#of course pretty men make me go crazy off the walls like a feral cat on catnip

[peterkoubek]

gnawing…. grjshdhsdbsjdh

[dragonshadow02]

Part one of my fic for the #bakudekubirthdayexchange for CB who I don't know if is on tumblr. I saw someone say they would post theirs chapter by chapter and I kind of like the idea. Especially since I'm waiting for my Ao3 password reset.

Notes: in this AU Izuku didn't gain OFA from Allmight.

Courting a Villian-

The warehouse was silent, save for the drip, drip, drip of the rain and the soft whimpers of the woman bound to the wall. The sole other occupant of the building was waiting on the thin catwalk above for the rest of the players to set the stage. 

Izuku Midoriya-Deku- former hero enthusiast- and currently one of the most dangerous villains Musutafa had ever known- was done playing games. Someone would come busting into his sanctuary soon, and who it was would decide his captives fate. If they had decided to play nice and read his little love letter, he knew exactly who it would be...and if they hadn't, he got to play-it would be fun either way. A shiver of excitement traveled down the emerald haired villains spine, Ground Zero would be here soon ready to fight, and -if he was lucky something far more enjoyable.  The dark grey and green-clad figure rose from his crouch with a soft creak of metal, the catwalk was in disrepair, covered in rust but he was confident that it would do its job. The pale man's lips twitched as he heard a soft sound, neck rolling as he looked to the side. There was no extra light, he had known there wouldn't be, but the heavy tread of combat boots was hard to miss. In one smooth movement, Izuku launched himself over the safety rail, freefalling to land like a cat on the dirty concrete. 

"Welcome, Kacchan"  He rose from his crouch as he spoke, lips spreading into a wide, slightly deranged grin. With a small click of the remote in his pocket the lights came on, illuminating his freckled face, and most importantly, his captive. The villian was far more interested though, in the hero that opposed him. The low light cast shadows over his face, but Izuku could imagine the way his brow creased in anger. Ground Zero was always ten times more attractive when he was angry...Or maybe that's just him being twisted. He had been told he was insane by more than one person-of course they usually ended up dead...but that didn't matter.  Bakugou was the focus of his universe. They had shared a dream, a dream to become the number one hero, but Izuku had been born quirkless. Once All Might himself had told Izuku that he could never be a hero, he had spiraled into a deep depression, he had turned his back on All Might after Kacchans rescue, even though the hero had tried to talk to him again. Being told off for trying to save a friend had been the last thing he'd needed and he was positive that, that was what his idol had had in mind. Watching Katsuki get prepared for the U.A. Exam...being told he would never be a hero- It had broken him. His dreams had been gone.  He had continued to hero chase, and record and theorize by habit, but the fire behind the curiosity was gone. That had all changed when he had stumbled upon his childhood doctor meeting with a group of known villains. 

     / Izukus hand was shaking as he wrote slowly in his notebook, mouth dry with fear. He was going to die. As much as he had thought about it in the wake of his recent setback, being faced with the reality was terrifying. He didn't want to die. He couldn't move other than the delicate scratch of pen across the paper.  A soft shuffling sound came from behind him and his heart jumped with terror, there was an impact against his head...then blackness and he knew no more/

The villain shook his head to clear it, he shouldn't be thinking about the weakling he had been. The Doctor had seen his analytical mind as an asset, had given him a quirk, a way to be useful. Izuku hadn't realized until Katsuki was in his second year at U.A. that the powerful quirk he had been given had been his own that the doctor had stolen from him as a child. It was then that he had decided never to let anyone take advantage of him again. He had left the League and made sure they would never try to take him back. He would become the number one villain, Kacchans foil.  He was more than a little in love with the hero that currently stood in front of him, growling with impatience, but Izuku was standing silent with a crooked grin on his face. Finally, Ground Zero had had enough and stomped forward towards his silent rival, fists crackling menacingly with explosions. 

"What the FUCK are you doing you crazy nerd? You told them to send me and I fucking came. Give me the hostage and crawl back into whatever hole you came out of."

Izuku raised a finger and waggled it back and forth, taking a step back and waving an arm grandiosely in the direction of the struggling woman. "  The wife of....whatever his name is is right there. I haven't hurt a hair on her pretty little head." He twitched a finger and the chain wrapped around the woman's neck tightened. " Yet."

He tilted his head to the side slowly, green eyes meeting masked crimson. " She's not important, just you..." He took a step towards Katsuki. " I needed you to come because you weren't answering my calls" A pout fell over Izukus freckled face " I wanted to ask you out Kacchan...expecially after all of the fun we've had." The metal jangled and tightened again ripping a strangled gasp from the woman.  " Since you wouldn't let me ask you out, I've decided that you get to court me instead." He tilted his whole body to the side and looked at the ash-blonde hero through green bangs. " Doesn't that sound fun? If you agree I'll give her to you as a...faith gift. If you refuse, she dies and you get to tell the head of the Heroes Commission that you let his wife die...so sad for you and your victories" The answering snarl was music to Izukus ears.  He continued quickly before Katsuki could get a word in. " So Kacchan, this is how it'll be... You. court me. Bring me presents...ask me on dates" He waved a hand. " Knit me a scarf" His smirk grew into a grin as he added that little bit of humiliation in...Katsuki hated knitting. Forty-Five calls and over a hundred text messages from various burner phones and Katsuki hadn't responded to a single one. Izuku was feeling a little ghosted to say the least. He knew he'd have to take drastic measures to get what he wanted. 

" You're out of your fucking MIND if you think I'll agree to that bullshit." The blonde had grown better at keeping his temper from effecting his quirk, but Izuku could see the glow of his palms as he clenched them tightly. " I'm not going to act like a fucking girl."

"ah, ah, aaah men can knit too" Izuku waggled his finger again. " Do you really want to lose your perfect streak? I thought you wanted to be number one, Kacchan" He shrugged slowly as his rival seethed. " A hero always wins....isn't that what you said once?"  The green-haired villian started to walk towards the woman on the wall only to be body blocked by Katsuki. A feral grin spread across the villians face, that was more like it. 

He may not have a strength quirk but he was durable, and he'd been through hell in Musutafas underground. He and Katsuki had met each other in battle more than once and had broken even. 

The green-eyed Villian jumped back from the hit to minimize its strength, bringing the power of his mind to bear to keep Katsuki away from him for now. Their usual fight and fuck routine wasn't his aim right now and he knew if they got into a brawl that was exactly what would happen. Izuku could feel the adrenaline singing through his veins pushing him to fight, but he wanted more than that now. 

His hand raised and his captive gagged again. " We're not here for that Kacchan. No fighting this time. Deal or no deal." Was dating him...wooing him so objectionable that Katsuki would let someone die to avoid it? Or was it the scarf thing? It didn't matter. Date or Death. That's what it came down to. Green eyes held crimson yet again, but this time Izuku wouldn't turn away, jaw set in a stubborn line as his captive passed out from lack of oxygen.  Katsuki snarled and punched the scarred villain in the jaw before turning towards the woman. " This is the worst fucking way to ask someone out, nerd. No fucking girly shit but I'll take you on a goddamn date like you want." Ground Zero freed his captive, checking her pulse and throwing a nasty smirk over his shoulder. " Should have known you'd be begging for more after you'd had a taste." The heroes cocky voice sent a shiver of arousal through the villain even as is irritated him.  " Am I begging Kacchan, or do I have you exactly where I want you?" He whispered as he let the hero carry her out the window. Apparently he'd need something a little more convincing to get the kind of reaction he wanted from his obsession. He really wanted that scarf. He wanted Katsuki to make something...show Izuku that he was worth the effort. He had seen a teenager work for hours for her beloved. it was a connection between them, those feelings. He wanted Katsuki to prove he felt something more for him than lust...even though they would always be on different sides and one would kill the other eventually...that was an understanding he knew they had. Katsuki would never let anyone but Izuku kill him, and Izuku refused to let anyone but Katsuki have that honor...but at least they would have now. 

He would need to send a more strongly worded love letter, luckily he knew exactly where to find it. 

[imaginedcreaderinsert]

violent and brief delights — D. Grayson x Reader [chp. i]

SITUATION: 2AM. Reader is awake. AND SUDDENLY, Nightwing appears. Takes care of him, he’s slightly out of himself, not very hurt and well, your relationship starts. The idea was to start with aganst, but this came out so, yeah. I would like to make this a series - the second part will have angst and the developing of the relationship, as this would be the first encounter of many that will follow, eventually to a relationship and a breakup. Happy ending? Not sure yet.

WARNINGS: none. Just a bit of erotica, but nothing hardcore implied.

You should have been more pissed off, really. I mean, it was two A.M, and sure you weren’t doing anything too private or hurtful to anyone, but to say it scared you was an understatement. You lived in Gotham, one of the “difficult” areas as some people have qualified before, and well, nothing good truly happened after the sun set down. Not like you were much of a party-goer or anything anyways.

But when you heard the metal noises down your window, you lived in a third, and the buffering of an scared cat, you didn’t thought much of it: just that it might have been a fight between animals in heat, feral ones. So when he enters swiftly through your window holding his side while gasping, it truly scares you and think you are done for. Your instincts, though, don’t seem to be truly those of a survivor, given that the only thing you do is put a foot in the floor as if making the attempt, just attempt, of getting up. Because even if you are not too fond of television, you could recognize that outfit anywhere. He had just recently been on the tabloids, seen as Bruce Wayne had apparently stepped down from his playboy façade - news needed a new fresh face. And who better than one of his infamously handsome boys?

Blondes had never been your type. Blondes with blue eyes were even worse: they had some kind of freezing stare that always intimidated you. No, you were uncomfortable... And hell, you thought then that blue eyes on themselves would be terrifying, but no. He is barely covering his face, protecting his identity, and even if you know he could crush you in mere seconds, incapacitate you, he is truly vulnerable when your eyes meet. And yes, your heart stops. How could it not? You’ve never seen someone so beutiful. Because yes, he is. Nightwing is handsome, but Dick Grayson is beautiful.

You help him. Truly, you don’t know why you do: maybe it’s the correct thing to do, the right thing? You couldn’t let him die. You couldn’t let him go like that. He motions for silence, and you somehow know it’s for the best, and thus you agree. The rest follows a story that can only be known by those who dream of occasions like that, an opportunity so perfect to meet such a handsome guy. And so he talks.

He tries to go, of course he does, but you stop him. Your arguments get stronger, and he sees no reason to negate that which you seem to fight for: he likes your determined eyes, the light that they show in contrast with the dimmed-out light of the room. Your place is not very big, but enough so that you can help him get in your bathroom. He takes everything off, like it’s not a big deal, and maybe it’s because he understands that you can be trusted, you don’t have no one to tell this to, truly. It’s not that you don’t have friends, but you are a bit by yourself, and you don’t really mind.

He touches you, and your skin lights up in fire. Is new, it’s foreign; maybe you haven’t been touched much. The random hook-ups, the teasing kisses shared in dark bathrooms - before putting up an excuse to be free, fly somewhere else - are not enough. And you know you can’t get throughly through with it, you aren’t able to, unless there’s love. It’s cruel. Gotham it’s cruel. It makes you aware of those terrifying touches going up your thighs; men that purposely get behind you and touch you, innocently. You flinch, you feign it’s alright, and after - after you cry - everything goes on repeat

But his touch is soft. Like you are a precious crystal, something that can be destroyed with a mere stare, a gentle breeze of air. It changes you. That night everything changes.

You can’t remember how or why the kiss happens, not really; after getting him in some weirdly fitting clothes (too tight on the chest, too loose on the hips), you move to somewhere with more light, to see the wound better. And it’s really a comfort to see that it was not his blood, no - it doesn’t even occur to you to ask, and he likes that - but he has a darkened and painful looking area on his left side. It has a bad color, but not so much that you think he’s internally bleeding: a terrible fall, perhaps?

— Were you the “crash” thing?

— Crash thing? — . He asks, confused, but with half a smile.

— Yeah, before you entered. I heard a metal sound, now that I think about it, too loud to be a cat-

— You thought that was a cat? What kind of cat do you have?

The special emphasis on one of his words makes you laugh. Shyly, with a slight smirk: he can see you have perfect teeth, a really good bone structure-maybe even pretty, more than pretty.

— I’t was just unexpected. It’s was around two when I heard it. Even if some things happen around here, it’s not... Not common for people to appear  around here. In my living room. With blood which is not his own and obviously from a situation I do not want to know about.

You fetch him some water, and when his eyes move to your door, you kind of know he is staying. His feet look at you. He touches lightly your hip, grazes it mostly, and then you are all over him. Yes, you did it. And no, you are not ashamed. Even if with strangers it’s difficult, it’s impossible, this is your crazy act of the year.

Maybe it’s because your kiss is passionate, is comforting in some way - probably because he has been touched-starved as well - but he returns it. His hands push your body against his, and you are careful with his side, always aware of the wound he has. It’s not about making love, it doesn’t start as so. You don’t make it to your room, and indeed it’s the worst thing you’ve ever done, the most dangerous

—’uck, I didn’t even ask your name —. He whispers against your neck, making a first attempt to nibble on it, teeth baring and tasting skin. Soft, so soft —. It’s just-

— Too much, I know, I know — . You answer, gasping, jelly in his hands, truly — . It doesn’t matter. Tell me yours, it’s all were gonna need.

He laughs, almost out of breath, and you like it. His laughing makes you feel good, but it’s nothing compared to the hands that make their way up your body. It’s not correct, again, but you moan - you like it.

— Dick. Just Dick, for you tonight.

You both laugh, and it’s funny, it’s comfortable. He desires you: takes you by your hips and makes you face the wall of your kitchen. The bending is almost automatically, but still, still he makes sure to dominate you, make you know how much he wants it. Yes, you, but it. It’s been some time.

— Help me — . You are not sure what you’re asking for, but it seems he does, because he acts.

It’s brutal, fast-paced - not much is needed. It’s an act of desperation, and in the wood of the table, the one where you’ll tomorrow have breakfast, you try to pierce your nails in, as if it you are trying to cave in some type of future memory: a remembrance that it really happened.

He satisfies you: you don’t have to talk and he knows where to bite, where to kiss and where to touch you to make you melt. It’s horrible, truly, and pathetic how close you are with so little and how much he seems to-oh, no. You laugh, out of breath again, and it starts. It takes up the pace pretty quickly. But no, Grasyon, the name that you can barely pronunciate once it is done, he doesn’t kiss you. There’s not a good angle to do so anyways, and you don’t mention it - it doesn’t really matter.

Because when he helps you get to bed and almost tucks you in, gets in the bed briefly with you - something that’s really out of himself, he would admit (but the marks on your waist were a bit worrying) - you know you won’t see him again. Not in a long time, at last.