after you’re huffing from your descent.
He’s laughing as you tell him to go to hell.
Wednesday, rain falls heavily in the streets, and it does so on you as well when an inconvenient hole appears in your newly purchased umbrella.
“Ya look like a wet dog,” he smirks when you stand outside your door, hair plastered to the planes of your face and your makeup a little smudged. “A cute one, though.”
“At least I don’t smell like one.” When you scrunch your nose up at him, brushing past to get into your place, he nearly melts. “You should go shower.”
A tired high giggle leaves your lips, and he knows he could get drunk off its sound. It only makes him want to mess with you more.
On Thursday, you miss your train. Not because you were late, but because Atsumu forced the doors closed to the train just so you weren’t able to board.
“You hate me, don’t you?”
“Oh, no!” Atsumu laughs. “Why would you say that? I have so much fun with you.”
“You have fun torturing me.”
He reaches out to fix the collar of your blouse. His smile is horribly dazzling. “Your reactions are cute. I want more.”
All you do is blush discreetly and roll your eyes.
Friday, things get a little tougher. You’re feeling the wear and tear of a brutal work week, and on your lunch break, the food ends up square in your lap, staining your clothes.
Atsumu is sitting in your peripheral, chewing on a pen that isn’t his and he’s laughing. “Nice new look!”
He assumes the lack of response is because you’re the only one who can see him. But you stare at your lap too long and don’t level him with the glare he’s gotten used to.
“Cat got y’r tongue, sweetheart?”
Carefully, you scrape the food off of you and back into its container. You secure the lid without opening your mouth once and stand, stain on full display. Atsumu thinks this is it—this is the big reaction he’s been waiting for and he’s nearly gripping the arms of the seat in anticipation. But when you turn to look at him, there are tears in your eyes and he sees how tense your jaw is. You’re trying very hard not to let a single tear fall in the middle of work. He doesn’t say a word, face morphing into one of startled shock. Without a word, you turn away and disappear down a hallway unknown to the angel.
You don’t come back to your desk.
Saturday comes and there are aches in your bones that attest to the exhaustion you feel from the rest of the week. The five alarms you set religiously to start your day had not gone off. Thankfully, it isn’t a workday, but it takes everything in you just to get out of bed.
Atsumu is lounging on his back in front of your apartment. Loitering, obviously, but it’s not like you could call law enforcement on someone that could go AWOL in a blink of an eye. He’s a floater. Literally and figuratively, he can float in the air, hundreds of feet above the people and the city’s skyscrapers.
In a nomadic sense, he’s no different. Never staying somewhere too long in fear of being found out about his inability to age. Although he hasn’t been on earth long enough for anyone to be suspicious, he is anxious all the same. It’s the inevitable dread of ‘what if’ that looms over his head. What if they found out? What would they do to him? Would they cast him out the same way he’d fallen before?
Sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he can still hear his mother’s scream and her outstretched hand. His tiny wings flapping desperately against the sting of the wind. He hates it here. Hates the people and their sniveling dispositions. What he wouldn’t give to—
“Are you going to lie in front of my door the whole morning?”
Atsumu jumps, too lost in thought to have noticed the door opening.
“Hey, sugar!” He goes to stand, but you’re quicker. Stepping over him with a grimace, but all he does is grin widely while tailing behind you. “I thought you’d never wake up.”
“Go away.” Your shortness spurs him on.
“Ah, but I’m bored—and you can see me! Entertain me.”
He doesn’t miss how you’re more haggard than annoyed; face pinched and pallid. “Normal people have errands to run. Which is where I’m headed. Please get the hint.”
With an over dramatic groan, Atsumu lifts himself off the ground, feet dangling just above, and he floats along next to you. “You’re not normal if you can see me.”
He uses your first name, making you flinch.
“I don’t know why you’re always showing up at my door, but you need to stop.” Your finger presses the button for the elevator four times. “I’m already running behind.”
Atsumu might’ve let himself into your house like a creep, phased just way through the walls and turned off all your alarms, but he won’t tell you that. Not when he can see dark circles under your eyes, and face naked compared to its usual painted piece of art. Tiny ants of guilt nibble away at him as he counts the late nights you’ve had after coming back from the office and how he pretended not to see your bottom lip tremble when you couldn’t get your key to turn in the door last night. Atsumu knows he should’ve eased off you, but he couldn’t stop.
You round on him. “How do you even know my name? I’ve never mentioned it.”
“I’ve been actively stalking you.” A joke to ease the tension.
“That makes me feel so much better, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“It was sarcasm.”
“Hah,” in nonchalance, he rests his arms behind his head. “I don’t care.”
You knock your head against the elevator doors right before they open. It’s clear you’ve already had enough of the angel, despite the early hour of the day.
He actually only knows your name because he’s seen it on the recyclable coffee cups you’ve brought to work, and the times he’s pretended to fuck around with your mail just to see you snarl at him and snatch the envelopes out of his hand. Atsumu loves getting under your skin.
“Then, can I stay?”
“What?” shifting your weight from one leg to the other as the elevator descends several floors. Atsumu is no longer floating, instead he’s standing at your side and is entirely visible. “Stay where?”
“At your place.” He’s sheepish about the request. He doesn’t know why he’s asking, but there’s something hollow in his chest that longs to be filled. “Just, uh, just a random question. Nothin’ serious.”
“No?” You say, incredulous. “If you couldn’t tell, you’ve made my life pretty shit the last few days, and I know you have your own place.”
“It-it isn’t my place. I live with someone.”
“Don’t care.” You shrug, swiftly stepping out of the elevator as the doors slide open. “Go home.”
He listens. Atsumu goes home, not upset but not entirely happy with how he left things off with you.
“What’s wrong with you, Atsumu?” Kita stares at him from over the top of his book. “You seem perturbed.”
Atsumu shakes his head. “Don’t wanna tell you,” he disappears into the kitchen and pours himself a large glass of water. “You’ll give me that disappointed look you have when I do something unbecoming.” He steps back into the living area, gulping down his water, and sees the way Kita frowns. “There,” he points, glass in hand. “That’s the beginning of the look.”
“It’s that woman, isn’t it?”
He nearly shatters the glass. “I—How?”
“You seem to forget I’m also an angel, Atsumu. It isn’t difficult for me to move freely and obtain information around this city.”
Atsumu groans, head falling backward. “Osamu told you.”
“Osamu told me. So,” Kita closes his book and slowly blinks at the younger man. “What did you do to her?”
He opens his mouth to complain, to ask why Kita assumes he was the one to do something, but he quickly shuts it. There isn’t a reason to lie. Atsumu saw it in your eyes; the exhaustion and defeat. Everything he wanted, like a schoolboy that bullies his crush. His crush.
“I messed up. I, uh, I pushed too hard, like I always do.”
“And?”
“And,” he sighs, “I hurt her. Made her days much more difficult than they should’ve been.”
Kita sets the book aside and stands to approach the dejected vision of Miya Atsumu. “Why did you do that?”
“Because she’s interesting.” He looks up at Kita. “Because she saw me when no one else could.” Atsumu takes a final, desperate drink of his near empty glass. Something to clear his nervous and dry palate. “I wanted her to see me. To hear and feel and, and think of me.”
Kita nods and takes the glass out of his hand. “Ok,” he says. “Is it alright if I take you somewhere? I want to show you something.”
“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “That’s, that’s fine.”
Kita takes him to several places. Being sure to keep invisible to the natural human eye as they move swiftly.
There is a man sweating nervously, shifting back and forth in his feet in the middle of a park, under a large magnolia tree. He has a bouquet tucked tightly behind his back. If Atsumu didn’t know any better, he would say the man was about to collapse. Until another man approaches, reluctant and scared, with his hands flexing at his sides.
“When you’re out, I come to this park to watch.” Kita says quietly, watching the interaction unfold. “They’ve been together for four years. The man with the flowers hadn’t yet come out to his parents and has been hiding his partner for the entirety of their relationship.”
“But,” Atsumu steps closer. He wants to see and hear clearer. “Isn’t it difficult to open yourself up to family like that? Didn’t his partner understand?”
“Yes, he understood.” Kita follows Atsumu slowly, allowing him to get closer while he explains. “But love is never so easy. Hiding it hurts, and havin’ to hide someone who is a fundamental part of your life when all you want to do is scream it…”
Atsumu stops only eight feet away from the couple and he can see they’re both crying. The one with the flowers is trembling, restating his love and desire to live eternally with his partner.
“Even if my parents disown me,” he says. “I have you. I love you. That’s all I need.”
“We’ll have each other. I’ll go with you,” the other man says through tears. “We’ll do it together.”
“It takes a toll on you.” Atsumu finishes Kita’s thought as he watches on. “You second guess yourself and everyone around you. Everything. You wonder if you’re good enough.”
“Yes, and sometimes when a bond and feelings are strong enough,” they watch the two men embrace and press desperate kisses to lips, cheeks, and temples. “Things work out for the better.”
“That’s nice,” Atsumu says quietly, turning back to Kita. “What else?”
Kita smiles. “This way.”
This time they walk along a cobblestoned road as Kita points out different forms of human kindness and forgiveness. How people apologize. How regular everyday people interact. How if he wants to be seen, heard, and felt, then he needs to get to know the person on a level playing field. Atsumu had learned how to live on earth, but he never learned how to be human.
“Instead of hurting the person long before they can ever hurt you, Atsumu.” He reasons, handing Atsumu a handful of gummy bears. “For example, the woman you’ve been bothering lately.”
Atsumu shoves four gummy bears into his mouth. “What are you, the angel of foresight?”
“There’s no such thing.”
“Um,” Atsumu starts, still with a mouthful. “I’m pretty sure Raziel has some sort of foresight.”
“Raziel is an archangel. Obviously, he operates on a different level than the rest of us.” Kita sighs, unamused. “Regardless, maybe learn to apologize to the people who don’t deserve your fury.”
Atsumu asks Kita to help him shop for an apology basket of sorts. Something a woman would like after long, grueling days of dealing with a less than pleasant, rebellious angel. Kita piles a shopping cart full of skin care, fruits, two drastically different wines, and a large sized Tupperware.
“You’ll take her some of the food we made recently. Feed her, apologize, allow her to relax.”
“What else?” Atsumu’s voice is soft, inquisitive and still filled with nervous energy. “What can I do to make her… not dislike me?”
Kita’s eyes soften and he presses his fist into the middle of Atsumu’s chest. “Open up. Let her in and maybe she’ll do the same.”
That night, Atsumu shifts nervously at your front door and finally feels like he understands a fraction of how the man with the flowers felt.
He knocks and waits, closes his eyes and listens to see if he can hear your approaching footsteps.
“The door’s unlocked!” Atsumu balks at your shout and nearly barrels inside.
“How could you keep the door unlocked?!” He scolds while kicking off his shoes and stumbling into the apartment to find you on the couch. “Do you invite criminals inside your home so easily?!”
You’re dressed comfortably, lying horizontally on your cushions. “I knew it was you, Atsumu.”
“How? I didn’t even say anything.”
“No one else annoys me on my off days like you do.” With a yawn, you sit up and rub a hand over your face. “At least you knocked this time.”
Atsumu deflates. You’re right. He sets the bags of items carefully on your small coffee table and takes a seat on the floor.
“I wanted to apologize.” He’s pulling everything out of the bags. The face masks, a pretty green hair band, the fruits, wine, and the large Tupperware of separated white rice and vegetable soup. “I’ve been angry for a long time—I still am, honestly.” He looks up to find you watching him intently. “But it isn’t an excuse to treat you like I do.”
“You told me my reactions were cute.”
“They were.” Your eyes narrow. “Uh, um—I’m a bad person.”
Chuckling, you push yourself to the edge of the couch. “Are these things for me?”
“Yes, I wanted to apologize.”
Your eyes fall to the wine. “Are you joining me?”
“If that’s what you want. I don’t want to bother you.”
“In the cabinet to the right of my refrigerator are wine glasses. Grab two. On the counter is the electric wine opener.”
Atsumu’s face lights up and he hurries to the kitchen, pulling open the proper cabinet and returning with your favorite glasses, and the wine opener under his arm.
“So,” you open a bottle easily, laying the cork aside. “Why do this now?”
“Kita, the other angel I live with.” He pours the wine for you and him. “He acts as my guardian. I didn't want you to hate me, so he showed me some things.” With a sip of the wine, you raise your brow at him. “I know I have done nothing for you t’ think well of me, but you…” his fingers delicately hold the thin neck of his glass. “You interest me ‘n I really would like t’ be friends.”
“I don’t hate you, Atsumu.” You don’t, there’s a dislike, sure, but not hate. “You didn’t exactly treat me nicely.” Atsumu bites his lip and nods. He agrees obviously, he’s been an asshole for most of his time on earth. “The first time you targeted me wasn’t the first time I ever saw you.”
“What? We met before?”
“We hadn’t met, but I knew you. I saw everything.”
Atsumu rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “E-everything?”
“Every act of mischief.” You nod with a tight smile. “They were small things, minor inconveniences from a little piss baby expressing his rage.”
“Hey!”
You laugh, biting your own lip to halt the sound before taking another drink. “Anyway, I actively avoided you. I didn’t want to get mixed up in whatever drama you were trying to cause.”
Atsumu groans. “And then I turned the mischief onto you.”
“Yes.” You flick his shoulder. “And you caught my slip up.”
He takes a careful sip, looking at you above the rim of his glass. “So this is all y’r fault.”
“Oh, my god.” You roll your eyes, but there’s a glimmer of a smile. “Shut up.”
After a couple hours of easy banter, good food, and two bottles of wine later, Atsumu’s legs are draped over the arm of your couch with his head resting on your thigh. His eyes are closed and you would think he had fallen asleep if it wasn’t for the low rumbles he’s been letting out and the tiny upticks of his lips now and then.
“I think I like this better than seein’ all y’r exasperated expressions.”
Your fingers are lost in the golden sunshine rays of his hair, both of you blissfully warm from all the alcohol.
“That’s good,” you say, nails scratching at his scalp. “I’ve never been unsuccessful in catching my prey with head scratches.”
“I’m drunk and sleepy,” he mutters and turns his head so you can reach his neck. “You wore me down before striking.”
You laugh softly. “Ah, you’ve uncovered my master plan.”
It’s like this that the two of you become close. Atsumu stops antagonizing you at every left turn, but still plays his fair share of harmless pranks. On Friday’s, he comes over after you’ve gotten off of work and cooks you dinner, swearing that it’s the least he can do after everything he put you through for over a month. You don’t complain. Seeing him like this is a nice change. He sleeps over on those nights, takes up space on your couch when he’s sober enough not to fall for the desirable comfort of your bed.
“It’s a big bed,” you tell him. “And the left side is always empty.”
The first time you offered, his face lit up with near neon pink hues.
“Ki-Kita would have my head if I took you up on that.” Atsumu collapses down on the couch, tucking one of the throw pillows underneath his head. “And he would find out. He’s too perceptive.”
“Ok,” you laugh and turn to grab a blanket from a linen closet. “Sleep on the couch, but don’t complain about your back hurting in the morning.”
When he isn’t working, and with your permission, he still tags along with you to your job and watches out for you. Maybe he messes with a few of your co-workers who speak less than respectfully towards you. Their coffee spilling on their lap or their salad a bit too wilted to be enjoyable. He accompanies you to the grocery store, helps push around your cart of items and even brings them inside your home. Atsumu has shifted into the person you were sure he always has been with Kita or even how he was before coming to earth.
Things are great for three very fun, laughter filled weeks. Until the discussion of your beliefs comes up on another inebriated Friday night.
“Come on.” He sits up straight and laughs to dissipate his own growing discomfort. “You’re pullin’ my leg! You’re tellin’ me you don’t—.”
“I don’t believe in Heaven or whatever else a book written by humanity says.” You wave your hand around and pop a grape in your mouth. “Most of those things didn’t even happen.”
“You’re lyin’,” he says in a low, serious tone. “That’s, that’s not true.”
“I don’t.” You shake your head, eyes looking out the window and squinting at the nuclear burning candescence of the setting sun. “I don’t believe in a higher power.”
Atsumu bristles, the implication of you not believing in his place of birth, knocking him off kilter. So, he argues, because of course he does. He is living, breathing proof that something above this atmosphere exists. He feels the agonizing, nauseating need to defend the existence of The Genesis despite its shunning of him. His mother is there, his brother, his friends—the angel in him, the part that is wholly and purely his mother, still mourns for the arms of a woman whose grip on him loosened.
“Are you kidding?! How the hell could ya say that!?” His outburst shocks you and now, just like he wanted, he has your full attention as he stands and starts to pace. “I’m here! I am right here! You said it y’rself, I’m an angel. A being that was exiled from the Heavenly kingdom. How-how could you not believe in the existence of a higher power?”
Atsumu's eyes bore into you with a fury that licks at your heels and demands your attention. Unperturbed by the angel’s seething, you flick your eyes over him with a sigh.
“Fine,” you acquiesce, sitting up. “I don’t want there to be a higher power that kicks out their own angels.” You lift the glass to the sunlight shining in through the window, watching as the red liquid glistens. “I don’t put belief in things with archaic conditions.” You knock the rest of the drink back, nose wrinkling with the burn. “Is that better for you, Atsumu?”
“No!” He shouts, startling you.
It isn’t better. It’s where his mother held him tight, littered his cheeks with kisses and made him feel much more precious than he was worth. There, Osamu stayed at his side, held his hand when they were scared, and fluttered through the different parts of paradise on much too small wings. Flower fields and picnics and glittering lights, his mother’s smile, his brother’s laugh—when was the last time he heard or saw either?
“It isn’t—,” he chokes and collapses onto his knees in front of you, guilt weighing him down like the image of a sinner already forsaken by God. Atsumu weeps. “‘Behold,’” his bottom lip trembles while he recites a long forgotten verse, “‘I was brought forth in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me.’”
And it’s amid these feelings, buried underneath layers of crumbling concrete, that he breaks down into bone rattling sobs. Fists clenching tightly at his sides before he digs the white stressed heels of his palms into his eyes and curls down into himself. He sits there, weeping, gutturally lonely sounds clawing themselves harshly out of his chest, and doesn’t move.
When cold fingertips touch his wrist, he flinches, head snapping to attention to see you reaching for him. You too are now on your knees facing him. Atsumu’s shivering, red watery eyes and a trembling bottom lip face you, then he sees the disquieted expression in your features and all but collapses onto you. The difference in temperature your fingers hold centers him at the moment, bringing the hiccuping wails down to sniffles and shuddering inhales. Your hand is at the back of his neck, pressing, squeezing as you lay a hard kiss to his temple.
“Listen to me,” you mutter into his skin, voice low and serious. “I do believe in the existence of Heaven and Hell. I believe in angels and demons, too.” Atsumu shifts, nose runny and eyes tinged pink. “I should have said that I don’t put my faith in intangible things or beings who condemn the different.” You give a sad smile as you run your fingers through his hair. “I stopped doing that a long time ago.”
Atsumu wipes his nose on his shirt and doesn’t leave the comforting proximity of your person. “Then,” he sniffs. “Then what do you put your faith in?”
“Myself,” you answer with a hand pressed to your chest. “The Earth.” Your fingers move across the carpet before bringing them back up to hold Atsumu’s face. “And you.”
He frowns, confused. “Me?”
You nod. “You’re here, and despite your initial desire to irritate me… I’m no longer lonely.” Your thumb rubs over his cheekbone and you smile at him. “I believe in you, Atsumu.”
You watch as his eyes widen before the realization of your words settles within him, and his expression melts into one of solace.
“Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you so much.”
Atsumu tries to move closer into your space until his head rests on your shoulder, snuggling further into your chest for comfort. You hold him, running your hands over his head and along the expanse of his back. How long has he held onto these emotions? Has he ever allowed himself the time to cry like this?
“Are you tired?” You ask, and he only responds with a gentle hum. “Let’s at least get you on the couch, ok?”
“Don’t leave.” He mumbles, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. “Stay.”
“Ok,” you whisper back and briefly pull yourself away to lie on the couch. “Atsumu,” you’re holding his hand, tugging it. “Come, lay up here. We can take a nap together more comfortably on the couch, alright?”
He nods, rubbing his eyes like a child before settling himself on top of you. He shimmies one hand underneath your shoulder blade and rests the other by his side. Gently, you coax him to sleep with back rubs and the soft scratching of his scalp.
Never in your wildest dreams did you think you would be in your apartment, comforting a fallen angel as he falls asleep on your chest. It’s unsurprisingly warm.
The next morning, you wake up in your bed, tucked away under the covers. The left side of the bed is wrinkled, obviously slept in and you go looking for your companion, finding him in your kitchen cooking breakfast and brewing coffee.
“I don’t eat.” He says when you sit down at the table. “Well, I don’t need t’ eat, but I do it anyway t’ feel normal.”
“Do you eat with Kita?”
He nods and slides a plate in front of you. Everything is piping hot and looks delicious. He takes the seat next to you and digs in himself.
“He took me in after I fell.” Atsumu pushes his eggs to the side, thinking about that day. “Thank you, um, for last night, and I’m sorry for my hysterics.”
“It’s alright, Atsumu. I should have approached the topic properly.” After a sip of coffee, you sigh trying to figure out how to explain your feelings about last night. “I have my own… issues with the things that go on up there.”
If Atsumu wants to pry, he doesn’t show it. Maybe you were vague enough that he doesn’t connect any possible dots of your own relation to God and His angels.
“Can I tell you something?” He asks.
With a mouthful of bacon, you blink at his profile. “Mhmm.”
“I’m not just an angel.” Nervously, he looks over at you, eyes still rimmed red from the night before. “I’m half demon, too.” He swallows audibly. “I’m too much like my father, so they sent me here.”
You swallow the food and it finally clicks why he recited a line from scripture last night in the middle of his breakdown.
“Do you,” he pauses, hands squeezing around the silverware for courage. “Do you think they would allow me back?”
By your side sits a boy. Not a man, but a small boy who had been cast out of his home, of his family by a group of supposed tolerant beings. Beings too terrified of their own darker brethren that grew along below, if not beside them. Demons are merely creatures who have rebelled against their Creator. They are not inherently evil.
Atsumu calls your name.
“I’m sorry. What did you ask?”
“Do you think the elders would let me back home?”
“Yes.”
The second time around, you respond without hesitation. It’s sure and matter of fact, and the speed of it shocks Atsumu.
“Really?” The hope your words bring him lights up his entire face.
“Really.”
You take a piece of egg, chew it three times and swallow. It occurs to you how you have never seen Atsumu’s wings. Does being half demon give him reason to hide them? You wonder if they were part of the reason for his fall.
“May I see your wings?” You ask, watching as he tenses up. “Your angel aura is much stronger than your demonic one.”
Atsumu shakes his head, chuckling anxiously. “I’m not sure I believe that.”
You smile and slip your hand down the middle of his back. “Please?”
He sucks in a sharp breath before standing. “I haven’t–,” he halts, turning his back to you. “Since coming here, I haven’t shown them to anyone except for Kita.”
“It’s ok,” you soothe. “Take your time.”
Atsumu slips off his shirt, takes a few deep breaths and, in what feels like a blink of an eye, his back flexes and there are wings the color of snowflake obsidian taking up the wide open space of your dining area. You let out a tiny gasp, pushing out your chair to get closer. It’s difficult not to reach out and touch the feathers he has spread out on display.
“Atsumu,” you mutter. Afraid if you talk any louder, he’ll startle like a wild animal. “They’re gorgeous.”
Goosebumps erupt across his skin and you can see as such. “They’re too dark.”
“What?” Your fingers float over his wing feathers, awe lighting up your eyes and cheeks. “I’ve never seen such a beautiful color on an angel before.” Atsumu looks at you from over his shoulder and sees your expression. He almost can’t believe his eyes. “They’re the prettiest I’ve ever seen.”
Angels that fall out of grace normally have their wings clipped. For them, this means they cannot use their wings at will. However, in Atsumu’s situation, he had done nothing wrong besides being born different. He was teased and hated for the color of his wings. They were too “dark” or “evil” looking for the pure white opal winged others, and when he fell, he subconsciously tucked them away, hoping never to see them again.
You grab Atsumu’s hand, turning him around to face you. Other than the color of his wings, the only thing that gives away his demonic blood relation is the color of his scleras. They’re as dark as the night sky, a harmonious compliment to the bright gold of his irises.
“Your eyes change, too.” Atsumu squeezes them shut and you frown. “Now, why would you do that?”
“They’re ugly.”
“You’re annoying.” You frame his face with your hands and smooth your thumbs over his eyelids. “I’ve never seen anything ugly on you.” Atsumu peeks at you. “Which, frankly, pisses me off. Too pretty for your own good." You pat his cheeks a bit sharply before letting go. "No wonder you’re a model here."
He scoffs and grabs onto your wrists. “Stop complimentin’ me. My inflated ego can’t take much more.”
“Ah, you’re right. You’re already insufferable. I'd hate to make it worse.”
“Harsh!” Atsumu’s shoulders fall, relaxing finally. “I can count on you to humble me from now on. Kita won’t have to do it by himself now.”
The guardian. “Does Kita know about me?”
He nods. “He knows of you, but he doesn’t know your name.”
“I’d like to see him.”
“Why?”
“Hey.” Unwilling to let go of his hand, you step closer into his space. “Do you really want to go back home?” He whispers his desire and the wings instinctively curve around you. “Then I need to see him. I think I can help get you back up there, Atsumu.”
It makes little sense to him; you know that. In Atsumu’s eyes, it’s blatantly clear the question of what can a human do to help flashes in front of him each time he takes you in.
But he still listens. “Ok,” he says. “I’ll take you to see him.”
Atsumu is fretting just beneath the surface and you're unsure whether it's because you're about to meet someone he cares a lot for or if it's because of the topic. Regardless, you smile and try to reassure him.
"Atsumu," you say. "Has Kita told you what happens to a fallen angel's wings?"
"Yeah," he takes a step back to put his wings away and you watch them blink out of existence once more. Atsumu pulls his shirt back on. "Their wing feathers are permanently clipped."
"And yours haven't been."
He stops and stares at you. As if this is the first time he's noticed. "I-I never use them, so I just thought..."
"No matter what they want you to think, you haven't fallen from grace."
Atsumu collapse down into the chair, and with a single shuddering breath, he begins to cry.
repost from my old blog bc this fic is my brainchild
✼ Katsuki Bakugo x Reader
✼ fluff, hurt/comfort
✼ 3.7K words
✼ gn!reader, reader uses they/them pronouns, bkg is deaf and disabled (cane user), bkg is described as bigger than reader, bkg and reader are attacked by villains who threaten them with a gun, a small instance of ableism. everything turns out okay though <33, not much romance?? idk i'm aro so.. shrug
a gift for @yuwuta-a for a server fic exchange i did in january. thank you once again to @boosyboo9206 who beta read this for me and thank you to @httptamaki and @cursex for looking through it when i was doubting myself dfkjdg
»»————- ✼ ————-««
It’s a lot warmer once you’re inside the library. Despite how spacious it is, it feels like the walls and the shelves hug you every time you visit, like a comforting hello.
There’s someone who passes by you that laughs to themself when they see you shiver, trying to shake off the cold that had seeped into your bones. You exchange a glance with them, an awkward smile on your face as you laugh, too.
As if to make up for the lack of snow outside in the streets of Tokyo, the ceiling had various paper snowflakes hanging from it. The shelves had been framed in tinsel and there was a decently sized Christmas tree next to the check out desk, decorated in all sorts of baubles and lights and, of course, a gold star on the very top.
You’re rubbing your arms to warm yourself up, looking around to appreciate the festive decor. You're lost in the daze of fairy lights and thoughts of what book you’ll escape into today, what fantasy shall you entertain to forget the woes of ordinary life.
Clack! Something falls to the floor and you spin toward the direction of the sound. You look down and see a cane that fell over. The person nearest to it, who you assume to be the owner, seems to not have noticed as he makes no move to pick it up.
“Excuse me?” You walk over to him. He still does not move, eyes glued to the book he’s reading. “You dropped your cane.”
Not even a glance spared to your direction. You huff, looking between the cane and the person who seemed to be too absorbed in his book. As far as you can tell, he’s not wearing any earbuds.
“Excuse me?” You try again and tap him on the shoulder this time. He startles out of his daze and faces you. “Your cane fell over. I’d pick it up myself but I feel like it would be rude to, without your permission.”
The stranger blinks at you a couple of times before raising a hand, as if asking you to wait. So you do and he’s turned away from you picking something off the table and putting it over his ear.
“Could you say that again a little slower? I’m deaf,” he signs and speaks at the same time. You watch his hands and you notice the scars littered across them.
You make sure to tug your scarf down so that he can read your lips better. “Your cane fell over,” you say, speaking and signing as well. You don’t know the sign for ‘cane’ so you point at the one on the floor in hopes of helping him understand. With what little lessons you took and your self-taught sign, your hands feel clumsy in this entire interaction. “And I wanted to know if I could pick it up for you.
“Also, sorry… I’m not so used to signing and it’s been way too long since I last practiced.”
He’s blinking at you again before he nods. You go to pick up his cane, leaning it on the table and making sure it’s stable before turning back to the man, smiling at him politely.
“Thank you,” he says.
“You’re welcome,” you sign, before heading off to get lost in the sea of shelves.
—
Like everyday, today has been tough.
You feel an arm brush up against yours. You turn around and you see it’s the guy you helped the other day, handing over the book that you wanted from the shelf.
You smile at him brightly as you sign your thanks, taking the book.
You turn the book over, looking at its cover and the blurb at the back. Your head perks up again when you hear the nice stranger speak up again.
“What’s that about?”
Your eyes widen a little, forgetting to respond. His genuine curiosity makes you smile.
“It’s a fantasy book! I think it’s about a heist. I watched this show on Netflix and I really liked it and thought of reading one of the books it was based on.”
As you speak, you make sure to face him properly and that your face isn't covered by your hair or anything.
“One of?”
You nod. “Yeah, I was also confused about it. Apparently, it’s a whole universe of characters existing in this world. Kinda like Marvel but less multiverse-y… It’s pretty cool.”
He nods back. “Yeah, it sounds cool.”
You both stand there for a bit, not speaking. It’s not uncomfortable per se, but you can feel in the air that he wants to say something, keep talking.
“Are you looking for something to read?”
He nods again, staring blankly at you.
You give him a patient smile. You take out another book from the shelf, this one in a more comfortable reach and considerably smaller than the one you had in the other hand.
“I read this one the other week and finished it pretty quickly. Do you like poetry?”
“I haven’t read much of it since school, honestly.”
You give a little laugh at that. “I get that. It’s a little… intimidating? I guess that’s the word? But, once I read that anthology, I’ve been really into it.”
He shakes his head in understanding, moving to walk away, analyzing the cover and the back. The book looks so much smaller when he holds it.
“Hey, do you wanna read together?” you say after putting a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. “I know a pretty good spot, good sunlight levels and not many people passing through.”
He smiles at that and your heart does a little skip at the sight. “Sure.”
—
Since that day, you and the stranger spend your time together in the library reading with each other in your favorite spot. It’s nice to have company for once. Though you don’t know much about him other than his taste in books and hot drinks he sometimes brings to your little reading sessions. There’s some unspoken understanding between you, despite knowing virtually nothing about each other. There’s some weird sense of comfort being together, sharing what you love to each other in your favorite place and being in each other’s presence all the while.
—
Katsuki looks at the piece of paper that you once offered to him as a bookmark. It’s a receipt from a convenience store he coincidentally frequents at. Perhaps you’ve crossed paths once or several times, he thinks.
He turns it in his hand, seeing that you’ve written down your name and a series of numbers that he assumes is your phone number and a little smiley face at the end.
He saves the number as soon as he can. What he won’t tell anyone is that he’s kept that little piece of paper in his coat pocket, close to his heart at all times.
You don’t know when you’ll need a bookmark…
—
“You know, you can just hang out with them, as, like… friends, right? You’re thinking about this way too deeply, bro. No harm in just asking them to hang out. ‘Sides… it’ll be good for you to get out there and do stuff.”
Eijiro’s right. He, annoyingly, always is about these kinds of things.
He then goes back to his video game, booms and gunshots faint to Katsuki’s ears.
Katsuki can tell his best friend is still telling him off, probably to just ‘send a fucking text already,’ which he’s been saying for the past hour he’s been at Eijiro’s apartment.
He waves his hand at his long-time best friend in dismissive annoyance while the other is typing away at his phone to text you. Though he only has a faint idea about what he’s saying, he just knows he’s trying to provoke him into asking you out.
hey. how do you feel about coffee?
it’s katsuki, by the way. from the library. i just realized i never introduced myself
oh hey! yeah, that sounds great :D i’m free this weekend
—
Traffic is horrendous at this time of day, so you text Katsuki that you’ll be late. Doing the nice thing, he asks you to send him your order so that you can at least have a drink and a treat waiting for you.
As he waits in line, he plays some mindless game on his phone to pass the time.
He feels a small hand touch his upper back and he hears your voice, making him turn around.
“... Sir, you need to calm down. He can’t hear you—he’s deaf,” is all he can vaguely make out from you.
His gaze shifts from you to the person he assumes you’re talking to. It’s an older man who makes no effort to hide his anger and frustration. If he had a heat or fire quirk of some sort, he would have blown away the entire winter season on this half of the country.
You’re smaller than Katsuki, both in height and broadness, and you lead him to the counter, not before sending a hard glare to the man behind you.
“What was that all about?”
“Never mind about it… People just need to learn some common decency.”
—
You’re both sitting at a table with your drinks and snacks, finally getting to catch up.
“I don’t know about you but I’m getting sick of this cold,” you say after you’ve taken off your coat, hanging it on the back of your chair. “Though the heat is pretty horrible, too.”
You take a bite out of your croissant and sip your drink, feeling warmth radiate out from inside you.
“... Thank you.”
You almost didn’t hear him, enjoying your bits of sustenance after waiting out in traffic.
“What?”
“Whatever you did back there… you didn’t have to do that, so thank you.”
It’s the first time you’ve seen Katsuki look so serious, aside from the focused look he gets when he’s reading something he particularly enjoys. It’s also the first time you notice the specific shade of red his eyes are, raw rubies glinting in the winter sunlight.
“Maybe I didn’t have to, but it was the right thing to do. I’m not gonna let some asshole treat you like shit just because they feel like it.”
He laughs at that, his usually stern face stretching out to a wide grin. The sound warms you like no other, not even your favorite drink.
“I guess you’re right about that… ‘M just used to having to stick up for myself.”
You nod in understanding. “I get that. I moved all the way here not knowing anything or anyone, so… I get that. On some kind of level.”
He seems to consider your words as he moves in his seat to get more comfortable, shifting his cane against the table so it won’t fall over.
“You moved here? All alone?”
“Yep.”
“How come? This city’s got villain cases piling way high.”
“That’s just my luck, isn’t it?” You give a laugh of your own, looking out the window to watch the street and then back at your friend. “I moved just before whatever villain gang decided to pop up. I’ve been moving from job to job ever since I left university. Just… trying to figure out my life and what I wanna do with it,” you finish with a sigh, resting your chin on both your hands.
He’s quiet again as he takes a sip from his drink.
“I mean, I didn’t go to uni at all. ‘S not for everyone.” He takes a sip again before setting his drink down. “So what do you do now?”
You sigh again.
“That bad?” He raises a brow at you, a playful but understanding smile on his face.
“I’m an office temp. It’s not terrible. It just depends where you are, really. At least, that’s how I’ve experienced it. Most of the time I don’t really know what I’m doing, just typing silly little numbers in silly little data sets that I’ll have nothing to do with by next month.”
You both laugh at your joke. You can’t remember the last time someone outside of work had laughed at a joke of yours.
“What about you? What do you do to afford to go to cute little cafés like this one?”
“I don’t work. Not anymore, anyway. Can’t, really.”
Your bashfulness must have shown because Katsuki waves you off.
“You’re fine. Honestly, I’d rather be asked what I do instead of people assuming shit about me, you know?”
You nod in agreement. “Is it fine if I ask about what you used to do?”
“I was a pro hero. Until the accident that landed me with this.” He gestures to his cane.
He looks back at you and sees that your lips are pursed with thought. More questions seem to settle on the tip of your tongue.
“I liked it a lot. It was good work.” He takes the initiative to drive the conversation, something that you normally did in between books and pages during your library rendezvous. “Felt like I was doing some real good for the world. I even got in the top three.”
It wasn’t like Katsuki to open up this much, usually only ever talking about his previous hero work with ex-colleagues and old UA classmates. It’s been years since the accident and he’s only ever said anything about it to his therapist… and Eijiro because Eijiro knew how to pry.
But there was something about you that made everything easier. Being with you was easier and Katsuki could only say that about very few people.
You’ve been quiet the whole time, listening intently as Katsuki opened up about his personal life more than ever. Before this, you only knew that he had a friend named Eijiro and that they’d been friends since high school.
You don’t notice the little smile you had the whole time Katsuki was talking, but he does.
“Wow, so you’ve been keeping that a secret from me?” You feign offense and you exaggeratedly roll your eyes. “So I’ve been sharing my nerdy little books with a hotshot pro hero this whole time?”
“Ex pro hero. But I won’t deny that you are a nerd.”
“Oh, shut up. You’re the one hanging out with a nerd!”
“So you don’t deny it either?”
“Ugh…”
—
You spend the rest of the date joking around and telling each other stories from your past. Like Katsuki’s wild experiences at hero school, and the accumulation of weird, rich people you’ve come to know of because of your many jobs.
It’s already well past lunch time when you notice the darkening sky.
“Oh, I think you’ve been enjoying my company, Katsuki.”
“Could say the same for you, nerd.”
You’re glad you said yes, glad that you took this opportunity to get to know each other better. To get to know him better.
When you wave at each other with a smile, bidding each other a ‘see you next time,’ you can only hope that next time is soon.
—
By the grace of the gods, or whatever the hell is making the weather… weather, it’s snowing in Tokyo.
You’re at the point in your relationship with Katsuki where you send each other random texts. Rather innocuously, you ask him what he’s up to today and he tells you that he’s running errands.
And that’s what brings you here with your newly beloved friend, Katsuki, on his last errand. You both come out of the convenience store and into the cold. A gust of wind blows your way and it makes you tighten your grip on some of the plastic bags Katsuki had let you carry. He insisted that you take the lighter bags, leaving you guys to bicker the whole time you were trying to gather his things.
“So you’re used to doing this by yourself all the time?” You try to keep your voice level, fighting the shiver that wanted to take over you.
“No. Eijiro won’t let me so, sometimes, he helps. But really, I might have one less hand to carry my shit but I can handle it.” He gives a start, stumbling and slipping a little on an icy patch before quickly regaining balance. “The snow, though… that’s a whole other thing,” he grumbles, annoyed, walking a lot more carefully than you’d seen him do before.
“Jesus, that fucking scared me… Seriously, Kat, I can take another bag. I’m no big guy like you but I can handle a bag of fruit. Or… hear me out… two bags of fruit.”
He rolls your eyes at your remark, finally giving in to you and stopping to fumble with the bags. Even now, he still insists that he takes the heavier bags.
When you move to take them, you’re shoved aside by someone, feeling arms lock around your head. The bags fall to the ground in your shock, grabbing the arm that kept you in place, thrashing around to force your assailant to fall forward.
“Stop moving or I’ll fucking shoot him!”
That stops you in your tracks. Slowly, you move to stand straight, not making any sudden movements to not provoke either of your attackers.
Snow starts to collect on your bags and you see that the asshole that took Katsuki knocked his cane over.
You hesitate to look for his face, wishing that this was all just some weird, fucked up dream.
Finally, you see it. You’ve never seen someone so afraid before. Katsuki is shaking so much and you know it has nothing to do with the cold.
“Listen… if it’s money you want, I—”
“Shut up!” The man with the gun seems to shake as much as your ex-hero friend, face boiling with rage as he continues to babble nonsense, dangerously shoving his gun against Katsuki’s head.
“I’ve had enough of these damn heroes. I’ve had enough of you guys acting like you’re better than the rest of us because guess what! You’re not!”
“Really, it’s too bad you had to end up like this, Dynamight.” The accomplice that had you in a headlock speaks up, ignoring their partner. “Don’t worry, though; I’ll tell Boss your regards after we take care of you two.”
Realization takes over Katsuki’s face and, despite the weapon that’s being threatened against him, he starts to thrash, cursing your attackers out. Before he could try to escape the hold against him, sirens start to approach and you’re both shoved into hard, cold, snowy ground and grocery bags as the villains try to shake off the cops.
It all happens so fast. You’re in his arms before you can think and he’s shaking and sobbing into your shoulder. You’d hug him back if your arms weren’t pinned to the side by his vice grip.
“I… I was so scared.” His hands grab at the back of your shirt. He holds as much of you as he can as if you would slip away. You can hear how hard he’s hyperventilating. Somehow, your own hands sneak their way to his back, your palm rubbing soothing circles into him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry… I couldn’t do anything…”
And you let him cry and cry, even when the wet patch on your shoulder grows, even while your arms get sore and tired and your back starts to ache a little.
“I’m sorry…” As Katsuki’s hold around you loosens, his hands wiping off the tears on his face, he’s still apologizing. Over and over, it rushes out from his lips, his voice breaking under the force of his own tears and you have to grab his wrists to get him to look at you.
“Katsuki…” You pull his hands away from his face, replacing them with your own as you stroke the tears away from his cheeks. “Breathe with me, okay?”
You wait for him to respond and he can only nod. One hand is still on his cheek while you use the other one to guide him into breathing slower and deeper. Up: inhale, down: exhale. You do this until he’s in sync with you, most of the worry leaving his face as he tries to focus on the present.
Once you’re sure he’s back to a normal rhythm, your hands pull away from his face to sign to him. “You have nothing–” you shake your head “–to apologize for. Okay? It was scary. You were scared. I was scared. But, Katsuki, please… please don’t think for a second that anything was your fault.”
You look at him the whole time, the expression on his face unreadable. Your hands are on his shoulders so that he looks at you, too.
“Okay.”
—
The police escort you back to Katsuki’s apartment after the paramedics have treated your injuries. Thankfully, they were only relatively minor.
Neither of you had spoken the entire car ride, not even when you entered the building, not even when you got to the elevator.
The only sound between you two is the door clicking shut and locking twice.
Taking off your shoes, you both make your way to the living area.
The light clicks on and you can see just how worn Katsuki is. His eyes are distant, hands still trembling, too scared to even take another step.
You don’t say anything still, taking him in your arms and letting his head rest on yours as you breathe each other in.
—
He stands behind you as you cook, forehead resting on your shoulder, arms coming to wrap around your middle.
“I think… I don’t want you to leave. Will you please stay? With me?”
He’s nervous when you don’t respond right away, busy putting food on both of your plates.
There’s a lump in his throat while he watches you turn in his arms. You don’t make any move to escape his embrace and he tries to remind himself of that to assure him. He watches your hands and your lips carefully as you sign and speak, your eyes glassy and a smile on your face.
You can barely keep yourself together as your hands shake.
oh my GOD YES PELASE ASKLDFs ok ok - lyrics are "Too good to be good for me, Too bad that that's all I need" and I can't think of a character rn so whichever one strikes you! They're all top tier <3
I'm so sorry this took me so fucking long to respond to. Here it is!!
“Too good to be good for me/Too bad that that’s all I need” -- TOO GOOD by Troye Sivan
Content: smut, angst, unrequited love, soft sex, Kuroo is being really soft and sweet, it’s almost sappy, use of a condom (woohoo for safe sex)
Pairing: Kuroo x fem!reader, ex!Atsumu x reader (kindaaaaaa???),
Notes: This seems to be quite Kuroo-centered instead of reader-centered, but oh well, I hope you like it. This isn’t my favorite piece, so please be nice. This wasn’t proofread entirely, so if there are mistakes, I’m very sorry.
Seeing you nearly in tears was a sight that stabbed Kuroo in the heart. He hated how he was unable to comfort you when you needed it the most. All he could do was pick up the pieces he could see drop, to help his dear friend. The one he loved so dearly, but pushed his feelings down to see your happiness.
So the pained expression on your face was a blow to him as well. His fingers itched to reach out to you, to pull you in and hold you, because words failed him when he could have used them the most.
“Tetsuro, Atsumu...I don’t think he wants me.” You shook your head, your face turned to the ground.
Ah, right. The man your heart still seemed to desire, the one you were set on. Atsumu was the target of Kuroo’s conflicted feelings, wanting him to care for you and return your affections properly, but also secretly wishing Atsumu could disappear, so he could have you to himself. Atsumu was an ex who had departed on relatively good terms, but you couldn’t let him go, try as you might. You still invested your time and energy into a man who had you, but didn’t know what to do with you. But still, Kuroo pushed aside his feelings, putting you first, making sure that your needs were met.
He tentatively reached a hand out to grab yours, his fingers brushing against your knuckles. “Hey…” His words faltered. He took a few steps forward.
“Tetsuro… am I just--”
“Whatever you’re going to say, I’m gonna tell you this,” Kuroo cut in. “You’re a wonderful person, and I don’t think you need to base anything off of what he thinks.” He gently rubbed the back of your hand, pulling you in and letting you rest against his chest. “You deserve to be loved and cared for.”
You stilled for a moment, letting his words settle in. Tilting your head to look your friend in the eye, you sat in his silence, examining the pupils expand and taking over the amber irises. Taking a deep sigh, you let out what was on your mind.
“Can… can you please show me?”
Kuroo nearly stopped breathing right there, trying not to jump to conclusions about what you were asking. “I…”
“Please? I don’t want to be alone.”
“But, I don’t know if that’s what you really need.”
“Please, Tetsu… I want to feel something. I need this.”
This. The validation. Not him. He knew that, he knew that you didn’t want his heart, his intimacy, his love. And yet…
“Ok. If this is what you really want.” He brushed his fingers across your face, cupping your cheek briefly before letting go. “Just know that I’ll stop if you need me to.”
You nodded, before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him to you, kissing him soft...slow...and yet, with melancholy. Kuroo hesitated a moment before holding you close, pulling you in by the waist. He matched your energy, letting you take what you wanted from him.
He swept his arms under your thighs and lifted you up, straddling your legs around his waist, and carried you to his bed. The kissing continued at its slow pace, Kuroo’s hands sliding up and down your form, still unsure of whether he could continue this, whether you and he will get out of this unscathed. Well, he cared about you more than about himself. He would be alright, he hoped.
He helped slide off your bottoms and panties, gingerly pressing kisses to your abdominal area as he lifted your top over your chest before bringing his hand to touch your sex. His fingers trailed all around, caressing your inner thighs, getting enticingly nearer and nearer. Your hips started to move against his fingers, beginning to grow impatient, but Kuroo leaned down over you to hush you.
“Hey, shh relax, I got you, remember? I’m here, we’ll get there, I’ll make sure of it.” His fingers traced in circles around your clit, ramping up the soft waves of building pleasure. When the tips of his fingers finally grazed over your clit, a moan let out between your lips. He began to work around it, a steady pattern sending ripples of warmth throughout your body. Shifting a thumb to keep rubbing the sensitive nub, he slid his middle finger down your folds. It would just barely touch the entrance, pressing like a button, before sliding it in slowly, feeling how wet you were.
His finger curled inside before sliding out, repeating this pattern for a while before inserting another finger inside, keeping the rhythm going. Your moans and whimpers seeped into the room, your walls fluttering around his fingers. Hands flew to your eyes, your breaths coming in sharper and deeper, the contractions squeezing his fingers. His pants strained against the rising erection, seeing you ache for pleasure making him twitch.
“That’s it, cum around my fingers.” The low voice of affirmation was the final thing to tip you over the edge, the coil that built inside finally snapping. Once he felt your high subside, he slipped his finger out and brought it to his tongue, licking the slick off. Kuroo quickly removed his bottoms and shirt, reaching for the drawer to grab the silver packet. He slid the edge between his teeth and ripped the wrapper open, sliding the condom on.
As he positioned himself between your legs, he swallowed his nerves, staring at your beautiful face. “Are you alright?” He brought a hand to caress your face gently, his heart weighing down on him. Seeing you nod, he jumped the internal fence and slid his cock inside, slowly allowing you to adjust to his size, his hands gripping yours and interlocking your fingers as he filled you. Gasping, you whimpered your desire to have him move inside.
The strokes came in slow and deep, the drag of his cock hitting the right spots, drawing out groans and lewd sounds from both of you. Kuroo dipped his head to attach his lips to your neck, grazing his teeth and grunting against you, only amping up your building wave of pleasure.
“Fu-- mmngh, Tetsu… faster…” your voice came out as a whine, desperate to feel more, to feel that crash. “Please--”
Obliging, Kuroo picked up the pace of his strokes, your legs wrapping around him, the slight change in angle leaving you wailing as the spot he was hitting sent you into a weightless state. Your walls gripped him, taking away his breath, a curse slipping through his lips.
“If you clench,” he gasped out, “‘m not gonna last for too long, angel.” He let go of one hand and brought it to your clit, moving in a rapid back-and-forth motion that had you pushing your head into the mattress to scream out. “That’s it...let go for me.”
After a few moments more of stimulation, you let out a cry as the crash of ecstasy fell swept over you. Feeling his own release coming, he kissed you deeply, letting out his choked out whimpers, his face flushed from the overwhelming feeling of his orgasm.
After settling down, catching your breaths, Kuroo removed himself from you and went to go grab a wet rag and clean you down after throwing the condom in the trash, trying to tenderly care for you and then himself.
After awhile, you had drifted off to sleep, while Kuroo stared at the ceiling, his feelings at war with each other. While he managed to have you, he didn’t know what would become of this. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, but he knew that things would change from this situation. He could just wait to talk to you in the morning, and he could--
“‘Tsumu...why…” he heard you sniffle in your sleep.
And just with that, his heart was pierced once more and he had his answer.
applications are open for the treehouse network server! we're a small, introvert friendly server that's remained active for a year now.
🌸 I ID check
🌸 the space isn't intensely modded, providing psychological safety to the people who come here.
🌸 we don't kick for inactivity, so people come and go as they please
🌸 we do skew a little older, so while there are some people who were in before this, I'm now only accepting applications from those who are 20 years old or older.
If you're interested in applying, send an ask to @treehouse-network and I will DM you from my main, @vagabondings(formerly katsupeach)
