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theragethatisdesire · 8 months ago

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perzītsos - bakugou katsuki x afab!reader, 18+!!

uh....surprise! i really love asoiaf, and i've seen so many posts about barbarian!katsuki, but i wasn't really successful in writing him, so here's my take on a fantasy au with katsuki. this takes place pre-fire and blood, really in the "medieval" days of the targaryen dynasty, with a targaryen heir!reader. i took some creative liberties with targaryen marriage customs, but i think they're sorta fun.

this is a beast of a one-shot, but there's lots of lore preceding this (do i smell a prequel?), including that reader asked for katsuki's hand in marriage, and neither of them were really expecting to wind up in a marriage bed together. i normally don't write virginity loss, but i made an exception for these two, i really do love them!!! fair warning, there's lots of high valyrian in here, which i don't speak fluently either, so i'm going to add some translations at the end :)

"perzītsos" - "little flame"

enjoy <3

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

wc: 13.5k (told ya it's a beast)

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut. bakugou is roughly twenty-eight in this fic.

cws: virginity loss, aged-up characters, fingering, oral sex (fem!receiving, male!receiving mentioned), reader has female anatomy, smut, pretentious amounts of high valyrian pet names

𖤓

Leaving the raucous merriment of the great hall behind, its stone walls bursting at the seams with the raunchy, jeering calls of Bakugou’s soldiers and the titters of the ladies of the court, only seems to emphasize the echoing silence of your chambers. The servants had completed the arduous job of transferring your things into your new apartments today; you recognize the tapestries that had decorated your walls since you were a child, now dwarfed by the massive dimensions of your new quarters, and the candelabra you’d been gifted by a nobleman at your seventh name day sits upon a newly constructed ebony desk.

Nearly every hard surface in the room—desks, tables, even small areas of the floor—has been covered in the fat, yellow beeswax candles crafted in the kitchens many stories below your feet, flames dancing and casting shadows this way and that over the stone walls. Many a night have you forgone sleep in favor of losing yourself in the waltz of a small fire on a wick, the sometimes-frantic, sometimes-untroubled rhythm of the flame in the breeze of an open window. Tonight, though, not even the hundreds of flames, these little extensions of the hot, ancient blood that flows through your veins, can distract you from your fate.

“I remember these rooms,” you say offhandedly, bringing one hand to the fine curtains that hang around the tapestry bed, “they were my mother’s.”

Bakugou stays stock still where he stands, letting you examine the marriage bed. The wood was brought into these chambers several weeks ago, alongside a handful of master carpenters. The bed is enormous, easily large enough for three people to get a full night’s sleep without touching each other. It had been built inside of the room so that the intended dimensions could be fulfilled without the worry of actually fitting it through the door, which it would not. The sight of it makes an apprehensive shiver rock through your frame.

“You were born here,” Bakugou says gruffly, catching you by surprise. “I remember.”

You turn to face him, eyebrows raised cautiously at his decision to speak. Considering what lies before you both, the breach in his silence is appreciated, if unexpected. He’s hardly said two words to you all night; two words besides the lengthy wedding vows you’d exchanged before gods and men alike, speaking them practically into each other’s mouths in the purring, labyrinthine cadence of the Old Tongue. The metallic taste of his blood, brushed onto your tongue by his own thumb, is still nestled between your teeth, worryingly permanent.

“You remember?”

“Hardly.” Bakugou diverts his gaze from you to where your marriage bed lies, squinting his eyes as if he’s trying to remember what it had looked like more than twenty years past. “I was three.”

It shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it is, given that you’d practically been raised alongside Bakugou, taken your first steps, tasted your first victories, had your first stumbles under his watchful crimson gaze. The required distance had been there, as you’d always been more of an heir than a little girl, and Bakugou had been busy with his training anyhow, but he was a steadfast part of your memories, even if he had been mostly in the blurry peripherals until the most recent years. This confession, that he had stood in the same room as your howling, bloodied form had been brought into the world, makes you feel more exposed than you already do in your thin gown.

Bakugou must take notice of how your shoulders unintentionally tense up, because his lips pull into a small frown, not one of anger, but seemingly guilt. You sigh, rolling your shoulders back and squaring yourself to face him, trying not to let your cheeks burn hot as your nipples peak under the singular layer of fabric hiding the finer details of your body from him. He’s intimidating, and both of you know it, but considering that you’re the reason you two find yourselves in this room, you think that maybe you should be the one to guide him along.

Bakugou approaches you slowly, making a noticeable effort to dull down the soldier’s swagger he normally walks with, holding your gaze with what you surmise is his best attempt to look open and mild-tempered. You notice how he pointedly avoids looking at your body, how it’s silhouetted by the candlelight and showing itself as a dark, shapely shadow in the white fabric of your gown. He’s close enough to touch now, toes only inches from yours. You’re reminded of how close you stood during the ceremony, how he had sworn to give his life for you, to you. Ānogar ānograro.

“They’re waiting,” you say quietly, eyes darting to the four servants in each corner of the room. Bakugou follows your gaze, and his frown grows deeper.

“May I speak freely?” It’s a laughable question coming from him, but it’s a kindhearted gesture, so you bite into your lip and nod your acquiesce.

“You’re my husband,” you say, trying not to feel discouraged at the pink tinge that rises to his cheeks, “I always want you to speak freely.”

Through a stiff nod of understanding, Bakugou lets a deep breath exhale through his nose before pinning you in place with a scrutinizing gaze. “Have you been…kissed, before?”

“Of course I have, Bakugou.” You can’t hide the breathless chuckle that comes fluttering from your lips, the dangerous hint of a relieved smile that begins to carve into your cheeks.

“Katsuki,” he says, the corner of his own mouth curling when his simple request for familiarity wipes the glimmer of smugness straight away from your face. “Your husband, remember?”

“Katsuki,” you repeat, letting the letters make a home for themselves on your tongue. Something flashes in his eyes, and he clears his throat. You can’t make out the shape of what’s flickered across his face, but you can feel the heat thrumming from his eyes to yours.

“What else?”

“What do you mean?” Your nose wrinkles in confusion, entirely lost on what point he’s trying to make. Katsuki narrows his eyes, clears his throat uncomfortably.

“What else do you have…experience with?”

Oh. He wants to know if you’ve been touched, where you’ve been touched, possibly even by whom. It’s your turn to shuffle your bare feet on the cold stone floor, to look solidly ahead at the v in the collar of his loose tunic, the slope of his neck, anywhere but his eyes. Your stomach begins to roil at the implication of this, of baring yourself to him wholly. It won’t be the first time you do it tonight, and certainly not the last.

“I’ve– um, done most things.” You somehow summon the courage to meet his gaze again, staring up defiantly. “I hope that’s not a disappointment to you.”

“You had no obligation to me before today.” Katsuki shakes his head, as if to dispel the very notion that you even have something to refuse to apologize for. It brings a spark of warmth to your heart, a hum of satisfaction pulsing through you that you’d chosen your husband well, at least in this regard. “But you are a virgin?”

You can’t control the way your eyes go wide, blinking hurriedly at him when he asks the question. Your fingertips grow hot, and you aren’t sure which potential answer would be the least mortifying, so you opt to stick with the truth.

“Yes,” you say, so lowly it’s near a whisper, “I’m a virgin.”

Katsuki swears quietly in the Old Tongue, and though you’re more focused on your feet than his face, you can see the awkward repositioning of his feet, how his hands clench and unclench at your confession. He’s your husband, you scold yourself, you have no need for fear. You jerk your head up to look unflinchingly at his face, unapologetic in your stance. Despite the way he had voiced his indifference to your prior experiences, you can see some strange mixture of relief, nerves, and that same undefinable heat rising to his face, coloring his features and darkening his eyes.

His eyes run over your consummation gown, long, loose, and traditional as they come, lovingly hand-stitched by your longest serving lady-in-waiting. Your handmaidens had taken the liberty of freshening you up after the feast, scrubbing most of the heavy, ash-black ceremony makeup from the bridge of your nose, wiping the kohl from your eyes until you were bare. Your elaborate wedding hairstyle had been let down and reworked into a long, singular braid down your back, loosely secured by a knot of cowhide. That, amongst other things, is for him, and only him.

“After this,” Katsuki wets his lips with his tongue, “we won’t share a bed again–”

“Katsuki–”

“Not until you’re ready,” he amends. His fingers twitch by his sides, a boyish gesture for a man of his massive stature.

“I’m your wife,” you say, puzzled and looking up at him, “I may be a virgin now, but I’m no stranger to what that entails.”

A heavy breath shakes through Katsuki’s frame, and his brows knit together in an expression of comfortingly familiar exasperation. You almost want to smile back at him.

“I expected as much,” he says, one hand reaching forward ever so slowly to brush tentatively through your fingers dangling at your side, to pinch at the thin fabric of your gown and rub it between his fingers, “but that’s a matter for the morning.”

You catch the implication in his tone, in the way he’s holding the sheet separating you from him. There’s something to be taken care of. Your palms turn clammy, fingers beginning to tremble by your sides. It takes everything in you to set your jaw and look up at him, shoulders rolled back and expression carefully schooled into something that you can only pray approaches a warm neutrality.

“Would you like to take it off?” Your eyes flit from your gown to his face.

Katsuki considers you, dragging his eyes over your frame at an agonizingly slow rate, still maddeningly rubbing that fabric between his fingers. Suddenly, his face crumples into a scowl.

“You’re shaking,” he says matter-of-factly. Your cheeks warm, wishing he wouldn’t have brought it up. “Are you nervous?”

“Not of you,” you answer him truthfully, willing the tension in your spine to melt into pleasurable anticipation. Katsuki catches your meaning instantly, the concern in his eyes glittering into something more akin to the anger that settles so comfortably into the frown lines on his face, that strikes his sharp features so suddenly and beautifully you almost gasp.

“Turn around,” he barks suddenly, his posture straightening into that of the formidable general you’ve known him as all your life, not the surprisingly gentle husband he’s shown himself to be in the last few minutes. You start in his arms, beginning to spin on your heels to follow his command when his hands catch you by the shoulders, an apology writing its way into the fine features of his face.

“But you said–”

“Them.” Katsuki jerks his head towards the servants posted in each corner who are, miraculously, turned away from the two of you, heads down and poised towards the corner. You look up to Katsuki in amazement, and his eyes soften. “I wouldn’t speak to you that way.”

“Oh.” It’s light and not enough when it falls from your mouth, and you want to apologize, but Katsuki’s already loosening his grip on your shoulders, urging you to spin.

“Now you,” he says gently, “turn around.”

Too stunned by the duality of him to argue, the whetted and wartorn angles of him contrasting with this unbearable softness, you turn your back to him, urging yourself to relax under the weight of his hands. Katsuki’s hands subtly squeeze your shoulders, as if to warn you of their departure, and the next time you feel his touch, it’s on the end of your long braid, his scarred fingers fumbling with the cowhide tie.

You hold your breath as you feel the tension along your scalp go slack; he’s gotten the tie off of your braid. Katsuki’s fingers begin to methodically comb through your long hair, starting at the bottom and working his way up, deftly avoiding knots and keeping the lightly-oiled strands from tangling themselves as he undoes your braid. He’s surprisingly good at it, and an unexpected pang of pain accompanies your curious thought as to whether he’s had much practice undoing a woman’s hair, something so sacred. Before you can ruminate on the hurt beginning to come to a simmer in your chest, Katsuki’s spinning you back around, causing the calming perfume of your hair oil to cloud around your head as your hair fans out. It centers you, gives you the wherewithal to look up into his eyes.

Katsuki’s face is candid, beautifully so, in the way he regards you. Crimson eyes dart over every feature you have to offer him, now so wild and unbidden compared to your usual state of being, and he reaches a tentative hand towards your hair, before flinching and pulling back. You shake your head, bringing a hand out to catch his and pull it back towards the part of you he so clearly wants to touch before you can think better of it. Katsuki’s eyes widen, only momentarily, before his face settles into an expression of quiet approval, and he runs his fingers through your hair again, less purposeful this time and more for the simple pleasure of memorizing the feel of you under his hands. You blink up at him, waiting.

“Gevie,” he mumbles under his breath, watching how his fingers card through your unruly hair. He mistakenly brushes your nipple, still peaked under your consummation gown, and realizes what he’s done when you gasp lightly.

“It’s okay,” you say hurriedly, surprising yourself when you realize that you mean it. Your back has already begun to arch unwittingly towards him, as if your body has accepted him as your husband while your mind is still trying to wrap itself around the idea. “Touch me.”

You can see the thought cross Katsuki’s face before he even reaches for your gown, pinching it at the hips on either side of you.

“Do you want to take it off, or would you like me to?” Katsuki says, hardly louder than a whisper. You blink, still trying to marry this man with the outspoken, ruthless general you’d invited to the altar with you.

“Traditionally, the man–”

“I know,” Katsuki says, a bit of an agonized bite behind his words. You bite your lip, worried that you’ve finally overstepped, but he sighs, heavy and surrendered. “I know what happens traditionally. I don’t care. We’re doing this on your terms.”

“My terms,” you repeat slowly, trying to gather his meaning.

“Yes,” Katsuki affirms, “your terms. Now, do you want to take your gown off, or do you want me to?”

You want to run to the washroom to realign your expectations, is what you want to do. This is supposed to be quick, you remember your handmaidens preparing you with monstrous stories of being unceremoniously bent over the bed, gown ripped to shreds or simply shoved above your hips instead of carefully pulled between a considerate thumb and finger. You study him, study that freshly sincere affection on his face, his willingness to bring you through this unscathed and…dare you say it, satisfied. Your hand, which, so lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed drifting, comes up to cup his sharp jaw, plush palm giving against the angle of his face.

“I want you to,” you say, nodding when his eyebrows raise in surprise. “I want you to take it off of me, please.”

Katsuki only answers you with a curt nod of his own, schooling his momentarily bewildered expression back into one of careful concentration, more for your benefit than his, you think. You can feel a slight tremor in his hands when he brings them to the strings that suffice for your gown’s sleeves, little more than strips of fabric tied in loose bows over your shoulder. Despite the painstakingly beautiful embroidery in the stiff linen, curling flames and stars rising from the hem of your gown, everything else about the design of the garment reveals its purpose: to be removed.

You hold your breath while he works at the tied strings, partly because you feel like you should and partly because the slightest brush of his fingers over your skin feels so climactic that you feel that it should make a sound, maybe that of pottery breaking or lightning clapping across a dark sky. It’s silent, the slip of the linen through itself, three cautious pulls and your gown is sagging on one side, the collar falling until your nipple is almost exposed. You gulp and try to look up to Katsuki, but his jaw is set, even grinding a bit in concentration as he keeps his gaze centered firmly on the bow he’s set upon on your right shoulder. You study him, looking for any indication that he’s anxious, or pleased, or disinterested, but he’s an unreadable mask of focus as his large fingers tug on the bow. It slides loose as easily as the first one had, and your gown slips from your body and crumples around your feet on the floor.

Katsuki sucks in a sharp inhale, forced to take in the sight of your naked body now that he’s finished his task. You watch intently as his eyes drag over every part of you, slow and savory, nostrils flaring and pupils dilating. You’re so exhilarated by his wild eyes taking you in, you almost forget to be insecure, to be nervous. This is something you might grow to enjoy, you think; Katsuki’s carefully concealed appetite.

“Am I alright?” You feel your mouth form the words, hear them float into the charged air. You don’t think you meant to ask, but once it’s out, you’re glad you did. It may be a politically-made marriage bed, but as fate would have it, your crown sits upon the head of a young woman, a young woman looking into the eyes of the man that would have her for his own, wanting to be thought of as a thing to be admired. Katsuki’s eyes flicker back to yours, and his brows knit together.

“Alright?” Katsuki’s eyes leave yours once more, and he meets his own gaze with a bold hand on your hip, thumb rubbing circles over your hipbone. “You’re more than alright, but you already know that.”

You feel so small, so silly when you tell him: “I was hoping you’d be the one to remind me.”

Katsuki understands then, meets your fixed look upon his face and lets that molten desire cool into something more digestible, easier to hold, and then he speaks. “Iksā gevie, ñuha ābrazȳrys.”

When you’d learned the Old Tongue as a child, you’d been taught to purr the sounds, to run them together like the slow, controlled flow of ink from the end of a feather. You learned to curl the consonants behind your teeth and let them breathe the same air for a beat, to birth the sounds into the world off of your tongue instead of simply pushing the air out. But when Katsuki speaks the Old Tongue it’s…a growl, forceful and quaking with restrained power. Raw and godlike, the words sound like they were written with his low rasp in mind.

Wife. His beautiful wife. Your breath hitches in your throat at the same time as a vicious swell of desire rips through you, mouth beginning to hang ajar. Katsuki frowns slightly, tilts his head.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Take me, then,” you say, breathless from your own courage. Katsuki’s eyes widen, and if you could see clearly through your own sudden lust, you’d see the corner of his mouth twitching. “Make me your wife.”

“I will,” Katsuki comes closer, speaking not smugly, but matter-of-factly. He slides one hand around your waist, thumbs at your chin with the other. “But there’s an order to these things.”

No sooner have you opened your mouth to protest Katsuki’s condescension than he’s closing the wide gap between his height and your plush, open lips, pressing his mouth to yours, and your mind goes quiet. You’ve been kissed upwards of a dozen times at this point, something you were proud to remind your ladies-in-waiting of this morning while they giggled and squealed about your big night with the general. A few princes, a handful of noblemen’s sons, the expected suspects. All your ladies had said in return was “Those are boys. The general is a man. You’ll see the difference.”

There’s nothing demanding or unkind in the way his fingers are pressing into the plush curve of your hip, but it’s firm, steady in a way you’ve never dreamed about being held. His hand spreads across your jawline, keeping you tilted up and open for him to move his mouth against. There’s none of the hurried pecking, no errant tongue forcing its way between your teeth before you can even offer– Katsuki’s a man. You understand now, understand your handmaidens’ flushed cheeks and the way they fanned themselves theorizing about whether your new husband was as ruthless in bed as he was on the battlefield. Katsuki makes a fire catch behind your ribs, a desperate urge to impress, to keep your now horrifyingly-apparent lack of experience under wraps.

You bring a hand to the back of his neck, willing yourself not to tremble, and card your fingers through the close-cropped hair, smiling when Katsuki’s lips stutter against your own. His grip on you tightens, one big hand slipping to the nape of your neck and pulling you flush against him. His tongue slips into your mouth, tasting like ceremonial wine and something mannish and mature; you’re hardly able to swallow the gasp that threatens to reveal how the pit of your stomach is beginning to curl in on itself. Your breasts are pressed tight against his chest, only separated from his skin by his linen tunic. The fabric kisses your sensitive nipples, brushing against the untouched skin, and despite yourself, you whimper pathetically into his waiting mouth, cheeks warming.

Katsuki pulls back, to your disappointment, and you begin to chew at your lip, frantically thinking through the last several minutes to wonder what you’ve done wrong. Had you been too forward, touching him back so quickly? Your fretting dies down quickly when you see that Katsuki’s only stepped back to finger the hem of his tunic, ripping it over his head. You only have a moment to catch a blurry flash of honed muscle and scarred skin before he’s back on you, calloused hands wrapping around your hips. It only takes a few moments of him kissing you, of your fingers dragging absentmindedly up his veiny forearm, before you ask him for what you want, palms pressed flat against his chest and pushing lightly.

His brows knit together, and his eyes flicker over your face, searching for any sign of discomfort. You take a deep inhale, hoping to hide how rapidly you’ve lost your breath to him, steeling yourself to look him in the eye.

“I want to see you.”

Katsuki’s face screws up almost comically, and he tilts his head.

“See me?”

“See you.”

You take a step back, keeping your hands on his arms, holding him just where you want him and– is it a sight. He’s sharper than you would have imagined, deep grooves carving into his skin where his muscles bulge beneath it. You suck in a sharp breath as you let your eyes move slowly from his hardened stomach to his broad chest, little nicks dotting his skin where a stray swordtip had punctured armor, and a particularly nasty gash cutting across his front, stretching from his shoulder to his ribcage. It looks like it should have been fatal. Katsuki crosses his arms over his chest, maybe in an attempt to stop you from ogling him like you are, but it’s counterproductive; all he’s done is give you a golden opportunity to watch the skin of his arms stretch to accommodate the way his biceps swell and shrink with the movement, the twitching and flexing of each individual muscle laid bare for you to see clearly.

When your gaze finally returns to his face, you almost want to snort at his expression: pink cheeks, a scrunched nose, and eyebrows lifted to indicate just how entirely unimpressed he is with your drooling.

“Done ‘seeing’ me?” Katsuki asks, mouth lifting in just the smallest hint at a smile. Your heart flutters lightly in your chest; it’s the first attempt either of you have made at humor since your betrothal, and it’s hugely relieving to have something to smile about.

“It was only fair that I take my turn,” you say, gesturing down at your bare skin. Katsuki’s lips lift a little more until his gaze lowers; his eyes darken as he lets himself take you in. You can see the same thought crossing his mind just as it occurs to you: you belong to each other now, every bit of skin, muscle, heart that you’re bearing to each other isn’t just your own anymore. That scrunch in his nose, the scar across his chest, the way he narrows his eyes to study you. It all belongs to you now.

Katsuki steps forward, letting his hand interlace with yours, fingers hanging in the spaces between your own.

“Are you ready?” His question is no more than a puff of air against your forehead, both of you mercifully standing so close that you aren’t forced to look in his eyes when he asks.

“Yes.” Your voice shakes despite your attempt to be resolute in your answer, and you tighten your fingers around his in apology. It’s all new.

Katsuki kisses you again, slower and warmer than last time. It’s not desperate or hurried, but it is sensual, a promise of what awaits you when he lays you down on your bed. You sigh into his mouth, growing comfortable now with the feel of him on you; so comfortable, even, that you don’t notice he’s been backing you up until your back hits the poster of the bed, effectively pinning you between the hard, ebony wood, and Katsuki’s strong chest.

Your confinement does something to him. It’s immeasurably minute, the way his breath seems to puff out a bit heavier, the sudden jerk of his fingers into your hips, but it’s there.

“When you said you had experience…” Katsuki says, voice gravelly and dangerously close to a pant, “what did you mean by that?”

“I–” you pause, swallowing thickly around the growing lump in your throat, “I’ve been kissed, and I’ve…been touched.” You settle on that, hoping he grasps what you’re suddenly too shy to say.

“Did he make you cum?” He asks it so quietly, you almost wonder if you’ve heard him correctly, but you do hear him, and your chest caves in on itself as the breath leaves your lungs. You’ve snickered over such things with trusted girl friends, your ladies in waiting, but to hear it so gruffly, from the lips of a man—your new husband, no less—is a shock to your system.

“I think so,” you murmur, hardly able to form the words. You can’t see him, his head hunched over your shoulder and his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, but you can practically feel him frown.

“If he had, you would know so.” Katsuki presses a soft kiss on the cartilage of your ear, travels down to bring your earlobe between his lips. He moves farther down, kissing gently down the slope of your neck, so slowly as if not to scare you.

“How would I know?” You can’t believe you’ve even dared to ask the question, not entirely sure you’ve prepared yourself well enough to hear his answer. Katsuki sucks in a sharp breath against your collarbone, pausing his ministrations where he’d begun to lick and suckle at the prominent angle of it. Your face warms as you realize how deeply his faint touches have begun to affect you, how your chest is beginning to swell and sink with heavy breaths, how your skin tingles and sparks in anticipation of the next absentminded swipe of his knuckles, of the light pressure of his mouth.

“I can show you,” he whispers, and the world stops turning for a moment, “if you’d like.”

“Yes,” you breathe out before you can think better of yourself. You trust his hands, the steady way that they graze the curve of your hip and splay out against the small of your back. He’s stable and unwavering, keeping you afloat.

Katsuki nods against your shoulder, almost imperceptibly, and brings one of those strong hands up between your shoulderblades. He spreads his fingers out, forcing your back to arch for him, and brings his free hand up to your chest, pausing when he’s only a hair’s breadth from your breast. His eyes meet yours, a concentrated divot appearing between his eyebrows as he searches your face for any signs of discomfort. You arch into his touch, surprising even yourself with your boldness, and your jaw drops a bit at the sensation of his rough palms on your soft, supple breast.

Your eagerness spurs him to action, and he bends at the waist, scattering a litter of kisses across the top of your chest. You hold your breath as he dips lower, but your attempt to remain silent fails entirely when he closes his lips around your peaked nipple. A horribly broken whimper slips from your lips, and you squirm, though whether your body’s trying to push you into or away from the wet heat of his mouth you can’t tell.

Katsuki’s mouth stretches into a ghost of a smile around your flesh, or so you think, until his teeth graze your nipple properly and a quiet cry bursts from you. He smiles fully with your breast still between his teeth. His hand holds your back firmly in its bowed position as he moves to your other breast, twisting his tongue around your nipple there and kissing gently along the fat curve of the underside. He continues his descent, grazing his lips over your stomach, and you don’t realize he’s on his knees until he’s suckling softly on your hipbone, one hand now sprawled over your stomach. Katsuki rubs his thumb over the top of the thatch of hair between your legs, almost reverently, and it makes you regain your bearings, gulping.

“W-what are you doing?” You nearly cringe at the sound of your own voice, words syrupy and thick on your tongue.

Katsuki raises a cautious eyebrow, pulling back from the slight bruise he’s begun to place upon your hipbone. He’s still moving carefully, ghosting over where he wants to touch you as a warning before pressing his skin fully to yours, unwilling to spook you just yet, but something’s quickly changing in him. His jaw ticks as he considers you, looking down on where he kneels between your legs with wide eyes.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Katsuki asks back, looking genuinely confused. Your cheeks are aflame.

“You’re on your knees.” It sounds too simple as it leaves your mouth, an insult to your own intelligence, and you scowl in frustration, looking off to the side. The quiet chuckle between your legs snaps your attention back to Katsuki.

“I’m on my knees,” Katsuki agrees, leaning in and brushing his lips against your inner thigh, sending a full-body shudder racking through you, “for you. Do you…not like it?”

Your mind, foggy in the places you’re accustomed to using and glaringly sharp in useless departments like, for example, the way Katsuki’s eyes are glinting dangerously in the low light, struggles to find an answer for his question. You do like it, seeing this hulking, powerful man kneeling before you, tucking his chin up to the supple flesh of your thigh and blinking up at you curiously, but not for any reason that you can put your finger on.

“I didn’t say that,” you say carefully, willing your senses to come back to you. “I just…you look like you’re planning something.”

Another cutting half-smirk flashes across his face, gone as soon as it appears. “You’ve never been tasted before, have you?”

“Tasted?” You try to keep your face from showing your shock and confusion; surely he’s not about to do what you think he is. Katsuki hums an affirmative, placing another kiss to the clammy crease of your thigh and your cunt, a gasp ripping from your throat before you can stop it.

“Do you not want me to?” Katsuki tilts his head, expressionless. You try to find the answer to his question on his face, but he’s blank, leaving the decision entirely up to you. “It’ll help with the pain.”

The pain, that’s right. Soon, he would be taking you for his own, stretching your body in a new way that you’d heard the whispers about: bloody bedsheets, sore between the legs, pleading for the end. You chew into your bottom lip, considering your options.

“Do you want to?”

“I do,” Katsuki says, eyes dark and unreadable, “I want to make you feel good. But we’re doing this on–”

“My terms,” you finish for him, nodding, “I remember.”

“Good.” Katsuki nods, and you try desperately to ignore the heat that thrums through you. “So, if you don’t want it, I won’t. Simple as that.”

You think for a brief moment. Katsuki’s admitted to wanting something of you, of your body, perhaps for the first time since you’d gotten him wrapped up with you. You repeat his words over and over in your head, trying to make sense of them. I want to make you feel good.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Katsuki knits his brows.

“I want to try it,” you say, and add with a shaky exhale, “being tasted.”

If you’re not mistaken, Katsuki’s shoulders shiver between your legs, his eyes glazing over a little at your words. You feel pride ringing in your chest, seeing him uncoil, even if it’s only the slightest bit. You’d chosen correctly. Much as he did when you asked him to undress you, Katsuki nods tensely, and he moves deeper between your legs, nudging your knees apart for himself.

“It’ll feel good,” he murmurs quietly, picking up one of your legs and draping it over his shoulder, “but if you want me to stop, tell me, alright?”

You nod down at him, knowing that every bit of your nerves at being so exposed is showing all over your face. Katsuki flits his gaze down to your cunt, glistening in the candlelight and humiliatingly wet from his touch, and you can see him bite into the inside of his cheek, see his eyes flutter closed. Despite your embarrassment, you’re keen on watching, learning from him. Katsuki leans in, and his tongue slides between your wet folds, but even over your choked noise of surprise, one thing rings clear in your mind at the startling new sensation.

Katsuki groans, louder than you’ve ever heard, languid and gratified, face pressed so firmly into your center that you can already feel his shadow of stubble scratching the insides of your thighs. His hand, wrapped around the thigh over his shoulder, suddenly tightens, fingers digging into the meat of your leg much harder than he’s touched you yet. You focus on the muscles of his jaw, tensing and straining on the side of his face, while he licks into you like a man starved.

The way he eats you is such a deviation from his feather-light touches that you almost can’t believe it’s the same man, lewd noises echoing throughout the room as he suckles on something between your legs that you hadn’t even discovered properly for yourself, only swiping at it blindly in the darkest hours in your chambers. Your back curves viciously, breathy moans spilling from your lips, fingernails clawing into the ornately-carved posts of your marriage bed. Katsuki holds you tight against him, eyes hooded in bliss and mouth moving ceaselessly against you.

You’ve snuck a hand down between your legs before, rubbed shyly at the growing wetness, at the swollen skin, and experienced maybe a glimmer of the feeling that’s now glowing hot in the pit of your stomach. You would almost feel panicked at the spiraling, swooping sensation; that is, if you weren’t so wholly consumed by the white-hot pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Katsuki– I, it’s so– oh,” you trail off, losing your words as Katsuki establishes a rhythm of flicking his tongue between your legs right on that damned spot that you wish you’d known about before, maybe you could have prepared– “Oh, Katsuki, it’s– so good.”

Katsuki elicits a sound that’s closer to a snarl than anything else you can think of, tightening his iron grip into your skin. One of your hands absentmindedly fists in his hair, and before you can find the presence of mind to rip it away, he moans, openly and unashamedly, eyes screwing shut. He likes it, your foggy mind realizes, and you dig your fingers in harder, anchoring what’s left of you to the earth using the straight, sandy locks.

The heat, the sparks that are flying around every nerve ending in your body, begins to pick up an overwhelming speed, and all of the sudden, you feel like you need to kick out, to curl in on yourself, to scream so loud the windows blow out.

“Katsuki,” you say desperately, making watery, scared eyes at him. Katsuki’s brow furrows, and he only holds his pace, red eyes glaring into yours. You’re trying to warn him, but no words will form, and you can’t catch your breath, panting and clawing at his hair and almost sobbing until–

Everything peaks. A broken cry comes shooting out of your throat, your standing leg threatening to give out under you, and you writhe and twitch on Katsuki’s face, shamelessly surrendering to the most intense tidal wave of pleasure you’ve experienced in your life. From the fuzzy peripherals of your consciousness, you can hear Katsuki groaning encouragingly into your wet cunt, still dutifully moving his tongue against you and smearing the evidence of your arousal all over his cheeks. When the world comes back into focus, it’s dazzlingly harsh, your muscles weakening as soon as Katsuki’s face clears into its typical arrangement of sharp angles and hard lines.

“Oh–” you gasp, your one good knee finally buckling underneath you. Luckily, Katsuki has already begun to stand, and one of his strong arms darts out, catching you around the waist. You wish he wouldn’t look so smug.

“How do you feel?” Katsuki asks innocently enough, but even in the aftermath of that, you don’t miss the twitching at the corner of his shining mouth, the expectant arch of his eyebrow.

“Good,” you pant, willing your cheeks to lose even a portion of their heat, “it was– fine.”

“Fine?” Katsuki’s eyebrow raises fully, disbelievingly.

“It was good,” you reaffirm, glaring at him. Katsuki grins brightly, the most light you think you’ve ever seen enter his face. It makes you blush almost as hard as the orgasm he dragged you through. Something wild and wicked flickers in your mind, and you look up at him curiously. “Do you…do you want me to do that to you?”

Katsuki’s smile drops as quickly as it came, and his cheekbones darken, a deep flush spreading over his face. You almost wonder if you’ve misstepped, upset him in some way, until you catch him palming over his pants. Your throat tightens.

“No,” he says, all the mirth drained from his face, “no, you don’t have to– no.”

“Alright,” you acquiesce, transferring your weight from Katsuki’s firm grip around your waist back to your feet, finding your legs weak and shaky beneath you. Your gaze floats over your shoulder, back to the plush sheets of your marriage bed, and Katsuki clears his throat, backing away a step so you have the room to climb into the bed, lay yourself down.

You’d expected to feel shyer, but there’s surprisingly no urge to curl in on yourself, not even Katsuki’s eyes take you in, darkening in the candlelight. The aftershocks of pleasure— white-hot, addictive pleasure he’d introduced you to— are still echoing through your limbs, and you’re just curious enough to bite back your initial trepidation. You want to know what else he has to teach you.

Katsuki begins tugging at the laces keeping his pants snug around his waist, loosening them and shooting you one final look, one last assurance. His eyebrow is cocked questioningly, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he looks a little nervous. You nod, holding a breath deep enough in your lungs that it aches, and his pants hit the floor.

You’ve seen naked men, here and there, over the course of your life, and your ladies had described enough of the act before you that you can’t find yourself shocked at the sight, but more so at the wanton aching that ricochets through your limbs, chill bumps erupting over your arms and shoulders rolling of their own accord. You don’t have much to go by, but you’re fairly sure he’s big comparatively, so hard that the tip is an angry shade of red. Katsuki climbs over you before you have much chance to look further, but the damage is done; a fresh wave of arousal courses through you, and you widen your knees to let him situate himself.

“I’m going to get you ready,” Katsuki says between chaste kisses to your lips. “Is that alright?”

“But you already–,” you feel frustrated at your own inexperience, knitting your brow at him, “I’m ready.”

“You’re not,” Katsuki assures you, and before you can bite back another retort, his battle-scarred fingers are rubbing softly through the mess between your legs, and your jaw falls slack. Katsuki’s monitoring you for any signs of unease, eyes bright and focused on your face. You’re wet enough that he’s sliding through your folds easily, meeting little resistance as he rubs tight, concentrated circles into that spot that he’d used to make you see stars earlier. “Do you trust me?”

“Mhm.” It’s all you can manage to hum an affirmative, biting back the breathy noises trying to break free of your throat. It’s a wonder, how so little effort from him has your blood molten in your veins, limbs pliant and muscles twitching.

Katsuki’s fierce gaze doesn’t let up, but you understand why when you feel it: a finger, presumably, stretching you in a new, uncomfortable way. You’re unable to contain the gasp that bleats out of you, eyes flying wide, and Katsuki’s hand stills, eyes squinting as he tries to determine the nuances of your reaction. It’s novel, and admittedly, makes you a bit restless, but it isn’t unpleasant, and embarrassingly, your hips cant up into his hand, answering for you. Katsuki works slowly, never ceasing the small circles he’s rubbing into you, letting the discomfort align with the deliberate, savory pleasure that’s now ever-present in your core. When he begins to move his finger in and out of you, working you open, you realize it feels good, more than good, even.

“Alright?” Katsuki asks, distrusting of the whimpers and shaky moans beginning to fall from your lips. “Talk to me.”

“It’s strange,” you admit, words fragile and breathy in the space between your lips, “but I like it, it feels good. Really good.”

Katsuki hums approvingly, teases your entrance with the rough pad of a second finger. He arches his eyebrow at you, the question hanging silent, but clear between you. The prospect is daunting, but you welcome it; he’s already shown you so much, made you feel so much. You trust him, nodding eagerly.

“Please.”

Katsuki works his second finger in, grinding his jaw when you choke on a moan, rolling your hips into his palm. He nods, letting you wriggle your hips around as you need to, to ease the stretch of him inside of you. You can feel the power behind the lightness of his touch, eyes flitting down to the strained, corded muscle of his forearm as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. He’s holding back, and when you think wildly of what might happen the day he doesn’t have to anymore, your body clenches around him.

Katsuki pulls a face at you, amused. “What is it?”

“What?” You pant, feeling that knot begin to tie in on itself tighter and tighter behind your bellybutton.

“Y’liked something, thought of something,” Katsuki studies you, mouth quirking up into a little half-smile, “I could feel it.”

If you were any more present, you’d be mortified, but all you can do is reach a hand to stroke along the bulge of his bicep, dig your teeth into your bottom lip.

“Was thinking about you,” you admit shyly, trying to force your words to come out a little less broken than you know you sound, “you’re strong.”

“I am strong,” Katsuki agrees, curling his fingers against something inside of you that makes you jerk, makes him smirk at you.

“You’re holding back on me.”

“I am,” he says, placing a kiss to your shoulder, “you’re not ready for it. Need to go slow this time.”

“One day you won’t,” you say, mustering all the strength your hazy mind has to offer to look him squarely in the eye, watch his reaction. Katsuki inhales sharply, eyes widening at your boldness, only to narrow at you, predatory and curious. His fingers have stilled momentarily, and you pull your stomach muscles, jerking your hips up against his hand, frustrated. Katsuki only glares down at you, jaw ticking.

“One day I won’t,” he finally answers you, pulling his fingers from where you’re throbbing and needy. You almost whine, but bite into your lip before the admission of desperation flies from you. “If that’s what you want.”

You don’t have the chance to answer before Katsuki’s sucking his own fingers into his mouth, sucking you off of them. Your jaw stutters, and you gape at him as his eyelids flutter, a low groan rumbling in his strong chest.

“Taste good,” Katsuki says, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world, “sweet.”

“Can I try?” The question flies from your lips before you can even think to contain it, and your eyes grow even larger, shocked at your own debauchery. You’re seconds away from stuttering out an apology when Katsuki’s massive hand appears in front of your face, fingers glistening in the candlelight.

“Here.” Katsuki offers his fingers to you, eyes dark and hungry. You only stare at him for a moment, trying to discern if you’ve done something horribly wrong, but he’s completely sincere, brushing his wet fingers along your bottom lip. You open your mouth, suck him in. It’s more viscous than you would have imagined, sticky and thick on your tongue, but it’s pleasantly gamey; a little bitter, a little sweet. You don’t realize that you’re suckling on Katsuki’s fingers until he groans again, deep in his throat, gritting his teeth.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, pulling his hand free from your lips.

“What’d you think?” Katsuki regains his composure quickly, tilting his head at you with something impish sparkling in his eye.

You’d chosen your new husband due to his unwavering dedication to the kingdom that he’d sworn his life to protect, his kingly attributes that had set him so far apart from your other, softer suitors. You hadn’t even thought to consider what other sides to him might be lurking beneath the formidable exterior of decorated general; could it be so that the red-cheeked, boyish creature above you, so intent on helping you explore your body, was the fierce warrior that had supposedly cut down over a hundred enemy soldiers entirely on his own?

“I liked it,” you say, biting into the smile starting to grow on your face. The way his eyes light up makes you feel like a vixen, like somehow, you can be a woman after all. “Everything is…it feels good.”

Something virile glints in Katsuki’s eyes, but you don’t shy away, holding his gaze. “Good.”

“I want to…I want you to have me. I want to have you.” You’re not even sure if you’re making sense, tongue heavy and useless in your mouth. Katsuki’s hand has wandered back down between your legs, rubbing lazily at the wetness there, and it’s got that steady heat creeping back through your limbs, setting your nerves on fire.

“You’re sure?” Katsuki asks, raising his eyebrow at you. All the mischief has drained from his face as he examines you, and while you appreciate his caution, the craving for something more is growing uncomfortable.

“Please,” you say, tilting your chin up to press your lips gently to his in reassurance. Katsuki is finally convinced, it seems, because he rolls off of you and settles his back against the headboard, reaching an errant arm over to tug you on top of him.

You hadn’t anticipated this; Katsuki’s set you right on top of his hips, your dripping cunt placed firmly against his hard cock, back ramrod straight from the sudden exposure, nipples peaked in the charged air. The feel of him pressing insistently against where your body needs him most makes your head spin; you hadn’t expected it to be so distinct, hard and thick beneath you.

“What are you–”

“It’ll be easier this way,” Katsuki says, looking very much like he’s putting all his effort into appearing unaffected, but only a moment ago, you felt his hips twitch upwards into yours, “you can control it.”

“I don’t– I don’t know how to do it. Not the right way, I mean.” You’re burning in your humiliation, hot in so many different ways now you aren’t sure if you could even count them, but you’re bared completely to him, and you figure your dignity was left somewhere crumpled on the floor with your consummation gown.

“Don’t worry about that,” Katsuki says sternly, looking so unbelievably flustered that if you were any less preoccupied, it would make you giggle, “not yet. You need to get used to having something inside you, first.”

Something inside you; him, thick and hard and drooling wetness onto his bellybutton. That’s right. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, doing everything in your power to ride the wave of exhilaration going through you. You roll your hips experimentally, once, twice, swallowing the gasp that aches to leave your jaw.

“Just like that,” Katsuki mumbles, so quietly you almost think you hadn’t heard him, “take your time.”

You take his advice, bracing your clammy hands on his neck. You grind down on him again, feeling sparks of pleasure shoot up your body. With each swipe of your hips, you can feel your cunt grow wetter, feel that bottomless want in your stomach open a little more. The growing hunger in you is primordial, some hidden part of your mind directing you. The urge to have something inside of you, to feel full in a way you can’t begin to imagine, is causing you to grow restless, fingers drumming anxiously on Katsuki’s shoulders. When you meet his eyes, a muscle feathers in his jaw, but he stays silent, hands placed gently on your hips as he watches you grow accustomed to his girth, the weight of him between your legs.

“I think I’m ready. Can I?”

Katsuki stays silent, only nods sagely in assent. His grip on your hips grows tighter as you lift yourself up, reaching down blindly to grip him. He sucks in a breath when your fingers wrap around the length of him, and your eyes flit to his in alarm, but he only shakes his head, brow furrowing.

“Go ahead.”

You nod back, wincing at the anticipatory trembling of your thighs on either side of his hips, pulling his cock up from his stomach. You rather like the smooth feel of the skin in your hands, and you think briefly that maybe this will be something to revisit later, having him needy and in the palm of your hand. The swollen head catches, and you almost gasp at the surprise of it, how a dull thud of satisfaction rings through your body. You inhale deeply, and begin to sink down.

Katsuki’s fingers dig into your hips even harder, but you hardly feel it over the incomparable stretch between your legs. You’re sure now that he’s big; he has to be, the way it feels like your very insides are moving to accommodate him. You’re trying not to huff at the feeling, but a whine escapes you, and Katsuki’s tight grip stops you just as you’re nearing the halfway point.

“Okay?” He’s tense, coiled like a snake, all the muscles in his strong body locked, but his eyes are concerned.

“Uh huh,” you manage, wiggling your hips around and dropping yourself down a couple more inches, making you both gasp, “s’just big.”

“Fuck,” Katsuki hisses, throwing his head back. You pause, body contracting around him in your attempt to take him wholly, only a short distance from the blonde hair at the base of his cock.

“Is everything alright?”

“Can’t say shit like that,” Katsuki grits out, voice hoarse. You realize with a slow, muggy blink that you haven’t yet heard him swear, not in the Common Tongue, haven’t yet seen him become so unraveled and yet, at the same time, so rigid. It’s affecting him, that instinctual part of your brain supplies, it feels good for him.

If you were any less dazed, you’d smile. Katsuki Bakugou, High Commander of the fiercest army the world has seen in over a century, famed warrior an ocean over, is practically twitching trying to bite back his own pleasure as you take him inside of you. The rush of adrenaline that thought sends through you gives you the motivation to let yourself go, nestling the entirety of him deep inside yourself and meeting his hips. You choke on a moan, eyes prickling with tears.

“Oh,” you pant, lifting yourself just a bit, trying to squirm away from the discomfort.

“Does it hurt?” Katsuki grunts, eyes running over every bit of your body.

“No, it’s just,” you keen again, interrupting yourself with breathy, whiny little noises, “full.”

Katuski makes a noise that you think was meant to be a hum of agreement, but only comes out as a growl. If the white in his knuckles and the sharp, tense bone of his jaw is anything to go by, his arousal is only barely being held back, restricted to a tight leash. You’re not his first, not the only wet warmth he’s buried himself in, and this isn’t at all the first time he’s experienced this white-hot, carnal pleasure that’s licking up your veins. You find the strength to blink back the budding tears in your eyes, to really look at him.

He’s holding it together well, fingers grounded where they dig into your fleshy hips, crimson eyes looking you up and down, taking you in, but like the quiet snap of embers in the background, ruining the illusion of the room’s heat emanating from you and Katsuki, his body betrays him. His muscles are jumping under his skin, twitching involuntarily like the hide of one of the cavalry’s prize stallions, ready to run. Katsuki’s fucking a princess in his mind, you think, a future queen, and he’s proceeding accordingly, trying to keep his caresses light and his infamous temper in check.

You blink at him, vision watery, and realize suddenly that, for the first time in your life, you want to be a hot-blooded, wild, mortal. You want only to be a woman with a man inside of her, and you want to be regarded as such.

“Still doin’ alri–” Katsuki cuts himself off with a grunt when you roll your hips, biting back a wince at the unfathomable pressure in your stomach, the depth of him snug inside you. “Wait–”

“I’m fine,” you say, surprising even yourself at your sharpness. Confidence swells in your chest as he squirms under you, kissing away the burn of how he’s worked you open.

“But–”

“Eminna skoros iksis ñuhon,” you say down to him, looking upon your new husband with hooded eyes as you grind your hips down into him, adjusting to the strange stretch that accompanies his body inside of yours. Each movement of your hips into his makes it easier, soothes the slow throb of your body trying to make room for him. Pleasure begins to ignite again along your fingertips, and when you scoot forward a bit, pushing your hips back, his cock nudges something inside of you that makes your jaw drop.

Katsuki’s eyes widen momentarily, but you can see the moment he loosens the leash, succumbs to his baser instincts. His grip on your hips loosens, shoulders slackening, and his eyes darken, lids dropping a bit just to cover the tops of those crimson irises. He’s beautiful, godlike even, planes of hardened muscle at your command, the flames from the candles reflected in his eyes. Katsuki drags his gaze over you, nostrils flaring, bringing one hand up to the back of your neck and pulling you to him, pressing your foreheads together. The shift in him makes you gasp; the calm force with which he chooses to exert his strength.

“Lo emilā nyke, emagon nyke,” Katsuki says against your lips, all trepidation gone. You shudder in his arms, letting pleasure wrack down your spine like fire catching. “Yn eminna ao, hae sȳrī, dārilaros.”

Your blood sings at the low purr of the Old Tongue, poured into your mouth like a fine wine, but you curdle at Dārilaros. Princess. “Eman daor pāletilla skori iksā iemnȳ yno. Iksan iā ābra, iksan aōha ābrazȳrys.”

Katsuki nearly snarls, swears under his breath. “What did I tell you about saying shit like that?”

“You call me your wife,” you say, thoroughly pleased with yourself at his rapid unraveling. It’s never been like you not to have the upper hand. “Treat me as your wife.”

Even a hair’s breadth away from his face, you can see Katsuki’s last shreds of honor, that warrior’s heart, dying out. His eyes flicker over your face as you fruitlessly roll your hips, not able to get to the full extent of your pleasure with him gripping you so tightly. For the first time, you can feel his hands tremble against your skin. He’s only steps away from joining you in your damning mortality, finding the raw, primal humanity deep down inside of him. You rut your hips at him again, useless against his resolute grasp.

“Please,” you sigh against him, not even thinking to be ashamed of the breathy, needy plea you let out, not even wholly sure of what you’re begging him for, “make me feel good again.”

Katsuki groans, low in his chest, and nods, a covenant you’re building in the hot air between your mouths. His hands grab into your hips more fully, and he lifts you, only part of the way, before sliding you back down the length of him. You gasp into his mouth, caught off guard by the punch of him back up into the space he’s carved out for himself. It feels like he’s in your lungs, your breath coming out labored and pinched.

“Move,” Katsuki commands, settling back a bit and forcing you to sit up straight, hands on your ribcage. You’re bared completely to him again, and it’s still horrible, but the arousal dims any humiliation that threatens to rise. “Move.”

You wiggle your hips again, moving shakily along his cock, but Katsuki’s not pleased, evidently, as he digs his hands back into your hips.

“Like this,” he says, using his iron grip on you to correct your movements. Katsuki drags you up and down his cock in smooth, fluid motions, and despite the slowly-easing discomfort, your nerve endings come alight, the molten want finding a new peak as he rips a moan out of your throat.

“Oh–”

“Better?” Katsuki huffs, a vicious grin cutting across his face. Your arms flail a bit as he moves you, rolling you along his length as if you’re nothing more than a doll to him. Katsuki notices your awkwardness, takes one of your hands and places it firmly on your breast. You follow his lead, thumbing gently over one hard nipple, and, at the jolt of pleasure, you quickly bring your free hand to match on the other side, letting your head fall back.

“Katsuki,” you pant, quickly losing your composure and falling victim to the sensations devouring you, “it’s– that’s so good.”

“I know,” Katsuki breathes, still pulling you this way and that, “you’re perfect, so soft around me.”

You’ve never gotten to be soft; iron princess on the iron throne, made of embers and scalding steam, but for him? You bloom, pretty as a petal, letting your body meld into his like it was always supposed to be here. You’re not soft like silk, you let yourself be soft like candlelight, like magma, like the crashing of the ocean when you’re far enough away that the waves won’t get you, drag you under. Soft like doom.

“I feel– fuck, I think I– I need more.”

Katsuki’s lips twist at the breathless curse that flies from your lips, so foreign and funny-sounding in your regal mouth. You want to tease him right back, but he slides you off of him, and the loss is so devastating, your bottom lip nearly juts out as it did when you were a child. Before you can protest too much, Katsuki’s laying you on your back, hands sliding along your thighs, and you follow your instincts and bring your legs up to wrap around his waist.

“If it’s too much…” Katsuki trails off, losing his words when he goes to brush your bottom lip with his thumb and you suck him in voraciously, nibbling on his finger.

“I’ll tell you,” you promise, spitting him out and letting your own hand flutter across his cheekbone. He’s almost glaring down at you; so intense is the desire in his eyes that a small part of you wants to shy away, but you don’t. You wiggle your legs that much wider, arch your back, lean into the burn of him. You were born for the heat.

Katuski’s mouth quirks up in a little smile, already so fond it makes your chest ache, and he slides back into you, groaning when your cunt sucks him in greedily. You try to embrace the novelty of it, the dull throb of his cock splitting you wide, digging your nails into his arm by mistake. Katsuki swears in surprise, and you jerk your hand away, until he looks down at you admonishingly.

“Go ahead, perzītsos,” he hums, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your hairline, “I won’t break.”

He pulls back and thrusts back into you, harder than you’d expected, and your nails return to his wrist beside your head, digging half-moons into the pale skin. He’s different from this angle, not so agonizingly deep in you, but nudging against something inside you that renders you incapacitated, fuzzy-minded and pliant in his arms. Katsuki’s not faring any better than you, eyes hooded and little grunts slipping from his lips each time his hips connect with yours.

“What does it feel like?” Katsuki asks, beginning to look out of his mind with need. “Ivestragon nyke.”

“Deep,” you choke out, letting your jaw drop when he leans down to lick into your mouth, “full, I feel– full.”

“Good,” Katsuki mumbles, “good. Doesn’t hurt?”

“No.”

In answer, Katsuki moves his hips faster, snapping them against you with brute force. He’s keeping that ever-cognizant eye on you, monitoring you for any indication of pain or panic, but even through the haze of the tightening knot in the pit of your stomach, you can see him tumbling over the same edge that you have, lost to your baser instincts. You’re soft to him, your warm walls hugging him snug as he chases an end for you both, but sharp in the way your fingers claw into his skin, your teeth nip into his shoulder. Mine. Mine. Ñuhon.

“Katsuki,” you warn him, the balloon of pressure welling in your belly, growing so large you feel as though you might choke on it.

“I know,” he says, leaning down to press his forehead to yours. His voice is broken and ragged and tastes like hot coals, like copper and bronze and prophecy. You drink him down eagerly, so out of your mind with want that you’ve transformed. You’d entered the room as a blushing virgin of the highest, most noble bloodline, and here you are, twisting and keening under him, all molten limbs and whorish pants. Sweat dapples your forehead, drool smeared over your chin, and you’ve never felt more beautiful.

“I’m so– it’s the, the same,” you gasp, familiar words devolving into nonsense, “but it’s not enough, I don’t, I–”

“Here,” Katsuki growls, closing one strong fist around your wrist and sliding your arm between your writhing bodies, “just like I did it, remember?”

You find the same sensitive spot that Katsuki had shown you quickly, swollen and raw with pleasure, and try rubbing shaky circles over it, try to maintain some semblance of a rhythm and imitate his earlier movements. It’s uneven and inconsistent, but the added stimulation rockets through you, and your back pulls taut as a bow, arching off the featherbed.

“Close?”

“Yes,” you gasp, still not grasping what you’re close to, but feeling very much as though you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, that same rushing building in your ears. You somehow had the presence of mind to register that what’s building inside of you now is different than it was with his mouth between your legs; it’s faster, wetter, fuller, and it feels like it’s choking you.

“Come on,” Katsuki urges you, bordering on a snarl as he pants desperately into your mouth, “want to feel you cum around me, feel this little cunt milkin’ my cock.”

“Kat–” you try to call out for him, so overwhelmed the edges of your vision are going dark. He’s grinding his hips into you forcefully, pinning your fingers to the apex of your cunt, forcing you to rub yourself harder.

“You can do it, raqiarzy, come on–”

You cut him off with a loud sob of his name, thighs caging him in and the innermost walls of your body clamping down on him. Light bursts behind your eyelids, the white-hot flames of dragonfire and the embers of a burning forest exploding as your body is racked with wave after wave of bliss. Katsuki’s skin breaks under your fingernails, the slight dampness of tearing flesh familiar even in the haze of your orgasm. He works you through it, driving his hips into you despite the vicious tightening of your cunt around him, whispering affirmations into the pallid skin of your shoulder. Every muscle in your body contracts painfully, and you’d feel ashamed of the sounds escaping you if you could find enough wherewithal to care.

“Close,” Katsuki grits out, rolling his hips into your still-contracting cunt as your high begins to dwindle, “you ready for me?”

“Uh-huh, please, I– yes,” you babble nonsensically, interlocked ankles bouncing at the small of his back. As your orgasm drains from your veins, your muscles go lax, zapped of the fervent energy that had overtaken you. You find your body to be pliant and receptive, but your mind solely focused on watching that same ethereal pleasure that had possessed you wash over Katsuki. “Yes, I w-want you to cum.”

“Fuck,” Katsuki swears, hips stuttering, “take it, take it all–”

A guttural groan accompanies a sticky warmth flooding your insides; you squirm in his tight grip and moan at the sensation of being filled, feeling a fresh rush of arousal flow through you as you feel his cock twitching inside of you. You bite deep into his shoulder to muffle the pathetic mewls slipping from you at the feel of both his and your cum leaking out of your body, pooling in a little puddle underneath you. Everything is so earthy and musky; Katsuki’s salty skin between your teeth, his bruising grip into your hips, the stink of sex and sweat permeating the bedsheets.

Katsuki’s chest heaves against yours as his hips rock into you one last time, the thatch of blond hair at the base of him pressing against where you’re swollen and achy hard enough to make you whimper. When you wriggle around underneath him, he seems to snap back into himself, propping his upper body up on his elbows and bringing a hand to your face, thumbing over the arch of your cheekbone.

“Y’alright?” His carmine eyes are still glazed over, words gummy between his teeth, but the tenderness of his hand as he strokes your cheek lets you know he’s there.

“I’m alright,” you say, and you mean it. Something so deep in you that you don’t even have a name for is throbbing, and your body is still clenching and fluttering around where he’s softening inside of you, but your limbs are heavy and your head is in the clouds.

He’s a sight to see, a sight you commit to memory; sweat glistens on his pale skin, his eyes are hooded and sleepy, and a contented, lazy grin is starting to tug at the corner of his mouth. Katsuki pulls his hips back, pressing his lips to your temple in apology when you murmur something unintelligible, but hinting at discontent. You feel empty in a way you had never known you were supposed to, not until you’d learned what it meant to be fulfilled.

“Anything hurt?”

You shake your head, not sure how to verbalize that you’re not feeling any pain, but a deep-seated satiation that hints to the fact that you might never be able to lift yourself from the bed again. Katsuki’s still caging you in, heavy body crushing yours, when a jarringly unwelcome sound floats over his shoulder.

“Ah, um– Princess? I need to confirm–”

“I know,” Katsuki, sliding back into the skin of a general with ease, growls over his shoulder, “that you’re not daring to speak to my wife while she’s naked underneath me.”

Even given everything, your cheeks flare, and you shove at Katsuki weakly, making apologetic eyes at the attendant despite your humiliation. “It’s his job, Katsuki–”

“They can’t send a woman for this shit?” Katsuki cages you in even further, glaring at the servant who’s nearly shaking in his slippers. “Well?”

“I–I can fetch a female servant to confirm the consummation of the–”

“Do that, then.” The attendant’s soft footsteps as he scuttles away are hardly overshadowed by your breathy, tired giggles.

“You didn’t have to terrorize the poor man,” you swat lightly at Katsuki’s chest, “it’s his duty to confirm that the marriage has been consummated. The priests won’t have it any other way.”

“I’m sure he heard enough,” Katsuki grumbles, flopping onto his back beside you. He opens one eye, notices the sheet dragging dangerously close to your nipple, and tugs it up to your chin, closing his eye again and humming contentedly. His arm pauses for a moment, like he wants to stretch it over your shoulders, but he pulls it back by his own side, thinking better of it. You aren’t sure if you want to be held, if the intimacy outside of your duty as his new wife will be too grating against your already-raw nerves.

“My ladies will be here soon,” you say quietly, “to bathe me and help me prepare for bed.”

“Figured,” Katsuki grumbles, sounding entirely displeased at more people disrupting your peace. Something about it warms your heart, some small part of your mind hoping that his displeasure is rooted in a desire to keep you all to himself, hidden beneath the sheets.

“Your own attendants shouldn’t be far behind.”

“My what?” Katsuki sits up on one elbow again, looks down at you disbelievingly. “I don’t need any…ladies.”

“You’ll get used to them,” you tell him offhandedly, wondering if you’re being truthful. You’re just beginning to get acquainted with the intricacies of the man behind the title, but the general seems fiercely independent to you, and the image of him getting his hair scrubbed by a flock of servants is enough to make you chuckle to yourself.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you assure him, “I’m sure you’ll be a perfect royal specimen.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrow in irritation. “You didn’t inform me that ladies would be a part of my duties.”

“We can get men!”

“That’s worse.” Katsuki’s face screws up in an ugly scowl that makes you laugh outright. The lightness of your laughter makes his face fall a little, the hardened exterior giving way to the same man that had kissed reverently up the inside of your thigh, had been so achingly gentle with you when you weren’t sure what you would need to get through the night. A man you think you could love.

You look into each other’s eyes, something like starlight, like candlelight, like true, gods-given warmth buzzing between you, when the door creaks open, a gaggle of ladies and one priestess entering the room. Katsuki groans, tugs the blankets even further up your chests, the moment broken.

Ignoring his grumbles of protest, you pull yourself from the blankets with ease, baring your nude body to your ladies. There’s no shame in front of these women who have raised you, much to Katsuki’s astonishment. You don’t miss the way their eyes catch on the purple blooms on your hipbones, the way they squeal with excitement when you lay back and spread your legs for the priestess, displaying the thin trickle of Katsuki’s seed still steadily leaking from you. The priestess nods solemnly and leaves in the same manner; at least that’s done.

Your ladies do an absolutely dismal job of trying to appear subtle as they stare at Katsuki’s still-heaving chest, his narrowed eyes darting around the room suspiciously, his round biceps– your closest lady, Alanna, whisper-squeals in your ear about how huge your new husband’s arms are, and you have to pinch her cheek harshly to get her to stop, sensing Katsuki’s tangible discomfort from across the room. He behaves well as they bathe you, sitting up in bed and watching silently as you’re preened and fawned over, as your tangled hair has a brush torn through it and is twisted neatly into your nighttime braid.

A group of women hovering silently by the door, eyeing Katsuki nervously, appear to be his newly-appointed handmaids. You do both Katsuki and the women the favor of dismissing them for the night, unsure of how Katsuki, who is still gripping the sheets to his chest like a young, blushing maiden, will react to being pampered and scrubbed by foreign hands.

“You can dismiss those serving girls for good,” Katsuki says gruffly, clean and ambling over to a looking glass to swipe a brush through his hair. “‘M not a boy, I don’t need any help getting myself to bed.”

You conveniently slide past the omission on the tip of your tongue– before Katsuki’s anxious staff had left, you had requested them to bring a hot bath, all of Katsuki’s bathing things from his old chamber, a freshly-dried sponge from the Narrow Sea for him to wash himself with. It’s enough to keep it to yourself, seeing how content he is in his new living space now, that you could do something for him amongst the chaos you’ve now thrown his life into.

“We’ll see,” you hum, picking at a stray cuticle over the covers and trying not to ogle him too obviously.

He’s still blessedly nude, unabashed in his swagger around the room as he dries himself with the strips of soft, woven cloth your ladies had left behind per your request. When he approaches the bed you’re laying in, you stiffen, unaccustomed still to these small intimacies. Royalty has proven to be a lengthy and lonely existence in your experience, and sharing it with someone is foreign to your solitary nature. Your own parents had had their own separate chambers, as every monarch before them. It was Katsuki’s one condition to accepting your proposal; you were to share bedchambers, like a common husband and wife.

“Princess?” Katsuki is hesitant when he approaches you, as if he already senses your trepidation. You will yourself to unclench your muscles, to relax your shoulders. You have no right to make him feel unwelcome in his own bed– the bed you now share.

“I told you I don’t want you to call me that.” You try to offer him a playful smile, but it only glimmers across your face. This is yet another bridge you need his guidance over.

“You did,” Katsuki nods sagely, the corner of his mouth twitching as he remembers the circumstance of that particular conversation, “I’m sorry, perzītsos.”

“Come to bed.”

“Are you sure?” Katsuki cocks an eyebrow at you, looking down at the huge bed warily.

“It was what you wanted.”

“Only if you want it.” Katsuki sighs deeply at your look of not-quite-belief and sits on the bed a respectable distance away from you. He reaches for your hand, a question, not a demand, and you slide your fingers into his calloused palm, humming contentedly when he runs his large thumb over your knuckles. He stays like that for a moment, contemplative and looking at your hand, bare of all of its usual finery and rings. “What did I say earlier?”

“When?”

“Before.” Katsuki raises his eyebrows enough that you catch his meaning.

“That we were doing things on my terms.” Something in your chest, warm and wet and laden with flowers, swells big and tight enough to pop.

“That didn’t just apply to, ah, earlier,” Katsuki coughs uncomfortably, flicking his eyes up to you, “that’s for all of this. Our…our lives are…the same now, and I don’t want you to think I need you– seven hells, that’s not what I meant–”

“You’re not very good at this, are you?” You interrupt him suddenly, a saccharine smile curling the corner of your lips. Katsuki flushes a vicious red, frowns and shakes his head in confirmation. “Neither am I.”

“No?”

“I haven’t suddenly found myself married before, so no.” It feels silly, all of the sudden, to have guarded yourself at all. Katsuki is many things, but above all, he is steady, a resolute rock against an angry ocean. “But while I feel many things about our…unexpected union, one thing I do not feel is alone. We can do this on our terms, not just mine.”

Katsuki nods again, looks back down to your hand in his, and cracks a wry smile. “This is why you’re the politician.”

“I’m a princess,” you deadpan, “not a politician.”

“But I can’t call you that,” Katsuki scoffs, rolling his eyes. The lightheartedness lifts the atmosphere in your bedchamber, oppressive with marital expectations and the stuffy heat of candles left burning too long, and it gives you the needed weightlessness to have your eyes slowly blinking closed.

“Exactly,” you agree matter-of-factly, stifling a yawn. “Will you call someone in to dispose of the candles?”

Katsuki snorts, pushing himself off the bed without answer. Before you can protest or feel hurt by his sudden abandonment, he crosses the room and bends at the waist, blowing out one of over two dozen candles. You can only watch in growing fondness and amusement as he huffs at each little flame, the room growing darker by the moment. By the time he’s finished, your eyes are hardly open, drifting shut as you sink into the pillows. A satisfied throb echoes through your body as you wriggle down beneath the sheets, the lingering evidence of Katsuki’s presence on and in you bringing a warmth to your cheeks even in the now-dark room.

The last thing you register as you slip into the beginnings of a heavy sleep is the dip of the bed behind you, and a thick, muscled forearm creeping stealthily over your waist.

“This alright?”

All you can muster is a tired mumble of acquiesce, nuzzling into the firm chest behind you. Katsuki chuckles quietly into your hair, a dark, soothing sound that has your mind careening towards sleep, eager to melt into this world of warmth and comfort in his arms.

“Ēdrū sȳrī, ñuha perzītsos.”

───── ⋆⋅ 𖤓 ⋅⋆ ─────

as promised, high valyrian translations here :)

Ānogar ānograro = "Blood of my blood."

Gevie = "Beautiful"

Iksā gevie, ñuha ābrazȳrys. = "You are beautiful, my wife."

Eminna skoros iksis ñuhon. = "I will have what is mine."

Lo emilā nyke, emagon nyke, yn eminna ao, hae sȳrī, dārilaros. = "If you will have me, then have me, but I will have you as well, princess."

Eman daor pāletilla skori iksā iemnȳ yno. Iksan iā ābra, iksan aōha ābrazȳrys. = "I have no crown when you are inside me. I am a woman, I am your wife."

Perzītsos = "Little flame"

Ivestragon nyke. = "Tell me."

Raqiarzy = "Beloved"

Ēdrū sȳrī, ñuha perzītsos. = "Sleep tight, my little flame."

#this was a labor of love #truly took forever #but i LOVE it so i hope you guys do too #aged up character #aged up characters #bakugou katsuki #aged up katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou katsuki smut #bakugou smut #katsuki smut #mha x reader

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quinncupine · 1 year ago

Note

So glad your request are open I love your writing! Here’s a request for you, Deku x fem reader where he’s out on patrol and calls his s/o to check up on her and she doesn’t answer, so he goes home and and sees someone holding the reader hostage and he saves her. Protective worried Izuku wins my heart every time lol

I definitely got a little carried away with this one. This request was a bit similar to the last one, so I took a few liberties, but I hope you'll enjoy it all the same!

Failsafe

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya X Female Reader

Word count: ~7,600

Warnings: Blood, mild language, guns, explosvies, violence

MASTERLIST

The phone buzzed for a second time in his pocket. With a distracted sigh, he pulled it out, only getting a momentary glance at the caller's I.D. Your picture lit up the screen, and he couldn't help the smirk that pulled at the corners of his lips. He moved to answer it, but someone laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Deku, the negotiator just finished the call." Detective Tsukauchi said with a grim look. "Dynamight just arrived as well."

Izuku glanced back down at the phone and declined the call with a promise to call you back once this situation had been handled.

The command center that had been hastily assembled outside of the museum buzzed with activity. Officers had scattered about, all running orders and securing the perimeter of the increasing amount of curious onlookers. Evening had set upon them, bathing the area in golden rays blended with the flashing lights of the nearby cruisers.

Both men headed towards the back of a S.W.A.T. vehicle where Dynamight stood, grumbling about something to a man right outside the truck.

"Dynamight!" Deku called to his old friend as they approached, "It's good to see you! We'll not under these conditions, I suppose."

Hearing his name on familiar lips, he tensed, and turned to glare at the bright beam of a smile being shot his way. "Of course, you'd be here," was his apparent greeting.

"I'm glad you're here," Tsukauchi said to the feisty hero with a nod. "I'm sure you've been briefed on the situation at hand."

"Yeah, a bunch of rich ditz's got themselves kidnapped during their own fundraiser." He snipped, crossing his arms. "The idiots robbing the joint made a mistake during their little heist and decided to make things worse."

Tsukauchi cleared his throat. "Um, well, yes I suppose you could put it that way." Then he turned his attention to the man Katsuki had been talking to earlier. "This is Agent DeLuca. He's our chief negotiator tonight. He'll fill you in on the rest."

"Right," the older man nodded, looking between the three of them, "I've made contact with their leader. He didn't have much to say except for a list of outrageous demands."

"Outrageous?" Izuku asked, curious.

"Yeah," the man chuckled before turning serious. "They want a helicopter landed on that roof," he pointed to the museum, "five fresh pizza's waiting in said helicopter, along with four crates of top shelf sake. They want it all within twenty-eight minutes, or they'll execute their first hostage. And by my count, we have twenty-four minutes left."

"Pizza and booze?" Katuski scoffed. "What're they playin' at?"

"Twenty-eight minutes is a pretty specific timeframe." Izuku cocked his head. "And with those kind of demands It almost seems like they're waiting for something. Stalling."

The phone in his pocket buzzed again but this time he simply reached in and turned it off, mind swirling with possible theories. They had to be aiming toward a bigger goal here. What weren't they seeing?

"Do we have eyes and ears inside?" He peeked into the truck where a wall of screens shone through.

"We managed to patch through to the security system, but they've been hacked. They're just playing the same loop on repeat. We do have a specialist currently working on overriding it, but that's gonna take time." The detective rubbed his head while he explained. "From what we can gather, they still have roughly 18 guests and staff held hostage."

"And that quirk barrier is preventing anyone from getting in," Izuku murmured, examining the building. It emitted a faint purple aura. "I bet holding that up takes a lot of stamina. That could be why they were on such a specific time frame."

"Our men tried to get through." Tsukauchi frowned. "Anyone who touched that thing ended up numb from the shock. That's why you two are here. It might be possible to break through with your quirks. The only problem is alerting the captors."

"They said they'd start shooting the moment anyone stepped foot in that building. Agent DeLuca explained. "At the moment, we're in a deadly stalemate."

Tsukauchi's phone rang, and he excused himself.

Izuku pinched his bottom lip in thought as he faced the building. There were a few ways they could go about this. With Dynamight here, it should make things a little easier. However, he needed to be sure to keep the lives of the civilians as his first priority. So maybe if he-

"Deku," Tsukauchi grabbed his shoulder, pulling him from his ruminations. "Your wife is calling."

He blinked. You were calling again. When he instinctively reached into his pocket wondering how the detective new that, he paused, finally noticing the phone in his hand. Then he noticed the deep-set frown on his face.

A million questions scrambled through his head, but he locked them down in favor of taking the phone. "Hey, is everything alright?"

"Deku, listen closely," you said quietly. Your voice didn't sound right. A slightly slurred warbled edge.

had the baby hairs on his neck on end. "You're going to…to let the men in the museum leave unscathed. You will not pursue. Do this, and everyone gets -" You hitched your breath "- everyone gets to live."

A lingering silence pressed between the two of you. Your labored breaths a loud echo to his ears. It was wrong. So very wrong.

"Are you hurt?" He finally spoke, locking eyes with a concerned detective.

A shuddered sob answered him. It locked his heart in a vice grip to hear you so frightened. So vulnerable. How long had you been like that? How many calls did you try to make to him, and he simply ignored them all? Right when you needed him most. An equal flood of guilt and rage filled his veins. He could feel the sparks of his quirk begging to be let out in the wake of his anger, but he had to reel it in for your sake.

Behind your erratic panic, he could hear it.

The faint puffs of air around your own tattered breaths. Someone was there. Someone was there with you. And if he didn't act carefully, your life would be on the line.

"You have tw-twenty minutes to either s-save the innocent people in that building or come f-find me. There's not…there's not enough time to do both. If not…" you faltered before taking in a sharp drag of air and screaming. "Don't do it, Izuku! Save them! It's a trap. There's a-"

The call abruptly ended.

He stared at the screen. Too many conflicting emotions were battling for control to think clearly. Someone, a villain, had taken you. That much he was certain. There were more men than those five stuck in the museum. But it didn't add up. Even if there was someone from this crew working from the outside, there would simply not be enough time to plan something like this on the spot. Unless…unless it had been orchestrated from the start.

"Deku!" Katsuki snatched the phone out of his hands with an annoyed growl. "Get your head out of your ass. What was that about? You sayin' there's more of these losers?"

Izuku flinched at his words, not realizing he'd been mumbling.

"It's-she…they-" he locked eyes with Katsuki, "-they have her."

He straightened, glancing between the detective and Izuku. "Explain."

And so he did.

A nervous energy he couldn't quite tamper down ran rampant through his body. He itched to just take off and leave to go find you right then and there. But there was more to this than they realized, and if he ran headlong without forethought, it could put not just you but the other hostages in danger.

"That bastard!" Katsuki snapped. "They want to divide our forces. They think they can escape that way."

Yes, Izuku figured as much, but it still didn't change the fact that you were in some slimy villain's hand. He'd already tracked your location from the phone. It pinged from home, but whether you were still with it was up in the air. Those calls he'd missed seemed to be mocking him now.

He couldn't forgive himself for that.

You were calling for help.

You were calling for help, and he didn't answer.

You were calling for help, and he didn't come the one time you truly needed him.

What kind of lousy hero was he?

"Stop that," Katsuki slapped him upside the head, non to gentle either. "I know what you're thinking idiot. This isn't your fault. You just happened to be their target."

"What?" He asked, rubbing the back of his head.

"If they actually put a few braincells together to plan this thing, then it would make sense to have a backup plan. A failsafe of sorts." He tossed a glare towards the building before focusing back on Izuku. "They must've known your route. They must've planned for you to be in the area. What better way to take you out of the equation than to create your own hostage situation? Draw the heroes away."

"I believe Dynamight's got the right idea. They have more men involved than we thought. We'll need to revise our plan." Tsukauchi turned to relay this new information to the command tent.

"We're wasting time." Izuku turned to Katsuki, eyes wide and almost pleading. "I need to go. We're on a time limit. Whatever he has planned….I have to save her."

"You don't think I know that?" He scoffed. "I can handle things here easily. I bet those dumbasses didn't expect me to show up. My route doesn't fall into this sector."

Izuku nodded, grateful that he had arrived, then paused. "Why are you here?"

"Because I had to track down that bastard mugger that managed to escape through here. And if you thought I'd let you steal my crook, then you're dead wrong." He puffed up, daring Izuku to challenge him.

"First time a mugging actually worked in our favor then." He chuckled ironically and grabbed Katsuki's shoulder, his small smile slipping. "Thank you. I'll radio you as soon as I get her back."

"Yeah, yeah," he shrugged off his hand and shooed him away. "Now get out of here before I have to show you up again."

"Wait, Deku," Tsukauchi jogged back over, "I'm coming with you."

"I appreciate it, but I'm faster airborne." Izuku explained, impatience rearing itself in the form of a harried sigh.

"I know, but you're here under our jurisdiction. This kidnapping falls under that. I'm coming." He pulled out his keys and headed towards his car. "We can't rush into this without our own plan. Dynamight can handle things on this end, but i'm coming as backup. There are too many lives at stake here. If you barge in there with quirks blazing and emotions clouding your judgment, then it could spook the boss into doing something we'd all regret."

Logically, Izuku knew this. He did. But he also felt that overstored anger directing itself towards the detective. Izuku could handle a hostage situation. He's handled them before, and he most likely will have to handle them again. Then the rational side to his brain told him it would be good to have backup in case things did end up going wrong. Regardless, he couldn't waste any more time by arguing, so he simply nodded and got in the car.

The moment Tsukauchi started the car, he peeled out past the gathered crowd, straight towards Izuku's home. The same home he shared with you.

The house was silent aside from the low buzz of the television in the other room. It played some show Izuku had been watching earlier before he left for his evening patrol. A hero documentary he's made you watch hundreds of times already. You absentmindedly listened to it as you cooked dinner, making sure to make leftovers for him to reheat once he returned from work.

After making a plate for yourself and storing some in the fridge for him, you dumped everything in the sink for a soak with the intent to come back later to clean. The meal smelled good if your rumbling stomach had anything to say about it. Washing up your hands, you took your plate into the dining room where you could finish watching the show.

On the way there, the lights flickered overhead before the power went out. You paused, staring around in the darkness to see if it would come back on. With the television off, the lifelessness seem quite foreboding as you stood all alone. Left in the quiet of the apartment, you set the plate down and headed into the living room where your phone sat on the coffee table. A quick call to the power company should clear this up.

When you stepped into the living room, using muscle memory to feel your way to the coffee table, the lights suddenly flickered back to life. You blinked rapidly to readjust your eyes as light flooded your vision. Glancing around the empty room, you wondered what had made the power surge like that.

"Weird," you whispered to yourself as you picked up the remote to turn the television back on.

One look at the flatscreen, and you gasped, dropping the remote. A dark, murky shape loomed behind you in the reflection, and before you even had time to react, a sweaty hand wrapped around your mouth and pulled you right off your feet.

You were slammed down into the carpet with a hard smack to your side. The attacker didn't give you much reprieve as you were hoisted back up and thrown onto the coffee table, smashing a vase full of flowers and knocking everything off as he dragged you across the wood surface.

It took a few seconds for your brain to pick up on what happened, and you shoved your legs under his arms and kicked as hard as you could in the groin. He yelped and let go, stumbling back into the couch, clutching himself.

That defense only bought you a limited amount of time. You scrambled off the table and landed on your knees, still a bit disoriented. The phone had landed underneath it, undamaged, in a stroke of luck. Dropping to your stomach, you reached under and nabbed the device.

You knew exactly who to call.

The intruder's hands latched onto your ankle just as you gripped the phone. He pulled your leg so hard you were sure something popped out of its socket. You screamed and twisted over, kicking at him wildly.

He didn't bother trying to hide his face. The man towered over you. He sported a neatly trimmed silver beard with matching square eyes that drilled an icy glare into your own.

"Stop fucking moving!" He growled as you kicked his knee and he doubled over, releasing you.

"Get away!" you screamed out, scurrying to your feet and dashing around the couch in an effort to make it to the door. "Help!" With the phone in your hands, you dialed in the number. He could respond faster than any police. And you would just feel better hearing his voice.

The phone rang twice before it disconnected. There wasn't much time to think about it as you made it to the door. You turned the knob, but a much larger hand snatched your wrist at the same time. The door slammed shut along with your hope.

He towered over you for a terrifying moment before he rammed you into the door. Your body dropped to the floor like a sack of rocks. Pain seared up against your spine where you had impacted.

The phone landed out of reach, corner of the screen smashed. You just prayed it would work.

Still disoriented, you didn't react much when his burly hands seized your throat and easily lifted you off the floor. Panic set in. You didn't even realize what had happened until it was too late. When it did catch back up, you scratched anything you could reach in an exhausted effort to release the pressure on your neck. The only sounds that managed to escape were wheezing gasps that held no form.

Regardless of how this scenario ended, you knew it wouldn't end well for you. This man had strength on his side. Fighting him would be a mistake, so you had to figure out a way to escape. Or, at the very least, call for help. Unless you could reach your phone, you were screwed.

Slippered feet struggled to try to pry him off you. His fingers only seemed to tighten further. Black ebbed at the corners of your vision, and pain blossomed up your head. Thinking, let alone, fighting seemed nearly impossible.

As your swirling vision dimmed, your foot managed to connect with his stomach. You dug your heel in as hard as you could. The fingers around your neck loosened slightly, and the only thing you could think to do was bite down on his hand.

He yelped and threw you against the door where you slumped forward onto your knees, gasping for air. The phone sat within reach, but first you swung out, and sucker punched him right where it hurts most for a second time. He roared and fell backward.

You used the opportunity to dive for your phone and redial Izuku's number, praying he would answer quickly. With a tight grip on the phone, you launched to your feet, swaying dangerously as you stumbled for balance. That hit to your head did more damage than you thought. You were almost sure you had a concussion.

Turning to the door, you glanced down and your heart sunk. It had gone to voicemail again. What was happening? He always answered.

"You're not going anywhere!" He yelled, staggering back to his feet.

Shit. You couldn’t think clearly and wasted too much time stumbling around. Now, he stood between you and the door, giving you quite the death glare.

"Please, just take whatever you want!" you tensed as he stepped closer. "Just…please just let me go."

"That's kinda hard when it's you that I need, now ain't it sweetheart?" He sneered, grabbing hold of the collar of your shirt and twisting you around into a headlock. "Now come on, we've got a schedule to keep."

He squeezed hard, forcing you to shuffle forward, away from the door. He wanted to keep you here? Why? If this had been kidnapping, you were sure he would've taken you somewhere else. Why keep you here unless… Actually, you didn't want to think of those implications.

"Sit," he ordered, not giving you much choice as he shoved you into one of the dining room chairs.

You could try to run again, but you doubted you'd get very far before he caught up to you. And you weren't too keen on figuring out if he really wanted to keep you alive or not. He already looked pissed off as it was.

"What do you want?" you asked, hating how wobbly your voice sounded.

"I want you to make a call," he said, placing a hand on the back of the chair and the table, essentially trapping you between them, "to that little hero of yours."

He wanted you to call Izuku? That was strange. Usually, villains try to steer clear of heroes, not invite them to their crimes. He must have some plan to try to lure Izuku here to do who knows what. As much as you wanted him to come, you also didn't want to walk him right into a trap.

You steeled your nerves and glared up at him. "No."

"Oh, so you wanna play hero now, do ya?" He grinned. "Think you're ready to play in the big leagues, huh? Let's see if ya are!"

His hand moved too quickly. You nearly tumbled out of the chair as his palm struck your cheek. Aching streaks of pain weaved across your stinging skin.

"Don't test me." He leaned so close you could smell the tobacco on his breath. "You're gonna want to make that call, sweetheart, trust me."

He leaned across the table and dragged a large duffle bag into view. How long that had been sitting there, you weren't sure. You actually weren't even sure how he got into the locked apartment in the first place. It seemed a little late to worry about that now, though. With a sadistic smirk, he unzipped the bag and let you have a peek inside. It nearly made your heart stop.

"Now," He pulled out a stack of notecards from his coat and forced them into your hands. "Your job is simple. All you have to do is read these cards. Simple enough, eh?"

As you scanned the cards, your stomach flipped. Did he really expect you to read this? You were too distracted to see him pull out your phone until he grabbed your wrist and used your thumb to unlock it. He put it on speaker as the phone rang. It barely rang once before it went straight to voicemail for a third time. You were starting to worry Izuku had been hurt and unable to answer somehow.

"Hmm," the villain stared at the phone thoughtfully. "Guess he doesn't care so much about ya, huh?"

"Don't say that! You don't know anything about him!" You spit out, then bit your tongue, knowing you shouldn't stoop to his barbs.

"Well, I know he's too busy to answer ya darlin." He chuckled and dialed in a new number. "I'm sure the detective will be more willing to talk, yeah?"

Detective? You only knew one detective. It still struck you as odd that he would call the police on himself. But with the cards and what he had stored in that bag, you were starting to understand your role in all this.

The phone rang, and this time, someone did answer. You refused to say anything. It would be too dangerous to bring him here. Not with what he had planned.

That turned out to be the wrong decision as the man reached into his coat and brought out a handgun. He used the barrel to tap the cards.

"Deku," you whispered, glaring up at the criminal.

"Y/N? It's unusual to hear from you at this hour. Are you alright?" He sounded concerned.

"I…need to speak to Deku," you blinked hard. "Please."

A notable pause hung in the air before he hesitantly spoke. "…alright."

Tsukauchi was a smart man. One of the few who you thought could hold a candle to Izuku's analytical skills. If he could already tell something was wrong, then Izuku would pick up on it immediately.

Suddenly, his voice came on and threw you for a loop. They were already together? It must have to do with whatever these cards meant. It could be the reason he didn't answer. Izuku could be caught up in a case already. But the real question is how did the man know that, let alone know you would have Tsukauchi's number.

"Hey, is everything alright?" He sounded confused with a concerned undertone.

The cards shook in your hands as you scanned them again, debating just going off script. But with that gun looming in front of your face, you wisely decided to play nice.

"Deku, listen closely," you began quietly, knowing your voice had a slight quiver he would undoubtedly pick up on. "You're going to…let the men in the museum leave unscathed. Do this and everyone gets," those next words caught in your throat, "everyone gets to live."

They were using you as some sort of ploy to try to escape whatever situation this gang had found themselves in. Everything about this was just wrong. Now, Izuku would have to worry about rescuing you while also trying to do his job. You loathed every minute of it.

"Are you hurt?" His voice, quiet and low, betrayed the calm air he tried to maintain. A characteristic tone you've heard before. Anger and frustration just barely concealed.

The fact that he knew you were in danger filled you with a sort of relief that now he could finally do something about it. He could fix this. He always managed to fix things.

You tried to answer, but only a garbled sob of mixed syllables spilled from your mouth. It took you a moment to compose yourself again as the man huffed at you, tapping the cards impatiently with his gun.

"You have tw-twenty minutes to decide." More disturbing things were written, but you needed to warn him about what kind of trap he was walking himself into. "Don't do it, Izuku! Save them! It's a trap. There's a-"

The phone crunched in half under his brute strength and he threw it against the wall. Despite your very real fear, you managed to smirk at him. In hindsight, making a man with a gun angry was probably the worst thing to do in your situation. You learned that the hard way as he twirled the gun to his other hand and with a violent swing, he whipped the side of your head, knocking you clean off your chair.

Head throbbing, you clutched the gash just above your temple. A warm, sticky trail of dark red dripped down to your cheek.

"Got a loud mouth, don't ya?" he grinned and hauled you up only to drag you across the floor and dump your ragdoll form into the middle of the living room. You couldn't hide the panic as he knelt by your face, plopping the black duffle from the table next to him. "I'll just leave ya with a little present to greet your hero with. How does that sound. A nice parting gift."

The drive couldn't have taken any longer in Izuku's opinion. Even if Tsukauchi flew down the road, he still wasn't getting there fast enough. A few times, he had been tempted to just jump out and fly the rest of the way there.

He bounced his leg impatiently, glaring out the window as the silence seemed to permeate the air around them.

"We'll get her back," Tsukauchi broke the silence first.

Izuku turned his attention back to his phone. The three missed calls from you berated him each time he looked. He willed his leg to still, but all that pent up adrenaline didn't have any other outlet to escape from.

"This is my fault," he mumbled.

"No, it's not. There's no way you could have predicted this. No one could." Tsuhauchi sighed, turning sharply onto the next street. This was a conversation he'd had with the young man on multiple occasions. He was starting to understand how All Might felt, practically raising the boy through high school. "The only people to blame are the criminals responsible. You know that as well as I do. Thinking that way is only falling into their trap."

He made a noncommittal sound, turning back to obsessing over the missed calls. The rest of the ride was made in silence. Izuku had gotten so lost in thought that he didn't realize they'd parked until Tsukauchi opened the door.

Silently cursing, he blinked back into reality and got out of the car. The two of them headed for the apartment building. Your last known location was here. Though Izuku had doubts that you'd still be here. Most kidnappers took their victims to secondary locations.

They burst through the lobby, startling a poor woman taking her dog out for a walk. She jumped out of the way as they rushed past, yelping when she saw Tsukauchi's drawn gun. They paid her no mind, set on reaching their target.

Izuku took the lead. He raced up the stairs with a spark of his quirk, only stopping when he reached the right floor. Tsukauchi trailed up behind him at his fastest pace. He paused when the door came into view. Closed and undamaged. Whatever lay beyond might be an entirely different story, and it had his heart racing with fear.

"Take it slow," Tsukauchi huffed when he reached the last step. "We don't know what's waiting for us."

"I know," Izuku nodded, taking a spot in front of the door.

He signaled for the detective to take the side. Whoever was in there was sure to be expecting Izuku. He would have to act quickly. When they were in position he readied Fa-jin to break down the door with a strong kick of his leg, but the moment he lifted it, that sharp stab of Danger Sense screamed at him. He tensed and prepared to dodge whatever threat was coming his way, but when nothing came, he set his foot down, examining the door with a critical eye.

"Something's not right," he whispered, hand gently grabbing the handle.

The knob turned slowly in his hand and opened the door just slightly. Danger Sense lit up his spine once again. He drew in a sharp breath when he finally saw where the danger lay.

Opening the door any further could trigger whatever nasty surprise waited inside. He let go of the handle in favor of leaning closer to try to get a glimpse of the room. From his narrow line of sight, he didn't see anything amiss. He would need to see further somehow.

A shimmering line of wire ran across the entryway.

Trap, his mind so helpfully supplied.

"Here," Tsukauchi pulled out a small mirror with a telescopic rod attached. "Use this."

Izuku took it without question. The police had all sorts of gadgets at their disposal. He was just thankful Tsukauchi was here.

As discreetly as he could, he slipped the mirror partly into the doorframe. It gave him a full view of the living room. What he saw nearly made his racing heart stall.

The room was a mess. The coffee table had been kicked over, and the couch pushed off to the side to make room for the single dining chair plopped directly into the center of the disaster. The worst part was the person he cared for most sitting… no, tied to the chair. You were slumped forward and seemingly out cold. A gash in the side of your head trailed dark sticky blood down the side of your face and onto your shirt. Even from a distance, he could tell it was still wet. Still fresh.

You were draped in a throw blanket, which he found odd. It sent alarm bells off in his head. On the other hand, this entire situation was just one blaring alarm.

He was so close. All he needed to do was figure out a way to get to you without tripping any booby traps.

Angling the mirror down, he tracked where the nearly invisible wire led to. His eyes followed it across the floor and right up to you. It threaded under the blanket that had been wrapped across your chest. As he leaned in further to try to see you better, the door creaked slightly.

It caught your attention.

You stirred with a groan and when you looked up, he could see the duct tape sealed over your mouth. As you straightened in your seat, the blanket slipped from your shoulders.

He finally realized why the wire led to you.

"Tsukauchi," Izuku whispered, a slight tremble to his voice. "I need you to evacuate the building and…and call the bomb squad."

It took a few precious minutes, but Izuku had exited the building and now stood on the fire escape, examining the window. Another wire had been threaded around the handle. If he lifted it, it could trigger the bomb. He would need to go about this carefully.

The only good thing was that the top part of the window seemed to be unaffected. After scoping out the interior, he'd come to the conclusion that the man had fled. A smart choice. If you strap your hostage with an explosive, you don't want to be around for the aftermath. A dumb choice to target someone Izuku loved. He'd find the man later, that much he vowed. Right now, he just needed to get you as far from that bomb as possible.

He took a deep breath and in one solid strike, he shattered the top portion of the window. That startled you enough to flinch in your seat, pulling the wires taut.

"Hey, it's alright," Izuku called out softly as he navigated through the window, careful of any more surprises. "It's just me. It's Izuku."

You deflated a little, nodding to show you understood.

The moment he landed, he carefully picked his way through the room until he came face-to-face with you. Your eyes carefully tracked his movement, wary of the various strings attached to the heavy vest you were wearing. He knelt in front of the chair, cupping your bruised cheeks. At the soft contact, you squeezed your eyes shut to blink away the tears.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm right here," He kept his voice low and comforting as he offered you a small smile. "I'll get you out of this, I promise."

Then he dropped his attention down to the explosive. They had strapped you into a Kevlar vest with the clunky explosive sewn right into the fabric. The most worrisome thing was the clock. The numbers were steadily counting down.

Nearly four minutes left.

A time limit.

You did say he had twenty minutes to decide. Didn't the criminals inside the museum say something similar? They must've been working off the same clock. No wonder they gave such a specific time frame.

"Don't worry," he said, looking up when you made a muffled whine of a cry. "I've got people coming to help. People who can disarm this thing in no time." He glanced at the kitchen where you kept the knives. "I just need to get it off you first."

Your reaction caught him off guard. You wildly shook your head, careful of the wires pulling around you. He turned back to you, eyes wide, and hands held out in a pacifying gesture. You only seemed to grow more desperate, shaking your head faster.

"Hey," he laid a hand on your cheek to stop you and forced you to look in his eyes. "Okay, okay."

As you fought back your ragged breaths through your nose, he gently gripped the edges of the tape and slowly peeled it back. You winced as the tape pulled against your skin. The moment your mouth could move, you went into a panicked rant.

"You can't! You can't cut it," you cried, words jumbling over each other as you tried to push them all out at once. "There's a- a failsafe inside the vest. You cut it, and it triggers the bomb. It's the same for these wires," you eyed the wires all connected to various parts of the room. "Any of them pulls too tightly, and it explodes. But the time limit - oh my god, Izuku. It's almost up, I don't - there's no time! There's no time!"

He wrapped his scarred fingers around your chin to center your focus and shushed you before you could run out of breath. "It's going to be okay. I'm here now. I'll get you out of this." His eyes tracked over the vest again, scanning every part of it. He didn't want to tell you that the bomb squad would be at least ten more minutes. There was no time to wait for them. "I'll be right back. Trust me, I promise I'll get you out of this."

If your hands were untied, you would've reached out to stop him. Now that he had come, you were terrified of him leaving. He had a comforting presence that everyone had come to rely on as a hero. He always kept his word. If anyone could get you out of this nightmare, it would be Izuku. You just had to trust he knew what to do. Though the bomb strapped to your chest had built up a raw terror in your chest, making it hard to get even a solid breath in.

Izuku, true to his word, only disappeared for a moment before he returned, kneeling at your side with a knife. "I can disarm it."

Could he? You didn't want to doubt his skills, but you also didn't remember him ever working with bombs like this before.

"Didn't I tell you about those few weeks I spent with SWAT?" He smirked as if reading your mind. "Taught me all sorts of cool stuff." There was a hard edge to his casual tone as he pried open the front of the device to reveal the bevy of wires inside. "This was nothing compared to the kinds of stuff we did. I'll have you out in no time."

You nodded. It was about as much movement the vest would allow at the moment. You could scarcely believe a small contraption like this could be your doom in a matter of mere minutes.

"Izuku," you whispered, looking up at the ceiling as if that would put any distance from you and this death machine. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" He asked, eyes flitting up to meet yours before he refocused on the wires. "This isn't your fault."

Silence fell over the room as you absorbed that. Your fingers held a death grip on the arms of your chair, pulling against the restraints. It felt as if the room grew smaller. The beeping only seemed to be getting louder by the second. Panic had nestled itself deep in your chest, spreading throughout your body as the seconds passed.

"H-how much longer?" You dared to peer down at the clock, angling your head to try to see for yourself.

He didn't answer. You watched his fingers hover over the wires, subtly glancing at the timer but refusing to speak. In other words, not long.

"How much, Izuku?" you said again, gritting your teeth.

"Two minutes," he finally ground out. "I've almost got this figured out. I just need to make sure this one is- it should be…" he trailed off, as his finger followed where the wire connected.

Two minutes.

That wasn't a lot of time. You both knew that much.

"Izuku, I don't want you dying too. Please, just go." You warbled out, straining your head up to the ceiling again to try to stop the ebb of tears. "I don't want you dying for me."

"No one is dying tonight," Izuku chose a wire and locked eyes with you. That determination you'd grown so used to seeing cemented on his face. He looked so confident, you almost believed anything was possible. Hell, maybe it was in a world with someone as determined as him. "Are you ready?"

Drawing in a forced breath, you chewed on your lip and nodded. He hesitated for just a moment before bending the wire and cutting it with the knife. The two of you sat in complete silence, breaths held as he stared at the timer. The numbers stopped just before the minute mark, and relief sagged through his body.

"See, I told you I-" the words died on his tongue as the clock beeped twice and suddenly began counting down at double the speed. "-shit!"

"Get out of here!" You tried to shove him away with what little movement you had in the restraints, wires be damned if it meant he could still survive. "Please, save yourself! Go!"

"NO!" he pulled at the bundle of wires, muttering as his eyes darted between them. "I made a promise, and I refuse to break it! There's no way I'd ever leave you!"

He picked a wire and sliced through it. You squeezed your eyes shut with a whimper.

The beeping stopped again with eight seconds to spare.

Izuku froze, body tense as he stared at the machine, daring it to start again. After a few terrifying seconds, he looked up at you, wide-eyed and slightly shaky. He swallowed, setting his face into a more composed look as he offered you a small smile.

"It worked." He breathed out.

Those unbidden tears leaked from your eyes as you drooped your head froward with a heavy sigh of relief. All that terror that you were storing had nowhere to go. Every part of you buzzed with adrenaline. You were quite literally shaking in your socks.

"Hey," he set down the knife and found your chin. "Are you okay?"

"Still got a bomb strapped to me so 'okay' is a bit relative at the moment." You coughed a harsh chuckle out. Maybe it was the frayed nerves trying to find an outlet out of your system, but you laughed again, harder this time, your body just expelling all your emotions out in the form of near hysteric laughter.

"Uh, right," he mirrored your smile and easily unhooked all the wires connected from your vest to objects around the room. Now that the main trigger had been deactivated, these were just decorations. "I think I'll let the professionals handle this vest. They should be here any minute. But I can at least get you out of those restraints."

Using the knife, he easily tore through the tape to free your arms and legs. When you had freedom of movement again, you grabbed his sleeve and pulled him close, careful of the disarmed bomb on your chest. It was still an explosive, afterall.

"Thank you," you whispered, "thank you for not leaving.

He brushed the hair out of your face and placed a soft kiss to the crown of your head. "I told you, I made a promise, and I never break my promises." Then he pulled back to give you a pout. "But please, don't ever tell me to leave you like that ever again. I could never even think of doing something like that. I would never abandon you, you know that, right?"

The way he looked at you made you feel like you'd kicked a puppy. But in your mind, you just wanted to protect him, too. For the moment, though, you simply nodded and buried your face into his chest, knowing you were safe with him. That you would always be safe with him.

It took another six minutes before the squad arrived and another ten tense minutes with Izuku gripping your hand the entire time to safely remove the bomb. As soon as it slipped off, you rushed into Izuku's arms, trying to entwine yourself as deep as you could with him.

"What about the other hostages? The criminals, too?" you asked, twisting your head up to look at him. "The ones you were supposed to let go?"

"Kacchan, uh, Dynamight handled it." He assured you. "He didn't even need any help taking them down. I think they were counting on this scenario working in their favor. The hostages are safe, and the criminals are in custody."

"Even…" you pinched the fabric of his uniform between your fingers, dropping your gaze to stare at the stitchwork.

"We'll find him. I won't let him get away with this." He assured you, tightening his own hold on you. "But right now, all you need to worry about is getting some rest. Well, actually, we need to get this -" he ghosted his fingertips over the cut above your temple, "-looked at first."

"I'm fine." you waved him off.

"Yeah, you will be," he agreed, pulling you over to the medic who had set up shop on the dining table, just waiting for you. "Once we get you fixed up."

With a small sigh, you sat in one of the chairs, facing the medic. Izuku, who you still had a hold of his sleeve, moved to stand behind you.

"Are you going to leave? I mean, I guess you should. There are other people out there who need you too. And with this whole mess, I'm sure there's a lot of-"

The words were just spilling out of you now, and in the back of your mind, you realized you sounded just like Izuku. You only managed to stop when he bent over and lightly bumped his forehead against yours.

"Take a breath," he gave you a fond smirk, "I'm not going anywhere. Like I said, Kacchan handled it. The only place I need to be right now is by your side."

He stood hunched just inches from your face, and all you could do was stare into his eyes. There were so many emotions swirling through those big green irises, but the biggest one shining through was his sincerity. A solace you didn't realize you needed until just this moment. The warmth he emitted was so comfortable, and the sheer exhaustion from your ordeal had you leaning back into the chair with a tired nod.

"Okay, I trust you," you mumbled, pulling his arm down so you could hug it. "You're a really good hero, Izuku."

He blushed at the soft comment and glanced at the paramedic trying to busy herself with getting her supplies out, but even she couldn't help the little smile that played on her lips.

"She's right, you know," the medic chimed in, gently cleaning your cheek of the blood. "I'd say that was the work of a top-class hero. You should be proud."

Izuku rubbed the back of his head. Years in the field and still hearing something like that overwhelmed his heart so he decided to focus back on you. Your hands were interlocked with his and casually fiddlin with his bony fingers.

A lot that could have gone wrong tonight, and he knew he would be certain to go over every detail in full to make sure those mistakes would never happen again. Not if he was going to be a hero that could protect not just you, but everyone.

Right now, though, he put his analysis on the back burner and turned his full attention to what was most important.

You.

Taglist: @stanny-uwu @lykingart @rei165

#my hero academia #izuku midoria x reader #pro hero deku #boku no hero academia #deku x reader #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #hostage situation #guns #explosives #violence #bakugou katsuki #naomasa tsukauchi #nameless criminals #story requests

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gummyfang · 1 year ago

Note

For some reason I think jealous Anakin fucks you and breeds you, maybe being 'persuasive' (ahem, manipulative) about it. That scene where he was jealous and fought with Clovis? Hmm, delicious.

OHGHHH YES,,, NSFW under cut

Warnings for (slightly toxic) possessiveness, unprotected sex, slight mention of voyeurism, lotta (praising) dirty talk. Also dom Ani. Gender-neutral afab reader <3

That Anakin is a possessive man hardly needs to be mentioned. He is afraid to lose, especially those he holds dear. It causes him to downright crave control over everything in his life, and this craving extends to the loved ones he has not lost yet.

Yeah, cue the stinging jealousy he feels whenever another man is trying to make his moves on you. Anakin truly and deeply loves you, he really does, but in moments like that his possessiveness can cause him to objectify you a tad. He sees you as his. His to claim, and not for anybody else to lay their dirty fucking hands on.

Truth is, although Anakin would love to put handsy men in their place, he doesn't always have the liberty to do so. He will absolutely knock the teeth out of the helpless choking shithead who just made an inappropriate comment in an abandoned alleyway, but in crowded spaces? He can't really get away with it. It drives him crazy. His urges to claim you on the spot are difficult for him to suppress.

Ani can improvise though. He'll gladly claim you in other ways.

He will lean in over your shoulder, seemingly moving in to kiss you on your cheek but leaning down further to wetly place his lips against your neck, muttering about how it's time to get back to your place. Whoever you were talking to will get the hint when he glares up darkly at them, a quiet warning to leave what is his alone or suffer the consequences.

When you get back he wastes no time marking you up, desperately teething at the skin on your neck and collarbone to decorate it with red marks.

"You look so good tonight." he breathes between desperate kisses.

"So fucking good. Maker, what am I going to do with you?"

A deeper growl is laced into the tone of what almost sounds like desperate worship he takes on for you in the bedroom, a hint of the jealousy still stirring a poisonous fire in his gut.

He pushes you to the bed and wastes no time getting you out of your clothes, quickly moving on to get himself out of his as well.

"They can't appreciate you like I can."

His words are sharp and venomous as he pushes himself into you with one rough movement, pelvis pressed harshly against you. He gives you some time to adjust to him, he'd never go out of his way to make things painful for you. But the second you catch your breath, the thrusts he delivers are fast and harsh.

"They don't get to see you like this. They don't deserve to."

A grin tugs at the corner of his lips as he sees your face contort, his cock pounding into you relentlessly. It's like you were fucking made for him.

He pulls out of you abruptly, leaving some of your slick to trickle down out of your fluttering pussy.

Before you can so much as whine, both your legs are hoisted up over his shoulders, before he's back inside and pounding into you with newfound vigor.

"You don't need to go back to that filthy place." Anakin groans loudly, his own claiming words and your acceptance of them making his cock twitch harshly.

The pads of his fingers trail over your body, pressing down roughly to leave reddened stripes in your skin.

"I'm all you need, right? Th... This is... Maker, look at you, you're gorgeous like this. Only for me..."

As he continues to fuck himself into you deeply, he pants and mutters incoherent promises of making you his, filling you up. The overwhelming pleasure clouds his judgment and train of thought.

Anakin keeps plunging himself into you, angling himself until you cry out. He can't be bothered about the fact that passerby on the streets below could hear you. If anything, that turns him on even more.

Before you know it, his hips stutter, cursing as he cums inside. His hands keep your hips down, ensuring you take it all deeply. He keeps his cock plugged deeply inside as he lazily kisses up your jaw, humming soft praise about how well you did, how you're his.

And despite your promises you'll find another bar to frequent, you know damn well that regardless of location this will happen again if you are approached by someone else.

#i kinda hc ani as inexperienced and clumsy bc hes like a monk who barely sees his partner but i needed to write this out of my system #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars #anakin skywalker #star wars x reader #♡.nsfw #♡.mlw #minors do not interact #mdni

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stories-and-chaos · 11 months ago

Text

Tarnished

[Helluva Boss AU where Blitzø’s childhood theft from Stolas’ palace is discovered and major consequences ensue for everyone involved. Concept inspired by this AU, Push. Trying to stick with established lore but taking some liberties to make the drama work. Multiple headcanons from various sources I’ve come across included as suits the story. Starts roughly five years before Murder Family, I’m making assumptions about the timeline]

[18+ rating for language, implied sexual content, violence, alcohol consumption and general Hellaverse-ness]

[Part 1/?? Word count: 3761]

———————

Moxxie’s back slammed into the rough wooden bed frame as he heard the distinctive clang of prison bars rattling shut. He still couldn’t believe Chaz had just left him there. Grabbed the goods and ran. The imp realized his boyfriend was just as shitty out of bed as he was in it. He started tearing up as he climbed on the bottom bunk. Moxxie knew his dad wouldn’t bail him out or anything. He might have been the boss’s only (legitimate) son but he was also the most junior member of the family. And Crimson was not a sentimental imp.

Moxxie had been caught red clawed too, pinned by the security gate. No need for any formalities like a trial in the Greed Ring. A mugshot, strip down, and forced into a jumpsuit before the cops tossed him in a cell. Of course, Greed’s police force was basically a mafia on a wider scale.

“Soooo, what’re you in for?” A voice drawled from the top bunk. Moxxie hadn’t realized he had a cellmate. Oh crumbs, had the other demon heard him crying?! If there was a way to ensure you didn’t get out of prison in one piece, it was letting others know how weak you were the moment you were locked up. His tail reflexively whipped closer, as if trying to hide himself.

“Okay, not much of a talker, are you?” The voice almost sounded jovial. In prison? A squeak of the mattress and the other prisoner launched himself to the floor with theatrical flair. Before he could do more than sit up and blink the tall imp gripped his hand to shake. Not the vice-like grip his father used, hard enough to make claw shaped indents into the other’s hand. It was a firm, friendly shake.

“I'm Blitzø, the "o" is silent. I'm sure we're going to get along just fine. So, what's your deal? What'd you do? Who'd you diddle? You look like someone good with a gun. You look like someone who could shoot up an office-“ Moxxie tried to interject, but the other imp plowed on.

“-and I hope you are 'cuz I got a plan to get us out of this dump but I'm going to need some help, you think you can give me a hand? I need to get out to my daughter. The babysitter will kill me if I don't get back soon. Also I got some business scheduled in Pride that I gotta get back for. Do you like kids? 'Cause lemme tell 'ya. They're a-fucking-dorable.” Moxxie felt his eyes warming up with more tears but his lips were forming a shaky smile. He realized he hadn’t smiled like this since… well he could barely remember. At first he thought since Chaz ditched him, but really it was since his mom “disappeared.”

It took a couple of days for the cellmates to enact Blitzø’s plan. Moxxie had to learn the complex’s layout and they had to make sure they could get to a weapon cache. Their escape was successful, both of them got banged up, and Moxxie’s body count tripled as a result of the escapade.

A few things they learned about each other: Blitzø’s circus background made him extremely agile and prone to acrobatic feats in a fight. He was batshit crazy once the ichor started flowing but he kept his eye out on his partner. The scarred imp backed up Moxxie more than once when he floundered while they fled for the Pride Ring. His plans were grandiose but he was quick to adapt and quicker to protect his cohort.

On the other claw, Moxxie was even better with firearms than Blitzø thought. So long as the kid kept his composure, he didn’t miss a shot. It was almost magickal and he saw more magick than most of their kind. The kid seemed quiet and well mannered for the most part. He could get absolutely fucking feral in a fight, becoming an even better shot if that was possible. But he was insecure and desperate for approval. The pure shock on his face when Blitzø told him “nice work Mox,” after they got out told the older imp that he’d probably never been praised in his life.

One bonus to no trial before you were thrown in prison? No one was too keen on dragging you back if you got out. Especially if you massacred 80% of the guards on your way out, traumatized 18%, and awakened some very interesting feelings in the final 2%. It wasn’t worth spending hard grifted money chasing down someone who would just do the same thing even if you managed to catch them. If they’d run off from Mammon, the escaping prisoners would be hunted down. But otherwise, even the police mafia didn’t give that much of a shit.

The duo had snagged a couple of overcoats so their bright orange jumpsuits would stand out less. The plan was to get to Blitzø’s apartment, check up on his kid, grab some cash to rent Moxxie a room for the night and change before Blitzø had to be at his appointment.

Except once they got to the Pride Ring, Blitzø started freaking the fuck out. “Shitshitshitshitshiiiiiiitfuckingdammit.” A stream of profanities just kept coming out of his mouth as Blitzø picked up his pace.

“Um, sir?” It was drilled into Moxxie to address superiors as sir or ma’am; Blitzø had taken charge during their escape and didn’t seem to mind being called sir. “What happened, you started panicking once we got here.” This was presumably the older imp’s home turf, yet he was more off balance than at any other point in the past three days.

“FUUUUUUUCKokay Mox, change of plans.” He spun around and grasped the shorter imp by the shoulders. “I lost track of the time and I can’t miss this appointment. Do you know anyone in this ring that can put you up for the night?” Blitzø doubted it. It seemed like the kid had stayed in Greed up until now. A quick head shake confirmed that. “You got two choices, cause I don’t have time to get you someplace first. You can head off alone and we’ll meet up tomorrow or you can come with me, play along, and hope it’s not worse than prison.”

Moxxie was taken aback; first off that was the most words in a row without swears he’d heard from Blitzø. Second, “Where are you going that’s worse than prison?”

“A Goetian estate.”

Moxxie’s jaw dropped. He might as well have said he was meeting up with Lucifer. Yet… Blitzø had an appointment to be there. And it was important enough that he couldn’t even check on his kid first. Not to mention, wandering around an unfamiliar area wearing a prison jumpsuit was next to suicidal. “I’ll stick with you sir.”

“Ballsy! I knew I fucking liked you Moxxie.” He whirled around and started loping toward the fancy ass side of the city. “Keep up Mox! We gotta go!”

It took about half an hour of running and weaving through crowds but they made it before…whatever time Blitzø was so intent on outrunning. He had started running even faster about halfway, his desperation more than apparent. Once he passed through the gates, all the tension left his body. He slumped to the ground; Moxxie hesitated as he gaped at the ornate fencing. The gate and elegant fence had the symbol of the Goetia family (a crowned heart) emblazoned every few yards.

Moxxie had grown up a privileged life, especially for an imp. Servants, tutors, a well stocked manor. But the building in front of him was on another level. It was more of a palace than anything; multistoried with heraldic banners hanging, multiple manicured gardens, statues strategically placed and the master’s sigil glowing prominently on the wall. And that was just what he could glimpse in the full moon’s light. This was the difference between money and royalty.

“Last chance Moxxie. C’mon in or head off somewhere and I’ll meet you at my office at noon tomorrow. If you’re still standing around here in a few, those fuckers will drag you with me anyway.” He gulped and stepped onto the grounds next to the other imp. “Still ballsy.” Blitzø’s grin was back.

“Here’s what’s going to go down. Any minute now some beefy hellhound fucks are gonna show up to haul me in. They might grab you, might let you walk. Either way, keep your mouth shut and just back me up if I ask. Hopefully we won’t see that overdressed bitch tonight but if she’s around don’t make eye contact. And-“ whatever he was about to add was cut off as four hellhounds jogged up.

Blitzø wasn’t kidding about them being beefy. They were all different breeds but they all had biceps as big as his head, wrapped in artfully ripped suits. The matching suits, earpieces, sunglasses, and crisp posture gave them an air of professionalism that was a sharp contrast to his dad’s goons.

“Oh look, it’s the Chucklefuck squad and the Douchenugget duo. Who’d you piss off to land the night shift?” Blitzø taunted the Hounds, seemingly indifferent to the fact any one of them could snap him in half. Two of them grabbed Blitzø by the arms, grinning sadistically at the thought of manhandling the smaller demons.

“Lady Stella specifically requested we escort you in, Blitzø.” Blitzø winced “Satan fucking dammit.” Apparently Lady Stella was the overdressed bitch he’d mentioned. “She’s got a party tonight so she doesn’t have to hear your scrawny ass getting pounded. But she knew how much you’d like friends to bring you home.” The Hellhound punctuated his words with a sharp snap of his teeth.

Home? Moxxie backpedaled in confusion, only to bump into the leg of another security Hound. Said Hound grabbed him around the torso, easily pinning both arms and leaving Moxxie’s hooves dangling far from the ground. He struggled, trying to at least get back to the ground. The size difference and Moxxie’s lack of weapons meant he didn’t stand much chance at the moment. The pair with Blitzø took the lead, not caring that his dragging hooves were tearing furrows into the lawns or creating sparks on the paths.

Blitzø let them, worn out from the prison break and subsequent dash back to Pride. He was too tired to try to keep pace with his “escorts.” He kept glancing back to Moxxie, trying to reassure him. The younger imp was clearly terrified. He couldn’t really help the kid at the moment; the bulldog faced Hellhound carrying him lifted his lip whenever Blitzø looked back.

Fuck this fucking farce and fuck Paimon with a rusty crucifix for doing this, Blitzø thought to himself for the ten thousandth time in his life. Best to go through the motions as quickly as possible. The group arrived at one of the drawing rooms and Blitzø was dumped unceremoniously on the thick carpet.

The whirlwind trip through the estate proved to Moxxie that royalty had a whole different definition of luxury from what he knew. Paintings, mosaics, sculptures, exotic plants were just the beginning as they rushed through hallways wider than his bedroom at his dad’s. He’d lost count of how many doors they passed before they reached one in particular.

Blitzø was thrown to the ground but the one holding Moxxie didn’t loosen his grip. Blitzø glared back at the Hellhounds, hissing. The Hounds responded with low growls. Everyone went silent when a lithe figure snapped the cover of a book shut and unfolded itself from a lounge by the fireplace. This had to be one of the Goetia, presumably the master of this estate.

His extreme height was the first thing Moxxie noticed. Moxxie was about average for an imp in height; the glimpses he’d seen of imp servants in this maze were all much smaller. Blitzø was on the taller end of the spectrum but the Hounds were easily double his height. This royal demon towered over them all. You could stack Moxxie, Blitzø, and even one of the small servants on a Hellhound’s shoulders and they still would barely be eye level with the demon’s glowing eyes.

At least the bottom set. He had two sets, a large bottom pair and a thinner set above that could have been mistaken for elegant eyebrows if they hadn’t been glowing red. Glowing eyes weren't unusual for hellborn, but the deep red pupil-less aura was still intimidating. The white facial disc only enhanced that aura with its contrast.

What could be seen of the demon’s form was covered in smooth grey feathers, sheening in the firelight. The plush robe he wore was lightly cinched at the waist and barely clung to the shoulders, showing the feathers covered the majority of his body. He stalked deliberately to where Blitzø was climbing to his hooves, features set in a stern expression.

“St- Master Stolas,” Blitzø stuttered as the avian demon loomed above him. Master?! Oh crumbs, what in Satan’s name is going on?! Was all that talk about a daughter, starting up a business, growing up in the circus, everything just a lie? “I got back as quick as I could, I didn’t even have a chance to check on Loonie first…” Stolas cut him off with a gesture. Apparently the daughter talk wasn’t a lie at least.

Stolas glanced at the Hound carrying Moxxie. “Put the little one down,” he ordered in clipped, cultured tones. “I’ll deal with them from here.” The Hounds exchanged glances and grins. Suddenly Moxxie was on the ground when his captor opened his arms. “As you wish, Prince Stolas.” The imp was getting serious mood whiplash. Stolas wasn’t just a member of the Goetia but one of the princes. Maybe Blitzø was right; this was worse than prison.

The guards hadn’t left the room before Stolas leaned over Blitzø, foreheads nearly touching. “What the FUCK were you doing in the Greed Ring that landed in you prison!” The Hellhounds grins grew wider as they shut the doors and Moxxie was sure he heard the slap of a high five. “Are you not being careful enough in the other Rings? You know if you get in trouble I have to get you out of it. And we don’t want that, do we my itty bitty imp?” Stolas punctuated his words with taps between Blitzø’s nostrils. His words were furious but Moxxie could see his expression softening once the doors clicked shut. He had plenty of experience being berated and threatened by Crimson, but he was getting so many mixed signals he didn’t know what to do.

“A job went bad, Master. It won’t happen again.” Despite just having a royal yell at him, Blitzø’s smirk was back. Without guards around he was able to give his companion a double thumbs up while replying. His voice sounded utterly defeated but his posture had perked up.

“Luckily for you, what passes for authority in the Greed Ring isn’t likely to give a shit about a couple of escapee imps. Speaking of which,” four dazzling red eyes locked onto Moxxie. “Who is this that you’ve dragged along?”

“Moxxie got tossed into my cell, I couldn’t just fucking leave him there. He’s a crazy good shot, figured he’d be a good candidate for that project we talked about.”

“Hmmmm,” Stolas seemed to be looking the young imp over. It was hard to tell without any pupils. “We will discuss this later. For now,” the prince continued in a haughty tone, “we need to establish the punishment for your little slip up during your extraneous activities. Both of you, follow me.” Stolas turned, his robe and tail feathers swirling dramatically around him. Moxxie looked nervously in Blitzø’s direction. There was a faint glow under the older imp’s shirt collar as he replied “Yes Master Stolas.” He gestured for Moxxie to follow, not at all concerned about what Stolas might have planned as “punishment.”

Apparently the room they’d been delivered to was the first and most public in the master suite. They entered what looked like a well appointed bedroom with a huge canopied bed adorned with blankets and a nest of deep cushions. There was a bookshelf inset in an alcove next to a chaise lounge and chairs, a small desk, and hints of a bathtub on a raised dais shrouded by curtains. Candles and moonlight made the Goetia emblem glimmer wherever it was stamped or embroidered.

The door locked shut behind them, nearly making Moxxie jump out of his skin. As soon as the door was shut, Stolas swooped down to Blitzø, cupping the imp’s cheeks with a tenderness that made his yelling in the drawing room seems like a hallucination. “Are you alright dearest?” the prince cooed as he stroked Blitzø’s head. “Mmph, I’m fine Stolas, really.” Blitzø’s voice was muffled from Stolas’ talons smushing his face. “Just tired from that last sprint. Almost didn’t make it in time. Fucking Cinderhella bullshit.”

“I’m sorry darling. I’ll keep working on it. I’ve been so worried the past few days.” Apparently satisfied that Blitzø was unhurt, the owl demon moved to nuzzling and preening the imp’s particolor skin.

Blitzø gasped at the soft feathers brushing his neck. “Stolas, if you wanna fuck as part of my “punishment” I’m on board, but I don’t think Moxxie wants to watch.” He looked at the other imp over the prince’s head. His face was flushed and a lazy lascivious smile spread across his lips. “Unless you wanna watch Mox. I’ve always liked an audience.” He waggled his eyebrows; Moxxie couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

Stolas’ eyes jerked open. He let out a surprised hoot before shooting up to his full height. “Ah! Um, yes, o-of course! We can pick this up later Blitzy.” Blitzy? Within moments Stolas had shifted from a pissed off royal yelling at his property to a flustered loverboy using pet names. “Apologizes for not properly introducing myself earlier.” He bowed with a deep flourish, putting his face eye level to Moxxie. “My name is Stolas, Prince of Ars Goetia.”

Blitzø stretched, popping vertebrae all down his spine and tail. “Didn’t your daddy tell you not to bow to imps?” The same jovial tone Moxxie heard when they first met was back in his voice.

Stolas snorted. “My father, the shit eating bastard that he is, can go fuck himself. Preferably with something full of splinters to join the stick up his arse.” The prince was just as foul-mouthed as Blitzø, with the addition of a fancy vocabulary. He guided Blitzø to the lounge and offered a nearby easy chair to Moxxie. It was built for a Goetia, meaning any imp had to jump to climb up and their feet would dangle childlike once seated. However Stolas produced a step stool from the book alcove, so he could seat himself with more dignity.

“Hi, I’m Moxxie Knolastname.” Hopefully neither of them would recognize the name of one of the Greed Ring’s crime families. “Sir, what the fuck is going on? You didn’t mention any of this before we got to the gates. What was all that about?” Moxxie gestured wildly to the rest of the palace, hoping to indicate everything that had just happened.

“Eh, guess you deserve some explanation. Not the best time but fuck it.” Blitzø rubbed at his forehead, specifically the All Imp Circus brand in the middle. In the space of a blink it changed from a black skull faced heart to a white heart topped by a crown, flanked by decorative lines. “Short version, my dad fucked me over and sold me to the Goetia. His dad,” he jerked a thumb at the lanky owl reclining next to him, “decided to add to the jackassery and bound us.”

“And I am not about to copy his example so I give my darling Blitzy as much free reign as I can manage.” Stolas wrapped his arms and legs around Blitzø with a look of glee. It was simultaneously tender, protective, and possessive. “Unfortunately, members of both my family and staff are quick to spread word to my wilted prick of a father and other members of Ars Goetia, so we maintain a semblance of the master/slave dynamic outside my chambers. Hence, all that.” Stolas vaguely waved in the same direction as Moxxie had before latching back onto Blitzø. “Eugh, Blitzy, you smell awful. That prison cannot have been sanitary. Please get cleaned up dearest, you and… Moxxie, was it? Hopefully we have something clean that will fit you; you’re a bit taller than much of my household staff.”

“I’m sure we’ve got some of my old stuff that’ll work. But seriously Stolas, I couldn’t check on Loonie before this. Can I pop out real qui-”

“Loona is fine.” Stolas interjected with a comforting tone. “I had one of the maids check up on her and the ‘babysitter.’ She let them know you were delayed and offered overtime pay to the young lady.” The maid, one of the few who was loyal to Stolas and Blitzø, relayed that the imp girl, while possessing a distinct country charm, was “thoroughly pissed” at having to watch over an angsty teenager without pay. She’d been all smiles again when informed of the extra money she was being advanced.

Blitzø took a deep breath of relief. He’d adopted the nearly adult Hellhound just a few months ago and they were still getting used to each other. He didn’t know what she’d do on her own yet, hence the babysitter. She was an imp from Wrath he’d gotten to know during the Harvest Festival Stolas had to officiate. She decimated opponents in the Pain Games so Blitzø knew she could handle just about anything.

“Thanks Floof,” he gave Stolas a quick frenching before heading through an inconspicuous door near the bed. He pushed Moxxie along and heard Stolas’ trilling voice call out. “Make sure you put those jumpsuits in the laundry hamper. I look forward to having a little prison bitch around later.” All of Blitzø’s spines stood up at the thought and a tingling warmth raced over him. Not about to let Stolas get the last word, he shot back through the closing door, “I’m sure Mox’s will fit you like those slutty rompers you like to prance around in.” He could hear hooting chuckles from the other room while Moxxie clapped his hands over his head.

—————

Moxxie blinked as the lights flickered on. As if one suite of rooms wasn’t enough, here was essentially an apartment sized for imps. It was much like a studio apartment with one large area for sleeping, eating, relaxing, and a mini kitchen. The furnishings weren’t a match for the rest of the palace, but decent and sturdy. There was a closet and one other door leading to the bathroom. No windows. The only exit was through the master suite. Moxxie started breathing hard as he realized this was basically an upgraded cell.

“Yeah, I know it’s kinda freaky. But it’s one of the safest places in the building.” Blitzø opened the closet and started tossing clothes on the bed. “We set this up after Stolas married that bitchy feather duster. Only people that can get in are me, Stolas, his kid, and one of the maids. Oh, and the people I bring in.” He took the pile of clothes and dropped them on Moxxie. “These are all too small for me now. We could raid the servant’s closets buuuuuuuut…screw that. Now let's see if there’s anything to eat.” A quick look in the fridge produced beers and a comically large cheese wedge. “Oh fuck yes, that woman deserves a raise! Or a good dicking if she wants it again.” Blitzø had the cheese in one hand, a beer in the other hand that was unzipping the prison wear and his tail wrapped around another beer. “You wanna eat before you clean up? There’s more beer, some fried chicken, and I think a salad if you want it.” He stuck out a forked tongue at the thought of vegetables. “Maybe a good enough fuck will get her to stop putting salads in here.”

Food, real food not prison slop, sounded great but a bit of time alone sounded better. “I’ll wash up first sir, I can’t stand this thing anymore.” Blitzø chomped away while giving him another thumbs up. Moxxie caught a glimpse of white scars covering patches of the other imp’s neck, arms, and torso, and what looked like a gold choker at his throat. He closed the bathroom door and dumped the clothes onto a bench. The bathroom wasn’t ostentatious like what he glimpsed in Stolas’s room. It had all the basics in a reasonable size. One thing he did notice was the horse decor. Horses and horseshoes everywhere. The rubber devilduckie was even a cowboy.

It was probably more polite to take a quick shower. Moxxie needed some time to regain his footing though, so he soaked in a bath. He’d been off balance since crossing the gates. Of course, nothing could have prepared him for anything he’d come across here. From everything he’d picked up Blitzø and Stolas were in a shitty situation and trying to make the best of it. It didn’t mean Moxxie had to stick around though.

Yeah, the older imp had broken him out of prison and talked about hiring Moxxie at his new startup. But he also hadn’t mentioned anything about being connected to Hell’s royal families.

Then again, Moxxie hadn’t mentioned his mafia family. He really didn’t want to either. He’d be just fine if his dad thought he died in the prison riot they’d caused during the escape. He could disappear in Pride and leave his own fucked up family behind. Blitzø and presumably Stolas were grateful for his help. Even if he didn’t want to work for them in the end, they probably wouldn’t just kick him to the curb. He wasn’t good at making deals. Crimson hadn’t let him join any important talks yet. But maybe he could leverage some cash out of the pair before finding his own way.

That would have to wait for the morning at earliest. From the sounds of it, Stolas was very enthusiastic about keeping their “appointment” tonight. With at least a glimmer of a plan, Moxxie finished washing and started digging through the clothes. There were a lot of t shirts, tanks, and leather pants. Skinny fit pants at that. Almost all the shirts had some sort of horse design; from one that said “Wild Horse” in messy red letters to one with a trio of sparkly pastel horses rearing under a full moon. Eventually he found a button down with a tailcoat that was pretty close to his normal clothes. It wouldn’t be tailored perfectly but it would do for the morning. For the night he found pajama pants with a horseshoe pattern that he didn’t mind sleeping in. He wasn’t about to sleep nude in a room with a horny couple he barely knew one wall away.

“All yours sir.” Blitzø was flopped on the couch, having finished both the beers and cheese. He was working his way through beer number three, which he took with him to the shower. Moxxie rummaged through the fridge, finding not only what Blitzø had mentioned but the makings of sandwiches and a container of soup. A little more digging around the miniature kitchen and he found various dry goods that would make a decent meal. By the time Blitzø came back he was plating the spaghetti with cheese sauce he’d made. He topped it off with some chopped up fried chicken for some added protein. He made a sizable batch; he doubted a cheese wedge and beer was enough for Blitzø.

Blitzø himself emerged from the bathroom, dressed in horse print boxers (which didn’t hide his slight erection) and a fitted black tank. “Thank fuck, Stolas was right about the stink. Laundry’s gonna have fun with those jumpsuits.” His nostrils flared suddenly. “What the dick? Where’d you get all this Mox?” His eyes were shining at the food and Moxxie could swear he was drooling.

“In your kitchen sir. There’s plenty of dry ingredients for easy meals, probably so you don’t have to disturb the main kitchen during your… ‘appointments.’ I would have liked some mushrooms or fresh herbs for flavoring, the ground and dried ones just don’t quite measure up but I can understand the maid not wanting to have too much perishable food here if your stays aren’t consistent. In any case making a bechamel sauce is fairly simple, it is one of the mother sauces after all and the cheese was perfect for melting into it. I did cheat with the chicken and used the microwave but it works out since there’s not too much cookware here either-“

“Wait wait wait. You made this?” Moxxie nodded. Blitzø yanked open the door and yelled “FLOOF CHECK THIS SHIT OUT MOXXIE CAN COOK!”

There was an undignified squawk before the owl demon cleared his throat. “I hope this is more impressive than the ‘ghetto nachos’ you presented me with.” He had to dip his head to enter the room but once he was in the ceiling was high enough that he didn’t quite brush it with his crest feathers. “Oh! Oh my! That looks delightful! And it smells excellent.” He closed his bottom set of eyelids and inhaled deeply.

“Hey! Ghetto nachos are damn tasty.”

“I’m not saying they aren’t but microwaving processed cheese slices onto tortilla chips does not count as cooking. This on the other hand,” the prince opened his eyes, a pleased expression that had nothing to do with sensuality on his face. “This is incredible. Do I detect some mustard added to the bechamel?”

Moxxie hadn’t expected anyone to notice. “Yes, your highness. With the chicken already being breaded, I felt it would compliment nicely.” He’d never been able to talk to anyone about cuisine before. Everyone at his father’s house had laughed at him. Maybe his mom would have liked to talk about it…

“Please, call me Stolas in private. Might I try a taste?” Moxxie twirled noodles around a fork, making sure both meat and sauce were included. Stolas savored the bite, his eyes closing and his feathers fluffing up. “As delicious as I hoped. As I’ve had dinner already, I won’t keep you from such a well made meal.” He nuzzled the base of Blitzø’s horn before bowing out of the room. “I’ll be waiting Blitzyyyyy.”

Blitzø was already diving headfirst into his plate. “Christ on a stick Moxxie, this is amazing. And that’s not just a week of prison food talking.” How he could taste anything shoveling his food in his mouth that fast, Moxxie didn’t know. He did notice that Blitzø was eating with more enthusiasm than at any other meal they’d shared.

Before Moxxie had more than half his portion, Blitzø was slurping down the last noodle.”That was great, thanks Mox.” He dumped dishes into the sink. Stifling a yawn, he headed back to the master suite. “Make yourself comfortable. Sheets should be clean.” That lascivious grin came back. “Unless watching is the kinda shit you’re into. Stolas’ bed’s big enough for all of us if you feel like joining.” Moxxie nearly choked on his pasta.

A/N: I hope everyone enjoys this! The fic is in process and currently around 25k words so there’s a lot more coming. Next part will open up with NSFW content, heads up.

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#helluva boss #helluva blitzo #helluva stolas #helluva moxxie #blitzo x stolas #stolitz #fanfic #helluva fanfiction #helluva au #writing #hellaverse #mature reading

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