#there are many more heroes and villains in line | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hadesrise · 1 month ago

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murder for you, baby !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ➾ a justifiable serial killer on the loose, and jason finds himself being enamoured by him.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ➾ jason todd x dbd!ghostface!male reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ➾ nsfw content, serial killer themes, dead dove do not eat, sexual arousal in response to violence or torture, murder, blood, deaths, gore, foul language, bottom!jason, top!reader, reader’s physique is described as tall and broad ( the slasher build ), possessiveness, choking, praise kink, blood kink, knife play ( reader carving his initials on jason ), toxic!reader ( ? ), sorta toxic relationship but also not, unprotected sex, love-making, pet names, overstimulation, dumbification, degradation if you squint, lil’ bit of manipulation, creampie, doggy style, mating press, biting, marking, oral ( r. receiving ), voice kink ( ? )

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ➾ not me coming back with halloween themed fic after halloween days have passed lol. i’m alive, y’all !! hope you enjoy this one that took a fucking month to write 😭

𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ; this post may contain disturbing contents that may not be suitable for every reader — a reader discretion is advised. MINORS DNI.

Gotham’s been terrorized by the worst people you could ever imagine, the kind that’ll stick with you forever and take residence to your nightmares if you were unfortunate enough. Many were hurt or even murdered as a result of the villains’ terrorization, with vigilantes running through the night to capture and send them to Arkham Asylum.

With the existence of a Psychopathic Clown, his equally psychopathic girlfriend with PHD’s that’s been wasted down the line, the Mother Nature freak, the ridiculously huge man with a gas mask on, the green coloured living question mark, and many others, no one would’ve ever thought anything could get any worse.

Until some criminals’ bodies turn up across the streets in such disturbing manner that haunts the witnesses to death.

One, a criminal who murdered young and homeless boys, gutted deeply to the point of their intestines hanging out. Another, a criminal known for kidnapping and selling people’s organs, mutilated with their torso torn back to expose the organs settled inside of them. Another one, a priest-turned-criminal who’s been violating women and children, crucified naked in his own church with his eyes gouged out, a Bible verse carved in his chest; ‘And if your eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away.’ Matthew 18:9; his penis cut off and body seemingly violated as well. Another more turns up, a governor-turned-criminal who’s been feeding into the rich despite their oath of generosity towards the poor, severely tortured with the skin on his back cut open, ribs severed from the spine and broken to the sides in order to create the illusion of wings, fluttering lungs pulled out from their chest cavity to resemble an eagle’s wings, with the word ‘traitor’ carved on his forehead.

The brutality and gruesome nature of the murders has set an alarming panic and fear across Gotham City that forced civilians into locking their doors at night. Criminals who were unidentified and not found by Gotham Police Department were also turning up in a form of miserable, tortured soul, along with the evidence and proofs of their crimes being carelessly laid beside their lifeless corpse.

The killer taunts those who are in charge of justice within their city each time the damned were unfortunate enough to be hunted down; pigs of failure written in the criminal’s blood right beside the drawing of a police’s logo.

However, despite how gruesome and disturbing the murders were, most people couldn’t deny that it was doing the city a favor. Justice System has failed more times than one could count to the extent of victims yearning to exact revenge themselves against their perpetrator, which causes most to react rather positively to the wrongful, unlikely hero who had seem to suddenly appear out of nowhere. The haunted finally getting the chance to slay the traumatic demons with the help of another psychopath on the loose.

Another justified monstrosity shouldn’t be the counter against one inhumane monstrosity that caused so much pain, trauma, and misery. But kindness could not vanquish one’s tainted blood. Forgiveness could not suddenly wash away the sins engraved deeply into one’s soul.

Imperfect, the victims muttered. An imperfect yet perfect way to save our burning souls wrongfully condemned by the criminals.

Red Hood has heard their murmurs.

Silent whispers of gratitude that fell on deaf ears, their previously dim soul brightening in relief and sanctuary with smiles on their faces as the Universe had finally took mercy on them and sent a Fallen Angel to slay the Demons away. He’s watched their spirit uplift, no longer chained down by the trauma and fear of the monsters that once ruined their lives, able to walk the streets carefree of tormentors. He’s watched their stiff posture visibly loosen, lively peacefulness settling itself at last within their haunted eyes. He’s watched them glow with happiness not feeling the presence of their perpetrator every couple of seconds, finally capable of living without needing to constantly look over their shoulders in paranoia and fear.

Ghostface is what the serial killer’s called, nickname born out of the mask that resembled a ghost always being left behind in crime scenes, each slightly different.

Jason has seen you. He didn’t mean to, really.

The temptation to get at least one look at you was great every-time he patrolled, wishing to just catch glimpse of an immoral hero who could make sacrifices no actual heroes could — who’s doing exactly what he wished before for Batman to do.

The Universe seems to have granted his wishes when his eyes catches the void of ghostface’s eyes, your mask tainted in splatters of blood from the dead criminal below you. Jason feels his world come to a stop as you slowly rise from crouching position and reveal your unnaturally tall height, broad shoulders visible under the black hooded leather. You hold silence and calmness despite being caught, tilting your head slightly to the side.

His heartbeat quickens yet he doesn’t feel fear. Jason idiotically steps closer as if he was in a trance, burning your existence within his eyes to engrave in his memory. Your bloody knife barely grazes his neck to stop him before using it to tilt his chin up, your figure looming and towering over him while seemingly staring into his eyes through his helmet.

A sense of peacefulness overcomes Jason being in your presence despite the absolute brutality and mercilessness that surrounded your entire being. You were deadly, silent, certainly creative with your work that it deems almost artistic, as if the criminals’ bodies were your own canvas to paint on — and Jason finds solace in you. A man he always needed, someone who’d be willing to cross the line and get rid of the actual evil for the sake of victims that’d be forever haunted if it continues to exist.

“I’ve heard things about you, Red Hood.”

Low, raspy, monotone voice speaks, sending shivers down his spine. It sounds cool and handsome regardless of the obvious use of voice changer, somehow littered with tiniest hint of flirtatiousness.

It takes him quite a while to answer, barely managing to let out a “yeah?” as he feels you drag the knife slightly closer to his pulse. His heartbeat quickens, but slows down when the cold metal was finally pulled away.

“Pleasant things,” You hummed, before your voice lowered a few octaves, “Can’t say the same about Batman.” Anger seems to seep through your tone that felt a little more than just sympathy for victims of villains Batman refused to put six feet under. Jason wondered if you’re also one of the victims his father failed.

“You… You know him that much?” Jason’s voice shakes from the nerve, your presence somehow greatly affecting him.

“I think everyone knows him enough,” You chuckled, but it sounded so empty that Jason can’t help but feel the goosebumps rise on his skin. It was quite chilling to meet someone who shows only a certain amount of emotion which could even be felt expressionless due to the monotonous pitch. The ghostface mask certainly did its job of making you seem more less human, the unmoving expression of ghost being horrified to death adding to the eeriness of your toneless mechanic voice.

Jason’s breath hitched when you took one step closer.

“But I know more about you. Your little past and the sufferings you’ve endured,” It’s spoken as if his life was one of your necessary investigation in your twisted justice. “It’s unfair, don’t you think? I would’ve gutted the Joker like a fish if it were to happen to my son.” There’s a condescending way in which you spoke, not directed at Jason but to Bruce.

“How—” Jason swallowed. “How did you—”

“I can make your dreams come true,” You interrupted him with a tempting offer, shutting him up effectively. Wide grin plastered your face despite not being seen behind your mask. “I can kill the Clown for you, Red Hood. If it means it’ll silence your troubled spirit. If it’ll bring you peace. I can hurt him on your behalf just like he deserves.”

It was like a whisper from the devil, slithering its way into Jason’s heart and mind to possess his soul, mirroring the one which whispered on Adam and Eve’s ears.

He’s been wanting — needing — to hear those words come out of Bruce. His suffering and death seemingly being brushed off as a cruel accident shattered him more than he’d ever admit, Bruce’s unhealthy coping mechanism and morality getting in the way of showing his love for Jason that left the younger man feel lesser than he was. Bruce was a complex person that’s sometimes difficult to understand, his impressive ways to stick to his morals being exactly his character, but Jason wanted for once, to actually feel how important he was to his father.

Was that too much to ask for, or was he just unworthy of the entirety of it?

“Why would you do that for me?” Confusion and subtle suspicion filled his tone as Jason narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out your intention despite the rush of hope that shot throughout his chest. He forced himself to feel nothing when you leaned in closer.

“Because you were wronged, of course.” You simply stated. “You are a victim. Not more, not less. You deserve a little more than just empty justice. And I’m a man who got tired of vigilantes that are afraid to make sacrifices for the greater good.” Then, you tilt your head slightly to the side in a way that’s somehow alluring. “But I can also say I’m intrigued by you.”

Jason’s heartbeat quickens again when your big hand seems to wrap perfectly around his throat, fingers resting just above his pulse points. It makes such filthy thoughts flood themselves into his mind, your long and quite thick fingers falling victims to his tainted imagination, and he had to give everything in himself not to bare his throat more for you. You seem pleased of his lack of disobedience and bite, having expected him to shove your hand away or flinch back before you could touch him. You’ve seen Red Hood once and how his uncontrollable rage resulted in violence, heavy burdens and extreme trauma turning him into a ticking time bomb that could explode any minute with the wrong move. He was absolutely lethal, the bullets serving as the evidence of his wrath and resentment towards the underground scumbags. It’s amusing that you have the man of violence himself now somehow completely under your control, surprisingly quiet and shy and obedient. You wondered if this is how he was before he was ruined by the cruelty of the world.

“You want it, don’t you? For me to kill the Joker.”

Jason feels as if you know everything he wants. Is this what it feels like to be important?

It takes a little while for him to answer, but he eventually came up with a “You’ll do that?” which sounded vulnerable and weak for the first time in his second life. Your heart clenched at the doubt and seemingly child-like vulnerability in which he uttered the words, as if he was afraid to trust something after being betrayed countless of times, reminding you of the sole person you’ve even began doing all of this for. They were quite similar yet so different — your older brother and Jason.

You hadn’t meant to cross his boundaries and unknowingly step into the empty hole that made home in his heart. Unconsciously slithering in like a snake by touching the subject his heart was longing for, not realizing his childhood’s still remaining within his spirit.

All he wanted was love and to feel safe again. You didn’t know the Red Hood was so adorably pitiful. A smirk plastered your face.

“I will,” You reassured and leaned your face inches away from his, the hand on his throat lifting his helmet slightly.

Jason doesn’t retaliate, blinded by a meat of hope dangled in front of him. He doesn’t move as the lower half of his face was exposed, and you lifted your own mask the same using your other hand. Jason willingly, obediently closes his eyes before your lips attached to his — a kiss of death, tasting like blood and cruelty. Warm and soft despite your rough, cold-blooded, corrupted soul. A kiss from the devil.

When Jason opened his eyes, you had already disappeared into the darkness with blood stains on the ground you stood before, a single note left behind; Hell will reopen for the Clown.

After neatly tucking the note inside his jacket and making sure no evidence has been accidentally left on the crime scene, Red Hood smiles for the first time in a long while and reaches for the comms without a heavy heart.

“Batman, I found another body.”

Whatever happens, he’ll have no knowledge of the following misfortune that’ll befall on the Joker. It’s the righteous serial killer’s doing, after all.

What was used to be a maniacal laughter turned into screams of agony and pain. Strong stench of death and blood makes euphoria rush within your mind, the feeling of slicing through flesh with your knife bringing pleasure and ecstasy that made your pants tight. There’s a certain amount of satisfaction in the way your own actions cause serious harm and scarring to criminals who once deemed themselves powerful, being reduced into nothing but a powerless prey that could easily be gotten rid of.

You feel increasingly powerful the more you strip them of their dignity and arrogance as they shed blood on the holy ground. Your existence alone striking them with crippling fear and anxiety feeds into your ego, yet you never stray away from the sole purpose or reason for your murders — making them taste their own medicine.

From what you found on countless deep dive and research, Joker preyed on Red Hood when he was still a young child full of life and joy, having been under the name Robin at the time. Second Robin to be exact, considering he was a lot different from the first one. It actually surprisingly pained you when you’d seen how much of an adorable, dorky, nice kid he was before misfortune cut his life short. You would’ve never thought you would find a kid adorable in your entire life, the little menaces often being nothing more than a headache to be around with that caused a certain dislike to grow towards them within you, but Jason was everything a cute kid was. Just excited to be there, to be fighting alongside Batman, to be relevant.

Such a precious boy ruined for the sake of shits and giggles for the Clown. For the sake of getting under Batman’s skin. And the Bat couldn’t even make fucking amends to his flaws as a father and mentor.

Well, he didn’t need to anymore.

You’ll give Red Hood— Jason Todd —what he wants. Yearned for. Perhaps, even what the other civilians who have fallen victims to this vile criminal want. You would stop at nothing until every criminal is gurgling and choking on their own blood.

Joker’s scream shoots a jolt of electricity within your body as your knife pierce through his skinny thigh and to the ground, pinning his leg down. You had been doing an effective job of reducing the maniac into nothing but a screaming, cowering average victim by torture. Bruises, burns, gashes, and stab wounds littered his body that was done carefully enough to not be life-threatening. Fucker was laughing maniacally at first, of course. It irritated you so much that you might’ve went a little overboard.

Watching Joker heave and struggle to breathe from the pain, you tilted your head and roughly grabbed his throat. It catches him off guard and he grips your wrist, barely even having the strength to fight you off. You’re amused by the entirety of Joker’s nature, how he’s still just an average man that can easily be overpowered — nothing that makes him special enough to not be killed, becoming proof of Batman’s selfish willingness to let the victims suffer than bring them actual peace.

You’ve never uttered a word since you captured him and it unnerved Joker from the beginning, but then, words finally come out of your mouth in a form of monotonous, mechanical, emotionless, eerie voice as you lean over him; “Laugh it out, Joker. Why so serious?”

It sounded like a death sentence.

He’s right in a way, because another of your knife pierced the corner of his mouth soon as you uttered the words. Your other hand tightened on his arteries to choke him while you drag the knife to slit the side of his mouth into a grin, following the lines of his red lipstick. It was certainly not a clean cut, but an artist has their own creative ways to make their art. Tears mixed in with blood that gushes out of his face, complete horrors written across Joker’s eyes which boosts your satisfaction. You go on and do the same thing to the other side of his mouth, before finishing your art piece by carving ‘J’ on his painted cheek.

You resist the urge to moan at the sight of blood coating your fine piece, always finding it to be an amazing finishing touch.

From then on, Joker was brought to literal Hell.

Jason flinches when a playful knock sounded from his safe house’s window, cautiously approaching to see ghostface waving at him through the glass. His eyes widened and immediately opens the window to let you in, not wanting anyone to see you — your sudden appearance distracting him from the fact he’s never given anyone the location of his safe house.

He stops in track at the blood splatters across your mask, and just then had he noticed you seemed to be hiding something behind your back with one hand. It definitely strikes his curiosity, but he somehow didn’t feel like you were holding something that could harm him.

“You got something for me, ghostface?” Jason feels you grin under your mask.

“Got you a present,” Your raspy, rough voice enthusiastically quipped.

Jason’s breath hitches when you show what you were holding — the Joker’s decapitated head in a square glass container tainted by its blood. You obviously had planned to bring it barehand, but you considered the possibility of its blood dripping down on his safe house and becoming a false evidence to point him to the murder, which prompted you to put it inside the container. An unbelievably sweet gesture for a fucking psychopath like you.

Jason could feel his heart beat rapidly as he takes in the animal’s state, carved up grin and the letter J and the horrors seen in its lifeless eyes proving the absolute misery and suffering it went through before being put down. The monster was finally, finally slain and gone forever from his life. Nightmares detangles from his spirit and the past unwraps away from his soul, utter peace and relief spreading throughout his chest. Tears gathered in his eyes at the feeling of being free at last from the life long torment, breath shaking as his knees wobbled.

The child in himself, the innocent Robin that was killed unfairly, finally rests in peace.

Then he sees you, his hero, waving your seemingly new knife playfully in the air with your outfit splattered in blood without a care that you actually saved him, and Jason feels a sudden surge of arousal and will to submit. To give you everything, anything.

“Do you love it, Red Hood?”

Without answering you, Jason grabs the glass container with shaky hands and sets it aside on the counter before stepping back closer to you again, blood rushing to his veins from arousal. He removes his helmet with a thud on the floor and falls to his knees in front of you, lustful and yearning emerald eyes looking up at you.

“Let me thank you, please.”

It makes you groan as your pants significantly tightens more.

You slide your knife back into the holster before cupping his beautiful face in your hands, and thank fucking Heavens there wasn’t any blood on it that would taint his face, because he’s a sight to behold. He’s truly a gem, something precious you had never seen before. “So beautiful,” You whispered, making Jason flush. “Baring yourself to me for such a simple present, doll?”

“Not a simple present,” Jason mumbled as he snuggles on the palm of your hands. “You saved me.”

You hum appreciatively, getting the itch to bare yourself to him as well. “You wanna thank me by what?”

Jason looks back at you, face flushed with a little hint of uncertainty and embarrassment, doubts. “I— uhm,” He stammers, but encouraged by your thumb’s gentle stroke on his cheek. “By… by becoming yours.”

Your cock throbs. Fuck, he’s so fucking adorable, you just wanna fuck his guts out. You’re usually tempted to gut people, not fuck their guts— which is funny to say the least— but you weren’t going to say no when the Red Hood’s so willing to offer himself up.

“You wanna take my mask off, doll?” He seems surprised by your question as if he hadn’t thought of it, making you chuckle. “If you wanna be mine, I gotta be yours too, don’t I?” It was dangerous to reveal your identity to him, but you couldn’t care less, especially when you could just fuck his brains out to shut him up. That’s the plan, first time that didn’t include butchering or cutting a body up.

Jason fucking Todd and his effects on you.

The emerald eyed male hesitantly grasped your mask when you led his hands to it, slowly lifting it over your head. He’s met with a fucking luscious feature to ever be adorned on a man and dark, lustfully murderous blood red eyes that makes a whimper slip past his lips. You merely widened your eyes at the sound he made before immediately grabbing his jaw and smashing your lips against his, swallowing Jason’s surprised gasp.

He reciprocates the insatiable hunger you displayed, tongue dancing along with yours and moaning into the kiss when your fingers lightly tugged on his hair. You pull him up in amidst of making out and squeeze his ass, encouraging him to wrap his legs around your hips. You detach your lips from his to trail kisses down his jaw and neck as you walked towards his bedroom, questionably knowing where it is, and Jason tilts his head back to give you more access with closed eyes. Letting him stimulate both of your restrained cocks by grinding down, you sat down on the bed and sucked on his throat as Jason moaned.

“Please, please…” He whimpers, uncontrollably moving his hips in a perfect rhythm yet he seemed to want something else.

You pulled away and traced his lips with your thumb, watching as he naturally took it in and sucked, giving you a desperate look. Swiftly turning off the voice changer attached to your neck in a form of choker, you chuckled when his hands fiddled with the belt on your hooded coat. “So needy, aren’t you?” Your real voice sends shivers down his spine.

An alluring, low, slightly rough pitch and somehow more emotionless than when you were using the voice changer. It makes his cock twitch and empty hole clench down on nothing, the need to be stuffed full of your cum swarming in his belly. You’re fucking bewitching, a man made up from every guy and girl’s fantasy, wet dream, and your attractiveness mirroring the Devil’s that would tempt and lure others to sin.

How the fuck were you real?

“Speak up, pretty bird.” You smirked, “What do you want?”

“Your cock,” Jason mutters, cheeks tinted in pink. “Wanna suck your cock and make you feel good.”

“Fuck…” You shifted in place, “You’ll do that f’me? Get my cock nice and wet to take you apart? To fuck your guts out?”

Jason shakily inhales and nods, climbing off your lap and kneeling on the floor. You lean back on your hands as he unstraps your belt and slide your zipper down, slightly raising your hips to help him get rid of the excess clothes. Your thick and lengthy cock smacks against your clothed stomach, making Jason’s mouth water. Thick veins throbbed on your big shaft, the tip angry and red from arousal leaking precum. It wasn’t just big, it was long, and Jason squeezes his thighs together to keep himself from just riding your cock all day.

His hand wraps around the base, starting to stroke it with a content rhythm. God, you were so fucking big. It’d definitely split him open if you shove it in so suddenly and fill him up nice. It’d make him scream his head off from the unbearable length and girth, almost too much, and Jason wants you to force him to take it. Pin him down and fuck him despite his pleas to stop.

Jason swipes his thumb over the slit, smearing precum, pumping it for a good amount before licking a stripe up the underside of your cock. You shudder, removing your gloves to slip your bare fingers through Jason’s hair, encouraging him to take you in. He obeys, relaxing his throat first before sliding your cock inside his warm mouth, and you groaned at the warmth that surrounded you. It almost didn’t fit from how big you were, but Jason braced himself and took it in further until he gagged as the tip touched the back of his throat. Wrapping his hand around your shaft that he couldn’t take in, stroking gently as if to apologize.

A moan slips past your lips when he starts bobbing his head, tongue brushing against the underside of your dick. “Fuck… Doin’ so good,” You roll your head back. “Such a pretty face to fuck, ain’t ya?”

Jason whines, tears gathered in his eyes as he sucks and fastens his rhythm. Curses, grunts leave your lips that left him feeling all hot and bothered, his other hand moving to skillfully pull his pants down and free his aching cock.

You see him touching himself and a smirk adorns your sinful face, gently scratching his scalp with your nails which earned you a whimper from him. “Go on, fuck yourself. We both know it wouldn’t fit that easily without proper prep,” Expression twisting into a cocky one, your grip on his hair tightened. “I’ll do as I please with your mouth until you’re done.”

Without waiting for his approval, you roughly shoved your cock deep down his throat and moaned loudly, throwing your head back. Jason gagged with a loud whimper as his eyes rolled back into his skull and cum shot out from his throbbing cock, hips jutting forward and twitching due to the sudden orgasm. You chuckle lowly, amusement and lust glinting in your bright red eyes, before you pull back and ram on his throat again.

Jason’s cries and moans were muffled as you ruthlessly use his throat to gain pleasure. His mind has already turned into mush from your assaults, white cum and precum staining the floor yet he doesn’t put up a fight. Taking it all like the good, obedient boy that he is. He’s reached behind him to insert two fingers in his awaiting hole, walls clamping down on the digits from the arousal of his throat being utterly wrecked.

Yesyesyes, please. He chanted in his mind. Use me, mark me, cum in my throat, make me yours.

The moment you fulfilled your promise and delivered him the head of his enemy, he was already yours. It’s all he ever wanted. Unquenchable thirst that always gnawed on his throat and hunger that left his stomach restless, his soul practically teared in half from being battered and beaten. He matters now — mattered enough to you, that you went ahead and killed the source of his misery. The love exploding in his chest was almost unbearable; he was already high on cloud nine from the moment he’s seen you present the head so cheerfully.

You see how he looks up at you, emerald eyes almost displaying hearts with how much he was melting. He’s taken your murderous act as an affection, and you couldn’t be more happy, because it’s what you intended.

“Shit, baby… Gonna cum soon,” You panted, thrusting vigorously. Jason hums and flexes his throat to provide you more pleasure, making you tighten the grip on his hair. “You want me to cum down your throat?”

You earned a desperate whine from him, closing his eyes to prove he was waiting for it. His fingers kept their own assault on his prostate, scissoring and stretching the squishy walls, muffled moans escaping him.

God, he looked so fucking gorgeous. He’d look even more gorgeous with your dick ramming inside him.

Jason feels your big cock throb in his mouth and his fingers move more aggressively to pleasure himself, wanting to reach his high at the same time as you. Stimulating your tip with the back of his throat a few times, you moaned loudly with a curse when Jason slightly flicks his tongue over your sensitive underside, forcing an orgasm out of your body. White, thick, warm seeds spurt out from your slit to his awaiting throat as Jason whimpered in delight and shot another layer of cum on the wet stained floor, hips thrusting in the air.

He greedily swallows every drop that spilled down his mouth despite the euphoria making him feel dizzy as his body slightly trembles.

You chuckled, breathing heavily, pleased expression spread across your face. “Good boy. That was such a good throat-fuck.”

The raspy, sultry tone of your voice makes electricity and chills run through Jason’s spine as his walls clench down on his fingers, yearning to be filled. Jason certainly doesn’t have a womb — it’s anatomically impossible — yet he couldn’t help but feel like it’s there, waiting and aching to be fucked and bred. He needs your cum to be pushed so far inside him. Need to be marked entirely as yours inside and out. Need you to rearrange his guts, fuck his brains out, breed him full, then fuck your cum further back into him.

Jason pulled his fingers out, whimpering at the loss of contact, before looking back up at you with begging eyes. “Can you-?” His voice cracks as he swallows, “Take me apart, please. Make me yours, fuck, I wanna be yours.”

You noticed tears gathering in his eyes, as if being rejected of his want to be your possession would be an ultimate heartbreak in his life; a life-threatening, gnawing thorn in his heart that’ll tear him apart piece by piece and shredding his soul. Jason thinks he can’t live without becoming yours, his savior’s. He can’t live without the source of his safety, the man that fulfilled his silly little dream and sacrificed his own sanity for it.

It absolutely amuses you that he’s become so attached just because you’ve driven him away from harm’s way. A little dumb, but he was your little dumb doll.

You gently caress his face and Jason leans into your touch, making your lips curl upwards into a smile. “Of course, doll.”

It leads to Jason being pressed face first on the mattress as you rail him from behind, sinful and alluring noises leaving his lips stained in drool. Your name escapes him like a chanted prayer, hands gripping the sheets, electricity sparking within his mind that left him dumb and unable to think coherently.

“Fuh-fuck! mgh, ah- yes, oh my god—!” He cries out when you pulled almost entirely back and rammed your cock roughly into him, almost seeing stars in his vision.

The roughness in which you handled him, the perfect angle of your hips allowing you to force pleasure out of his body every-time you thrust, the way you push his back down on the mattress to make him arch more into your merciless tactic, leaves Jason absolutely delirious. You didn’t just fuck him good; you fucked him with absolute vigor and violence, occasionally biting strongly on his shoulder to draw blood, showcasing your natural instincts as a serial killer. He feels your big fucking dick throb and gets impossibly bigger inside him each time his blood seeps out the broken skin, and Jason’s head spins at how much it drove arousal in his core.

“Good fuckin’ sex toy,” You grunted, roughly slamming your hips against his and causing a sharp moan to erupt from Jason.

“B-big—! s’too big- fuck!” Jason whines, tears spilling endlessly down his cheeks.

You smirk as you feel your ego skyrocket at being able to reduce a rather muscular man into nothing but a whining, blabbering bitch. “Yeah? I do split you open, don’t I? But you love it since you’re such a fuckin’ slut.”

“oh- aghn! y-yours— hnngh! Your s-slut! No one else’s-!” He chokes out, desperately reaching for you behind him.

“So fuckin’ adorable,” You chuckled and grabbed his hand, pinning it back to the mattress as you hover over him. You seem to fit against each other perfectly well, your large and tall body able to encage him that left Jason’s stomach fluttering. He’s taken a lot liking of the fact you’re bigger than him, considering he’s never been the smaller one when he was with others. It gives him a sense of shelter.

“p-please— pleaseplease- oh! cum— fuck… cum in me again!” Jason blabbered.

You can’t help but comply to his request, fastening your pace and drilling more into him. Incoherent sentences spill from his drooling mouth when he feels your cock pulse within his walls that signified your soon release. There’s a purpose in which you thrust your hips now — more sharp and angled yet a little sloppy, aimed to brush against his prostate and make him feel utterly good.

“Shit… Cummin’, doll.” You grunted right in his ear before shoving him on the mattress by the back of his nape and slamming all the way down on his already gaping hole.

Jason nearly screams, voice cracking, as his orgasm hits like a strong tide of wave at the same time you spilled thick layer of white semen into his fucked out guts. You ride out your orgasm by thrusting slowly a few times as Jason’s body violently shakes from the aftershock. He subconsciously whines in annoyance when some of your previous cum seems to overflow and replaced by your recent one, bucking his hips as if to use your big cock as a plug to keep them all in. His belly felt full from how much you’ve been filling him with your seed yet it still didn’t feel enough. Jason wanted more; he knew you weren’t going full on him yet.

You swiftly turned him around on his back without pulling out and kissed him roughly. Jason mewls into the kiss when the position makes you push more deeper into him, his hands immediately clasping at the back of his thick thighs to pull them up and make it easier for you to fuck.

“My cute little thing,” You murmured against his lips and bit the skin to draw blood, Jason’s hole squeezing down on you from both the pain and pet name. He greedily whimpers your name, holding onto you for life and yearning for more of you despite already receiving what he wants.

It was so fucking adorable and arousing to see him desperate for not just you, but your entire being as well, willing to welcome such darkness with open arms and tearful smile. You weren’t really a desirable person; so many people have thrown themselves at you for your conventionally attractive features and masculine body type that swoons hundreds yet cower away in fear and speak of you in disgrace when shown the demons living inside of you. No one could seem to look past your murderous, cold-blooded psychopathy — some have attempted to, which only resulted in your darkness growing bigger when they break their own promises. You weren’t meant to be loved. Your destiny was written in the stars and the Gods have cursed you with eternity of living in loneliness and madness without cure. You were meant to be feared, a lonely and violent soul that couldn’t be tamed, your sole purpose of existence being a destroyer; nothing more or less.

Jason, however, seems indifferent to your fate.

Instead of running away in disgust and fear at your acts of violence around the city, he was seeking for you. He’s seen what you’ve done, what you could do without feeling remorse, what monsters lie beneath your existence — and still, he graciously opens his heart (and legs) for you. There’s love and desire within his eyes where distaste should be, touch so soft and warm it baptizes your tainted skin. You’re soaked in blood yet Jason takes his time with you to clean them up. Born with thorns yet he willingly prickles his fingers on them.

You’re a danger everywhere you go, but to him, you were home.

It makes your heart clench; he’s broken the Gods curse and it costs him his freedom, because now he’s caught up in your webs. You wouldn’t let him go, like a snake that’s wrapped itself around its prey in a death grip.

Jason wanted to be yours. What better ways to fulfill his wish if not possessing his body, soul, and spirit?

“Sweet dumb thing,” You purred, hips thrusting slow and sensual, unable to forgive parts of his walls that weren’t touched by your cum. “Mine to fuck, ruin, or make love to. That’s right, yeah?”

Jason nods, moaning softly. Your hands now replaced where his were on the back of his thighs, bending him almost in half as you roll your hips to gently brush against every weak spot he has. The sudden shift in rhythm and atmosphere confuses Jason for a bit, his fogged mind unable to comprehend the situation at hand, but the intimacy strikes a further pleasure that was nearly mind-breaking. He’s been reduced to a moaning mess, blood, sweat, tears and cum coating his body.

“p-please,” Jason keened, like it felt agonizing to be loved ever so gently. “I— ah… I want- I want you,” He stuttered out between moans.

“You’re having me, aren’t you?” Replying, you nipped on his neck and sucked, leaving behind a purple bruise.

He nearly cries, shaking his head. A waterfall of tears streamed down his face, and you find yourself captivated by them. It was almost ethereal despite being one of human’s responses to most things imaginable; your victims always shed one or two accompanied by begs of mercy, but all you’ve ever thought of them was amusing. It’s been used as an escaping tactic from you before, which was never successful due to your lack of morality and sympathy towards your target. They were pathetic, but Jason was divine. Tears suited him— not tears of fear, but tears of pleasure and utopia.

Your focus snaps back on reality when Jason suddenly pulled you down by the nape and bit down hard on your shoulder. A pleasured groan leaves your lips at the pain, hips bucking, making him whimper.

“Jason—”

“Please,” He cuts you off and finally murmurs; “Wanna f-feel how… mhm-! how you actually love…”

It strikes something in your core. Despite your perfect skills of hiding your true nature and never being caught, Jason saw it right through you, how you were holding yourself back for his sake. Quite ironic to witness a cold-blooded killer care for someone enough to go soft, even though it looked like you were going rough on him, and it warmed Jason’s heart. But he was a greedy, fucked up human being who wanted all of you. It wouldn’t be enough until he knows he’s taken you fully.

An amused laughter erupts from your chest. Eyes darkening in lust, Jason feels one of your hands wrap around his throat warningly as the other pushed his torso flat down on the mattress. “You… You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, Todd.”

You pull all the way back before ramming in, making Jason let out a loud, choked up moan as his eyes rolled back into his head. Your thrusts relentless and powerful, slamming against Jason’s body with an intensity that made his head spin, your hand holding his throat as a leverage. Your name spills from his lips like a prayer, something that seems to ignite a possessive feeling within you. Jason can’t help but mewl when your grip tightened on his arteries, throwing his head back to let you gain fully control.

The way he’s so obedient and putty in your hands despite knowing you can kill him if you truly meant to makes you love him even more, fucking him and taking away his ability to breathe wasn’t enough. Greediness turning overboard with the darkness and psychopathy that lies within your existence; you almost wanted to cut him open and crawl inside his guts so you could truly claim Jason, inside and out. You wanted to be more closer to him, see how far you can go without Jason pushing you away or getting disturbed.

Jason’s eyes widened when a cold metallic silver touched his cheek, seeing you holding your signature knife through blurred vision from his tears. However, he doesn’t flinch away like you expected him to, instead his walls squeezes down on your cock and his own twitched against his stomach. The unexpected reaction pulls a loud groan out of you, your hips bucking.

“Shit, Jay… You lettin’ me kill you or somethin’? Good fucking cunt just tightened on me,” You rasped, thrusting your cock against his prostate.

Jason gasps, his hands grabbing the mattress and holding it in a tight grip. It’s so shameful how turned on he was at the danger that lurked around you, his usually sharp instincts relinquished to be replaced by naiveté and stupidity for love. He must’ve gone insane; getting killed was one of his triggers because of his past yet his soul yielded nothing in retaliation to the possibility of your blade slicing through him. All of him seems to have come to love and trust you too much just because you’ve decapitated the beast his entire existence feared, which a part of him found utterly ridiculous and idiotic, but not enough to stop.

He wouldn’t stop himself from loving you — not when you’ve given him the love he always yearned for.

You lean in and ghost your lips over his as you dragged the knife on his torso, lightly scraping him. Jason’s breath quickens, his pupils blown wide in lust and need, anticipation seemingly running through his body as his moans turned into desperate whines.

“p-please…!” He chokes out a whisper, rolling his head to the side and whimpering when you snapped your hips warningly on his. “feels— fuck! feels g-good—! c-carve me… hngh! carve me u-up-! shit… make me fuckin’ bleed…! please,” Jason nearly cries for you.

Groaning out a curse, you reflexively bite down hard on the crook of his neck and push more of your cock inside him, causing a loud keen to erupt from Jason as he squirms and cums on his own stomach at the addictive sense of pleasure and pain shooting through his body.

You licked the blood that seeped out from his skin, satisfied at the clear bite mark you’ve left visible before sensually grinding your hips. Jason whimpered quietly, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“That’s it, doll. Let go, feel good. m’not gonna hurt ya, sweetheart. It’ll all feel good,” Whispering sweet words, you slowly press the tip of the knife just above the v line of his hip and drag it down. Jason hissed at the prickle of pain and tensed up, but the pleasure of your cock stimulating his sensitive walls was too great that forced him to relax. “It’s alright, doll. Jus’ carving you up with my name, so you’ll be mine forever. Isn’t that what you want? Be fuckin’ mine?”

Jason moaned softly, nodding his head. Series of pleasepleaseplease blabber out of him accompanied by heavenly noises he’s been making since you started taking him apart, his brain too fucked out that forcibly twisted pain into pleasure as all he could think about was becoming yours. You, his savior, his God, claiming him by marking him up with your name. Jason feels like he could fucking squirt from just that thought alone.

His blood seeping out from the letters of your name arouses you to no end, your cock throbbing inside him while you continue to move, the darkness within you being thoroughly fed of its bloodthirsty hunger. This is the first time it doesn’t gnaw at your skin to drive your knife deeper, pull the guts out, and splatter redness everywhere; instead, it wanted to be gentle, as if Jason was a significant existence too precious to hurt even for the Devil. A proof that Jason was always meant to be yours, the only one who the monster inside you would rather love than kill.

Carving the last letter, you laughed breathlessly in satisfaction and stabbed the knife on the headboard before slamming your lips against his, devouring his pleasurable noises. Jason whines, arms wrapping around your neck to pull you impossibly closer, arching his back when you switched into a much faster and rougher pace.

“Cummin’, fuck!” You grunted, to which Jason wrapped his legs around your hips to make sure it stays in.

“I-in— in me… fuck- oh my god— please… please, cum in me. Make me full again, p-please…” He begs, clenching his walls around you to push you over the edge, his own orgasm nearing.

Seeing him covered in his own tears, sweat, blood and drool fills you with nothing but pure ecstasy knowing it’s all because of you. The most appealing, ravishing man being a slutty mess right beneath you, begging to be bred and full of your cum, does feed too much into your ego. No one can do anything to take you away from him now, because you’re wrapped around his fingers as much as he is around yours.

“Anythin’ for ya, doll.” You chuckled, thrusting a couple more times before shoving your twitching cock deep into his guts with a moan and releasing your load. Jason mewls, his hole throbbing and squeezing down on you as he throws his head back, tainting his abdomen once more.

Riding out both of your highs, you let out a raspy groan and kissed his lips again, Jason weakly reciprocating due to the overstimulation. His body trembled hard, mind almost shutting down from the exhaustion and too much euphoria. “So good, doll. Took me like a good fuckin’ boy. Fuckin’ amazing.” You praised.

Jason could still see darkness in your eyes, the murderous devil, but there’s a hint of happiness he didn’t recognize before. Love and adoration filled your expression despite the violence engraved in your soul, and Jason finds himself smiling against your lips lightheadedly.

He whispers your name like a forbidden secret, then a curse that completely binds you to him; “I love you.”

You could get used to this, you suppose. There’s nothing more poetic than violence meeting love — two opposites can’t coexist with each other, but perhaps it’ll be forced to. After all, the Devil in you decided he was an untouchable divinity no one shall ever harm, not even yourself, despite its never-ending monstrosity towards humanity.

“I love you too, my Jason.”

When Joker’s decapitated head on a makeshift spear turned up that night, stacked upright in front of Arkham Asylum with blood splattered across the ground in words ‘True Justice for the Tortured Souls’ and a bloody ghostface mask laid aside for everyone else to see, Jason knew he was now in safe hands.

People say, never make a deal with the devil.

They never said he couldn’t love one, did they?

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bet-on-me-13 · 11 months ago

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The Villains Daughter

So! Years ago, back when the Justice League was only just starting out, only a year or two after their initial team-up, they had one of their biggest battles to date. A group of Extra-Dimensional Beings had burst into their reality, hellbent on destroying a Government Facility and the nearby small town in Illinois.

They barely managed to beat the Invading Army back, although the Government Facility and a part of the nearby Town had been destroyed in the battle.

Later, they would learn about what had happened. Apparently the Government Base, called a GIW Facility, had managed to finally Crack the secret to Interdimensional Travel a few days earlier. Unfortunately, they had opened a Portal into a Dimension known as the Ghost Zone, ruled over by a Tyrant King who wanted to enslaved all world under him. Their Breaching of the GZ had alerted the Tyrant King to the existence of their Dimension, and he had launched an immediate Invasion to try and take it over.

And the evidence supported this.

Wonder Woman shared Legends of her People, telling that their Founding Ancestor had fled the rule of a Tyrant King when she passed into the Afterlife.

Zatara shared his Magic Tomes, showing them passages detailing the horrific Rule of the Tyrant King of the Infinite Realms.

They even asked Boston Brand, the Deadman and resident Ghost about it. He hadn't been the the Ghost Zone in Years, but even he told them that he had personally fled the Tyrant King.

And they also learned that when the Tyrant King set his eyes on something, he did not falter on his Warpath to acquire it. The Tyrant King, Pariah Dark, would be back for their World, again and again.

And they needed to be prepared. This Battle was what kickstarted their true Commitment to the idea of a Team. They knew they could not defeat Pariah Dark alone, so they needed to remain as a Team.

But there was another thing that came about from the Battle.

While the JLA had been helping clean up, Wonder Woman came across a strange sight. A Baby had been left in the rubble of the GIW Building.

She asked around, investigated, and did all she could to find the babies parents. At first she thought that one of the GIW Agents had brought their kid to work that day, but their records indicated that none of the Agents had children of that Age. And Neither did any of the other workers who worked on the base, like the Janitors or the Kitchen Staff. And of they did, all of their children were accounted for.

She eventually came to the conclusion that the Baby must belong to somebody in the nearby Town, but that lead led nowhere either.

She finally came to the conclusion that the Baby's parents must have died in the Invasion, a very unfortunate but very real possibility. She was going to place her into the System, but over the course of her investigation she had grown fond of the Child.

She decided to Adopt the baby herself. She didn't know the child's name, so she had to come up with a new one.

"How do you like the name, Stella?"

The baby gurgled in delight.

...

Over the next decade of their Teams Existence, the Justice League had to fend off the Legions of the Ghost King's Army many more times. It seemed that Pariah had grown wise to the fact that they were the ones defending the Human Realm, as almost all of the later attacks were directed on them personally.

It made sense, they were the First Line of Defense against his Armies, if he managed to defeat them, their World would soon fall.

But they dealt with the attacks as they came. They had made it their mission to defend their Home from the Forced of Pariah Darks Army, and they would not falter now, or ever.

In the case of Wonder Woman, he Daughter had grown to be a fine little lady. Stella had eventually developed Powers similar to her mother, in that she could fly and had super strength, and had begged to be trained as a Hero.

And who was Diana to deny her Daughter her greatest wish? Over the next 5 years, Diana trained Stella in the ways of the Amazon's. Then, when Stella was 15, she had her join the newly formed Young Justice.

She made a great group of friends on that Team, and even started going by Ellie as a Nickname. Her best friend was by far Conner, though she didn't know why she felt such a strong connection to him? It felt like she could relate to him, but her situation was completely different?

Ah well, her Mom wouldn't mind having another kid, would she? She always wanted a Brother!

...

Meanwhile in the Ghost Zone, the Ghost King was getting anxious. After 15 years, his Agents in the Human Realm had finally managed to set up the Ritual needed to Summon Him into the Human Realm.

Who knew that accepting the Ghost King's Throne would bar him from entering the Human Realm through normal Means? He couldn't even use the Portal, he needed to be summoned or he simply wouldn't be able to leave his new home dimension.

But now, it was almost time. Just another year or two, and he would finally be able to enter the Human Realm. He would finally be able to Find Her. His Daugther.

Danny would finally be able to reunite with his daughter, Ellie.

#Dpxdc #Dp x dc #Dcxdp #Dc x dp #Danny Phantom #Dc #Dcu #Justice League #Wonder Woman #Diana adopts Ellie #Ellie was kidnapped by the GIW #Ellie was deaged so her Core would be able to grow alongside her Body #She doesn't know she even has powers aside from her flight and strength #They all just think that he is an unregistered classification of Metahuman and that's why her blood work didn't come back with a Meta Gene #Ellie Joins Young Justice #She is extremely uncomfortable when Superman rejects Connor but she doesn't know why #The Justice League thinks that Danny is a Villain #They think that he is Pariah Dark #Just under a new name #The whole world thinks that Danny is the greatest Supervillain to ever live #Including Ellie #She does not react well when she finds out that the World Greatest Evil is her Dad #Especially since she doesn't have the context #Danny attacked the JLA because she could sense that they had his daughter #He thought they were working with the GIW

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corpsekiller · 1 month ago

Text

i have nothing to say for myself, this is just very self-indulgent. despite it all, i still hope you like it <3 though it isn't proof-read yet, so please be kind and ignore any typos!

PAIRING. pro hero!katsuki bakugou x genderneutral!reader (barista)

WARNINGS. language, mentions of blood and scars, katsuki is sorta an arrogant piece of shit

MASTERLIST

currently thinking about pro hero!Katsuki in his early 20s who refuses to fit into social norms — he shows up to press conferences dressed in sleek black clothing, the sleeves of his turtleneck rolled up to show off the tattoos covering his scarred arms, muscles tensing and flexing beneath his inked skin as he reaches for the water bottle his assistant placed next to the microphone.

Silver rings adorn his fingers — heavy jewelry that catches the flashing light of cameras snapping picture after picture with a dangerous glint that matches the sharp smirk that tugs at the corners of his mouth when a journalist asks a peculiarly intimate question about his love life. He barks out a laugh, low and rough, followed by a careless fuck off, that's none of ya business — a reply that causes her to blush and scramble back into her seat as the next reporter gathers the courage to speak up.

When he‘s off duty, Katsuki is seen walking down the busy streets of the city in ripped jeans and heavy combat boots still stained with the blood of the villain he fought mere hours ago, the black tank top he wears stretching across his broad back and clinging to his body in a way that leaves little to the imagination.

Each movement shifts the thin fabric just enough to reveal more of the intricate dark lines of ink that trace his arms, curling up from his wrists to wrap around his biceps, traveling along his shoulders and disappearing under silver chains dangling from his neck to sprawl across his back and up to wrap around his throat.

Blood still seeps from an open cut beneath his exposed collarbone and bruises blossom on the edge of his clenched jaw, tinging the bare skin of his face in deep purple and blue that causes passers-by to gasp in mere horror. Some of them point at him, others only whisper behind raised hands, gaping at him with a hint of fear and admiration.

He only gives them a knowing smirk — the wounds he unashamedly carries from the battle are nothing but a badge of honor to him.

There‘s something so unapologetically captivating about him — a certain kind of controlled violence in every step he takes, an intensity that dares anyone to approach and promises a challenge if they do.

People scramble out of his way without even realizing they‘ve done it. Katsuki deliberately continues his path down the crowded sidewalk, casually adjusting the flannel shirt tied low on his waist before he enters a small coffee shop around the corner and ignores the crowd of fans that follows him soon after, heading straight past the queue as if the entire place belongs to him.

Perhaps it does, judging by the star-struck gazes of every customer he walks by, letting him pass without a single complaint.

"Americano," he says bluntly, voice low and rough, letting his words sound more like a command than a simple coffee order. He doesn‘t tack on a please, merely pierces you with a sharp glare as if he expects you to immediately drop everything you‘ve been doing to make his order.

Of course, he's right.

For a moment, you only stare at him. His hair is tousled, ashen strands disheveled from his fight against another villain you‘ve watched on the news earlier, but now that he‘s standing right in front of you, so close that you can see the small scar that runs along his cheekbone, you notice that his body isn‘t only decorated with blank ink.

No, there are piercings, too many for you to count in this short span of time, but the sight alone causes your knees to buckle. There's a silver barbell going through his eyebrow and two studs glint along the side of his nose, but what catches your attention the most are the delicate rings that adorn his lips, catching the light just at the corners of his mouth that are now quirked up into a devilish smile.

"Uh, coming right up!" Your voice comes out a little shakier than you‘d like and you clear your throat, quickly dropping the task at hand to busy yourself with the espresso machine and make his coffee as fast as possible, because—

Well, it's Dynamight.

You can feel his eyes on you as you work and although you don‘t dare to look up, too focused on not messing up, you catch a glimpse of his reflection in the machine — the set of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow and the way his piercings glint dangerously when he clicks his tongue in mild impatience.

He leans against the counter, tattooed arms flexing as he adjusts the rings on his fingers and runs a hand through his hair. The fangirls behind him squeal with excitement, screaming incoherent phrases at him that not even you can decipher, though he doesn‘t seem to pay much attention to them anyway. Instead, he‘s solely focused on his order and, briefly, on you.

After a few minutes, you finish up, managing to keep your hands steady as you place the cup in front of him.

"A-Americano... for you," you mumble, trying to keep your tone even as if your pulse isn‘t racing just from standing so close to him.

Katsuki’s gaze drops to the cup, then shifts back to you, something unreadable in his eyes as he lifts it to take a slow sip, watching you over the rim. For a second, you think you catch the faintest hint of a genuine smile on his pierced lips before he carelessly tosses a few bills on the counter — more than enough — and nods, turning to leave without another word, his attention back on the door and the crowd still clamoring for a piece of his time.

Katsuki is nearly out the door when he glances back and offers you a sharp grin, letting his tongue dart out to lick over his bottom lip as he lets his eyes wander over your figure with such intensity that you momentarily forget how to breathe until the coffee shop around you begins to spin from the lack of oxygen.

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving you with the faint scent of coffee and leather, and the lingering thrill of an encounter you know you won’t be forgetting anytime soon.

Taglist: @justwolosers

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jesswritesthat · 18 days ago

Text

Bakugō Katsuki: Engineer

Fandom: BNHA // MHA — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~1.5k, fluff, a little violence.

• Being a talented inventor meant your skills were sought by many (both good and bad), but then you catch the attention of Dynamight.

Warnings: Cursing, violence, mention of weapons, post time skip.

>>>>——————————>

"You can't be serious Bakugō-san."

The pro snapped to his trusty assistant, raising an expectant brow when replying like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You said they're the best. That's who I want for my agency."

"Yes but—"

"But nothing! Do you know where I can find them?"

"Everyone who has tried has been refused. Their infamous talent has been sought by heroes, big companies, and even villainous characters... All of whom failed to hire them."

"’Cause I haven't asked yet."

"Bakugō-san, I know there's no convincing you otherwise but, I'd recommend having other options available at least."

True to his assistants' warnings, you were no easy recruit, all his efforts at communication were futile. Emails? Calls? Letters? You hadn't replied to any of his professional outreach methods and he suspected this was a common occurrence for you.

Fine then, he'd turn up the heat. Your workshop address wasn't a secret to those with connections and Bakugō wasn't one to give up without a fight. Literally, if need be.

———

It was a perplexing thing in the middle of nowhere, your workshop. A metal-like building heavily lined with obscure defensive weaponry as well as having access to your own personal scrapyard it seemed. But it was yours. A rumoured mechanical talent for crafting hero gear and inventions, one that drew attention from far and wide. However you were content in your independence, it was less hassle this way you'd hoped.

Alas, the confident banging on the metal entrance doors with conviction was far from unusual.

"I told ya, I don't—" You paused once sliding open the door and taking a look at your visitor, lifting your goggles and shifting to a smile. "Haven't seen you at my door before."

"Since ya didn't answer my calls or mail, I don't have a choice." The man seethed through gritted teeth, trying to be more 'accommodating' like advised.

"Oh? Which one are you again?" Your gaze flicked to a pile of (some charred) letters in a nearby bin, smile growing more smug by the second.

"Bakugō Katsuki. You might know me as Dynamight though."

"Yeah you're fun. I like you." You smirked proudly, honesty and bemusement present. "The way you yell at people resonates with me."

The man rolled his eyes with scoffing sound, choosing not to say anything rambunctious enough to have you slam the door in his face - still, he was surprised when you welcomed him in.

"Tch. S'pose you know why I'm here then."

"You, and many others. Had Lemillion here last month, least he bought me a welcome basket with cake and such." You joked, easing the caution the blonde seemed to be upholding around you with his natural personality showing.

"Tch, ain't gonna get you none of that crap unless you start working with me. I did bring something useful though because I'm better than the other extras you've dealt with." He held out a bag, one you quizzically explored to find a peculiar item to win one over with.

"A spanner...?"

It wasn't just a spanner, it was one of the newest, top of the grade, multi tool sets crafted by one of the big brands. Thoughtful. Very thoughtful actually...

"I appreciate it, but I can't accept something this expensive. Especially when I'm going to decline your offer."

"S'fine. It's a gift, but if you feel that guilty about it then you can fix my gauntlets." Bakugō justified rather abruptly, shoving the bag into your arms to ensure you took it.

"Alright. That sounds fair."

"I'll grab 'em from my car, get your shit ready."

That afternoon, you sat beside Katsuki as he talked you through the technicalities of his weaponry whilst you worked on them together. All the while diverting onto conversation tangents and making drinks mid way, he demonstrated his quirk - tiny sparkles of explosive lighting up his hand.

"They're pretty, your explosions."

"They’re deadly— I don't— shut up nerd!" He dismissed you briskly, turning away with an irritated growl.

———

Fixing his gear would be the first and last time you'd see Bakugō in person you assumed, considering you declined his job proposition and all.

So when you received another bout of rapid banging on metal the following week, you were surprised to find a smirking Dynamight rather than another recruiter.

"Shocked to see me or something?"

"Well I— yeah. Figured you'd take my refusal and go."

"Nah you did a good job with my gauntlets, wanted to see what else you're up to." Dynamight flexed his wrist for example, openly pleased with his gauntlets but seemed more so by your genuine reaction.

"Oh really?" You sounded truly perplexed, but also excited to share your work with someone. "Sure, I'll show you my latest ideas!"

Bakugō stayed a while, a couple of hours discussing applications for your inventions and inquiring as to whether there were any materials you were unable to obtain recently. Then it moved on to his occupation, his agency, and then to trivial matters such as popular restaurants around town.

“So, wanna join my agency yet?” The blonde threw over his shoulder on his way out of the door.

“No Dynamight, but thank you for asking and visiting.”

“Fine nerd. I’ll be back then.”

Now you didn’t believe that for a second when he slammed the door behind him, and you felt like he’d only asked for the sake of it - fully expecting you to say no. However, if he did decide to visit again, you wouldn’t be mad about it you concluded.

———

Unfortunately, your next set of individuals weren’t so welcomed. You’d seen them multiple times previously, each visit coming with its increase of pressure to work exclusively for them. A dealer who specialised in exporting weaponry to villains on the black market, they had both the money and power to pose either a threat or a reward. Except, your constant refusals had only fuelled their growing impatience which led them crashing down your door tonight with violence in their wake.

"C'mon (L/n), I came here personally just to hire you. We'll certainly pay you well enough~" The dealer slammed you into the wall, digits digging so deeply into your neck you barely managed a disgruntled wretch.

"I'll neve— ever work— for you assholes!"

"Too bad, the consequence for that is death y’know." You were slung across the floor, a gasp for breath futile when he aimed his pistol at your heart. "Want to reconsider yet?"

"Fuck you."

The gun safety clicked off, one of the henchman's quirks keeping you painfully immobile. If these were your final moments you were furious you hadn't completed your latest invention, maybe a little irritated you hadn't hit the code red before you were taken over by a damn quirk. You avoided pledging alliances to avoid this bullshit! You didn't work for any competitors, you weren't in the line of fire for sharing information, but now you can't even refuse work without getting caught in a crime web?! Society and talent is a sh—

Then an ear splitting bang echoed in the facility, dust clouds and debris forcing through the room like a tidal wave, leaving two intruders knocked out and the remainder covering their faces and yelling confused curses. That's when you saw sparks of light, a familiar explosion you had the privilege of seeing in person only once before.

He came back.

"That's why they call me Great Explosion Murder God!" He grinned menacingly, teeth bared like a predator with a dangerous glint in those crimson eyes. Sparks and smoke danced around him, the hero lowering both his stance and voice when he spoke what sounded like a protective threat.

"Now get away from my agency's' new engineer."

Oddly you felt butterflies in your stomach, but you'd narrowed that down to the whole situation being an absolute bombshell. You watched as Dynamight immobilised them effortlessly, the quirk being lifted allowing you to utilise your inventions - mechanised laser snipers pointed at the foreheads of your unwanted company, all programmed to fire with a snap of your fingers.

"Couldn't have done that sooner nerd?" The hero shot back to you tauntingly, but you didn’t miss how his gaze flared up at the sight of bruising on your neck when he’d scanned you for injury.

"Then you'd be out of a job, hero."

It took no longer than ten minutes for the authorities to arrive, during that time Dynamight had retrieved any information he’d wanted. As well as issuing basic first aid to you contrastingly softly in comparison to the deathly interrogation the dealer experienced.

You’d be taken to hospital for a check of course, (Bakugō personally walking you to your escort since he couldn’t drive you himself right now) but before you bid farewell you had a burning question.

"When can I start?"

"Hah?" Came his classic recall, snapping to you with a look of angry curiosity.

"You called me your engineer, I was wondering when that begins." Your voice was quieter now, but upon realising Katsuki seemed a little embarrassed with hand rubbing his neck and honest answer spilled.

"It's your choice, but I figured saying that would get others off your back when word gets around. You'd be left in peace for a while to continue your work."

"And if I want to work with you, when would you want me at the agency?

"All the time." Just as quickly as he spoke, he realised his lack of hesitance, awkwardly huffing and rephrasing all in one. "I'll send over a contract, you can move stuff into the lab if you like the terms."

"Then I look forward to working with you, boss." Gladly, you held out your hand to him, pleased smirk plastered on your features.

"Call me Katsuki." He shook your hand, victorious grin in play. "And the pleasure’s all mine."

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

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mochatsin · 4 months ago

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School Play

There’s another school play in which you act as the main lead because Simeon thought you’d be perfect for the role, there’s no need to cast anyone else (much to Asmo’s dismay). He’s seen your performances before, and you’re one of the easiest actors to work with compared to the brothers that constantly got their lines wrong during rehearsals. Simeon can get frustrated, and it seems that the brothers feel the same way, if not terrified of the angel’s sudden change in attitude as soon as he plays the director. You’re just relieved he’s not that way towards you.

Of course, who wouldn’t want to see a play written by Christopher Peugeot himself. The theme was a thrilling love story wherein the hero would have to go through a long journey to rescue the one they love, which was you. They would meet so many characters that would either support the hero or become an obstacle on his way to defeat the cruel lord that locked you up.

You’re the main love interest, and you sat on the side watching as everyone else in the room debated and fought each other on why they should have the main lead role, why they should be the hero who would rescue you. Seeing as how the atmosphere in the room is starting to have murderous intent, Simeon finally thought of a solution that would be fair to everyone. Draw lots.

That’s how you ended up with Solomon as your hero, and Barbatos acting as the main villain and the rest playing a support role. They either help Solomon with the journey or act as one of Barbatos’ minions to try to stop him from his advances. Everyone could only blame their luck, though to say that Solomon was happy about his part is an understatement. Meanwhile, Barbatos does adore the parts where he keeps you all to himself, however he does not enjoy the scene where he had to terrorize a town since Diavolo’s character, a commoner (which he loves to play), is one of the victims that the hero finds which eventually sets the tone of the play to move forward. It takes a lot for Barbatos not to run to his master’s side while he was acting out his death.

Solomon is always ready to rehearse his scenes with you, and when it’s about lines talking about you, Simeon is impressed at how quickly he can memorize them. But then again, if they’re all about how much he adores you then it’s not difficult to remember at all. Lucifer and the others hate playing supporting characters where they have to hear about how much Solomon loves you. It’s bad enough they had to play the role of helping him, but there are several minutes of dialogue with his character telling them how important you are to him and how he needs to find you quickly! It took several practice rehearsals for Mammon to say his lines without sounding so forced or annoyed at him when his role is to literally help Solomon through the journey.

Levi is quite happy with his role as the costume designer because there’s no way his envy wouldn’t flare up if he had to stand there and listen to that. That would’ve flooded the stage if he lost all control, so he decides to use headphones and blast music when it’s Solomon’s scene and only take it off once it’s you.

Satan would play the role of the narrator, and while he normally enjoys the part he got, it’s quite irritating that he has to tell the love story between you two, even if it’s merely a work of fiction. His claws threatened to tear holes into the script, but he kept himself calm and collected. They decided to put a leather cover binding to avoid that happening, and Satan actually likes how his own personal script looks like a book now.

Lucifer is questioning why Simeon would write such a piece, given how most lines are so sickening and romantic. The angel wanted to tell a tale of lovers that could overcome everything, though he omits the fact that he really did have you in mind when he was writing this. Maybe he projected a little too much of his feelings, but the play still had more elements regardless that a lot of the audience would be able to enjoy. The action, the drama, and the tension that could keep everyone at the edge of their seats.

What Simeon did not expect is for the brother’s self control to snap. Maybe he should’ve thought about that when he wrote down that kiss scene. It’s a page he kept between you and Solomon, as he knew that rehearsals would’ve been a disaster if they knew how the story would actually end. Of course he did ask for your permission, if this is something you’re comfortable with and he would rewrite the part if he needed. You don’t mind, and you understand why this was kept private.

So when the day of the play came, everything was going smoothly. At least according to Simeon’s high standards.

Solomon and Barbatos really do seem to play the perfect role. A good villain doesn't need to yell, it comes with the composure they bring in the story that sometimes people wonder if Barbatos is really acting. The fight scenes were also phenomenal whenever Solomon would use some sort of imagery magic to make it more realistic, sparkes and effects flying in the air as they fought until Barbatos eventually fled, claiming defeat but he will be back for you one day.

What the brothers thought was a successful play became something they dreaded when you and Solomon continued the scene. These were lines they’ve never heard before, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess where this was heading. Satan is furiously flipping through the script trying to see where this was coming from, but this part was hidden from the Avatars on purpose.

“Oh how I longed to hold you like this in my arms.” Solomon says as he pulls you in an embrace that lingered longer than the brothers would like while they watched from backstage.

“Did you truly miss me that much?” You say, meant to be a half tease to the hero as you returned the hug. It’s a romantic reunion that the audience has been waiting for.

“More than you could ever think.” Solomon sounds so convincing. He says his lines as if you two were truly apart for so long, that there’s disbelief in his voice like this was all a dream and he would wake up to find that his journey is not over, that you were still locked away. But he has you in his arms, and that’s all he needs to ground himself. “Each time I see the crescent moon, I’m reminded of the smile that graced your lips. It pains me whenever I turn to my side and realize that you’re weren’t with me.”

Solomon brushes the hair away from your face before cupping your cheek, looking at you so lovingly that you feel your heart skip a beat, almost forgetting that you’re acting out a scene. But to the sorcerer, he doesn’t need to act. “Tell me, will you grace me with those lips?” He asks, and that’s the cue for you to slowly lean forward to seal the deal.

“HOLD IT!”

Both if you freeze before turning back to see Mammon pointing the sword prop at Solomon. The sorcerer is confused, and perhaps a little irritated that his moment with you was ruined. It would’ve been a perfect way to end the play. “What are you doing?” Solomon asks with furrowed brows.

“That’s my line! Get ya grimy hands off em!” Mammon growled, taking a few steps forward.

“You’re not even supposed to be part of this narrative.” Solomon reminds the demon, warning him for ruining the scene.

“You claim that as so,” Satan says as he appears by his brother’s side in a puff of green flames, looking quite pissed. “How dare you rewrite the ending to your liking, and then use the Narrative as your shield. You should be ashamed of yourself, filthy thief.” the demon hissed as he threw the script he fashioned into a book across the stage. The brothers fully believed they were deceived with the script, and that Solomon had something to do with it.

The audience are now all captivated at the scene unfolding before their eyes as they watched the Narrator throw the book across. Perhaps the book told the whole scene, and that Solomon actually rewrote the ending according to his will since they assumed that script was an actual prop to keep the story going. “Was the hero actually manipulating the whole scene?” “What a crazy twist!” “Wait, so who's the real lover?” “Were they tricked to think that Solomon was the real love interest?!”. Whispers rang in the air as they were all made to believe this was still part of the play

That might be the only way for them to salvage what could’ve been a successful performance: to keep acting. Solomon reluctantly lets go of you before standing up to face the two demons. “I can’t believe you all would cause a scene, after all we’ve been through. After all they’ve been through.” Solomon says as he gestures to you, who is just as confused as the crowd.

“Ah, so you acknowledge our efforts and yet you get to keep them for yourself?” Belphie steps in on the other side of the stage, with Beel following behind him. “Kinda greedy isn’t it? Even greedier than him.” Belphie says while pointing at Mammon. That somehow got the audience to laugh.

“That’s pretty selfish too, and that’s coming from me!” Asmo finally chimes in, holding onto his tulle costume while he stomps into the stage. He wouldn’t let his brothers steal all the spotlight, and there was also no way he was going to let Solomon just kiss you like that on the stage. If it were him instead, you both would be the talk of the week! “Honestly dear, that’s quite a big low. Even for someone like you.”

Simeon is just thankful that Lucifer and Levi didn’t even chime in on this monstrous mess of a show, he has their pride and anxiety (respectively) to thank for. Despite the sudden improv show, it seems that it captured the audience’s attention… just not in the way that he hoped.

Solomon is now putting you behind him with a magic spell flaring by the palm of his hand. Nothing harmful, just something that’s more flashy than anything. The other demons are closing in on you both, trying to make up lines on why you should choose them. Of course, a fight breaks out and everyone in the audience cheered for whoever they were rooting for to win while you stayed behind and watched the chaos unfold.

It took one wrong spell after another for the boys to lay on the ground, groaning after Satan and Solomon’s stun lock spell collided into something bigger that it affected everyone in the stage except you since you stayed behind. You wondered what you could say or do to salvage this as the audience is watching intently on what happens next.

Thankfully, Lucifer finally steps on the stage, calm and collected as ever while he tries to avoid the groaning actors. He played as one of the Barbatos’ henchmen that Solomon defeated, so seeing his reappearance was definitely a shock to the crowd. You prayed that Lucifer has a plan on getting you out of this mess without ruining the play you all worked so hard for. Luckily, Simeon told him a few lines that could salvage the play and save you from the embarrassment.

He grabs your hand and kisses the back of it, a small smirk appearing on his face before he continues. “I’m here to collect you, under my master’s orders. It seems that he was right, that none of these heroes were ever deserving of your heart.” Lucifer says while he stares at his idiotic brothers with discontent, managing to stay in character just like you hoped. “Luckily, we don’t need to rely on cheap tricks and underhanded tactics.”

Solomon groans, rubbing his eyes profusely but his vision won’t focus yet due to the spell. “Don’t listen to them…” He says, desperately trying to reach out to you. Lucifer only lets out a low chuckle as he watches how pathetic the hero has become.

“Come with us, and we’ll be sure to prove them wrong.” His line is full of confidence with a slight mischief, and the crowd cheers as the lights go dark and the curtains drop, signaling the end of the play.

What should’ve ended in a happy love story became some sort of twist. People now assume the hero might’ve manipulated the scene which they find amusing if the good guy of the story was not who they pictured to be, and the villains may actually have a shot of winning your heart. It’s the talk of the school, and people are praising Simeon for writing such a crazy plot twist, which he finds a little frustrating since it’s the only part he didn’t actually plan. He’s not sure if he wants to thank the brother’s recklessness or not.

Even after Simeon explained the hidden parts that were reserved just for you and Solomon since he expected something like this could happen at the rehearsals, he never really anticipated that they would jump in the scene like that on the actual performance itself. Now he has to write another play in the future as many expressed their wish to see what happens between you and the dark lord Barbatos.

Needless to say, many of the brothers were strung upside down by their feet after the show.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #i forgot to add luke omg

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comicaurora · 7 months ago

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hi red!! i'm doing an analysis of sun wukong's (and journey to the west in general's) impact on modern culture for my world mythology final, and for some reason i'm having a hard time finding sources. is there anything you can recommend?

The fact that Journey to the West has contributed an enormous number of tropes to modern media is very clear when the media in question is examined, but I don't know of a specific secondary source that's already done that analysis for you. However, this IS a very good excuse for you to plow through a metric buttload of shonen manga, since the lineage is basically Sun Wukong -> Son Goku -> like a solid third of all shonen action heroes written in the last forty years.

Dragon Ball kicks things off:

Started in 1984 and almost unquestionably the most influential manga ever made. Its first arc features the weird super-strong monkey-kid Son Goku - which is just the japanese pronunciation of the characters of Sun Wukong's name - meeting up with a wacky crew of thinly-veiled expys of the Journey to the West crew, with teen inventor Bulma filling the role of Tripitaka, Oolong the pig-man filling Zhu Bajie's role and Yamcha the desert-based bandit as Sha Wujing.

Hijinks ensue, and while the story drifts pretty far from Journey to the West's original plot, it actually stays pretty solidly referential in weirdly unexpected ways. Several the villains of the week are JttW references, and even the later appearance of three more Saiyans lines up with the surprise reveal of three more Wukong-like mystical apes in the original story.

The connection between Dragon Ball and JttW is very unsubtle and a frequent reference in the chapter covers and supplemental art.

Not every subsequent JttW reference is the result of Dragon Ball popularizing it or anything, since it was already enormously popular, but I think it's pretty hard to extricate Dragon Ball's influence on anime and manga from the original influence of Journey to the West itself.

One way that a distinction can be drawn is in the differences in characterization between Goku and Sun Wukong himself. A lot of the next generation of shonen protagonists were kind of Goku-alikes - pure-hearted dumbasses who only care for the three Fs: Food, Fighting and Friendship.

But the original characterization of Sun Wukong is not really all that similar. He's a trickster, sure, but he's far from a young, friendship-motivated goober. He's profoundly intelligent, pretty much the most well-educated entity on the planet, and routinely brings up that he's centuries older than most of his peers. The Goku-alikes from the later decades of shonen anime are tellingly far-removed from that original characterization. So you get characters based on Goku's cheerful idiocy, but it's just a small subset of the broader influence of Journey to the West on the space of literature.

In general, Journey to the West frequently shows up in very small, bite-sized tropes in other stories. It's less "this is wholly based on Journey to the West" and more "oh, I know where they maybe got this idea/aesthetic/power/weapon/villain of the week from." There are way too many to list, but some of the ones that tend to jump out at me are-

Sneaky characters with monkey motifs:

Tricksy, highly mobile characters who fight with a staff:

Characters afflicted with a magical restraint artifact that allows a much weaker character to stop them from misbehaving:

Specific esoteric weapons, eg. magical fans, rakes, gourds, namedropping The Sword of Seven Stars, etc.

Villains with prominent ox or pig design motifs:

Characters whose primary combat strat is just making Shitloads Of Disposable Copies Of Themselves:

Honestly it just keeps going like this. It's kinda everywhere. Finding the JttW in things is my favorite conspiracy theory rabbit hole because it's 100% harmless and more often than not completely correct.

#asks #not aurora #media recs

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literaryvein-reblogs · 28 days ago

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Writing Notes: Master Plot Formula

A summary of the Master Plot Formula by Lester Dent

It is a guide to writing a 6000-word pulp story divided into four 1500-word parts:

FIRST PART

Begin with a... (write as many as possible)

Different murder method for villain to use

Different thing for villain to be seeking

Different locale

Menace which is to hang like a cloud over hero

Introduce hero.

Put hero in trouble.

Hint at a mystery, menace or problem.

Hero tries cope.

Introduce ALL the other characters ASAP.

Hero in physical conflict near end.

Plot twist near end.

SECOND PART

Hero in more trouble.

Hero struggles, which leads to…

Another physical conflict.

A surprising plot twist near the end.

THIRD PART

Hero in more trouble.

Hero makes some headway.

Hero corners villain in…

Physical conflict.

A surprising plot twist which ends badly for the hero.

FOURTH PART

Hero almost buried in trouble.

Hero extricates themselves using their own skill, training or brawn.

Remaining mysteries resolved as…

Hero takes control of final conflict.

Final big plot twist.

The punch line.

After each part check:

Increasing suspense?

Growing menace?

Logical progression?

Purposeful action?

Varied action?

Continuous action?

Show don’t tell?

Character tags?

Convincing triumph?

Satisfying for readers?

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Plot ⚜ Character ⚜ Worldbuilding

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solelifauna · 2 months ago

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Yandere EraserMic x Reader (Commission for @ayn-yurbestie)

Thank You so much @ayn-yurbestie for supporting my page! I hope you enjoy the fic!!

You had always prided yourself on your instincts. As a former pro hero, instincts were what kept you alive during missions, during late-night patrols in the dark streets, and in confrontations with villains. It was the same instinct that had once guided you to victory, the same instinct that told you when to strike and when to retreat. It was also that very instinct that was now screaming in your head—telling you that something was horribly, terribly wrong.

You were no longer a hero; that life had been ripped from you the day All for One had taken your quirk. All for One was gone now, defeated by All Might, but the damage he had done to you was irreversible. Powerless, you were forced into early retirement.

Sure your power wasn’t flashy or explosive like some of the top pro heroes, but it was something. You had telekinesis, the ability to move objects with your mind. It wasn’t the strongest quirk out there, and you knew that. You couldn’t lift entire buildings or hurl debris the way some of your peers could with their brute strength. But your quirk had its uses, its purpose. In the field, you were invaluable in the smaller, more delicate moments, where precision and care were needed more than raw power.

You were never the front-line fighter, but you had saved people—so many people—because of that careful control you honed over the years. Whether it was pulling civilians out from under rubble with a gentle thought or stopping a speeding car just before it could crash, your telekinesis gave you purpose. It was how you helped, how you made a difference. And in a world where quirks often defined your worth, it was enough. Even though you sometimes envied the heroes with flashier abilities, you were content. You were proud of what you could do.

But when All for One took your quirk, it felt like a piece of your soul was ripped away.

The day you found out your powers were gone for good was like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from. It was surreal at first. You remembered trying to move a small object, something as simple as a cup, just to see if the connection was still there. But it wasn’t. You tried again, harder, focusing with every ounce of strength you had, but nothing happened. The cup sat on the table, unmoving. And that’s when it hit you—the horrifying realization that you would never feel that connection again. The subtle hum of your quirk, the pulse of energy that had always been there, was gone. Just–gone.

Losing your quirk felt like losing your identity. Without it, who were you? The world didn’t need a quirkless hero. You no longer had the power to save people, to help. The purpose you had lived for, the very thing that gave your life meaning, was stripped away from you in an instant. It wasn’t just the loss of your powers—it was the loss of yourself. You weren’t important anymore. You were just another powerless person in a world filled with those who could still make a difference.

The depression that followed was like a suffocating blanket, and for a long time, you weren’t sure how to keep going. You’d always known there was more to life than your quirk, but it had been your purpose. Without it, the world became dull, every day a reminder of what you could no longer do. You stopped seeing friends, stopped going out, even stopped answering your phone most days.

And that’s when Hizashi and Aizawa stepped in.

They were your lifeline. They stayed by your side when the world felt like it was crumbling. Hizashi, with his boundless optimism, never let you sink too deep into despair. He would show up at your door with takeout or coffee and insist on dragging you out of the apartment, forcing you to see the sunlight, to breathe fresh air. Aizawa, on the other hand, was quieter in his support. He never pushed, never prodded, but he was always there. Sitting with you in silence when words wouldn’t come, offering a comforting presence that made you feel less alone.

You had leaned on them more than you realized at the time. They were the ones who kept you grounded, who helped you feel like maybe, just maybe, you still had some value. They didn’t treat you like a failure, didn’t see you as “just quirkless.” They treated you like you. And for a while, it helped. It gave you the strength to start rebuilding your life, even if it was a life without hero work.

You had always been grateful to them for that—for helping you when you felt like you were drowning.

You never imagined that same support would turn into something more sinister.

After that, life had become quieter, less exciting, but you'd managed. You tried your best to adapt, to live a "normal" life—though nothing about being quirkless in a society full of heroes was truly normal. But lately... something had changed.

It started small—little things you tried to dismiss. Hizashi insisting on accompanying you everywhere, even to mundane tasks like grocery shopping; Aizawa constantly checking in on you, dropping by unannounced, or sending texts at odd hours to make sure you were "safe." At first, you thought it was just their way of looking out for you. After all, you were quirkless now, they were probably worried that you were more vulnerable. So, you just called it off as the two being worry-warts.

But as time passed, slowly, their behavior became more suffocating. Hizashi would show up at your apartment early in the morning, coffee in hand, saying he wanted to "spend time" with you, his energy far too high for the early hours; Aizawa would come in the evening, staying late into the night, lounging on your couch like he lived there. They would ask questions—innocuous at first, but they slowly grew more invasive.

“Where were you going?”

“Who were you with?”

“What time would you be back?”

Something about the way they looked at you had shifted too. Hizashi’s usual bright smile now seemed strained, the glint in his eyes unsettling. Aizawa’s gaze, once indifferent, had become sharp, always watching, always observing. You started feeling like prey under their gaze, and the worst part was, they acted like nothing had changed, like this was perfectly normal behavior.

You tried to distance yourself. You told them you needed time alone, space to process your new life. You even started lying about your whereabouts, saying you were out of town, too busy to meet. But it didn’t work. They were always there, lurking, like shadows you couldn’t escape.

It all came to a head one cold autumn evening.

You had decided to confront them. Maybe if you explained your concerns, they would back off. Maybe it was all in your head, and you were just being paranoid. After all, they were your friends. Right?

You invited them over to your apartment, hoping to clear the air. The moment they arrived, you felt the tension crackling in the air. Hizashi’s usual cheerfulness was there, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Aizawa was as stoic as ever, but his gaze was piercing, as though he could see right through you.

“So, what’s up, baby?” Hizashi asked, plopping down on your couch with a wide grin, using that affectionate nickname that you once found endearing but now grated on your nerves.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “We need to talk.”

Aizawa leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his dark eyes fixed on you. “About what?”

You hesitated, unsure of how to put your feelings into words without sounding accusatory. But you couldn’t back down now. “I just–I feel like things have been different between us. I need space. I need to figure things out on my own, without you both hovering over me all the time.”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Hizashi’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Hovering?” he repeated, his voice deceptively light.

Aizawa remained silent, his expression unreadable, but the air around him seemed to grow heavier.

“Yes,” you said, trying to stay firm. “I appreciate that you care about me, but I’m not a child. I’m not helpless. I need to be able to live my life without feeling like I’m constantly being watched.”

Hizashi’s grin twisted into something darker, something almost predatory. “We’re just looking out for you, songbird. You know the world’s dangerous, especially for someone without a quirk.”

“And who knows what kind of people are out there,” Aizawa added, his voice low, almost a growl. “We’re the only ones who can keep you safe.”

You took a step back, your instincts flaring to life. Danger. The way they were looking at you now—possessive, controlling—set off alarms in your mind. This wasn’t the reaction of concerned friends. This was something else entirely.

“I don’t need your protection,” you said, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts to stay calm. “I can take care of myself.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. “No, you can’t.”

Before you could react, Hizashi was on his feet, moving faster than you anticipated. He grabbed your wrist, his grip tight and unyielding. “We’re not letting you go, baby! Not now. Not ever.”

Panic surged through you, adrenaline flooding your system.

“Hizashi, let go,” you said, your voice tight with alarm. You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, fingers digging into your skin with surprising strength. Your heart began to race as you looked over at Aizawa, who was standing silently near the door, watching the scene unfold with that same calm, emotionless expression.

Panic surged through you, adrenaline flooding your system. You yanked your arm back, managing to break free from Hizashi’s grasp immediately backing up towards the door, heart pounding in your chest. This isn’t happening.

“Relax, baby,” Hizashi murmured, his voice unnervingly soft, “we’re not going to hurt you. We just–we need you to come with us.”

His words sent a bolt of fear through you. This wasn’t a misunderstanding. This was planned.

Your pulse spiked, adrenaline surging through your veins as the realization fully sank in. You jerked your arms free from Hizashi’s grasp, stepping back with wide eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?” you spat, your voice rising. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

Aizawa pushed off the wall, his expression cold, calculating. “That’s not going to happen, (Y/n). You’re coming with us, one way or another.”

Panic flooded your body, and you took another step back, your mind racing. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. They were your friends. You tried to reach for something, anything, to defend yourself, but before you could act, Hizashi lunged, grabbing you again—harder this time.

“Let go of me!” you screamed, twisting violently in his grip, but he was stronger than you. He always had been. Quirkless or not, you still knew how to fight. You swung an elbow back, connecting with Hizashi’s side, and he grunted in pain. The moment his grip loosened, you bolted. Instinct took over again, and you lunged toward the nearest object—a lamp on the side table. You swung it at Aizawa, who ducked just in time, but the distraction gave you enough time to bolt toward the door.

But Aizawa was faster.

Before you could even reach the handle, something whipped around your ankles, pulling you off balance. His capture weapon. You crashed to the ground with a sharp cry, your knees slamming into the floor. Pain shot up your legs, but you didn’t stop. You twisted onto your back, kicking wildly as Aizawa’s scarf tightened around you, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes were hard now, his calm demeanor replaced with a cold determination.

“Stubborn as always,” Aizawa muttered, pulling you back toward him with a slow, deliberate motion.

You struggled, kicking and clawing, trying to break free, but his scarf tightened around you, binding your arms to your sides. Hizashi was suddenly there, grabbing your legs and pinning them down.

“Fuck you!” you shouted, clawing at the scarf, trying desperately to loosen its grip. “Let me go!”

Aizawa’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t place—regret, maybe? It didn’t matter. His capture weapon tightened, and you could feel it constricting around your wrists, pinning your arms to your sides. “You’ll hurt yourself if you keep fighting.”

The anger bubbling inside you reached a boiling point. You thrashed in his hold, kicking and writhing as the fear and betrayal turned into a raw, primal rage.

Hizashi’s grin was gone, replaced with a look of dark satisfaction. “Come on now, baby. No need to fight us. You’re ours.”

“Please,” you gasped, your voice breaking. “Don’t do this.”

Aizawa crouched down beside you, his hand gently brushing your hair out of your face. “We’re doing this because we love you, (Y/n). You’ll understand soon enough.”

Before you could protest further, you felt a sharp prick in your arm. A needle. And just like that the world around you started to blur, your limbs growing heavy as whatever drug concoction coursed through your veins.

“No...” you whispered, your vision darkening. “No...”

The last thing you saw was Aizawa’s cold, calculating gaze and Hizashi’s too-bright smile before the world went black.

When your consciousness fully returned, you tried to focus, but the haze from the drugs still clung to you like fog. Your limbs felt sluggish, and your thoughts were scattered. As the seconds ticked by, awareness seeped back in, and with it, came the terror. You tugged at the restraints binding your wrists, but they didn’t give. The soft material was deceptively gentle, but they held you firmly in place. A glance around the room made the walls seem closer, the dim lighting barely enough to see. Panic set in as you realized the full extent of your situation. You were trapped. Kidnapped by the very people you had once trusted.

The memories rushed back—the confrontation with Hizashi and Aizawa, the struggle, the needle. They had taken you. Your stomach churned as the reality of it hit you with full force. These were the people you had once called your friends, comrades. You had trusted them, fought alongside them. Now they had taken everything from you, just like All for One had taken your powers.

That thought, the loss of your quirk, stabbed at you with an old ache. Your powers were gone, leaving you defenseless. You were no longer a hero; you were no one. Just a quirkless, vulnerable shell of who you used to be. Even worse, you had no family to notice your absence. You had distanced yourself from most of your friends after your forced retirement, trying to rebuild your life in isolation.

You were completely alone.

Nobody would come looking for you.

And who would even suspect them? Two beloved pro heroes, trusted by the public, adored by their students, respected by their peers. No one would ever believe that Present Mic and Eraserhead had kidnapped someone. That thought alone sending a chill down your spine.

Your breathing grew uneven as the weight of your situation pressed down on you. How had it come to this? You had always known something was off with their behavior, but you hadn’t imagined this. This betrayal felt like a physical blow, a deep wound that no amount of healing could fix.

And then it boiled over. The anger surged through you like a wildfire, burning away the fog in your mind. You yanked at the restraints, your muscles straining as you twisted in bed, trying to free yourself, but it was futile.

“Why?!” you screamed, your voice hoarse, desperation lacing every word. “Why are you doing this?! What is wrong with you?”

The door to the room creaked open, and they stepped inside as if on cue, as though they had been waiting just beyond the door. Aizawa was as calm and collected as always, his dark eyes expressionless, while Hizashi wore a soft, almost sympathetic smile that made you want to scream even more.

“You’re awake,” Aizawa observed quietly, his voice low and measured. “Good.”

You ignored him, focusing instead on the knot of betrayal and confusion that twisted in your chest.

“Why are you doing this?” you repeated, your voice breaking now. “I trusted you! You were my friends!”

Hizashi stepped closer, hands raised in what he must have thought was a calming gesture. “We’re your friends, baby. We love you.”

“This isn't love!” you shouted, fury and fear colliding in your chest. “You kidnapped me! You drugged me! This is—this is insane!”

Your heart raced, the walls of the room closing in on you as the magnitude of what was happening sank deeper into your bones. Every breath felt tighter, like there wasn’t enough air, like the room was shrinking. You tugged at the restraints again, your body fighting against the impossible, but all it did was make your head spin.

Panic clawed at you, rising quickly, uncontrollably. It was a feeling you hadn’t had in a long time, not since–

Not since them.

The memories you had tried so hard to bury came rushing back. The League of Villains. All for One. The dark, cold rooms where you had been held captive for weeks, powerless and helpless. The suffocating sensation of being watched, manipulated, tortured, and toyed with. The feeling of having no escape.

It was happening all over again.

Your breath hitched in your throat as the panic attack overwhelmed you, your chest tightening until you couldn’t breathe. You could hear Hizashi’s voice, soothing, but distant, as though he was speaking from the other side of a wall.

“Hey, hey, easy now, baby. Breathe for me, okay? It’s going to be alright.”

His voice blurred with the rush of your pulse in your ears. You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. All you could feel was the crushing weight of being trapped, of losing everything again. Your hands shook uncontrollably as you tried to pull in a breath that wouldn’t come. The room tilted, spinning, suffocating.

Aizawa moved closer, his presence steady, grounding. He reached out, his hand brushing gently against your cheek. “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice calm, firm. “Breathe. You’re safe.”

Safe. The word felt like a mockery. Nothing about this was safe. You had been here before, in a different room, with different captors. But the feeling was the same—powerless. Trapped. Alone.

Tears streamed down your face, your body trembling with the force of the panic attack. You couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop the overwhelming tide of terror that drowned you. Your chest heaved, gasping for air that wouldn’t fill your lungs.

“Shh,” Hizashi whispered softly, kneeling beside you. “It’s okay, baby. We’re here. We’re not going to hurt you.”

Aizawa’s hand stayed on your cheek, grounding you, his gaze steady, but there was something in his eyes—a softness, a gentleness that contradicted everything they had done to you. It confused you. You had been prepared for cruelty, for punishment, for violence. But this?

“You’re not in danger,” Aizawa murmured, his voice still that same low, hypnotic tone. “No one’s going to hurt you. Breathe with me.”

You tried, gasping, struggling to follow his lead. Inhale. Exhale. Slowly–slowly, the world stopped spinning. The tightness in your chest eased just a fraction, but the tears kept coming, falling in silent streams down your face.

You were too exhausted to fight anymore, the adrenaline pumping in your body was beginning to crash, and your body too wracked with panic and fear to keep resisting. For a moment, a brief, fleeting moment, you let yourself believe them. You let yourself believe that you were safe, that they would protect you, that this was some twisted version of love.

Hizashi’s hand gently wiped the tears from your cheeks, his touch soft, tender. “That’s it. We’ve got you.”

You nodded weakly, your mind foggy, the weight of exhaustion settling deep into your bones. For a moment, you forgot that you were their prisoner, forgot that they had drugged you and taken you against your will. You forgot the gravity of your situation and simply let yourself be comforted.

But it didn’t last.

Reality crashed down on you again like a tidal wave, and the illusion shattered. You weren’t safe. You weren’t loved. You were trapped. You were their prisoner, bound to this bed, helpless, powerless.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice raw, broken. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Aizawa’s expression didn’t change. He regarded you with that same calm, detached gaze, as though the answer was simple. “Because we care about you.”

Hizashi nodded, his usual cheer replaced by a more serious tone. “The world’s dangerous, baby. You’re not a hero anymore. You’re vulnerable. We just want to protect you.”

“You’re lying,” you spat, your voice rising again with fresh anger. “You’re not doing this for me. You’re doing this for yourselves!”

Aizawa’s grip on your face tightened, just slightly. “It’s not that we don’t trust you,” he said, his voice low and measured. “It’s the world we don’t trust. You’re not safe out there. Not without your quirk. And we can’t risk losing you.”

Hizashi leaned in closer, his hand brushing your hair away from your face. “You don’t know how many people would love to hurt you, baby. We do. We see it every day. We’re just keeping you safe.”

The absurdity of their reasoning made your head spin. They spoke as if they were doing you a favor, as if they had taken you to protect you from some nebulous, unseen danger. But the real danger was right in front of you. It was them.

“I don’t need your protection,” you said, your voice trembling with barely restrained fury. “I don’t need you. I was fine on my own. You’re the ones hurting me.”

They exchanged a look, one that made your stomach drop. There was something unspoken between them, something dark and possessive that you couldn’t quite place.

“You’ll see, (Y/n),” Aizawa said, his voice calm, but there was an edge to it now. “In time, you’ll understand.”

Hizashi nodded, his smile returning, but it was softer now, more intimate. “We love you, baby. And we’re never going to let you go.”

You felt the bile rise in your throat. They weren’t going to let you go. You were their prisoner now, and nothing you said or did would change that.

—

Days bled into weeks, and the routine you found yourself in was both mind-numbing and soul-crushing. Every morning, you woke up to the soft clink of the shackles around your wrists and ankles, limiting your movements. The room they kept you in had become your prison, a far cry from the freedom you once enjoyed as a hero. The windows were bolted shut, their frames reinforced with unbreakable metal. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how desperately you searched for something—anything—you could use to break the glass, nothing worked. You were trapped, left to your own devices in this small, confining space while they continued their lives outside.

The chains only allowed you to move a few feet from the bed—enough to pace the room, to stretch your legs, but never enough to reach the door. Your muscles ached from the confinement, and your mind began to fray from the constant isolation. The soft clinking of the chains became a haunting lullaby, a cruel reminder of your captivity.

They were still pro heroes, after all. They had to leave for work, had to uphold their public images, and pretend to be the righteous, selfless men everyone believed them to be. During those long stretches of time when Aizawa and Hizashi were away, you were left alone in the suffocating silence, your thoughts spiraling as the reality of your situation weighed down on you like a crushing force.

You had no quirk. No allies. No one to help you.

Meanwhile, outside the walls of your prison, people were beginning to notice your absence. It had been too long since you last made contact with any of your old colleagues, and even though you had distanced yourself after your forced retirement, a few people still cared enough to be concerned. All Might had always kept an eye on you, even after you left the hero business. And Midoriya, who had once looked up to you as a mentor, had begun to voice his worries.

“Has anyone seen her recently?” Midoriya asked one day, his eyes full of concern as he spoke to All Might. “She hasn’t responded to any of my messages in weeks.”

All Might frowned, his brows furrowing in thought. “No… now that you mention it, I haven’t heard from her either. It’s not like her to disappear like this.”

They weren’t the only ones who noticed. Rumors had begun to spread among your former colleagues, whispers that something was wrong. Even the students at U.A. began to ask questions. It was only a matter of time before someone started digging deeper.

Aizawa and Hizashi, of course, played their roles perfectly. They acted concerned, pretending to be as worried as everyone else. When people asked if they had seen you, they would exchange concerned glances, shake their heads, and say things like, “She’s been through a lot. Maybe she just needed some space.”

But behind the facade, they were always watching, always planning. The more worried your former colleagues became, the tighter your captors’ grip grew. They couldn’t risk anyone finding out what they had done.

Your days were a cycle of monotony, designed to break you down piece by piece. Every morning, Aizawa would come into your room and release the chains just long enough for you to stretch and shower. He never left your side during those moments, his eyes always on you, making sure you didn’t try anything. Hizashi would prepare breakfast, cheerful as always, as if this were all perfectly normal.

Afterward, they’d leave for work, securing you in the room with a soft kiss to your forehead as if they were tucking in a beloved pet before heading out for the day. You hated how a part of you craved those small gestures, the human connection that you were so starved for. It was shameful, disgusting, but in your darkest moments of isolation, you clung to it.

When they returned, it was time for what they mockingly called “dates.” They acted like nothing had changed, like this was just the old days when the three of you would hang out, laugh, and enjoy each other’s company. But now, the dynamic had shifted, warped beyond recognition. You weren’t a friend or an equal anymore. You were their captive.

They would sit you down on the couch, unlock the chains, and put on a movie, as if you were simply unwinding after a long day. But the suffocating reality was always there, lurking just beneath the surface. You couldn’t enjoy the moments like you used to. Every second felt like a mockery of your previous life, like they were taunting you with what you had lost.

Believe it or not, here had been a time, not so long ago, when your relationship with Hizashi and Aizawa was far different from this twisted, suffocating nightmare. Back when you were still a hero, before your quirk was stolen and your life unraveled, they had been a source of comfort and light during some of your darkest days. It was hard not to feel drawn to them. They were both so different, yet their presence in your life had filled a void you hadn’t even realized existed.

Hizashi, with his infectious energy and boundless enthusiasm, always had a way of making you smile, even when everything around you seemed bleak. His bright eyes and easy laughter made you feel like maybe—just maybe—there was still something good left in the world. Aizawa, on the other hand, was quieter, steadier. His calm, rational demeanor always grounded you when the chaos of hero life threatened to overwhelm you. And though his face rarely showed emotion, there was a kindness in his gaze, a subtle protectiveness that made you feel safe.

It wasn’t long before those feelings of safety and comfort started to morph into something deeper, something you hadn’t anticipated. You found yourself looking forward to the moments when you could be around them, even if it was just sharing a cup of coffee or talking about missions. There was a time when you imagined what it would be like to be something more with them—what it would be like to let yourself fall in love with them.

But you never said anything. How could you? At the time, there was an all-out war brewing with the League of Villains and All for One. Every moment was tense, every mission a risk. There simply wasn’t room for anything as fragile as romantic feelings, not when the world could come crashing down around you at any moment.

Besides, you had always thought that Aizawa and Hizashi were more interested in each other. You saw the way they interacted—the unspoken understanding, the way they moved like two parts of the same whole. They had a bond that went far beyond what you shared with either of them, and you didn’t want to complicate things. So you buried your feelings, locking them away in the deepest corners of your heart. The feelings lingered, simmering beneath the surface, but you convinced yourself that it was enough just to be their friend. It had to be enough.

Over time, you learned to live with those unspoken emotions, content with the friendship you had built with them. You never expected things to turn out like this. You never imagined that the same men who once brought warmth and light into your life would twist that affection into something possessive, something terrifying. The betrayal stung even more because of those old, lingering feelings, and now you were trapped in this nightmare, bound by the very people you once thought you could trust.

And as you lay there, shackled and helpless, a small part of you couldn't help but wonder how everything had gone so horribly, horribly wrong.

It was almost laughable—almost—when you thought about it. If they had just asked you out, if Hizashi or Aizawa had come to you one day and expressed their feelings like normal people, you probably would’ve said yes. You’d spent enough time with them, trusted them enough that, had things been different, a romantic relationship could’ve blossomed naturally. You even caught yourself daydreaming about it once or twice—a casual date, coffee in the city, a lazy afternoon curled up on the couch together after a long mission.

But that was the thing about your life: nothing good ever happened the way it was supposed to.

Instead of a sweet, tentative romance, they had chosen to twist their affection into something dark, something that suffocated rather than nurtured. They didn’t ask for your consent, your interest, or your desire, they didn’t give you the choice. They had taken that from you, just like All for One had taken your powers. That was what stung the most—the loss of your autonomy, the fact that they didn’t believe you could love them without being forced into it.

It was ironic, really. The same men who had once brought comfort to your life had stripped away the last semblance of control you had left. And now, bound by chains—literally and figuratively—you couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at the thought.

A normal life? A healthy relationship? Maybe in another world, in another life. But not this one.

In this one, you were always destined to have everything go wrong, to have the things you cared about twisted into something ugly. Whether it was your powers, your career, or even your heart, you were cursed to lose it all in the most painful way possible. And now, here you were, shackled in a room by the very people who could have been your salvation if only they had given you a choice.

Now, you just had to bare this taunt–taunt of domesticity and of what could have been.

Sometimes, Hizashi would cook dinner, setting up a romantic atmosphere in the dining room, as though you were on a real date. Aizawa would pour wine, speaking softly about his day, his eyes never leaving yours. They acted as though this was love, as though this was how things were meant to be.

And slowly, painfully, you began to understand. You began to realize that the only way to survive, to have any hope of escape, was to play along.

So you did.

You forced yourself to smile during their twisted “dates.” You laughed at Hizashi’s jokes, even when your stomach churned with revulsion. You leaned into Aizawa’s touch, allowing him to pet your hair, to hold you like you were his most prized possession. It was excruciating, but it worked.

Over time, they started to trust you more. The chains became looser, the supervision less strict. They allowed you more freedom within the house, slowly granting you access to areas beyond the small prison of your room.

And one day, they made their first mistake.

The window was cracked just slightly, a minuscule error in Aizawa’s otherwise meticulous preparation. It was late, and the two of them had returned home exhausted from their day as heroes. Hizashi had fallen asleep on the couch, and Aizawa, for once, had let his guard down, leaving you alone for just a little too long.

It was all you needed.

With trembling hands, you wedged a piece of furniture under the window and managed to pry it open just enough to slip your body through. The adrenaline pumping through your veins pushed you forward, giving you strength you hadn’t felt in months.

The night air hit your skin like a shock to the system, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you were free.

You ran.

Your bare feet pounded against the pavement as you sprinted down the dark, empty streets, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You didn’t know where you were going—just away. Away from the nightmare that had consumed your life, away from the men who had taken everything from you.

But you didn’t make it far.

A dark figure appeared in your path, blocking your escape. Aizawa. His capture weapon lashed out with deadly precision, wrapping around one of your ankles and yanking you off your feet. You hit the ground hard,stars blurring your vision.

Before you could even attempt to get up, Aizawa was on you, his hand pressing down on the back of your neck, pinning you to the cold ground.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured, his voice frighteningly calm.

You struggled, thrashing beneath him, but he didn’t budge. His grip was ironclad, his body heavy against yours. “Let me go!” you screamed, tears streaming down your face. “Let me go!”

“You know we can’t do that,” he said, tightening his hold. “We gave you freedom, and you tried to run. You betrayed our trust, (Y/n).”

Before you could respond, you heard footsteps approaching, and then Hizashi was there, his face pale with shock and fury. His usual cheerfulness was gone, replaced by an expression of raw, hurt and anger.

“Why, baby?” Hizashi asked, his voice trembling with emotion. “We trusted you. We thought you were starting to understand.”

Your chest heaved with sobs as you lay pinned to the ground, Aizawa’s hand still pressing down on you. “I… I’m sorry,” you choked out, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I just–I can’t do this. I can’t stay.”

Aizawa’s grip on you loosened slightly, but he didn’t let you up. “You don’t have a choice anymore.”

Hizashi crouched beside you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We gave you everything. We’ve taken care of you, kept you safe. And this is how you repay us?”

You closed your eyes, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. “I never wanted this. I just wanted my life back.”

Aizawa’s grip tightened again, and his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Your old life is over. You belong to us now. There is no going back.”

They dragged you back to the house, back to the prison they had made for you. The fleeting taste of freedom you had experienced was gone, and in its place was the cold, hard reality that they weren’t going to let you go. Not now. Not ever.

As they secured the chains around your wrists once more, you felt the weight of their anger and disappointment settle over you like a shroud. This time, there would be no more illusions of trust, no more moments of freedom. They had made that mistake once, and they wouldn’t make it again.

Hizashi helped you to your feet, but the restraints remained in place, a constant reminder of their control over you. The night air felt colder now, your escape attempt now a fading dream as you were led back toward the house, their grip on you firmer than ever before.

After the night of your failed escape, everything changed. When they brought you back to the house, it was as if the last thread of trust they had given you had snapped. Whatever illusion of freedom they had let you believe in was gone, and in its place was a harsher, more suffocating control.

The chains no longer came off. Not even for the brief moments when you had been allowed to stretch or walk around the room. Now, they kept you bound at all times, the cuffs around your wrists and ankles rubbing raw against your skin. The shackles were short, giving you just enough movement to sit or lie down, but not much more. The freedom to roam the house, to take cautious steps beyond your bedroom, was gone; in its place was a constant reminder of your failure: the cold, unforgiving weight of the chains that kept you in place.

Aizawa and Hizashi no longer trusted you with the smallest liberties. No more solo showers, no more time alone without supervision; every aspect of your life was now micromanaged, controlled by them. When Aizawa brought you food, he would sit nearby, silently watching you eat, making sure you didn’t attempt anything. Hizashi had stopped his usual playful banter, and now his cheerful facade was replaced with something darker—a quiet disappointment that lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive.

As a punishment, they kept you isolated for longer stretches of time. They would leave for work early in the morning, locking the door behind them with the chains still in place, and the hours stretched into agonizingly slow days. You had once been left alone for shorter periods, with moments of relative freedom, but now they kept you confined to this room for nearly the entire day, the windows remaining bolted shut, and the darkness outside became a reflection of the suffocating isolation that filled every corner of your mind.

At first, you tried to resist, clinging to your anger and resentment. You reminded yourself of what they had done, what they had taken from you. They had betrayed your trust, warped their love into something controlling and manipulative. But as the days passed, the isolation began to wear you down. There was no escape, no reprieve from the constant silence, the never-ending loneliness.

Without them, there was nothing. No sound, no presence, no life. You spent hours staring at the walls, your mind circling endlessly around the same dark thoughts. You tried to distract yourself, tried to hold onto whatever fragments of sanity you had left, but it was impossible. The isolation gnawed at you, piece by piece, until all that was left was a hollow ache that you couldn’t ignore.

And then, something worse started to happen.

You began to miss them.

It wasn’t like before, when their presence had been a reminder of your prison. Now, after days spent in silence, you found yourself waiting for the sound of the door unlocking, for the moment when one of them would return. You hated yourself for it, but you couldn’t deny the twisted relief that washed over you when Aizawa stepped through the door after his patrol, or when Hizashi’s bright voice called out a greeting from the hallway.

It wasn’t that you forgot what they had done. You didn’t. You could never forget. But the need for human interaction, for any kind of connection, had become overwhelming. Your mind, starved of contact, began to cling to the smallest scraps of attention they gave you. You were so, so utterly alone, that even their possessive touches and controlling words felt like something you could hold onto. Anything was better than the crushing loneliness of your room.

You tried to fight it. You tried to remind yourself that they weren’t your saviors—they were the ones who had taken everything from you. But it became harder and harder to maintain that anger when you were trapped in that room for days on end with nothing but your own thoughts to keep you company.

But the loneliness warped your emotions, twisting them into something unrecognizable. You found yourself anticipating their return, eager for those moments when they would sit with you, talk to you, touch you. Even if their affection was twisted and wrong, it was still something. And in your isolation, even that “something” became precious.

You hated how your body responded when Aizawa gently stroked your hair, the way your heart skipped when Hizashi smiled at you, even if his smiles no longer carried the same warmth they once did. It was disgusting, shameful, but you couldn’t help it. You were human, and humans weren’t meant to be alone. Not like this.

It became your routine: waiting. Waiting for the sound of footsteps outside the door, waiting for the moment when they would come back and break the silence that was slowly driving you mad. You didn’t want to feel this way—you wanted to resist, to fight back—but how could you fight against something as basic as the need for human connection?

When they finally came back from work, you found yourself relaxing in a way that scared you. The familiar weight of their presence in the room brought a twisted comfort, even if it was accompanied by chains and control. They would sit with you, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking as if nothing had changed. Hizashi would brush his fingers through your hair, and Aizawa would sit beside you, his quiet presence grounding you in ways you hated to admit.

There were no more "dates," not after your escape attempt. Instead, they kept you tethered to your room, the shackles around your ankles and wrists reminding you of your place. But they still tried to give you affection, as if they believed they could make you love them again.

And in your darkest moments, you wondered if they already had.

You hated how you looked forward to the simple touch of Hizashi's hand on your shoulder, or the rare moments when Aizawa would sit close enough for you to feel his warmth. It was twisted, and you knew it. They had stolen your freedom, taken your life, and yet, your body craved the attention. It was sickening.

You had nothing else. No friends, no family, no life outside these four walls. Aizawa and Hizashi had become your entire world, and no matter how much you wanted to resist, you couldn’t deny that part of you—some deep, desperate part of you—needed them now.

It was a slow, agonizing process, but as the days turned into weeks, you began to accept your new reality. The loneliness was unbearable, and the only relief came from them. You found yourself smiling at Hizashi’s jokes, leaning into Aizawa’s quiet presence, not because you forgave them, but because it was the only way to survive.

You told yourself it was a strategy, a way to make them trust you again. You needed to play along, to make them believe you were starting to accept this life, so they would loosen the chains, and give you more freedom again (yeah, like they'd fall for that trick again). And maybe, one day, you would find another opportunity to escape.

But deep down, you weren’t sure if that was the truth anymore.

Sometimes, in the quiet moments when you were alone, you wondered if you were starting to lose yourself. If the isolation and control had finally broken something inside of you. You despised the chains, but the thought of being left completely alone again terrified you.

So you played along. You smiled when they came home, you laughed at Hizashi’s jokes, and you leaned into Aizawa’s comforting presence.

You were losing yourself, piece by piece, but you couldn’t stop. It was the only way to survive.

And the worst part? A small, shameful part of you almost didn’t mind anymore.

262 notes · View notes

katsukikitten · 1 year ago

Text

You've been writing to inmates in prison for almost two years now and have helped many feel more at ease with their current situations and possible futures. So it should come to no surprise when the warden of the most notorious prison seeks out your help with a difficult inmate they can hardly contain. The task proves difficult after you receive your first letter back from Bakugou Katsuki. More infamously known as Ground Zero, and you're not so sure you can help a man this far gone.

wc 6.8k warnings: dunno but he's mean and a villain so read at your own risk. MDNI 18+ content

Congratulations!

You've been selected for a special project due to your credentials with previous inmates. Letters exchanged between you and other inmates have had a positive effect on their rehabilitation which is one step closer to getting them assimilated back to the normalcy of society.

We ask that you help us by reaching out to inmate B-001174 Bakugou, Katsuki. He has not had mail correspondence nor a visitor due to his self isolation since his incarceration. We are hoping that a letter from the most well received correspondent begins to pave the way for a brighter future for B-001174. Please see the below instructions on what topics to avoid for inmate B-001174

Family members of any relation to inmate

Previous crimes by inmate or inmate's affiliates.

Current crimes by inmate's affiliates or any such nature of crime

Current events of any kind including natural disasters, diseases, political elections or anything of relation.

Current hero rankings, change of status or death of any hero since incarceration December 18th 2XXX

Any mention of hero(es) who captured inmate listed as follows : Aizawa, Shouta - Eraserhead, Todoroki, Enji - Endeavor, Toshinori, Yagi - Allmight, Usagiyama, Rumi - Mirko

Current known affiliates are listed as follows : Kirishima, Eijirou, Midoriya, Izuku, Shigaraki, Tomura and Todoroki, Touya.

We appreciate your efforts in brightening the dull lives of inmates and hope you pick up your pen and do what you do best, change lives for the better! Please see the following attachments for instructions on how to address the letter and seal inside the pre-paid postage envelope before dropping it off at any post office.

Remember each letter will be opened and read for any sort of criminal activity before being passed along to the inmate.

Sincerely,

Warden of Tartarus Maximum Prison Facility

You flip the letter over and skim the instructions, the same as they always are expect this time there is an extra line to add, maximum security level ten, as if you had to notate some sort of alert to the mailroom for an extra thorough check of this particular piece of mail. You bite the inside of your lip, toeing off your kitten heels before padding over to your computer with letter in tow.

The request comes as a surprise, mostly because they listed a specific inmate instead of your usual list of inmates who wished to receive mail but had ties cut from their own families or needed some semblance of someone on the outside to speak with. Never asking you to address some sort of conversation with someone who sounded like they didn't want to have one at all.

Snarling your lip when you read the affiliates that you needed to avoid as if their government names gave you any idea of who they were, some of them anyway.

Two with whom you were already exchanging letters with weekly.

Your usual routine to wind down from work is lost to your undying hunger of who this person was. Although you had to admit Bakugou sounded eerily familiar.

A quick search brings up his villain name, Ground Zero, captured during a raid of some sort and he alone needed several heroes for his capture. His quirk was dangerous, explosions detonated by sparks along his forearms and palms from his sweat that contained nitroglycerin and it seemed as if his mental health was just as stable as the fuel to his quirk.

Looking at him wrong set him off and he was powerful enough to level buildings from just a few juls of output from his intense explosions. Still curiosity killed the cat and you delved deeper.

Wondering how Izuku, aka Deku, who was quirkless and Eijirou, aka Blood Riot who could harden his skin, which you knew from their letters, got caught up with a living, breathing nuke.

Thankfully most of the documentation and footage involving Katsuki's arrest was released to the public with redactions and edits of course but what you needed was the raw data.

Finding unofficially released footage from Mirko's body cam, the only surviving body cam between the pursuing heroes. It starts right in the midst of the action, sirens wailing and people screaming in the background as the scene unfolds. Ground Zero and Mirko exchange blows evenly while Endevor tries to ambush him from behind. The hulking blonde smirks, as if he had no blind spot, swinging his large arm backward hitting Endeavor right in the mouth, hard enough it sends him flying. Katsuki's bromine eyes flicker to what must be vantage points off camera as if searching for something.

"Got that pesky ass four eyes on me huh? I'm hurt ya don't wanna play with me properly, hops." He dodges a kick to the chest, sliding back and it's obvious his prowess as a fighter is unmatched, even with his quirk silenced.

"Shut the fuck up. Ya talk too much." Shifting her weight to fein a kick that he catches, pinning her thick leg between his sturdy ribs and strong arm as he wears the nastiest smile. One that Mirko wipes off quickly with a swift kick from her free foot straight to his handsome face. Turning his cheek and blood arcs from his mouth, still he does not stagger nor falter.

He even still has her leg pinned as she stands awkwardly, back arched to him and her bunny tail twitches. The viewer can only see the ground and her free leg but the mic still very much catches what he says next and you're sure the smile he was wearing earlier comes back tenfold.

"Careful hops, ya get any rougher with me and I'll cum."

His laugh echoes shortly after and the sound should not cause your stomach to flip the way it does before the footage abruptly ends.

Taking the time to scroll through a few more pictures and articles, trying to find where it all went wrong when really none of that was your business, still it killed you to know.

And when you fail to find anything, fail to find that butterfly effect that puts his whole life askew, it does little to quell the uneasy feeling that gnaws at the pit of your stomach. If anything it fuels it yet still you rummage your desk for stationary and a pen.

Sealing away the envelope once you were done and setting it by your purse to grab in the morning when you think you'll be braver.

Or maybe less brave as you hesitate by the mail drop off box, your train fast approaching the outside terminal before you shove it into the slot quickly.

Too late to take it back now.

Besides what were the odds he'd even send one back?

"B-001174, got mail." The guard grunts as he slips the already open letter under the cell door, finishing his rounds before the doors would open and the inmates could roam about the pod as they saw fit.

Katsuki snarls, he didn't get mail, letters or pictures or even the cult following he once had he'd scared 'em all off. Tired of all the stupid bullshit they spewed at him, the ideals they placed on him or the words they shoved into his mouth. Worst yet were how they justified their actions, their own wrong doings in the name of Ground Zero, too pussy to even own up to their own actions. Katsuki hated that as much as he hated liars.

Besides he didn't ask for all that shit, didn't care. He just wanted to watch the world burn.

Wanted to set it on fire and Katsuki's philosophy was that anything was kindling.

That everything is kindling.

And he thinks he should just ignite the smallest spark despite the quirk "silencing" cuffs and let the letter be devoured by the heat of his palms.

But the return address catches his eye, the name does. It's familiar in a way he can't quite place yet. Pulling the paper out of the envelope in the meantime. The first thing he notices is the faint almost perfumey smell of coconut from the paper, not from spraying the stationary but as if it were lotion rubbing across the parchment as you wrote in long looping letters, for a moment he finds the smell pleasant. His poisonous bromine eyes slide over the letter with ease.

Dear Bakugou,

I heard you don't get letters very often, if any, so I hope this one finds you well. The weather is warming up quickly, the cicadas are starting to scream even though it's barely June, we'll all be sweltering come August. Summer is my favorite season, do you have a favorite? Work slows down around this time and they usually grant us extra leave so we can enjoy the weather, which is quite nice. I hope you're getting to enjoy the sun as well.

I know cooking is one of your favorite things, I can see why. It can be relaxing or make you feel good to nourish someone else. What other hobbies do you have aside from cooking? Any favorite books or authors? Maybe I can send your favorite one in! Just let me know.

Do you have everything you need? Do you need any money for commissary? Don't hesitate to ask if you need anything at all, I'm only a letter away.

Hope to hear from you and maybe soon I can call you Katsuki.

Much Love

He snorts as he reads the last line and it finally dawns on him from where he knows your name. Lifting himself out of his prison cot with ease, the cheap thing groaning from his bulk as he exits his cell. Heading towards the neighboring cell that holds Deku and Riot, shoving his way into the too cramped space for the bulking men.

"Ka-kaachan!" Izuku chirps, surprised to see the hot headed blonde out of his cell and especially surprised to see Bakugou in his own. Lingering by Izuku's half with a quirked brow, his eyes roaming until they found the hidden stack of papers.

"Gonna grab breakfast with us?" Kirishima asks as he watches large hands snatch at the pile. Instantly Izuku stands, eyes darkening as he steps towards Katsuki.

"Put those down, Kaachan." It's that fake polite smile Izuku wears before a fight, the kind that never reaches his eyes and Bakugou doesn't heed the warning, "Please."

It's clipped and now Kirishima thinks to rise, doesn't want either of them to do solitary or to deal with the month long bickering if they do get into a physical fight.

Katsuki looks over the letters, reading them quickly and appreciating that Izuku is meticulous enough to keep them in chronological order, each one signed off the same way. Much love.

Such bullshit.

Izuku shoves Bakugou when he still scowls down at the papers that also smell like coconut. Katsuki drops the letters unceremoniously and Izuku scrambles to keep them from hitting the concrete floor. Bakugou already on Kirishima's side who watches with a confused glare.

"What are you-" But Kirishima doesn't get to say much else as Katsuki lifts the thin mattress from the metal frame to find the hidden letters. Tucked away safely as if the battle worn villain took comfort in the false words in shiny black ink.

Same return address, same name, same bull shit sign off.

"Katsuki!" Kirishima shoves him and the blonde hardly moves, Eijirou's skin half hardening out of habit before he tries to shove again. Katsuki hits his forearm harshly, a soft pop in warning although neither could do too much with the amount of sedation and silencing that came from the collar from around their thick throats. Izuku sans silencing cuffs, has no worries about a part of him being dulled. He was built like an ox with the metabolism of a pubescent teen despite being in his late twenties so sedatives or mood stabilizers hardly have any effect.

Bakugou tosses the letters onto Kirishima's scratchy blanket before he scoffs.

"Tsk, believe that bullshit?" He's rolling his eyes as he leaves the cell with nothing but the rustle of paper as they try to rehide what they act like is their dirty little secret.

God weak hearted fools were so fucking annoying.

Post through the prison system could take some time, especially when it came to newer exchanges. It could be anywhere between two weeks to two months before you saw a reply from Katsuki. If you got one at all.

But the thought of his phantom reply slips to the back of your head what with your current workload and the other correspondents so when you see a sealed envelope the prison's return address you think nothing of it.

Not until you open it to see an open envelope with your address but instead of your name is spelled out Fake Bitch.

Blinking furiously you pull out the letter, unfolding it quickly to let your eyes scan over the page, each word burning into your retinas.

Piece of shit,

Such a pathetic fuckin slut, writing any and every desperate man behind bars you think is hot, hopin you'll get a conjugal visit. Already fucked everyone at surface level ya gotta try prison dick?

Or is it worst than that? Mommy and daddy didn't love ya enough? Didn't give ya enough attention so you look for it in anyone that'll give ya the time of day? Prey on those with no one to talk to knowing you'd get a reply out of desperation.

Lickin knives all ya know sweetheart? Pretty fuckin scummy if ya ask me.

Fuck off and die,

Bakugou Katsuki

Now you've received your fair share of mean and asshole letters but this? This was different.

This felt personal.

It was rule number one you'd given yourself when you were asked to start penning letters while in a shitty place yourself.

And yet here you were breaking it for some asshat who thought the cityscape was his to destroy.

Heart ringing in your ears as you try to calm yourself, counting your breaths until you finally could see straight. Penning up something simple yet effective telling yourself that even if he didn't reply it didn't matter.

You drop it into the mail the next day, two weeks later the same guard is slipping another opened letter under Bakugou's cell door. A snarl to his lip, he didn't expect you to reply and if he was being honest he may have forgotten about you, still the envelope was addressed to his inmate number and no longer is his name written in your cute script.

While you may think you know everything there is to know about life and me, I'd like to point out your position over mine.

Last I checked I'm not miles and miles in the ground, under heavy security, among other things a civilian wouldn't be privy to. However I will put it into lame man's terms as it seems your cognitive abilities have declined.

I'm not the one behind bars, asshole.

Much Hate

Bakugou clicks his tongue, he was used to the insult, wore it proudly most days but he knew his first letter would go one of two ways.

One, you'd cry when you read it and never replied to him again, which was his hope or two there was a very slim chance he'd get under your skin enough you'd feel the innate need to respond and defend yourself.

Bakugou does what he does best and burrows further under your pretty skin twirling the pen he finds in the library with ease as he takes to writing out a delicious reply.

Mail from Tartarus normally came on Wednesday or Thursday as if someone at the facility always forgot to send it out at the beginning of the week. So it became a part of your routine to check your PO Box you set up in a prefecture over in order to preserve your safety should something ever go awry with any of your pen pals or to receive online purchases. Mail day used to be a day you looked forward to, something to help you get through the remainder of your work week but today it was a day you dreaded.

The excitement from seeing the others' responses in the mail is overshadowed by one particular envelope that slips out of the Manila folder that all of the letters to the same correspondent were sent in to save postage.

You should be reading Touya's letter or hell anyone else's for that matter, yet here you stood, going for that obnoxious scrawl as he still refused to spell out your name and instead gave you some horrible insult.

Pathetic Slut

If lying to yourself by writing half ass disingenuine letters to prisoners out of pity makes ya feel like yer changing the world then by all fucking means write away sweetheart.

Just don't be surprised when you get an asshole response from an asshole behind bars.

Cause we both know that's what you think of all of us don'tchya?

Die,

Bakugou Katsuki

It shouldn't bother you, it shouldn't burrow so deep into your skin that his inky words scratch at your bones. Like his fingers could dig around in the marrow like maggots yet still it makes your cheeks heat. Makes your eyes burn from frustration and lack of blinking as your palms sweat.

Soles of your feet burning as you walk further into your apartment to rummage through the drawers of your desk. Uncaring how things topple over as you furiously grab for a permanent marker, pens and books scattering over the hardwood floors.

Heart pounding as it resounds through your body like metal striking a bell. Each beat faster, harder than the last until you think your vision starts to ehb at the edges from how much hatred burns away at any of the kindness you built up over the last decade.

Snapping the marker in half by the time you're done writing your final letter to the asshole.

FUCK

YOU

You don't read it, don't care if it makes it past screening and he never sees it at all. Shoving it into one of your personal envelopes on your desk slapping on a floral postage stamp before stomping down to the express box that sat just outside of your apartment complex.

It takes a full week for you to calm down, another week to stop thinking about it daily, and one more week to even reply to the letters you got almost a month ago.

An email comes in from the post office, alerting you to something being placed in your box. You hope it's the new sun dress you bought as retail therapy after a long week and an even bigger bottle of booze that you'd drained. Spending quite a pretty penny on something you didn't even really have an occasion to wear it to.

More like a nice date, the type of dress you could dress up or down depending on what sorts of accessories you paired with it.

Taking the train three stops past your own to head into the post office. Turning the key to your decent sized box finding within the metal your promised package.

And on top of that a familiar manila folder with the return address to Tartarus.

You grit your teeth, holding onto the mail harder than you should as you take those three long stops back home. Swallowing thickly as you climb your steps, the folder and plastic bag package punctured from your sharp nails as you quickly press in your seven digit key code to get into your apartment and out of the sweltering mid August air.

When your door shuts it closed off the sound of the screaming cicadas and the few crickets that lie in the green space beside your apartment as you try to force yourself to follow your nightly routine.

Remove shoes, take off makeup, eat, shower, sleep.

But that damn folder was burning a hole into your fingers as you go to your desk, rocking your chair side to side before you just rip it open like you'd rip off a bandaid.

This time the letter addresses you in a new way.

Sweetheart,

I dare you to come say that shit to my face. You fuckin better show up Saturday other wise I'll let your precious Izu and Eiji know just how much of a fake bitch ya really are. Imagine what it would do to them? Break their hearts I'm sure.

Ya'd hate to mess with their progress wouldn't ya?

Don't forget to wear something cute, it'd be nice to see some fat tits in my face at the very least. If a shitty woman like you even owns anything relatively sexy.

Fuck off

Bakugou Katsuki

You see red, breathing deeply as you re-read the letter again, who the fuck was this asshole? Black mailing you into visiting him so it wouldn't hurt your other correspondents because Bakugou was so fucking selfish.

So black out angry you don't seem to wake up, not when you put yourself in that sleek summer sun dress that went to your mid thigh, not when you stare at your angry scowl as you apply light make up, and especially not on the hour drive and then two hour ferry ride to Tartarus. Especially not during the twenty minute descent in a cramped elevator box with a guard in front and behind you with AKs clipped to their chests, the sweltering heat seeping down this low in the ground due to body heat and poor ventilation of the prison.

Not until the buzzer of the barred door in front of you screams its demands, that the handle was "live" and could be opened by the guard standing in the cage between the hallway that led back to freedom and the other where you could already see toxic bromine burning into your skin.

This was a bad idea. This was a really fucking bad idea.

You swallow thickly, it was too late to turn back now wasn't it? The door had already swung shut as the guard came closer to you for one final inspection.

"Dress is kinda short." Katsuki can overhear the guard mumble to you, can see how the guard's fingers twitch and for some reason his own do too. He watches how the guard lingers, how the man's hand press against your body and bunches up your dress as he pats you down a little too roughly. How you bite your lip when the man squeezes your ribs and under the weight of your breasts a little too roughly.

Katsuki is starting to see red, sweat begins to collect on his brow. He hasn't even fully seen you at least not without an obstructed view but already he can tell he likes what he sees.

Likes how the dress clings to parts of you you'd favor, the parts you want to really highlight. How the hem flusters higher with each step of your strappy flat shoes.

Loves the scowl that pinches up your cute face when the door buzzes to allow you into the room with him and another six guards. Likes how you straighten your spine as if you've gotten fresh resolve when you come in.

Looking at him like he was trash and he smirks, like how you don't recoil from him despite how he looks now.

Plexiglass spit guard with metal framing afixed to his face to keep more than his salvia to himself, more so to keep his gnashing teeth away from people's skin. How his throat is encircled with a thick black collar with a red light set far past stun and closer to kill that would send an electric pulse if he misbehaved but only if they could reach their remote fast enough.

How the silver cuffs around his thick wrists chain him to the table top, thick forearms exposed from him rolling up his bright orange suit that was harsh on the eyes thanks to the flickering fluorescent lighting overhead. Soft ash blonde hair messy at the top with a self given undercut beneath, iris so bloody red it was as if he was born straight from the calf of Ares himself.

"Hey Sweetheart." He purrs and his voice is pure sin.

Pure fucking sin.

Sending a jolt straight to your clit as his pretty lips curl up into a deadly smirk, showing his sharp canines.

Bakugou can't contain the feeling of triumph that dances in his veins, purposely egging you on in his letter with the closest Saturday knowing you'd be allowed to come on such short notice. See, most visitors needed to have thorough background checks and intensive mental testing before coming to meet anyone in maximum security five hundred meters below sea level.

But the conniving blonde knew you were special.

Knew the warden of Tartarus favored you and would allow you to skip these precautions, especially after what that dumbass thinks you've done. In less than a month of writing to him, that damn Deku finally added Inko-san back to his visiting list, actually came to the visit and cupped her hands. Murmuring on and on that her baby boy with the wavy emerald curls was okay. Inko cried and returned every month since.

No different for Kirishima either, adding Fat Gum, who was like a father figure to him during their shared time at UA, to his visitor list. Surprisingly Taishiro came, still comes, him and Inko car pool together.

Not even a few heartbeats pass between the two of you before you feel your tongue slicing up the sensitive skin of the roof of your mouth. Of the hard bone of your teeth.

"Fuck. You." The words drip with sticky poison that even one of the guards behind him flinches but not Bakugou.

No never Bakugou Katsuki, the Ground Zero himself who leveled a city for the fucking fun of it

He smiles, both sides of his mouth curling up and it should be disturbing how much he obviously gets off on your frustration, on your hate. But it isn't, it's almost mesmerizing how he looks at you. Like you're something to triumph and conquer, something he wants to keep for himself.

With that you turn to leave, skirt fluttering from the movement and Katsuki can see the tattoo on your upper thigh, the ink making his mouth salivate as he wonders if he can find any more you've got hidden on that fine body.

He lunges despite the rattling chains that keep him close to the table, still he has enough leeway to grab onto your arm in one giant hand. Foolishly you try to pull free.

"Oh come on sweetheart. I've got a whole hour of play time for this. Yer not leaving, sit down."

His grip on you is tight, his hand big enough to engulf half of your forearm and it gets tighter still. Hot palm making your bones creak from the pressure as he smiles up at you cruelly. All you can do is glare down at him, bore all of your hate where the two of you are connected, his skin feels electric against yours.

"Ya know, I could probably still blow your arm off." He doesn't bother to say it quietly, chuckles when you look at the quirk silencing cuffs and collar he dons, "They ain't shit against strong quirks."

Your eyes flash, anger spiking your blood and stupidly you strike. Hand stinging as badly as the tears that come to your eyes and threaten to fall past your lash line. Clawed fingers met with the metal framing of the glass spit guard mask that covers his mouth. Still one of your claws cuts his cheeks and he howls with laughter.

"Like I said-" He yanks you down harshly, playful tone from his voice gone as your ribs smack into the edge of the metal table, puffs of hot breath fogging the glass of his spit guard, "Sit."

The awkward angle forces your knees to bend, settling on to the cold metal stool while his warm fingers leave blossoms of black and blue on the skin. As if returning the favor for the cut.

"I can feel your heart pounding princess,yer pussy throbin this hard too?" He licks his lips, laughs when you lean away from him in disgust, "Ya like it. All sluts play hard to get at first."

Your eyes flicker to the guards behind him, all six pretend not to notice, panic shoots through your veins and the realization of just how bad of a fucking idea this was settles over you harshly. Like ice water flowing from the nape of your neck.

He follows your gaze, even cranes his head like he didn't know who was behind him and exactly where they stood.

"Oh them? They ain't gonna do shit. They're too scared of me. Blew a guy's head off last week." He smiles and one of the guards suddenly finds the floor interesting, "Do ya know how drugged up I am right now baby? How much force these cuffs have to use to bring my quirk down to half power?"

Choosing not to respond you let your eyes fall back on his handsome face watching it snarl as you ignore him.

Oh he'd make you see him.

"What cat got yer tongue now ya scared cause I'm so strong? Invincible?" Your eyes narrow as he speaks the arrogance of this man is far beyond your comprehension.

"You bleed like every other man." He loves the way you speak, how you wield that sharp tongue. How he wants it pressed and slashing over his own as he's two fingers deep into your tight cunt, moaning into his mouth.

He brings the thick digits of his free hand parting gift you bestowed upon him. The long thin slash as rough pads bring smeared blood into view so he can lick away the dark red beads.

"Bloody men are usually the most dangerous, you never know if it's his or that of another's." He lets his hot thumb roll over the cut, cauterizing the small wound hoping it scars.

Eyes widening as he blatantly uses his quirk as if there weren't armed guards behind him. You're watching his eyes closely as he does and finally you realize what he said is true. There is a dullness to them that was lacking in the raw footage you saw all those months ago.

Then his eyes were vibrant, sharp and slicing, much more intense then the hazy glare he gives you now. It didn't make him any less of an apex predator.

Still watching you, recording your small movements and committing your soft skin to his memory as he studies you.

"Got a quirk?" He grunts out after a moment, after he collects whatever information he was looking for, "I wanna guess first. Manipulation?"

He smirks at his own joke and you roll your eyes, trying to ignore how his thumb swipes at the underside of your forearm idly. How the motion twists your stomach violently with dizzying emotions.

Rolling your eyes before you scoff an answer, "No. Besides you expect me to manipulate through what? Ink?"

"Ya never know. Went to school with some asshole whose quirk was comic book sound effects." He leans back never letting go but now his hand is around your wrist. His fingers twitch when he looks at yours, fights the urge to roughly lace them with his own.

"Well I don't. Manipulate I mean." You adjust in your seat, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny, "And I won't disclose whether I have a quirk or not."

"Haaah? Worried I'll like it?" When you don't answer he adds, "Is it compatible with mine?"

Slowly blinking at him trying not to read into what you think he means. He groans at your silence, the higher dosage of his morning meds finally catching up making him a little lethargic. Taking his edge off when all he wants to do is rise over the crashing wave of the pending high he can barely keep at bay and whisk you out of the depths of hell the two of you currently sit in.

"So then what? You just used regular words to manipulate them?" He fights back a yawn.

"Who?" Your ribs still ache from his actions earlier, it doesn't warn you like it should.

"Don't play fuckin stupid, Sweetheart." He's lurching into your space again, hand moving back over your bruise. It makes your stomach clench when it shouldn't, especially not as the chains rattle against the metal table top, serving as a heavy reminder of the setting of this conversation.

Still his breath comes in quick puffs as it fogs up the glass again, "Shitty hair. Deku."

Your brows furrow for a moment, another groan from him.

"For fucks sake." Light squeeze of your arm as he spits their names, "Fuckin nerdy ass Izuku. Eijirou."

"I can't talk about them." Looking away from his darkened eyes that flash with a fury of emotion.

"Who's stoppin ya? Them?" He tilts his head towards the guards, "I told ya-"

"B-001174, you have five minutes left for visitation." A voice crackled over an old speaker in the visitation cell, "Please remove your hands from the guest or we will apply force."

The small light on his collar flashes red and he just smirks, looking up, well above your head. Staring directly at the warden like he knows exactly where he stood behind the two way mirror.

"Yea? You'll apply force? Go ahead. Nothin but a little shock t' me but t' her? She'll die warden." There is no mirth in his smirk, lips twitching as his eyes are shrouded in dark warning, "And we wouldn't want that would we?"

The way he speaks sends a chill down your spine, the haze of whatever sedative they had him on is now gone and you're left sitting across from those vibrant radioactive eyes. Burning through the mirror to sear the warden's skin in a threat, a promise.

A buzz rings out as the seventh guard comes in, he scrunches his nose and it makes his oddly shaped mustache twitch.

"Miss." He grunts holding out his hand for you to take too close in your personal space for your liking. Slapping it out of your face before following your right arm down to where Katsuki held fast. Peeling off his thick digits with your finely manicured claws.

He hisses at the loss of contact, glaring at the guard when his hands hover close and the older man is smart enough not to antagonize a literal monster. Katsuki stands suddenly, a scream comes from the bolts securing metal to metal as he rips the table out of the ground, unable to break the chains for now.

Everyone but Bakugou in the room freezes, guns cocked and aimed at the bulking villain who rose to his full height, sticking his prison issued white shoe onto the seat he just sat on to push down roughly. Thick thigh muscles straining against the fabric of the bright orange pants. A smile to his face when the chains finally snap and he can move his hands more freely before ripping off the plexiglass spit guard letting it clink on to the ground. His large hands run through his hair as if to fix it.

"I'm entitled to a proper fuckin good bye." He hisses at everyone in the room, they keep their guns aimed at him but make no move to pull any trigger.

Katsuki stalks closer, a wall of muscle, broad chest and shoulders, slim waist that leads down to powerful legs and you try not to let your breath catch in your throat.

Try not to let the big bad wolf win by letting him know just how scared you were. Over how impressive it was that he snapped reinforced titanium chains so easily.

He's well within your arms reach now, so close heat radiates from his chest.

"I'll see ya soon, Sweetheart." He bids you a final goodbye, waving his fingers that pop with burning caramel explosions. You're not sure why it sets you off, maybe it was the way he wore that stupid smirk on his face, maybe it was the way he demonstrated his power or his dominance in an attempt to intimidate you one last time.

Maybe it's the way he was arrogant enough to think you'd waste six hours round trip on his ass ever again.

Either way it makes your temper flair, burrows deep into your subdermis to scarpe at your bones one final time before you unknowingly seal your own fate. Not knowing how his body would react to your parting words.

"There won't be a next time. I came here for one thing and that was to say fuck you." Delivered with just as much clotting venom as it was before, middle finger held high.

His smirk turns deadly, blowing out a snort as he leans closer as if to share a secret. You can smell the cheap commissary soap that clings to his skin that's starting to lose out to the rapidly building nimbus of smoking caramel that clouds the air as his lips press to your ear.

"Don't have t'. I'll come to you." He pulls back and winks as you're guided out of the room, glare fixed on him as he stands unbothered.

He's lying, prisoners lie all the time especially if they think they can get the upper hand. He couldn't come to you. He couldn't escape prison for starters and lastly there was no way in hell he'd ever find out where you lived. The prison made sure of that by always including a fresh envelope with their own return address in the top left corner, you should know. You only triple checked each time you sealed away the letter, even a fourth time at the post box staring down at the address on the envelope making sure both were correct.

So fuck Bakugou Katsuki for being a dirty liar, fucking hypocrite.

Shoving yourself into an oversized shirt after your body shower you finally get to plop down into bed. Relishing the feel of fresh sheets and blankets as you sigh deeply. It had been a long, long day and no amount of self care could get his toxic blood red eyes out of your head.

Switching on the TV to pull up some show to numb your mind with familiarity when the channel cuts out. Breaking news flashing across the screen makes your body go rigid.

A prison break from Tartarus has occurred in the late evening hours, several high profile villains are believed to have escaped such as Shigaraki Tomura, Todoroki Touya, aka Dabi, Kirishima Eijirou aka Blood Riot, Midoriya Izuku aka Deku and Bakugou Katsuki better known as Ground Zero. Please do not approach suspected escapees, please report any suspicious person or activities immediately. Most importantly keep all doors and windows locked at all times. I repeat do not engage with the inmates.

A knock comes from your left, making you jump out of your skin as you fist the sheets. A cold sweat breaking out over your skin in goose flesh as your hearing rings in your ears. Unable to bring yourself to look at the sliding glass door to your balcony just yet as if you could ignore it and the cause of the sound would simply go away.

Another rapt of knuckles pulls your attention once more before you finally dare to peek to see glowing red eyes peering in. The devil himself at your door and you knew better than to let him in.

Knew better that a locked door couldn't keep him out.

Bromine burning in the night like ever fanned flames, orange jumpsuit obnoxiously out of place against the night sky, stained in deep burgundy red and ash grays, the same colors streaking his face before he knocks again. But this time it's in warning, hard enough to rattle the door that you both know he could rip off the track with ease.

"How- how did you?" Teeth chattering that you grit closed still refusing to give in to his tactics until he presses a small envelope against the glass. Your personal envelope with your real home address listed for return.

Panic bubbles up your throat in a scream that dies at the back of your teeth as you sit frozen a minute longer while he gives a predatory grin, large hands pressing against the glass before his palms glow bright orange. Brighter than his jumpsuit before the glass shatters and your scream finally escapes your lungs.

In an instant he's towering over you, palms pressing into biting shards as he cages you against the plush comforter dipping his head low so he can nose at your throat, hot palm at your ribs. Leave a searing bite pulling a strangled yelp from your soft lips that makes him laugh before his mouth is at your ear for the second time today. Finally speaking dangerously low.

"Told ya I'd see ya soon, Sweetheart."

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x you #bakugo katsuki x reader #kitten writes 🖤🐈‍⬛ ✍🏻

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