You Asking Dabi If He'd Still Love You If You Were A Rat And Him Responding That You Are His Little Sewer

can we have another yandere bakugou bully? i have nothing unique maybe the common on where he likes to bully the girl severely all throughout highschool and then when they are abt to graduate that’s where he kidnap. If u want to add smut it’s okay but i don’t really mind i kinda just like the fear when u write like that little scared feeling THATS ITTTTT OMG I LOVE UR FICSSSSS

yandere bully ! BAKUGO KATSUKI

TIP-JAR

goodiebag WARNINGS: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, jealousy, stalking, obsession to the extreme, manipulation, blackmail, sexual harassment  angst, bullying, trauma, threats, death/near death of a third character, slut shaming

BAD GUY

How long had she known Bakugo? 

All her life. 

That was the short answer. 

He’s made himself known. Without fail, without break, without mercy. 

Childhood friends? 

Neighbours... 

That’s what she’d say.

As though there was nothing more to it. Like he wasn't a stain on her life. A stain no amount of bleach or vinegar-and-soda or peroxide-and-dish-soap could ever hope to remove.

Come to think of it, he was more like a scar than a stain. Or really, more like an open wound refusing to heal.

Which was why it felt like a rusty blade being twisted in her gut when she opened the door to find him the one who’d rung her apartment’s bell.

“I guess... what I’ve been trying to say- what I wanted to say... was... I’m sorry.” 

He’d been scratching the back of his neck throughout the entirety of what jumbled, struggled, sorry excuse for an apology he’d forced from somewhere unknown in the hard clump of ember he had for a heart.

Something which unsurprisingly made for an insulting effort to erase what effects he’d had on her childhood.

One staggering sentence after the other of frustrating confessions, wishes gone to waste, things he hadn't meant, things he would have done differently if only he were fourteen years younger, and he could start again right when his quirk manifested before he turned into a self-righteous narcissistic prick of human waste. One dedicated to making everyone revere him by fearing him.

“For everything.” 

He put his hands in his pockets, but she could still see how they twitched inside the hoodie and bet they were weeping with sweat, adamant about starting fires.

“For all the years I put you through hell.” 

He was taller now, she noted. While calculating how she’d have to call the police if she were to stand a chance of making him leave if he decided to do what he always did and make himself comfortable.

He was bigger as well. Probably thanks to UA, making him look like a true right and shining Hero... but all she could see was how it was as though he’d swelled like some blister or bruise, like some boil ready to pop and leak its nasty contents all over her life. 

“Well?” He urged, ripping her from her heavy train of thought.

She blinked. 

“Well, what?” She bit out. Still holding the door. Ready to close it if he were to try and step inside.

“Do you accept the apology?” He asked, leaning forward. Where, on pure survival instinct, she immediately drew back. While the gap between the door and frame became slimmer as she pulled it like a shield in front of her.

Her brows dipped. Eyes not daring to close. Not allowing him a single second of rest under her justified judgment.

“No.” She barked, only barely managing to avoid the scoff that wanted to follow, yet surprising herself with the strength her voice carried.

“W-what-” He started, but she wasn't feeling particularly eager to listen to any more of his dumb excuses or half-hearted regrets or too little-too-late so-called apologies.

“You fuck with me for eighteen years...”

It was strange looking directly into his vermillion eyes, watching him be the one to shrink away, him be the one to switch his footing, tense like a shamed pet under his owner's harsh, scolding voice. It almost wouldn't even have surprised her if he'd whimpered just a little with how round his eyes were, looking just like a kicked pup. 

“And you think some half-assed apology is just suddenly going to make everything okay?”

“W-” He tried, his gaze shifting to look down at his feet.

“No.” She stopped him.

Opening the door to its original cavity. She struck a dominant pose even though he was a full head taller, her eyes narrowing in something that could only resemble disgust. 

“You’re the reason I went through all of middle-school scared and alone.”

His ears drew back meekly. Feeling small under what look she was giving him. 

“I left classes early in fear of meeting you in the halls. I made sure to look around the corners before walking down them. I ate lunch in the bathroom and listened from behind the door in case you were out there waiting.” She confessed, her eyes still maintaining contact with his, firmer the more he shrunk away. “I ran home unless you hadn't already caught me, I cried myself to sleep, I lied to my parents every single fucking day because I was afraid that if they got involved with your parents, you’d have to face the wrath of your mom, and I didn't want that for you.” 

With water welling in her eyes now, she looked to the ceiling. Taking a breath, she clenched her jaw and almost chuckled at the absurdity of it. Not caring how Bakugo’s eyes seemed to widen even more. 

“I was afraid to play on our block ‘cause I knew you would come out and make me regret it.” 

She bit her lip, looking at the guy that would yank her hair to pull her inside his locker, leaving her there for entire periods.

Make her listen as he beat Deku up in the hall, his friends like goons on his side, laughing as Izuku snivelled. 

“People were afraid to be seen with me.” 

Knuckles were white and hot from how hard she clenched her fist at her side, the other gripping the door with nails marring the wood. 

“Not because I’m quirkless, but because of you.” 

Her hard gaze met him like daggers. Plunged right between his ribs into that thing that seemed to only beat faster the more she spoke. 

“You had me think that was my fault.”

A tear slipped its confinement and went dripping down her cheek, a thin stream following it.

Her breath shuddered on intake. 

“You made me think- you made think being quirkless was- was -a curse -a crime -a fucking abomination.”

Her shoulders grazed as she looked down to the ground and let more tears fall while Katsuki stood there frigid and so very rightfully uncomfortable. 

“You made me feel like I didn’t deserve to breathe.”

He opened his mouth but quickly swallowed it as he realized he would only be repeating what dumb unsatisfactory words he’d given her before. 

“You made me hate myself.” 

She couldn't possibly hate herself more than she hated him, he thought. 

“And if it wasn’t for Izuku... I wouldn’t be here.”

His thoughts flashed back to seeing her help the green-haired geek up off the floor each time he grew bored picking on him. After the halls had filled with enough smoke, it’d stain the walls grey, the scent of burning sugar a lingering reminder of who there runs the school.

“Still, you had the nerve to go about making him feel worthless too.”

She would shove him aside at once when he’d unlock his locker. She'd push at him to let her drop to her knees and tend to the green-eyed fucker who’d had the breath knocked from him. The twerp wheezing like a pathetic runt on the dirty school floors. So shamelessly unaware of how lucky he was to have someone like her tend to him.

Katsuki cleared his throat.

“I’ve talked to him too. We’re... working it out. Just tell me what I need to-” 

“I’ll accept your apology when I stop waking up in the middle of the night because I think I feel you breathing down my neck.” She cut him off again. “When I stop looking over my shoulder because I think I hear you coming. When I stop hearing your voice in my head telling me that I’m useless, that I'm worth nothing, that I'm better off dead.” 

Her eyes sized him up. Or, rather, took in his seemingly beaten state. Finding somewhat pleasure in the fact that there was at least one thing she could deny him. 

“Until then, all you need to do is leave me alone.”

At that, she shut the door and locked it.

Her back pressed against the wood almost immediately as she drooped like drying paint. Sliding down to the ground, she listened while bating her breath for the retreating steps of the boy on the opposite side. Fearing that her speech hadn't slapped him hard enough for him to go home and lick his wounds.

Katsuki stood there for a moment, and years seemed to pass.

Hood lifted over his head, his body slouched with the terrible looming weight that pressed down upon him. Feeling so fucking tired and worn and defeated as he lifted his boot to saunter back down the stairs and make his way home.

A home, which was now not right across the street like it was back when they were kids, but a whole car ride away. Seemingly lives away. A beaten track of heavy regrets and loud, blinding, bitter disappointments.

All to be blamed on him.

~~~

It had been quiet lately.

A few comments were hurled at Deku here and there. Though they were dismissible in their dynamic as rivals.

But, as surprising as it was to admit, Bakugo had kept to her wish.

Where, overlooking those times she could feel his red stare lingering on her and searing notches into her neck, he had left her alone.

He would even give her a smile when their eyes locked gaze. Nothing like those blood-dripping battle grins but soft toothless quirks playing at the corner of his lips. Pleasant and weirdly hopeful, as though she’d come over and talk to him. Like they were friends.

Suppose she should believe Izuku when he told her Kachan was better. That he’d actually gone and grown up. That the hero course was succeeding in grooming him to become a fine hero, with the merit someone talented as him should have. That even they had a fighting chance at moving on, going back to how they’d push each other on the swing set back when they were four. 

She doubted it. 

She bet he’d be strung in his rightful and true colors not before long. Just red on red in red. Slipping right back into his ugly habits of making the world his playground and the people his toys.

This was just an act.

Those smiles he gave her were nothing but bait. Nothing but lies that would ensnare her in yet another decade of living under his boot.

But time is a funny thing. Where as much as you try fighting it, it always passes.

And paranoia is a difficult plant to grow during droughts.

And with months flying by, summer break being sweetly perfect for once, she’d soon enough discarded the notion that it was a trail bound to error or the calm before the storm.

In fact... she’d more or less let it fade like normal memories should. The open wound that used to be Bakugou’s sinister grin keeping her company at night had stopped bleeding.

And in the healing and pleasant quiet, she’d allowed herself to... let loose a little.

Or perhaps she’d just forgotten to be cautious when she was swept up in those ocean-blue eyes and that diamond-bright smile.

Maybe the warm, fuzzy feeling purring inside her gut was worth forgetting and even forgiving Bakugou in favor of getting lost to something else, someone else. Something a little warmer than hatred and a burning way more welcoming than what explosions Bakugou could offer her.

.

Meanwhile... Bakugou was going insane. 

He’d been wrong. 

He thought quitting his torment on her would be easier than with Deku, but Deku proved to be the least of his worries. In some form or way... they were actually getting closer. Going back to their roots and almost amounting to something he could only call brotherhood.

But with her...

It seemed he was only drifting farther and farther away.

He saw her hold hands with some blue-eyed fuck at lunch the other day. Heard her laugh, which pushed him with such force, thrusting him back in time. Retrieving some faint yet precious memory of her and him drying in the sun after bathing in the quarry on a warm summer’s day, back when no one and nothing could be more important than hearing that sound.

A laugh so light. So fluttering and blooming and beautiful. Followed by a snort that stuck in her nose.

It was enough to make his eyes shimmer and his ears burn while hanging onto every sound, trying to ingrain it, memorise it. Trying to ink down how it made him feel. 

He made the mistake of finding her face in the crowd of what table she was seated at. Her small frame held inside the arms of the jerk she was pulled inside the lap of. A bright smile on both their faces, so bright he almost didn't even recognise her. 

But it was her.

It shouldn't have surprised him.

He’d already seen the pictures on social media when going about his normal routine of checking up on all her different forums. Already fully aware of how the bastard was some summer fling she was the poor victim of. 

He should have been prepared for it, but fuck....

It had hurt.

It had been loud and violent and jagged, like falling down a cliffside, yet so deathly silent as he sat safely in his room.

Kirishima and Denki were about halfway through their third or perhaps even fourth spliff. Laughing like clueless fucking morons without a shred or lick of issues and consequences. Having always just been nothing but laughs and smiles.

Fucking hell... He envied them so much sometimes. To be that dim. To be that careless and big-hearted and good-natured and... 

It doesn't really matter. 

Jealousy gets him nowhere.

He’s him, and they’re them, and fantasy is just that.

He knows this, and still, he finds himself fantasising about her smiling at him and giggling with him. Sitting in his lap. Whispering sweet little mischievous nothings in his ear and kissing him and talking to him and touching him and loving him.

He was so fucking frigid lately. So uncontrollably bothered and provoked and uncomfortable.

He’d even asked Deku who the fucker was. Had him spill all her dirty little secrets. How she’d been seeing the blue-eye fuck for a short while. How she thought he was really sweet and kind. How he made her happy. 

And the more he let himself think about it, let it fester like acid bubbling and foaming on his heart, the more blinding the pain became. 

And so following the pain, like it always does and always had with Bakugou...

Came rage.

She’d betrayed him. Broken his good will. 

He should have known...

Give a bitch some lee-way with her leash, and she'll take a fucking mile.

He’d been so fucking good. So fucking perfect...

Leaving her be, allowing her friends, letting her prance about in her short school skirt without any comment, not even as much a curt whistle.

And this is how she chooses to repay him?!

Fucking with some fucking fucker right in front of him?

Right in his fucking face?

Fuck, he wanted to bash his brains out. Wanted to burn him from the inside out, watch his stupid blue eyes melt like runny rotten eggs.

He snapped the cafeteria chopsticks as easily as one would a toothpick in one hand. His eyes twitched while his nostrils flared, burning the wooden splinters in his white-knuckled fist as he watched them flirt.

Her in her thigh-high socks and tight white shirt, rubbing down against his slacks. Where he bet something was struggling to stay down. Stay hidden inside the fucker’s boxers.

But looking at his face and that bright, innocent smile shining as though he wasn't a disgusting man with ulterior motives, he could see why she chose the guy... instead of him.

.

He couldn't defend why he had him pushed into the wall behind the gym.

He could try and fool himself and the scared boy by saying he had responsibilities as her eldest friend. Alike a brother has responsibilities for his sister.

But that would be the dirtiest fucking lie.

Bakugou had no right, and he knew that, he really did. He felt it in his hands as they balled up the collar to the guy’s uniform. Had the poor sucker lifted off his feet with his bright baby-blue eyes freaking out when levelled by his own deadly red stare. 

It wasn't done due to something noble like responsibility.

It was done out of pure toxic white-hot raging jealousy.

“Bakugou, man, what the fuck-” The guy tried, but the hero-course student was like a bull that saw red. Seething as he snarled into the poor boy’s face.

“Stay the fuck away from her.”

His knuckles whitened in their death-grip. Steaming with heat. Singing the fabric it clutched.

The poor boy kicked against the wall. Trying his best to reach down to the ground with the tips of his toes.

“Calm down- the fuck you talking about?” He screeched. His voice an unstable choked pathetic thing as he cowered in panic by the heat simmering close to his neck and the maroon slits that had him pinned.

“Quirkless.” Bakugou answered curtly. “Keep your fucking paws to yourself, shit-stain.”

“Quirkless?”

Split-second confusion narrowed into reliazation at the remembrance of what little information she’d given him about what strange relationship transpired between her and the loud hero-course student. 

“You mean-” He started, but was once again pulled and slammed into the brick wall behind him. Knocking his head with a wince.

“Just stay away from her!” Bakugo barked again.

“Me?” The boy objected. Though, not really in any position to further anger the fire-wielder. “What about you? You’re the one she can't stand.”

Bakugo swallowed. Stopping.

“She said what?”

His grip loosened a pinch. Allowing the guy to drop down the wall to stand on his own. Though he still remained close.

His head hung slightly. Looking at his shoes. Put-out and thoroughly ticked off.

Dangerously so.

Nose flaring as he felt his eyes sting. Wanting to break something.

Preferably bones.

Meanwhile, blue eyes widened in realisation.

“Man... you... you like her, don't you?” He asked, or rather accused. His ears drawing back and hands rising in defence.

“Shut up.” Katsuki voice grumbled from a place the other kid couldn't see. Only the wild ash-blonde bush of hair that seemed to shake with either seething rage or a building sob.

He made the mistake of thinking it was the latter.

“You’re too late, dude... years too late.” He scoffed. Unsure if whether his disbelief outweighed outrage or amusement. 

“I said-”

Bakugo lifted his head again. This time seemingly radiating with heat as sickeningly overwhelming as the scent of burning sugar. 

“Shut the fuck up!”

Though with the threat of being charred into a crisp, the boy still hadn't the smarts to know when to quit.

“Should have thought about that before treating her like shit." He mocked. "She will never forgive you, Bakugou.” 

Katsuki’s vision went blank at that, and the poor bright-eyed boy couldn't see anything but prickly spots of white in an otherwise sea of black.

Having had his head banged against the wall for one final time as he slumped down in a pathetic sack at Katsuki’s feet. 

“Beating me up won't help your case.” He coughed. Groaning in pain.

A crisp chirp was heard and Bakugou snatched the phone that had slipped from the guy’s pocket.

Reading the label of a sweet nickname which made his stomach churn and head burn.

The text doing little to ease his building fuming boiling rage. 

“She invited you to her apartment, did she? Tch- To watch Netflix.”

He put his fat military boot to the guys throat. Keeping it there with building pressure. Squeezing the air from his windpipe. Grinding him into the coarse bricks. Disregarding the weak hands that clutched to the fabric of his pant-leg desperately. 

“If the little slut wants cock, she shouldn't be asking someone like you.” He sneered. Typing something back.

“Sick-fuck, leave her alo-” 

The sweat boiling against his palm simmered in heatwaves, melting the phone before he finally ignited. Bits of glass and metal flying everywhere. Nicking his skin. Before he dropped the thing to the ground.

Unrecognizable. 

A good reference to what the boy at the end of his foot would look like once Bakugou was through with him.

.

He could hear every little thump of his heart in his head.

Pumping in the tips of his fingers. Hot and numbing.

Tongue heavy in his throat as his jaw strained. Teeth grit in his mouth.

Fist clenching at his sides. Stained with crimson.

Eyes blood-shot as they focused on placing one foot in front of the other. Counting the steps while lifting his legs.

Boots sounding heavy and substantial in their echo as he climbed the stairs to where she waited ever so unknowingly.

Ever so excitedly. With a heart hammering quite similarly to how his was pounding. For much of the same reason.

Yet hers with an entirely different person in mind.

A person that was currently struggling to breath behind the gymnasium.

He bet she was getting ready with every virginal anxious thought running on replay in her head.

If she was sexy and sultry and smooth enough? Yet, not too much, because then she'd seem like a slut. But perfectly cute and shy and girly. Timid but lustful, precious yet wanton.

She was probably practicing batting her eyelashes and pouting and biting her lips. And how she would run her hands on his skin. How she would touch, when and what to touch. What to say, what not to say. How she was going to say it. What tone of voice. Like a whisper or a moan or a needy little whine.

Wondering if she smelled good. If he liked her perfume or if it was too pungent. Maybe he doesn't like her signature scent of fresh apples.

Pondering whether her hair was nice or not. If her skin was smooth enough. If her outfit was the right choice or if she should make a quick last second change.

She's probably hid her plushies. Taken down some childish anime posters she didn't want embarrassing her. Changed the sheets. Cleaned up the kitchen, cleared out the bathroom. Tidied up so he wouldn't know what a complete clutter-head she is.

She was probably getting all hot and bothered waiting for that blue-eyed shit-stain.

Rubbing her thighs together. Letting her hand dance down between them as she lost herself to the softness of the mattress. Letting the cool air nip at her fiery hot skin, kissing her blushed red cheeks. Eyes drifting to a close. Slight soft smile on her face. Legs spread on top of the sheets.

He bet she had lighted candles. Bet she had pre-picked a handful of movies. The soundtrack to what she would be losing her virginity to. Bet she had bought sweets, and cider, maybe even wine.

Bet she was planning to make the night perfect.

Too bad he was going to ruin it.

Just like he was going to ruin her.

Just like he had been ruining everything else for the past eighteen years of their life.

Just like he was going to continue ruining her until the day they die. 

He banged on the door. Or rather, tapped a playful tune he thought would be similar to something the guy he’d bashed into a pulp not even half an hour ago would do. Something similar to what the girl behind the door was waiting to hear.

He heard her pad across the floor. Quick gleeful feet hopping to the entrance to swing it open with a great big goofy smile on her face.

Only to stop dead in her tracks.

Bakugou was taller. Bigger compared to what lean frame she was expecting.

Her eyes levelling at his chest, where she was expecting to see a familiar friendly face. Familiar pretty blue eyes.

Gaze rising to find him towering at the threshold to her home instead.

His sharp eyes looking every drop worth of red. 

“Happy to see me?” 

He pushed himself inside. Her along with him. Ever so rightfully in his stride. Stomping, like the floor beneath belonged to him. Like everything belonged to him.

“What are you doing here, Bakugou?”

Her tone was the same it always was when she addressed him. Annoyed and ugly. Like he was just another jerk. Just another face. Just another problem. 

“I heard you were serving up your virginity...”

Her face grimaced. 

“So... I came to have first take.”

Only now did she notice the blood.

Though not dripping from his fists anymore. The thickest parts were still glossy in texture. Still fresh. Whereas all else had turned sticky. Coating him like a second skin.

Her face shed its disgusted features and drained. Paled, chilled and tightened.

Scrutinising eyes turning wide like skies. Little flecks of shimmer flickering like starlight within the glossy pools.

Her mouth parted and hung open to let a gasp out as she eyed the blood-splatter on his jacket. Gaze glitching as she struggled to take in the maroon colour of his fists.

“Whu- what did you do? What did you do to him?”

She shook. Hands raising to level with her chest. Forming some type of feeble shield as she stepped away from the menacing man.

Bakugo simply followed. His dominant footing naturally succeeding hers. The space between them shortening quickly.

“Worried about your lapdog?” He laughed.

Stalking forward. He trapped her further into the apartment. Watching her petrified moves clumsily try and keep the distance.

“Don't think about it too much.”

“Get out, Bakugou. I'll call the cops.” She tried sounding strong even as she whimpered.

That made him crack a smile. And by All Might did it feel like it was the first time in such a very long time that he could finally breathe again.

“Why so hostile?” He barked out with another laugh. A growl like thunder behind that wide sharpened grin. “We’re friends, aren't we?”

His red-eyes gleaming. Just like they did all throughout primary-school. Just like they do when he’s about to beat the shit out of someone. Just like how they do when he can taste that addictive bitingly sweet flavour of victory on his tongue. 

“Besides...”

He tilted his head to the side and looked at her like he was admiring something. 

“You’ll never make it to the phone in time.”

She should have run towards the bathroom instead.

Granted, that’s why he’d made the comment.

Make her think that the phone was of importance. Where it laid blank and black on her bed. The exact destination he wanted her.

It was of no use to her smashed against the wall.

Nor was she ever in reach of it anyway. Not with Bakugo and his blood-stained hands keeping her down.

“I've wanted you our entire fucking lives.” He seethed.

Strong dedicated hands curled around her wrists. Pressing her down into the mattress. 

“I’m the only one who deserves you!” He roared into her ear. His words hot on her cheek.

Her eyes scrunched closed. Her face tight as she felt the heavy weight of the brute on top of her. 

“And no one-”

His grip tightened as his voice turned so gruffly dark it made her heart stop.

“No one is going to take you away from me.” He growled. “Especially not some blue-eyed shit-eating waste.” 

Greediness got the best of him this time as he dived in to take a kiss. One hungry, open-mouthed, wanting, lustful, desperate, raw and wolfish kiss. Where in all her fuelled panicked adrenaline, driving purely on blind instinct, perhaps also due to Bakugo not being used to handling something so much smaller, she managed to angle her legs in a way that gave her permission to knee him right in the groin.

Second chances are only given once. But she was a smart girl and knew she wouldn't make it to the door in time. Knew that her best hope was to lock herself in.

And if being quirkless had taught her anything, it was to hope for a hero to come to her rescue.

That her only chance was to pray for her blue-eyed angel to come and save her.

The bathroom was the safest bet for now.

He had to laugh as he grabbed his aching ball-sack through the slacks of his uniform. Torn between being impressed and pissed off.

He'd only barely missed grabbing her ankle before she slipped through the door and pulled it to a close. The click of a lock sounding off soon after.

“I was never good enough for you.” He growled. The sound muffled into the floor where he lied.

His fist clenched as he banged the shoddy faux-wood paneling.

“All our lives! Didn't matter what I did... you were always gonna hate me.”

She fumbled around the bathroom in a shaky frenzy. Eyes spiralling. Trying to find anything sharp. Anything at all she could use as a weapon if the door proved too weak to withstand the force of Bakugou. 

“You were always gonna fear me.” He scoffed. "Weak and quirkless- heh... heck... it wouldn't even matter if I was quirkless too. You'd fear me either way."

Her heart beating like a galloping racehorse. Mind reeling in on the fact that he was taking his sweet time. Just like predators do when they’ve already caught their prey.

Playing with her.

“More than Deku ever did... But I guess I fucked with him differently from how I fucked with you.”

All she found was an old nail-filer. Not exactly sharp and not really at all that long. But her best and only option.

She knew it wouldn't do shit in the end though.

And then it was quiet again.

And she shook as she held onto her tiny weapon. Tears burning down her damp aching skin while every shuddering breath she dared supply her lungs with felt like it would cause her to combust as though she was made out up of thin glass.

And yet, in the chaos of fear, it was still so dreadfully painstakingly quiet. 

Until he decided to break the silence again.

“He’s bleeding out where no one’ll ever find him...” 

His voice wasn't haunting. It wasn't amused, but dead and had the ability to make her feel dead as well.

Blood freezing over. Heart eerily sinking like a block of led inside her. Skin crawling. Cold and raw and naked.

She shook. Looking back at the door. Admitting the flimsy wood was as much defence as paper to the hellhound on the other side.

Though, in the light of his taunt, her safety seemed miles away from her biggest worry.

“He’s dying, Quirkless.”

She knew then all she could do was watch.

Watch the tacky white paint-job flake on the planks.

Watch the door and wait for it to come splitting and splintering to oblivion. Like there was no door there at all. 

But it hardly mattered...

What happens to her hardly matters. 

Just like running to safety when Bakugo caught Deku and her in the school-halls wasn't ever what she did. No matter how much Deku would plead for her to run. She wouldn't.

She would do anything to switch places with him. Anything so he wouldn't be the one limping home with a cut on his cheek and a broken rib. 

“And it’s all your fault.”

She whimpered at that. Nail-filer held tightly in her hand, but only for a couple more seconds until it went clattering to the cold tiles by her feet. 

“You know how this works...” He said calmly. “You come out here... and I'll make sure he survives.”

She took a step closer to his voice. Knees numb and weak yet steady. Her hand reaching out to the doorknob. Blood prickling where it rushed about. 

“You unlock the door. Step out in your pretty little dress... and I’ll go fetch the wine.”

She swallowed. Burning fingertips touching down on the icy metal of the knob. Trembling as she drew in a shaky breath, and pulled the trigger. 

He heard the click of the lock opening and scoffed out a curt chuckle. Lips curling into a smile that showed off his teeth as he watched her small bare-foot step out.

Shiny leg following. Knees then after. The hem of her skirt that frilled loosely around her thighs. Up and up to the swell of her breasts and her chest. Her collarbones and neck.

And that pretty defeated little face. 

He sauntered over to the kitchen nook where he’d spotted the wine. Washing the blood from his hands first while thinking it weird and silly and slightly shameful that he’d imagined this so many times.

Her in a pretty dress. Thin summer fabric, easily torn. Silky and form-fitting. Leaving just her natural silhouette.

Drinking red in a dimly lit room. The taste still on her tongue when he kisses her.

“Drink.” He commanded. His hand shoving the open bottle to her lips. Tilting it up and spilling it over her chest.

She gasped but did nothing to stop him. Not so much as backing away even.

She just stood there and bowed her head as the maroon liquid, strong in scent, stained her skin. Seeping through her clothing. Spilling down the valley between her breasts.

Making her shift uncomfortably as the stream trailed down to drip between her thighs. Soaking her underwear.

And then she sniffled. Biting her bottom lip, with brows curled into such an adorable woeful look it made him want to lick the tears off her precious little face.

He lobbed the empty bottle into a cushioned armchair. Hand returning to raise her chin with his knuckles. Pushing down on her lip with his thumb, hooking it onto the bottom row of teeth, making her gape as she looked up at him.

He had the thought of spitting. But, found that he didn't really feel like it.

“You never dared put a word to it.” He stated instead.

His red eyes somehow seeming so cold, so lifeless. His lips a stern firm line. Features blank beside the tension in his jaw. 

“You’re afraid to acknowledge it.”

Thumbing her lip a second time as he licked his own. He brushed her hair behind her shoulders with his other hand. Knuckles gliding over the spaghetti-straps to her dress. Amusing the idea of how easy they’d be to rip loose.

Then acting on that very same thought. 

Torn fabric pooled around her ankles as she stood there bleating. Still not daring to move a single muscle. Not with his thumb still in her mouth and the wine spilled on her skin still dripping down her legs making her shiver on a coat of goosebumps.

He licked his lips again with his eyes drinking in the sight of her glowing dewy skin. Looking to her face and how the hot streams of tears ran down her cheeks as silently as she could muster.

Removing his hand from her mouth. He turned around with a scoff.

Walking off to her bedside table. He sighed as he begun removing his rings. The ones that made it easier to split skin open upon impact.

She guessed she should have seen it as a relief. But, she couldn't bring herself to it. 

“You'd never say anything, but you knew.” 

He threw his grey blazer to the floor. Un-cuffing his sleeves before rolling them up to his elbows. Arms flexing while unbuckling his belt. Ripping the leather out through the reims and dropping it to the floor with a sharp clatter. Tugging loose his red tie to free his collar so that he could pop open the first three buttons of his shirt.

Getting comfortable.

“Shit- you must’ve known.” 

He returned to where she still hadn't dared move a muscle. Her eyes only skittering around as he preformed his rituals.

The wine drying to a sticky thick sheen on her skin. Tinting her with pink. 

“You never cried either.” He stated.

Though, it wasn't true. 

“Deku would fucking wail like a kicked bitch, but you’d just stare at me... So much fucking hatred in your eyes...”

His hands dropped to his sides and her eyes anxiously trailed the thick veins running like lightning across his bulging muscles. 

“No tears. No rage. Just hate.”

A tiny whimper sprung form the confines of her tight chest as he fingered the thin silky material of the lacy racy red panty at her hip.

Knees shaking as she bowed her head some more.

Toes curling into their own comfort. Trying to escape the threat of being crushed beneath his big heavy combat boots. 

“But you cried.. when I touched you in ways I really shouldn't have.” 

One time, she'd dared fall asleep at her desk. So tired from a night spent crying because she couldn't get Bakugou to stop dunking Izuku’s head in the nasty toilet bowls of the school bathroom.

Only to be woken up by Katsuki’s thick warm sluggish tongue gliding up her sore cheek as she hugged the desk.

Finding the video in her inbox of someone jacking off right into her unsuspecting sleeping face. Knowing it was Katsuki but having not a single way to prove it. 

“When it was just the two of us and I said things and did things, touched things-” 

He’d sweet talk with her mother. Acting so trivial with his handsome charming smile that would easily have any of the girl’s panties dropping if only he’d use it more often. Were it not for him wasting it on manipulating and arranging it so that he would be the one driving her home after school when he turned sixteen.

Brand new car and everything. Meant to impress her.

Perhaps she would have let herself fall for it if he hadn't put his hand on her thigh. If he hadn't locked the doors and trapped her in there with him.

Maybe she would have thanked him for the ride home if he hadn't made her beg him to get off her. Only allowed to go after he’d marked up her pretty neck and twisted a nipple or two once or twice until they were left sore.

“Made you do things, say things, give me things.” 

He’d bargain with her often.

Give him her panties and he’ll leave Deku alone at lunch. Give him a minute in an empty class-room with just the two of them and he’ll leave them both alone for a grand total of a day. 

And to no ones surprise. Feed greed and greed will grow like a weed. 

Soon small exchanges turned to threats.

Telling her to stop hanging out with Deku or else he’ll beat the nerd within an inch of his life. Come to his house after classes or suffer the nastiest of rumors being spread about her all around school. Send him a pretty picture and he won't leak what other pretty pictures he’s taken when she wasn't looking.

“I thought you’d call me out on it...”

She felt the puffs of his breathing hit against the top of her head. Her eyes dead-set on watching the movement of his hands that now had taken ahold of her waist. His thumb messaging around the hipbone. Pulling her closer before he stepped to her side. His large palm laid flat on her belly. The other gripping her midriff as he stopped behind her. Hot air running down her neck and spine where his breathing turned rugged. 

“Went over battle-plans in my head-” He chuckled. “How I’d say you'd become just as fucking obsessed with me as Deku. How you shouldn't flatter yourself. How fucking desperate you must be to be falling in love with your own fucking bully.” 

He wasn't always bad.

In all their years. In all fucked-up relations. He’d never let anyone else ever pick on her.

Where after fights. Sometimes drunken and other times not. He would never fuss when she rinsed out his wounds and patched him up. Instead always giving his thanks in the form of leaving in peace.

Sometimes she wonders if that was the reason he started getting into fights in the first place...

To have her stitch him back up again.

But she’d always deemed the thought foolish. And if not that then... scary.

She stopped at one point. After the time he’d fucked Deku up so badly, she hadn't enough bandages for the both of them. Favoring the freckle-faced one and his second-degree burns above the ash-blonde and the minor gash he got when she pushed him away and he fell to the ground.

But... still...

He wasn't always bad.

In fact, be it a brief moment. Sometimes she would even forget he was bad at all.

Sometimes he’d crack a few jokes when driving her home. Cackle out a laugh that somehow seemed to warm her gut. His eyes gentle as he peeked over at her from the driver’s seat. One hand held lazily on the wheel. Sun glowing on his face. Making him look like a dandelion in its prime.

So soft and so childishly happy.

Until and unless, of course. He’d lock the doors with her inside, and refuse to take her home. Sometimes leaving her on the side of the road when she wouldn't repay him for his kindness.

He’d come back though...

Sometimes.

He wasn't always bad.

Which is what made it hurt so much more when he was.

Sometimes he’d be sweet. Leaving cupcakes outside her home for her on her birthday. Offering her his jacket or hoodie on cold days.

So sweet. He’d ask her about things.

How her day was. What she’ll be doing once she gets home.

And seem truly genuinely interested each time she’d offer him an answer.

He’d even be cute on some days too.

When she’d ask him in return.

He’d talk up storms of ambition miles out of her reach. Of his hopes and his dreams and pursuits.

And she’d almost believe that the reasoning behind his quirk was passion and not violence.

He wasn't all bad.

Even when he’d forced her into yet another study-date at his house. He’d still provide much better tutoring than anyone else ever managed.

Patient and determined. As though he truthfully cared. Even with his hand drawing greedy circles on the fat of her thigh. With his fingers tickling over the thin fabric of her undies as he made her sit on his lap. 

He wasn't only bad.

Because when she cried. When he’d make her cry. He’d always stroke the tears away with his thumb.

He would hush and coo at her. Tread loose locks of hair behind her ears and put her head against his chest.

Squeeze her until she felt like a human being again. Until her breaths would calm down to let her settle fully into his embrace.

He isn't evil.

But...

If he thinks she would or could ever...

Fall in love with him...

Then he must be...

Insane.

She placed a small hand over his knuckles once the grip he had on her waist become more like a pinch than a caress. Soundlessly asking him to loosen up.

But, only succeeding in making him even more rowdy.

Her small body was pulled harshly back into him. Her back pressed firmly against his stiff warm chest as he nuzzled his chin into the nook of her neck.

Letting his nose run along her jawline. Rub against her ear.

His thick arms coiling around her like an overbearing hug. One that had his heart thumping brutally against her spine when beating out of his ribcage.

And dick growing warm and heavy and pointy against her ass.

“You never said a thing though... you just looked at me, with so much... horror.”

She winced.

Her hands ever so gentle. Laying themselves on top of his arms.

Feeling like toothpicks against steel.

But she couldn't very well do nothing when he was squeezing her lungs free of air. 

“You fucking hated me.” 

It almost sounded like he was crying. Like he was sorry. Like he was pained and in regret.

His head rubbing against her shoulder. Trying to hold her even closer. Lifting her to her toes as he hunched over her small breakable frame.

And she thought she heard a sniffle before he spoke up again. 

“So, I’ve been thinking...”

His tone was steadier now. Hot against her ear.

And even hotter as he flicked her lobe with his tongue. Making her cringe out a fearful whimper. 

“You want me to be the bad guy?” 

Everything stilled. 

“Fuck it- I’ll be the bad guy.” 

At that she was thrown to the bed.

Weak knees carrying her staggeringly. Receiving the edge of the foot-end with her hands.

Though not left slumped against the mattress for long as strong hands once again imposed on her being.

Pulling at her by snatching the band of her underwear and yanking her up to be placed on the bed with no hope of scurrying away.

“Please-” She whimpered.

Her tiny hands gripping the bedsheets for support. Trying to soothe the ache of the wedgie her childhood bully was giving her a great nostalgia trip with. 

He smirked sadistically down at her before dropping her down with a bounce on the bed. Pulling her arm to flip her over on her back.

“Is that the only word you know?”

He quickly got on top of her. Fitting almost immediately between her thighs. Kneeling whilst looming above her half naked vulnerable self.

His hand placed at her throat. Keeping her down.

Whereas the other stroked tentative fingers down the smooth skin of her stomach. 

“I think you know my name too, don't you?”

“Please, Bakugo-”

Her hands clutched onto his arm. Legs kicking though having no target to hit where they were spread out on each side of his torso. Looking like a ladybug on its back.

“No-” He clicked his tongue while his hand closed in on the elastic band to her perfect red lace-panties.

Ones that seemed entirely picked out for him. 

“That’s not what you used to call me.”

“Katsuki-” She sobbed. Wiggling beneath his touch. Trying desperately to shake him off like he was some bug leaching off her blood. “Please stop.” 

“Wrong again.”

Her efforts where ignored by the ash-blonde looming above her.

His hand utterly unbothered by her squirming. Brushing warm digits over the fabric to her pretty lace bottoms. Feeling her warmth seep through the thin silk as his fingertips ran up and down, dipping slightly into the squishy sensitive flesh. Almost as though he was cuddling with her tender sex. Coaxing for a reaction.

“Kachan, please.” She whined and he closed his eyes for a brief second to enjoy the sound of the nickname.

Such potent nostalgia making his heart fuzz and stomach warm. Pool with something sticky and sweet.

An appreciative soft hum slipped from him. Pushing his otherwise stiff lips into a small smile.

“There we go.... Perfect. Just like the good ol’ days.” He mused. His hand still rubbing abrasively large fingers between the space of her thighs.

Thumbing at where he felt her little clit wake up. 

“Keep begging. You’re good at it.”

Her throat buzzed with warmth beneath the weight and simmering heat of the hand wrapped tightly around it. Successfully keeping her down and pushed into her pillow with no hope of shimming away from the other dangerous venturing hand.

She blinked away more tears. Felt them trail down into her hairline by her temple, itching on her scalp. Whimpering at the feel of his teeth nip on her collarbone, his warm tongue licking at the bittersweet dried wine, and the surprisingly pillowy lips kissing at her shoulder.

“You don't have to do this...” She attempted when the hand around her throat moved slightly to grip her cheeks instead. His fingers pushing into each their cavity of plush flesh, making her pout like a fish. Her lips pushed into a makeshift kiss.

To no surprise he chose to ignore whatever pitiful plea she’d wasted her breathe on. Too focused on drawing patterns into the heat between her legs. 

“Fuck- I’ve missed this face.” He moaned. His breath hitting her lips as she shook beneath him. “This fucking adorable crybaby face.”

He licked his lips again, and his shameless wanton eyes stared lustfully down at her own glossy ones. 

“You look so fucking pathetic.”

His mind couldn't help but stray as his heart clenched with fear for a split second. Getting lost to the unsavoury memory... Wondering if that was what he had looked like when the sludge-villain had him neck deep in despair. When he couldn't breathe. And how the whole experience had left him wanting for a type of comfort he in no way deserved.

Where in the self-loathing...

Being a villain had never seemed quite so inviting.

She didn't expect the kiss to be so soft.

She thought he was going to bite and chew and swallow.

But he brushed his lips quite smoothly against hers. Swiping his tongue over her bottom lip before pushing gently through to taste her.

With it she forgot to breathe. And in that darkness and stillness of having her lifelong fiend kiss her with the care no one she’d ever kissed had given her, she was left listening to what soft hums left the brutish male on top.

Wondering why he so suddenly sounded like he was nothing more but a boy kissing his crush for the first time.

And perhaps she would have forgotten who it was completely...

If only it weren't for the greedy hand that had finally decided to push aside the flimsy lace and push through the tender neatly-shaven lips of her drooling virginity.

“Aww-” His voice scraped mockingly. Gutturally low and sadistically gleeful. Hot on her lips. “Did you get yourself all nice and ready for me?”

She winced out a whimper as he pushed a thick muscly finger into her hole, playing with the tightness for a moment before filling her up with the entire length of his large long-reaching digit. 

“So wet-” He commented, much to her embarrassment.

Though in her defence she had been awaiting someone else in silly thrill for the past hours, preparing like a little girl before the first day of school. 

“All hot and bothered, waiting for me to come?”

She sobbed in disgust as he started pumping and messaging her aching needy arousal. Her thighs trembling at how much the sticky warmth in her gut seemed to hum in utter betrayal by the blissful pleasure. 

“You. Little. Fucking. Slut.” He whispered.

A haughty smile carved on his face as he watched the way her cheeks pooled with red and the shaky intake of breath on her lips, while feeling her tightness clench and pulsate on nothing more but one measly lonesome finger. 

“How does it feel? Huh?” He panted against her cheek as she still ever so foolishly tried squirming away. “How does it feel to cum on my fucking hand? Same hand that’s been pushing you around your entire fucking life?”

She tried winding her thighs shut, but every shift had him sinking his finger in deeper and hooking it cruelly into her tightness. 

“I bet you like it. No, I know you like it.”

He sunk a second one in and she cried out a wince, biting her lip to try and suppress the terrible treacherous moan that wanted to bloom from her throat as her pussy clenched, sucking happily on the new digit taking up the taunt space inside her. 

“I can feel it plain and simple. Your slutty cunt clenching my fingers like your fucking life depends on it.” He snickered, knowing exactly what he was doing as he slid and slotted the two thick digits in and out while having his thumb pressing evilly into her clit, making her back want to arch off the bed as he kissed at her jaw, whispering his cruel words. “Fuck... I can even hear it.” 

She wanted nothing more but to twist away, thinking things wouldn't be half as bad if she didn't have his lips on her cheek and his words tickling her ear and his eyes watching her every move as he made her cum on his hand with that sick twisted smirk on his face.

All she could do was count her blessing that he didn't have the ability to read her mind, because then he’d also know of how the growl in his throat still somehow managed to make the adder in her gut coil and purr with pleasure and how it made her cry in disgust of herself.

But then she was there.

Lips parted to gasp out the last moan yet caught by his and locked in yet another soul-sucking kiss that she now had not the strength or the mind to fight because all she could do was think of the fluttering rippling from the little pressure point found beneath his coarse thumb, and how with every little flick it sent blitz shooting through her core, zipping along her thighs, making her back lurch off the bed and into his chest, where his heart was panicking like a fucking madman with a hammer on an anvil.

His stomach warming at the sight of her all silken and soft and coming undone on his brutish hand, with her lips caught between his teeth as he kissed her like he was pouring his soul down her throat. 

Until she woke up, after only a few passing seconds, a fleeting moment of bliss.

“You- you’re a fuck-king monster.” 

Pained bleary oceans looked up into scarlet bloodbaths, yet couldn't see the amount of awe found in them, or saw it only to feel a deep shudder of disgust on the account of it.

The hand around her throat, kept there like a noose or a collar, didn't take kindly to her words.

Far from happy at how she chose to rob him of his satisfaction a moment too soon.

And if there’s one thing people know about Bakugo, it’s how if one indecent desire isn't satiated, he’ll gladly indulge another.

The strong trained hand made to squeeze frail fragile pipes.

His lips turned grim and stiff. Bloodthirsty eyes beholding what he’d always wanted to call his. Spiteful and desperate to make his wishes come true by any means necessary.

“This is how easy it would be, Quirkless.” He commented while listening to her choking.

Scarlet eyes watched, seemingly indifferent to the sight of her hopelessly trying to gasp for the air his hand wouldn't allow passage through to her burning lungs. 

“It’d only take a minute and you’d be gone forever.” 

He squeezed tighter and listened to her squeak.

Her little useless hands loosening their hold on his larger paw. Giving out, before his fist detached and she sprung back to life.

Coughing and gulping for air. Her hand soothing her throat as she tried curling up into herself, though not allowed to go anywhere but where Bakugo wanted her. His hands finding new purpose in holding her by the hips.

He pulled her naked body closer to his, which had her tender slick-soaked mess brush against the rough fabric to his pants, and her sensitive nipples, perky from the cool air, rub on his cotton-shirt. 

“If I were you, I’d try figuring out ways to stay alive.” 

Her lips quivered. Brows furrowed as she looked at him, thinking she’d never seen him quite this stone-cold.

Feeling that little ounce of hope she still had left for the boy in her heart flicker with its last will. Snuffed out by how he dragged her off her back and made her sit on his lap.

His harsh fingers burying themselves in the dough of her hips while his erection laid like a large bump of scratchy material against her clit, making her cringe as she trembled with tears falling silently in thin streams down her cheeks. 

“Remember what you said to Deku when the shrimp tried fighting back?”

She closed her eyes and bowed her head. Feeling a hand leave her hip, and soon after the rip of a zipper being pulled. Her shoulders sinking as her breath shuddered. 

“He’s not worth it.”

She felt his thighs shift beneath her, but she didn't dare open her eyes.

All she could do was swallow and feel the cold air brush against her naked flesh as she heated up by the fact that Katsuki was pulling his dick out with the intention to sink it inside her.

“I slapped the old hag that day when she asked me what was wrong. Square across the face. She had burns for months.”

She whimpered when she felt his breath on her cheek, and recoiled back, though held firmly and painfully by the large hand on her hip. 

“You want me to slap you?” His voice was weirdly sweet whilst a knuckle went sliding against her cheek to pull the curtain of hair out of her face.

His lips soon pressing against her cheek as she choked on her own whimpering shallow breaths. 

“No, right?” He whispered and that’s when she felt it.

Plush like velvet, squishy and warm, burning, thick and rounded, bobbing against her clit, being pushed to slide through her folds, make her squirm on top of him. 

“So be a good slut and ride my fucking dick.”

He added pressure to the small of her back.

The slight inclination of heat and sweat in his palm telling her to move closer until she was hovering above something else that was radiating heat between her thighs.

Brushing up against her opening.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she felt it push, and she opened her eyes to look at him with the most pleadful expression she could muster.

Her lips trembling to their complete own accord, and brows joining the same dance of tremor.

“Kachan-”

But there was nothing staring back at her.

Nothing she could call human.

Not kindness nor mercy.

Not even pity.

“Come on, Quirkless. Show me what you were gonna do with that blue-eyed fuck.”

He didn't make a single move, as though he was waiting for her to do it for him. 

“Don't be shy. Come on, slut.”

His fingers dug into her hips and she knew, by the burning cold in his eyes, he was dead-set on making her feel every lick of his hatred. 

And it was hatred.

She couldn't allow it to be anything else.

She couldn't bare the thought of it being anything remotely similar to love as she lowered her hips slowly for him to fill her up inch by thick inch, sliding inside her wet virgin walls, all the way to the hilt, until his bulging head kissed sweetly into her screaming cervix.

It couldn't be love.

She didn't get a second to think before his hand once again grabbed ahold of her face.

His sandpaper fingers mushing her soft cheeks, making her stare into his bleeding-red look with those moon-wide tear-soaked horrified pretty eyes.

“Is this what it takes for you to notice me?” He puffed. “Huh? Can’t fucking focus without me threatening your life?”

She still flinched at the sharpness of his words. Feeling cold and tense and so very dreadfully alone, even with him twitching inside her. 

“Am I only worth it when I got my cock balls-deep inside you?”  

She closed her eyes but it was a mistake.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, fucking bitch!” He barked. Spit flying into her squished face a mere half-inch away from his teeth. “You want me to fuck you like one? Bend you over, make you take it from behind, on your knees with your face down, like a good for nothing cum-dump whore?!”

His other hand pulled her even closer, made her tits hug against his chest where he still hadn't bothered removing his shirt. Buttons sharp and abrasive against her flesh as she shook at the feel of his cock warming and stretching her out. Weirded-out with how it sat lodged so well inside the comfort of her pussy, and how she was unwillingly clamping down around the girth of him, sucking on him gratefully, happily and passionately like how they used to huddle for warmth at nap-time on playdates.

He kissed her again. His forehead pushing achingly into hers. Noses hugging. Lips strutting forward and pressing into hers like letting go meant dying, where even his breath shuddered as she could swear his eyes seemed a bit more glossy then than before. Though it could easily have been brushed off as just a trick of the light in the dimly lit bleakness of her apartment in the night.

"Do you-" He whispered in a voice like from a complete different person. “Remember our first kiss?”

It had been back when they were only four and having only the slightest clue what kisses even were, but she could never forget it. 

“You told me I sucked.” He added.

“I- I told you not to use so much teeth.” She whimpered. Voice weak and blubbering like it had been back in kindergarten. Soft and sweet and shy and only barely above a whisper.

“Guess I never learn...” 

He didn't pull away. Their foreheads still seemingly glued together. Noses bumping. Breaths cohesive. 

“You haven’t changed much since then either.”

That broke her heart. 

His hands tightened against her flesh.

“Now ride. Or next time I fuck you, blue-eyes rotting head will be watching us.”

TIP-JAR

! 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐟𝐭. 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨

ALPHA! GOJO x F OMEGA! READER

+ synopsis. you live in a world where omega and alpha qualities are medically treated at birth to become dormant later in life. present day, only betas & pseudo-betas exist, pheromones & its effects are left in the distant past, and heats & ruts are reduced to monthly cycles of being slightly hornier than normal, nothing more.

so, what happens when a curse you encounter induces a heat in you far worse than anything recorded in modern times?

+ alternatively. in which even a special grade sorcerer isn’t immune to the curse-induced heat of an omega — you, the partner he's pined for over the course of your entire friendship — forcing you and him to go back to your primal roots.

+ cw. forced A/B/O dynamics, lovesick! gojo, slight! geto x reader, sorcerer! reader, dubcon (technically sex pollen), reader is born an omega, gojo and geto are born alphas, gojo's infinity can't block scent for fic purposes, geto doesn’t turn au, use of restraints, mating call, mutual pining, it gets playful / lighthearted in the middle, implied 'medical' use of sex toys, dirty thoughts, lordosis, petnames (angel, love), pussy job, constant pov switches towards the end, cunnilingus, ass fingering, piv, cervix kisses, confessions, shared orgasm, creampie, knotting, no beta bye, 3.5k+ words, MDNI

+ masterlists. general ┆ jujutsu kaisen ┆ collab

♥︎ aki’s note. big thank you to raven (@raven-cincaide) for sprinting with me ♡ ++ this very late fic is part of my into the omegaverse collab ♡ please show some love to everybody’s amazing works when you can!

He came as soon as he heard. Plagued by his racing thoughts, Satoru stands still, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he watches you from behind the glass window. Though he appears to be calm, seeing you like this is torture.

“How long has she been in there?” Suguru puts his hands in his pockets, taking the spot next to Satoru.

“Too long,” he breathes. And it’s only been half a day. His 6 eyes have been agonizingly locked on your form the entire time, piercing blue eyes peering through the glass and into your poor disturbed soul. You’ve been crying non stop ever since they found you. Eyes glossy, pupils blasted, spewing incoherent words, skin damp and hot.

They needed to restrain your arms and legs to be able to perform tests on you, but that didn’t stop you from crossing your knees, relying on friction to rub your pussy as best as you can. All this, as your body wriggles beneath the harsh clinic lights. You’ve gone absolutely feral. Your cries are pitched an octave higher than what Satoru’s used to. And as much as he doesn’t want to believe it, it’s as if… “It’s as if she’s calling out to someone.”

“To you, you mean?” Suguru scoffs.

Paper seals secure the walls of your room. Remnants of the curse linger around your body and because of that, they’ve deemed it safer to assume only born-betas are allowed direct contact. For now, at least. Shoko says they don’t know if there are aftereffects — meaning, if exposure to a victim could also trigger a rut in an alpha. And now they’re dealing with pheromones, not just cursed energy, so infinity is out of the question. That means Shoko gets to stay with you, and the two born-alphas are to stay on this side until further notice. 

Satoru hates it – being separated from you by a wall like this. Not like you weren’t already normally separated by one, considering your room in the dorms is right next to his. But he particularly hates how this renders him unable to barge in on you any time he wants.

Right now, he wants to annoy you. He wants to poke fun at you. He wants to pull your strings because he likes it when you get fake-mad. You’re cute when you do that. Plus, he uses it to his advantage knowing you can never actually stay mad at him for too long — a weakness the two of you share.

“Heard the report got it all wrong.” Suguru pats Satoru’s back. “Special grade 1, was it? Quite the leap from semi-grade 1.” Suguru shakes his head, chuckling in disbelief. He’s never seen his best friend so distraught. But Suguru reassures him, telling him not to worry and reminding him of the fact that, at the very least, “She’s alive and kicking. Well, kicking too hard for that matter. Those knots are gonna bruise.”

“She should’ve called me. Fucking idiot.” Satoru clicks his tongue.

They have brought in experts — historians, even. They have tried every omega medicine known to man. Emergency suppressants that were once obsolete are concocted that same day. Everything should’ve shown immediate effects. And yet, it’s almost laughable how it all seemed like they were only giving you placebo meds, forcing you to down so many in so little time. Since nothing has worked, Shoko sent them away.

What’s worse is, the curse is exorcised. And in the world of Jujutsu Sorcery, killing a curse usually takes all its enchantments with it. So, if the curse is dead and you’re still experiencing the worst heat known to man, they could damn well consider your revert permanent if they don’t do something about it quickly.

The two men jolt back upon smelling a very pronounced aroma of burnt cinnamon on Shoko who’s left the room for the first time in the last 6 hours. Her hair is slightly disheveled, slightly damp from sweat. And the circles around her eyes have grown visibly darker and heavier.

“Can’t imagine our forefathers going nuts over that stench.” Suguru lightens the mood, fanning his hand in front of his face. He blinks his tears dry as a result of inhaling a whiff of the strong odor.

“It’s not that bad.” Satoru scrunches his nose as he’s suddenly taken aback, though he’s not particularly repulsed by the scent. If anything, he’s immediately convinced it’s something he doesn’t mind living with. “Plus, I heard it’s slightly different for every omega.”

“Finally, some fresh fucking air,” Shoko murmurs as she leans on the glass, head thrown back as she lights up a cigarette. Apparently, she hasn’t had one since they brought you in. “Welp, tried everything. Even left her alone with toys to do—”

“Herself?” Suguru teases.

Satoru scratches his throat. “Did it- uhm… did it help?”

“Not one bit.”

“Maybe you… didn’t give her enough time?” Satoru nonchalantly suggests, pouting as he subconsciously takes notes for himself if he ever gets presented with the opportunity.

“I let her at it for an hour.” Shoko huffs out smoke in the direction opposite to the two men. “I even gave her… options, you know.”

Satoru mentally kicks himself as his thoughts run wild. He can still see the tip of the pink silicone popping out of one of the trays, girth not so different from his. He hates Shoko for doing a shitty job at concealing it because blood rushes to his cock just by looking at that thing, knowing it had gone inside you. He thinks about what other toys Shoko had you use — thinks about which one was able to make you cum the fastest, which one was your favorite?

Fuck. Now, he has to keep adjusting his stance, marching in place like a damn soldier till he manages to get his half-hard cock into a better position in his pants. Using his hands then and there is not an option for obvious reasons.

“Satoru.” Shoko’s tone becomes more serious. “You can drag this longer than it needs to be. But you know there’s only one surefire tried-and-tested-literally-by-millions-way to cure a heat.” She takes a long puff, blowing smoke in between words, embers flickering on the end of her half-done stick. “You up for it?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Of course he is.

Suguru and Shoko shoot each other knowing glances, the former raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘watch this’. “Satoru, If you’re not gonna do it, I wi—”

“I’ll fucking kill you,” Satoru spits, not letting his best friend finish his sentence. The two quickly exchange low fives, chuckling at the expense of their lovesick friend. Satoru turns to Shoko, paying no mind to his friends so blatantly enjoying themselves in the middle of a crisis. “You’re sure you’ve done everything you can?”

“Everything I can, yes. You’ve exhausted all the favors you can ask of me, it’s high time you deal with your own problems.” Shoko prods two fingers onto Satoru’s chest.

“Want her to want it,” Satoru speaks softly.

“Are you blind? Did your fucking 6 eyes stop working?” Shoko looks at Satoru, puzzled, as if she wonders why Satoru isn’t seeing what she’s seeing. “Oh, I’m pretty sure she wants it bad.”

“Want her to want me.”

Shoko rolls her eyes and disposes of her cigarette though it’s a couple more puffs away from when she usually stops. She’s at her limit. “Wait here.”

Trying to prove a point, she goes to the supply room and comes back with two handkerchiefs — a white one and a blue one. She then pats the white one with the sweat off of Satoru’s nape, and the other with Suguru’s. “Pray with me, boys. One of you’s gonna have to return to their roots.” She cracks her neck, preparing to head back in.

The sound of your cries increase and decrease in volume when Shoko opens and closes the door behind her.

“Shoko, Shoko, please! Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it—”

Shoko waves the blue handkerchief above your head, grabbing your attention for only a few seconds till you’re back to screaming in agony. She can almost hear Suguru scoffing on the other side. She then takes out the white cloth with Satoru’s scent, and like a moth to a flame, you’re instantly drawn to it. Your breaths have finally steadied. You take quick bouts of whiffs, head craning every which way she drags the piece of cloth.

She leaves you with the handkerchief after letting your arms and legs loose, allowing you to curl up in a ball as you desperately inhale Satoru’s scent. It’s the first thing that has calmed you in hours. Nonetheless, this relief is temporary. Pretty soon you’ll be needing something stronger. Something more potent. Something in its rawest form.

“S-satoru,” you breathe through the handkerchief, staring at the two-way mirror like a faint prayer to the god you know is there. “Shoko, please get me Satoru.” Your words are clear as day, and that’s the first coherent thing you’ve said all day.

Shoko’s eyes dart to where she’s sure Satoru stands. “Do you see it now?” she mouths.

Satoru’s jaw stiffens, stomach now a mangled mess of anticipation and guilt. On the one hand, he’s relieved. He’s not sure what he would’ve done if you’d reacted the same way to Suguru’s scent. On the other hand, he knows what’s going to happen now. Not like he didn’t see this coming.

…

Though she didn’t have to, Shoko chose to make a nest of Satoru’s clothes for you in his own bed. “Thought I’d at least make the effort to help make it romantic, no?”

Except nothing about this is romantic. Jujutsu dorm walls thankfully aren’t thin, but thin enough for him to hear your cries from behind his door.

Satoru takes a second to collect himself, getting square with the fact that this isn’t how he wanted your first time to go. He can smell you from where he stands, forcibly reminding him for every second he delays that you’re in there, waiting for him.

He’s played your first time over and over in his head as he fucked his fist — almost every morning in the shower, once or twice in your room when you were out on a mission, and many, many times in the very bed you’re nestled now. Out of the hundreds of scenarios he’s made up of him making love to you in his head, he’s never once pictured this.

His friends have pestered him about this for so long, urging him to take the first step or else Suguru — and on some occasions, Shoko — won’t hesitate to whisk you off your feet. But he tells them he has his reasons for constantly holding off. He says it’s because you’re perfect for him, and so he wanted your first to be perfect — plain and simple. He says it so matter-of-factly, too. But now, to hell with the perfect scenario because as it turns out, it’s mother nature herself who decides to give him one crazy hell of a push to make a move.

Satoru enters his room. Greeted with the raw and unbound fragrance of your heat, his heart pounds in his chest. He coos upon seeing you hugging his pillow, all plump and ready for him. Suddenly, it registers in his head that he’s seeing you naked for the first time, lying in his bed. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he says more to himself, trying to convince himself that this is real — that you’re real.

“‘M sorry, it hurts— hurts so bad, Satoru. ‘M sorry!” He’s sorry it has to be like this, too. But he’s not so sorry that you’d asked for him.

With dried up tears along your cheeks, and fresh ones in your eyes, your cried out voice croaks, “Satoru, help me please. I need you.” You roll on your belly, propping your forearms as you bury your face in his scent, whining into his pillow, back arching + ass perked up, as you shamelessly stroke your pussy to his face. “N-need you now, please, please, please?”

Fuck.

Even now, it melts his heart seeing you so full of want.

“Shh, shh, shh. I’m here aren’t I?”

Satoru doesn’t miss the way your hand grips the sheets as you watch him discard his clothes. He sees the absolute delight in your face, the flexing of your belly, the further bend of your back, the quicker strokes of your fingers around your clit. But it’s the sight of your nectar dripping out of you that finally makes him break.

With how hard he is and how much he wants to devour you like crazy, he could easily be mistaken for an alpha in a rut. He swears his chemical makeup has nothing to do with it. He just wants you that bad.

Suddenly, the space between you and him doesn’t exist. You moan out loud just by being touched by him. He engulfs you in his arms forcing you to sit up, hot skin against even hotter skin, your back pressed flush against his torso as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. And your slick — god, your honeyed slick — begins to coat his hard cock speared between your legs and along your puffy folds.

Fuck.

“Sweet angel.” His eyes roll back as he takes in all of your scent.

His cock twitches between your legs, pre-cum starting to drip off his tip. He feels a tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach as soon as he gets into contact with your slick. Your touch is so fucking electric. One hand wraps around your stomach while the other reaches for your breast, cupping and kneading the soft flesh, feeling your thuds of a heartbeat beneath his palm. You smell so fucking good upclose, your scent keeps hooking and hooking him in, and taking care of you is all he cares about. That's all that matters. He’s holding you now and yet he’s unable to satiate this mad need to be closer to you. He needs to be closer. He needs to make love to you. Needs to be in you—

“S-Satoru.” You guide the hand on your breast, intertwining with his fingers, pressing harder, rougher, against your skin. “You feel so good, Satoru. Please move. N-need more.”

Satoru releases a deep groan in your ear when you bring your knees together, locking his cock between your legs as you begin to grind your pussy on his erection, nectar lubing your every sway.

“E-easy, eaaasy,” Satoru’s voice is low and breathy. He hisses with every roll of your hips, breath hitching as your pussy drags his foreskin back and forth, balls kissing the back of your thighs. Mind hazy with want, he presses his cheek on yours, planting open mouthed and sloppy kisses on the side of your face.

“Not so fast!” Satoru holds your hips in place when you start to pick up the pace, making you whine, “Wha–”

“Too fast, I’m sorry.” Satoru trails apologetic kisses along your jaw. “Not there- don’t want to cum there.”

He apologizes as a tinge of guilt prickles his throat seeing you so utterly vulnerable. Your eyes plead for him to fill you then and there but he needs this moment to last as long as possible, even if it means prolonging your agony.

“S-Satoru, can’t wait any longer!” You try to move your hips but they’re locked in place. 

“No.” He says, firmly, and it hurts to tell you that. “Not yet.” Tears well up in your eyes as your chest heaved at the height of your confusion. Your mouth opens, trying to find words, but before you get to complain, he gives you a soft, chaste kiss — your very first one, he realizes — and tells you, “Get down for me.”

And with tears in your eyes, you oblige. He supposes this is the work of the reemergence of your makeup and raging hormones, making you so pliant and submissive, you’re willing to do his bidding even when you’re on the verge of insanity — when, before this, you always had a stubbornness in you he’d always been fond of. But then again, at this very moment, you’re desperate. And you’re desperate for him.

“Satoru, I don’t know what you’re up to b-but please, don’t take long- oh!” Your protests are quickly replaced with cries as you feel a soft, wet muscle slide across your folds. He’s always had that habit of not letting you finish. To think it’s something he takes to bed with him makes your stomach coil. “Fuck!”

Hot breath fans your folds as he splits your slit open with his tongue, and all you can do is shudder in place, wallowing in the extreme pleasure that dozens of toys weren’t able to give you. You’re practically leaking on his face, honey dripping down his chin, the tip of his nose pressing into your ass.

His tongue squelches with every lick, twisting your core in knots with every line drawn. And then it’s as if Satoru’s lips are sealed around your clit, puckering and sucking on the sensitive bud.

“Satoru, oh god. ‘Toru, so good, ‘s so fucking good~” Your eyebrows furrow, lips pursing as he relentlessly flicks his tongue on your clit.

“Oh!” You scream when a honeyed digit enters your ass, thumb hooking and pressing hard against your g-spot, all while his tongue remains fixated on your clit. “Fuck- mmm!”

You can’t help but mewl and cuss into your first orgasm — the first one he granted you, that is — wave of pleasure washing across your body as he eats out your high. And while it’s a sensation that gives you a sense of satisfaction, you’re left wanting more. You’re left needing more.

“Please fill me- can’t wait any longer- please, alpha~”

Oh, now you’ve done it.

“Sorry, love.” Satoru pulls you back into his chest and cups your cheek, making you look over your shoulder and into his face. “Neither can I.”

“Sato- Oh!” Gagged by the feeling of friction in your aching walls, the very first one you had welcomed since your heat, you’re at a loss for words when his cock enters you, bottoming out straight away. Your mouth forms an ‘o’ and he instinctively closes the gap, savoring your mouth, and with every click and swirl of your tongues, he thinks you are probably the softest, most delicate thing he’s ever tasted.

He knows he’s screwed, tasting you for the first time, knowing he’ll never want anything other than you, your lips, your pussy, this feeling ever again.

You feel as if every pump of his cock scratches that stubborn itch that’s spread across your pussy since your heat. And every satisfying ram of his hips kisses your cervix, bringing you closer and closer to your high, as if this — his cock, and the feeling of his body rocking your own — has been what’s missing in your life.

“Scream for me, angel,” Satoru grumbles against your ear as he feels himself nearing his own climax. Suddenly, his mouth is back on yours, kissing you, with you purring against his lips as he fucks you through your shared high.

“I–” When his pace comes to a full stop, you know what’s about to come. And he doesn’t know what to say. Shoko’s already briefed him on what’ll happen to an alpha who cums in an omega in heat, not that he doesn’t know what a knot is. He just doesn’t know what to expect. Still, he wants you to take it. Even now, he wants you to want it. But he studies that curious look on your face, and as he scrambles for words, it seems it’s your turn to finally shut him up.

“I love you, Satoru.”

Satoru chuckles. More to himself.

“I love you, too.” Satoru, with breaths uneven, relaxes his forehead against yours. Satoru steadies himself, and pretty soon, you collapse in his arms as his knot locks in your core.

...

"Hey," Satoru breaks the silence. "You know... taking my knot like that means you practically asked me to marry you."

"Shut up."

—

Shoko alternates between looking at you and flipping the pages of the report in her clipboard. It seems that you’re technically back to normal but she’s got that look in her face as if a couple of words are stuck behind her throat.

“It’s fine. Hit me with it,” you prompt. “What is it?”

“Well, you’re now a full-blown omega is what it is,” Shoko says without an ounce of concern in her voice. “But seeing as you’ve got… help now,” Shoko’s eyes dart to Satoru who’s standing in the corner, “there’s really not much to do about it.”

“Is that so?” You chuckle at the playful tension between Satoru and Shoko.

“You’re ‘help’, by the way,” Shoko addresses Satoru.

“A big one, too,” he adds.

“Keep it in your pants.” Shoko puts her clipboard aside and scratches her temple. “Still, it’s insane that this is what finally brought you two together.”

Shoko’s words put a longing, knowing smile to your face. "This silly guy waited too long."

“Hey, if that’s what it took. Who am I to complain?” Satoru shrugs, ego fluffed by the thought that you’re finally his. And the fact that he and you are the only active alpha and omega in the world? How special is that?

pspsps. reblogs and comments are appreciated ♥︎

you've always wanted to know what it was like to fly but ideally not in the arms of the man you've been avoiding for two weeks.

in which you've been avoiding hawks and he figures it out - prohero!y/n x hawks

it was a beautiful day to have a day off.

the weather was perfect: sunny with a hint of breeze. not too warm for it to be uncomfortable but warm enough for a short-sleeved shirt, you didn't run into any unexpected incidents that suddenly required you to perform any hero work, just wasted the day away doing absolutely nothing but unwinding by yourself. the lunch you had was amazing too, you really ought to go back and try out their other dishes, maybe bring a few friends from the agency too.

it’s just a shame that you have to end the day in the arms of the man you've been avoiding for the past two weeks, feeling your feet dangle helplessly in the air as he carries you securely, albeit, uncomfortably. 

"never knew hawks kidnapped people off the streets during patrol," you muttered, squinting as to combat the wind that was slightly drying your eyes. 

"depends what your meaning of 'random' is because judging by your definition, you mean strangers-" he stops talking when you approach the top of fukuoka tower and the prohero sets you down carefully, although you still stumble.

your heart thumped heavily in your chest, the exhilaration of soaring through the air was slowly seeping out of your bloodstream. although you really couldn't tell if it was flying at the ridiculous height that was freaking you out or if it was just the natural effect hawks seemed to have on you. damn that pretty bastard.

he continues his previous statement "-you and i both know we're not strangers. so what gives? why are you acting like we are all of a sudden?"

you cling on to the hand rails of the tower. heights wasn't much of a challenge but with the man you've been pining over ever since you first met him? you might need a second.

you met hawks when your agency and his had formed an alliance and it just so happened that your assistants assigned your patrol times to align. hawks was the number 2 hero and you were eager to learn how he went about his day-to-day, hoping for some help on how to boost your own rating up whilst learning how he manages an agency at his young age. he entered the prohero industry not too long before you but given your similar ages, he definitely had a headstart so when the opportunity to collaborate together came, you jumped at the chance.

what you hadn't taken into consideration however, was the extent of his charming personality and how easy it was to get along with the wing hero.

patrols were fun, full of laughter and jokes whilst competing in friendly competitions in who could save more civilians and apprehend more villains. sure, you shouldn't be goofing around on the job but nobody had to know.

adding in hawk's good looks, it did not take long for you to fall ass first for him.

your first instinct was to keep about your interactions but eventually the pining got too much that you figured out ways to avoid him where possible. meetings were meetings, but patrol times? your sacred little pockets of moments together? those could be minimised.

you took on late nights, all the way into the early morning unlike the usual afternoon schedule you'd established for the longest time.

and the act worked! for two weeks that is because now you're standing in front of hawks who has swept you off the street and brought him to his favourite place in the city.

this sucked.

he looked perfect in the golden hour too, honey illuminating his skin with a gentle glow that only enhanced how irresistible of a man hawks is.

"i don’t know what you’re talking about, nothing gives," you try to reply as nonchalantly as possible, excusing your nervous movements by pretending it was the wind blowing in your eyes uncomfortably.

hawks scoffs, "yeah sure, just like how you're giving me nothing."

you can't resist the pout from creeping on your lips. "is that why you kidnapped me off the street? to ask what's wrong? you could've just stopped me instead of flying off like i'm some worm for you to feed your baby chicks."

"haha, real funny. bird jokes," he rolls his eyes, a hint of a smile ghosting his lips.

"you know you like them."

"not as much as i'd like it if you told me what was actually up with you. taking patrols at midnight? seriously? i know you like your sleep."

"personal matters," you lie. although, it wasn't really a lie - it was personal, the way he made you feel was absolutely personal.

"what about today? why didn't you tell me you were off today because we could've hung out and visited that farmer's market i know you like."

you shrug, "thought never occurred to me."

he narrows his eyes in suspicion. "okay, then why wouldn't you tell me your hours were changing? i wouldn't mind picking up some nights," he asks, bottom lip poking out a little as a he furrows his brows.

you put your head in your hand, "no- that would've been, nevermind."

"tell me," he pleads. "it would've been what?"

you hate the way he's looking at you with so much passion and intensity that it wants to make your heart lurch out of your chest and right into his hands. this would be so much easier if he just-

fuck it. "it would have defeated the purpose."

"so you’re avoiding me on purpose then. did i do something wrong? cause if i did-"

"no!" you exclaim suddenly, tone full of exasperation and desperation, conveying the frustration you've been feeling the past two weeks into one sudden syllable. it actually takes hawks by surprise because he stumbles back a little and there's a moment of silence where you're just gauging for each other's reactions. "i mean- no, you didn't do anything wrong, and that's the frustrating part."

you continue with little space for him to intercept, "it's just, oh what the fuck, i know i shouldn't be saying this because it's totally unprofessional and-"

"out with it, y/n."

"-i like you.”

the air choked at your sudden confession and hawks’ expression says it all, morphing into one of shock - wide eyes and a slightly parted mouth before transforming into a wide smirk. you look away and cross your arms, which was a defense mechanism that hawks definitely picked up on. after spending so much time with you, how could he not have? 

he leans against the pole of the tower, suaveness oozing off him as if he wasn’t just frantically asking you what was wrong with you, “how much do you like me?” he asks, smugness evident in his tone.

you cover your eyes, “if i do not see, i do not perceive, go away.”

his laughter rings through your ears and you peek at him by separating your fingers slightly, “oh come on, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about-”

“yes there is! i have a crush on you and you’re literally the most embarrassing person in the world! being associated with you is embarrassing enough!”

he clenches his chest in faux-pain, “that one hurt, you should consider your words more carefully y/n, it’s a wonder how you won a bachelors like me.”

you give him a look of defeat as the words he just uttered registers in your head. “stop playing, this is serious.”

“you just called me embarrassing to be around!”

“because you are!”

hawks raises a brow at you, “number two hero not good enough for you? i’ll shoot for number one next time, then will you finally not be embarrassed enough to go on a date with me?”

oh god, this was a mess. “no, no, i suppose a date with you now is good enough.” 

“good enough?” hawks parrots before sighing with a shrug, “i’ll take it.”

“that came out wrong because i’m still seriously trying to believe that you’re not pulling my leg,” you point your finger in his chest, “you seriously like me back?”

“and i want to take you out on a date. tonight.”

“yes, let’s do it. tonight it is then.” 

“even if i’m the number two hero?”

“because you’re the number two hero. it’s the only impressive thing about you.”

“you’re the one who has a crush on the number two hero.”

you laugh heartily, wrapping an arm around him whilst doing so. he hugs you back instinctively with a big, warm smile plastered on his face. if you weren't so nervous you would've seen how smitten the look in his eyes were, “i guess i am. can you bring me back to the ground now, number two? i think the civilians should see that their local hero didn’t just kidnap a stranger from the ground.”

“they’ll know when they recognise you as their favourite, local hero. besides, it lets them know you’re off the market now, so good."

Hollow Heart

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『♡』 pro-hero fem!reader x pro-hero bakugo ╰➤ ꒰ pro-heroes au | friends to lovers ꒱ summary: The dynamic duo of Dynamight and Deku are unstoppable, climbing the hero charts like they always dreamed of as kids. Their journeys were tough, but offered them the world - fame, fortune, protection of their family and friends, a comfortable hero life. The recent increase in crime around Tokyo kept their entire sector busy, sending heroes out non-stop, desperate to keep the statistics as low as possible to maintain a clean reputation. When a nearby sector is requesting assistance, the boys are tasked with a mission to inspect a villain’s lair in a deserted area outside of the city. Reports have noted people going missing, specifically with rare quirks. With plenty of other heroes being unavailable, you’re chosen to tag along with the duo for the night operation. Everything is going according to plan until the villain lands a surprise attack, resulting in the your kidnapping and whisking you away through a mysterious portal. It’s been a month since your disappearance with no help of the hero agency. Bakugo and Midoriya take it into their own hands and are determined to get you back - no matter how long or what it takes. tags & warnings: mentions of blood/violence, eventual & mild smut, kidnapping/abduction, experimentation, physical & psychological torture, PTSD, implied/referenced self harm, cursing, talks of trauma | angst with happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, regret, mutual pining, friends to lovers, insomnia, eventual romance a/n: Prepare for the heartbreaking journey of Bakugo battling with his feelings when it’s too late…or is it? :) ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 5,092 as of ch.1 ꒱ Chapter 1 | Hurricane Chapter 2 | The Ghost of You Chapter 2.5 | Choke Chapter 3 | The Grey Chapter 4 | The Good Left Undone Chapter 5 | Tourniquet Chapter 6 | There is Fear in Letting Go 『♡』 this fic has a playlist! ✩

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CHAPTER ONE: HURRICANE

A beautiful summer morning, rays of tangerine light poured into the living room of your apartment as you sleepily make your way to the kitchen, desperate for that first cup of coffee. The clock on the stove read 8:35AM - the latest you’ve overslept in the last month. It was another long night in the office, writing reports for your previous week’s hero patrols that you’d put off for far too long. You'd think someone else would be responsible for inputting notes into the agency's system, but no - anyone below rank 10 was tasked with entering in their own data. 

Criminal activity in the area had increased significantly within the last 3 months, calling heroes of all ranks out nonstop, especially lower ranked heroes. Was it annoying? Sure, being awoken in the middle of the night out of a dead sleep to go stop a small robbery at the local late-night supermarket wasn't ideal. Especially when you dreamed of dealing with bigger threats, akin to crime syndicates and large scale villain organizations. As a hero, you’re taught to tune out the small details and focus on what’s in front of you - keeping the citizens of your ward safe and sound, even if it's helping a granny cross the street in the middle of the afternoon.

The agency accepted you with open arms right out of UA High, over the moon to have a hero with a quirk like yours in their roster. Psionic energy manipulation was shockingly uncommon amongst the 80% of the population of quirk users. The kinetic hero, Y/H/N, ranked number 37 - high enough to earn respect from your peers and low enough to not have to worry about being followed by paparazzi and negotiating brand deals. Cities were full of billboards with ads sponsored by heroes, heavily focused on those in the top 10 for allure to their product. Deku and Dynamight’s athletic wear collaboration, Uravity’s mochi bites, Shouto’s fire and ice energy drinks - it was impossible to avoid. Did you wish you had the smallest bit of spotlight? Sometimes, but being able to walk the streets off-duty and not be bothered was a luxury you'd like to keep. On the counter, your phone buzzed and flashed awake, shaking you out of the sleepy stupor.

Incoming Call: Katsuki Bakugo 

A picture of you and Bakugo appeared on to the caller ID screen - one of your favorite pictures with him. It was from a concert in Shibuya you'd attended a few months back. His arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as he flipped off the camera, wearing his infamous toothy smirk as you leaned against him with a small peace sign and a warm smile. 

It's unfair how effortlessly attractive he was. Admittedly, you'd had a crush on him since high school and drank up every ounce of affection he threw your way over the years. Even though you've known him and Midoriya since childhood, your friendship didn't truly blossom until your first year in UA. Thanks to your tenacity and fighting spirit, he respected you after a long six months. That broke down his walls just enough to tolerate you and continue to be friends ever since. 

You, Midoriya, and Bakugo became three peas in pod, a strong bond established to last a lifetime. Post-UA life wasn’t as easy to see each other, but you made it work - trainings, missions, conflicting work schedules, and general life couldn’t get in between the three of you, even if it was just over texts, phone calls and late-night movie marathons. It helped that you all lived in Tokyo, at least. Midoriya, of course, was extremely special and essential to your life. He’s like the little brother you always wanted and a constant ray of sunshine, always there for whatever you need. There was just something different and special about your bond with Bakugo - a spark, without sounding cliche. And after all these years later, he's still your favorite person and one of your best friends. 

You wouldn't trade it for the world. Oh shit, I forgot we planned to go for a run this morning. You answer hesitantly, knowing full well you’re about to get an earful about being late. 

“Yo, Y/N, you plan on showin' up anytime soon?” There was shockingly no annoyance in his tone. “It’s almost 9.”

“Sorry Kat! I overslept. Had a long night writing reports in the office. I’ll be there in 10,” you say, not making any excuses. You hear a loud tch in response - ah, there’s the annoyance.

“I was about to bust down your door and give you a personal wake up call,” he teases, laughing to himself. “Get your ass to the park. See ya, lite-brite.” The line ended with a click. 

He'd never let that nickname go, one that followed you all the way back from high school. You'd grown used to it as he typically reserved it to get under your skin or light a fire under your ass. Most of the time? It worked - and you liked it.

Setting the coffee cup in the sink, you jog back into your room down the hallway and change into a clean set of workout clothes. You'd just gotten the PR package from Midoriya last week with his new sports wear collaboration with Bakugo, saving you time by not having to dig through your laundry pile. He would have scolded you for slacking on chores if he were to have woken you up in person, and then folded it himself to prove a point. He’d often harp on you for not keeping up with basic shit around your place, but in the same breath, start cleaning up for you - it was one of his love languages. 

The company they collaborated with nailed the designs perfectly. It was minimalistic, but still paid homage to their hero costumes. You grab Bakugo's set - a cropped black sleeveless hoodie with an orange 'X' across the front, a forest green band with a drawstring around the midsection, and an orange hood. The matching shorts were all black with a simple orange stripe down the sides. The neoprene material allowed for the set to breathe in any weather condition.

Thankfully, the park you were meeting him at was only a couple minute walk from your apartment building. Not long after pulling your hair into a ponytail, splashing your face with water and brushing your teeth, you're kicking on your sneakers by the door and shuffling out of the apartment. A few minutes to spare, you duck into the convenience store along the way, grabbing two sports drinks and a bag of his favorite spicy-flavored chips. God, you hated the taste of them and never understood why he liked them so much. Some part of you jokingly thought it fueled his already explosive personality, literally heating him up from the inside.

───

"You wear that on purpose?" Bakugo snickers over his phone as you skip toward him, pointing to your workout gear. 

"What can I say? It's comfortable. Happy to be a walking ad for the number four hero," you say, elbowing him in the arm. He rolls his eyes, snatching the sports drink you've outstretched to him and mutters a thanks. 

"You should model our next set," he pats you on the back. "You're the perfect fit." 

You scoff, waving a hand at him. "Yeah, like I'm model material."

"I literally just said you were, dumbass. Take a damn compliment!" 

He peers over your shoulder to see the chips in your bag. "Damn, you're really kissing up to me today. What's the occasion?" He's beaming over the attention you're showering him with - he'd never admit how much he loved it.

You shake your head playfully. "What, I can't spoil my favorite person?" 

Bakugo barks out a laugh while opening the sports drink and chugging half of it in one go. Again, it was stupid how attractive he was, no matter what he did. The summer breeze made his blonde locks dance lazily in the morning sun, a sheen on his flawless skin as some of the liquid spilled out of the corner of his mouth, trickling down his jawline. A sadistic part of you thought he did this shit on purpose to rile you up, testing the boundaries of your friendship. 

If only you had the nerve to just scream from the rooftops - Katsuki, I fucking love you.

“You good, Y/N?” He's waving a hand in front of your face. “Space case much?”

“Yeah! Sorry, apparently still waking up,” you apologize while stretching your arms over your head. “Let’s go!”

───

An hour later, you and Bakugo finish your run in the park, completely drenched in sweat. The two of you plop under a nearby tree in the shade, the humidity adding a layer of exhaustion to your depleted stamina. Lazily slouching over onto your shoulder, he steals the sports drink out of your hand and downs the rest of it himself with a satisfied hah. Somehow, you always forget that he smells like caramel and burnt sugar after a run, invading your senses with that sweet essence that you loved. His bangs stuck to the sweat on his forehead as he dropped his head back against the tree, eyes closed as he caught his breath. 

God, he’s so fucking beautiful, you think to yourself, almost afraid he'd somehow hear you.

"I'm free the rest of the day," he comments between shallow breaths, lazily opening one eye and elbowing your side. "Down for a movie day? Been awhile."

"Hell yeah. Junk food, too?" Your eyes light up with excitement.

"Like you gotta ask. I didn't run three fuckin' miles just to look good," he quips. "Cool if I shower at your place?"

That catches you off guard, sending a flutter of butterflies off in your stomach. Why the hell are you so riled up today? Sure, you've had a massive crush on your best friend for ages, but its usually not this intense. Must be the scent of his sweat deluding your thoughts...or maybe it’s the potential scene of watching him walk out into your living room, shirtless - excess water cascading down his hourglass figure, tracing his abs and settling into the hem of his sweatpants.

Stop it! Calm the fuck down.

"S-sure. I have a pair of your sweats, I think…maybe Izuku’s? It’s like you guys leave your shit at my place so I do your laundry for free." 

He shoves you jokingly, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Hah! Knew it was you who stole my favorite pair. I’ve got shit with me, no worries.”

Bakugo climbs to his feet, extending a hand back to you. “C’mon, I’m fucking starving and dying to do nothing the rest of the day.”

───

The sunset’s sorbet-colored afterglow flooded the living room as the fourth movie’s credits rolled on the TV screen, a faint warm breeze coming through the open balcony door. The two of you had settled in after your run, marathoning through a collection of films you'd be wanting to watch, surrounded by a buffet of comfort food - taiyaki, meat buns, spicy fried chicken bites, mabo tofu, yakitori, and a box full of various flavors of dango. The cashier at the convenience store must have thought you two were hosting an insane party with how much food you bought, cleaning out their entire hot foods section in minutes. 

Bakugo stretched out like a cat, his abs flexing as his black tank top moved up his midsection. It was impossible not to stare, especially when he wore cropped shirts, showing off his hard earned muscles. You found it ironic how you mentioned once - and only once - how crop tops on guys are attractive as hell, and a few weeks later? He had a handful of them that he’d rotate wearing during the summer, claiming he only wears them for “regulating his temperature for his quirk.” You knew that was a bold-faced lie, but never called him on it. Why would you risk making him change his mind when they looked so good on him? 

He let out a satisfactory groan, putting his feet up on the coffee table and hands behind his head. You stretch as well, throwing your feet in his lap like always. Bakugo looked comfortable, like he was at home. You were home to him.

“I got somethin’ on my face?” He jokes, lolling his head to face you. 

Lost in thought, you have no time to stop the words falling from your mouth.

“No, just admiring you.”

Bakugo quirks an eyebrow, surprised by your flattery. You see a faint pink blush begin to make it’s way across his cheeks, an extremely rare sight.

“Th-thanks,” is all he can muster to say in a low voice. 

“Is that so weird to say? You’re gorgeous, Katsuki,” you blurt out, shocked by your own words. Where the hell is this coming from? You normally weren't so...forward. Not that you were lying in any capacity. You've complimented him plenty times before, why is now different? 

Right?

You pause, realizing you could be overwhelming him. He'd always been adamant on how much he hates when "fans" view him as just a sex object rather than respect him as a heroic figure. 

“I know you hate being objectified. I’m sorry -,”

“Don’t be, y’didn't.” 

The static of the TV hummed through the lull in your conversation, the credits of the last movie approaching the end of its sequence. You nervously fiddle with the hem of your shirt. Thank fuck he can't hear your thoughts.

Bakugo notices your nervous tick and grins. That damn shit-eating grin. 

"Relax, Y/N. I didn't say I didn't like it. Big difference between you and a fan girl sayin' shit like that." 

As he’s about to continue the conversation, both of your phones ring simultaneously. That’s weird…it’s 8:30PM on a Tuesday night. Neither of you were scheduled for patrol and all sectors had coverage from the last e-mail update. You pull your phone out to check the caller ID and sigh in annoyance.

Incoming Call: AGENCY - EMERGENCY LINE

“The fuck?” Bakugo huffs, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

───

After 15 minutes, you're debriefed with a new mission, and strangely, you’re assigned with none other than Bakugo and Midoriya. This was extremely uncommon for heroes of top 10 rank to work with those below rank 25 and only happened when other top 10 heroes are too busy. Emergency calls were normally automated messages, but this was a personal conference call from the board of directors.

We are in need of Y/H/N to assist Dynamight and Deku’s mission to stake out a villain’s laboratory tonight in Sector 42. We’ve received reports of civilians going missing near the area over the last few weeks, specifically those with uncommon and rare quirks. There is a probability that hostages are being using for the development of a secret serum, to which is unknown at this time. Report to the agency by 11:30PM for further instruction.

Man, you were really looking forward to more time with Bakugo. Granted, you’ll still be with him, but now you’ll be stalking around for work, not stuffing your face on the couch together.

“Kat, I don’t know what it is, but I…I have a really weird feeling about this stake out,” you admit, unsure of where this anxiety is coming from. This isn’t the first time you’ve been assigned to a mission like this, and certainly won’t be the last, there was just something odd in the air surrounding this one. 

“Yeah. Go grab your suit, I’ll call Izuku to meet us here and we'll go over together,” Bakugo says hesitantly, already dialing Midoriya and bringing his phone to his ear. 

“Hey, yeah just got the call. Y/N and I are at her apartment, swing by and we'll go to the agency together.”

───

By 11:45PM, the three of you are suited up and stationed in Sector 42. The area was very…barren? It was confusing to you how people would wander out here and disappear. It was in the middle of nowhere, miles from the city limits, an open field surrounded by a spotty tree line. Something still felt off about this entire set up - a gut feeling, but it was enough to keep you on edge.

“Y/N?” Midoriya called to you, blinking with concern. “Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.”

You rub your temple, desperately trying to push the feeling down. 

“Sorry, Izu. I’ve had a gut feeling something was wrong since the phone call.”

“What do you mean?” His interest is peaked, both out of curiosity and concern. 

“Can’t place it, but I feel it, too. Something’s not right,” Bakugo chimed in, surveying the field for any signs of…whatever the hell it was they’re looking for. An entrance to a lab? Masked minions abducting people? The agency was extremely vague in their details. That didn’t sit well with you, and Bakugo now, too. 

“You’re not wrong. This is an open area in the middle of nowhere. Why would anyone wander out here alone?” Midoriya muttered, continuing a conversation with his own thoughts aloud. “It's not a common road for travel, by foot or by vehicle. And how would the agency know what this villain is making without having the location of the lab in question?”

The abrupt sound of creaking metal echoed around you, a sense of danger spiking in your nerves. You place a hand on the shoulder of both Midoriya and Bakugo to halt them in their tracks.

“Did you hear that? It sounded like a door was opening…close by,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Whoosh!

You didn’t register there was another presence amongst you until the dart made contact with your skin. A warming sensation flowed through your right shoulder as you let out a cry, stumbling to your knee. What the fuck? Your hero suit was designed to prevent piercing damage to a degree, but this dart cut right through it. The dart resembled a syringe, automatically activating the injection mechanism as it pierced your skin.

“Y/N!” Midoriya shouted, immediately wrapping an arm around your waist to whisk you away from another potential attack. Bakugo whipped his head around, looking for any sign of where the dart came from. Was someone hiding, or was it a device hidden out of sight? Maybe in a nearby tree? That's not possible, these trees don't have enough leaves for coverage like that.

“Hold still, I’m going to pull it out,” Midoriya warned. You braced for the pain as he yanked the dart from your shoulder, tossing it out of reach. You wince, the sting slowly fading a few seconds later. “Are you feeling okay?”

Things were starting to feel fuzzy, the ache spreading rapidly through the rest of your body. Everything felt warm and cold simultaneously, as if your body was at war over what temperature to settle on. 

“I’m alright, just…dizzy,” you mumble, slurring as you attempt to reassure him.

Midoriya helps you to your feet, offering to let you use him as support. You wave a hand, muttering over and over again I’m fine, I’m fine. There’s a pulsing sensation starting to build in your shoulder, creeping its way through your right arm. It’s tingling, crawling - uncomfortable, but not painful. What the hell was in that dart? 

A flash of black invades your vision, throwing you off balance as things pixelate and sharpen repeatedly before completely disappearing. Things are spinning and your senses are dulling. You notice that you don’t hear Bakugo or Midoriya anymore…did they wander off? You should be able to hear explosions, gusts of wind, crackling energy - something.

A force knocks you on your back, slamming you to the ground. You don’t feel a damn thing, just a vague numbness as your body, what you presume, hits the ground. You can’t make out whatever, or whoever, it is that is attacking you. I still can’t hear anything! Can you speak? Can anyone hear you even if you could?

…Y…N! …Y/N!

A voice? It’s muffled, but you hear someone calling for you. Was that Midoriya?

“Let her go, jackass!”

Oh no, that’s Bakugo. 

His booming voice reverberates through your head, sending your thoughts whirling in a vortex more than they already were. A vision of the battlefield was starting coming into focus, hazy, but a semblance of scenery was making its way back to you. When did I get up from the ground? Didn't I get knocked down? 

The field before you was littered with debris.

…Branches and broken stumps of dead trees.

…Craters in the ground.

…are those broken pieces of Bakugo’s gauntlets? 

…patchy trails and puddles of blood soaking into the dirt.

The sights sent a chill up your spine - your gut instinct was right. 

To your right, Midoriya panted with force as he held onto his thigh, blood seeping through his suit and staining around the wound. He was close enough that you could see the detailing of his tendons exposed from the impact, frayed pieces of skin hanging from the damage. His hair was slicked back, matted with a mix of, what you think, is dirt and blood. The rest of his suit had a variety of slashes and cuts, the material tattered and torn all over his body.

To your left, Bakugo’s on the ground, battered and bruised as he’s struggling to get to his feet. His gauntlets were missing, along with the glove underneath on his right hand. His exposed forearm was beat red, what looked like hand prints blistering the area. Blood trickled from his forehead and pooled under his mask. He’s shouting again…you can’t quite make out what he’s saying as he’s extending his bare arm in your direction.

What the fuck happened?! 

Something inside you clicks abruptly, adrenaline surging, urging you to fight. It’s competing with the numbness in your muscles. How much damage have you taken if you can’t feel a damn thing?

Fuck. Come on, dammit. Move, fight - do something! Help them!

In your peripheral vision, a man appears beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. You turn on your heel, ready to activate your quirk and blast this guy into oblivion. Your hand meets his clothed chest with a thump.

Nothing happens. 

Your quirk doesn’t activate.

Another swing, focusing all the energy you have into a concentrated blast.

Nothing.

Panic sets in as you study your hand, mortified that you’ve been rendered useless. Your mind is racing faster than you can keep up with. Is this the serum they talked about earlier? How long was I unconscious...was I even unconscious? 

And then it dawns on you - it’s a quirk suppressant. 

The serum they’re using to abduct people nullifies their quirks to make them a willing target.

The mystery man cups your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Your vision tunnels on his face, the rest of your body shutting back down. You feel your arms flop to their sides as your knees begin to buckle - the adrenaline being zapped from your muscles at his touch. 

“Good, it’s setting in. You’ll be a decent specimen. We’ve been waiting for a psionics user like you to add to our roster.”

A giant swirl of matter begins to manifest in front of you, a gentle force sucking you closer to it’s entry point. You can't help but think about how helpless you look in this moment, confused as hell that this scrawny man could take down three heroes with ease. You fucking hated the feeling, never wanting to be the damsel in distress. It pissed you off beyond belief.

“It’s time.” The man, in what you can now see is a white lab coat, turns you around to face the boys sprawled on the battlefield. “We’ll be going now.”

Every inch of your body is screaming run. But you can’t. You can’t move, paralyzed by all the conflicting effects of the serum running rampant through your veins. Your vision is dimming once more, your eyes threaten to close as Bakugo’s voice drags you back to reality. Your eyes snap open as he appears in front of you, digging his heels into the dirt. 

“Hey, wake up! I’m not letting you go!” 

He’s screaming at the top of his lungs, pleading for you to hear him as he clutches your forearm, attempting to pull you to him. You can’t feel it, but by the strain shown in his bicep, he’s using all of his strength to hold onto you. His eyes are full of panic, wide and bloodshot, crimson irises aflame.

"Let her fucking go!" he roars a second time. His hand is slipping down your forearm, now desperately gripping onto your hand. You attempt to grasp it to no avail, your strength failing you. You hear him let out an anxious grunt, struggling against the force of whatever is pulling you away behind you.

Time seems to slow as you lock eyes, an exchange of unspoken words between you two. A sense of dread begins to flood through your body as you see tears threatening to spill out of his eyes.

He's terrified. 

You remember a thought from earlier in the day, if only I could scream "I love you."

There will never be a perfect moment, never a time and place for you to say it. You have to create the moment yourself.

A steady breath escapes you, softly gazing at Bakugo as you see his fingers slipping through your own.

"Katsuki," you mouth, barely able to hear the sound of your own voice.

"I love you."

The last thing you see is Bakugo frantically scrambling toward you before darkness envelops your sight.

- - - BAKUGO POV - - -

Everything happened in the blink of a fucking eye.

Ambushed, both him and Midoriya were hazed with a mysterious smoke, rendering their quirks useless. His explosions fizzled out as he fought the onslaught of henchmen surrounding them, armed with various weapons. The two of them blitzed through a good number of them before quickly becoming overwhelmed - 25 on 2 wasn't ideal odds.

Their hero suits were ripped, equipment shattered as they were punched, kicked, stabbed at, battered, and thrown around.

"I don't need my fuckin' quirk to kick your asses!" Bakugo threatened as he swiped at a nameless henchmen, nailing a right hook to his jaw. Midoriya was holding his own behind him until he let out an agonizing yelp, falling to the ground audibly.

"Deku!" Bakugo called out, spinning in the direction of his cry as someone socked him from the left side. He skid onto the ground, particles of dirt trailing behind him.

Regaining his composure, he looked around to see that all of the henchmen had swiftly disappeared without a trace, as if they were never there in the first place. What the fuck?

He saw her body standing still, some man in a lab coat behind her. She resembled a lifeless puppet, the light from her eyes dim and limbs loosely at her sides. It looked as though she could collapse at any moment.

"Let her go, jackass!" Bakugo shouted, unable to get to his feet.

The unknown man gripped her shoulder as a large black mass appeared behind them. 

Is that a portal? That looks like Kurogiri's quirk from years ago, he thought to himself, willing every fiber of his being to get to his fucking feet.

He's able to muster enough strength get one knee off the ground, enough to launch in range of her and wildly grasp for her hand. 

“Hey, wake up! I’m not letting you go!” 

Bakugo doesn't realize he's screaming, he's acting on impulse and adrenaline - desperation to save her. His hand is slipping at an agonizingly slow pace, moving from forearm to her hand, hardly able to keep his hand clasped with hers. He's cursing internally, hoping that she can't see the terror in his eyes, the anxiety filling him to the brim. That's when he hears her speak, her voice hauntingly quiet.

"Katsuki, I love you."

His hand slips away, watching her disappear into the portal. It closes in an instant as he's hopelessly dashing to it, not noticing that Midoriya is charging from behind him. They briefly collide, stumbling from the impact before they both steady themselves. 

The silence surrounding them is deafening.

"Kacchan," Midoriya snivels, head hung low. "I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough to help." His voice was breaking, clenching his fists at his side.

Bakugo stares at his hand, collapsing to his knees. He felt nauseous, the crippling realization churning in his stomach.

I love you.

Her voice ricocheted through his head, bouncing around as it tugged hard at his heartstrings. An overwhelming sensation of loss fills his heart, refusing to come to terms with the current reality. 

A brief memory flooded into Bakugo's mind, reminding him of a feeling he'd long shoved away. One night - years ago - at his brand new apartment in Tokyo, they'd been up all night talking after the long day of moving his shit into the place. It was 3AM, boxes piled everywhere as they laid in his bed, bullshitting the night away with random talks of life. She started a vulnerable conversation of mental health amongst heroes, ranging from her own family issues and medicated struggles as examples of not knowing what people deal with beneath the surface. He'd been listening, watching as she poured her heart out next to him, able to smile through it all. It was in that moment that struck him like lightning - he'd fallen madly and irrevocably in love with her. He had convinced himself there was no way she would have felt the same, forcing himself to suffocate that feeling for years.

And he was wrong.

Midoriya crouched down beside him as he's lost in the memory, a hand on his shoulder. 

"We'll find her, Kacchan, don't worry," he attempts to declare confidently as his own tears are staining his cheeks. "She's strong, she'll be -,"

"She said she loved me." Bakugo's facade was shattering before his eyes as he watched his best friend crumble onto the ground, clutching his chest. He couldn't control the wail that escaped him, tears pouring from his eyes like the downpour of a rainstorm. 

Midoriya pulled him close, Bakugo falling limply into him, curling into a ball as they sobbed together.

PAIRING : katsuki bakugou x reader

STATUS : complete

RATING : sfw ☁️

GENRE : smau, crack, lil bit of angst, aged up, sexual references (suggested for a mature reader)

⤷ looking for a new friend after having moved to a new town, you dive into the world of ‘meeting strangers!’. Downloading a weird app called anonymous, searching for matches!

‘ profile:

▸ name: fuck you

▸ age: 19

▸ describe yourself: no

▸ interests: being better than you

↬ start talking talking to fuck you! ’

Yet, the guy you find is not the nicest but there’s an odd charm to him.

You proceed to exchange numbers after matching with a total stranger so that you wouldn’t have to talk over this cheaply made app, making him your source of entertainment in this very new stage in your life!

chapters:

0: 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙤 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧

1: 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙖𝙣

2: 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚?

3: 𝙨𝙦𝙪𝙖𝙙

4: 𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪𝙥, 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧

5: 𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙜𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨

6: 𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙚

7: 𝙙𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧?

8: 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙞𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙘

9: 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙥

10: 𝙬𝙚 𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙨!

11: 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠

12: 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚

13: 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙣

14: 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 4𝙥𝙢 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙

15:  𝙞 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤𝙤

epilogue

side warning: this was made at a time when i didn’t take into account the profile picture of y/n, so please be aware of that. I’m sorry for the mistake, my newer smau’s do not have this issue!! Be assured that the profile picture is not representative of the reader i had in mind and they barely look anything like me as well🥲

if he's a serial killer, then what's the worst that could happen to a girl who's already hurt?—

dabi x reader

wc: 9.5+

warnings: 18+, ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ASSAULT, explicit/crude language, reader is not doing well, angst, dabi is bad at feelings, also yandere by accident?

if he's as bad as they say, then i guess i'm cursed, looking into his eyes, i think he's already hurt—

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really.

It had been by some ridiculous coincidence that you attended Shizuoka Private School at the same time, in the same class and had the same peers. There was always an idiotic smile on your face; it made you seem so damn friendly that the other kids fought over you at lunch—who would you sit with today? But you sat with them last time! When was it my turn?

Even then you were pulled in different directions.

The two of you hadn’t been friends, only classmates. Sometimes he sat with you, sometimes he didn’t; more often than not he spent his time outside, counting out his breaths so he didn’t burn his stomach or his hands or his face—which is pretty fucking funny, in retrospect—but you talked to him, just like you did everyone. It wasn’t anything special.

A smile and a wave. How’s it going, Touya? Sure are working hard!

An offering, some of the leftover rice in the bento your dear mommy made you. Ugh, I’m so full! You need the energy, want it?

A chin perched on your knee, pulling them close to your chest as you watched him. That’s super cool! I bet you’ll be even better than your dad!

So fucking sweet. So fucking idiotic.

(He didn’t think that then. Nah, not back then.)

It always made you throw up, using that quirk of yours. Underneath the tree, the one in the front of the fence on the side of the school, he’d told you,

“You can be my sidekick! I’ll get them with Prominence Burn, and you get ‘em with Mind Freeze!”

There was blood in your teeth when you responded. “We’ll get the bad guys together!”

It’s not until after everything that he realizes what the problem is, not until you take that job in the hospital and put needles in veins and take temperatures and clean up shit that he realizes you can’t take it. Something about it ruining your own neurological whatever; if you had tried to be a hero, you wouldn’t have made it to your late-twenties. Brain would have ate itself, or something.

(In retrospect, he guesses that’s a good thing. If he ever ran into you out there, if he had to turn your bones to ash in an alleyway while you wore some cheesy spandex, you might not have recognized him—but you would have figured it out just before he carbonized you. You would have probed his mind all different ways, found everything out, even those things he shoves behind the door in his head.)

(Of course he could do it, smite you into fucking nothing, absolutely, no problem.)

Somehow you got blessed with good parents, the kind that supported whatever path you wanted, the kind that only exists in the movies. They said things to you like, “only if you want to” and “you can be just as much of a hero without your quirk”—which was a load of shit and you knew it. He knew it, too.

Those kids by the fence were supposed to be partners.

In retrospect, it’s pretty fucking funny. Every last bit of it.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, but you lit incense for him at least once a year. Most of the time on his birthday (he wasn’t sure how you figured that out; the idea that you went to his house to ask Enji was horrifying), but sometimes you wouldn’t show up that day. Sometimes you did it at Christmas, sometimes on Valentine’s Day. Sometimes on any random Saturday of the month.

Sometimes you showed up for a few weeks in a row.

So fucking sweet. So fucking idiotic.

Who the fuck even are you, anyway? Acting all sad and heartbroken because some kid from your class went and got himself incinerated to Hell. Acting like you cared, as if those conversations under the tree ever really meant anything. As if the future was ever gonna be up to him, as if he had any say. Acting as if you could ever do the Hero Thing, as if you had any say. As if the blood on your lips didn’t stain his when he kissed a girl at age ten, for the first time.

Grow up. Kids say shit they don’t mean all the time.

And without him, you had—grown up. After a while you stopped talking about him, stopped saying, “Oh, my friend Touya,” as if he was still there, waiting for you at the front of the school. You were an honor student, every year, and your parents bought you a car when you started high school. A normal one, not U.A. No one had figured it out yet, that your bouts of illness and fatigue, the Twice-sized migraines you got were all due to that quirk of yours, but you knew something was wrong. Even then.

Somehow you got blessed with good parents, the kind that paid your way through college, the kind that bought you a stethoscope as if you were gonna be some hot-shot doctor. So fucking stupid, in a world of quirks; someone could do what would take you hours, in seconds, but you still chose that job. Because you still wore that idiotic smile and people still flocked to you and you wanted to please everyone, just like always.

Yeah, he knew where you lived, but it’s not like he was a creep.

When he managed to unscramble his brain enough to use it, it was easy to find you. You lived in the same house you always did and he’d been over once, as Touya, and the curtains covering your windows were still pink, still had stars on them, when you were ten and when you were eighteen. Those parents of yours had to make a big ol’ deal of you moving out, to some shitty apartment closer to the hospital, closer to downtown, so it wasn’t hard for him to follow that moving truck.

And you still had those fucking curtains. Why wouldn’t you throw them away? Move on. Grow up.

To his complete horror, you kept a photo of him in the third drawer in your kitchen, the same photo Enji stared at. It was pathetic, all of it, how you kept him around and in your space. Sometimes you would open that drawer and see it and act surprised, as if you hadn’t put it there yourself, and you would say something stupid like, “How’s it going, Touya?” before grabbing what you needed and putting him back in the dark.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, and it was all so idiotic.

When one of your nurse friends asked about the picture, you told them everything. About the bento boxes and the tree, about the Hero to your Sidekick, about the one and only time he felt like a kid, in someone else’s home, while he watched some girly movie about a witch and her broomstick and a cat.

“—and my mom made me salmon, but he hates fish, so we threw it at a car in the school parking lot.”

Hates. As if he was still alive. As if you still cared. As if you could tell he was sitting against the wall in your dark bedroom, listening to every sip of that beer you took.

The worst part of it all was that you walked to and from work, like a big fucking fool. Mom and Pop bought you a car for a reason, stupid, and if you wanted to stay in shape so bad, you could just join a fucking gym, like the rest of the world. But no. You insisted, even when that cunt from the hospital cafeteria offered to drive you himself. “Fresh air is good for me,” you told him, which was a terribly lame response—one fit for you.

So fucking stupid, trying to be so perfect all the time.

The way you curled your hair and the careful hand you used to put on your makeup. If a bum on the street asked you for money, you’d come back from a coffee shop across the road with water and a sandwich, maybe even throw him a bill or two. People stopped you to ask for directions and you gave them, sometimes you would pay for the person in line behind you at some takeout place. If litter was on the ground, you’d carry it to the nearest trash can.

They told you that if you’d tried to do the Hero Thing, you’d be dead by twenty-three, and yet there you were, holding open the door for four people in a row with that smile, playing the good guy.

Grow up.

There were plenty of other women in his life better than you, women that understood his motivation, his rage, ones that left the door unlocked when he needed to get his rocks off. Some of those women had pierced nipples and wore spandex—not the cheesy kind—and let him do the whole BDSM thing because they liked it just as much as he did. They didn’t expect anything of him, they didn’t talk about him like he was still there or pretend to care. They liked him, Dabi (most of them, anyway, some of those fucking bitches couldn’t get over his appearance, but he didn’t care about them).

He didn’t care about any of that, least of all you. Least of all the skimpy dress you wore when that cafeteria cuck finally got your number, finally got the balls to take you out. Who cares that he brought you flowers and that you kissed him for it? It’s not some big, grand deal that a man took notes from a shitty romance flick to impress you. He didn’t care at all, because he was balls-deep in a girl he’d picked up at the bar, and it wasn’t some big deal that he pretended it was you moaning his name.

Yeah, you were kinda attractive. Whatever.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, and it wasn’t a big deal he watched you after that twelve hour shift you always pull. The walk home in the first place is dumb, but it’s nearly 3am and you’re stumbling on your feet (it’s your third night in a row, because, of course it is). The alleyways gets real dark, he knows this, and all it takes is for him to tip his head down and breathe in his nicotine for you not to notice.

There’s blood on your scrubs and you look tired, a different kind of tired than the one you usually wear, a sad-tired. All the mascara is gone from your eyes. Probably lost some poor bastard in the ER because you didn’t have a quirk that mattered, not in your profession, and now you’re crying because you’re soft.

People die. Touya did. Grow up. Throw away the picture.

It’s all so boring and lame, weariness eating at the edges of his own eyes, but he isn’t ready to go back to that shitty motel room he’s living out of. Toga is on his last damn nerve at the moment and Shigaraki is messing around with some losers, so he doesn’t care, not right now. The motel bed is broken and it creaks when he moves and he’s fucking over it, so that’s why he leans against the wall when you walk by, why he closes his eyes and lets the cigarette smoke swirl into the sky, and it’s why he doesn’t follow right behind you, not yet.

One would think he’d be familiar with the sound of a tire iron against a skull, but that isn’t really his style, so it’s only when you start coughing that he realizes something is weird. When he rounds that corner and looks down the sidewalk, the last thing he sees is the curtain of your hair disappearing into an alleyway too far from him.

“Fuck.”

He almost says your name out loud, he almost calls it out, but someone actually has the nerve to grab you right out from underneath him, so he’s shoving his hands in his pockets and hurrying down the sidewalk. The first thing he sees is one of your teeth (he kicks the other one and it clicks down the concrete, skittering over the curb and into the street) and then he sees the tiny pool of blood you’d spit up when you hit the ground.

Dabi isn’t some fucking pussy, so he really isn’t sure why it happens so slowly, why he lets it go so far. By the time the sound of your cries reach him, some fucker already has your scrub pants around your ankles and he’s slotting himself up against your ass, but you’re too out of it to really realize what’s happening. Blood is pouring over your eye and half your face is already bruised and knotted from where the metal struck you, but you’re awake.

Which is why he thinks this idiot hit you where he did, nowhere truly lethal, because some guys like when girls squirm.

You’re just moaning in pain, lying there while he looks at you in shock (someone is really doing this to you? Just out in the street like a fucking tool?) but you’re trying to drag yourself away, pretty nails scraping against the pavement without any real effort. When the alleyway begins to glow blue, you look up at him, and he sees the fear in your eyes when you meet his.

It’s ugly, but it’s over soon.

That alleyway fucking stinks now, with the smell of melted skin and hair and it’s too smokey for either of you to breathe. For some reason, you aren’t even screaming, which is absurd, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone attacks you, idiot. Your entire face is covered in ash and dirt and blood, sticking to the sweat pooling from you, and you’re still just rolling around like a headless chicken.

And for a moment, he isn’t really sure what to do.

For a moment, he has some idiotic thought, about gathering you up in his—

Nah, fuck that, he won’t even finish it.

There is a hospital up the street, your hospital, and they would probably find you soon enough. If he leaves right then, as you try and fail to reach for your pants, he could even run up there and call out about a woman in the alleyway. People flock to you; they love perfect, little, you, and they’ll find you. They’ll call the doctor with the quirk you don’t have and they’ll heal you. They’ll take care of you.

The two of you weren’t even friends, not really, but he won’t forget the way he felt when you used that shitty quirk of yours on him. As if someone was reaching in through his ears and his nose and poking around, trying their damndest to touch his brain with their fingers, and then it’s like a switch is turned on, one he didn’t realize was turned off.

Just before you vomit enough blood to knock you out, you gasp and reach a shaking hand out to him and then you say it. You say his name.

You say, “Touya, please.”

And then he has no choice but to entertain that fucking thought from before, because you’ve used that quirk and you’ve unlocked that door in his head and he’s the kid by the fence, under the tree, all over again.

At best, he should have left you for someone to find. Possibly should have left you for dead because he’s not ready yet, not for the big reveal. There is a timeline he’s working with, one that will hit Enji the hardest, and tonight isn’t the night for it to all start. You know the incense you’ve been burning has been for nothing, that the picture in your drawer is about as stupid as he’s always thought it was, and you know that Touya isn’t dead.

And no one is supposed to know, not yet.

Yeah, he knows where you live, but he can’t exactly climb the steps to your apartment with you, half-dead and covered in your own blood and grime, in his arms and expect none of the do-gooders in your building not to call the cops. The motel is gross, but it’s in a bad part of town; this sight sure isn’t the worst they’ve ever seen, will ever see.

Maybe he’ll get lucky and you’ll just die in this creaky bed. Then he can blame the blood stains and the smell for the reason he needs to change rooms. Nothing about you seems alive, except for the pulse racing in your neck, for the heartbeat in your chest that nearly comes out of your skin. For once in your life, you aren’t wearing that fucking smile, not looking with those bright eyes or batting your eyelashes. For once you’re finally quiet.

Dabi has patched himself up enough times to do this, but he hardly has anything with him that can help whatever the fuck is going on with you. Will you die from the wound to the head? Have a concussion? Are you gonna puke blood all over the sheets, like he wants you to? After he pulled your pants up, your underwear were still on and intact, no blood on your thighs, so he doesn’t think that asshole actually got anywhere with you.

It’s kinda pissing him off, how long it took for him to do anything.

Not that he cares.

The towels in the motel are shitty and scratchy. The water is lukewarm and never cold, but he wets a hand towel all the same and tries his best to wash the blood off your face, off your mouth and your neck. There is probably blood in your teeth, just like there always had been, but he’s not about to pry your lips open and brush them with his only toothbrush, so you’ll just have to figure that out whenever you wake up.

There is a sorry excuse for a first-aid kit under the leaking sink and thank fuck you’re knocked out, because he’s got to cauterize that wound on your forehead (you still stir a little bit and tears escape your closed eyes), but he puts a somewhat sticky band aid over it.

In retrospect, it’s pretty fucking funny; your perfect little face, finally marred.

When there is nothing left to do but wait for you to wake up, he just stares at you. For a long time. Longer than he’ll ever admit, even to himself. Because he hasn’t been this close, not since the tree or that time he sat next to you in your living room, while you shared onigiri and watched that dumb movie. Enji didn’t even know—he’d been too busy with Shoto to realize he hadn’t gone outside to train. He’d been too busy to realize Touya had slipped out of the yard and down the street, into a girl’s house for the first and last time.

When he thinks about you, sitting beside him and touching the white of his hair, with your soft hands and your shy little face, he leaves to go get water from the store around the corner. There’s hardly any money in his pockets, but he uses it all to buy as many bottles of water he can, and when he gets back, you haven’t moved an inch.

“Are you dead yet?” He doesn’t look at you when he asks, only sets the water on the wood-chipped table by the door and waits. It’s nearly 5 in the morning and he’s dead tired, but he just sits on the ground and waits some more. About an hour goes by and he checks your pulse again, just to be sure.

He’s half awake when your fingers start twitching, when you start whimpering in your sleep. The bed creaks when you shift on your back, moving your legs in discomfort as you start rolling around again, just like you did in the alley. When your eyes finally open, you blink at the ceiling for a long time (he doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath), before touching your head gingerly. At the first feel of the band aid on your forehead, tears immediately well up in your eyes and you let out a gasp, looking away from him and to the shitty bathroom.

Dabi is sitting beside the mattress on the ground, looking at you when you turn your head to him. Maybe you should scream, if you had the energy, maybe you should do what most people do when they see him and his fucking skin, the staples holding him all together. But you’re a big idiot, so you don’t. You only scan his face and look into his eyes (and he’s a man now and not a fucking kid, so he stares back), blink at him, just like you did the ceiling, and you don’t say anything for a long time.

It looks like there are a million thoughts running through your head and it’s pissing him off.

“Say something,” He spits, “Don’t just fucking stare at me like that.”

“Touya.”

“Don’t call me that.” No one has, not since the Hero and Sidekick days, not since Shizuoka Private School, not since Sekoto Peak. “And don’t ever fucking poke around in my brain again!”

"Am I dead?"

So fucking idiotic. "Unfortunately for me, no."

Your head is so heavy that when you try to sit up, it just lolls back on your shoulders, looking like it's gonna fall off and onto the sheets. After a minute of trying, you give up. "Are you dead?"

All your words are slurring. Maybe you are dying, after all.

"Unfortunately for me, no."

"Where am I?"

And you're still not screaming or freaking out, even though you'd been nearly whacked to death, nearly raped into the concrete. Even though a kid from your class—one you weren't even friends with—is alive right next to you, looking like someone left him in the oven too long.

Does he tell you where you are? Chances are, if you survive this thing, you'll report him to the police since you're such a goody-goody. A wannabe hero and all that. Once, he'd seen you carry an empty fast food bag for three fucking blocks because every trash can you found before then was full. Fucking pathetic.

On the bed, you're still shifting your legs and twitching. It doesn't seem like you realize it.

"Are you alright in there?" Maybe if he hits you upside the head, you'll stop. "'Cause you almost got your brains knocked out."

More tears. The skin on your forehead is real tight with that knot and your brows only pull down a hair. A big, fat pout. "What? What happened? Where am I?"

The scrub top is tucked into your pants because he'd been in a hurry to yank them up your legs, but you don't seem to notice. There's a good chance you don't even remember getting whacked, and the last thing he wants to do is pretend he cares enough to console you. So fucking soft, you'll definitely start crying if he tells you what nearly happened to you (seriously, what the fuck was he doing? Supposed to be some badass and it took him a solid six seconds to act. So annoying), so he won't.

"Some guy stole your purse."

That's not true, it's behind the toilet.

"What? Where is he?"

Dabi snorts and his eyes relax into an unimpressed stare. "Oh, well after he bludgeoned you, I thought I'd entertain a game of Shogi with him—where the fuck do you think he is? I lit him up like the Chinese New Year."

"Oh." Is all you say and then you're quiet. When he looks up from the stained carpet and back at your face, your eyes are closed and he snaps his fingers until you reopen them. "Am I dead?"

"No, now quit askin'."

Your equilibrium must be way off, because you try to raise your hand to touch your face but it just waves around near your right ear like you're drunk off your ass. When you try to sit up again, you manage it, but you still sway back and forth.

He still has no idea what to do. Finish the job already? Put you out of your misery?

The bed creaks every time you lean back and you swivel around dumbly to look down at it, down at him. That perfectly curled hair of yours is a wreck, all tangled in the back like some sort of bad sex hair, and in the light of the barely rising sun, he can see parts of blood he missed. You don't smile that smile, so he doesn't know if it's in your teeth. Probably is.

Maybe you aren't gonna croak right then, because you look at the door, the chipping paint on the walls, the who-knows-what colored stain on the carpet. You look at the water on the table, at the shitty desk, the flickering light outside the bathroom. Then him.

"Can I have some water, please?"

Please.

Oh, shut the fuck up.

Dabi gives it to you anyway, even unscrews the cap for you like some kind of gentleman, like some kind of hero you or he could never be. Half of it spills out of your mouth and runs all down your shirt, like you have no idea how to work your lips anymore. When it dribbles down your chin, he can see it's pink.

Every time you blink your eyes, they get heavier and heavier, one closing and opening before the other.

Maybe you are really dying, right there in some shitty motel room with the ghost of a kid you kinda knew. Those parents of yours will probably lose it, maybe your mom will even off herself when they find your body, decaying on this creaky bed. But he'll be long gone by then. And he doesn't care.

In retrospect, it's pretty fucking funny. Touya will come back and you won't.

It takes you three attempts to stand, holding yourself up with a weak hand on the bed. The second attempt has you nearly falling on your face back into the mattress, ass all up in the air like it had been in the alleyway. When you take an unsteady step forward, he jumps up, just in case you're faking it and are gonna make a run for the door.

But you don't, you just look at him and say it again. "Touya."

"Don't call me that."

"Am I dead?"

It takes him three steps to cross the distance between you and him, and he grabs your face in his hand, squishing your cheeks together and making you look at all the burnt parts of him. "I wouldn't be here if you were dead, you idiot. Stop asking."

More tears. That pout again.

Oh boo fucking hoo, he's being mean. Grow up.

Thoughts are flashing in your eyes again but you're not saying anything, you might not even know how to anymore. He shakes your face a little before letting go and you stumble into him, like the grip of his hand had been the only thing keeping you upright.

"I miss you."

The two of you hadn't even been friends, not really, not at all. The tree had been cut down, Shoto was the hero he was supposed to be, and you were fucked up, dying out in the middle of nowhere. Nothing is how it was supposed to be.

Maybe if he cared about anything other than himself, he would be worried about you, drooling like that because you can't keep your mouth closed. Maybe if he cared, he would give a shit about seeing your face up close and he would admit he's been watching it for too long, seeing how it changes and gets prettier every year, seeing the woman you grew up to be. Maybe if he cared, he would even say something stupid, like that it meant something to him that he meant something to you. Maybe he'd even smile, let you touch him, maybe he'd even bury his face in your neck and tell you he missed you, too.

But Dabi doesn't care, not a bit.

So he holds you at an arm's length, face twisting into that crazy snarl he gets sometimes. Miss, like he was still alive. Like you were the dead one, imagining it all in whichever layer of Hell you ended it up. What a load of shit.

"Get off me!"

When he steps back away from you, you catch yourself on the wall, turning so that your back is leaning against it. Your eyes close again, but he can see that they're rolling behind your lids, even as you slump down to the ground. All the blood left on you has dried and it comes off in flakes when you itch at your hairline, at your jaw, underneath your chin. There is dirt and maybe some leftover skin, a little bit of gravel, all embedded under your nails and pressed against your neck, which you finally seem to realize.

"I'm...disgusting."

"Yeah."

That pretty little head of yours looks like it weighs a ton, but you raise it so your eyes can meet his, and, he's not close enough to tell, but is one of your pupils dilated? That band aid is hardly clinging to your forehead and at the touch of your fingers, it just gives up, falls off and into your lap. It stretches between your fingers and you look at it like you've never seen one before.

"I don't feel good."

No fucking shit. That first aid kit has a small package of expired Acetaminophen—whatever the fuck that is—and he gives it to you, though you choke while trying to swallow it.

It takes you another few attempts to get to your feet, but you finally do and he steps out of your reach again. "I need to shower."

A laugh actually barks out of him. "This water'll probably poison you."

Maybe your ears are clogged with blood or something, because you just repeat yourself. "I'm gross, I need to take a shower, please."

Please.

Fine, if you want to die with a yeast infection, go right ahead.

Dabi has seen your tits before—not on purpose—but you don't know that, so he tries to be a gentleman and at least act like he's not looking when you peel that dingy scrub top off, when you nearly fall down trying to get out of your sports bra.

He does look when you ask him for help, though.

There is no way you can stand up by yourself in the fucking shower, and you want this UTI so damn bad, so he just runs a lukewarm bath. The water splutters and comes out at all different kinds of pressure, but you don't slip when you step in, so he just leaves you to it.

Maybe you'll drown in there—though this shitty tub isn't really big enough for you to do that—and it will all be over painlessly. Then he won't have to hold a pillow over your face or burn your flesh off while you scream and writhe.

No problem, he could absolutely do it.

Maybe he'll just come back and you'll finally be done twitching, looking as peaceful as you do when you sleep, underneath that blood-tinged water.

After it happened, Dabi wanted to kill you. Like actually kill you. A whole lotta people, everyone he knew, really, but you were somewhere near the top of the list.

Maybe because you made him feel something once, maybe because the little charm bracelet you gave him was the first thing that turned to ash at Sekoto Peak. Maybe because, if he couldn't rise up and do the Hero Thing, then he didn't want you to do it, either.

(Which, in retrospect—)

There wasn't gonna be any big show, no flames or anything, just him and his hands. It lulled him to sleep most nights, out there on the street, thinking of the ways he would do it. He planned to slip through those pink star curtains of yours and wake you up—because he wanted to see the light leave your eyes—and then he'd wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze until your eyes fucking popped. Maybe he'd even kiss your gasping lips again.

There was a time when he wanted it so bad, that it was almost hard to distinguish that desire from reality. Some days he would wake up and he wouldn't think about shoving his thumbs in your eyes, because, he'd already done it, hadn’t he? They'd already buried you, the world had already moved on without perfect, little you. Dabi sure had, Touya sure had.

Guess that's why you're still alive (well, somewhat) in that bathroom and he's just sitting against the door, waiting for the sound of you to start gurgling or something. Somehow he just forgot to kill you, became too wrapped up in a plan for Enji. If he pictures that list in his mind, you were number 4 or 5, but he'd never made it past the first name.

It kinda pisses him off.

There hasn't been any sounds, none. Not even of you moaning or crying, no water splashing as you drowned or even washed yourself. Just silence, from the minute you sat down in that tub. It's been at least 30 minutes and that lukewarm water must finally be cold, but you haven't said anything. You've got to be dead. You've got to be.

Maybe he can cross your name off that list, after all.

The scene from the alleyway keeps replaying in his mind and he's finally figured out why it makes him feel so sick: if he had followed behind you in the first place, you wouldn't have gotten whacked. And if you hadn't gotten whacked, he wouldn't have needed to bring you back to his base of operations here, in the fucking decaying motel room, and you wouldn't know he was alive. There would be no chance for his plan to be ruined because you'd be at home, in bed or actually taking a shower or something, and things would be safe. His plan would be safe.

That's why the sight of you there, bloody and beaten, half naked on the ground, makes his stomach hurt and twist in all different ways.

That's why the sight of you in here, disoriented and fading, blood hemorrhaging in your brain, makes him nervous.

That's why. No other reasons.

Still doesn't explain why he hesitates with his hand on the door, thinking of seeing you naked with far away glassy eyes, but, fuck it, Dabi doesn't have time to figure that out, too. Now he's got to get rid of your body, throw it in the dumpster out back or something before people start to notice you've gone missing.

When he opens that door, his lungs seize up as he looks at you.

But after a few, still moments, your still-filthy head swivels to look at him and he breathes (in disappointment, damn it).

"What the fuck?" He says, but your expression doesn't change. "I thought you needed a bath."

There is still a layer of dirt and grime on your chest and face, all the places the water didn't rise to meet because you didn't sink down underneath it. It's been a big fucking waste of time, leaving you in there, because now it's after 6 and you're as wrinkly as a fucking raisin and still alive and he still doesn't know what to do.

"I do." When you swallow, it sounds like your throat is as dry as his skin. Probably left your mouth open this whole time, just staring at the peeling paint on the wall.

"Then why didn't you take one?"

"My arms are heavy."

"Mother of—fuck!"

So fucking stupid. So fucking idiotic. The water is an ugly color, similar to the stain out on the carpet, and he reaches his hand right down in between your legs to pull the plug. It's the first time he's felt the water being cold and, so close to you, he realizes you're shivering. Teeth chattering, shoulders shaking, lips turning a little blue, all because you'd just sat in the damn tub for too long.

"Get the fuck—stand up." Though he says it, he knows you aren't gonna do it, so he just puts his hands under your armpits and hauls you to your feet. The second he lets go, you nearly tumble sideways out of the tub and he doesn't want to clean up anymore blood, so he stops you from bashing your head on the tile.

But he should have let you, oh boy, he should have let you do it. Then he wouldn't be in this stupid situation anymore.

This fucking situation, where he's standing in a grimy tub as water swirls around his feet, as you dampen all of his clothes with your pruned body. Dabi has been in a lot of bad situations, but this one takes the fucking cake.

"Like taking care of a fucking baby," He mutters, and he's looking at the shower-head and the knobs, he's looking at the water draining in the tub and feeling the coldness seeping into his socks, into his skin from his wet clothes.

It's fucking pointless now, might as well.

The rings of the shower curtain rattle when he pulls it closed, the water is lukewarm when it sprays him directly in the face and he jerks back, blinking it out of his eyes as you sigh against his chest. It doesn't stop you from shivering, but the little bit of heat against your back has you curling, arching like a cat and nearly purring at the warmth of it.

It's pathetic.

Almost as pathetic as him standing fully clothed, holding up a half-dead girl in the shower, some girl from his class. One he wasn't even friends with.

"Touya."

"I said don't call me that."

The two of you stand in silence for a while, your cheek against his chest, his hands under your arms. The front of his hair has flattened against his forehead and every now and then, a dark drop of water drips down on your nose and leaves an inky trail. Dabi has this thought, a scary one, that a lot of things are going to come clean in this shitty shower.

The giant sighs you heave are the only way he knows you aren't dead. And you're a fucking liar, because those oh so heavy arms of yours are raising, he can feel your hands at his hips, dragging up over his tightened stomach and at his chest. Then you loop your feather-light arms around his back and shuffle just a bit on your feet, like the two of you are just hugging, like friends.

"Why’re you wearing clothes?"

Dabi snorts and rears his head back, but you don't look up at him. "Because I've got a massive hard on and you're not in there"—he taps his finger against the top of your sopping wet head—"enough for me to fuck."

That's not true, he's not the slightest bit aroused by you.

In this state, at least; okay, so yeah, maybe he didn't look at your tits on purpose, but it was in the spank bank now. Get over it.

The last thing he wants is to be naked with you, anywhere near you. Maybe if he cared about something other than himself, he could admit that the very idea terrified him. Not even in this failing state of mind would you laugh at him, or be grossed out or scared. You'd probably still put your hands in his hair, still touch his face, put yours against his chest.

And no one has ever touched him that way, not the way you would.

"Then don't." You say, like it's the simplest thing in the world.

"Yeah, so," For some reason he feels awkward now, thinking of it all and it's so stupid. "I'm not taking my clothes off."

That knot is still budding on your forehead, so your brow still doesn't pull down very far when you look up at him. A big pout is on your lips, though. "No, I—I mean, then don't take them off."

"Yeah...I'm not gonna."

"Wait," One of your hands leaves his back to rub at your rolling eyes. Maybe he should keep talking to you; it makes you use your brain and maybe it will pull you out of this state.

Not that he really wants that, of course.

"No, I meant, you don't have to have sex with me."

"Yeah, I'm not gonna." Fuck, he knows you got your brain turned upside down, but you can't comprehend anything, it seems. You must realize you're having a hard time making sense because you give a little sigh, like you're giving up, and just wrap yourself back around him, a little closer this time.

The two of you are both soaked, no matter how far he tries to lean out of the water, and he wonders if you can feel the texture of his skin underneath his wet clothes. For a moment his brain shuts off, just like yours is currently doing, and he wonders what you think of him like this. Doesn't really matter though, he tells himself, you're going in the dumpster all the same.

The water from the shower-head is starting to get a little colder and he's not perfect, little Shoto, doesn't know how to use the fire for anything other than killing and melting, doesn't know how to use it just to warm you up. There's no telling how much time has passed with the two of you just standing there, like idiots.

"Gotta wash my hair." You say.

"So, wash it." He says.

"My arms are heavy."

"You're so full of shit."

Dabi thinks, he thinks, that he feels your lips shift against his shirt, like they're curling into a smile because you know you're a liar, too. And you must be using your quirk or something (though he doesn't feel any fingers in his nose or ears, not like before) because he does what he shouldn't and would never do, which is bend around you and grab the snot green bottle of motel shampoo that's sitting in the corner of the tub.

Eucalyptus, it says. That's all.

It should be called Push Over or Pathetic, maybe Burnt Idiot, Not Really Friends, Sorry I Looked At Your Ass, Too.

Maybe Nervous.

When he dumps all of it onto your hair and starts digging his fingers against your scalp, you tilt your head enough so that he can see that smile of yours, the bloody one.

"I'll wash yours," You say, with copper breath and dark red gums.

When he kissed you under the tree, your breath smelled the same. He had been so afraid then, of a multitude of things: getting caught by his teacher or his dad, classmates seeing, messing up or embarrassing himself, you, mostly you. There were other kids in his class he talked to, sure, but none of them sat outside with him when he trained on his own. None of them shared their rice and threw salmon at cars or held his hand while he turned his face—red as his fucking hair—at the grass because he couldn't look you in the eye.

Sometimes Enji kissed his mother. Sometimes she looked like she liked it. Back then, he thought maybe you would, too. He didn't know he had blood on his bottom lip until he got home and Enji asked him about it, until Rei inspected it like he'd bit it by accident. But he couldn't tell them, didn't tell them that all of it, every moment with you, had been on purpose.

Dabi feels a lot like he did then, when you smile at him.

“Ain’t none left.” For some reason, it croaks out of him, like he’s the one with the issue keeping his mouth closed. Maybe blood is still in your ears because you don’t answer, you only keep your face titled towards him as he massages your scalp, lips open just slightly with closed eyes. As if to prove it, he throws the tiny, empty bottle back towards the corner of the tub and it clatters, loudly, the way all things do in the shower. When you open your eyes and look at him, unfocused and half-lidded, he thinks maybe he could fuck you in this bathroom, if you wanted him to.

He hopes you don’t ask.

There isn’t any soap on your hands, but they leave his back to go into his hair. A ghost of a laugh puffs out of your lips and into his face, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, you, pretending to wash his hair while he washes yours.

A bunch of idiots, the both of you.

“Stop,” Dabi tries to yank his head away from you, but you sway a little bit. You don’t push him, though because you’re a goody-goody, and when you run a hand across your face, there is a light gray smudge over your nose. All his hair dye is washing down the drain, lightening him up, making him Touya again. The soap washes off one of his hands as he rinses it directly under the water and he wipes the smudges from your face, a little rough, too rough, so rough that your head easily moves from the left to the right with each swipe of his fingers. Underneath his hands, you’re really soft. Too soft.

The walls of the shower are closing in on him and that sick feeling is building in his stomach again, the one that swirls every time he thinks about what could have happened to you in the alleyway if he’d waited another stupid fucking minute. Such a baby, so fucking soft, what that kind of aggression would do to you. How it would impact you. How it would impact him. That dopey, bloody smile wouldn’t appear on your face for a long time, he might not have even seen it again before everything with Enji finally went down.

It’s probably too drying for your face, but he uses the shampoo to wash yours, rubbing against the blood stains on your chin and your neck. They come away easily, the texture from his hands perfect for scrubbing it all away.

The way he can finally be of use to you, as a fucking loofa.

“Touya,” You say again, but he doesn’t correct you this time. “Am I dead?”

That sick feeling builds, really builds, until it feels like he’s holding his breath (he probably is). There is a settling wave that washes over him, just like the cold water from the shower-head, and he realizes, holy fuck, you’re dying.

Right there in his arms. Blood is probably pooling in your brain, killing you every moment that he waits. The hour he spent watching you writhe on the bed, the 30 minutes he spent outside the bathroom, the few blocks it took to get from the alleyway to the motel room. The time he’s wasting here with you, now. All of it is just him, opening that dumpster, digging a deeper hole to put you in. The star curtains will come down, the cafeteria fucker will drive himself to work alone, the homeless guy will shrivel into nothing, and litter will fill the streets.

Just like the doctor said; if you tried to do the Hero Thing, you’d be dead by twenty-three.

When he’d unscrambled his brain enough to think straight, he planned to take Enji down. Since then, he’s lulled himself to sleep with the idea of it, the downfall of Endeavor, and, if he lets you go, it will just be the downfall of crazy, batshit insane Touya. All of it will crash and burn with him. It’s probably too late for you anyway, too much time has been wasted, and it would all be for nothing.

All the fucking pain, all the rage and the planning, all the blood and sweat and tears would swirl down a shitty motel drain like his hair dye. And you’d end up in that dumpster all the same.

“No,” He answers, tipping your head back so the shampoo can wash out of your hair, off your forehead and chest. There’s more words in his mouth, like not yet and almost and i’m sorry, but his throat feels all croaky again, so he doesn’t say anything.

Dabi only has one change of clothes. Water is dripping off him and all over the floor when the two of you step out, when he wraps that shitty towel around you and rubs up and down your arms, like some kind of idiot out of a romance movie. He even runs it over your head a few times, hair getting all ruffled up, and he grabs the spare sweater by the bed when you smile lazily at him.

He wonders how much time he has. Maybe if he knew, he would say something. But he doesn’t, so there’s no fucking point.

The air in the motel room is stuffy and has never been cold, but, drenched in shitty, piss-water, it chills him to the bone. Now he’s the one shivering while you lay back down on the bed, creaking and shit, and he just stands over you and watches you blink, one eye at a time. One of your pupils is definitely dilated.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, but you fix those fading eyes on him and open your arms, inviting him to lay with you.

(When he came over to watch that movie, he’d been nervous, but you had a blanket on your lap and you opened it to him, patting the space beside you with that smile until he felt comfortable enough to scoot closer to you, to share that blanket.)

He wonders how much time he has, but he’s got no fucking idea, so he just does it.

Yeah, he’s soaking wet and you’ve just put on his warm sweater, but this is his first chance, his last chance, to be this close as the man he grew up to be. He’s just Touya and you’re just you, lying in a shitty motel, waiting for the end. There’s a vision in his head, of you and him, of what might have been. There isn’t a mark on him, all smooth skin and soft, just like you, and you’re lying in a motel room, the both of you, naked. Maybe you’re still young, in high school, hiding from his parents just like he had been that day under the tree. Maybe you’re adults, this age, getting away for the weekend, away from the Hero Thing.

It’s a disgusting thought, one that has his lips curling down, one that has him choking on the ugliness of it all. It’s no use wanting like that, when your body is getting quieter and quieter, when you try to say his name again but can’t get the words around your lips. Maybe you’ve forgotten it.

When you're silent for a long time, he lifts his head from where he’s buried it in your neck, but your mouth is open, staring at the ceiling.

“Finally,” He pants, “Finally you’re fucking dead. Finally you’re out of my fucking hair and my life.” When you don’t respond, he snaps his fingers in front of your face. “Hey!”

But now you’re just a corpse. Now he’s just clinging to the body of a kid he used to know, one from his class, one he hadn’t even been friends with.

The picture he sets up is one from the hospital website, your employee picture. At some internet cafe, he’d printed it off, paid the extra change just to get it in color, and he’s lighting the incense (and his cigarette) with the blue tip of his finger. There are a bunch of pink flowers around this place, though most of them are fake, and he can sit out in front of the grave without a hood on. It’s so far at the back that someone would have to want to come back there to find him, which is why he’s sitting there in the first place.

Dabi isn’t really all that interested in the cigarette; he’s just leaving it between his lips, letting the smoke swirl in front of his face, letting the ash fall into his lap.

“How’s it going?” He grunts, just like you would say.

Every time he thinks of you in that shower, his stomach hurts again. How close you’d been, how real you felt under his fingers. The smudge of his hair dye across your face, claiming you in a way, like you were his. As if you’d always been, ever since Shizuoka.

Maybe he’s got it all wrong, maybe he’d always been yours. Every time he sat in the tree outside your window, every time he slipped through it, every time he followed you after work, lingering back like an ugly shadow. All that time, he’d always been yours. In the shower, in the bed, breathing you in as you died.

Always yours.

It’s a big, fat weight that should be lifted from his shoulders. Now he’s back with the League, that plan for Enji is in motion, and he doesn’t have to make up an excuse to Twice about why he’s gotta slip out at night, why he’s gotta head across town, why he suddenly wants takeout. There’s no following anymore, that’s been given up. And yet, now he feels like he’s got too much time on his hands, too much space in his chest. Scars on his body feel too rough, there is an insecurity he can’t beat back anymore, he spends too much time thinking about the what-if’s, which is too dangerous for a man in his profession.

It’s all making him soft, just like you had been. It feels like a fucking sickness.

Toga notices, because she’s so love-drunk on everyone that she can read his face as plain as day.

“Ooooh, you’re thinking about a girl!”

Yeah, maybe, but it's still annoying; he’d always been thinking about this girl, Toga wasn’t special for just now figuring it out.

Sometimes he wishes he’d gotten that sweater back. Not because it was comfortable or fit over his chest just right, but maybe because it might smell like you. Or the Eucalyptus shampoo. He’s a pathetic piece of shit, thinking crap like this, but it feels like a somewhat sticky band aid has fallen off, like that door in his head is open just a crack. Like it’s stuffed with too much stuff to get closed again.

It’s a fucking sickness, seriously. All those years away, too many steps behind, had kept the germs from him, made him feel like he was immune to it all, to your charm.

(That’s a load of shit, truly; he’d followed you for 11 fucking years after all. Dabi wasn’t immune to squat.)

The grave is so far at the back that someone would have to mean to come find him and he hears the footsteps far before they reach him, which should send him running, but it doesn’t. His hair is still white because he hadn’t found the energy to re-dye it, and if Toga says one more fucking thing about it—

There isn’t a blanket to hold open, no need to pat the space beside him; you sit so close, you’re nearly on his lap.

“How’s it going, Touya?”

Okay, so yeah, maybe he’d run out of that motel room like a man possessed, cradling you in his arms and whining like a fucking pussy, but whatever.

That doctor with the quirk you don’t have loves you, just like all your little nurse friends do, and they must have dropped everything for you. Not that he stayed inside or anything, just had to yell a little and lay your body on the front desk before hauling ass back outside, but you were knocking on the motel room door that night. Looking for him, actually looking, with focused eyes, pupils that were the same size.

The scar on your head was small (which is a load of shit; just a little bitty one? Come the fuck on) and shaped a little bit like a strike of lightning against your skin. Probably needed to stay home and in bed for a few days, not make any sudden movements or flip the light switch on too quick, but you were standing there, in that sweater, before he’d fallen asleep.

No, he didn’t fuck you.

He would’ve though, if you’d asked. Kinda wished you had.

Dabi has seen you twice a week for 11 embarrassingly long years, but you’ve seen him for half a day. There’s a lot for you to understand, a lot of things to catch up on, which he thinks is why you hadn’t gone to the police. Not such a goody-goody after all; when he’d told you that, you looked confused and a little hurt.

“What makes you think I’d give you up so easily?”

He doesn’t really mention it after that.

There are a lot of things you don’t understand, a lot of things you won’t understand. Lots of things he won’t tell you, but you’ll be there. Yeah, he knows where you live, and yeah, you said you’d leave the door unlocked (probably shouldn’t though).

You’ll be there whenever he decides to show up, or rather, he’ll be there, for you, whenever you want him. Because he’s yours.

Always has been.

The morning came and there is an impossible amount of smoke and Fog covering gaza. People still can't check on each other even if they were a few meters away. The amount of killed Palestinians has increased above never before. Children dismembered, mothers saying goodbye before burying their children. People who have no idea if their loved ones are alive or dead. Hospitals cannot help, they're out of every energy source and quite frankly, doctors. The bombing hasn't stopped if you were wondering, so people can't just walk on the streets and search for their loved ones. A paramedic broke down after pulling out a little girl from underneath the rubble. Refugee camps have gotten bombed, so the people who survived the first bombing of their house, probably weren't so lucky this time.

And israeli army spokesperson just released a statement falsely claiming that Hamas has a headquarters under a main hospital in gaza. (Al-Shifaa hospital). This is an attempt to justify bombing a hospital, where over 30,000 people are seeking care. This hospital is located 16 meters above sea level, making it impossible to built tunnels under it. Highest area in gaza is 105 meters.

𝐅𝐋𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒

— you’re an up and coming pro hero; fresh faced, roaring through your twenties with your highly successful U.A years far behind you. but when one little drunk slip up has you falling through the hero ranks, will a single pretty bird of prey help you soar back up? or will you end up falling for him?

⇝ pairing: keigo takami x fem!reader

⇝ status: COMPLETE.

⇝ updates: every monday, friday && sunday !

⇝ genre: social media!au, pro hero!au, fake dating!au, crack, fluff, angst, smut.

⇝ warning(s): swearing ( mostly bakugou ), suggestive, rated 17+, slight!age gap, eventual smut hoho, everyone is aged-up into their twenties since they’re pros now, todoroki siblings being a mess, um crazy exes and stupid boys? 

⇝ author’s note(s): this isn’t my first smau but it is my first one for my hero and on this blog ! i hope y’all keigo simps enjoy bc i had so much fun writing this and hope to write more smaus in the future <3 

TAGLIST  ✈️ CLOSED

Keep reading

I went to a wedding like a month ago and started a wip about a wedding meet cute with Bakugou that was supposed to be like 2-3k words but never finished it and I’m so mad bc it should be easy but school was so hard and UGH

but!!!!! it made me think about being friends with benefits with Bakugou and having just finished sleeping with him, rolling off of his chest as you both lay beside each other trying to catch your breaths. and you ask him if he’d like to go to to your friends wedding with you next weekend? that he doesn’t have to come, but you’d like to have some arm candy with you?

and at first, he doesn’t answer. gets kind of fidgety, scratches at his chest, murmurs under his breath that he’s not sure, he might have a shift, he’ll have to check later. and how can you not take that as a rejection? as a show of only being good enough for private time spent together, but unable to be seen together, publicly, as his date?

so you gather your things, quickly and embarrassed, stutter out that you were just joking, just fucking around and playing. you’re scurrying out of his apartment before he can stop you despite his pleading to hear him out.

and do you ignore him the entire weekend of the wedding? how couldn’t you, when you show up, dateless, with the memory of only being filled sexually but never emotionally? and does Bakugou regret it the entire time? how couldn’t he, when he was only tongue tied and nervous because he couldn’t believe the person he’s been in love with for months wanted to do more than just lie underneath him?

Family Man

Yandere!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word Count: 7.7k

Synopsis: Gojo Satoru wakes up in the body of Sawai Satoshi, a 35-year-old man with a wife and a newborn

(Warnings: Yandere, dark, brief contemplation of torture, ooc gojo, he gets better tho, explicit smut, dubcon(?), piv sex, f!oral recieving, not many warnings in this one...)

One morning, Gojo Satoru wakes up in a bed that isn't his. 

His bedsheets are expensive, silk, nothing less. He feels cotton pillowcases, and the bed feels smaller. 

He must have gone home with someone last night. 

He can feel them cuddled up to his side. Usually, he's gone by the morning, but he must have fallen asleep. Makes sense: missions these days have been getting more and more exhausting. 

Within his thoughts, he can admit that it's a nice way to wake up, but he needs to go. The sun's already high in the sky, and Ijichi will turn into a nervous wreck if he's late, again. At this point, Gojo just pities the man for even trying. 

When he shifts, the figure next to him moves too. A voice, soft and raspy. 

"Satoshi. Stop moving." 

He must have given an alias. Or maybe you just didn't remember his name. 

You're still half-asleep. Your brow is pinched in annoyance, and he finds that a little funny. You're a foreigner. He can tell from your skin tone, your hair, your accent. Despite your face buried in the blankets, he finds you pretty, and it felt like a good night.

But you two did fuck, right? 

It doesn't feel like it. He doesn't feel like he just had sex. He can't even remember what he did with you. When he looks down, Gojo realizes that he's dressed in clothes he knows he doesn't own. 

Also, he isn't wearing a blindfold, but his eyes aren't hurting. 

Too many things are wrong. When Gojo calls for his technique, he feels nothing. Too many things are going wrong. Was it you? Were you some curse user that lured him into bed or something? Did you shut off his CT? He needs to figure it out. Is there rope nearby? A knife? He needs something sharp that will make you scream and cry but he can't take too much blood because if you pass out he won't get answers- 

And then, he does hear crying. Muffled. 

It's coming from a baby monitor. 

"Ugh, no." You groan. "I thought we'd have a few more minutes." 

You're shuffling off the bed, stretching before you shoot him a sleepy smile. 

"I'll get her. Breakfast will be ready in twenty." 

You blow him a kiss, and then you're gone. 

Gojo sits up, and he studies himself again. 

His hands are shorter, unkept. The thing that unnerves him the most are the scars. Papercuts, blemishes. He's never gotten a scar in his life. Infinity protected him from that. 

But he doesn't have infinity anymore. And he doesn't think he's Gojo anymore, either. 

When he stands, he feels shorter, too. The world is bigger when he creeps into the bathroom. He flicks the lights on and looks in the mirror. 

Satoshi stares right back at him. 

↻

Gojo doesn't like being surprised. 

He actually hates surprises, so this shit is starting to put a damper on his mood. 

He considered that it may be a dream, but everything is too realistic. It has to be someone's shitty cursed technique. All that he knows is that he's currently possessing Sawai Satoshi's body. 

Age 35, from his license. The picture of him depicts a man who's starting to bald, and timid eyes. Gojo's pretty sure he's an office worker. A family man. Judging from the pictures, he and his wife just had a baby girl a couple of months ago. 

Sawai's wife. You. 

First things first, he needs to find this Satoshi guy. There's a big chance that Sawai is out there in Japan with his body and cursed technique. That is not good. And if anyone else found out what happened...

Fuck, he needs to find this guy.

Being normal is strange. He doesn't get headaches from just seeing anymore, so that's nice. Without infinity, he feels the carpet, the walls, the wooden rails, the air. It's like an out of body experience.

Eh, at least he still has his humor. 

Something's talking in the kitchen, and there's babbling. He ignores it, in favor of the door. 

"Where are you off to?" 

You're right there, head tilted and an amused smile. Gojo hasn't been this stumped in a while. He blinks. 

"Work." He finally blurts out. Satoshi has an office job. He can use that excuse. 

You laugh, and it sounds like a wind chime. 

"It's the weekend." You tell him. "Did you forget?" 

Shit. You frown at your 'husband' in sympathy. 

"They're working you too hard; I keep telling you to talk to your boss." You hum. "Anyway, food's ready! Coming?" 

You don't give him a chance to respond, ushering him along until he's sitting on a stiff wooden chair. It looks like it's seen better days. The table has scuffed wood. 

Two plates are sitting on either side of the table. Still steaming. Gojo doesn't remember the last time he ate a meal that wasn't made by a microwave or apathetic servants. He's been so busy with the jujutsu world and his students and...just everything. 

Sawai's daughter is kicking her feet on the highchair next to him. She's an infant, under a year old. She babbles something in a high-pitched squeal, giggling at him. 

You coo something at her that isn't Japanese, feeding her something that resembles apple sauce. When you look over at him again, you frown. 

"You okay?" You ask. 

He stares. 

"You haven't touched your food yet?" You continue. "Don't like it?" 

"No." He says sharply. And then he takes a bite. "It's delicious." 

It's the truth. You grin, and you turn back to your daughter. 

Despite the baby's squeals, the buzzing of the fan, it's quiet. Gojo isn't used to that. Quiet, slow, peaceful. He's used to fast, blinding flashes, urgent messages from sorcerers calling him all across the globe. Roaring special grades with sharp teeth and human-like smiles. 

Is this what being human felt like? 

He takes another bite, and he thinks he forgot to do something. 

↻

It's easy to piece yours and Sawai's lives together. 

He worked overseas. That's where he met you. You were a traditional dancer in your country, and considering the various medals and pictures, you were good at it. Gojo wonders if that's how you and Sawai met. If he was just among the crowd and saw you on stage. Did he make the first move? Or did you see him fidget in the corner before you gathered enough sympathy to talk first? You and Sawai got married in your country before you moved to Japan. Reina is your first child. You're a homemaker. Sawai is a salaryman. You two would celebrate your fifth anniversary this year.

It's a simple, normal life. Gojo finds it a little boring. 

Breakfast was nice, but he needed to get out of there. Gojo couldn't afford normal. 

You caught him again in his second escape attempt. 

"Why are you so ansty today?" You ask, folding laundry. "You're usually ecstatic to sleep on the couch all weekend." 

Because he isn't Sawai, he doesn't lounge around all day on the couch. But he can't tell you that. From all accounts, you look like a non-sorcerer, so clearly, this body-switching fiasco isn't your fault. Though, the name Sawai sounds familiar, but Gojo can't place it. 

"You've even gotten Oka riled up, Toshi." You fold up one of Sawai's shirts. 

Right, the cat. Sawai's cat, before the marriage. Animals have always had a better sense of cursed energy. The thing has been hissing at him all morning. Gojo wants to tell him the feeling's mutual. 

"Maybe he's hungry." Gojo shrugs. "And I've been..." 

He doesn't know what to say, so he stops. 

You sigh, tucking away the last of the laundry. He's seated on a couch he didn't buy. You sit next to him, arm stretched out so you can fiddle with his sleeve. 

"Listen, I know what's going on." 

He stares. You give a trepid smile, pulling a loose thread off his sleeve. It's barely even a touch, yet it burns. 

"It's work. It's always work. God, this morning you were so out of it, you nearly hopped on the train if I hadn't stopped you." You start. "This isn't healthy. Have you talked to your boss about some time off?" 

He and Sawai have more in common than he thought. Gojo can see it in the mirror : the sleepless nights and the stress. Is this how he'll end up in seven years? How depressing. 

A vacation. Gojo had seen the emails on Sawai's computer. His team treated him like a rat, just dumping more and more work on him. Sawai so far hasn't even told them no. This guy needs a backbone, but Gojo doubts he'll get one soon. 

But why does he care? Who gives a single shit? He needs to get out of here; why is he sitting here listening to Sawai's wife?

"Hey?" You nudge him, and Gojo is again forced to stare into your beautiful eyes. 

“You okay?”

You needed to stop doing that. Looking at him in a way no one has looked at him before. Lovingly, adoringly, like he's more precious than gold. 

That look isn't for him—he knows that—it's for the man who married you. The man you had a child with. And he needs to go. His students are waiting for him. Yaga’s blood pressure must be raising a mile per minute.

But it's so quiet here. Peaceful. 

And he doesn't feel like Gojo anymore. 

"Toshi?" You ask. It's enough to break the glass. Shards jab themselves into his brain, painful enough that he snaps out of it. 

Gojo clumsily stumbles off the couch, frazzled, vulnerable. That's dangerous for the strongest. You pull back, concerned. 

"Where-" 

"Out." He spits like poison. "I'm going out." 

What was he doing, Gojo thinks when he finally stumbles out the door. Everything looks so much different without the six eyes. Less clearer, he can't see the make up of things, he's no longer looking through that biological microscope. 

Still, it's too much. He flinches against the blinding sun. Around him people don't give him a second glance. He's not used to that, not being the center of attention. Right, he isn't six feet and towering over everyone. Now, he's one in the crowd. One of a million. 

He doesn't know where he is. Gojo knew he should've grabbed Sawai's phone but you were right there and everything gets so distracting when you're right there. 

Even when he's away from you, the house, the quiet, he still can't stop thinking about it. It's irritating. He wants to claw out his brain, shred it to ribbon just so he can stop. He's Gojo. The strongest. He wasn't made to be this: pathetic, whimsical, human. 

Gojo stops right in the middle of the street. Someone sends him a glare, but people pass him by. Nothing's any different. Cars and buses go down the road. People chatter. Kids run to school. Even when the strongest disappeared, the world still turned. Life goes on. 

He keeps looking at his hands. Scarred. And yet you held them like they were gold itself. Precious beyond anything else. A touch that wasn't coated in deep lust and greed. He must be crazy. He must be touch-starved. Was he so pathetic that a warm breakfast and a touch of kindness from the wife of the body he had taken over enough for him?

Gojo thinks he starts walking again. He isn't too sure, but the next time he stops, he comes face to face with a train station. 

Chiba, the words taunt him. It would take him less than an hour to get to Tokyo. Sawai has a little cursed energy, he could find the school. He could get this all sorted out. 

And then, he could go back to his life. Killing curse after curse. One sleepless night after another. 

Gojo needs to enter the station. He doesn't. 

He thinks about his parents, of all things. Barely involved in his youth, far far away than he ever was. The bed was always cold. The night's were dark. And then, he thinks about little Reina, with chubby hands and fingers. When she cried, you came. This morning the bed was warm from you snuggled up next to him. He hadn't slept that well in years. 

It's funny what a couple hours of humanity could do. He thought it'd be easy to leave behind. He hasn't been treated like a human for a long while. He thought the habit would be easy to shake. 

There's a hand on his shoulder. He turns. You're there. Of course you are. With wide eyes, a concerned frown. You shake him a bit. He just stares. 

"Toshi?" You call, looking around and Gojo realizes you don't even have the right shoes to be walking around. 

"Where did you go? What are you doing?" You question, your tone sinking and spilling like caramel. 

He gives no answer. Your shoulders drop. 

"Come on." You murmur. "Let's go home." 

You tug on his hand. 

Satoru follows. 

↻

"I'm taking you to the hospital." You tell him.

Satoru comes out of his daze when you speak to him. So far, you'd been talking quietly to a woman in her late forties, thanking her profusely. He zoned out after that, sitting on the couch, where you had left him. 

"No." He instantly replies. "I'm fine." 

"Fine." You repeat, a bite in your voice that he hasn't heard before. "You ran out, barely dressed, didn't even take your phone. You were gone for an hour. I had to call Miss Matsuda to watch Reina while I scrambled all over the streets looking for you. And when I did find you, you were staring at a train station sign."  

You cross your arms over your chest. "And-and now, it's like you're not even concerned at what just happened! Do you know how worried I was? How scared I was?"

You're on him in an instant, barely an inch away. Satoru thinks he can stare into your eyes forever. 

"Please, just...talk to me." 

But he also knows he needs to fix this, because Sawai's heart is killing him. 

He does what he wished he could have done with Suguru, all those years ago. For the first time in a decade, he gives into his inhibitions. 

You're warm, and you sink into his hold, collapsing on top of him like it's all you've ever wanted. He tightens his grip on you, smelling your shampoo. 

"I'm sorry." His voice is muffled but he knows you can hear him. "I didn't mean to leave you alone. I didn't mean to scare you." 

"I was just being a jerk." 

You're silent for a while. Satoru feels something wet seep into his shirt. 

"Yeah." You say, quiet, damp. "You were a jerk. I wanna call you something else but Reina's right there." 

He laughs. You do too, and then you lean off of him, taking his face in your hands so he can look into your eyes all over again. He finds himself leaning into touch. Maybe it's instinct.

"I wasn't scared of you." You say honestly. "I was scared for you. You've been acting strange all morning." 

"I know." He answers. "But I'm fine now." You give him a look. "No really, I'm fine! I just...figured myself out. It took a while." 

He's being selfish, plain and simple. Satoru was tired, exhausted. He just wants a break. The house is quiet. And he doesn't feel like Gojo anymore. Satoru decided that he's taking a break from being the strongest. He wants to see what normal people live like. 

Maybe it's pettiness, but he's a little sick of constantly solving other people's problems. For once, he would let other people do the work. 

And you're warm underneath his fingertips. 

"What did you figure out?" You ask, settled right next to him.

In the background, Reina babbles something.

He shakes his head and closes his eyes.

↻

Being human has its perks. 

Satoru doesn't get headaches anymore. Usually, just a couple of minutes without his blindfold is enough to give Satoru migraines. Its odd not having it on all the time, but he can get used to seeing things the way normal people see. Without the swirls of cursed energy. 

The downside is that he can get hurt now. Even by a scrawny cat. 

"Oka!" You scold as the bastard cat races down the hallway, out of site. Satoru hisses, flexing his scratched hand. 

"What is up with him today? Let me see." Instantly, you're by his side, checking his palm. Satoru feels you're too close. Infinity doesn't keep you away. 

He wonders if he'd even want to activate his technique with you around. 

"It's not that bad." You mutter to yourself, dragging him to the kitchen. "Let's just clean it before it gets infected." 

You sit him down on the kitchen stool. It creaks under his weight. Satoru watches as you dab a cotton ball with alcohol, before gently pressing it into his wound. You're so soft when you're touching him. Like you think you could accidentally break him somehow. He finds it cute. Satoru doesn't know why he lingers on your gentleness. It's probably because no one's ever treated him like he was fragile before. Something worth protecting. 

But your protection isn't for him. It's for Sawai. 

"I definitely expected some whining." You smile, placing a band-aide on his hand. "You were always so queasy when the aid-kit came out. Guess you finally got a pain-tolerance, hm?" You tease and Sawai gets more and more pathetic in Satoru's eyes. 

You put the kit away, sliding off the stool. There are downsides of being human, but he thinks the upsides make up for it. 

The cat definitely hates him, but he doesn't care about that. Satoru just wants the quiet. It's still peaceful. 

That's interrupted when the baby starts crying. 

Satoru can hear you in the other room, hushing her, trying to get Reina to settle down. She's been howling for the past ten minutes. Satoru doesn't move from the TV. It's not his place to do anything. He isn't Sawai. 

"Okay favorite parent." He hears you grumble as you come out with a squirming Reina, still sobbing. "Your turn." 

Before he can tell you no, you're already placing the child into his lap. Satoru freezes. 

He's rarely around kids. All his students were independent teenagers. He doesn't think he's ever interacted with a baby, an infant, before. It's instinct to hold her, keeping her in his lap. He stares. Reina sniffles, her sobs quiet. 

"Every single time." You scoff, but you don't sound very annoyed. "I don't get why she likes you more than me. I'm around more, aren't I?" 

Reina is looking back at him, and he wonders who she's seeing. Her father, or the man who's wearing his skin? 

The infant sniffles a little more. Her whimpers turn into coos, then shaky breaths as she slowly starts to settle in his arms. Satoru's never had anyone feel comfortable in his arms. His hands were meant to manipulate space and time. Destroy. He's killed curses with his hands. Humans too. 

Little Reina falls asleep right in between them. 

Satoru swallows. It feels so delicate. He can barely bring himself to move. 

You sit right next to him, watching her. 

"She's so cute when she's not being a demon, hm?" You ask. Satoru doesn't respond. You lean a little closer. 

"Hey," you say, voice warm and when Satoru looks at you, you have soft eyes, "I can take her. I know you want to rest today." 

"It's fine." Satoru speaks without thinking. "I got her." 

You blink, but after a while, you move back. Satoru cradles Reina to his chest. She's soft, and he keeps an extra light hold on her because he's afraid one wrong move would crush her completely. Satoru can hear her soft snores, her light babbles. It doesn't break the quiet. 

There's a weight on his shoulder as you settle in. You let out a content sigh, and Satoru feels something fill up inside of him, something that was once void. 

"I feel like it's been a while since we've done something like this," you say, voice quiet, "just...sat together, watching her." 

Satoru thinks back to the dark circles underneath Sawai's eyes, the weight gain from stress. 

"Toshi?" You ask, and it's Satrou's habit to look back at you. "Have you ever considered Japan...might not be the best place for us?" 

He stares at you. 

"Japan is my home," he says, and he has a feeling Sawai would have said that too. 

"I know." You smile. "It's mine too. But...is that enough reason to stay?" 

You shift, leaning away from him and he misses your warmth. You rest your head against the sofa, propping your head up with a fist. 

"I was thinking." You shrug, reaching over to pick lint off of his sleeves. "Maybe we should go back to my country. If it's work...my cousin works in the same industry as you. I'm sure he can find you something worth your time. I'm sure my parents would love to be closer to Reina, too." You reach up, brushing a finger against the infant's cheek. "We'd have a community, right?" 

There it was. You were lonely. Home alone with an infant. Doing nothing but attending the house. You used to be a dancer. You were good at it. Satoru wonders how much you sacrificed for the man you called your husband. In some ways, you're a little like him. 

There's no point in lying. He isn't Sawai, even as he holds Sawai's kid and Sawai's wife. In the end, he'd have to return to his body. This was a vacation. This was just a break. 

"I'll think about it." 

He agrees anyway, just to see you beam, like sunlight streaming through the window. You give him a quick kiss. 

Satoru barely holds himself back from returning the favor. 

Everything ends eventually. For Satoru, the end came later that evening. 

There's a knock on the door. He's rising up to get it. Currently, you and Reina were out on a shopping trip. He wanted to go too, but you insisted he rested. Satoru expects mail, some kind of package. 

Gojo Satoru stands in front of him. 

Tall, wearing that black outfit, Satoru always used to wear. White hair up, blindfold covering blue eyes. It was a nearly perfect imitation of the real thing. 

"Hi," Gojo says, voice frail and weak, "I-I think we need to talk." 

Sawai is exactly what Satoru pictured. Timid, quiet, stutters through his sentences. He's still not used to his new body, angling it around, trying to sit on the couch with clear difficulty. Satoru manages to piece his story together after fifteen minutes or so. Everything was Sawai's fault, right from the start. 

"Soul switching." Satoru says when Sawai's done babbling. "What an interesting technique. And you can't control it?" 

Sawai's shaking his head. "Not really. It comes and goes by its own. I'm guessing you were in the area when it activated." 

Makes sense. When Gojo gets his eyes back, he'll pick Sawai apart more thoroughly. At this point in time, the cause doesn't matter to him. 

"Does anyone else know what happened?" Satoru asks. 

Sawai shakes his head. Good. At least he was smart. 

"No," Sawai says, "I didn't know who to trust." 

"Good instincts." Satoru responds.

"Did you tell anyone?" Sawai asks and Satoru's offended that he had the audacity to even ask. 

"No," he says anyway. 

Sawai gives a sigh of relief. "That's good." He breathes. "My wife never knew about me, or anything about jujutsu sorcery. We met after I left the clan. Not sure how I'd even begin to explain something like this." 

That's why the name Sawai felt so familiar. A minor family, with dwindling power, up in the country. They barely touch on politics these days. No wonder he left. Especially with a technique like that. It's pretty nifty, but if Sawai couldn't control it, then there was no point in harnessing it. 

"So, how does the switching back work?" Satoru changes the subject. 

At this, Sawai wilts. 

"It's pretty simple," he starts, "we just touch. But it won't work right now. It has a downtime of 24 hours." 

A time constraint technique. Annoying. Satoru strangely isn't as upset as he knows he should be. 

"Hm, no point in doing anything, then." Satoru sighs, lounging on the couch. "So if you knew all that; then, what's the point of coming here?" 

That causes Sawai to fidget. It's aggravating to look at. Satoru's eyes twitch. He hopes Reina doesn't get that. No, she should be more like you, warm and kind with eyes that look like the night sky. 

"I missed them," Sawai finally says, "I missed my wife, my daughter." 

Sawai stares at the shelves. He's looking at pictures. Of you. Of him. Of your daughter. Smiling and happy. Sawai looks years younger in those photos, but Satoru is sure those pictures were taken not too long ago.

Just then, right on his collar, on his pale, slender neck, Satoru catches a glimpse of something. It looks like lipstick. 

Oh, Satoru realizes. That's why Sawai didn't come by sooner. 

"Uh, we met a while ago. Not sure if you remember." Sawai starts, laughing sheepishly. "I think you were about 10 when I first saw you. It was back when I was still in the clan. I was a teenager, wasn't really even sure what we were there for. But I saw you. And-and I think you saw me. I just remember seeing lines and lines of servants surrounding you. You were barely taller than my hip, but the power you had already...." He clears his throat. Satoru stays silent. 

"I was jealous. Really really jealous. Of a kid! I remember thinking 'if only if I were Gojo Satoru'. And now look." Sawai gestures to his new body. Perfect perfection. "And at first I was super excited...but then I slowly realized how lifeless the world was with these eyes." 

His cold apartment. Messages from him that he reads over and over. A family that only sees him as a status symbol. No friends. It's just him against the entire world, for the entire world. 

"Your life isn't all that great either." Sawai ends. 

It's strange. All his life, the one thing Satoru always wanted was for someone to understand him. He got close to that once, but even back then he was deluding himself. Sawai was the one man who was finally able to step into his shoes, see from his eyes. The only person in the world who could ever come close to understanding him. 

And Satoru hates him for it. 

"Yeah," he says, the truth, "it isn't." 

It's quiet for a couple more minutes. Satoru feels the time bleed into his skin. 

"Gojo." Sawai starts. Satoru hums. 

"I know you're not that kinda' guy, but..." Sawai trails off, biting his lip. "did you...with...?" 

Satoru gets what he's trying to say. He grins, feigning cheeriness, shaking his head. 

"Nah man, I wouldn't do that to you." He assures. "I didn't even touch your wife. Not my type." 

And Sawai believes him. Satoru can see it in his body language, even if his eyes are covered or not. Satoru doesn't know whether or not to laugh. 

“Thank you,” Sawai sighs, “and I—”

“We’re back!”

Both men turn. You’re shutting the door, the baby strapped to your hip, while groceries are in the other hand. Sawai freezes. Satoru rises up.

“I can take ‘em,” he offers, grabbing the bag.

You thank him, and then you glance at your real husband with a puzzled expression.

“Who’s this?” You ask. Reina giggles something.

Sawai opens his mouth.

“Hi...” The word is strangled on his throat. It sounded painful to speak.

You smile at him. Eyes warm, but there’s no recognition. You turn to Satoru.

“Who’s this, again?”

“A colleague.” Satoru is stepping in. “He was just leaving, I think, wasn’t he?”

He angles that question for Sawai. Who jumps in his seat. He babbles something, before finally settling on. “Yes—yes I was just leaving.” Even now, Sawai refuses to tell you, break you from that innocence. Satoru doesn’t know whether or not he’s stupid, naive, or both.

“Tomorrow morning.” Sawai tells him, just before he closes the door. Satoru gives a hum of acknowledgment, and the door clicks shut.

“What did he want?” You call from the kitchen, the infant tucked away on the high chair.

Satoru grins. “Just about work. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

Satoru finally brings it up after dinner. You’re folding the last towels, tucking them away in a drawer. Satoru watches you, the way your fingers work with delicate precision. Reina’s asleep, tucked away in her crib. The only people awake right now are you and him.

“Have you seen Oka around?” You ask. “I haven’t seen him since this morning.”

Satoru shrugs. “He’s probably skulking around somewhere. I wouldn’t worry about it.” He gives. You take it as an answer, going back to your task.

“Hey,” Satoru starts. “So, what’d you think of that man earlier?”

“Who?”

“Tall. White hair. Blindfold.”

“Oh.” You say, before thinking. “Nothing. But, I didn’t really expect someone like him to be your co-worker. I can’t see him doing a desk job.” Yeah, Satoru can’t either.

“Nothing else?” He prods.

You cast him an odd look. “No, not really. Why? What about him?”

The conversation is going nowhere. He gives up.

“Nothing.” Satoru finally says. You don’t accept it.

Instead, you turn around and watch him. Your eyes seem to pick up on something. A pretty smile graces your face, but Satoru feels something heavy form in his stomach.

“Oh my god. You’re jealous.” You gasp.

Satoru feels something hot build up on his face.

“No—”

“Yes you are!” You say excitedly. “It’s written all over your face! I’ve never seen you jealous before. I should take a picture.”

“That’s not it at all.” Satoru’s quick to say.

"The kid?" You laugh, bewildered. "How old is he? 25?" 

"28." Satoru can't help but correct but you just laugh louder. 

“A baby! God, you’re jealous of a baby.”

Eventually, your giggles subside. You stare at him with crinkled eyes.

“I am way too old to be messing around with 20-something year olds.” You assure, but your voice is teasing. “Besides, I’m interested in someone, right now. And I think it’s pretty serious.”

It’s a joke. You’re not talking about him. He averts his gaze anyway. You skip over, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“But that was extremely sweet.” You tell him. “You should get jealous more often.”

You did that again. Touch him. Without effort. Thoughtlessly.

Satoru doesn’t think he can hold back anymore.

This was your fault, he thinks, this was all your fault.

He grabs your waist before you can pull away. Soft, barely gives under his touch. You melt into him like butter, sinking and falling. He traces his hands up your hips, your chest, settling on the softness of your cheek. You let him, falling under his spell, the moment he touches you. He’s used to this. Eagerness, worship, but there’s something different in your eyes.

"What?" He asks. 

"Nothing," you say, "you're just....really different, today." 

He feels his heart quicken. "Don't like it?" 

You take a second, and then you close the distance. "No, I like it." 

You like it. 

You love it

You love Satoru. 

He kisses you like a hurricane.Pushing and biting, your gasps turn into hums and sighs when you follow his lead. Your hands reach up to his chest. He wraps his around your hips, making you walk back until your feet trip over the bed.

Satoru follows you down, never once pulling away.

“Oh my god.” You gasp when he sucks on your neck. “Toshi—toshi—”

It’s not him. This isn’t for him.

But it could be.

“No. “ He stops, stares into your eyes. “Sato.” He whispers . “Call me Sato.”

You stare at him, and Satoru is scared that you can actually see him. Peeling off his skin, seeing him for the sick man that he is.

“Sato...” You murmur.

He can’t stop himself. He doesn’t want to stop himself.

“Baby.” He breathes. “Fuck, baby. Need you.”

It’s easy to work off your top, throwing it somewhere in the room. He’s only caught a hint of your frilled bra before, but seeing it broadly displayed makes his mouth water. Blue. His favorite color.

It’s like you were made all for him. No one else's.

He just didn’t get to you first.

Satoru apologizes by kissing up your chest, to your neck. He marks you so its clear as day. You trill in need and excitement, hands traveling across his shoulders, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Sato.” You repeat. “God, Sato.”

“Right here.” He assures. “Right here, baby.”

When he’s done with your bra, he feasts on your newly bared skin. It’s a pretty sight. Heaving tits, going up and down right before he pounces like a feral beast. You gasp when he sucks on your nipple. He bites, before moving onto the other. Your sweat is salty-sweet. He could drink the essence of you all day.

He wants to devour you.

And the sickest thing is that you’d let him.

Sato kisses down your chest, licking at the swell of your belly, before he’s meeting your shorts. He takes them off with little flare, close to ripping them off being he’s starving and you’ve been teasing him all day. That shake of your hips every time you’re meandering in the kitchen. You must have known what you’re doing to him. You wouldn’t be smiling so widely if you didn’t.

He licks you through your panties. You’re already wet.

“This all for me?” He knowingly asks, glancing up at you.

He expects you to shyly look away. Instead, you roll your hips into his mouth.

“All for you.” You coo. “Only for you, Sato.”

You have no idea what your words just did to him.

He finds it hotter keeping your panties on, so he leaves them, only pushing the crotch area to the side so he can get a better access to your pussy.

He isn’t shy. He’s more than happy to make himself known. You’re practically gushing all around him when he latches on your clit, swirling it around his tongue. You let out this sound he hasn't heard ever, sending it straight through his cock.

“Sato, fuck.” You grab his hair, pulling him even closer. “So so good, Sato.”

He licks up to the length of your pussy, letting your strength guide him along. A dark thought pushes its way into his brain. It quickly disappears in favor of your taste on his tongue. He’s drinking it like a man parched, trapped in the dessert, and you’re his salvation.

Your hips jerk, he stills your hips.

“Easy baby,” he says, voice muffled by your cunt, “I got you.”

“Sato,” you urge. “I cant’—I can’t. Please please please.”

“Wanna cum?” He asks, feeling a little malicious. “Wanna cum for me, pretty girl?”

You nod, and then you sob. His smile is evil.

“Beg for it.”

And you do. Your sweet sweet voice growing up in octaves when he obediently ramps it up until he’s tongue-fucking your hole. Your legs wrap around his neck, and Satoru thinks he’d happily die if it meant his last moments being this.

Eventually, you stiffen up, and then you sieze all over his tongue. Satoru gently takes you through your orgasm, watching when you fall back on the bed. You look at him, out of breath.

“Fuck,” you say, “where’d you learn to do that?”

He laughs, before climbing up your body to kiss your again. It’s slow, sensual, your tongues melting together as you taste what he’s been tasting for minutes. He hopes you think it tastes sweet too.

And because he can’t wait any longer, he’s pulling away to shuck off his pants. You giggle. He casts you a glance, but Satoru can’t find it in his heart to be upset.

Pushing down his boxers, he frowns.

It’s...disappointing, if he wants to say it lightly. Way smaller than his. What the fuck has Sawai been doing with you? No wonder you’re already so out of it.

It’ll have to do. Mainly because he’s so horny and he’d die if he isn’t inside of you at this very moment. And you’re sweet enough to help him, taking your legs apart, inviting him with knowing eyes.

“Ready baby?” He asks.

You nod, it’s all he can dream for.

He’s pushing himself in. You gasp, and he can feel everything. His sensitive cock jumps at your heat, the tight walls of your cunt practically bare down on him. He knows it’ll be next to impossible to fit his own dick.

He won’t stop though, not until he’s in all the way.

That’s the thought that gets him going. Rocking his hips back and forth. You’re edging him on with your ohs and Sato sato sato. Needy, needing him. A service he’s more than happy to provide.

“Breathe, pretty girl.” He tells you. “Almost there. We’re almost there.”

You whine in his ear, already impatient. God, he wants you. He wants this.

And he knows he can do better than him.

“Fuck baby, how bad is he that you turn so pretty in my hands, hm?” He asks. He isn’t looking for an answer. You’re barely paying attention to his words, eyes rolled back, close to tears. Just to torture you even more, he circles your clit with his thumb.

“Look at you. Bet he couldn’t do a goddamn thing with this limpdick, huh? Had—had to literally step aside, let a real man do the fucking.” He hisses, and you moan something he can’t decipher.

“Can’t blame ya’. This’s probably the first real fuck you’ve gotten in a while hm? Fuck—what would ya’ act like with some real dick?”

Satoru can imagine it. Him and you, nestled between his silk bedsheets. Him, bigger, stronger, pinning you down like he know you want to be. He won’t stop. He won’t ever stop. He’ll just keep fucking you and fucking you as you say Sato Sato Sato Sato—

When you cum for the second time, Satoru’s close behind. He collapses into you, feeling himself fill you up just like he should. You bite his earlob. He purrs in contentment.

But when he feels you still, he’s quick to rise back up, shaking you until you’re blinking at him.

“No baby.” He kindly says, feeling himself harden all over again. “We aren’t done yet.”

He wasn’t able to admire it the first time, but the second time around, he finally notices how pretty you are asleep.

Even when you’re sleeping, there’s a faint smile on your face. Your hair frames your face like a halo. Satoru isn’t religious, but he thinks its akin to watching an angel.

He’s watched you for hours now. He barely slept. Time was slowly running out.

And now, the sun’s starting to come out.

You’re so pretty. He doesn’t want to leave. Its almost torture to pull himself up, kiss you on the cheek, before tucking you properly in bed. You stir, but you don't wake. That’s relieving for Satoru. He doesn’t know if he has the strength to hold himself back.

This was nice. You were...nice.

But he had to be Gojo again.

The world can’t function without him. Jujutsu society would crumble. Curses would run rampant. He can’t risk it. His students, you, Reina, might get stuck in that.

For the sake of everyone, he closes the bedroom door behind him.

The prettiest girl in the world is sleeping too. Reina snored. Satoru almost laughed, but he held himself back. He didn’t want to wake her. After all, her mom had a long night.

As gently as he can, he tucks a tuft of hair behind Reina’s ear. She gurgles something, smacking her lips, and then stills again.

She looks nothing like Satoshi. Instead of being given his straggly straight hair, she was blessed with your curly locks. Her skin is deep and dark, matching yours perfectly. If her eyes were open, Satoru would see yours, warm and kind. You two even laughed the same.

Damn, even Sawai’s genes got cucked.

Satoru pats her cheek, and he promises himself to stop lingering. Even then, when he passes by one of Reina’s toys, he makes sure to pick it up, feeling the weight in his hands, before reluctantly placing it on a shelf. When he comes across your unwashed mug, he takes his time to put it in the sink.

He’s biding his time, even when he knows he can’t. He needs to be Gojo, not Satoru. He can’t be both.

....Why can’t he be both? The question stops him in his tracks.

What's stopping him from the best of both worlds? Why can't he have his cake and eat it too? What's stopping him from having this quiet in his life?

Himself. No one else is stopping him, but himself.

He isn’t Satoru. He isn’t Gojo either. He’s Gojo Satoru. The strongest. Who could fucking tell him no?

No one would dare make a fuss if he were to bring a foreigner non-sorcerer as his wife. No one would blink an eye if he adopted Reina. No one could. He’s pinnacles above humanity. He is the pinnacle of humanity.

He could have it all. Dominating jujutsu society, building up his students, you, your daughter. He could have everything he wants. It would be hard, but when has life ever made anything easy for him?

He’s sacrificed so much. He’s lost so much. He needs you. He deserves this. And he already knows he can make you happy.

If you’re lonely, he’ll make sure that his clan welcomes you with open arms. You’ll be treated like a princess. Reina would never want for nothing. He’d make sure she doesn’t even remember her biological father.

And Sawai...

Satoru can’t understand why a weapon like him is allowed to roam free. His technique is weak, but powerful, dangerous. He incapacitated one of the deadliest forces alive. With his technique, with how little control he has over it.

Others have been executed for less. Satoru will make sure of it.

Is it a bit over the top? Maybe. He knows Sawai’s enough of a mouse that he’ll just accept it if Satoru walks up to the bastard and tells him he’s taking his family. If he’s being honest, he isn’t all that mad about the body snatching thing, either. In any other case, he might even find it funny.

But he still remembers the marks on Sawai’s collar. He’d used Gojo Satoru’s looks to get cheap pussy, before deciding that he wanted to crawl back home to you.

Pathetic.

He shouldn’t even be allowed to exist on the same planet as you. Satoru won’t allow it.

And when he's dead, Satoru would be more than happy to play his part as a the acquaintance who just wanted to check up on you. Obliviously bring you closer and closer and closer until you're back in his arms.

Satoru can still taste you in his mouth. It'd be hard to wait for that again after having you, but you're someone worth being patient for.

He’s almost elated when Sawai shows up at the time they scheduled. He looks worse for wear, the stress of being Gojo is getting to him. Good. Someone like him should see what real problems are.

Sawai tries to exchange pleasentries. Satoru refuses to hear it. He stretches his hand out. Sawai does the same. Satoru closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, a short man with a balding head blinks timidly back up at him.

He’s back.

With his Six eyes, he can see you’re still sleeping. He makes sure to memorize the sight for his entire life.

“So, enjoyed being Gojo for a day?” He asks, if only to keep up the facade he doesn’t find the man absolutely pathetic.

A shy smile appears on Sawai’s face. He shakes his head.

“I guess my lesson is that I shouldn’t be too quick to judge.” He laughs. “We all have our own problems.”

“Right.” Satoru says, “Well, this was interesting. Take care of yourself, okay?” He waves, gallantly striding towards the door until he can’t hold himself anymore.

He sighs, tilting his head back dramatically.

“Y’know what man. I lied.” Satoru grins.

“I did fuck your wife.”

The last thing he sees before he slams the door shut, is Sawai’s baffled expression.

Gojo hadn’t expected to feel so satisfied, watching Sawai take his place at your husband, but he isn’t angry about it. Satoru stretches on the patio. It’s a pretty day outside. People are out and about. Birds are chirping.

Gojo catches a glimpse of a bushy tail before he’s reaching down to grab Oka by the scruff.

As expected, the bastard of a cat yowls, trying to claw at him. Oka recognizes him, a smart cat. Satoru smiles, unfazed. Infinity is back.

“Listen.” He tells the cat. "I'm gonna be your new daddy soon. So unless you wanna end up in the pound, you better warm up to me." 

Oka hisses, but he doesn’t struggle anymore. Satoru gracelessly drops him back on the ground. Oka scampers out of sight.

Sawai clearly used Gojo’s usual chaffuer to get here. It saves Satoru from making the call himself. He opens the car door, before plopping in the back seat.

At the wheel, Ijichi gives him a look.

“Did you find everything, okay? You were only in there for a short while.”

Sawai had kept true to his word. Not even Ijichi knew about the switch. That’s a bit unfortunate. Maybe if more people knew about his technique, what he could do, it might save his life.

Sawai needed to stop being so naive. Satoru was more than happy to teach that lesson permanently.

“Yup!” Gojo Satoru chirped. “Got everything I needed.”