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berrryparfait · 1 month ago

Text

shower head ✩⋆｡˚

— ༉‧₊ᐟ featuring: sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier, caleb x fem-afab!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: feeling curious, playful, and pent-up, you decide to surprise him by stepping into the shower and giving him head. you've never done anything like this before. 「my girlfriend can be quite surprising at times. and bold.」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: [nsfw] pure smut, lads men being needy while you suck them off, dubcon but deep down everyone involved could not have been more willing (they told me personally)

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: bathroom – montell fish

✧ a/n: hihi!!! wow, it's been a while! this is my first fic on this account—i used to run @.starfellforyou but got a little bored of writing genshin fics and decided to hop right on over to another one of my hyperfixations instead... this also happens to be my first ever nsfw fic (i told myself to stop daydreaming and start writing lol), so please lmk if there's anything i'm doing wrong/missing out on as i'm fairly inexperienced when it comes to tumblr etiquette. hope you like it! <3

SYLUS squints at you, his hands stilling in his hair as the last suds of shampoo run off. "Are you lost?" he drawls, voice dripping with honey. He steps away from underneath the overhead shower and turns to fully face you—he's gorgeous, muscles slicked with running water and face slightly flushed from the heat. You simply stare at him with a mischievous glint in your eye, a teaser for what's to come. "It's unlike you to show up like this, unannounced." He smirks at you, unabashedly eyeing the length of your naked body and tracing your gaze to his semi-hard cock. You return his lewd expression. "I do love to keep you guessing." Slowly, you kneel before him, rivulets of water gushing down the side of your face and between your bare breasts. He leans against the wall as you open your mouth to take him in, his movements lazy. It's a struggle at first, but the low groan that escapes his lips turns it into a challenge. You run your tongue along his length, eyes glistening with cruel anticipation as it hardens to the point of no return. Determined, you begin to push deeper, moving back and forth as he sighs and throws his head back against the wall. With a delicious "pop", you release him from your mouth and begin teasing his tip. You circle his favorite spot and try your best to resist a smile when he squeezes his eyes shut, breaths coming shorter and faster and in white puffs of steam way above you. "Fuck..." His hands find their way to the back of your head, where they gently but firmly grasp your hair and begin to pull. Your mouth is guided back around his cock as you begin to suck him off harder, sounds of pleasure that beckon you to pick up speed echoing overhead. Push. Pull. Push. Pull. His hands around your head get rougher—more desperate—and you reach out to grab his thighs as his tip slams against the back of your throat. Hot spurts of cum fill your mouth, drip down your chin, coat the impressive length of his cock. There's so much of it. You both pant in exasperation, completely spent, only partially satisfied. The look in his eyes sends shivers down your spine. I'm getting fucked tonight. "Get up, we're going to bed."

ZAYNE works hard. So hard that you feel he deserves a little treat. Dr. Zayne may dedicate his life to helping others, but you want to dedicate your life to helping Dr. Zayne. A simple equation, really. The look on his face when he sees a very exposed you enter the shower while he's in it is pure gold. He frowns in shock, his cheeks turning pink as he backs away from you and makes a feeble effort to cover himself and protect his decency. It's endearing, the genuine confusion on his face. Need to make him cum hard. Really hard. "W-What are you doing in here?" He darts his eyes from side to side as he tries to avert his gaze from your breasts, now inches away from his chest. You shut the door behind you and get down on your knees. "You've had a long day at work, Doctor. Let me help you relax..." You gesture for him to sit down on the shower bench, and he reluctantly complies. "I'm afraid this isn't a good idea—" "Shhh..." You cut him off with a devilish grin as you breathe onto his growing cock, and a flicker of uncertainty—and begrudging intrigue—ignites beneath his pretty features. "Be a good boy for me and hold still..." You gently glide your tongue down his length, teasing him with slow, languid strokes as he writhes and struggles to stay silent. It isn't long before your mouth is enveloping his cock, eliciting whines of pleasure from deep within his throat, the small sounds driving you crazy with need. You pick up the pace, and soon his moans grow louder, more desperate. He begins to pathetically thrust skyward, helpless against the blinding pleasure of getting his cock sucked and stroked by a natural talent. "I'm gonna cum—" he whispers, strained, as you stop torturing him with your mouth and white streaks of cum shoot out in every direction, landing on your face, your tits, the walls, his thighs. You almost feel bad for him, the way he's just sitting there shivering with leftover ecstasy. But you know that once morning comes, he'd no longer be deserving of anyone's pity.

RAFAYEL may be a god, but that doesn't mean he's beyond enjoying the fruits of worldly labor. So what if his baths are the most luxurious and elaborate you've ever seen? One has never had a good bath until they've experienced shower head. You've convinced yourself of this much—now it's time to convince Rafayel. He looks ravishing as always as you enter the large shower room, his movements elegant and naturally seductive. He startles slightly at the sight of you. "Oh? Looks like I have company." He drags his eyes up and down your body, a playful smirk playing on his lips—but you know it for what it really is. An invitation. To give Rafayel exactly what he wants. Bubbles fill the room as he spreads himself across a large shower seat in the shape of a clam. Your prince. Your pearl. As if coerced by an invisible force, you gravitate towards him with a dark anticipation in your gut. He's sprawled before you, clearly getting harder by the second. Soon, he's going to get demanding—whiny, even. You need to please him fast. You circle his tip with your tongue and plant wet kisses along the length of his shaft, your way of preparing him for what's to come. His eyes are heavy-lidded, drowsy, drunk on the look in your eyes as you take him in whole, a delicious moan escaping him as you push his thighs further apart. Slow strokes, then faster ones. Repeat. You can tell he's in pain, yet somehow still in control of himself. That just won't do. "Not good enough, Your Majesty?" Your right hand moves to caress his balls, a gesture that sends him into overdrive. "Ugh, this girl—" His voice comes out garbled with a pained groan that makes your heart leap. You back away just before he cums. Can't let him off too easy. The frustrated noise that leaves his lips satisfies you more than it should, and you don't let him wait too long before you're sucking him off again, drawing out his orgasm until he nearly blacks out. He glares at you in petty indignation as his cum explodes into your mouth, both consumed by pleasure and immensely frustrated. You swallow it all down in a single gulp, feeling proud of yourself. "Who has the higher ground now?"

XAVIER jerks away from you as if you were a bad omen, instinctually bringing his arms up around himself in an attempt to block your view of him. It's no use, of course—he's as exposed as you are. "Uh..." A violent blush tints his cheeks as he fumbles for words, vivid blue eyes unable to meet yours. "Can I help you?" How could someone come off as so shy and judgmental at the same time? The thought makes you smile. "I'm here for you, cutie." He doesn't seem to understand, but it doesn't matter—you'll just have to show him. You grab his arms and gently coax them away from his body, baring his semi-hard length to you and making him squirm. Your fingers wrap around the base of his shaft, stroking gently as he gasps and twitches. The expression on his face has shifted, dark and cautionary. "Kneel," he orders, and you obediently get down on your knees. He pushes his length against your lips and groans, any trace of the bashful, reserved boy who'd almost pushed you back out the door completely gone. You lap at his precum, the taste of it salty and slightly bitter on your tongue. He nods once, giving you permission to take him in whole. Oh god. Overwhelmed, he closes his eyes and throws his head back against the flowing water, pure bliss written all over his face. "Just...like...that..." His tortured moans are like music to your ears, a symphony giving you new resolve as you begin pumping him with heightened speed. Your hands are looped around his knees, which you notice are shaking slightly with the threat of release. A spark of excitement ignites within you as you picture him coming undone, wholly and undeniably submitted to you, a beautiful mess of your own creation. He stares down at you dangerously. You look up at him with doe eyes, because two can play that game. Who is predator and who is prey? With one last luscious stroke of your tongue along the base of his shaft, he lets out a strained cry of pleasure, planting a hand on the wall behind you to steady himself. Strings of his seed land on your face and tongue as you smile up at him, already giggling at the adorable change in his demeanor. Back once again is the Xavier you know; introverted, demure, and utterly embarrassed with himself. "No more coming in like this..." He sounds serious at first, but then he glances away and chuckles softly—and your heart explodes.

CALEB doesn't even give you time to explain yourself. One second you're stepping into the shower and the next you're sitting against the wall, your thighs flush against the stone floor. "Interrupting me again?" His tone is intimidating, so different from the way he spoke to other people. For a split second, a jolt of delicious fear shoots through you, settling right between your legs. "What, too scared to speak, Pipsqueak? You're the one who came in here." He takes a step slower, his dick inches from your lips. He's already hard. Too hard. The look in his eyes is ruthless—predatory. You begin to question your capabilities, but it doesn't last long. He slides his length into your mouth, all the way, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut to prevent yourself from gagging. "You look so pretty with me in your mouth..." The thought sends waves of pleasure through you, punctuated by sudden, hard thrusts as he fucks your face with concern for little else but the devastating pleasure coursing through him. This power dynamic, this feeling of being dominated—it's all too much. Don't stop. I don't want him to stop. Your moans are muffled and weak beneath his own savage grunts and he continues to push into your mouth, hands braced on the wall above you as he pushes against his own weight to gain momentum. "Fuck, I'm so close..." Your eyes well with tears as he thrusts deep into you one last time, warm bursts of cum filling your throat and coating your tongue. His breaths are belabored, sweat and water dripping down his chest as he looks down at the mess he created. Your face is streaked with tears, and the sight makes him smirk. For a moment, it's as if he's back to being the kind little boy you once knew. But any semblance of innocence vanishes with the next words that leave his mouth. "I'm not done using you yet, Pipsqueak."

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

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lightseoul · 5 months ago

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CHAPTER 2 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 3.8k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), some cussing, adult themes (not smut lol) (yet) (jk) (unless...), the mission finally starts, so much plot from here on out y'all so buckle up

a/n. i didn't get to include the most important bits that were supposed to be presented in this chapter because i got carried away with the buildup lol. exciting times ahead y'all. i have so much in store for you with this series. don't be a stranger and let's talk!

links. masterlist, ao3

You can only stare back at the woman peering at you, her face painted with a thick layer of makeup, her hair styled to staged ‘effortless’ perfection, and her body wrapped in an outfit that’s equal parts provocative and refined.

Her image is so flawlessly curated—so much so that you barely notice the apprehension that’s hidden amidst her features, if it weren’t for the fact that that woman is you.

You can barely recognize yourself—and perhaps that’s the point of all this.

Asahi and Moriyama didn’t have to explicitly state it yesterday—they need you to put in every ounce of effort to make sure that you succeed, and that includes doing everything you can to supplement your quirk all the while keeping your real identity lowkey.

Even if it means looking like this.

You’re about to give in to your second thoughts and change out of the black, low-cut tank and beige cardigan you have on when an array of knocks echo from what you think is your front door, and you freeze.

With a cautious glance at your bedroom’s wall clock, you think you’re supposed to feel a wave of relief wash over you when you see that it’s 9:00 PM on the dot, the exact time Bakugou said he’d pick you up, which means no villain or mal intentioned person is at your front porch, but that doesn’t come.

Instead, the sense of dread that’s been stirring in your gut ever since you got swept by Asahi’s men yesterday only magnifies, leaving you a bit cold and…are you shaking?

You don’t get to dwell on that, though, because another round of rapping resonates from your foyer again, which somehow pulls you out of your nervous stupor. You hurriedly run to the door, not even bothering to check through the peephole, opening it with a turn of the knob to see Bakugou.

Wearing a white face mask and decked in a fitting black hoodie, with his ash-blonde hair peeking through the sides of a dark baseball cap.

His fist is frozen mid-air as he stares at you, eyes slightly widened in shock, as if he didn’t believe you’re capable of this thing called punctuality. He promptly brings it down, though, schooling his expression into a neutral one, but not before giving you a quick once-over.

“Hey,” he offers, voice gruff and way lower than you remembered it back in high school.

“Hello,” you counter, looking back at your messy apartment out of habit. “I’m almost done. I just need to grab my purse.”

And, because you genuinely need to know for the sake of what you’re about to do, you ask: “Do I look okay?”

He must’ve not been anticipating that question, because his eyebrows furrow ever so minutely like you just caught him off guard. “Yeah,” he eventually replies after studying the entire length of your body once again.

And, you may have just imagined it, but you swear to god his eyes linger on your chest for a beat longer than necessary before he meets your gaze.

“You clean up…” he pauses, like he’s grasping for the right adjective, before settling with: “…decent.”

At that, you feel yourself deflate a bit. Maybe you wanted a more affirming answer, definitely not because you want that from him, but because you need to look good. However, if there’s anything the rumor mill told you back when you were still teenage students, it’s that Bakugou Katsuki was a man of few words when he was serious, let alone appreciative, so you take his comment in stride.

Besides, in comparison to how you looked yesterday, anything is an improvement, really.

“Thanks,” you respond, and you debate for a second whether or not to say the next thing but ultimately decide on it. “…And you look mildly disguised.”

That seems to ruffle Bakugou’s feathers. “Mildly?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling unsure about your honesty. “I get the hoodie and the cap and the face mask, but there’s no hiding your hulking frame, man.”

And really, there isn’t. How are you supposed to conceal a torso as large as that?

You gesture to his chest and shoulder area for further emphasis. “I don’t think you can pass up as a regular citizen but like as a non-descript athlete, maybe?”

To your dismay, Bakugou merely grunts before shaking his head. “This’ll work.”

Apparently already over your suggestion, he glances past your shoulder as he shifts his weight on his other foot. “Can you grab your purse now? We’ve to get going.”

Now, you’ve got half a mind to argue and try to convince him that maybe going for a better disguise is better in the long run but you’re silenced by his domineering gaze. So instead, you nod before rushing back to your bedroom and grabbing the bag you already prepared beforehand, as well as your phone that’s charging on top of your bedside table.

Although it won’t be of much use later, or in the coming few weeks, if everything goes according to plan.

“Ready?” he asks when you return to the doorway with your things in tow.

“Yup,” you retort as you lock the door behind you, and just like that, you’re well on your way to a potential death sentence.

You’re in the elevator going down to the ground floor by the time he speaks up again. “We’re commuting,” he starts, not looking at you but instead scrutinizing the barely hanging on floor buttons. “Can’t risk raising suspicion by driving there.”

“Where are we going, exactly?” you ask just as the elevator dings, signifying your arrival.

The doors burst open, and he steps out. “You’ll see.”

The commute to wherever the hell it is you two are going is quiet.

Bakugou didn’t divulge any further details as you stepped out of your building, wordlessly ordering you with a stern look to just follow. Frankly, you don’t like how you’re being kept in the dark, but you don’t contend. You’re acutely aware that you have a limited number of cards to play with Bakugou, and you have to play them right, if you want to even survive this mission without your partnership falling apart and jeopardizing the entire thing. Wasting a card on stupid information would be downright foolish on your end.

Even the walk to the bus stop is silent, and so is the entire ride. Despite it being quite late into the evening, the vehicle is still somewhat crowded, which you chalk up to it being a Friday night. You find yourself relaxing in your seat as the realization dawns on you—perhaps there was no point in getting too riled up about getting noticed.

And besides, you’re taking extra precautions, too. You’re not sitting next to each other, because he’s trying to stave off attention while you’re straining to catch it. Maybe not of these strangers, but of the people you’re going to meet later on.

Roughly 10 minutes and a short subway ride later, you climb up the underground stairs to a stop you vaguely remember hearing from your coworkers about. You recall how she described an old party district right in the middle of Musutafu, and sure enough, the text on the street signs match the name she recounted during one of your lunch breaks.

“Over here,” Bakugou calls out from a few feet ahead of you. You quickly quit your observing and follow suit, mindful of keeping an appropriate, not at all questionable distance between the two of you.

After what felt like walking five blocks from the subway, you see Bakugou halt and make a left into a poorly lit alleyway. You hesitate for a second, having been on autopilot and going straight for the last how many minutes. You’re able to swiftly gather yourself, though, steering in the same direction.

The moment that you do, it instantly registers to you that you’re not just in the party district anymore. If the dingy signages and the palpable seediness of the alley are any indication, you’re most likely in the red-light district now.

Suddenly, everything feels a bit too real, and you barely catch yourself stumbling back on your feet. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Bakugou, who instinctively moves to reach out for you from where he’s standing. He pauses, though, when you’re able to regain your bearings with a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Sorry,” you offer meekly.

He eyes you with the very same inexplicable expression from before. “You good?”

You’re not about to tell him you’re scared shitless, so you give him a half-hearted nod. Turning to study the exterior of the small building, you take in the lightly peeling paint and the booming music emanating from it. “This the place?”

“Yes,” he answers without missing a beat. “Are you sure you’re good?”

You whip to look back at Bakugou, who, if you didn’t know any better, is now looking apprehensive.

You decide then and there that you have to get your shit together.

Bravery is contagious, but so is fear.

For a second, you contemplate using your quirk on yourself to calm your nerves down, but eventually decide against it. There are much bigger fish to fry tonight, and what’s the point of learning all those damned breathing and grounding techniques if you’re not going to use them?

“I’m ready,” you finally tell him after a moment of both of you standing there. “Let’s go in before we start looking unusual out here.”

If Bakugou notices the unease you’re sure you’re radiating, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he gives you a curt nod, before turning to open the door.

And when he does, you’re almost instantaneously flooded by the music that was just escaping through the cracks and crevices of the run-down building. You fight the instinct to cover your ears as you step into the large room behind Bakugou, eyes quickly darting all over the place to drink in the scene before you.

Right in the back of the space is a stage that extends in the center as a runway to the middle of the room. The orange and pink mood lights illuminating the area are relatively dim minus the bulbs lining the set and walkway. And, beneath the elevated platform are what have to be pleather seats littered all over the floor—all of which are occupied by decidedly rambunctious men.

You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose as their boisterous laughter fills your ears, opting to face Bakugou instead.

“Hey,” you call out to him, who stops in his tracks to look at you. You sneak a glance at the people at the bar nearest the two of you, just to make sure they’re not listening in, before you continue. “Are you sure this is the place?”

You don’t have to peek beneath his mask to know he’s now scowling at you.

“What am I, a dumbass? I told you, this is it.” He then shifts away from you, far enough that you barely hear his next words. “…It has to be.”

Well.

That’s not exactly comforting.

Your discomfort only heightens when the already faint lights dim further, and the music switches from a pop song to which you know a bit of the lyrics to a rap that, if you were to base it on the first phrase, is all about having explicit, unprotected sex. The crowd of men cheers in anticipation, and as if on cue, a woman dressed in nothing but a two-piece lingerie emerges from the back of the stage, confirming your speculation of what the place is.

A strip club.

You watch as the woman confidently struts towards the center, and apparently, you’re no better than any of the men here because your gaze slowly roves over her slim and toned body, eyes catching at her cleavage that’s leaving nothing to the imagination. You can’t help it—you look down at your own chest, sinking in disappointment at the contrast before promptly looking up in embarrassment, only to find Bakugou studying you closely.

“It’s a strip club,” you blurt out, flustered at getting caught in the act. His eyes only narrow in a way that tells you what you’re already telling yourself: Thank you, Captain Obvious.

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, much to your relief, only moving to the far corner of the room where there are miraculously two seats unoccupied. You follow him with no further questions asked, plopping in the chair to his right, thankful you’re wearing black trousers so that your skin doesn’t have to go into contact with the sticky furniture.

You take the opportunity to clock the rest of the room, cataloguing the bar at the other end of the area near the entrance where a barista is swiftly taking and making orders all at the same time, while the men seated on the stools struggle to decide whether to look at the man or at the stripper now performing an elaborate dance around the pole. Amidst the decorated wall adjacent to the bar is a door with a restroom sign on it, and you squint just enough to see it’s only one stall for everyone. You make a mental note to hold in your pee, at least until you get out of here.

And, because you’re feeling nice, you shift to regard Bakugou with a good-natured smile on your face. “I hope you peed right before leaving your house.”

“What?” he says loud enough for you to hear him over the noise they’re calling music. “I can’t hear you.”

“Shit, right.” You lean in ever so minutely, and Bakugou mirrors you. You try to ignore the new-found proximity. “I said,” you repeat, with a little more volume this time, “I hope you peed right before fetching me. I bet the toilet’s filthy as shit.”

To your delight, not that you’d admit that to him in this lifetime, Bakugou smirks at your little quip after confirming the lone comfort room with his own eyes.

“Don’t worry about me, princess,” he starts, and you stiffen at the nickname, “I’m not the one who has to sit on one.”

You’re about to retort with something along the lines of what if he has to poop out of the blue, or at least try to, because the pet name has you gagged against your better judgment, when a ridiculously tall man clad in all black appears out of nowhere, startling you.

“The f—”

“Dynamight,” the behemoth of a guy cuts you off, eyes trained on the pro-hero beside you and completely ignoring your presence. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“Took you long enough to approach me,” Bakugou sneers, oozing with the confidence you can’t find within yourself right now. “I hate sleazy places like this.”

To that, the man only bows his head slightly, face solemn but devoid of remorse. You watch him as his eyes finally drift to you, albeit for only a split second, before looking back at Bakugou. “Follow me, sir.”

The ash blonde does so, perhaps a tiny bit begrudgingly, and you speedily get up along with him. The two men turn to move, and you’re about to take a step closer towards their direction when a long arm shoots up in front of you, keeping you in place.

Any protests die in your throat when you look up and see the guy’s menacing glare.

“If you don’t mind,” he grits through his teeth, “Only Dynamight is needed.”

“She’s with me,” comes Bakugou’s commanding tone. You chance a glance at the pro-hero, whose countenance is so serious you’d be afraid if you were the one he’s talking to.

“But, sir—”

“It’s the two of us or we’re leaving,” Bakugou demands.

The two engage in a stare down which you witness for what feels like a few minutes before the man finally looks away, frustration etched across his intimidating features. He glares at you once more, as if you’re the one who’s insisting on being Bakugou’s plus one, and you’re about to be convinced that he’s mentally chanting a spell to make you disappear when he gestures for you to follow him with a flick of a head.

You gradually release the breath you didn’t know you were holding as you shadow them as they enter one of the doors on the wall perpendicular to where you were just stationed. It leads to a staircase that swerves in the middle, and you lock eyes with Bakugou as he makes the turn ahead of you. Neither of you says a word, opting to keep on trailing the man, even as you land on the second floor, which looks more and more like a prostitution den.

Once again, your conjecture is confirmed as you walk down the hallway and past several sets of doors on both sides, from which emanate a cacophony of sensual moans and groans. You wonder what Bakugou’s thinking right now, although you can’t get a read on him as you can only observe his backside.

Finally, after what seems like a tortuous eternity, the man stops right in front of the door at the end of the hallway, and you pause right behind him.

He looks back at Bakugou and you with what you’re pretty sure is caution, before knocking on the door twice, and then another two times but in rapid succession.

“Come in,” is what the muffled voice on the other side says.

And so you do.

You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting, because you’ve never actually been in a service room before, but you at least anticipated a bed on which certain…activities can be done.

But what you’re met with instead seems to be a refurbished lounge room with floor-to-ceiling brick walls, black and red quilted couches, and a bar at the far side all lit up with moody orange lighting.

And smack dab in the middle of it—sprawled so languidly all over the furniture—are three individuals.

Three individuals who immediately look at Bakugou.

It’s them, alright. You don’t need your extensive training in reading people to know that these are the ones you came all the way here for.

You quickly take note of their appearances. The seemingly old man who has to be in his late 50s is seated—quite relaxed—in one of the scarlet solo chairs. He’s slim, bordering on frail, but the glint in his eye as he peers at Bakugou tells you that it’d be unwise to rule him out as one of your main threats.

Juxtaposing his age which is further revealed by his shoulder-length salt and pepper hair is the young woman plastered on the couch adjacent to his.

Or maybe ‘woman’ is a bit too generous…

It’s not obvious at first glance, but you immediately notice how some of her body parts appear to be outright robotic in the literal sense. Perhaps it’s her long, pin-straight, jet-black hair that softens her entire look, but there’s no mistaking what seems to be an artificial left eye, a metallic right arm, and angled, silver lips. She’s wearing long pants so there’s no telling which other parts of her are made up of what you think is steel, but the ones visible to you already tell you enough.

And then there’s the third and last man, who, in comparison to the other two, is remarkably…plain.

There isn’t an air of age-induced wisdom around him, nor is there anything peculiar about his body. He looks like just about any other 40-year-old-ish Japanese man you know, with short black hair, an unassuming face, and semi-formal clothes that are quite loose on his not-buff but not exactly thin body either.

But to your surprise, it’s him that the hilariously huge guy from earlier directly reports to.

“Pro-hero Dynamight, sir, as you requested. And…” the ‘escort’ trails off, and for a split second, you feel kind of sorry you’re here and making things complicated for him. “…he brought company.”

“Finally,” the plain-looking man pipes up from his seat, and even his voice is generic. “And here we thought you were never going to come meet us.”

Placing what suspiciously looks like a glass of whiskey on the table in front of him, the man shifts to fully regard Bakugou. “I see that you’ve deciphered the messages we’ve been sending you?”

“No shit,” comes Bakugou’s blunt response, and for a beat, you seriously consider using your quirk on him to make him calm the fuck down.

You decide against it.

To your chagrin, he drones on. “Y’all gotta do better. That was barely even a code.”

At that, the old male barks out a laugh while the plain-looking man only chuckles. “Of course, we expect nothing less from the #2 pro-hero. But…” the latter trails off, eyes finally landing on you. You quickly put on the most endearing smile you can muster, suddenly regretting not touching up your makeup upon sitting earlier. Thankfully, though, he smiles back, before redirecting his focus back on Bakugou.

“I see you brought precious cargo. Is there any reason why she’s here with us?”

“We want in your organization,” Bakugou replies without hesitation. “The both of us.”

And when none of them say anything in response, Bakugou presses.

“You need me, right? I heard you’re planning an attack. I want to join.”

“Yes,” the old man finally speaks up, not even denying it yet his voice is riddled with misplaced humor. “We do, in fact, need you. But what use do we have of this girl?”

“She’s got a useful quirk,” Bakugou supplies, before turning to look at you and then back at them. “Luck. She boosts the success rate of anyone she works with.”

“Luck?” the old geezer says back so incredulously, you feel your eye twitch in annoyance. If he only knew what you were fully capable of. He can’t, though, if you want to get out of this entire situation alive. “I don’t think we’ll need that as long as we have you, boy.”

“Well, tough luck,” spews Bakugou, a little bit too sarcastically for your comfort. “Because, as I’ve told your little lackey here,” he gestures to the definitely not little guy from earlier, “It’s both of us or I’m out.”

“The both of you, huh?” muses the plain-looking man who’s seeming to be more and more like the leader of the group by the second.

Once again, silence envelopes the room when none of them utter a single word, with you and Bakugou watching in anxious (you) and impatient (him) anticipation. You observe their facial expressions as they have a wordless exchange, and judging by how the ancient and the robotic girl are looking at the ordinary man, you guess your hunch about him is right.

Eventually, they appear to reach an agreement, and the leader adjusts just enough to look at the both of you directly.

You brace yourself with bated breath.

He flashes you a modest smile.

“It’s a deal, then.”

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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#btw just a friendly reminder to pls be nice esp when asking to be included in the tag list!#maintaining it is quite taxing and it doesn't help when people are not exactly kind about it and/or disappear entirely after requesting :')#depending on how high-maintenance it gets i might scrap it tho #anw pls enjoy this chapter! i worked hard on this <3 #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #mha imagines #bnha imagines #mha scenarios #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugou fluff #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n

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