mrsdarkandyandere7

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Quirk(less) Marriage

Pairing: Dark/Yandere Keigo Takami/Hawks x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

SUMMARY: As Endeavour Todoroki’s quirkless daughter, you’ve been labeled as a burden your entire life. To your luck (or the lack of it) Hawks is more than willing to take care of you. 

WARNINGS: Arranged/Forced Marriage; Toxic/Abusive Relationship; Noncon; Implied Forced Breeding.

Reader takes Fuyumi's place, but ignoring the age logistics. You're around 20/21.

AN: Proud of myself cause this is the longest work I've written. Thank you for waiting, really hope you guys like this. Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊 enjoy!

--

The call gets disconnected, just like the previous one and the one before that.  

‘The number you have called is currently–’

Biting your lip, you tap on the call button, pushing the phone against your ear once again. Please, pick up. Please, pick up. 

Your prayers are successful as the call finally gets accepted, too many moments later. 

“Dad?”

There’s a low scoff on the other side of the line. With a swift glance behind your shoulder, you enter the large bathroom and fumble with the lock of the door.

“Dad? I– It's me.” 

The soft click provides you with the tiniest amount of security and you hope the walls are thick enough to muffle down the sound of your voice. 

“What is it?” the annoyance in Endeavour's voice is clear as day. Your dad has never had the time or patience to waste with you, much less now. “I’m busy. Make it quick.”

“I don’t like it here.” you start, holding onto the phone like it’s a lifeline. “Can you come pick me up?” 

“What nonsense is this? Have you lost your mind, like your mother did?” the words are cruel and sharp - a combination that your father does like no other. “It’s only been a few hours and you’ve started complaining already? Ridiculous!” 

“But I don’t know him. I don’t feel comfortable here. With him.” you try again, desperate. “Dad, please, don’t make me do this. Please, please, I don’t to–”

“Enough!” you flinch at the harsh tone. “End this nonsense right now. There’s no place left for you at my house. You are exactly where you belong. Ungrateful brat. Be grateful that Hawks accepted to have some quirkless trash as a wife.”

The venomous insult has you recoiling. Many are the times that the words ‘quirkless’ and ‘trash’ have been hurled your way and yet the dull ache in your heart never lessens. 

Your dad pays no mind to your pained silence, continuing with his angry frustration. 

“I’m warning you for the final time, so listen carefully. You are Hawk’s wife now, so behave like one. Do not even think about returning home, you hear me?” he hisses sharply. “Do not drag the family name through the mud just because of your pathetic whining.” 

The call abruptly disconnects. 

You stare at the wall, apathetic as cold emptiness slowly consumes you, inch by inch. You feel lost. Empty. Brain hardly able to acknowledge what’s happening to you. God, why is this happening to you?

You don’t want to stay here. In another man’s house - a man you hardly know. Hawks. Keigo, like he asked you to call him when your dad’s driver dropped you off like a delivery package. A mail-order bride.

You don’t know what to do. What can you do?

Running away is out of the question. It’s not even an option, not when you’re the daughter of Japan’s Pro-hero Number One and your husband sits on the second rank.

But the truth is that there’s never been much of a rebellious streak inside you. No, you are docile and simple. Being rebellious was a trait more present in your brother's disposition. Natsuo. Shoto. Touya. 

The thought of them has you hesitating for a moment, but you quickly dismiss the idea. No doubt they would try to help, but to what extent would they truly be successful?

Their relationship with dad was a strained one, so tense that it could break at any moment. You’d hate to be the one to tear the family apart. 

You wonder what dad will tell them - that he just sold you off like a broodmare? Or will he make a more elegant explanation?

Will your brothers even believe whatever strange justification your dad comes up with?

You haven’t seen them for a while. Natsuo spent most of his time on his college campus and Shoto lived in the U.A dorms. All while you took care of the house. 

Would they believe you married Hawks even though there’s no wedding? 

No grandiose wedding ceremony to marry off the only daughter of the great Endeavour, no. Only a legal contract binding you to him, papers that you barely got a chance to read properly before your dad demanded for your signature. And just like that you’re married on legal terms.

It’s hard to believe it happened this morning, less than two hours ago when it feels like a nightmare that is dragging out for too long. 

A knock on the door snaps you out of your brainstorm session. 

“Hey. You good in there?” 

Keigo. You really hope he didn’t catch the hushed phone call. That makes you tuck the phone into your back pocket. 

You make a little noise with your throat, clearing your voice. “Hum, yeah. I… Just a minute.” 

You wait a moment in the spacious bathroom, taking the opportunity to check out your reflection in the mirror on top of the impeccable white marble vanity. 

There’s nothing different about your face, despite the storm of emotions that devastates you on the inside. Nothing indicates the horror you’re experiencing, maybe except for the light downturn of your lips. 

Your hands smoothes down the wrinkles along your silk blouse. Your dad had barked at you to change into a proper dress, something more elegant than a blouse and pants, but there had been no time to alter outfits.

The last hour you spent at home was total chaos. Hurrying to pack your stuff and now that you think about it, you didn’t even get a chance to pack your favorite clothes. Most of your belongings stayed behind, unable to fit the two suitcases the maids helped you fill with whatever you could find. Clothes. Shoes. Skincare. Makeup. Some jewelry. 

Oh, you even forgot your laptop! Well, you suppose that’s the least of your concerns. 

Straightening your back with a deep breath that does little to calm your nerves, you finally reach for the door.

Keigo is casually leaning against the adjacent wall with his hands chuffed inside the pant’s pockets, fluffy blonde brows rising as you close the en-suite bathroom. 

“Took you long enough in there. Was getting worried you had fallen down the toilet or somethin’.” he jokes. He’s not wearing the yellow Pro-Hero costume, just a tight shirt and pants.

Casual. Comfortable. 

 He pushes himself off the wall, nodding towards the room door. 

“C’mon, let me show you the rest of the penthouse. It’s yours now as well.” he pauses, looking at you with a knowing expression. “Unless you wanna go back to hiding in the bathroom to beg Endeavour some more?”

Your face falls, eyes widening with shock. 

“Oh, I…” you stammer, like a deer caught in the headlights. “I’m sorry. I just–”

Keigo stops you with a wave of his hand, walking over to you. You gulp as a reflex when he stops, standing right in front of you, his red wings ruffling behind him. 

Hands are placed over your shoulders, warm and firm. The proximity has your body tensing up, nerves prickling you.

It’s the first time you’re seeing him up close, eyes shyly noticing the small details. The faint scars scarring his cheek. The short blonde stubble around his chin. The small piercing on his ear. There’s a gentle scent emanating from him, maybe a body lotion or soap, you’re not sure. 

“Hey. It’s fine. I’m not mad.” he gently says, one finger tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his golden ones. “I know you must be scared. I’d be too if I was in your shoes.”

“Getting married is a huge deal. I’m also pretty sure this was kinda... unexpected, right? You probably weren’t expecting any of this. Were you? Hm?” 

Your silence elicits his fingers to dig deeper into your shoulders, and you hesitantly nod. A bad feeling pools in your belly. 

“C’mon, there’s no need to be so shy. You can speak to me. It’s just me, Keigo. Your husband.” a shiver follows down your spine when one of his hands slowly slides down your naked arm, calloused palm touching over the length of your skin.

The heat of his palm, albeit gentle, feels scorching hot when it lands on your wrist. Burning your skin. Marking you.  

“... and that means no secrets between us. Cause a good wife always tells the truth to her husband. All that stuff about having bling trust on your husband, ‘kay?” 

Keigo’s tone changes in the slightest as he speaks, a more serious undertone coating his words. His peculiar behavior has often reached your ear, mostly by the angry complaints of your father, but this… this seems insane.

He’s insane. The way he talks to you makes you uneasy. It makes you want to evade his touch and run back home, back to the safety of your room - your little heaven of peace.

The situation that has you trapped is far too weird, too abnormal for you to even know what to say or what to think. 

“So, what do you say?” his lips curl into a small smirk. “Will you be my perfect little wife?” 

There’s no other option other than nodding, a shaky movement of your head. That doesn’t satisfy Keigo, his lips pouting dramatically.  One hand cups the side of your face, rugged fingers scratching your gentle skin. 

Your heart skips a beat when his thumb reaches for your lips, the tinted lip gloss smudging as the pad of his finger drags over your lower lip. Heat burns in your cheeks, your whole face blazing warm at his touch. 

Keigo’s eyes are fixed on your lips, captivated by the shiny moisture coating them. You don’t dare moving a single muscle, as frozen as a porcelain statue. Too scared that one move might trigger him into kissing you. 

It happens anyways despite the little hope you harbored. Keigo leans forward and there’s barely time to think - or to dodge him - before his mouth is pressing against yours, soft lips applying minimal pressure into the kiss. It’s tender, gentle. It’s your first kiss. 

A hum rumbles through his chest and his hand slides to the back of your head, fingers stretching to keep you in place. Not allowing you to run away from him. Oh gosh. 

The kiss deepens, more pressure being added as Keigo teasingly nibbles your lower lip. There’s no other option but to gap your lips, allowing access to your mouth.

Keigo takes full advantage, sneaky tongue tracing the shape of your lips before pushing past your lips, almost making you gag at the sensation. It’s slimy and wet, and it feels weird to have roaming around your mouth, touching and feeling around. 

Before you even realize what you’re doing, your hands are pushing against his chest and Keigo accomplies, pulling away with a breathy chuckle. 

You exhale, wiping the smear of saliva and gloss with the back of your hand. 

“Sweet like candy.” Keigo says, eyes fixed on you as he licks his lips. “And a virgin, right? At least, that’s what your dad told me. Pure, untouched virgin and all that.”

You gulp at the hunger in his eyes. 

“Don’t be scared. I’m not a monster, I promise.” the corner of his lip curves, giving away the unsettling smirk behind. “Promise to take good care of you tonight. Scout’s honor.”

---------------------------------- 💍 ----------------------------------------

Physical touch is a concept you’re hardly familiar with. Anyone that looks carefully into your family can quickly realize that they are not one for effusive displays of affection.

Hugs, kisses, cuddling - none of that. If you think hard enough, there might be some vague memories of your mom wrapping her arms around you, back when you were a little child. Cradling you into a sweet although chilly embrace, gently rocking your body into sleeping.

But those memories are so distant, so fuzzy that you can’t even be sure they are real. The ones that remain are your dad and brothers. 

And if your mind doesn’t fail you, the last time your dad gave you any sort of physical attention wasn’t a pleasant situation, one that resulted with you receiving a nasty slap for being so loud and rowdy that you woke him up on his day off. 

So, no. Showing love through touch is not something you know about. But Keigo sure does. His touch is the only constant throughout the apartment tour.

As he guides you through the different rooms, his hand never leaves yours. Warm and somewhat gritty. Solid enough to keep you attached to him, even when you take small steps away from him. Could be considered a sweet gesture, if only your mind wasn’t finding it so suffocating. 

When finally you reach the last division left, Keigo wraps his toned arms around your waist, pushing you flush against his body.

A gasp escapes from your lips, both surprised and shocked at the sudden gesture and your hands immediately fly over to his, pushing for a moment before you realize that you can’t do that so directly.

You can’t push him away. He’s your husband. 

“... and this is where you’ll be spending most time. The kitchen. Had it remodeled especially for you.” Keigo proudly says, chin slotting on top of your left shoulder. “Endeavour seemed pretty confident in your cooking skills, he even bragged a whole ton about that. Delicious, traditional food and all that. Works well enough cause I’m sort of a glutton, y’know?”

He pecks the side of your exposed neck as you take in your surroundings, drinking in every single detail.

The amount of sunlight coming from the large windows is impressive, the bright and warm light cascading down on the large middle island and the long counter made of white marble. Every piece of equipment and machine looking like it belongs to a restaurant’s kitchen, modern and brand new. 

Everything is so impeccably shiny and clean, without a single speck of dust, that you wonder if the kitchen has ever been used before. Likely not. 

“Used to eat fast food everyday. Easy and cheap.” Keigo confirms your assumption. 

His arms tighten around you, squeezing you tight enough to leave you a bit breathless. 

“But that’s in the past. Cause now I have a pretty wifey who’s gonna spoil me with yummy food, right, babe? My little housewife.” he coos, similar to how one would speak to a little baby. “You’re gonna be real busy. Cooking everyday for your hard-working husband.”

The more Keigo speaks, the more uneasy you get. Why is he being so weird about it? 

He’s always had sort of a peculiar personality, you know that much from the tabloid’s fixation on documenting and discussing the every public interaction of the popular Pro-Hero that occupies the second position in the rankings but it was your dad’s angry ramblings about the younger man that gave you the confirmation of Hawks’s eccentric and unique personality. But you didn’t think he’d be a… freak.

The uneasiness that is slowly taking over you only gets worse when something - something that grows hard with every passing moment - pokes against your lower back, firm and insistent. 

A yelp gets stuck in your throat and you jump without thinking when a calloused hand delves underneath your blouse, warm fingers pinching the soft skin of your stomach. 

“C’mon, don’t be shy. I wanna hear you say it.” his mouth hovers over your ear, teeth playfully biting the sensitive earlobe. His hand graduatelly slips lower until it reaches the hem of your pants, giving it a playful tug. 

“You’re gonna cook for me, right?” 

A shudder travels through your body, raising goosebumps over the expense of your skin. 

“I’ll…cook for you, yes.” you stammer the words out, but Keigo isn’t done with you yet. 

He tuts, tongue swiping as light as a feather across the shell of your ear. “You’re gonna cook for me and what else. Go on, say it.” 

The knot lodged on your stomach won’t stop twisting and warping, making you experience things like never before. Stress, anxiety, fear. Everything at once. 

“I’ll…” you hesitate, voice so low that it breaks.

Keigo encourages you further. “Hm hm, keep going. I’m all ears.”

“I’ll..” you start, tongue feeling too heavy to move. “I’ll be your housewife.”

Keigo rewards you with a nasty growl and much to your horror, he pushes himself harder against you, pulling you against the kitchen island. Trapped between the cold marble and Keigo’s firm body, there’s no way to slip away from him. 

There’s no way to escape Keigo as he sets up a slow rocking motion, shamelessly dry humping you in the middle of the kitchen. 

There’s nothing for you to do except to push back the disgust that grows with each breathless moan that resonates over your ear and accept your destiny. 

---------------------------------- 💍 -----------------------------------

A few years ago, when you were a somewhat silly dumb teenager, you’d have fantasies about your wedding night.

Rosy and dreamy fantasies about how perfect that night was supposed to be, how romance and love would fill the atmosphere until you were dizzy with emotions.

A strong and handsome husband that would have the softest lips, peppering kisses all over your body. Gentle hands whose touch would be enough to make you see stars. He’d be sweet and kind and he would take his time with you. 

Now, on your first night as a married woman, you realize just how unrealistic your teenage fantasies were. 

Your body writhes on its own as Keigo slowly pushes his hips forward, forcing his cock all the way inside your cramped pussy. The problem isn’t his size. He’s not too big or too small. Just average, you suppose.

But the problem lies in the painful fact that this is your first time and Keigo seems more focused on getting as deep as he can instead of going easy on you.  

“Oh, fuck. You’re really tight, huh.” Keigo pants, forehead pressing against yours. One of your hands instinctively reaches out to push on his chest, desperate for some distance, for some much needed relief.

But Keigo is fast in stopping you, grabbing your hands with his own, forcing each hand to lay flat near your head. 

“...it hurts.” 

Your whining gets smothered down by Keigo’s lips, insistent in keeping you quiet. His hips rock against you, pulling halfway out before drilling back inside with impressive determination that earns a muffled distressed gasp from you everytime. 

Your walls sting despite the unhurried pace Keigo sets. Not too fast, but not too slow either. Probably the best middle-ground tempo he could find. But it’s not enough for you. Your pussy aching with each thrust, struggling to accommodate the foreign intrusion.

Keigo pulls away from the kiss, with a breathless groan that feels overly graphic. His face hovers close enough for the ragged breaths and pants to hit you, leaving a warm cast of air.  

Keigo releases one of your hands and his now free hand travels down, expertly hooking under your knee before pulling the leg up to your chest. Opening you up. Discomfort flares up in your leg at the uncomfortable position, cramps start to form in your muscles and there's a malicious grin forming in Keigo’s face at the sight of your struggle. 

“C’mon, don’t be a brat, you can take it.” he purrs, face bending down to press a kiss on your knee. “You’re already taking my cock like a champ. Keep that tightness up and you’re gonna make me cum soon. Fuck.”

He grunts, strands of honey hair hanging in his forehead, his skin dewy with sweat. Behind him, the wings won’t stop twitching and shaking, adding more weight as Keigo falls on top of you, crushing you against the bed with his solid weight.

He fucks you faster, going deeper with the new angle that has you wincing everytime. The erratic pace rocks both you and the bed in a way that feels like an earthquake, headboard banging with such force on the wall that you won’t be surprised if tomorrow there’s a dent.

You also won’t be surprised if there are visible dents littering your body as well.  

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he moans, chasing his high like a madman. “You’re gonna take it, aren’t you? Take my cum like the good, little wifey you are. Fuck, yeah!” 

The symphony of groans rises in volume just like the growing urgency in the few thrusts Keigo punctures right before he buries his face in your neck, an animalistic sound rumbling deep from his chest as his body comes to a halt, every inch of cock buried deep inside you. 

After that, the room is strangely quiet. 

Keigo’s warm breathing hits your neck, irregular and shallow as he takes his time getting himself back together. He takes no initiative to move away from you and you lack the necessary strength to push him away, so there’s no other option but to remain on your back, smothered under his weight, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Feeling the soreness seeping through the soft muscles while realizing how sticky your skin has become. The dull cramps that start building up in the lower part of your body. Leg still hoisted up over Keigo’s arm, settled into the stiff position. 

You wince at the member lodged inside of you, turning flaccid with each passing moment. What is impossible to ignore is the fluid that oozes from your hole, slowly trickling downwards. 

“That was insane. Fuck, I even think you’re officially the best fuck of my life.” he declares with a satisfied sigh, voice hoarse. 

Finally, after what it feels like an eternity - even if probably only has been a few minutes - Keigo moves his arm away and you sigh in relief when your leg falls down to the bed, stiff and sore.

He pulls back on his knees, a soft grunt escaping from him when he removes himself from inside you and you can finally breathe properly without his weight pressing you down. 

He heads for the bathroom, feet padding on the floor as he walks away with a yawn. 

You doze off, exhaustion making your eyes finally close as you find some thin peace in the darkness. 

---------------------------------- 💍 --------------------------------------

The marital troubles begin less than two days after you become Keigo’s wife. 

You figure it to be a good moment to ask for permission. Your husband - it still feels awkward to say that, even in your mind - is happily munching on the dinner you rushed to cook after he wasted nearly the entire afternoon by keeping you in bed, performing other marital duties.

He’s insatiable when it comes to sex and you’ve come to realize that his appetite is only satisfied when you end up with a sore, achy pussy that leaks copious amounts of cum he fills you with. 

The reality of your situation is slowly falling upon you, forcing you to realize that this isn’t just some phase of your life. No, it’s not a phase. This is your life now. 

Your father never called back, not even a single message to check up on you. Part of you thinks that he must’ve blocked you. He did make it abundantly clear that you’re no longer a part of his family. 

So now, you’re trying to find a way to make things better for yourself. Online college had been the only compromise your dad accepted at the time, so at least you have a degree.

Keigo’s short leave is almost ending, you only know this because Keigo complains about it all the time, which means that soon he’ll be going back to his agency, the patrols, the rescue missions… 

Sure, Keigo did blabber some stuff about you staying a housewife, but you do hope that he can be convinced otherwise. 

“How’s the food?” you ask, catching some vegetables with the fork. The question is pointless, given that the answer lies on the plate before Keigo, mountains of teriyaki chicken and mashed potatoes stacked on the plate.  

Keigo grins, shoving more food into his mouth. “Think cookin’ might be your quirk after all, babe. Those Michellin-star chefs got nothing on you. Trust me.” 

A chuckle leaves your lips before you even realize it. That might be the first time Keigo actually made you laugh. 

“I was meaning to ask, you’re going back to work tomorrow, right?” you ask as casually as possible, pushing the fork to your mouth. 

Keigo hums, before he stops and shakes his head. “Nah, I changed the dates so I can get a few more days with you. Probably heading back on sunday. Maybe monday if I can pull it off.”

“Oh okay.” you nod. 

He looks at you, the edges of his lips curling into a small grin. “Why? Want me to take more days off? I’m sure I can make it work, if you really want me to.”

You pause, mushing down some broccoli with the fork for a moment before you answer. 

“Well, I… I was wondering…” you hesitate, trying to measure your words. “...that when you go back to work, maybe I could get a job? If it’s fine by you, of course! It’s just, well, you’re gonna be busy with work and I’ll be home alone all day. So, if I get a job then I’d be doing something useful, right?”

The teasing grin slowly dies down as Keigo stares at you, eyebrows arching. “A job?” 

Your nod isn’t as assertive as you wish it was and to make it worse, Keigo doesn’t answer right away, taking his sweet time chewing another mouthful of food before taking a few sips from his beer. 

And then he explodes in laughter. 

Eyebrows arching in amusement while Keigo wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. 

The expression on your face must be transparent enough to show your feelings, you realize so when Keigo coos at you, hand settling on top of yours. 

“Did I hurt your feelings, doll? Aww, c’mon, don’t be sad.” he says with a pouty lip, not a trace of seriousness in him. “You’re all delicate and nice. You wouldn’t last a single day working a nine-to-five job. Those things are brutal. Trust me when I say that you’re not cut out for that.”

You stare at him, stunned. He’s making you look weak and pathetic. Something your father would too. 

“But I–”

“Besides, if you really wanna be busy that bad, I’m sure we can work something out.” Keigo doesn’t give you the chance to speak before he’s cutting you off, his grin growing wider - and sinister. “I’m sure a baby would keep you fully booked.”

---------------------------------- 💍 ---------------------------------------

Being Endeavour’s only daughter hadn’t been the glamorous life assumed by the tabloids. Sure, you lived in the comfort of a huge house filled with staff that was more than willing to satisfy your needs.

Not a single day in your life went by struggling for money or food. You had enough designer clothes to overflow your room’s closet and more jewelry than needed. Safety, comfort, money - you had it all. 

But materialistic luxury and comfort hardly meant anything when so many restrictions were imposed upon you.

Your dad was strict - even more considering the quirkless failure he claimed you to be. Not to mention that you are a girl. That alone downgraded your value by a ton, at least to your father’s eyes. That meant being homeschooled for the better part of your life, with harsh tutors and teachers that demanded nothing less than perfection from you.

Leaving the house for whatever reasons may be meant begging your father for permission and his answer was always unsurprisingly negative. Your brothers, despite being nice, were too busy with their own lives. 

In the end, you were left alone - no social life and no friends. 

But as bad as it was, you grew accustomed to it. It was your life and granted that it could be much worse. 

Marrying Keigo - as frightening as it was - isn’t as bad as you expected. He’s not violent. He’s not abusive. As peculiar and bizarre that Keigo is, he’s not entirely a bad husband, you reluctantly admit. 

He takes care of you, through both big and small gestures. You don’t even have to ask for gifts before they are given to you. Books. Jewelry. Clothes. 

He makes an effort to get to know you. Your likes and dislikes. Always eager to know more about you. About the things that make you happy or sad. 

He shows you affection - something that used to be so foreign to you. He kisses and hugs you, his touch always so warm and soft as he drowns you in affection. 

But Keigo is not a saint either. Far from it. 

He doesn’t like it when you talk too much about your family. The way he firmly steers away the conversation when you mention how badly you miss your brothers is enough proof that your husband wants nothing but distance from your old life.

His own family remains a mystery to you, with Keigo setting up boundaries at that sensitive topic. The only family he’s interested in is the future family that the two of you will build together.  

He hates when you do anything that doesn’t suit him. Cooking anything other than his favorite meals always ends up with him giving you the cold shoulder. Choosing a movie or a show that he doesn’t like has him instantly taking over the remote control, changing the TV to whatever he wants to see.

Keigo doesn’t give in easily and there’s no attempt of an amicable compromise or whatsoever. You do what he wants, not the other way. 

In the end, it dawns on you that marrying Keigo wasn’t a salvation. It never was. It was merely exchanging from one prison to another and a part of you believes that your dad knew that. 

---------------------------------- 💍 ---------------------------------------

A few days after Keigo restarts his work schedule, you take the opportunity to leave the apartment. 

However, grocery shopping takes far longer than you anticipated and the sun is already starting to hide in the horizon when you finally make your way back to the apartment. 

You get inside with the bags full of groceries, struggling to close the door when a voice resonates from behind. 

“Where were you?”

You yelp at the frightening sight that the living room has become. Red feathers are sprayed all over the room - the floor, the couch, the furniture - creating a confusing mess of crimson that awfully resembles a murder scene. And in the center of it all, Keigo stiffly stands with arms crossed over his chest.

But what’s more frightening is the solemn expression on his face. Blank and devoid of any humor, serious as a stone. His golden eyes are sharp, raking over you like you’ve committed a serious, immoral crime. 

A cold shiver runs through your body. You’ve never seen Keigo this serious, without the usual friendly grin and the humorous jokes. That makes you a bit nervous. 

���Did your dad not teach you any manners? Cause I asked you something and I’m still waiting on the answer.” the harshness of his voice makes you feel cold, despite the soft heat that comes with summer. 

“Uh, I went to the store….for groceries.” you tentatively raise one hand, showing the heavy bag hanging from it.  

Keigo just stares at you, unfazed. 

“Which store?”

You look at him, confused. 

“The one down the street. Right in the corner of the-”

“To buy what?”

“We ran out of carrots yester–”

“With whose permission?”

“I-”

“With whose permission?” he repeats with a silver of irritation, taking a step towards you. “Cause I sure as hell don’t remember you asking me about this. So, I’d like for you to explain why you left the apartment without talking with me first.”

Your lips part with shock, shoulders slumping in the slightest. 

“Did you check your phone? I texted you, even called you a few times. But I guess you were too busy to answer your husband, right? Nah, you just went out there, not a single care in the world. Who cares if I was here, waiting and worried sick ‘bout you. ” he spits the words, bitterly chuckling before he turns around, stomping his way down the hall. 

Anxiety builds inside you, layer after layer until you’re overflowing with it, chewing your lower lip.

You don’t understand. He never mentioned anything about not going out and you just assumed Keigo wouldn’t object to it. It was just grocery shopping, nothing much. 

But maybe you should have asked. Maybe you should’ve been more careful, more attentive. That’s what a good wife does. You can practically hear the echo of your dad berating at your stupidity. Stupid. Useless. Quirkless. 

You stay frozen in the same spot, brain thinking too slow and too fast at the same time but without providing you a solution.

Slowly moving, you take the grocery bags to the kitchen, putting away all the food with a heavy guilt-prickling mind. Hopefully you can appease Keigo's irritation by cooking his favorite dish. 

Dinner takes place an hour later, the tense mood highlighted by the heavy silence that is only broken by the scraping of the cutlery. Keigo doesn’t bother looking at you, a light frown still engraved in his face. 

Apologies are stuck in the tip of your tongue, just ready to spill at any moment but somehow they don’t. You just can’t bring yourself to speak. Keigo matches your silence, eyes trained on his phone as he eats. 

He barely glances your way when his food is finished, leaving his plate on the table before he goes back to the room. 

The coldness remains for the rest of the evening. Keigo doesn’t speak for the rest of the night, nor does he touch you - the first time since you got married. 

The next morning you rise earlier than usual after spending the entire night mulling over the argument.

It weighs uncomfortably in your mind, repeating itself over and over again till you’re lost. Intrusive guilt settles in your mind, making you both sad and insecure about your actions. 

The kitchen is swallowed by gloominess and darkness when you enter it but you don’t mind. It matches your mood. Sleep-deprived and stressed out. 

You’re putting together the ingredients for a white chocolate cake - Keigo’s favorite - when suddenly arms wrap around your waist, frightening you.

Your shriek echoes through the kitchen before you get the chance to turn your face around and realize it’s only Keigo. 

He chortles for a moment before burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. You remain paralyzed, unsure of what to say despite the turmoil that takes place inside you. 

“I’m sorry. About yesterday.” Keigo mutters, face buried in the crook of your neck. “I might’ve had…overreacted a bit.”

The tension melts away from your body and mind, releasing all of its heavy weight. Everything is gonna be fine. You feel so light and free suddenly. 

Keigo must’ve noticed that because he gently swirls your body around, making you face him. His hand cups your cheek, thumb gently rubbing the skin underneath. 

His expression is apologetic until he starts speaking. 

“I shouldn't have said those things. I hurt your feelings and I’m really sorry for that.” he apologies, “I was upset and worried and those emotions took the best of me. But…”

You raise your head, eyes searching for his. 

“... you have to admit that some of the fault goes to you as well. You really shouldn’t have left the apartment without asking me first.” the words are coated with a softness that doesn’t seem all that genuine. Some of the tension returns. 

“I’m your husband, that means I get worried ‘bout you. Can’t make me be the bad guy just for tryin’ to look after you, can you?”

Keigo looks at you, sighing. 

“Listen, I just… if anything happened to you, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. You’re the most precious person in my life, you’re my wife and I love you. A lot.” his fingers tighten up almost imperceptibly around your face. “So can you really blame me for trying to keep you safe?”

Your fingers weakly try to pull his hand away from your cheek, without success. 

“But I was fine, Keigo. Nothing would’ve happened.”

He chuckles, a dry sound with no amusement underneath it. 

“If you saw the amount of fucked up shit I see everyday, you wouldn’t be saying that.” his words stun you, but Keigo doesn’t seem to mind. “Women getting robbed, raped and murdered left and right, all the time. And guess what you are? A woman. A defenseless, quirkless woman.” 

There’s a cold shudder running down your spine, giving you goosebumps.

His tone, demeaning and derogatory, sounds awfully similar to the one your father used with you every time he was forced to address you. 

“Not to mention that you’re my wife. Hawks’ wife. That makes you a target to all the bad guys out there. And trust me, they won’t hesitate to use you to get to me. You get what I’m saying, right? Sweetheart.” 

You gulp with a dry throat, practically sensing Keigo’s patience wearing thin with each moment. Head moving without your consent to nod at him. Yes, you hear him - loud and clear. 

“Yeah…yes, I understand that.” 

Keigo nods, apprehension plastered in his face, clearly not convinced by your words but he drops the matter. Doesn’t matter if you agree or not, if you’re happy or not, as long as he gets his way. And of course he does. 

He pulls you into his arms, pushing your face to his chest while pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your head. 

“No more outside trips, alright?” his question is merely rhetorical. “Not without running it by me, at least.”

You nod once again. Not because you want to, but because it dawns you that there’s nothing else you can do. This is your life now, whether you like it or not.

---------------------------------- 💍 --------------------------------------

The first anniversary of your ‘marriage’ is a bittersweet day.

You wake up to a strange tingling over the expanse of your neck, similar to the brush of a soft feather against your skin. Your eyes flutter open at the ticking feeling, the low chirping of birds revealing the early hour of the morning. 

A yawn slips from your lips as you rub your eyes, fighting back the drowsiness. You feel like you’re running on fumes, unable to have a decent night’s sleep in months.

The pain that stretches across your back and torso only adds up to the exhaustion, your muscles somewhat sore. 

“Rise and shine, sweetheart!” 

You look up just in time to catch Keigo crossing the threshold of the door, a small round cake precariously balanced in one hand and a wrapped gift in the other. His red wings spread out almost majestically, carrying him through the air until he softly lands by your side in bed. 

Keigo immediately ditches the gift and helps you sit in the bed, fluffing out the pillows against your back. 

“Happy anniversary.” his lips press against yours, roping you into a warm kiss, before depositing the cake in your lap.

White chocolate, as usual. You’ve eaten so much white chocolate these past months that your mind has developed a genuine disgust for it. Still, you force out a grateful smile, his morning stubble scratching your lips as you kiss his cheek. 

“For you too.” 

Keigo grins, digging into the cake with a spoon before offering you the first bite. It’s delicious but nauseatingly sweet at the same time. 

“Can you believe that it’s been a whole year since we got married? Feels like it was only yesterday that we got together.” he muses, taking a spoonful of cake for himself this time. “Looks like it’s true what people say, time does fly by when you’re living the time of your life.” 

You refuse his attempt to feed you another piece of cake, the hints of nausea starting to turn your stomach. You wish he had come with a normal breakfast tray instead of cake. 

Keigo takes your left hand into his own, thumb stroking the ring decorating your annular finger.

“And to be honest, this has been the best year of my life. Never been happier than this.” he confesses. “I love you, so so much. And you love me back, right?” 

Your lips part, a resigned ‘yes’ ready to spill from your mouth. And then a loud squeal cuts through the air. 

Repressing back a tired sigh, you start pushing yourself out of bed when Keigo shakes his head, stopping you with a hand. 

“Nu-uh, I got it. Just sit back and relax, babe. You deserve a break.” 

The promised break lasts about a minute as Keigo seems hell-bent on spending every moment with you. Soon, he’s walking back inside the room with the small baby nestled in his arms, choosing to stand near your side of the bed. 

“Little baby bird over here wants to celebrate the occasion with mommy and daddy.” Keigo uses that special soft tone with your daughter, peppering small kisses over her tiny face. She giggles and coos, crying fit already forgotten. 

You watch them with a faint smile tugging at your lips.

Despite every flaw of Keigo, you can’t help but be grateful for his doting nature when it comes to your daughter. Sure, Keigo never changes her diapers or deals with her during her occasional meltdowns and tantrums but you recognize that it could be worse.

She’s the apple of his eyes and he spoils her rotten, not afraid to shower her with love and affection. You could never imagine your dad kissing or hugging you the way Keigo does with your kid. 

Only takes two minutes for the little princess to tire herself out by laughing and soon her little eyes close as she settles down once again. Keigo makes sure to tuck her better inside the little pink blanket, rocking her in his arms with gentle rhythmic movements. 

Finally, he remembers the long forgotten gift from the bed, offering it to you with a grin. 

“A little something for my gorgeous wife.”

From the small rattling sound inside the box, it’s easy to predict that a new necklace or bracelet is gonna be added to your jewelry collection. 

Your brows press together, fingers feeling the smooth texture of the box. 

“I don’t have a gift for you, sorry.” you mutter, suddenly conscious of your mishap. 

Keigo coos at you this time. 

“Aw, don’t say that. I’m holding in my arms the best gift you could’ve given me. Our little baby bird.” he says, shifting the baby into only one of his arms while his free hand comes to rest atop of your belly, still not fully recovered from birth and yet ready for the next batch.

“Besides, the second gift is already on the way.”

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Ugh, sooo freaking good! The way Dabi comes after her, unwilling for forgive or forget.... so scary (and good).

An Ode to Lost Love.

✞ — Synopsis: What was that quote about another's silence? “Be leery of silence. It doesn't mean you won the argument. Often, people are just busy reloading their guns.” Right. You should’ve seen this coming, really, it was a little stupid of you to believe he just forgot all about you.

✞ — Warnings: MDNI. Dark content, implied stockholm syndrome, mentions of murder, the reader receives death threats, yandere behaviour, violence, blood, injuries, asphyxiation, the reader is knocked unconscious, concussion, heavy manipulation, preying on the reader, dumbification, objectification, gaslighting, non-con, dubcon (but hardly, it's a very grey area), disassociation, minimal/no prep vaginal sex, burning/marking in detail, reader vomits once due to injuries, creampie, breeding kink, baby trapping, Dabi flipflops a lot between emotions.

✞ — Word Count: 7k

✞ — Notes: This is a Dabi x female!Reader. This is my first real dark content fic. If this is not your cup of tea, please do not interact. Please take care with the warnings, it's very much a dead dove: do not eat. Posted over on AO3 too for ease of reading. I definitely do not condone anything that has been written here, I'm also not romanticising noncon or any of the warnings. Thank you for taking the time to read it, remember to take care and enjoy :)

Living in the aftermath of someone's destruction was just as you would expect; chaotic, and lonesome. You had signed up for this all those years ago but you hadn’t expected it to turn out quite like this. You were never going to get used to the stares when someone recognised you in the store, or the smashed windows of the local youth who wanted to shame someone who was tricked with the promise of something more. 

Though you didn’t feel ashamed for what you had done, nor did you regret it – for the most part, anyway. Sure you had regretted keeping silent when you saw a man lose his life because of a simple mistake, you should’ve left when you realised that you were being lied to. That the man you had fallen in love with was not a misunderstood young man but rather a cruel and deceiving criminal. 

The man in question? Touya Todoroki – also most commonly known as Dabi.

You hated this part of town, it was… less than decent. Run down and filled with low-life criminals who were on the run or simply just wanted to live a somewhat normal life. The walls of the buildings you pass by are decaying, unrepaired from when heroes did decide to pay a visit to the neglected parts of the cities and towns they were supposed to serve and protect. 

What a fucking lie.

It’s not that you hated hero society, per se, but you also knew how disgusting some of the heroes still were. After everything Touya went through after he poured his heart out to you and the rest of the world – nothing fucking changed. Of course, it had pissed you off when they exhausted him to the point of near death before carting him off to Tartarus, they were sweeping him under the rug to be forgotten about. You attempted to reach out to the other members of the liberation but none of them wanted anything to do with you, you weren’t a villain. You were just attached to one.

The stairs up to your rundown apartment were practically crumbling with each step, you made sure to avoid the 8th step that was shattered entirely. When you first moved here, you thought it would only be for a short amount of time, just somewhere to lay low to avoid the probing questions of the heroes who wondered if you were compliant in any of Touya’s crimes. But the two-year timeframe you gave yourself quickly turned to three, then five, and now here you were eight years later. The apartment building looked the same as when you first moved in, the mysterious stain on the carpet leading to your apartment had never been removed and you’re pretty sure the world will end before it’s ever cleaned.

Your door opened with a creak, the old hinges were hanging on for dear life and you never worked up the nerve to ask the guy who let you live here to try and fix it. Of course, you would do it yourself, if it were not for the fear of breaking it entirely and having no door at all in such a shady neighbourhood. With a click of the door behind you, your entire body relaxes with a drop of your shoulders and you drop the keys in the chipped bowl by the front door.

Once free of your shoes, you trudge further into the apartment. Inside it was much nicer than outside, you had made sure to work hard to make yourself comfortable here. At first, you hesitated on decorating, the constant voice in the back of your head telling you that Dabi—Touya wouldn’t like it. But it became easier over time, as the claws he had sunk in your flesh had loosened with each passing day without him leering over you. Of course, he still lingered deep in your bones, scars like the ones he left on you would never truly go away.

You hadn’t realised you were quite so ‘damaged’ until after he was gone. When you were suddenly allowed to break the surface of the water Dabi had been holding you down beneath to see you squirm, it was jarring, to say the least. You struggled day to day wondering what to do with yourself, you had no one to direct your every move or to care for you the way he had. The first couple of years were the worst, a constant void in place of where your heart should be. You longed to have Dabi back, to card your fingers through soft snow-like hair, you missed his insufferable warmth. It had suffocated you at first until it became a comfort, something you needed to get through the day. 

The letters you sent back and forth with him had helped some, the smell of smoke and ash when you’d open a new letter from him would get you through the darkest of nights. He had always had a way with his words, not many would think that of Touya, he hadn’t finished school and he most definitely didn’t have the support through his teenage years but he had taught himself how to read and write. And he was very good at it, very fucking good.

With each letter, you could practically hear his voice, the syrupy low tone that would muddle your brain and numb your nerves. Those letters had started to grow more erratic, it morphed from the loving Touya you had been privileged to know in the safety of his bedroom into Dabi, a cruel villain who wanted you to suffer just as he had. He didn’t take it easy when you told him you were starting to question the legitimacy of your relationship with the scarred man. He grew unkind with his words, the I love you turning into I wish you were fucking dead at the end of each letter. 

He felt betrayed, you figured, everyone he had known had abandoned him and you were just the same as the rest of them. His final letter went into gruesome detail as to what he would do to you once he got out, how his hands may be made to burn but he would relish in watching the light leave your eye when he choked you to death. You didn’t need to read further to know he would’ve gone into detail about what he’d then do with your dead body. That was the last letter you had read, but they continued to come every fortnight like clockwork until they didn’t. You figured he might’ve gotten bored, or perhaps someone had taken him out on the inside. There wasn’t a shortage of people who would want Dabi dead.

The bag in your hand was heavy as you dropped it onto the counter of the tiny kitchen, the relief in your wrist was instantaneous and you could finally relax fully. Your eyes close for a brief moment, relishing in the quiet of the apartment with the distant sound of sirens from down on the street. It was good to be home, each trip was harder than the last with the fear of being recognised by heroes, or worse. With the safety of your home wrapping around you like a comforting blanket, you reopened your eyes to begin the trivial task of putting away the groceries. But as you step further into the kitchen, it’s as if your entire body is dunked into ice water.

There’s a letter. An open letter was pinned to the old wooden cupboard with one of the knives from the rack. You don’t need to get closer to know which letter it is, the paper is well-worn and the big hearts he had drawn at the bottom are enough of an indicator. It’s the one he sent you on your birthday. It was riddled with love confessions, how he missed you more than anything in the world and when he’d get out he promised your hand in marriage. A life you wanted but knew you’d never get with a man like Dabi.

You take a step back, hip bumping into the corner of the counter to startle you into action. You whip around, ready to run out of the apartment but instead, your path is cut off almost instantly. There’s a broad chest in front of you, wide shoulders and a head of snowy white hair that you would recognise in a crowd of a thousand people. When you meet his eyes, he’s sneering down at you with a heat in his eyes that you saw moments before he would burn someone alive.

“Hello, doll. Miss me?” His voice hasn’t changed in the eight years apart, it’s still got a timbre to it that you can feel deep in the pit of your stomach. He looks bigger, somehow, the muscles of his neck and shoulders look firmer. He had always loomed over you but now he seemed even taller, swallowing the room whole with just his aura alone. Dabi must be able to see the way you’re eyeing him up, not quite in the way you had in the past but rather in a way that makes him excited; you were thinking of running.

You’re horribly predictable, he realises as you dash to the other side of the kitchen to dart around the tiny kitchen island that really didn’t give you any sort of head start. You can hear him click his tongue, then huffing a sigh before there’s the loud squeak of his boots and the thump of his bounding footsteps as he chases after you. The apartment is small, you don’t have a whole lot of room to make your escape so you have to rush past him when he starts to corner you into the hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom. 

A big mistake, you realise. He’s always been quick, and lithe on his feet and it reminded you of when a snake would strike. Fast and precise. His hands grab at your ribcage, easily swiping you off your feet before you’re slammed against the closest wall with a bang of your head on the wall. The world swirls when you try to look at him, the blue of his eyes glowing with mirth at the fact you even tried to outrun him. You’ve never been able to do it before, so what made you think you could do it this time?

“Silly fucking bitch,” He snarls in your face, the heat coming from his hands alone makes you squirm uncomfortably, you can feel the sting of welts starting to form on your skin in the shape of his hands. “You thought you could hide from me, didn’t you? You really fucking thought I’d forget about you?” Your silence isn’t what he wanted, apparently, as he pulls you from the wall just to slam you against it once again before throwing you to the floor. The movement has your stomach churning, bile rising in your throat when your head impacts on the floor again. 

“I’d never forget about you, never.” His weight is heavy as he settles atop you, his thighs effectively pinning you beneath him before his hands descend onto your throat. His eyes are wide, manic, his lips parted in a twisted grin that makes him look more like the Devil himself. “Remember what I said to you? Hm? You remember the letters I sent?” You choke against his hands when he pushes harder, your fingers instinctively trying to come up and loosen his hold on you. “FUCKING ANSWER ME!” The spit of his words hits you in the face, but your entire head feels numb and fuzzy, your lips hurt – everything does.

“Y–” He leans in closer, sneering in your face and it does nothing to relieve the pressure on your throat. You’re going to die, he’s actually going to do it. “Yes!” you croak, hardly an audible word but Dabi hears it loud and clear. He holds eye contact as if he’s waiting for something, you’re not quite sure. Maybe he’s waiting for you to die, he had wanted to see the life drain from your eyes—

His hands come away from your throat, a too-hot hand latching on the underside of your jaw and his blunt nails dig into your cheeks. You suck in a harsh breath, choking on the sudden reintroduction of oxygen but you don’t get much longer to relish the fact you’re still alive. Dabi looms over you, the outline of his body blocks out the dingy yellow light overhead, giving him a grim outline that you have to squint at when you look up at him properly.

“Yeah? Then why’d you ignore me? Why’d you make me think you were fucking dead, or that you were busy getting fucked by some other guy like the whore that you are.” There’s a warning in his eye that prompts you to reply.

“I–I was scared!” you clear your throat uncomfortably, the confession coming from your mouth unwillingly but it was the hard truth. You were terrified of him and the things he had said to you, solely because you knew he would go through with it. If Dabi was anything, then he was a man of his word. His fingers curl harder into your jaw, forcing your mouth to open with the pressure. The look in his eye terrifies you, you can’t tell what he’s thinking with the way his eyes bounce back and forth between your own. He’s searching, you belatedly realise, searching to see if you’re telling the truth.

“Good,” he finally says, “You should be fucking scared.” He pulls your head from the floor just to smash it back against the floor in a blink of an eye. Everything falls into inky darkness.

There’s a distant sound of water running, but it sounds like it’s miles away. Your mind starts to slowly swirl back to life, the pain at the back of your head blossoming into something fierce that has a pained groan coming from your lips.

When you open your eyes, you’re no longer looking up at the ceiling of your hallway but rather at the ceiling fan in your bedroom, you’re not sure if it’s actually on or if your vision is still swimming. Nothing is quite adding up, how did you end up here? You were on the floor, and a ghost of something heavy atop of you had your mind jogging to try and catch up. But you weren’t always on the floor, something had put you there — no, someone had put you there. Dabi.

He’s not here, as far as you can tell, there’s no immediate warmth that comes with him when he steps into a room but there’s a distant smell of ash. He was still lurking. The shooting pain in the back of your head has your body jolting, muscles seizing up before they relax once the pain subsides just enough to let you breathe.

You were no idiot, you had hit your head a number of times, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you were teetering on the edge between life and death. Though that doesn’t deter you when your mind finally catches up with you, you have to get out of here. If he’s not here right now, then you have a chance to leave. This might be the last chance you have.

With a great effort that has your face screwing up, eyes clenched shut, you roll yourself onto your side until your face is stuffed into the soft cotton of your bed sheets that you huff against. Your entire body felt like it was being weighed down, your muscles screamed when you slowly got your arms beneath you to push yourself up enough to stare down at the bed. Instantly your eyes lock onto the patch of still-wet blood, the stain was massive and the sight of it had your stomach threatening to empty itself. Or maybe that was the concussion.

Your feet slip on the floor when you try to find your footing, your knees colliding with the floor with a muted thud that you hope Dabi doesn’t hear. The feeling of your jeans against the skin of your knees is relieving, you knew Dabi preferred for you to be … conscious, but you wouldn’t put it past him to want something regardless of whether you were awake or not. Slowly, you get up onto unsteady feet as if you had never walked a day in your life before. Your vision swims again when you stand up straight, it feels as if your head is ten times the size it is as it lolls back in threat of toppling you over again.

But just as you’re about to fall, there are hands catching you beneath your armpits and letting your head land against a shoulder – a bare one, but your mind doesn’t quite connect the dots just yet. “You really are pathetic, aren’t you? You can’t do anything without me, no wonder you panicked when I wasn’t here anymore…” Dabi drawls into your ear, but his voice sounds like it’s submerged in water. He breathes in a heavy exasperated sigh, his body jostling yours. “C’mon doll, let’s get you cleaned up. You made such a mess.”

There’s no room to argue, not that you would be able to form one with how your tongue tingles and your throat burns. Dabi is anything but graceful with the way he drags you towards the bathroom, uncaring for your feet that slip or bang against the corner of the shoddy old wooden door as you pass by.

There’s a bang of a door and you’re submerged in sticky warmth, the steam from the bathtub filling the room to the point where you can’t quite see more than a few inches in front of your face. With a shove and a push, you find your hands pressed into the slippy tile of your bathroom sink, your mind still too foggy to control your extremities and you find yourself pressed against the cool glass mirror.

You can feel Dabi’s eyes on you as he watches you struggle to get your bearings, your forehead pressed to the glass is soothing against the deafening thunderstorm in your head. His fingers are long when they wrap themselves carefully around your throat this time, pressing into the bruises you weren’t aware had already formed from his previous attack. Your head slumps back against his shoulders and you can just make out the glowing blue of his eyes as he stares right back at you, it always felt like he had the ability to stare into your soul.

“Look at you…” He coos, voice a soft contrast to the harsh voice from earlier. His spare hand cards through your hair, brushing past the gash on the back of your head that has you wincing. “My poor baby, you did this all to yourself.” Had you? You supposed he did have a point, you did ignore his letters, and you did try to run when he always told you to never do it. If you weren’t so stupid you might’ve avoided this, you shouldn’t have turned your back on him.

His burning fingers slide up from your throat until he grabs at your jaw once again, angling your head to stare at yourself directly in the mirror. Even through the thickness of the steam you can see you look on the verge of half-dead, there’s no life to your eyes, no usual glow to your skin. It’s horrifying to see yourself looking like a different person entirely. You were no longer you, but rather you were reduced back to the role of being Dabi’s plaything. Dabi hums deep in his throat as if he can hear the sluggish thoughts rolling around in your mind, hooking his chin over your shoulder.

“Look what you did to my baby, my doll. She’s all broken and for what? Because you forgot your place?” He clicks his tongue, chin withdrawing from your shoulder until he’s drawn back up to his full height and you can just make out the look on his face. His nostrils flared, lips drawing into a grim line and eyes half-lidded. “Maybe I should do you a favour, remind you of your place.” Dabi spins you on the spot, steadying your whirling head with both of his hands before he takes a careful step back and you can’t help but wonder if he plans on reminding you of your place by finally putting you out of your misery.

“Strip.”

What?

“Don’t make me do it for you, you won’t like it.” It’s a very clear warning, blaring sirens and red flags. You have to blink hard, will your mind to work with your trembling hands that attempt to grab at the bottom of your shirt. It feels like an eternity goes by until you’re dropping the shirt onto the floor with a wet plop, your eyebrows furrow at the sound but when you attempt to look down your vision swims again – “Useless.” Dabi grumbles before his warmth is pressed to your front, the smell of forest fire smoke choking you.

His fingers are quick and precise when they undo the buttons of your jeans before they’re shoved down your thighs, pooling at your ankles and Dabi is at least courteous enough to let you hold his forearms when you climb out of them until you’re left in just your underwear.

As if appraising a piece of art in a museum, Dabi lets his eyes slowly trail over flesh that he had seen an endless amount of times in the past. His head tilts slowly, regarding the swell of your breasts in the cup of your bra and the softness of your stomach, the way your hips pudge a little from the tight elastic of your plain underwear.

Still engulfing your personal space with his heat, he lets a hand slide up along your side, pressing dangerously into your ribs to hear the sharp inhale of when his fingers brush into bruised skin and muscle. Cerulean eyes level with your own when he inches around to the back of your bra, his fingers seemingly hardly move before the straps slip down your shoulders and the cups slacken on your chest. He plucks it from your body, letting it drop to the floor before his fingers trail back around to your front.

He keeps his head tilted, gaze redirected down to your chest and he can’t help but wet his tongue in anticipation. You had always been his most prized possession, the most beautiful, a masterpiece that was all for him. Those same too-hot fingers trail along the underside of your breasts, feeling the weight of them before groping one much too hard in one large palm. His fingers curl cruelly, squeezing as if it were a stress ball and all you could do was take it, your face crumpling in pain much to his delight.

“I trusted you, y’know.” He all but mumbles, gaze not lifting from the way your tit spills between his fingers when he gives another squeeze. “I thought it would always be me and you, against the world or whatever the fuck they say.” His thumb and index finger mercilessly pinch your nipple, tugging on it harshly to pull a pitiful cry from your mouth.

The sound has his eyes flicking up to yours, watching the way your lashes clump with unshed tears and how you’re not even attempting to stop the saliva dribbling from your lips. You really were so pathetic. Dabi chews on his scarred bottom lip for a moment, tossing over a thought in his mind but instead he opts to move his fingers to your neglected nipple, pulling and tugging until you’re a snivelling mess.

“‘M sorry!” You sob, the volume of your voice makes your head throb and the tears falling in fat streaks make your head feel heavier. “I’m sorry, Touya! Please, I–I didn’t know what to do without you.” The use of his name makes his eyebrow twitch, jaw clicking in place when he glares at you. It’s a low blow, to use his name like that and he knows you know that. He had always forbidden you from using that name unless you were given permission.

“Last warning, doll. I’m being nice here. You don’t get to use that name when you betrayed me.” His words have your mouth closing, bottom lip wobbling in an effort to keep yourself from openly crying in front of your tormentor. He would only ridicule you for it, tease you and see how far he could go before you broke apart from his words alone. Dabi doesn’t wait to pull down your panties next, the material dragging and scratching at your skin until they’re pooled at your feet along with everything else. “Turn around.”

And you do. You wordlessly turn, letting your hands brace on the sink once again before you meet your own gaze in the mirror. You somehow looked worse, the snot and saliva made you look quite like the snivelling petulant child that Dabi spoke to you like. There’s a clink of a belt before it hits the floor, the dropping of your heart into your stomach threatens to tip you over the edge.

A boot kicks your ankles apart, uncaring for the way you flinch at just how hard he kicks you. You’re perched over the sink, your stomach twitching every time it touches the cold porcelain. Dabi had only ever forced himself onto you a handful of times in the past, at the start of your “relationship”, he always soothed your tears and hushed your refusal with false promises hidden in between his sickly sweet words.

Over time the lines blurred between him forcing himself onto you and you willingly opening your legs for him when he asked for it. It pleased him to see you listening to him, and he became ‘softer’ if that was a possible word to describe a villain like him. Time spent with Dabi got easier when he was softer, it actually felt believable when he whispered into your ear at night how much he loved you, how much he appreciated you and how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. It was hard to distinguish his lies and the truth when he looked at you like you hung the moon and stars.

A searing hot hand pressed to your bare ass has your mind jolting, bile rising momentarily in your throat until you lean into the coolness of the sink once again. Those same fingers that feel as if they had come from the depths of hell brush their way down over your sensitive skin until they find their way between your thighs. And much to your embarrassment, you’re wet. Biology was a cruel mean thing, your body was still hardwired to react to the man of your nightmares lest you want to face the consequences. Your bottom lip wobbles, thankful for the fact Dabi is preoccupied with his new discovery.

His laugh is loud and boisterous, almost manic with the way his eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re fucking wet. I knew it,” he breathes in hard, pushing his hips flush with your own and you can feel the twitch of his leaky cock between your cheeks. “I knew you missed me, I knew you still loved me. This pussy never lied to me, unlike someone.” His words sting, a jab directly into your heart.

He sounds hurt, upset that you’d actually try to lie and hide away from him. It has fresh tears pricking your eyes, how could you hurt someone like him? Someone who loved you so devotedly.

Long deft fingers prod and poke between your thighs, pulling your lips apart crudely to watch the strings of arousal snap and cling to your thighs. He’s still chuckling deep in his chest, elated with the newfound knowledge that you still want him in such a carnal way. He circles your clit in clumsy patterns, enough to have your thighs tensing up and hips arching into the pleasure you’re unwillingly receiving. But the thing about Dabi is—

He’s not a patient man.

The tip of his cock pierces your unprepared hole, the pain shoots from deep in your pelvis and ricochets up your spine until it tingles at the base of your skull. Your hands help brace yourself over the sink, your head drops down and you’re vaguely aware of the way your throat aches with a scream. His fingers find a home in hidden bruises, the sting of his metal staples heating against your skin is familiar. Dabi had always been big, thick and unforgiving with the piercings that he adorned. Each of the barbells digs into your velvety walls, his hips so flush with yours you’re not sure where you end and he begins anymore.

“Fuck, missed this too much. Thought I’d never get to feel your cunt wrapped around me again.” His words are vulgar, but they spark something to life in your brain. Something you hadn’t quite considered until now. Just how was he here? Last you heard Dabi was never getting out, he killed too many people and committed far too many crimes to just be let loose on the world again.

Though you never got to air the question, his hips drawback until they’re smacking back against your ass. The pace from there on out is brutal, the tip of his cock bullies itself into your clenching cunt until it hits against your cervix. Each tap feels like you’re being punched in the gut, your lips parted in a soundless scream.

The pain was too much, the ache in your head was getting steadily worse and the back-and-forth thrashing of your body was making you woozy. “D–Dabi…” You try to speak, the words slurred with the saliva that dribbles from your parted mouth and drips into the sink.

“What?” He snarls, grunting with the effort of how hard he’s fucking you.

“Hurts.” You reply with a gasp, his fingers instantly latching around your throat until you’re pulled up to face what you assume must be the Devil leering over your shoulder with the most disgruntled expression on his face. 

You can smell the burning of flesh before the pain registers, the sizzling hardly audible over the sound of his hips slapping against your abused rear. “Yeah? Maybe it’ll teach you a fucking lesson. Next time you think about trying to leave me, you’ll remember how much it hurt.”

His fingers squeeze tighter around your throat until you can’t breathe, the horrid stench of marred flesh the only thing flooding your system when you desperately try to suck in air. Then you’re falling forward, your forehead plummeting with force against the mirror and you think you hear it smashing over the deafening ring in your ears. It feels like your head is being held under a pillow, like someone has pressed two large hands over your ears and held you there. Your throat burns, for a lack of a better word. The flesh bubbles and hisses with a reminder of Dabi’s words.

You’re not quite sure how much time has passed until you work up the strength to lift your gaze to the now-smashed mirror. The first thing you notice is the blood trickling down from a gash on your forehead, trailing down along the bridge of your nose until it meets the plumpness of your lips – filling the cracks with a metallic taste. Then you see it, the burn, it’s gnarly.

The flesh is hardly recognisable as flesh, it looks like butchered meat. It’s blistered already, layers of the skin open for the world to see and the sight finally does tip you over the edge. The bile doesn’t burn quite as much as the 3rd-degree handprint on your throat as you spill the contents of your stomach into the sink.

Dabi groans in anger, snarling as he retches you away from the sink and throws you onto all fours on the floor. “Disgusting fucking whore,” There’s something wet pressed to your mouth, a sponge you realise, as it drags roughly against your mouth until he forces it into your mouth. The scouring pad scrapes along your tongue, replacing the taste of vomit with soap. “Always making me clean up your messes.” Then it’s gone as fast as it came, your body being shoved and pushed until your back is against the bathmat and you’re staring up at Dabi who seems to be kneeling already between your thighs.

He wastes no time once again in pressing himself back inside of you, the stretch this time nowhere near as painful but it reignites the old ache of when he first forced himself inside. Your heart aches when you stare up at him, silhouetted by the flickering dim light of the bathroom bulb. It makes the white of his hair glow, angelic your brain supplies, but he was anything but an angel. His hands grab at your thighs, forcing them back until they uncomfortably press into your chest. The angle makes it hard to breathe, the furious pace he sets is agonising.

But your body is betraying you once again, the lewd squelch of your pussy is giving you away. A deep dark and twisted part of you has missed this, missed him. Missed the way he would fuck you like it was his last day on earth, like he had something to prove. It has an involuntary whimper leaving your throat, and of course, Dabi perks up at the sound – whilst he didn’t care much if you were silent the entire time, he always enjoyed the cute noises you’d make for him and only him. His eyes find yours, and you’re sucked into the endless expanse of the blinding blue Hellfire.

Dabi has a new goal in mind now, to fuck you the way he knows you liked to be fucked. His hips roll a little more fluidly, finding the old rhythm from all those years ago that surely would have your eyes rolling into the back of your head and your lips parting to sing him the most beautiful of songs with your moans. You don't disappoint him either, not when his thumb joins the fray and rubs languid circles against your puffy clit. The initial contact and stimulation have your hips jerking, fighting against the hold he has on you but it’s futile; he has you pinned beneath him much like a wolf would with its prey.

“There she is,” he grins when your fluttering eyes meet his, that contempt and confusion you had held onto for so long being replaced with a glassy look in your eye that must be lust. “There’s my fucking girl. Missed you so much baby, missed your cute noises. Y’gonna give me more, right? It’s the right thing to do, after all, you did hurt my feelings.” He still looks angelic angled over you like this, the shadows of his face almost hiding the glinting staples and scars that cover most of his body now. You can’t help but nod at his words, it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?

Dabi groans at your assent, fucking into you somehow harder. The slap of his heavy balls against the rim of your ass is loud, the sticky sound of his hips meeting yours fuels your own impending orgasm.

Of course, Dabi knows it’s coming too, his thumb presses firmer against your clit and moves a little faster to edge you closer and closer whilst he drops his hips just enough to have the tip of his cock hitting that squishy spot that no one but him has been able to reach. 

You can’t help but gasp and squeal, your back arching off of the floor until it slams back down when your orgasm hits you like a train. It’s violent, shakes through your bones like an earthquake would through a building. Your toes curl uncomfortably in the air, your thighs twitch in an attempt to close them to bar the man still torturing your clit from causing you any more pleasurable pain.

“Enough,” you try and push his hand away but Dabi never listens, he bats your hand away with a harsh slap that has your skin tingling in pain. “You’re gonna take it, like the good girl I know you are.” 

“Can’t.” 

“Yes you can,” He grapples your still twitching thighs until they tighten around his waist and then he’s diving down to your face. His breath is hot against your face, the smell of cigarette ash suffocates you.

“I know you can. Now kiss me.” He demands, and the fear of not obeying his command in such a compromising position has you indulging him. Your lips press against his, you work hard to try and keep yourself dispassionate but it’s impossible when he does the thing with the tip of his tongue – drags it along your bottom lip so delicately until he pries you open, lets the smooth expanse of his tongue coax yours out until he can suck on it. 

The steadily rising heat of the kiss engulfs you, douses you in an indescribable warmth that you can’t help but lean into the familiarity of it. It’s intoxicating to let go of that fear, to detach yourself from the person you had become in the eight years of solitude and recede back into the one who was simply in love with a man who was willing to burn down the world at her feet. But you’ve never been allowed to live in the illusion you formulate to ignore the harsh reality of things, Dabi would never give you that luxury.

His lips part from yours with a wet smack, saliva coating your lips and he grins again. The staples in his cheeks almost look like they might split as he stares at you, splayed out with a faraway look in your eye when you stare up at him.

“Gonna cum inside this beautiful pussy,” he breathes, eyes coming to life when your eyes slowly start to refocus on him and the words he’s letting spill from his saccharine mouth. “Fill you up nice and good with my cum, get you pregnant so you can never fucking leave me.” 

What? Is that what he wanted? You squirm in an attempt to get away from him, but he keeps you uncomfortably pinned in a deep mating press whilst his cock bullies itself deeper – you hadn’t even noticed the way it was twitching so harshly in the depths of your pussy until now. He was too close, he was really going to do it—

“Oh fuck, yeah, squeeze me like that baby. I knew you wanted me to breed you.” You don’t, you don’t want to be trapped with his child. It’s the ultimate thing he would hold over your head until the end of time, you could never escape him if you gave birth to a child that had the same dangerous eyes as his. “Aw, doll, don’t cry. It’s okay, I won’t leave you to raise the brat on its own. I’ll be there, always.” You hadn’t even realised you were crying until he mentioned it.

The groan that rumbles deep in Dabi’s chest and vibrates up through his throat is something you would never, ever, forget. It was a sound that meant only one thing; he was about to cum. You feel the twitch before the first spurt of molten cum paints your insides. That burn of your insides is something you had grown accustomed to after the time spent with Dabi, he had said it was because of his quirk. Everything about him was just hotter.

He holds himself balls deep in your dripping cunt, uncaring at the shuddering sob that shakes your body at the realisation that he’s going to keep his promise of making sure you get pregnant. The thought has your eyes closing, your head far too sore to think about what might just happen if you were to get pregnant with Dabi’s child.

Your body is limp when he effortlessly picks you up eventually, tucking his hands under your armpits before your feet are placed in something cold and wet. Your body starts with a jolt, your skin pricking with gooseflesh before you’re forced to sit down in the bathtub. Just how much time had passed for the bath to grow cold?

A warm chest is pressed to your back, pulling you effortlessly between long defined legs and arms loop around you like a safety belt. Dabi holds you there, his fingers stroking delicately along the skin he had bruised and marred not too long ago. You could almost fall into the allusion of him being a lover, a man who was simply giving you the aftercare you need.

The bath bubbles around you with the raising temperature, his skin is too hot for you to be laid up against like this and you can feel the staples burning their way into your flesh but you can’t find the strength anymore to fight back. He pushes you forward slightly to reach for a washcloth, dipping it into the scorching water and slowly but carefully dragging it along your bloodied skin. He doesn't go near the wound on your throat.

It feels like no time has passed at all since he left you and now, those eight years apart squashed into nothing when he noses his way into your hair and breathes in.

“How did you find me?” You speak eventually, Dabi remains silent for a moment and that only makes you worry more. 

“I always knew where you were. You shouldn’t trust everyone you meet.” 

And if that wasn’t the truth.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Quirk(less) Marriage

Pairing: Dark/Yandere Keigo Takami/Hawks x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

SUMMARY: As Endeavour Todoroki’s quirkless daughter, you’ve been labeled as a burden your entire life. To your luck (or the lack of it) Hawks is more than willing to take care of you. 

WARNINGS: Arranged/Forced Marriage; Toxic/Abusive Relationship; Noncon; Implied Forced Breeding.

Reader takes Fuyumi's place, but ignoring the age logistics. You're around 20/21.

AN: Proud of myself cause this is the longest work I've written. Thank you for waiting, really hope you guys like this. Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊 enjoy!

--

The call gets disconnected, just like the previous one and the one before that.  

‘The number you have called is currently–’

Biting your lip, you tap on the call button, pushing the phone against your ear once again. Please, pick up. Please, pick up. 

Your prayers are successful as the call finally gets accepted, too many moments later. 

“Dad?”

There’s a low scoff on the other side of the line. With a swift glance behind your shoulder, you enter the large bathroom and fumble with the lock of the door.

“Dad? I– It's me.” 

The soft click provides you with the tiniest amount of security and you hope the walls are thick enough to muffle down the sound of your voice. 

“What is it?” the annoyance in Endeavour's voice is clear as day. Your dad has never had the time or patience to waste with you, much less now. “I’m busy. Make it quick.”

“I don’t like it here.” you start, holding onto the phone like it’s a lifeline. “Can you come pick me up?” 

“What nonsense is this? Have you lost your mind, like your mother did?” the words are cruel and sharp - a combination that your father does like no other. “It’s only been a few hours and you’ve started complaining already? Ridiculous!” 

“But I don’t know him. I don’t feel comfortable here. With him.” you try again, desperate. “Dad, please, don’t make me do this. Please, please, I don’t to–”

“Enough!” you flinch at the harsh tone. “End this nonsense right now. There’s no place left for you at my house. You are exactly where you belong. Ungrateful brat. Be grateful that Hawks accepted to have some quirkless trash as a wife.”

The venomous insult has you recoiling. Many are the times that the words ‘quirkless’ and ‘trash’ have been hurled your way and yet the dull ache in your heart never lessens. 

Your dad pays no mind to your pained silence, continuing with his angry frustration. 

“I’m warning you for the final time, so listen carefully. You are Hawk’s wife now, so behave like one. Do not even think about returning home, you hear me?” he hisses sharply. “Do not drag the family name through the mud just because of your pathetic whining.” 

The call abruptly disconnects. 

You stare at the wall, apathetic as cold emptiness slowly consumes you, inch by inch. You feel lost. Empty. Brain hardly able to acknowledge what’s happening to you. God, why is this happening to you?

You don’t want to stay here. In another man’s house - a man you hardly know. Hawks. Keigo, like he asked you to call him when your dad’s driver dropped you off like a delivery package. A mail-order bride.

You don’t know what to do. What can you do?

Running away is out of the question. It’s not even an option, not when you’re the daughter of Japan’s Pro-hero Number One and your husband sits on the second rank.

But the truth is that there’s never been much of a rebellious streak inside you. No, you are docile and simple. Being rebellious was a trait more present in your brother's disposition. Natsuo. Shoto. Touya. 

The thought of them has you hesitating for a moment, but you quickly dismiss the idea. No doubt they would try to help, but to what extent would they truly be successful?

Their relationship with dad was a strained one, so tense that it could break at any moment. You’d hate to be the one to tear the family apart. 

You wonder what dad will tell them - that he just sold you off like a broodmare? Or will he make a more elegant explanation?

Will your brothers even believe whatever strange justification your dad comes up with?

You haven’t seen them for a while. Natsuo spent most of his time on his college campus and Shoto lived in the U.A dorms. All while you took care of the house. 

Would they believe you married Hawks even though there’s no wedding? 

No grandiose wedding ceremony to marry off the only daughter of the great Endeavour, no. Only a legal contract binding you to him, papers that you barely got a chance to read properly before your dad demanded for your signature. And just like that you’re married on legal terms.

It’s hard to believe it happened this morning, less than two hours ago when it feels like a nightmare that is dragging out for too long. 

A knock on the door snaps you out of your brainstorm session. 

“Hey. You good in there?” 

Keigo. You really hope he didn’t catch the hushed phone call. That makes you tuck the phone into your back pocket. 

You make a little noise with your throat, clearing your voice. “Hum, yeah. I… Just a minute.” 

You wait a moment in the spacious bathroom, taking the opportunity to check out your reflection in the mirror on top of the impeccable white marble vanity. 

There’s nothing different about your face, despite the storm of emotions that devastates you on the inside. Nothing indicates the horror you’re experiencing, maybe except for the light downturn of your lips. 

Your hands smoothes down the wrinkles along your silk blouse. Your dad had barked at you to change into a proper dress, something more elegant than a blouse and pants, but there had been no time to alter outfits.

The last hour you spent at home was total chaos. Hurrying to pack your stuff and now that you think about it, you didn’t even get a chance to pack your favorite clothes. Most of your belongings stayed behind, unable to fit the two suitcases the maids helped you fill with whatever you could find. Clothes. Shoes. Skincare. Makeup. Some jewelry. 

Oh, you even forgot your laptop! Well, you suppose that’s the least of your concerns. 

Straightening your back with a deep breath that does little to calm your nerves, you finally reach for the door.

Keigo is casually leaning against the adjacent wall with his hands chuffed inside the pant’s pockets, fluffy blonde brows rising as you close the en-suite bathroom. 

“Took you long enough in there. Was getting worried you had fallen down the toilet or somethin’.” he jokes. He’s not wearing the yellow Pro-Hero costume, just a tight shirt and pants.

Casual. Comfortable. 

 He pushes himself off the wall, nodding towards the room door. 

“C’mon, let me show you the rest of the penthouse. It’s yours now as well.” he pauses, looking at you with a knowing expression. “Unless you wanna go back to hiding in the bathroom to beg Endeavour some more?”

Your face falls, eyes widening with shock. 

“Oh, I…” you stammer, like a deer caught in the headlights. “I’m sorry. I just–”

Keigo stops you with a wave of his hand, walking over to you. You gulp as a reflex when he stops, standing right in front of you, his red wings ruffling behind him. 

Hands are placed over your shoulders, warm and firm. The proximity has your body tensing up, nerves prickling you.

It’s the first time you’re seeing him up close, eyes shyly noticing the small details. The faint scars scarring his cheek. The short blonde stubble around his chin. The small piercing on his ear. There’s a gentle scent emanating from him, maybe a body lotion or soap, you’re not sure. 

“Hey. It’s fine. I’m not mad.” he gently says, one finger tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his golden ones. “I know you must be scared. I’d be too if I was in your shoes.”

“Getting married is a huge deal. I’m also pretty sure this was kinda... unexpected, right? You probably weren’t expecting any of this. Were you? Hm?” 

Your silence elicits his fingers to dig deeper into your shoulders, and you hesitantly nod. A bad feeling pools in your belly. 

“C’mon, there’s no need to be so shy. You can speak to me. It’s just me, Keigo. Your husband.” a shiver follows down your spine when one of his hands slowly slides down your naked arm, calloused palm touching over the length of your skin.

The heat of his palm, albeit gentle, feels scorching hot when it lands on your wrist. Burning your skin. Marking you.  

“... and that means no secrets between us. Cause a good wife always tells the truth to her husband. All that stuff about having bling trust on your husband, ‘kay?” 

Keigo’s tone changes in the slightest as he speaks, a more serious undertone coating his words. His peculiar behavior has often reached your ear, mostly by the angry complaints of your father, but this… this seems insane.

He’s insane. The way he talks to you makes you uneasy. It makes you want to evade his touch and run back home, back to the safety of your room - your little heaven of peace.

The situation that has you trapped is far too weird, too abnormal for you to even know what to say or what to think. 

“So, what do you say?” his lips curl into a small smirk. “Will you be my perfect little wife?” 

There’s no other option other than nodding, a shaky movement of your head. That doesn’t satisfy Keigo, his lips pouting dramatically.  One hand cups the side of your face, rugged fingers scratching your gentle skin. 

Your heart skips a beat when his thumb reaches for your lips, the tinted lip gloss smudging as the pad of his finger drags over your lower lip. Heat burns in your cheeks, your whole face blazing warm at his touch. 

Keigo’s eyes are fixed on your lips, captivated by the shiny moisture coating them. You don’t dare moving a single muscle, as frozen as a porcelain statue. Too scared that one move might trigger him into kissing you. 

It happens anyways despite the little hope you harbored. Keigo leans forward and there’s barely time to think - or to dodge him - before his mouth is pressing against yours, soft lips applying minimal pressure into the kiss. It’s tender, gentle. It’s your first kiss. 

A hum rumbles through his chest and his hand slides to the back of your head, fingers stretching to keep you in place. Not allowing you to run away from him. Oh gosh. 

The kiss deepens, more pressure being added as Keigo teasingly nibbles your lower lip. There’s no other option but to gap your lips, allowing access to your mouth.

Keigo takes full advantage, sneaky tongue tracing the shape of your lips before pushing past your lips, almost making you gag at the sensation. It’s slimy and wet, and it feels weird to have roaming around your mouth, touching and feeling around. 

Before you even realize what you’re doing, your hands are pushing against his chest and Keigo accomplies, pulling away with a breathy chuckle. 

You exhale, wiping the smear of saliva and gloss with the back of your hand. 

“Sweet like candy.” Keigo says, eyes fixed on you as he licks his lips. “And a virgin, right? At least, that’s what your dad told me. Pure, untouched virgin and all that.”

You gulp at the hunger in his eyes. 

“Don’t be scared. I’m not a monster, I promise.” the corner of his lip curves, giving away the unsettling smirk behind. “Promise to take good care of you tonight. Scout’s honor.”

---------------------------------- 💍 ----------------------------------------

Physical touch is a concept you’re hardly familiar with. Anyone that looks carefully into your family can quickly realize that they are not one for effusive displays of affection.

Hugs, kisses, cuddling - none of that. If you think hard enough, there might be some vague memories of your mom wrapping her arms around you, back when you were a little child. Cradling you into a sweet although chilly embrace, gently rocking your body into sleeping.

But those memories are so distant, so fuzzy that you can’t even be sure they are real. The ones that remain are your dad and brothers. 

And if your mind doesn’t fail you, the last time your dad gave you any sort of physical attention wasn’t a pleasant situation, one that resulted with you receiving a nasty slap for being so loud and rowdy that you woke him up on his day off. 

So, no. Showing love through touch is not something you know about. But Keigo sure does. His touch is the only constant throughout the apartment tour.

As he guides you through the different rooms, his hand never leaves yours. Warm and somewhat gritty. Solid enough to keep you attached to him, even when you take small steps away from him. Could be considered a sweet gesture, if only your mind wasn’t finding it so suffocating. 

When finally you reach the last division left, Keigo wraps his toned arms around your waist, pushing you flush against his body.

A gasp escapes from your lips, both surprised and shocked at the sudden gesture and your hands immediately fly over to his, pushing for a moment before you realize that you can’t do that so directly.

You can’t push him away. He’s your husband. 

“... and this is where you’ll be spending most time. The kitchen. Had it remodeled especially for you.” Keigo proudly says, chin slotting on top of your left shoulder. “Endeavour seemed pretty confident in your cooking skills, he even bragged a whole ton about that. Delicious, traditional food and all that. Works well enough cause I’m sort of a glutton, y’know?”

He pecks the side of your exposed neck as you take in your surroundings, drinking in every single detail.

The amount of sunlight coming from the large windows is impressive, the bright and warm light cascading down on the large middle island and the long counter made of white marble. Every piece of equipment and machine looking like it belongs to a restaurant’s kitchen, modern and brand new. 

Everything is so impeccably shiny and clean, without a single speck of dust, that you wonder if the kitchen has ever been used before. Likely not. 

“Used to eat fast food everyday. Easy and cheap.” Keigo confirms your assumption. 

His arms tighten around you, squeezing you tight enough to leave you a bit breathless. 

“But that’s in the past. Cause now I have a pretty wifey who’s gonna spoil me with yummy food, right, babe? My little housewife.” he coos, similar to how one would speak to a little baby. “You’re gonna be real busy. Cooking everyday for your hard-working husband.”

The more Keigo speaks, the more uneasy you get. Why is he being so weird about it? 

He’s always had sort of a peculiar personality, you know that much from the tabloid’s fixation on documenting and discussing the every public interaction of the popular Pro-Hero that occupies the second position in the rankings but it was your dad’s angry ramblings about the younger man that gave you the confirmation of Hawks’s eccentric and unique personality. But you didn’t think he’d be a… freak.

The uneasiness that is slowly taking over you only gets worse when something - something that grows hard with every passing moment - pokes against your lower back, firm and insistent. 

A yelp gets stuck in your throat and you jump without thinking when a calloused hand delves underneath your blouse, warm fingers pinching the soft skin of your stomach. 

“C’mon, don’t be shy. I wanna hear you say it.” his mouth hovers over your ear, teeth playfully biting the sensitive earlobe. His hand graduatelly slips lower until it reaches the hem of your pants, giving it a playful tug. 

“You’re gonna cook for me, right?” 

A shudder travels through your body, raising goosebumps over the expense of your skin. 

“I’ll…cook for you, yes.” you stammer the words out, but Keigo isn’t done with you yet. 

He tuts, tongue swiping as light as a feather across the shell of your ear. “You’re gonna cook for me and what else. Go on, say it.” 

The knot lodged on your stomach won’t stop twisting and warping, making you experience things like never before. Stress, anxiety, fear. Everything at once. 

“I’ll…” you hesitate, voice so low that it breaks.

Keigo encourages you further. “Hm hm, keep going. I’m all ears.”

“I’ll..” you start, tongue feeling too heavy to move. “I’ll be your housewife.”

Keigo rewards you with a nasty growl and much to your horror, he pushes himself harder against you, pulling you against the kitchen island. Trapped between the cold marble and Keigo’s firm body, there’s no way to slip away from him. 

There’s no way to escape Keigo as he sets up a slow rocking motion, shamelessly dry humping you in the middle of the kitchen. 

There’s nothing for you to do except to push back the disgust that grows with each breathless moan that resonates over your ear and accept your destiny. 

---------------------------------- 💍 -----------------------------------

A few years ago, when you were a somewhat silly dumb teenager, you’d have fantasies about your wedding night.

Rosy and dreamy fantasies about how perfect that night was supposed to be, how romance and love would fill the atmosphere until you were dizzy with emotions.

A strong and handsome husband that would have the softest lips, peppering kisses all over your body. Gentle hands whose touch would be enough to make you see stars. He’d be sweet and kind and he would take his time with you. 

Now, on your first night as a married woman, you realize just how unrealistic your teenage fantasies were. 

Your body writhes on its own as Keigo slowly pushes his hips forward, forcing his cock all the way inside your cramped pussy. The problem isn’t his size. He’s not too big or too small. Just average, you suppose.

But the problem lies in the painful fact that this is your first time and Keigo seems more focused on getting as deep as he can instead of going easy on you.  

“Oh, fuck. You’re really tight, huh.” Keigo pants, forehead pressing against yours. One of your hands instinctively reaches out to push on his chest, desperate for some distance, for some much needed relief.

But Keigo is fast in stopping you, grabbing your hands with his own, forcing each hand to lay flat near your head. 

“...it hurts.” 

Your whining gets smothered down by Keigo’s lips, insistent in keeping you quiet. His hips rock against you, pulling halfway out before drilling back inside with impressive determination that earns a muffled distressed gasp from you everytime. 

Your walls sting despite the unhurried pace Keigo sets. Not too fast, but not too slow either. Probably the best middle-ground tempo he could find. But it’s not enough for you. Your pussy aching with each thrust, struggling to accommodate the foreign intrusion.

Keigo pulls away from the kiss, with a breathless groan that feels overly graphic. His face hovers close enough for the ragged breaths and pants to hit you, leaving a warm cast of air.  

Keigo releases one of your hands and his now free hand travels down, expertly hooking under your knee before pulling the leg up to your chest. Opening you up. Discomfort flares up in your leg at the uncomfortable position, cramps start to form in your muscles and there's a malicious grin forming in Keigo’s face at the sight of your struggle. 

“C’mon, don’t be a brat, you can take it.” he purrs, face bending down to press a kiss on your knee. “You’re already taking my cock like a champ. Keep that tightness up and you’re gonna make me cum soon. Fuck.”

He grunts, strands of honey hair hanging in his forehead, his skin dewy with sweat. Behind him, the wings won’t stop twitching and shaking, adding more weight as Keigo falls on top of you, crushing you against the bed with his solid weight.

He fucks you faster, going deeper with the new angle that has you wincing everytime. The erratic pace rocks both you and the bed in a way that feels like an earthquake, headboard banging with such force on the wall that you won’t be surprised if tomorrow there’s a dent.

You also won’t be surprised if there are visible dents littering your body as well.  

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he moans, chasing his high like a madman. “You’re gonna take it, aren’t you? Take my cum like the good, little wifey you are. Fuck, yeah!” 

The symphony of groans rises in volume just like the growing urgency in the few thrusts Keigo punctures right before he buries his face in your neck, an animalistic sound rumbling deep from his chest as his body comes to a halt, every inch of cock buried deep inside you. 

After that, the room is strangely quiet. 

Keigo’s warm breathing hits your neck, irregular and shallow as he takes his time getting himself back together. He takes no initiative to move away from you and you lack the necessary strength to push him away, so there’s no other option but to remain on your back, smothered under his weight, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Feeling the soreness seeping through the soft muscles while realizing how sticky your skin has become. The dull cramps that start building up in the lower part of your body. Leg still hoisted up over Keigo’s arm, settled into the stiff position. 

You wince at the member lodged inside of you, turning flaccid with each passing moment. What is impossible to ignore is the fluid that oozes from your hole, slowly trickling downwards. 

“That was insane. Fuck, I even think you’re officially the best fuck of my life.” he declares with a satisfied sigh, voice hoarse. 

Finally, after what it feels like an eternity - even if probably only has been a few minutes - Keigo moves his arm away and you sigh in relief when your leg falls down to the bed, stiff and sore.

He pulls back on his knees, a soft grunt escaping from him when he removes himself from inside you and you can finally breathe properly without his weight pressing you down. 

He heads for the bathroom, feet padding on the floor as he walks away with a yawn. 

You doze off, exhaustion making your eyes finally close as you find some thin peace in the darkness. 

---------------------------------- 💍 --------------------------------------

The marital troubles begin less than two days after you become Keigo’s wife. 

You figure it to be a good moment to ask for permission. Your husband - it still feels awkward to say that, even in your mind - is happily munching on the dinner you rushed to cook after he wasted nearly the entire afternoon by keeping you in bed, performing other marital duties.

He’s insatiable when it comes to sex and you’ve come to realize that his appetite is only satisfied when you end up with a sore, achy pussy that leaks copious amounts of cum he fills you with. 

The reality of your situation is slowly falling upon you, forcing you to realize that this isn’t just some phase of your life. No, it’s not a phase. This is your life now. 

Your father never called back, not even a single message to check up on you. Part of you thinks that he must’ve blocked you. He did make it abundantly clear that you’re no longer a part of his family. 

So now, you’re trying to find a way to make things better for yourself. Online college had been the only compromise your dad accepted at the time, so at least you have a degree.

Keigo’s short leave is almost ending, you only know this because Keigo complains about it all the time, which means that soon he’ll be going back to his agency, the patrols, the rescue missions… 

Sure, Keigo did blabber some stuff about you staying a housewife, but you do hope that he can be convinced otherwise. 

“How’s the food?” you ask, catching some vegetables with the fork. The question is pointless, given that the answer lies on the plate before Keigo, mountains of teriyaki chicken and mashed potatoes stacked on the plate.  

Keigo grins, shoving more food into his mouth. “Think cookin’ might be your quirk after all, babe. Those Michellin-star chefs got nothing on you. Trust me.” 

A chuckle leaves your lips before you even realize it. That might be the first time Keigo actually made you laugh. 

“I was meaning to ask, you’re going back to work tomorrow, right?” you ask as casually as possible, pushing the fork to your mouth. 

Keigo hums, before he stops and shakes his head. “Nah, I changed the dates so I can get a few more days with you. Probably heading back on sunday. Maybe monday if I can pull it off.”

“Oh okay.” you nod. 

He looks at you, the edges of his lips curling into a small grin. “Why? Want me to take more days off? I’m sure I can make it work, if you really want me to.”

You pause, mushing down some broccoli with the fork for a moment before you answer. 

“Well, I… I was wondering…” you hesitate, trying to measure your words. “...that when you go back to work, maybe I could get a job? If it’s fine by you, of course! It’s just, well, you’re gonna be busy with work and I’ll be home alone all day. So, if I get a job then I’d be doing something useful, right?”

The teasing grin slowly dies down as Keigo stares at you, eyebrows arching. “A job?” 

Your nod isn’t as assertive as you wish it was and to make it worse, Keigo doesn’t answer right away, taking his sweet time chewing another mouthful of food before taking a few sips from his beer. 

And then he explodes in laughter. 

Eyebrows arching in amusement while Keigo wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. 

The expression on your face must be transparent enough to show your feelings, you realize so when Keigo coos at you, hand settling on top of yours. 

“Did I hurt your feelings, doll? Aww, c’mon, don’t be sad.” he says with a pouty lip, not a trace of seriousness in him. “You’re all delicate and nice. You wouldn’t last a single day working a nine-to-five job. Those things are brutal. Trust me when I say that you’re not cut out for that.”

You stare at him, stunned. He’s making you look weak and pathetic. Something your father would too. 

“But I–”

“Besides, if you really wanna be busy that bad, I’m sure we can work something out.” Keigo doesn’t give you the chance to speak before he’s cutting you off, his grin growing wider - and sinister. “I’m sure a baby would keep you fully booked.”

---------------------------------- 💍 ---------------------------------------

Being Endeavour’s only daughter hadn’t been the glamorous life assumed by the tabloids. Sure, you lived in the comfort of a huge house filled with staff that was more than willing to satisfy your needs.

Not a single day in your life went by struggling for money or food. You had enough designer clothes to overflow your room’s closet and more jewelry than needed. Safety, comfort, money - you had it all. 

But materialistic luxury and comfort hardly meant anything when so many restrictions were imposed upon you.

Your dad was strict - even more considering the quirkless failure he claimed you to be. Not to mention that you are a girl. That alone downgraded your value by a ton, at least to your father’s eyes. That meant being homeschooled for the better part of your life, with harsh tutors and teachers that demanded nothing less than perfection from you.

Leaving the house for whatever reasons may be meant begging your father for permission and his answer was always unsurprisingly negative. Your brothers, despite being nice, were too busy with their own lives. 

In the end, you were left alone - no social life and no friends. 

But as bad as it was, you grew accustomed to it. It was your life and granted that it could be much worse. 

Marrying Keigo - as frightening as it was - isn’t as bad as you expected. He’s not violent. He’s not abusive. As peculiar and bizarre that Keigo is, he’s not entirely a bad husband, you reluctantly admit. 

He takes care of you, through both big and small gestures. You don’t even have to ask for gifts before they are given to you. Books. Jewelry. Clothes. 

He makes an effort to get to know you. Your likes and dislikes. Always eager to know more about you. About the things that make you happy or sad. 

He shows you affection - something that used to be so foreign to you. He kisses and hugs you, his touch always so warm and soft as he drowns you in affection. 

But Keigo is not a saint either. Far from it. 

He doesn’t like it when you talk too much about your family. The way he firmly steers away the conversation when you mention how badly you miss your brothers is enough proof that your husband wants nothing but distance from your old life.

His own family remains a mystery to you, with Keigo setting up boundaries at that sensitive topic. The only family he’s interested in is the future family that the two of you will build together.  

He hates when you do anything that doesn’t suit him. Cooking anything other than his favorite meals always ends up with him giving you the cold shoulder. Choosing a movie or a show that he doesn’t like has him instantly taking over the remote control, changing the TV to whatever he wants to see.

Keigo doesn’t give in easily and there’s no attempt of an amicable compromise or whatsoever. You do what he wants, not the other way. 

In the end, it dawns on you that marrying Keigo wasn’t a salvation. It never was. It was merely exchanging from one prison to another and a part of you believes that your dad knew that. 

---------------------------------- 💍 ---------------------------------------

A few days after Keigo restarts his work schedule, you take the opportunity to leave the apartment. 

However, grocery shopping takes far longer than you anticipated and the sun is already starting to hide in the horizon when you finally make your way back to the apartment. 

You get inside with the bags full of groceries, struggling to close the door when a voice resonates from behind. 

“Where were you?”

You yelp at the frightening sight that the living room has become. Red feathers are sprayed all over the room - the floor, the couch, the furniture - creating a confusing mess of crimson that awfully resembles a murder scene. And in the center of it all, Keigo stiffly stands with arms crossed over his chest.

But what’s more frightening is the solemn expression on his face. Blank and devoid of any humor, serious as a stone. His golden eyes are sharp, raking over you like you’ve committed a serious, immoral crime. 

A cold shiver runs through your body. You’ve never seen Keigo this serious, without the usual friendly grin and the humorous jokes. That makes you a bit nervous. 

“Did your dad not teach you any manners? Cause I asked you something and I’m still waiting on the answer.” the harshness of his voice makes you feel cold, despite the soft heat that comes with summer. 

“Uh, I went to the store….for groceries.” you tentatively raise one hand, showing the heavy bag hanging from it.  

Keigo just stares at you, unfazed. 

“Which store?”

You look at him, confused. 

“The one down the street. Right in the corner of the-”

“To buy what?”

“We ran out of carrots yester–”

“With whose permission?”

“I-”

“With whose permission?” he repeats with a silver of irritation, taking a step towards you. “Cause I sure as hell don’t remember you asking me about this. So, I’d like for you to explain why you left the apartment without talking with me first.”

Your lips part with shock, shoulders slumping in the slightest. 

“Did you check your phone? I texted you, even called you a few times. But I guess you were too busy to answer your husband, right? Nah, you just went out there, not a single care in the world. Who cares if I was here, waiting and worried sick ‘bout you. ” he spits the words, bitterly chuckling before he turns around, stomping his way down the hall. 

Anxiety builds inside you, layer after layer until you’re overflowing with it, chewing your lower lip.

You don’t understand. He never mentioned anything about not going out and you just assumed Keigo wouldn’t object to it. It was just grocery shopping, nothing much. 

But maybe you should have asked. Maybe you should’ve been more careful, more attentive. That’s what a good wife does. You can practically hear the echo of your dad berating at your stupidity. Stupid. Useless. Quirkless. 

You stay frozen in the same spot, brain thinking too slow and too fast at the same time but without providing you a solution.

Slowly moving, you take the grocery bags to the kitchen, putting away all the food with a heavy guilt-prickling mind. Hopefully you can appease Keigo's irritation by cooking his favorite dish. 

Dinner takes place an hour later, the tense mood highlighted by the heavy silence that is only broken by the scraping of the cutlery. Keigo doesn’t bother looking at you, a light frown still engraved in his face. 

Apologies are stuck in the tip of your tongue, just ready to spill at any moment but somehow they don’t. You just can’t bring yourself to speak. Keigo matches your silence, eyes trained on his phone as he eats. 

He barely glances your way when his food is finished, leaving his plate on the table before he goes back to the room. 

The coldness remains for the rest of the evening. Keigo doesn’t speak for the rest of the night, nor does he touch you - the first time since you got married. 

The next morning you rise earlier than usual after spending the entire night mulling over the argument.

It weighs uncomfortably in your mind, repeating itself over and over again till you’re lost. Intrusive guilt settles in your mind, making you both sad and insecure about your actions. 

The kitchen is swallowed by gloominess and darkness when you enter it but you don’t mind. It matches your mood. Sleep-deprived and stressed out. 

You’re putting together the ingredients for a white chocolate cake - Keigo’s favorite - when suddenly arms wrap around your waist, frightening you.

Your shriek echoes through the kitchen before you get the chance to turn your face around and realize it’s only Keigo. 

He chortles for a moment before burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. You remain paralyzed, unsure of what to say despite the turmoil that takes place inside you. 

“I’m sorry. About yesterday.” Keigo mutters, face buried in the crook of your neck. “I might’ve had…overreacted a bit.”

The tension melts away from your body and mind, releasing all of its heavy weight. Everything is gonna be fine. You feel so light and free suddenly. 

Keigo must’ve noticed that because he gently swirls your body around, making you face him. His hand cups your cheek, thumb gently rubbing the skin underneath. 

His expression is apologetic until he starts speaking. 

“I shouldn't have said those things. I hurt your feelings and I’m really sorry for that.” he apologies, “I was upset and worried and those emotions took the best of me. But…”

You raise your head, eyes searching for his. 

“... you have to admit that some of the fault goes to you as well. You really shouldn’t have left the apartment without asking me first.” the words are coated with a softness that doesn’t seem all that genuine. Some of the tension returns. 

“I’m your husband, that means I get worried ‘bout you. Can’t make me be the bad guy just for tryin’ to look after you, can you?”

Keigo looks at you, sighing. 

“Listen, I just… if anything happened to you, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. You’re the most precious person in my life, you’re my wife and I love you. A lot.” his fingers tighten up almost imperceptibly around your face. “So can you really blame me for trying to keep you safe?”

Your fingers weakly try to pull his hand away from your cheek, without success. 

“But I was fine, Keigo. Nothing would’ve happened.”

He chuckles, a dry sound with no amusement underneath it. 

“If you saw the amount of fucked up shit I see everyday, you wouldn’t be saying that.” his words stun you, but Keigo doesn’t seem to mind. “Women getting robbed, raped and murdered left and right, all the time. And guess what you are? A woman. A defenseless, quirkless woman.” 

There’s a cold shudder running down your spine, giving you goosebumps.

His tone, demeaning and derogatory, sounds awfully similar to the one your father used with you every time he was forced to address you. 

“Not to mention that you’re my wife. Hawks’ wife. That makes you a target to all the bad guys out there. And trust me, they won’t hesitate to use you to get to me. You get what I’m saying, right? Sweetheart.” 

You gulp with a dry throat, practically sensing Keigo’s patience wearing thin with each moment. Head moving without your consent to nod at him. Yes, you hear him - loud and clear. 

“Yeah…yes, I understand that.” 

Keigo nods, apprehension plastered in his face, clearly not convinced by your words but he drops the matter. Doesn’t matter if you agree or not, if you’re happy or not, as long as he gets his way. And of course he does. 

He pulls you into his arms, pushing your face to his chest while pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your head. 

“No more outside trips, alright?” his question is merely rhetorical. “Not without running it by me, at least.”

You nod once again. Not because you want to, but because it dawns you that there’s nothing else you can do. This is your life now, whether you like it or not.

---------------------------------- 💍 --------------------------------------

The first anniversary of your ‘marriage’ is a bittersweet day.

You wake up to a strange tingling over the expanse of your neck, similar to the brush of a soft feather against your skin. Your eyes flutter open at the ticking feeling, the low chirping of birds revealing the early hour of the morning. 

A yawn slips from your lips as you rub your eyes, fighting back the drowsiness. You feel like you’re running on fumes, unable to have a decent night’s sleep in months.

The pain that stretches across your back and torso only adds up to the exhaustion, your muscles somewhat sore. 

“Rise and shine, sweetheart!” 

You look up just in time to catch Keigo crossing the threshold of the door, a small round cake precariously balanced in one hand and a wrapped gift in the other. His red wings spread out almost majestically, carrying him through the air until he softly lands by your side in bed. 

Keigo immediately ditches the gift and helps you sit in the bed, fluffing out the pillows against your back. 

“Happy anniversary.” his lips press against yours, roping you into a warm kiss, before depositing the cake in your lap.

White chocolate, as usual. You’ve eaten so much white chocolate these past months that your mind has developed a genuine disgust for it. Still, you force out a grateful smile, his morning stubble scratching your lips as you kiss his cheek. 

“For you too.” 

Keigo grins, digging into the cake with a spoon before offering you the first bite. It’s delicious but nauseatingly sweet at the same time. 

“Can you believe that it’s been a whole year since we got married? Feels like it was only yesterday that we got together.” he muses, taking a spoonful of cake for himself this time. “Looks like it’s true what people say, time does fly by when you’re living the time of your life.” 

You refuse his attempt to feed you another piece of cake, the hints of nausea starting to turn your stomach. You wish he had come with a normal breakfast tray instead of cake. 

Keigo takes your left hand into his own, thumb stroking the ring decorating your annular finger.

“And to be honest, this has been the best year of my life. Never been happier than this.” he confesses. “I love you, so so much. And you love me back, right?” 

Your lips part, a resigned ‘yes’ ready to spill from your mouth. And then a loud squeal cuts through the air. 

Repressing back a tired sigh, you start pushing yourself out of bed when Keigo shakes his head, stopping you with a hand. 

“Nu-uh, I got it. Just sit back and relax, babe. You deserve a break.” 

The promised break lasts about a minute as Keigo seems hell-bent on spending every moment with you. Soon, he’s walking back inside the room with the small baby nestled in his arms, choosing to stand near your side of the bed. 

“Little baby bird over here wants to celebrate the occasion with mommy and daddy.” Keigo uses that special soft tone with your daughter, peppering small kisses over her tiny face. She giggles and coos, crying fit already forgotten. 

You watch them with a faint smile tugging at your lips.

Despite every flaw of Keigo, you can’t help but be grateful for his doting nature when it comes to your daughter. Sure, Keigo never changes her diapers or deals with her during her occasional meltdowns and tantrums but you recognize that it could be worse.

She’s the apple of his eyes and he spoils her rotten, not afraid to shower her with love and affection. You could never imagine your dad kissing or hugging you the way Keigo does with your kid. 

Only takes two minutes for the little princess to tire herself out by laughing and soon her little eyes close as she settles down once again. Keigo makes sure to tuck her better inside the little pink blanket, rocking her in his arms with gentle rhythmic movements. 

Finally, he remembers the long forgotten gift from the bed, offering it to you with a grin. 

“A little something for my gorgeous wife.”

From the small rattling sound inside the box, it’s easy to predict that a new necklace or bracelet is gonna be added to your jewelry collection. 

Your brows press together, fingers feeling the smooth texture of the box. 

“I don’t have a gift for you, sorry.” you mutter, suddenly conscious of your mishap. 

Keigo coos at you this time. 

“Aw, don’t say that. I’m holding in my arms the best gift you could’ve given me. Our little baby bird.” he says, shifting the baby into only one of his arms while his free hand comes to rest atop of your belly, still not fully recovered from birth and yet ready for the next batch.

“Besides, the second gift is already on the way.”

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Only one word to describe this fic: AMAZING.

Seriously, the idea of Bakugo being so deep into obsession is just delicious. He's really trapped her and now there's no leaving him.

His Muse

Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader Warnings: Yandere Bakugou, Obsessive Tendencies, psychoanalyst therapist reader, smut, extremely dubious consent, stalking, kindapping (tagging to be safe), cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampies, kitchen sex, strength kink, threats of violence (not to reader). please let me know if I missed anything! Word Count: 6.5k Notes: this isn't a more violent yandere fic, and has lots of bargaining and dub con, just as a warning!! but I can't believe I came up with this idea in November omg I move so slow when it comes to full fics. also I tried gradient style for the title and I love it lol it was so fun to try. anyway, please enjoy!! Minors/blank/ageless blogs DNI! Also available on ao3!

When Bakugou comes to you to be his therapist, you don’t think twice about it. He filled out his application correctly, he answered when you called, his insurance went through, his problems sounded legit. You had become wary taking on new patients in your field—dealing with criminals, those with hardened and extensive records, people with all kinds of issues that an everyday therapist wouldn’t be able to handle accordingly. But you did it all (someone had to), so your vetting process was a little heavier than usual, if the therapy wasn’t state mandated. 

But Bakugou Katsuki passed with flying colors. If anything, he sounded a little too normal for your line of work, but he kept promising that his issues would be better discussed during sessions. With a little hesitance, you agree and take him on. 

He’s…okay, for the most part. A little gruff, rough around the edges and snappy when you try to touch on certain topics of his life. But in general, he’s a great patient; he pays on time, shows up five minutes early, doesn’t linger when your next patient comes buzzing, doesn’t try to touch you or seek out personal information from you. 

If anything, he still seems a bit too strait-laced for you. That is, until he starts to delve into why he really wants to come to therapy—to deal with his tendencies of rage, lashing out, and obsession. You had told him that you didn’t deal much with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, but he had assured you that, no, his obsessions and compulsions weren’t about checking the locks a certain amount of times on a Wednesday, but instead about people. 

He obsessed over people, and when things wouldn’t go his way, his rage would rear its ugly head. He still hasn’t told you what his rage specifically looks like, especially with how he momentarily glances over at your little message pinned on your wall that warns people about admitting criminal acts that you’d have to report, damn the confidentiality. 

“When did these obsessions start?” You ask him, body tilted toward him even though your eyes and hands move to your open computer. You document what he says, take note of it all, skimming over previous notes from other appointments. 

“Maybe about eighteen months ago?” Bakugou’s voice is gravelly, deep and grating against the column of his throat. As he answers, he shoves his hands in his sweats pockets, scoots down a little further on your adjacent couch, looks around the room as if he hadn’t been in here a few times before. 

“So this is a more recent development?” You ask, humming under your breath and nodding when he grunts an affirmation. You type, obsessive tendencies over people started less than two years ago, could be trauma based, and you wonder if he can read the words through the reflection of your glasses when you look over to see his eyebrows screwed down. 

“Was it sudden for you?” You cock your head to the side, before shaking your head. “Let me rephrase; did these tendencies ever show their faces in other aspects of your life? Different time periods, situations? Or was it just a sudden thing that happened, something you realized once the obsession had already begun?” He starts nodding his head before you can even finish, his ash blond bangs shadowing his eyes for a second in such a way that sends a prickle of chills up your arms. You don’t know why, so you try to swallow the feeling down until it burns at the back of your throat, shifting a little in your cushioned seat. Bakugou watches you for a second before he opens his mouth to speak. 

“It was sudden.” He answers, plainly, doesn’t offer up much else until you cock an eyebrow at him, signaling for him to go on. He rolls his eyes and huffs under his breath, shifting again before he shrugs dramatically with his hands still in his pockets. 

“I dunno, I was fuckin’ normal until I wasn’t.” You chuckle a little at his tone, crossing your legs under the desk, watching how Bakugou’s vermillion eyes dart down to catch the sight of them, before they slide back up to your face. 

“You’ve been in a relationship before?” You state more than ask, eyebrows slid high on your face in question, watching Bakugou roll his eyes a little before he nods. 

“Yeah.” He offers, his mouth set in a thin line, obviously not wanting to offer up too much information on the topic. 

“How many?” You push. How the hell does he expect you to help him when he keeps giving you short answers, nothing to work with? Why even seek out your help if he acts like being here is such a nuisance to deal with?

“Two.” Bakugou says through gritted teeth, eyes cutting at the decorations you have hung on the walls. “What does this have to do with anything, anyway?” He spits, cuts his eyes at you once more as you narrow your own at him. 

“I’m trying to find a connection between your sudden obsessive tendencies with your relationships with people in the world.” You clarify for him, sitting up a little in your seat as his own irritation bubbling off of him starts to sink into your pores, too. 

“People rarely have sudden personality flips and switches with no leading causes beforehand. Did these tendencies start because of preexisting mommy issues that were suddenly uncovered after being repressed for years? Were you in a long and committed relationship, which ended in such a way that it wasn’t necessarily on your terms, even if it was ultimately your own call? Was it an accident you were in? Have you always been like this and never realized it? Do you understand what I’m saying, Katsuki?” 

��

Bakugou isn’t taking in a single word that you’re telling him. He wishes he could; he’s sure you��re saying some real shit that he should most likely take into consideration. But its so hard to focus when you look at him like that, when your neck rolls a little with every word, when your foot bounces under the desk, the way your lips curve just so. 

You’re the reason he’s even here right now. The bane of his fuckin’ existence, but also the  only thing that matters to him in the world. 

You are his obsession. His muse, his fantasy, his daydream turned reality. And it’s all your fucking fault. With how you prance around your home with your curtains open, wearing nothing but slutty little shirts and no bra, no pants, just panties that sink into the curves of your ass and thighs. How you just go about your life without a care in the fucking world, always so oblivious to everything around you. 

You hadn’t even noticed him, the months he spent watching over you. Didn’t catch his lingering stares, or how his ash blond head of hair always seemed to be at least ten feet behind you with every step you took. How your long time neighbor from across the hall suddenly disappeared, how a new tenant moved in when he knew you’d be out. How you forget entirely too often to lock your door, to put your used panties in the hamper. How you tease him with everything, how you’ve been fucking leading him on for over a year and a half now. 

So, he had to get desperate. Had to search you up and find what qualifications he needed in order to be seen by you, a psychoanalytical therapist for those who want to be reformed. 

But Bakugou had no plans on reformation. There was nothing for him to be reformed on. He just wanted you, and goddamnit, if he wasn’t going to have you. 

“I understand you, doc. Loud and clear.”

***

It was your day off, and you had plans on spending it in your bed, catching up on some reading and maybe finishing that one show you started a while ago. But, lunch time came around, and you were craving something specific and didn’t have all the ingredients that you needed. You figured you could go out to the grocery store to grab them, get some fresh air on the way there, and maybe stop at that book shop you had been eyeing for a while. 

You get ready quickly, closing your front door behind you, pausing for a second to stare at the door across the hall. You still can’t believe Ms. Hayashi had so suddenly moved out, especially after living in this complex since it was first built. She hadn’t even said goodbye, and you never got the chance to return the Tupperware she lended you. 

It wouldn’t have been as weird if someone hadn’t supposedly moved in the next day. You were a gossip with your landlord, a nice older lady, and she gave you all up the updates on the people who lived in the complex. She had said that he was a nice guy, kind of scary and intimating in stature, but respectful the whole time. Said that he didn’t even look at the apartment before giving her the first six months rent and despot in cash. She told you to ever call her if you smelled meth cooking from that apartment, as no one who works a regular job just has that kind of money laying around. 

You shrug to yourself, coming to the conclusion that maybe the new owner just needed to get out of town, away from somewhere or someone else. Everyone has their reasonings, and you can’t analyze every single move someone you haven’t even met before has ever made. 

You continue down the steps until you’re out of the building, unaware of the crimson eyes that follow your every movement. The walk to the store is a little longer than you’d like for it to be, but you figure that the exercise can do you some justice, and it’s always nice being out in nature. You stop and pick a flower that grows from a crack in the sidewalk, twirling it in your finger the whole way to the store, finally tucking it behind your ear when you have to grab a grocery cart. 

And still—and still—you don’t see the eyes that watch you. The figure that follows your every move, that disappears behind walls and aisles every time you turn your back. You feel it though, he can tell, because you move a little quicker and look over your shoulder more than usual. 

You go to the self checkout, trying to hurry now, as an uneasy feeling starts to wash over you. You get these often, especially working in the field that you do with the patients that you choose to take on—hardened criminals, fresh out of jail and still ready to harm society, people that just like to see the world burn for the fun of it. 

The therapist is typically one of the first few people to be taken out, after parents. You’re always too high on the list for your liking, despite loving your job. 

You keep trying to scan an item, but it’s not working, and that only makes your panic settle in deeper into your bones. You try to remember the techniques that you give people when they start to feel overwhelmed by their emotions and what goes on in their heads, but its hard when that sinking feeling only grows deeper and heavier by the moment until—

“Need some help with that?” You jump away quickly, eyes wide as you hold up the can of soup you were gripping tightly like a weapon. You let out a breath though, only in slight relief, to see that its one of your patients standing beside you—Bakugou Katsuki. He looks different than he usually does in your sessions together; he’s wearing a tight compression shirt that hugs his wide shoulders, navy blue in color, sweatpants that wrap around the thick muscles in his thighs, and plain running shoes. 

For some reason though, the panic in your stomach doesn’t fully quell at the sight of him. 

“No, I got it. Thanks though, Bakugou.” You tell him politely, smiling shakily. Why does the sight of him unnerve you so bad? You’ve run into patients before on the street, and they never make you feel like this, this uneasy, even when it was dark and you were dressed more scantily than you are now, with your baggy pants and too big shirt. 

“You sure?” He grunts, cocking his head at you as he gently pries the can from your still tight grip. “I watched you struggle with it for like, two minutes. Let me.” He tells you, never taking his eyes off of you as he scans your item easily enough. He only looks away when he bags it for you, and starts to scan the rest of your things as if you weren’t standing there. 

“Oh no, it’s okay, I can finish that myself.” You wave him off him with a shaky smile, finally breaking out of your stupor when he’s damn near finished. You reach out to stop him, but Bakugou only waves you away with a grunt. 

“’S alright. It’s the least I can do for you helping me figure my crazy out.” Bakugou shrugs at you, a joke you’re presuming, as he glances over at you with a tiny lilt at the corner of his mouth. It calms you, only for a second, before something ever so slightly changes in his eyes, in the way he looks at you and takes you in, makes you feel like something sinister is sinking deep into your bones. Your stomach tightens again, and you have to force a smile when he finishes, before it drops when you see him reaching for his wallet. 

“Oh, I really can’t let you pay for my groceries.” You tell him, stepping up to him before pausing when he looks at you out of the corner of his eye with an expression so terrifying, that it makes stone drop into the pit of your belly. 

“Let me.” Bakugou tells you more than asks you, and you nod slowly, swallowing the thickness that has settled into the back of your throat. You can only watch as he pulls out a wad of cash, counting through it before inserting it into the machine, mouth set in a thin line all the while. You try to take him in, figure out where his own groceries are to be in this section, where all this money is coming from, if his address that he put on the file is even anywhere near this area. 

It’s not. 

“Cmon.” Bakugou snaps you out of your trance, big veiny hands holding all of your groceries as he nods his head to the exit. You’re stuck there, wondering if this is really happening, if these are just boundaries being crossed or a crime about to be committed. You feel tears stinging at your eyes as you try to blink them away, hiccuping slightly as you slowly shake your head. 

“Please give me my groceries, Bakugou.” You don’t even recognize your own voice, soft and shaky and purely terrified. Bakugou fixes you with another deadly expression but this time—this time he smiles at you, and its everything but friendly. All big white teeth and too sharp incisors, all falsely charming and all weaponry, all threat with no escape from his drooling maw. 

“I think we should go home, now. Don’t you?” He asks you with a cock of his head, body still turned to the exit, his stature eery with how the veins in his neck throb with every second you stay rooted in your spot. “Before something happens to these nice people in here, right? Before they have to bear witness to a massacre, all because you don’t want to walk home with me.”

You have to bite back your sob that bubbles up in your throat. You’re terrified of what will happen to you, but you’re a caretaker first. You have to put yourself before these people, put yourself before the monster that wants you as a sacrifice before he burns an entire village down for you. 

So you nod, and take the hand offered to you as he switches the groceries to one hand, just to squeeze yours in the other. 

You leave out of the grocery store with tears muddled in your eyes, a quivering chin that you try to conceal, hope no one wants to be a hero and find themselves hurt, or worse, because you can’t school your expressions. 

This was taught in a psychology course you took in college, you remember. One of your classes after you started working on your highest degree—what to do in real life situations as a psychologist. How to avoid more conflict when a patient is erratic. How to deescalate. How to survive. 

Everything you’ve ever learned has gone out the window now. 

You and Bakugou walk down the street hand in hand, looking like a normal couple for the most part, besides your trembling jaw and shaky steps. You glance up to him, watching him squint in the sunlight before he glances down at you, squeezing your hand gently, as if to comfort you, as if he weren’t the cause of your panic. You notice that he’s walking right in the direction of your apartment, as if the route were memorized. 

“How do you know where I live?” You ask shakily, mouth full of cotton as Bakugou keeps his head forward, grinning. He glances at you again, eyes bouncing between the delicate flower tucked behind your ear, and the terrified expression your eyes carry. 

“I should be asking you the same thing.” He shrugs nonchalantly, doesn’t offer up anymore information until you stand outside of your building. “You know, for you to be a therapist to fuckin’ weirdos, you don’t watch your back good enough for my liking.” 

You didn’t think your stomach could sink any lower, but it does. It does when the realization settles, when his words kick in—that he’s been watching you, but for how long? How could you not have noticed? Did he even contact you because he needed help, or was this only a way to grow closer to you, to his obsession?

Before you know it, Bakugou has walked you up the stairs until you reached your floor. Your body turns to instinctively to your door, but you’re pulled in the other direction. 

“Wha—” you go to ask Bakugou, before you notice he’s set your groceries down to fiddle with the key to…to the apartment across the hall from you. You feel the tears flood again, letting them flow this time since no one is around to try and save you and put themselves in harms way anymore. 

“It’s been you? This whole time?” You ask slowly, starting to pull away when Bakugou opens the door to Ms. Hayashi’s apartment, still decorated the same before she mysteriously disappeared—you don’t think its so mysterious anymore.

“Of course it’s been me.” Bakugou scoffs as he grips your hand tighter, pulling you closer until you near the doorway. “I had to watch  over you—do you know how careless you are with everything? With your life?” He snarls, whirling around on you when you plant your feet and try to keep him from pulling you into his lions den. Bakugou is all snarls and teeth, invokes such a deep fear within you that you can’t help but shrink under his gaze. 

“Now come on. I’ve been waiting for this for entirely too long.” His voice is downright salacious, eyes turning sharp and hungry, and in a way that makes you feel like nothing more than hunted prey. 

Bakugou damn near drags you within the apartment, despite your whimpering and pulling at him—he’s just too strong. He walks you a few feet inside before he dumps the groceries on a coffee table, finally letting go of your hand so that he can lock the door, emerging a key from his sweatpants pocket to one of the many, many locks, an insurance policy of you never leaving him unless he allows it. 

You try to put on your therapist boots for a minute, swallowing your fear as you try to reason with him, swallowing thickly when he turns around and takes your trembling form in. 

“Bakugou,” you start shakily, “this doesn’t have to end bad for us. You can just let me go, and we can pretend this never happened. I won’t report you, or anything. Please, please, PLEASE!” 

He comes rushing at you before you know it, on you in seconds, despite trying to turn and outrun him before he pounces. But it’s too late and he’s too big and too overwhelming, and he grabs you up in his arms, shushing your screaming with his mouth pressed against yours. 

So this is what he wants, you think to yourself, terrified to say you’re slightly relieved. You’ve worked with men who liked to torture women for fun, and you were scared that he was secretly one of them, but it looks like he just wants—

“You.” Bakugou whispers with a swallow against your mouth, hot and breathy. “I want you so fuckin’ bad, wanted this for so long, fuck.” He’s wrapping you up within him in seconds, arms crushing your ribs, tongue sneaking into your mouth, hands grabbing handfuls of whatever he can reach. 

You’re stunned, mostly. Finally putting the pieces together of everything that is Bakugou, his coming to you about his obsessions, his secrecy despite needing your help, the way he always looked at you, how he devours you now like a mere schoolboy. It all makes sense now. You pull away from him, eyes round and wide as you take in his lowered ones, how he dives back in to nip at your jaw and chin and cheek. 

“I’m your obsession.” You whisper shakily, hands on his shoulders, despite them making no moves to move the large man back. Bakugou groans at that, damn near sinks to his knees at your realization, wraps you up even tighter as he buries his face into the skin of your neck. 

“Fuckin’ finally. Thought you would’ve caught on sooner by now, dumbass.” He scolds you, licking up the expanse of your skin as you shiver and try to back away. But Bakugou only holds you tighter, and you whimper at the bulge that nudges your hip. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve—could’ve worked on exposure therapy, had someone there to monitor you for our safety, could’ve—”

“Too much work. I just want you.” Bakugou moans, nipping at your skin, grabbing handfuls of your ass when you squeak. He walks you backwards until your back meets a wall, the breath being knocked out of you as you gasp, eyes wide when he finally pulls away from your skin. 

You’ve never seen him like this, all fucked out and relaxed and even a little excited. Always saw him with a bored or irritated expression, one of indifference. But now, Bakugou looks high on euphoria, with kiss swollen lips and low eyelids as he takes in your still shocked expression. 

“Let me taste you,” Bakugou rushes out in a quick breath, diving in once more to lick at your mouth before he pulls away, big hands squeezing at your waist and ass excitedly. He’s like a dog with a bone, like a pup with no master, waiting for you to give the command, the permission to go. 

You wonder if you have more control of this situation than you originally thought. So you try your hand, see how far you can push before you can wiggle your way out of this entire thing and get the chance to call the police. 

“Bakugou,” you start, quickly being cut off by him with a sharp nip to your chin. 

“Katsuki,” he corrects. You nod. 

“Katsuki, if I—if I let you do this, this one thing of…of tasting me, will you promise to let me go?” You try to reason with him, cupping his cheek when his eyes wander over your form instead of your face, leaning into your touch instinctively. 

“We can,” you pause with a swallow. “I can do this. I can create a therapy plan for you, for your obsession over me, and it can be fully consenting and healthy, but you have to let me help you and let me take control.” You try to reason with Bakugou, hope he understands what you’re saying, that he won’t catch on to this just being a trick. But he only groans and turns his head, sucking your thumb into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut at your gasp before he releases you with a pop. He turns half lidded vermillion eyes to you, frowning as he rests his heavy head in your palm. 

“Whatever you fuckin’ say, just let me taste you, goddamnit.” He mutters petulantly. You can only hold your breath, wonder if what you’re agreeing will hurt you in the long run before you nod. 

“You can—you can taste me, Katsuki.” 

You think you might’ve sealed the deal with a devil, with the way you can practically see horns protruding from his forehead and a tail flickering behind him when he drops to his knees. Bakugou is too quick for your liking, yanks your pants around your ankles too fast, hurries you out of them, rips your underwear away from your skin until it tears and falls limply in a pile on the floor. 

You squeak when his face is suddenly pressed right against your cunt, his nose buried into your pubic hair, the sound of a big sniff echoing throughout the room. You can’t help but cringe, but don’t dare push him away—people need to be exposed to all aspects of things in order to overcome them, even if those things are sniffing what lies between your legs. 

“Fuck, smells so good.” Bakugou grunts under his breath, huffing a few times before he forces your legs further apart until you can accommodate the wide expanse of his shoulders. You grunt from the stretch, trying to make yourself comfortable, but Bakugou picks up on it quickly, and grabs your knee to hike your leg over his shoulder to rest on. 

It creates a better angle for him anyway, with your lips glistening with your arousal—you were aroused. Turned on by him just as much as he was with you. You were wet, even if it’s not as much as he would prefer, as he would get you to that amount in only a matter of time. 

You throbbed when his tongue traced the hood of your clit, of your lips, your folds. You twitch hard against his mouth when he keeps licking and licking at you, until your slickness and his spit mingle and he doesn’t know where you end and where he begins. Until it makes a mess of his mouth and chin and the floor below him, and you, with your pretty moans and grabbing hands. 

Bakugou has waited for this moment longer than he can really care to remember, at this point in time. Waited to worship you on his knees, be able to look up from between your soft thighs and see the scrunch of your brows when he sucks your clit between his lips and runs over it with the flatness of his tongue. 

It’s an addictive feeling, really. Makes him feel higher than any drug could ever take him, makes his eyes roll back and his cock throb so hard that he has to grab it from beneath his sweats to keep from busting his load already. 

You can only stand there and take it—take the incessant licking around your hole, and the dipping of his tongue inside of you, and the sweet little kisses he plants on your clit. You try to reason with yourself, convince yourself that this is an improvised session with a client that needed your help so badly that you decided to take him on your day off. Try to tell yourself that this is all apart of the therapy that he needs in order to get over you. 

You only hope that the taste of you doesn’t become so addictive, that your plans for him will go flying out the window the moment you try to reason with him. 

But its hard to reason even with yourself when Bakugou is sliding a thick, middled finger inside of your dripping hole as he noisily sucks your clit between his lips. You cry out at that, knees wobbling, but he’s there to catch you with his free hand, his shoulder. Holds you up steady like a pillar as he lashes his tongue against you, twists his finger, curves it slowly, before he’s adding another one before you can even register what’s happening to you. 

“Shit, Katsuki,” you moan out, cursing yourself for letting him make you feel so good, for getting so wrapped up in this ‘therapy’. You can only hope that the board doesn’t take your license if they were to ever find out about it. 

“Thats it, baby, ride my fingers just like that.” Bakugou breaks you out of your trance with his groan. You hadn’t even realize how your hips were moving against him, grinding down on his digits that curl up inside of you, that slide against that swelling spot that makes your knees weak and your eyes cross.

“Gods, you’re so fuckin’ sexy.” Bakugou whispers against your mound, trailing spit from his mouth down to your clit once more, eyes never leaving the pleasured look on your face. 

Did you know he imagined this, in damn near every session he’s ever had with you? While it wasn’t plenty of sessions (he had only started seeing you about six months ago), it was all he could think of. Every Tuesday at 2:45pm, in office number 218, first door on the right, the mint green office—all he could think of was you. Even when you asked him questions with a professional and friendly smile, even when you were covered head to toe, even when you ripped him a new one for his shitty answers and responses. 

This was all he wanted, all he craved to see. The way your mouth dropped open when he starts damn near directing you in how he wants you to ride his fingers. How your hips move and swivel and tremble when he keeps bringing his fingers close to his face, inside of you. How you grip so tightly at his hair and pull when he won’t stop sucking and licking and messily kissing your clit. How he damn near makes out with your hole, tongue drooling and smacking against your soaked skin until he feels himself about to burst in his pants. 

This was all he wanted, and Bakugou always gets what he wants. Even if its you—especially if it’s you. 

“I’m—oh, I think I’m—shit!” Your brain is damn near fried when you start to orgasm, an earth shattering moan slipping from your throat as you throw your head back, hips bucking against Bakugou’s face and hands. He has to hold your entire body up steadily, fears that you may fall from how hard you’re coming, how you shake in his arms. 

His fingers are steady inside of you, and only slows when you start to finally come down from your high. Bakugou kisses the inside of your thigh sweetly, nibbles at it when you groan and complain about feeling too weak from the intensity. But that’s not a problem for him at all. 

“Hey—what are you—” Bakugou cuts you off with a wet kiss pressed to your mouth when he stands to his full height. His tongue slides against yours and you can’t help but moan when you taste yourself on him. He doesn’t give you a chance to step away and try to slink back to your own apartment, instead hoisting you up quickly in his arms as he starts to walk to a room behind you. 

Before you can protest, you’ve been dumped on the kitchen table, Bakugou pressing you down with a hand to your sternum when you try to sit up, shooting you another one of those eery looks from earlier. You still instantly, before slowly lowering yourself back down on the table, eyes wide again when he levels you with a stare for a beat longer before he steps back to yank his shirt over his head. 

“I thought,” you mumble, trying not to stare at how well built Bakugou is, how his biceps might literally be bigger than your entire head. “I thought that we agreed for you to only, um, taste me, and then you’d stop.” Its hard finding your voice when Bakugou stares at you like that again, not scarily, but hungry like before. Hard to fight back and push him away when he grabs your shirt in two hands and rips and pulls until your torso is exposed, like the fabric meant nothing to him. 

You clench your thighs at the display of strength and hope that he doesn’t notice. (He does). 

Bakugou shrugs at you, pulls your bra down until your tits are on display, grabbing a handful of each and massaging them in warm, sweaty palms. He ducks his head down and gives a sweet kiss to both of your nipples, licking one crudely before he stands back up to his full height, your breasts still in his hands. You think he must’ve forgotten what you said, or simply didn’t care to answer, but he surprises you when he squeezes your tits tightly and speaks, 

“Think I need a little more exposure before I have to be reduced to doses only, doc.” Is all Bakugou gives you, squeezing your chest one last time before he pulls away. You try not to show the panic on your face when he reaches to pull his sweats down until they bunch around his corded thighs, cock damn near bursting from its confinements. 

Bakugou reaches inside of his boxers, biting at his bottom lip when he touches it directly for the first time since he’s gotten you, groans a little at your gasp when he fully exposes himself. He’s thick, curved a little to the side, his head a dark flushed color, a fat vein forking up the side of his shaft. He rests his cock over you, makes a soft little noise in the back of his throat when the precum slides from his tip and pools in the dip of your bellybutton. 

“Shit, I love you so fuckin’ much,” Bakugou mutters under his breath as he positions himself at your entrance. Your eyes bulge at his confession, but before you can even touch on what he’s said, he’s already sliding his way inside of you. 

Your head falls against the kitchen table, the dull pain quiet compared to the overwhelming pleasure that settles low in your pelvis. You groan, thighs hooked around Bakugou’s waist as he fucks his way inside of you, a moan on his tongue as he watches the way your lips split and suck him inside so, so sweetly. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I can’t wait anymore,” Bakugou mutters against your mouth. As he soon as he settles inside of you, he’s pulling out until his tip kisses your entrance, before he fucks his way back in. You shudder, his cock warm and heavy inside of you, his tip brushing against your sweet spot with every stroke until you start to cling to him and ask for more, more, more. 

And Bakugou gives it to you, with feral growls, hiking your legs up higher until they rest on his shoulders, hunching over you with every wet slap of his balls against your ass. The position forces him even deeper, makes your feet dangle entirely too close to your face, Bakugou leaning over to kiss you sweetly on the ankle. 

“So, fuck, what’s the diagnosis, doc?” Bakugou taunts you, grinning down at you when you blink bleary eyes up at him. He’s sweaty and golden and has a halo of light behind his ash blond hair from the overhead light. He’s prettier than you want to admit, but its hard trying to keep a face of professionalism when his cock keeps kissing your sweet spot and his chest pressed against yours makes your nipples harder than rocks. 

“Huh? What happened to that fucking smart ass that would lecture me in our sessions?” He teases, smile wide and feral as he holds your cheeks tightly between his thick fingers. He forces your mouth into a pout, kissing it, when you blabber nonsense up at him. 

“Fucked you dumb already? All those years of college right out the door, huh, baby?” Bakugou’s so mean, makes you whine and claw at his shoulders and nape. You could answer him, give him your professional opinion—not like you even had one in the first place—but he makes it so hard to think. When his cock is balls deep inside of you, when he looks at you with his teasing and yet adoring little grin, when he keeps shaking your face at him with a taunting coo, when he sneaks a hand between your bodies to circle your clit. 

“It’s okay; I can think for you. You don’t have to use that pretty little head even once when you’re with me.” Bakugou’s coos sweetly, reaches down and pecks your forehead and mouth when you whimper pathetically up at him with teary eyes. 

“Gonna cum? Yeah?” He asks you, hips never faltering as he fucks you into the table, his mouth pressed against yours as you grab him tightly, feeling the oncoming orgasm starting to flood your system. 

“Yeah,” you whine softly against his mouth through your puckered lips, making Bakugou groan as he fucks you through your orgasm. You tighten up around him so deliciously, sound so pretty with your fucked out moans and hoarse voice, look so gorgeous all high out of your mind and pliant on his kitchen counter. 

How could he ever remember to pull out?

You try to protest when Bakugou holds you tight and starts to cum inside of you, but your complaints fall on deaf ears. He only holds you tighter against him, groaning loud in the skin of your neck as his cock spurts his hot seed deep inside of you. When he finishes, he collapses on top of you, breathy and sweaty, and you’re in no better position. Its quiet for a while, despite your legs and back aching, and the cooling feeling of his cum starting to spill from around his softening cock still buried inside of you. 

“So,” Bakugou starts, and you’re almost fearful of what he might say next. “Can you start scheduling my appointments to your apartment instead of your office now?” 

You’re at least a little thankful that he has plans to let you go back to your life, even if he’s forcing himself to be apart of every little aspect of it. You nod tiredly, wondering how and if you’re going to tell your boss. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Binge reading an incredible fic on AO3 until reaching the last updated chapter just to realize it's an orphan account 😭

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Reminder that I do block all the empty accounts that follow me.

My blocking sprees are dangerous and consider yourself warned.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Permission Denied

Pairing: Dark Shouta "Eraserhead" Aizawa x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: You’re bored – stuck inside the house while it’s sunny and nice outside. Aizawa doesn’t care about that. 

WARNINGS: Implied Kidnapping; Captivity.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊

--

From your spot on the couch, you steal a glance at the black-haired man that sits on the table, surrounded by piles of paper. Midterm exams, he said.  

It seems like a boring task, but Shouta doesn’t seem to mind. Unlike you, who’s getting restless by the minute. 

There’s nothing for you to do.

Your hobbies are fairly limited, only granted when Shouta is feeling generous enough to notice your boredom, which hasn’t been the case lately. 

He’s too busy between the Hero course class and patrols, which inevitably results in neglecting you. There are no new books for you to devour and the TV’s control remote is still “missing”. 

The kitchen is off limits, which means no cooking or baking.

There’s nothing to do!

Perhaps you’re not being as sneaky as you believe yourself to be because Shouta’s suddenly looks up to meet your gaze, catching you off guard. 

“If you have something to say, then spill it.” 

You look at him, eyes still round with surprise. 

“Well, I…” The words stammer when coming out and you tautly twist your hands. “I’m bored.” 

Shouta looks at you. 

“Yes, I have noticed.” 

It’s a bit disheartening when he goes back to marking papers, leaving you at that. 

“So…I don’t know. Maybe…I could go to the garden?” 

He pauses his scribbling, and you rush to add, “I wouldn’t be alone, of course! You’d be there too, you could grade the papers on the outside table, right?”

His eyes are sharp when he looks back at you, the neutral expression on his face making it harder for you to decipher his true thoughts. 

“I could.” 

Your heart positively jumps at that, and almost fool yourself into believing that you’ve successfully convinced Shouta to do something for you. You’re wrong.   

“But I won’t.” he denies your request just like that, barely batting an eye as he crushes down your hopes. 

Feeling so upset over it makes you feel stupid, but then again, you haven’t left the four walls of Shouta’s home in weeks.

You’re so tired of being here, trapped in the bland ugly house. Tired of him and his insensitivity. Tired of the obnoxious boring routine that has been forced upon you. Tired of everything.  

“Why not?” you burst, even if it comes out more as a demand. 

Shouta’s eyebrows raise at the intensity of your words, and you inhale a small breath, calming yourself down. 

“Why can’t I go outside?” 

“Because at this moment I have a task at hand. I’m sure you can see that.” 

"But I’ve been good. You said that yourself.” your nails leave half-moons in your palms, an attempt to keep your anger at bay. If there’s one thing you’ve learned over these past months is that Shouta doesn’t appreciate hysterical displays of frivolous emotions.

Useless and energy-consuming – that’s how he calls them. 

“You have.” he pauses for a moment, tone slightly softer as he sets the pen down. “I’m not denying that. You have been exemplary these past weeks.” 

Even when you don’t ask it, the question lingers in the tense air. Then why?

Aizawa answers it.

“It’s got nothing to do with your present behavior.” his reassurance does little to soothe your bubbling frustration. Aizawa seems to sense it, semblant turning somber and stern as he stares at you.

“However, my priority is your safety, not your happiness. Perhaps you still remember the last time you were allowed outside? Or of the … incident that occurred?”

He grimaces at that and so do you. 

The incident meant the one-single time Aizawa took you on a late evening walk, where you ended up bumping into one of his neighbours – an overly enthusiastic blonde man – and in the moment of heat, you ended up taking the poor decision to reveal your hostage situation, hoping for help.

Only for said neighbour to turn out to be Aizawa’s close friend, someone Shouta had asked to test you. 

Needless to say that you failed his loyalty test. Hence the house arrest. 

You glance away from him, opting to ignore his question. Aizawa sighs, taking his sweet time cracking his neck from side to side. 

“Like I was saying,” he resumes the conversation, “I’d prefer to reduce that sort of risk from the root. Perhaps one day, if your behavior remains ideal, we can have this discussion again – in a few months.”

Aizawa looks at you with red-streaked eyes, taking notice of your well-concealed frustration as well as blatantly ignoring it.

Picking up the pen, he continues to correct the papers, marking the end of your little discussion and leaving no space for argument. 

Leaving you back in the reign of boredom. 

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Quirkless marriage with Keigo is nearly finished. Longest work of mine so far - around 7k words.

heyy. do you have any wip's you can share with us?

AIB: working on slightly longer fics for both Chishiya and Niragi.

Bnha: working on a quirk marriage with Keigo and a yandere!reader with Bakugo

At the moment, that's it, but the thing with me is that I'm too slow writing and often lose motivation while writing so we'll see if I can even finish those up.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

TW: Forced Breeding/Pregnancy.

You ending up pregnant only worsens his personality cause he wants a son. No. He demands a son.

An heir to carry out the family name. To bring success and money and power.

A strong, healthy son that will surely inherit the father's strenght and determination. Plans on raising the son to be proud and fierce, an alpha male that leads the sheeps.

And if you so much as mention the possibility of the baby being a girl, his entire mood sours. A daughter - surely to be weak and pathetic just like her mother is, he mocks.

What's he gonna do with a daughter? What can she possibly do to make him proud?

Any frail illusions you might've had harbored about a daughter softening him up are immediatly destroyed. He makes it abundantly cler that daughters require control, not love.

While a son of his would be utterly spoiled with expensive toys and games, the same won't happen with the daughter. Toys? The only toys your daughter get to play with are the kitchen utensils.

And the worse thing? There's nothing you can do about it.

TW: Misogyny; Abusive; Kidnapping; mentions of Noncon.

A misogynist yandere is the worst. 

The perception he has of you as a female is entirely warped and twisted in such a disturbing way. His obsession is dangerous, drenched with pure hatred and insecurity. He wants you and at the same time, he hates your guts. 

You’re not that pretty. You’re not smart either. You’re not special. You’re not worth anything. 

And yet, somehow, you’ve managed to carve a special place for yourself in his mind, keeping him a hostage in his own mind. 

Instead of blabbering about equal rights and feminism, you should be making yourself useful by opening those pretty lips and sucking him off. Oh, the things he would do to you if he gets his hands on you….

And that’s how you find yourself in the sad position of a forced housewife. Every day is torture, being forced to endure such abuse - both mental and physical - simply because he wants to.

Heavy degradation.

Nasty insults.

Powerful beatings.

Painful spankings.

It’s a complete nightmare. 

The power hierarchy in his house is highly asymmetrical and it never - ever - favors you. He does everything he can to show you your rightful place - by his feet. 

He’s awful.

All those disgusting comments about you being much better suited to take care of him instead of playing pretend at your previous job.

Complaining about the poor quality of the food you cook, considering that you are a woman - aren’t you supposed to know how to cook delicious food by instinct?

Forcing you to clean his house every single day, mopping and washing and scrubbing until every surface is squeaky shiny and there’s no evidence of dirty dust. 

Not a single day goes by without you being backhanded hard enough to see stars. Most times, there isn’t even a proper reason behind it. Maybe he just felt like letting out some stress or maybe he just wanted to remind you that you’re so utterly weak against him.  

And dare you to complain about it. Let out a pitiful squeak and you’ll see if the next slap won't knock some sense into you. 

Complaining about what though? He’s providing you with a good life. You have it good with him by your side. In return, all you have to do is take care of him, without stressing over work or money.

You just have to make him happy, that’s all. Piece of cake.

And the best way to keep him happy is by shutting your mouth and letting him fuck you in whatever way he wants to. That’s what your pussy is for, anyways. To be drilled down by his cock, showing you exactly what you’re here for. 

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Memory loss trope except it's the yandere actively bashing his darling's head into a wall cause he wants to start everything over again.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

And the number keeps growing.

It's even worse when you're only now finding talented writers and turns out they haven't been online in years.

I follow 44 people here. Most of them haven't been active for months/years

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Honestly, one of the best works I've ever read on Keigo. Their whole relationship is so complex and messed up. 100/10.

Less God Here

(than there is in hell)

💌Yandere!Keigo Takami | Hawks x F!Reader💌 10.6k words

Sequel to Ingrate | Inspired by Stuck with Me (TNBH) Summary:

Keigo and you are both so wonderful at pretending. You could waste days in a fantasy, forever dreaming, smudging over the ugly past.

TWs for: Rape, pee stuff (mention), miscarriage, suicide (mention), self harm, abuse

Tags:

Codependency, a pretty sad sex scene, a lot of crying, purble place, bedroom roleplay but its like… yikes, mindfuckery

———

The past is mutable.

At least to you and Keigo, that is. He’s lost the breath and effort to keep correcting you. He goes along with what you say, carving away the ugly details and smoothing them over with fallacy, whittling away at the memories in your head. He agrees with you when you tell him that your first date was romantic. He concurs with you when you bring up how kind he was to leave gifts at your doorstep.

You treasure them.

Candy that hasn’t yet gone out of date in ornate tins (he rations you with them, saying that it’s a bad idea to have too many in one day- you don’t even want to eat them in the first place, only cherish the sweets for the rest of your existence). Teddies with beady eyes, ogling you from within the guest room. Keigo keeps trying to make you sleep in it. In the end, you always end up crawling into his bed, teary-eyed, telling him you can’t get to sleep without him.

Continuar a ler

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

hiiiiiiiii

i love your alice in borderland stuff soooooo much

just wanted to say 😣😣❤️

Aww, thank you so much!! ❤️ You really just made my day. Thank you so much for taking the time to tell me that.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

TW: Misogyny; Abusive; Kidnapping; mentions of Noncon.

A misogynist yandere is the worst. 

The perception he has of you as a female is entirely warped and twisted in such a disturbing way. His obsession is dangerous, drenched with pure hatred and insecurity. He wants you and at the same time, he hates your guts. 

You’re not that pretty. You’re not smart either. You’re not special. You’re not worth anything. 

And yet, somehow, you’ve managed to carve a special place for yourself in his mind, keeping him a hostage in his own mind. 

Instead of blabbering about equal rights and feminism, you should be making yourself useful by opening those pretty lips and sucking him off. Oh, the things he would do to you if he gets his hands on you….

And that’s how you find yourself in the sad position of a forced housewife. Every day is torture, being forced to endure such abuse - both mental and physical - simply because he wants to.

Heavy degradation.

Nasty insults.

Powerful beatings.

Painful spankings.

It’s a complete nightmare. 

The power hierarchy in his house is highly asymmetrical and it never - ever - favors you. He does everything he can to show you your rightful place - by his feet. 

He’s awful.

All those disgusting comments about you being much better suited to take care of him instead of playing pretend at your previous job.

Complaining about the poor quality of the food you cook, considering that you are a woman - aren’t you supposed to know how to cook delicious food by instinct?

Forcing you to clean his house every single day, mopping and washing and scrubbing until every surface is squeaky shiny and there’s no evidence of dirty dust. 

Not a single day goes by without you being backhanded hard enough to see stars. Most times, there isn’t even a proper reason behind it. Maybe he just felt like letting out some stress or maybe he just wanted to remind you that you’re so utterly weak against him.  

And dare you to complain about it. Let out a pitiful squeak and you’ll see if the next slap won't knock some sense into you. 

Complaining about what though? He’s providing you with a good life. You have it good with him by your side. In return, all you have to do is take care of him, without stressing over work or money.

You just have to make him happy, that’s all. Piece of cake.

And the best way to keep him happy is by shutting your mouth and letting him fuck you in whatever way he wants to. That’s what your pussy is for, anyways. To be drilled down by his cock, showing you exactly what you’re here for. 

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

TW: Misogyny; Abusive; Kidnapping; mentions of Noncon.

A misogynist yandere is the worst. 

The perception he has of you as a female is entirely warped and twisted in such a disturbing way. His obsession is dangerous, drenched with pure hatred and insecurity. He wants you and at the same time, he hates your guts. 

You’re not that pretty. You’re not smart either. You’re not special. You’re not worth anything. 

And yet, somehow, you’ve managed to carve a special place for yourself in his mind, keeping him a hostage in his own mind. 

Instead of blabbering about equal rights and feminism, you should be making yourself useful by opening those pretty lips and sucking him off. Oh, the things he would do to you if he gets his hands on you….

And that’s how you find yourself in the sad position of a forced housewife. Every day is torture, being forced to endure such abuse - both mental and physical - simply because he wants to.

Heavy degradation.

Nasty insults.

Powerful beatings.

Painful spankings.

It’s a complete nightmare. 

The power hierarchy in his house is highly asymmetrical and it never - ever - favors you. He does everything he can to show you your rightful place - by his feet. 

He’s awful.

All those disgusting comments about you being much better suited to take care of him instead of playing pretend at your previous job.

Complaining about the poor quality of the food you cook, considering that you are a woman - aren’t you supposed to know how to cook delicious food by instinct?

Forcing you to clean his house every single day, mopping and washing and scrubbing until every surface is squeaky shiny and there’s no evidence of dirty dust. 

Not a single day goes by without you being backhanded hard enough to see stars. Most times, there isn’t even a proper reason behind it. Maybe he just felt like letting out some stress or maybe he just wanted to remind you that you’re so utterly weak against him.  

And dare you to complain about it. Let out a pitiful squeak and you’ll see if the next slap won't knock some sense into you. 

Complaining about what though? He’s providing you with a good life. You have it good with him by your side. In return, all you have to do is take care of him, without stressing over work or money.

You just have to make him happy, that’s all. Piece of cake.

And the best way to keep him happy is by shutting your mouth and letting him fuck you in whatever way he wants to. That’s what your pussy is for, anyways. To be drilled down by his cock, showing you exactly what you’re here for. 

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

(Dark!) BNHA: Toxic Relationship

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

Boys -> Hawks + Bakugo + Dabi + Deku

Reaction: Moments from your toxic relationship with your Pro-Hero boyfriend.

WARNINGS: Toxic Relationship; Abuse; Manipulation; Non-con.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

Let me know if you like this reaction format or what 🙂

–

Hawks

“Y/n is a real clutz, y’know. Can’t even walk on even ground without tripping over her own feet.”

Your cheeks flame with humiliation as the camera pans to the crowd that laughs heartily at the demeaning words, as if Keigo had dropped the funniest joke they’ve ever heard. 

“That’s adorable.” the woman laughs, “Maybe it has something to do with the fact that she has no quirk? I believe you said she is quirkless, right?”

Keigo chuckles, nodding as he crosses an ankle over his knee.

“She sure is. Can’t even imagine what type of quirk she’d have, she’s just not the type.”

Your hand grips the remote tighter. What does he mean by that? Does he think you’re not good enough to have a quirk?

You consider turning off the TV, but fortunately the interviewer changes the subject. They casually speak about the current stance of heroes and their struggles on fighting off criminals and villains.

Keigo is charming as usual, delivering answers that are a perfect portrait of responsibility with a sprinkle of humor. He’s good like that, even though his previous answers left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Somehow, they end up reaching the topic of hobbies and free time. 

“Going Pro Hero leaves little time for myself, so sadly I don’t really have much time for hobbies. Wish I had.” he says humbly. “My girlfriend has lots of them, though.”

You inhale sharply. Not again. 

For your misfortune, the woman gets interested.

Perhaps because it’s an exclusive interview and her network channel gave her orders to squeeze every drop of information they can get on Hawks’ personal life. 

“What type of hobbies? She looks like she’s a great cook.” she tries to guess, but Keigo bursts laughing, holding his belly in an exaggerated mannerism. 

“Nah, cooking isn’t really her department. Burned eggs and half-cooked pancakes are more her style. She doesn’t even-”

You change channels in a heartbeat, bursting in tears at the low insults.

You’re not that bad. Sure, you’re not amazing at cooking, but never once did Keigo complain when he eats the food you diligently make after he returns from patrols. 

And now he slanders you on national television? 

And the worst part? It’s not even the first time he’s done this. 

Dabi

“There’s nothing to eat in the fridge.” 

“There is.” 

“There isn’t.” 

You stop writing your notes, swallowing back an annoyed sigh, already aware of what was happening.

“There is food in the fridge.” you repeat, “You just have to cook it.”

Dabi looks at you, unimpressed. 

“No shit Sherlock. Maybe you can do it for me.” 

“You serious?” 

Meeting his arrogant smirk, you huff. 

“Dead serious, babe. Not like you’re busy anyways.”

Your mouth drops at his audacity and you open your arms to indicate the mess of books, papers and pens in front of you. 

“I’m studying, Dabi. Can’t you see that? Grow up and cook for yourself, yeah?” you snap your attention back to your books, but your mood has already turned sour. 

You pretend to scribble down a few words when Dabi walks to you slowly. He peeks into your annotations, snorting. 

“That handwriting is kinda shitty.” he mocks you. “Besides, what exactly are you even studying for? You’re not exactly cut out to be a doctor, y’know? Not enough brain cells in you to become that.” 

You glare at him, angrily swatting away the hand that condescendingly tries to pet your hair. 

“You’re such an asshole, Dabi. Maybe if your life revolved around something other than your stupid daddy’s issues, you would actually get a job. Not like Endeavour is worried sick about you, not when he’s got Shoto.” you spit the words venously.

Not the nicest words, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to bother. 

A dark shade crosses Dabi’s face, his amused expression turning colder. You’d be lying if the sight didn’t ignite some fear in you.

“Is that so?” his crooked smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “And why would I need a job - or Endeavour, by that matter - when I have you?”

His hand reaches for your shoulder and there’s an edge in his eyes that immobilizes you. You shouldn’t have mentioned Endeavour. 

“I’m not with you because of that bitchy attitude, you know. I like my girl to know who’s in charge. Respect is really important in a relationship and your behavior is making me really upset, baby.” his tone is scaringly soft, and his hand travels to your neck.

You hold your breath when the staples on his hand scratch against the delicate skin of your throat. “So, if you need me to remind you of your place, I’ll gladly help you with that.”

His fingers heat up at a low temperature, not enough to actually burn you but it doesn’t stop the lonely tear that slides from your eye, the only sign of the chilling terror you’re feeling.

He leans forward, kissing your forehead before sliding his hand away. 

“Are we understood?” 

The nod you give him is shaky at best, but Dabi smiles nonetheless. 

“Now, how about that food you’re gonna make me?”

Bakugo

“I have to wake up early tomorrow.”

Besides a low hum, Bakugo doesn’t acknowledge you much, too busy French kissing your neck.

His hands head for your ass, provoking a wince in you when he gropes it with unnecessary strength, your left ass cheek being kneaded like it’s dough.

Katsuki uses his grip on your ass to push your hips forward even as you complain again. The thin fabric of his sweatpants does nothing to hide the hardness that shamelessly rubs against your thigh. 

“Katsuki.” 

Once again he gives no sign of hearing you, rolling his hips with more urgency and you barely catch the tired groan that almost rolls away from you.

The clock on your side reminds you that despite the early hour, you’ll only have 6 hours to sleep. 

You really have to sleep and if you’re being honest, tonight you’re not feeling sexy or horny enough to sleep with your boyfriend. 

But that doesn’t make you feel any less awkward when Bakugo’s movements turn more vigorous and needy, humping your naked thigh as if he’s fucking it while you remain as alive as a statue. 

“Fuck, this isn’t enough.” he growls against your skin, and your heart skips a beat when his hands reach for your shorts, tugging them down halfway until you panickedly grab his wrist, wiggling your body away from his.

“Seriously, Kats, I’m not in the mood tonight.” you say, quickly pulling back your shorts. 

“You fuckin’ serious right now?” he growls through gritted teeth, still hovering above you. 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you timidly nod. 

“Maybe we can do this tomorrow? It’s just that-”

“Yeah, whatever. Not like you haven’t used that stupid excuse on me before.”  

Your eyebrows raise with surprise at the bitter tone on his voice as he gruffs, pushing himself off you. 

“I’m not making up excuses.”

“The hell you aren’t.” he looks at you, angry. “Every time I try to start something, you turn into a damn nun. Always too freakin’ tired,  too busy or not in the mood.”

He scowls, spiky blonde hair falling to his eyes. 

“All you have to do is open your goddamn legs and let me do the rest, and you can’t even do that.”

His words hit a sore spot and he turns his back on you, settling on the distant side of the bed after delivering strained punches to the pillow to soften it up.

“Maybe I go after those Dynamite's groupies that are always throwing themselves at me. Since you never want to fuck anymore.”

You’re left too stunned to speak, sadness blossoming at the cruel meaning of his words and it’s a struggle to swallow the tears. 

He wouldn’t really, would he? But your mind lingers on the disturbing thought. He’s popular with girls, even with his angry mood.

Bakugo is tall, muscular and not even the ever present scowl in his face is able to contradict the attractive facial features he’s been blessed with. Meanwhile you’re just mediocre, if even that...

Your insecurities strike back, taunting you. 

Your hand reaches for his arm before you even realize it, and you’re mildly surprised when he doesn’t shake you off. 

“The hell you want now?”

Pulling on his arm until he finally turns to the side, you kiss him. 

He groans against your lips, allowing your hand to rest on the warm plane of his chest and you let it slide lower until it touches his clothed member. 

Neither of you speak a word, but you feel Bakugo smirking against your lips while he practically shoves your shorts down. 

You allow yourself go limp underneath him, letting your boyfriend fuck you in the way he wants to. Holding back a tired sigh when the fluorescent numbers on the clock mock you. 

You really have to wake up early.

Deku

“Are you serious, Izuku?” 

The tall hero jumps, eyes widening almost comically when he realizes you’re standing on the bedroom’s doorway and not cleaning the kitchen, like he clearly assumed you to be. 

“I wasn’t- The phone-” he stammers with his words, plowing your phone onto the bed with a bit too much force.

Crossing your arms, you flash him a frustrated glare.

“You promised me you wouldn’t spy on my phone anymore, Izuku.” your stern tone has him frowning and Izuku practically sprints closer to you.

“I wasn’t spying! I was just- just checking the time.” his words aren’t convincing enough for you to actually believe in him. 

You squint your eyes at him, dodging his grabby hands with a nasty slap, despite the hurt expression on his face.

“Izuku.” 

“I wasn’t! C’mon, you gotta believe in me.” 

You don’t. 

“Even if I did go through your phone - which I didn’t - why would that be such a problem?” he complains, dragging his voice. “Do you have something to hide or what?”

You point a warning finger at him.

“Don’t you dare. This isn’t about me. You’re the one who went behind my back because you’re just too insecure to fully trust me.”

He shakes his head, emerald eyes turning feverish. 

“You’re being dramatic, of course I trust you.”

“You don’t, stop lying.”

“I do trust you!” his voice rises in volume.

“No, you don’t!” you scream, voice breaking before you crumble in tears. 

You’re exhausted. Of arguing, of dealing with Izuku, of everything. When did things turn so frustrating, so tiring? Why does he always have to ruin things for you?

Izuku curses under his breath before rushing to you, engulfing you in a comforting embrace as you cry on his chest. 

“You don’t. You never will and I know that.” he stays silent, not contradicting you this time. 

He lets you cry on his chest, his hand gently caressing your hair as he mutters apologies. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” Izuku hugs you harder, arms tightening around you. “I’ll do better, okay? I promise, I will.” 

And like a fool, you accept his promise - even if you know it’s meant to be broken.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

What’s Soldier Boy gonna do if I just kick the bucket like… die from an illness or something dupe related?

He's gonna crash out. Lose his mind. Ends up rage killing many people - especially those involved in your death (doctors, family, ...)