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essenceofcreativity · 4 years ago

Note

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 ! BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN x FEM ! READER

goodiebag WARNINGS: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, jealousy, stalking, obsession, manipulation, angst, bullying

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?

Neighbors.

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 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 heart 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 of erasing what effects he’d had on her childhood, treading bead after bead of frustrated confessions, wishes gone to waste, things he hadn't meant, things he would have done different if only he were sixteen years younger and he could start again right when his quirk manifested and he turned into a self-righteous narcissistic prick of human waste.

“For everything.”

He had his hands in his pockets, but she could still see how they twitched inside his hoodie, bet they were weeping with sweat so adamant on starting fires.

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

He was taller now, she noted, thoughts running to 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’s swelled like some blister or bruise, like some boil ready to pop.

“Well?”

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 instinct she immediately drew back, the gap between the door and frame becoming slimmer.

Her brows dipped, eyes not daring to close, not allowing him a single second of rest under her justified judgement. “No.” She avoided scoffing, yet surprised 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 sixteen 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 owners harsh scolding voice, it almost wouldn't even surprise her if he 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, gaze shifting to look down at his feet.

“No.” She stopped him, even opened the door to its original cavity, struck a dominant pose even though he was a full head taller, eyes narrowing in something that resembled 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 safety of the door in case you were out there waiting. I ran home, cried myself to sleep, lied to me 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 backed up in her eyes now, she looked to the ceiling, took a breath, clenched her jaw as she almost chuckled at the absurdity of it, not caring to how Bakugo’s eyes seemed to widen even more.

“I was afraid to play on our block ‘cause I knew you could 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 sniveled.

“People were afraid to be seen with me.”

Knuckles white and hot from how hard she was clenching her fist at her side, the other gripping the door, 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.

“You had me me think that was my fault.” A tear slipped its confinement and went dripping down her cheek, a thin stream following it, her breath shuddering 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, let more tears fall as Katsuki stood there frigid and so very rightfully uncomfortable. “You made me feel like I didn’t deserve to be 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 with picking on him, after the halls filled with enough smoke it’d stain the walls grey, the scent of burning sugar a lingering reminder of who there run 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, 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, 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. 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, 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.” Then she shut the door and locked it, back pressed against the wood almost immediately as she drooped like drying paint, slid down to the ground, listening while bating her breath at the retreating steps of the boy on the opposite side.

Katsuki stood there for a moment, and years seemed to pass, hood lifted over his head, body slouching 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, which was now not right across the street like it was when they were kids, but a whole car-ride away, seemingly lives away, a beaten track of heavy regrets and loud blinding disappointments.

It had been quiet lately.

A few comments hurled at Deku, though they where 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, 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, 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 where nothing but bait, nothing but lies that would ensnare her in yet another decade of living under his thumb.

But time is a funny thing, and paranoia is a difficult plant to grow during droats, and with months flying by, summer break being sweetly perfect for once, she’d soon enough discarded of 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 Bakugo’s sinister grin keeping her company at night had stopped bleeding, and in the healing, in the 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 his ocean-blue eyes and his diamond-bright smile. Maybe the warm, fuzzy feeling purring inside her gut was worth forgetting and even forgiving Bakugo in favor of getting lost to something else, someone else. Something a little warmer than hatered, and a burning way more welcoming than what explosions Bakugo could offer her.

Meanwhile, Bakugo 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, amounting to something he could only call brotherhood, yet with her... it seemed he was only drifting farther and farther away.

He saw her hold hands with some blue-eyed fuck at lunch, heard her laugh, which felt like the very first time ever. A laugh so light, so fluttering and blooming and beautiful, followed by a snort that stuck in her nose, making his brows tremble, ears burning as they hung onto every sound, trying to ingrain it, memorize it, tried 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.

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 he was some summer fling she was the victim of.

It had hurt, more than he could describe, sitting in his room, Kirishima and Denki about halfway through their third or perhaps even fourth joint, 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 chill 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 fantasizing 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 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 him for a short while, how he was really sweet and kind, how he made her happy.

She’d betrayed and broken Bakugo’s good will. 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 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 eggs.

He bent the cafeteria spoon, melted it and forged it into a bridge in his white-knuckled fist as he watched them. Her in her school-skirt rubbing down against his slacks, where he bet something was struggling to stay down, stay hidden inside the fucker’s boxers, yet looking at his face, 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 oldest friend, alike a brother has responsibilities for his sister, but that would be the dirtiest fucking lie. He 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 him lifted off his feet with his bright baby-blue eyes freaking out when leveled by Bakugo’s deadly red stare. It wasn't done due to responsibility, it was done out of pure white-hot raging jealousy.

“Bakugo, 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,

He kicked against the wall, trying to reach down to the ground with the tips of his toes. “Calm down, the fuck you talking about?” He screeched, voice an unstable timber as he cowered in panic by the heat simmering close to his neck and the maroon slits that had him pinned.

“Quirkless.” Bakugo 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 that?” His grip loosened a pinch, allowing the guy to drop down the wall to stand on his own, though remaining close, 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.

Blue eyes widened in realization. “Man... you... you like her, don't you?” He asked, or rather accused, ears drawing back, hands raising in defense.

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

“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. She will never forgive you, Bakugo.”

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 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 Bakugo 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? To watch Netflix.” He put his fat military boot to the guys throat, kept it there with building pressure, squeezing the air from his windpipe, disregarding the weak hands that clutched to the fabric of his pant-leg. “If the little slut wants cock, she shouldn't be asking someone like you.”

“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 Bakugo 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, eyes blood-shot as they focused on placing one foot in front of the other, lifting his legs, fist clenching at his sides, stained with crimson, tongue heavy in his mouth as his jaw strained, teeth grit in his mouth, boot 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 similar 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 to make her seem like a slut, perfectly cute and shy and girlish as well, probably practicing batting her eyelashes and pouting and biting her lips, 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 her hair was nice, if her skin was smooth enough, if her outfit was the right choice or if she should change last second. 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 her life, just like he was going to continue ruining her until the day he dies.

He banged 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 on 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.

Bakugo was taller, bigger compared to what lean frame she was expecting, her eyes leveling 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, sharp eyes looking every drop worth of red.

“Happy to see me?”

He pushed her inside, ever so rightfully in his stride, stomping, like the floor beneath belonged to him, like everything belonged to him.

“What are you doing here, Bakugo?”

Her tone was the same it always was when she addressed him, annoyed and ugly, like he was just another jerk, just another face. “I heard you were serving up your virginity... 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 it’s disgusted features, drained, paled, chilled, tightened, scrutinizing eyes turning wide like skies, little flecks of shimmer flickering like starlight, mouth parting and hanging open to let a gasp out as she eyed the blood-splatter on his jacket, gaze shifting to take in the maroon color of his fists. “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. “Worried about your lapdog?” He stalked, trapping her further into the apartment, watching her petrified moves clumsily try and keep the distance. “Don't think about it too much.”

“Get out, Bakugo. I'll call the cops.” This made him crack a smile, and by All Might did it feel like it was for the first time in such a very long time that he could breathe again.

“Why so hostile?” He barked out with a laugh, a growl like thunder behind that wide sharpened grin. “We’re childhood friends, aren't we?” 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 flavor of victory on his tongue. “Besides...” He tilted his head to the side, 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 in reach of it, not with Bakugo and his blood-stained hands keeping her down,

“I've wanted you our entire fucking lives.” He seethed, strong dedicated hands curling 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, 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 steal a kiss, one hungry, open-mouthed, wanting, lustful, desperate, raw and wolfish kiss, where in all her fueled 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, knew that even if she did there were no places to go, 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, 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 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, 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, eyes spiraling, 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 Bakugo. “You were always gonna fear me.” He scoffed, and her heart beat like a galloping racehorse, mind reeling in on the fact that he was taking his sweet time, just like predators do when they’ve caught their prey, playing with them, almost like buddies. “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 of glass. And yet, in the chaos of fear, it was so dreadfully painfully quite.

Until he decided to break it again.

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

His voice wasn't taunting, 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 ice inside her, skin crawling, cold and raw and naked. She shook, looking back at the door, admitting the flimsy wood was as much defense as paper to the hellhound on the other side, yet still seeming 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 place 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 beneath her feet. “You know how this works... you come out here, and I'll make sure he survives.” She took a step closer to his voice, knees numb and week yet steady, hand reaching out to the doorknob, blood prickling where it rushed about. “You unlock this door, step out in your pretty little dress... and I’ll go poor us some wine.” She swallowed, burning fingertips touching down on the icy metal of the knob, trembling as she drew in a shaky breath.

He heard the click of the lock opening and scoffed out a curt chuckle, lips curling into a smile that showed off his teeth, watched her small bare-foot step out, shiny leg following, knees, hem of her skirt that frilled loosely around her thighs, up and up to her chest, her collarbones and neck, and that pretty defeated little face.

He sauntered over to the kitchen nook where he’d spotted the bottle of wine, washed the blood from his hands first and thought 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 her just a silhouette, drinking red in a dimly lit room, the taste still on her tongue when he kisses her.

“Drink.” He commanded, 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 shiver, uncomfortable 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 pretty little face.

He lobbed the empty bottle into a cushioned armchair, before raising her chin with his knuckles, pushing down on her bottom lip with his thumb, making her gape as she looked up at him.

“You never dared put a word to it.” He stated, 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 pooling around her ankles as she stood there bleating, yet not daring to move a single muscle, with his thumb 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, before removing his hand, turning around with a scoff as he walked off to her bedside table, beginning to remove his rings, the ones that made it easier to split skin open upon impact. Guess she should have seen it as a relief, but she couldn't bring herself to it.

“But you knew.”

He threw his grey blazer to the floor, un-cuffed his sleeves before rolling them up to his elbows, arms flexing while unbuckling his belt, ripping it loose and dropping it to the floor before tugging loose his red tie, freeing his collar to pop open the first three buttons of his shirt.

“Shit, you must’ve known.”

He returned to where she still hadn't dared move a muscle, 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.” Hands dropped to his sides, her eyes trailing 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 dared fall asleep at her desk, so tired from a night spent crying because she couldn't get Bakugo 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 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 girls panties dropping if only he’d use it more often, but using it instead to manipulate 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, locked her door 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.

“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, eyes dead-set on watching the movement of his hands that now had taken ahold of both her hips, thumb messaging around the bone, pulling her closer before he stepped to her side, large palm laid flat on her belly, other gripping her midriff as he stopped behind her, hot air running down her neck and spine. “Went over battle-plans in my head-” He chuckled. “How I’d say you'd become just as obsessed as fucking Deku, how you shouldn't flatter yourself, how fucking desperate you must be to be falling in love with your own fucking bully.”

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, having her small body pulled harshly back into him, her back pressed firmly against his hard warm chest, chin nuzzling into the nook of her neck, nose running along her jawline, rubbing against her ear, arms coiling around her, like an overbearing hug, one that had his heart beating out of his ribcage, and dick growing warm and heavy and hard against her ass.

“You never said a thing though... you just looked at me, with so much... horror.” She winced, hands ever so calm laying themselves on top of his arms, feeling like toothpicks against steal, 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, head rubbing against her shoulder, trying to hold her even closer, lifting her to her toes as he hunched over her small breakable frame. “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? 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 mattress with her hands, though not left slumped against the bed 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, 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, 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.

“No-” He clicked his tongue, hand closing in on the elastic band to her perfectly 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 brushing warm digits over the fabric to her pretty lace bottom, fingertips running 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 pushing his otherwise stiff lips into a small smile.

“There we go. Perfect. Just like the good ol’ days.” He mused, 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, 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 her collarbone, lick at the bittersweet dried wine, 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, fingers pushing into each their cavity of plush flesh, making her pout like a fish, 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, breath hitting her lips as she shook beneath him. “This fucking adorable crybaby face.” He licked his lips again, shameless wanton eyes staring 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 unsavory memory, wondering if that was what he 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 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, brushing his tongue over her bottom lip before pushing gently through to taste her, and 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 of her, wondering why he so suddenly sounded like he was nothing 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 he 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 to her defense 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, messaging her aching needy arousal, 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, haughty smile carved on his face as he watched the way her cheeks pooled with red, the shaky intake of breath on her lips, feeling her tightness clench and pulsate on nothing more but his one measly 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, lodged and hooking inside 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, sliding and slotting the two thick digits in and out, 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, you fucking slut.” 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, 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 of course 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, 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 we know about Bakugo, it’s how if one indecent desire isn't satiated, he’ll gladly indulge another. Strong trained hands made to squeeze frail fragile pipes, lips turning grim and stiff and 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, heard her choke, try and gasp for the air his hand wouldn't allow pass through to her burning lungs. “It’d only take a minute and you’d be gone forever.”

He squeezed tighter, listened to her squeak, little useless hand loosening their hold on his larger paw, giving out, before his fist detached and she sprung back to life, coughing and gulping for air, 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, pulling her naked body closer to his, had her tender slick-soaked mess brush against the rough fabric of his pants, 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, harsh fingers burying themselves in the dough of her hips, his erection a large bump of scratchy material against her clit, making her cringe as she trembled, 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, soon after the rip of a zipper being pulled, her shoulder 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, 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, square across the face, she had burns for months.” She whimpered when she felt his breath on her cheek, 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, a knuckle 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 cock.”

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

“Katsuki-”

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.

She didn't get a second to think before his hand once again grabbed ahold of her face, 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, 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 ofvthe light in the dimly lit bleakness of her apartment in the night.

“You 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.”

“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, nose bumping, breaths cohesive. “You haven’t changed much since then.” That broke her heart. “Now ride or next time I fuck you, blue-eyes rotting head’ll be watching us.”

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