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katsukikitten · 11 months

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

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

Congratulations!

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

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

Family members of any relation to inmate

Previous crimes by inmate or inmate's affiliates.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sincerely,

Warden of Tartarus Maximum Prison Facility

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

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

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

Two with whom you were already exchanging letters with weekly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too late to take it back now.

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

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

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

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

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

That everything is kindling.

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

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

Dear Bakugou,

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

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

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

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

Much Love

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

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

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

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

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

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

Such bullshit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

God weak hearted fools were so fucking annoying.

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

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

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

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

Piece of shit,

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

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

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

Fuck off and die,

Bakugou Katsuki

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

This felt personal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm not the one behind bars, asshole.

Much Hate

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pathetic Slut

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

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

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

Die,

Bakugou Katsuki

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

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

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

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

FUCK

YOU

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time the letter addresses you in a new way.

Sweetheart,

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

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

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

Fuck off

Bakugou Katsuki

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pure fucking sin.

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

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

But the conniving blonde knew you were special.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh he'd make you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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katsukikitten · 1 year

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Handing Katsuki father's day cards that are for his own dad or yours and he needs to "read and sign it" but as he's reading it his brow starts to furrows.

"Sweetheart, ya got the wrong cards." He's reading it for the third time now.

"I got the right ones." You're trying not to giggle before he's rolling his eyes and reading the card aloud.

"You're not just an amazing father," he flips it open, "You're going to be an amazing grandfather too."

"Yea baby that's the right card." You hum, stepping into the kitchen to get the final card and present.

"Baby, it isn't. We don't have kids. Unless ya mean our cats but then they've been grandparents." He tosses the card down, rising to help you find the backups he's assuming you're looking for. This wasn't the first year you'd accidently gotten the wrong card or one that was just slightly off, he thinks nothing of the message.

Barely had any caffeine as the two of you rose early to get ready to host his parents and yours.

"Katsuki, it is the right card." You say, pressing another card into his hands, no envelope or anything. Just thick white card stock with black letters and an image of white new balance shoes.

"It's almost time for these bad boys." He scoffs, looking at what the world has deemed the official dad shoe, he looks up to see a box in your hands, "Sweetheart, what the fuck? I hate these ugly ass shoes. Ya know that."

He's got this smile to his face the one where he thinks you're being too playful and silly, every now and again you two get each other gag gifts. You're surprised he hadn't caught on yet especially since you always joked that the second you knew, you'd be getting him "those ugly ass dad shoes."

"I know." You both share a laugh, you pressing the shoe box into hands, "Just open it. They'll be fun to wear today, goes with the theme."

"What's the fuckin theme? Dads?" He opens the box and sees the shoes but something is taped to the top of the box. A grainy picture in black and white, a blob in the circle and when he lets his eyes focus as best they can without his glasses perched on his nose, he thinks he sees a very specific shape.

He rips it from the box, bringing the film closer and yes he can see a nose and his face morphs into complete surprise. You giggle as you watch him figure it out, which you swore you wouldn't be able to get this far without him figuring out why you'd been feeling so sick lately.

"No fuckin way." It's low and for a split second you think he isn't excited, then he locks eyes with you and he gives you that look. The one where he's smiling but his brows furrow up and his eyes aglow with unshed tears like you are his world, like you're giving him the world, and he's putting the shoes down to gently pick you up and twirl you around.

"A baby. We're having a fucking baby." He's pressing kisses to your cheeks when he sets you on your feet, if you thought you were spoiled before you'd be rotten by the time this pregnancy was done.

"A baby." You repeat back to him, your own excited tears clinging to your lashes, ones Katsuki gently kisses away.

"How long?"

"Three months. It was really hard to keep a secret but I really wanted to do that shoe thing I teased you about. I've got the receipt so we can return them I'll-"

"Nah I've got the perfect idea for 'em."

An hour later after a shared shower and rapid fire questions, Bakugou is coming down the stairs, he's got some ugly ass jean jorts you gifted him as a gag for his birthday two years ago before giving him his real gift and one of his dad's old white tees he tucked into the waist band of the shorts and of course his new white new balance shoes.

"You look ridiculous." You giggle in your sundress, somehow he made the outfit a little hot. You were sure Bakugou could make anything look hot and here was living proof.

"Better get used to it Sweetheart, this is how I'm gonna look when I put another one in ya." He puffs his chest out, smoothing his big palms over his shirt as you roll your eyes.

"I've made a monster." The door bell rings, when you go to rise, Katsuki gently presses you back into the couch by your shoulder as he gets the door for his parents. He opens the door with a sense of pride that comes with being the cocky pro hero, looking much larger than life.

His mother is unphased.

"Oi, I brought that stuff you- Why are you dressed like a fuckin dad from the 90s?" Mitsuki makes a face before she processes what he's wearing, "Oh my fucking GOD OH MY FUCKING GOD MASARU! WE'RE GONNA BE GRANDPARENTS. YER GONNA BE A GRANDPA! RIGHT RIGHT?"

She pushes past her son, a quick squeeze to his forearm before she's honing in on the daughter in law she already adored and now even more.

Masaru quirks his brow and Katsuki nods.

"I'm so happy for you son." He hugs Katsuki the way men do, a quick tight squeeze before a clap on the back, Masaru tries not to let the tears slip past his eyes as Katsuki's life plays on fast forward in Masaru's mind. He remembers how Mitsuki told him they were expecting, remembers holding him for the first time and thought his whole world view shattered and changed. Remembers his first words and steps. Remembers his first mishap with his quirk and how Katsuki had blown the coffee table sky high. He remembers him growing taller and taller, going to UA, figuring out how to be a better person as he grew in size. How Katsuki called him and his ma in the middle of the night the first time he hit the top ten rankings. And again when he was number one.

How he took his dad out to lunch, wiping his palms on his pants like he did when he was nervous to ask his dad how he asked Mitsuki to marry him. He smiles, tears slip past anyway as he stares at his broad shouldered son adding one final comment that makes Katsuki's throat close up in the best way.

"I can't wait to watch them grow up to be as great as their parents and more."

#katsuki fluff #bakugou fluff #kitten writes bakugou 🖤🐈‍⬛ 🖋️#father bakugou #fathers day bakugou 🖤🐈‍⬛#kitten soft hours #bakugou soft hours #just a silly thought

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katsukikitten · 8 months

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Landing on your back with a sickening crunch makes the rage in you burn brighter. Bringing your knees to your chest to slam your feet straight into his sternum.

With any luck you'll break it.

But you doubt it, he wasn't tied in the number one spot for no reason and he was no stranger to hand to hand despite his quirk.

Still he staggers backward enough for you to get to your feet, sharp black tipped claws poised to slash although you must be careful. His reach is larger than yours and you've had to break your wrist to get out of his grip before. Your previous encounter shines brightly in jagged ruby scabs on his forearms decorating his other more detrimental scars.

"Hah? What's wrong?" His lips turning up into a smirk as he lunges and you jump back again, "Scared I'll get ya?"

"Nah, just don't wanna fork over another fortune to get my shit fixed again." Throwing a kick that he ducks to dodge, grabbing onto your ankle to pin under his armpit, his other hand coming to clamp down just below your knees. Palm burning your skin through your dark skin tight suit, you can tell he's tempted to apply more pressure to snap your leg at an odd angle.

The papers were right, he'd be a much better villain.

"They make ya go to therapy? Ya know for your anger management? Bet ya get in trouble for hero brutality all the time." He hears this type of shit all the time in the media, the most it gets out of him now is an eye roll but when you say it it's like your claws are scraping at his bones. He bares his teeth and the time it takes him to think of a retort that you're able to twist your body with precision.

Letting your steel toed boot slam right into his handsome jaw. He doesn't stagger, it's annoying how much he can take but his grip loosens when you add.

"They have to, right? Otherwise the people wouldn't have let you tie with Deku huh?"

Freeing yourself expertly just out of his reach again as you dodge a swipe of his glowing hot palm.

"Ya fuckin talk too much."

"Ya didn't say that the last time you pinned me under you." You giggle and his throat burns red, swallows thickly as he lunges, wrapping you in his large arms. Pressing your chest against his b

"That was from a quirk. I ain't into you like that." He growls, nose to nose and all it does is make you smile.

"Oh?" A purr of your voice, leaning to whisper into his ear, haughty as you recall what he said to you that night, "So when you said 'fuuuuck sweetheart yer made for me' ya didn't mean it?"

It puts him into the moment instantly, him gripping onto your hips as he bounces you on his cock in doggy in the dingy alley behind a bar, you looking back at him with pretty tears in your eyes moaning out his name. His real name.

"Right, Katsuki." You can feel his heart rate increasing, feel his grip adjust in a different manner, "That's why you keep looking for me? Keep calling me?"

Leaning back as he lets up enough your arms are free, nails going to his undercut as you recalled he liked, scratching gently as you watch this hero melt in your touch.

"I thought you hated liars, baby."

"Stop." He bites, arms moving down to fall on your natural waist, one palm coming back up to squeeze your rib cage in warning.

"Stop what?"

"Stop using your quirk, yer slutty ass sex pollen shit." His eyes flicker to your lips, to the dark color he knows will smear against his mouth or the base of his cock like he's seen it before.

"That's the thing, Katsuki." You lean up lips inches from his and you'd be stupid to ignore the magnetism between the two of you, "I'm not using a quirk at all. You want me."

Suddenly your claws are sharp at his back, too sharp as you dig them deep using it as leverage to get fully out of his grip. Scaling the wall as another hero's foot steps can be heard barreling down the maze of alleyways you lead Dynamight down in a poor attempt to lose him.

"Find me again." Your giggle echoes around the space only to echo around his head until he catches a glimpse of a dark body suit slinking around in the shadows again.

#katsuki x reader #Bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #kitten writes 🖤🐈‍⬛#kitten writes Bakugou

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katsukikitten · 1 year

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Thinking about Katsuki showing up on your balcony late at night, knuckles knocking at the glass door beside your bed waking you up with a surge of adrenaline.

He's tired from his hero work and he hasn't had a chance to see you in weeks, not that he was obligated, the two of you using each other for weeks.

The real shock comes to you as you see pro hero Dynamight glaring at you from the cold, welcoming him into your apartment and realizing quickly that you've been fuck buddies with a pro and this is how you've found out.

He doesn't speak, he's tired, utterly exhausted and for some reason his tired body brought him here. Normally, when he'd show up at the front door of your apartment, he was on you in a second, making your knees weak with teeth gnashing kisses.

Tonight he looks dead on his feet.

"You okay?" Your voice is feather soft at 3am and when he doesn't answer you decide silence is best for now. Grabbing onto his large fingers only made larger by his gloves. Guiding him to your bathroom where you crank the shower and turn the light on low.

Here you can see the blood, dust, and grime that sticks to his hero uniform, one of the long sleeves ripped or burned away. Hopefully from his own quirk.

Gingerly you start with his gloves. Pulling at the Velcro at his wrists, shimming them off slowly as if he were a startled animal. He just looks down at you with this look in his eyes you can place, you just know it makes your stomach churn with far too many emotions.

Next you grab onto his heavy gauntlets, careful to set them down easily when you hear them slosh with sweat that he'd later deem too old and dangerous to keep but for now he lets your hands work. Manicured fingers undoing his grenade belt, placing them on top of his bracers, then the piece at his shoulders, before bending over to grab his steel knee pads.

Hooking your finger into he tongue of his steel toe combat boots, undoing the knot and loosing the strings while gently guiding his weight to one foot and then the other to remove them. Then again, pulling off his socks with ease placing them in your dirty hamper even if they'd make the whole thing smell like caramel and musk.

Pushing the hem of his shirt up, revealing the hard plans of his body. The one he earned through hard work and resolve. Discipline that he executed in every aspect of his life except with you.

He helps you by raising his arms until that too ends up in the basket in your linen closet. As if you'd do the laundry for his hero uniform.

Like he belonged here. Solidifying the fleeting thought when you pull his pants and boxers down, tossing them in before shutting the closet door.

When you go to leave he grabs onto the crook of your arm, still looking down at you from the corner of his eye with that sad, angry and almost numb look, like his eyes were dying embers.

"You'll stay." Only Bakugou has the ability to pose what is normally a question into a statement, a command and yet he doesn't sound demanding tonight.

So you stay, turning back around and when you realize he isn't getting under the burning hot stream of water, you begin to strip from your underwear and one of his old t shirts you managed to steal.

Grabbing onto his fingers, stepping into the shower and when the steam hits his back he audibly groans, similar to the sound he makes when he sinks into you.

After a few long moments you let your hand grab at the nape of his neck, pulling him to you as you later your heavily scented shampoo in your hands. He tries not to let his cock jump at the domesticity, at the idea that he'll smell like you for hours after.

Let's your nails rake at his scalp and lather his hair before you force him to rinse, repeating again when you decide he's dirty enough for a second wash through.

Lathering the conditioner with care and making him step just out of the stream as you grab your body wash. Another sigh leaves him as he watches you. He knows from your perspective all Bakugou can see you as is a sex object, a cock sleeve, but from the second he first slipped into your heat it was anything but.

It's why he kept coming back.

You drew the line in the sand after the second time, "fuck buddies don't catch feelings right?" "Right." He had confirmed gruffly, like he didn't already think he was falling for you. He knows it seems he always left right away but eventually, over the past few months, he left some things. That shirt you peel off your pretty skin not too long again for starters. He'd cook you meals for the week with the excuse that it was so you'd stay healthy enough to take his cock.

But really he was tired of seeing the evidence of take out or quick meals in your trash can and the bags under your eyes. Since he's been leaving the prepped containers for you, your health has seemed to improve.

It stings when you go over his shoulder, a small gash he didn't know he had and you care for it gently.

"It's deep." Concern in your tone as you talk to yourself, "It shouldn't need stitches...."

Your brows are furrowed up, biting your pouty bottom lip between your teeth as you think. But all he can think about is you, you, you.

And how you make him feel and how the last thing you said to him, although you truly do not remember, is I love you while his hand was around your throat.

The three words claw up his, raw and biting tired of being shoved down deep into his belly where butterflies die the second they're born.

"I love you." It slips past his tired tongue, his body weak from the sight of you combined with his 48 hour on call shift.

You look up at him, shocked, tears pricking your eyes in disbelief as you blink furiously, "What?"

A bit of his roughness returns to his stiff limbs, fingers grabbing at your jaw like he does when he doesn't approve of your response when you fuck.

"I said," He's growling, brushing his nose gently with yours, "I love you."

He doesn't give you room to reply or reject him, his lips finding yours, pressing hard enough your teeth gnash against his. Tongue claiming his stake on what's his making you sigh into his lips as the realization hits you.

Maybe, just maybe, he's always loved you.

#kitten writes 🖤🐈‍⬛🖋️#bakugou fluff #katsuki fluff

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katsukikitten · 1 year

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"M-More." You plead as Bakugou fucks into you with harsh slow ruts.

He roughly covers your mouth with his hot palm, stilling his hips as he comes closer to your face. Glaring at you, taking in your fucked out expression, the sweat making your hair stick to your skin and the pearly tears clinging to long lashes. It's insane how he doesn't even look fazed, as if your tight cunt squeezing and pulling him back in with each rut feels no better than his fist. It makes your eyes flutter with embarrassment and shame.

"Cock sleeves don't talk." He growls and when you don't respond he lets his fingers harshly tap against your cheek, "Oi, nod if you understand."

You give a frantic nod, his hand still covering your mouth before he moves his hips. Letting his swollen cock head hit against the pulsing spongy spot in your dripping pussy.

Silently arching your back as you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from moaning.

But it's like a game to him and he ruts over it slower and harsher until you're hot to the touch, your eyes rolled back from how good he edges you and tears you. Waiting to capture the smallest moan with his hand before he speeds up his pace.

Pounding into you until the humidity of your panting collects on his palm, still echoing around the room before he moves his burning palm to your throat.

"Can't make a sound if ya can't fuckin breathe, yea?" He gives a cruel barking laugh before he squeezes just enough that your once loud moans can only be rasped breaths.

Secretly he loves the sounds you make but that's the problem. It's hard enough for him to fuck you were he can see your pretty face contorting in pleasure that his cock brings out but the sounds. God the sounds is what makes his heart beat faster, what makes his composure slip each time you try to keep your eyes on his while you cum, begging him for more like he wasn't already fucking you brain dead.

He watches himself disappear into you, watches the creamy ring at the base of his cock grow thicker and his sac wetter from your arousal. The resounding slap echoing in your apartment competing with the snap of the head board as he comes closer to you as your back arches and a silent scream rips up your throat. Convulsing around his thick length as he fucks you through yet another orgasm.

"That's it, cream my cock, let's see this slutty pussy try to milk me." He says as pulls out only for your cunt to suction him back in, leaking around him and down to your ass. He wants to pound into you untill all you can do is take it before pulling out and fisting his cock so he blows his fat load all over your pretty stomach and tits. If he's lucky he'll cum hard enough it'll hit your chin and lips again.

But tonight is different as he applies more pressure to your throat, watching you fade in and out as your claws bite into his forearms, shaking for him as if he brought you so much pleasure your body simply couldn't process it. He has to see more, needs to see more despite the coil in his stomach tightening in time with his sac.

He should pull out but when he glances up at your face, hoping to see your tongue lulling out of your mouth with a string of drool he watches your lips form something instead while your eyes roll into your head.

I love you.

And Bakugou Katsuki cums, hard. Grunting and growling as his cock spills his hot seed into your pretty pussy. Still rocking his hips as he lets up on your throat to hear your hoarse sounds, obvious now that you don't even know what you were saying when you can barely form his name as he overstimulates himself. Groaning as his sensitive tip slides through your velvet warmth until he can't take it anymore.

Collapsing on top of you like he's never done before. You two were just fuck buddies, you remind yourself that when he presses his face into your throat, gently kissing at your pulse point.

"Was I a good cock sleeve?" Barely a whisper as you struggle to catch your breath. He bites in answer, scraping his teeth along your throat as he sucks, pulling the skin from your body until he lets it go. Grabbing your chin so roughly forcing you to look at him as if you could look anyway but the man right above you, his necklace swinging in your face.

"The best."

#kitten writes bakugou 🖤🐈‍⬛ 🖋️#bakugou smut #katsuki smut

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katsukikitten · 2 years

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Synopsis: A pretty girl like you had lead a life so boring that at 25 you're feeling far too restless. Letting your friends decide what exactly you should do to shake up the monotony in your life, one of them suggests a piercing. Not just an piercing, a tongue piercing. Nervously researching for months until you find the perfect tattoo parlor co owned by Sero Hanta and Bakugou Katsuki. Will this piecing finally bring color back to your gray life or will it make you hate the color red?

Warnings : piercings bb, so needles etc.

AN : this was an idea born in DMS that went straight off the dome in drafts posted HERE and I added another part and though fuck it make it a fic. wc3512

To say you weren't nervous would be a bold face fucking lie. Almost shaking as you sit on a table in a back room of Spit Ink while the hottest, and meanest, looking piercer gathers together the tools needed for your piercing.

Your tongue piercing.

The one that's supposed to help shake up your boring drab as fuck life.

Nails biting into the cushy and clean pleather seat as the male five years your senior looms over you.

You have to have your tongue lolled out for him to work so he can hold it in place with a tool but as he's about to grab the wet muscle he notices the way it quivers and shakes and for the first fucking time he's having a nasty thought about a client, about his cum hitting your tongue and mixing with your spit that starts to pool onto the sanitary paper bib he put on to catch the blood and drool.

"Bakugou?" His assistant calls him, pulling him out of his stupor. With a growl he grabs onto your shaking tongue and tries to swallow desire whole from the pretty groan you make.

Instead he chokes on it

It doesn't help how your tongue swirls around his cherry flavored gloves as he checks his work, making sure the piercing is in there correctly and that the bar is long enough for the inevitable swelling. Digits still in your mouth as he starts his lecture that most people ignore but your eyes were trained on him.

Hanging on every word

"It's gonna hurt and it's gonna fuckin swell for the next five days. Don't call us crying about it and if your think it's infected go to the fuckin doctor. Drink cold liquids, rinse with saline or salt water or alcohol free wash after every fucking meal. That means, snacks too dipshit, until it's healed. No licking random shit, no kissing and " he removes his fingers and grabs your chin, something he definitely doesn't normally do, keeping your gaze with his own intense crimson, "No oral."

"Got it?" He lets go and you nod quickly. Eagerly as he can feel your need for praise and approval seep off of you. With his assistant out of the room now he gives a wolfish grin.

"Good girl." He watches your thighs rub together and his cock twitches from pegging you right. He gives his back to you for now to wash his hands like the sis before.

"Um, do-" you clear your throat, "Do you do nipple piercings too?"

That wolfish grin curls up on his face again as he looks you over his shoulder and blatantly stares at your chest.

"I do everything."

You don't let too much time pass before you find yourself in the presence of Bakugou again. His large tattooed hands slipping into those cherry flavored gloves and it makes you salivate. It’s just him today, no red headed assistant as he gathers his things together, he glances over his shoulder and gives a vicious smirk.

“Yer tits still aren’t out?” The question makes you choke, it was stupid to be shy about taking them out when he would obviously have to see them to send the needle through and then thread in the bar.

Still your fingers shake as you grab onto the top of your dress. Easing it down the mound of your breasts and the weight of them being pressed by the ruched fabric closer to your chest makes them bounce.

Bakugou bites the inside of his lip with his modded canine. It digs too deep into the soft flesh and he laps at the sudden copper taste. Your tits were perfect, everything about them sent him into frenzied thoughts. Of them in his hands, of how soft they’d feel in his large palm, pinching at your nipples to make them hard.

But he didn’t have to, the peaks were already stiffening due to the cold air of the private piercing room. He travels up your tits to see you worrying your lip between your teeth, eyes downcast and he swallows thickly. Your meek expression has his cock twitching in his pants and all he can think about is all of the ways he’s going to ruin you.

Ruin the feel of anyone’s hands on your tits but his own. Anytime someone pawed at your body you’d feel the ghost of his hot palms, pressing and prodding as he molded you as he liked.

Fuck he should not be thinking that right now. He was a professional and he saw pretty tits almost three times a day with no issues before. So why would you, with the perfect sized areola that he could pull into his mouth while his sharp teeth gently scraped at your sensitive bud.

Fuuuuck

He stays quiet now trying to keep a serious expression when really he wants to just look at you. Drink you in and find all of your sensitive spots, he’s about to make your nipples extra sensitive in about five minutes. He wonders if you’ll cum from the pain others have before. Suddenly his ripped skinny jeans grow too tight in the crotch.

He sits on his rolling stool and comes closer to you. Your pretty tits in his face while you sit elevated from him. Corrosive bromine eyes eat at your skin causing a few nervous tremors to rack through your body.

“Ya nervous?” You look up at him and he’s wearing that smile. The one that makes him look like a wolf and you a lamb. Sharp canines are more noticeable while he’s below you like that poking gently into his lip just outside his snake bites. He watches your adam’s apple bob as you gulp audibly.

“A-a little.” You admit and you curl into yourself. As if you could hide away from his perceptive gaze.

“Don’t worry.” He purrs, gently lifting your tits and pushing them together, “I’m the fuckin best.”

He lets them spread to the top of your breast before slowly coming down to your nipples, thumb still hooked under the weight of your pretty tits. You jolt, arching your back and then bucking your hips when he does it again. Letting his fingers graze your nipples with more pressure than before.

“Sensitive.” He purrs and does the action again then again.

It's shameful how your underwear dampens more and more with each passing motion. A harsh squeeze at the fat of your tits before the pressure slowly lets up as he gets to your nipple pinching lightly. Rolling it between his thumb and forefingers. A gasp escapes your plush lips and the sound makes his cock ache. The more he plays with your tits, so slowly and with strong fingers gripping at you, the more your underwear starts to stick to your body.

The more you want to rut your hips and when you try to adjust how you’re sitting your dress rides up, giving him a peek between your thick thighs. Just seeing the damp spot that's growing on your pink underwear.

“So ya like black and pink?”

“Wha-what?”

“Yer underwear, Princess.” He looks down at them again and then back up to hold your doe wide eyes, “Yer showin ‘em off for me.”

“I-I, I’m not meaning to I-”

“I- I-. “ He mocks, “Sure yer not Princess.”

The nickname he’s given you makes you melt, makes you want to act stupid and get it written in his scrawl across your collar bone. Leave it to you to fall in love with the first guy who plays with your tits.

He looks down at the black bars and pink balls he’s got set out for the piercing and pulls his lip into his teeth, debating on if he should throw in a nipple charm for free. It’d look cute as hell and even better if it was in his signature color of red. Deadly smirk grows on his face as he adds the laced red charm that matches the color of his eyes. Hands making quick work of taking the hollow needle and placing the barbell that will be left behind inside your pretty nipple. When he looks up he sees your face drain of color, more than nervous now. You looked ill, like you were about to be sick.

Normally he’d just pierce them while they looked like that, not giving a shit how scared they were, the pain would pull them out of their head but he sets the needle down in the sterile bowl. His hands gripping at your hips and sliding them closer to the edge of the seat. The friction pulls you back into the moment.

“I’ll make it feel good, Princess.” He slides your hips against the seat again. Rolling them roughly as he watches you bite your lip as he sets a quick pace. Your mouth opens in a silent moan as he smirks up at you. He likes the way you squirm, how you place your hands over his but you don’t push away. Even moving along to his movements until your hips start to stutter. You look at him through your long lashes as embarrassed tears threaten to spill.

“So pretty like that.” He purrs, “So fuckin pretty and makin such a mess on my table.”

His eyes flicker between your legs and you see your arousal wetting the paper causing you to mewl loudly. You were so close, thighs spasming as he guided you over the edge. Throwing your head back in pleasure, mouth falling open in a breathy moan and pushing harder at his wrists as he tries to pull another one from you.

“Ya got one more in ya, Princess. I know ya do.” He growls, bruising grip as he presses you harder into the table, “This time lemme see your pretty face.”

Your tits are bouncing from the force he guides you and Bakugou stares at them with pure lust. You keep your eyes glued on him, the coil in your stomach already tightening as he watches the mind numbing pleasure start to rot that gorgeous head of yours.

“Cum.” This time you moan loudly as your body shakes, drooling cunt clenching around nothing desperately as you whimper from the slight overstimulation, “Good girl.”

His praise makes you dizzy as you pull in harsh breaths, shaking from post bliss. He goes to grab the needle with his free hand while the other still holds tightly to your plush hip. Quickly you grab the wrist attached to you. Your skin is clammy on his, tattoos swirling under your palm as you give him a doe eyed look. Was the nervousness back already? He gives a small smile, bringing both hands to squeeze your thick thighs, fingers making divots in your soft skin.

"M right here. It'll feel good. I promise Princess. Don'tchya trust me?"

"Y-yea." A slow nod as you release your knuckle white grip on him. He grinds your hips one more time to watch you squirm and mewl from the overstimulation and to make sure you were still sitting pretty. He keeps his eyes on you for a long moment before going back to your nipple. Passing the needle through the sensitive bud, the pain is so great, so pleasurable it makes you cum. Hard. Grilling at his shoulders and grinding your hips with a loud whine of his name.

"Bakugou." Fuck, you were not making this easy for him. Pretty tits bouncing in his face and suddenly he's imagining what you'll look like sinking down on his cock again. He swallows quickly. Placing on the red laced charm before screwing on the pink balls onto the black bar.

"Takin it so fuckin good." He purrs, leaning over to lay a soft kiss at the fat of your breast. Still a professional in his haze despite having a carnal desire to suck your soft skin and the pretty new metal into his mouth. To lazily lap at with his tongue until you cum loudly for him.

The next one is even more pleasurable, seeing stars as your hips stutter, sharp manicured nails biting into his tattooed shoulders as you whimper. Tears gently falling down your cheeks from how deliciously painful it is.

"Did so well Princess." Bakugou praises and it does nothing to quell your thirst, the throbbing in your nipples is nothing compared to the throbbing in your cunt. Desperately needing to be filled as you think about if he has any piercings of his own.

More than the nipple piercing that peeks out from under his oversized and stretched out muscle t with some heavy rock band on the front. Dermal piercings on his collar bones as well that make you wanna bite the red jewels. The same one that hangs from the charms on your own piercing. He notices you practically eye fucking him and grind.

"I did 'em all myself." Looking you directly in the eye as he palms his fat cock, "Even this one."

When you whimper out loud he laughs, delighting in your needy state. Leaning over to kiss well above your new piercing, this time sucking the skin into his mouth to leave a small mark. You try to keep him there, sharp nails scratching in his pretty ash blonde hair, grazing the undercut as you sigh. He leaves a few more well placed bruises, marking you as his now with both the charms and these little blossoms of color all over your pretty tits. Tracing them with the cool metal ball on his own tongue piercing.

After a few moments he pulls away, scooting back to get a better view of you. He looks over his work but needs just one more thing before he places the bandages over them.

"Stick out your tongue Sweetheart. Lemme see." Slowly you let your tongue hang out. The cherry red barbell ball you picked out is still bright. Your tongue healing beautifully and he really does wish he could use that pouty mouth to ease the ache of his weeping cock.

"Fuck." He growls out, palming himself, "Fuck lemme…"

He trails off, snapping off those bright red gloves and pulling out his phone. He waits until drool is dripping from the point of your wet muscle before he snaps a few pictures. Zooming in to get just your bruised tits and tongue in the picture.

"Perfect." He growls, "So pretty and perfect."

He places another chaste kiss at the tops of your breasts after he places on each bandaid, soothing your whimpers before he pulls up the top of your dress. He stands from his stool below you, offering you his big palm to steady yourself as you step off of the table. You patiently wait for him to give you care instructions as he did last time but instead he rattles off a long number before he makes his way to guide you to the receptionist desk passing you the purse you set down by the door.

"Better hurry up and save that in yer phone." Frantically you dig around your purse for your phone, praying to the gods you remember. Shit did he say five after the four or was it seven. He watches you panic with delight and grabs onto your waist. Squeezing tightly as his gruff voice sends a shiver down your spine.

"It'd be a shame if ya don't save it, then you'd just have to come back and see me."

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #piercer bakugou #bakugou smut #kitten writes 🖤🐈‍⬛🖋️#kitten writes bakugou

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katsukikitten · 1 year

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A zombie apocalypse au for @medusashima collab! Find the collab master list HERE! Be sure to give the others a read too!

Warning: graphic, violent, and sexual content intended for adults 18 or older.

Synopsis: Shelter isn't hard to come by in the End but good, untouched, shelter is. When you find paradise in the middle of a dead field in the shape of a 900 square foot home you start to break a few of your important rules. Always keep moving and don't help anyone. Especially if that anyone is a hot headed blonde bounty hunter sent to settle score you'd rather forget.

Peachy Keen Master List

Chapter One - Never overstay your welcome, keep moving

Winter

It scares you at first, the mummified body facing the door in the cramped living room of the home you found tucked away in a field of corn long past it's harvest.

Petrified you, like the farmers that sat facing one another. In wooden rocking chairs, gnarled fingers slack around the handles. Coming closer to inspect and seeing no signs of teeth marks or infection. Letting loose the held breath you kept as deft eyes looked over every liver spot and wrinkle in the leathery skin. No fluid on the hardwood floors beneath their rocking chair or in the blankets around their shoulders.

And by some miracle, the cold, the house didn't smell like rot.

You figure they must have died earlier this winter, it lasted damn near since October as the Earth naturally cooled in the fall of the human race.

With critical climate change hitting irreversible levels and long lasting damaging effects in just a few short decades, Mother Nature took matters into her own hands. Doing what she does best.

She evolves, she changes and grows, makes a deadly cocktail of pathogens and fungi that rids her realm of blight.

Humans.

You were just surprised a nuclear war didn't wipe humanity off the map first.

You hadn't meant to live this long, six whole years in the apocalypse, honestly you were one of the many who'd rather take their own lives. Least then you had a say in how and when you went.

But the body has a funny way of forcing you to survive. To dissociate in some feeble attempt to keep the body going for an organ that tortured itself daily with endless, grueling tasks and for what?

So you could experience your first kill? Watch your friends and family die when the Feds bombed cities instead of trying to quarantine sections? Of you walking until your feet bled, fleeing the city just to live in the outskirts to hear the screaming and wails as the undead met the living? Tied to a tree limb with your worn belt to sleep or maybe it was so you could loot the dead man for his tent but not without putting a bullet between his eyes as a parting gift first.

No longer does Grim accept the coins laid upon the eyes of the dead. Now payment for a safe travel down the river Styx is paid with the bullet lodged into the third eye of the deceased.

A tradition sure to be passed down to the generations to come.

Despite the rage you've aimed at yourself for still living, the home was a welcoming sight. The old farm house made of gray cinder block, stout in the field of the tall stalks that you yearned to see each sweltering summer when you were stuck in the city before the world went to shit.

Now the sight of the dried crop makes the nostalgia coat your tongue thickly, like the bitterant of a large pill.

You think you choke when you swallow.

Still even with the two harmless corpses it was an amazing find. The shingles of the roof are all in tack and the old wood stove holds the reminiscence of a charred log and ashes.

Logs lining either side that would last through the winter and then more still kept under an open awning out back. Plenty of birch wood to burn white smoke making you sigh in relief.

First things first and with the few hours of sun you had left you needed to get to work burying the couple. Half debating over taking their rings that were about to fall off before thinking better of it.

Grabbing the shovel from the makeshift shed and going to the edge of the corn field out back. Only you were stubborn, stupid enough to fight the frozen ground as you shoved the sharp spade into the Earth. Moving it to your will as sweat collects on the inside of your thermal undershirt making it stick to your back and the nape of your neck uncomfortably.

Your calloused hands protect you from the biting wood as you spend the better part of your day light going six feet down. Using the height of the shovel as a measuring stick.

I wonder if their kids and grandkids will visit. I'll have to make a good marker so they won't miss it.

And then it hits you. The realization of what you're thinking. Fat droplets blurring your vision as you chide yourself over wasting quickly dwindling time.

You hadn't even cried when you watched your friends being torn apart from the force of the bomb but here you were crying over two strangers and their imaginary family.

Except they weren't imaginary were they? They were hung neatly throughout the home.

Ya know the multi generational home that you planned to squat in. The one with the warped photos in warm senpia of when the family first arrived and built the modest country home to the vibrant color photo of the grandparents smiling ear to ear as their kids and their kids' kids stood on the still sturdy porch with corn cobs in their small hands.

Another sob racks through your body forcing you to take a break from carving out your last foot hold so you could climb out of the grave you'd just dug.

Should you start digging your own now too?

Since no one else was going to be around to do it.

Once you're back in the house you try to think of the logistics of bringing the pair out. You start with the wife, taking her delicately preserved body with the blanket around her shoulders.

"’Xcuse me." You murmur to her as you lift her up, surprisingly light compared to the other corpses you've carried or moved. Careful to avoid banging her up against the door jamb accidentally before you make it out the few yards to the edge of their little property.

Easing her down into the hole using the long and strong quilt that she must have made until you could slip it from beneath her to bring the fabric back up.

"Sorry." Another involuntary pleasantry as you scoop the husband and his quilt up. Repeating the same action until he rested beside her as much as he could be. Dropping the first and second quilt over them as if tucking them in. You just hoped they wanted their holy matrimony to be reflected in the after life as well.

Rooting around in your pocket for the few spare ammo you've got left.

"For the toll." You murmur dropping a bullet each before tackling the grueling task of shoveling dirt back into the hole you half killed yourself to dig. Returning to the house only to place their wooden rocking chairs at the foot of their grave before heading inside for the night.

Telling yourself not to look for their names, refusing to and that the wooden rocking chairs would have been enough.

But it gnaws at you as you move around their furniture to better suit you, as the old wood stove fills the home with a warmth, with a luxury, you've long since forgotten.

Knowing full well she would have been the type of woman to have a farmer's log.

A handwritten one or a more accurate family log written in the old bible that sat on her night stand.

You left it alone, thankful they hadn't died in their queen sized bed as you moved it into the living room frame and all.

The moon shining bright over head, peering in through the kitchen window over the sink as if to check on you. To see if you were still awake.

And of course you were, when was the last time you've ever had a restful sleep?

Your mind back to the "holy book" specifically the one with the worn leather and cracked spine. Even to the end the wife was a woman of faith, a bible open on the coffee table that you quickly used for kindling.

Because what has God ever done for you?

He sure as fuck wasn't as merciless as he claimed to be.

Although he'd given her and her husband an easy enough death hadn't he?

You were sure the rest of her family didn't meet the same gentle fate.

In the end there was only one true God and that was Death.

Ever waiting and watching, coming to steal you away before you could even blink with nothing to show you ever existed at all save for your own headstone, least til that crumbled away.

You jolt out of bed, rushing towards the book as if it whispered your name all this time and now it was shouting.

Screaming, demanding your undivided attention until you flip open the front cover. Old cursive greets you as the pages sigh, rolling over birth and death dates until you're forced to flip to the back, finding the first two names without death dates but plausible birth dates that would line up to their age and the End. Slamming the generations old book as you rise.

Finding yourself outside, bare foot. Knife in your hand and your breaths coming out in ragged puffs.

Scrapping along the tops of the wooden rocking chairs like a woman possessed, carefully carving the letters into the headrest of the rocking chairs.

Stepping back in a fever to admire your work, feet numb from the biting cold ground before you turn on your heel.

They echo back to you as if you'd carved each curving letter into your psyche instead of the smooth stained grain. Unsure if the haunting was that of thanks or scorn and you were sure a poltergeist was the least of your concern.

Even as you drift the names burn your retinas as if to remind you whose home you spent the night in.

ASTRID EMROY

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning you find yourself trapped in the house by deep snow so you poke around the home. Rearranging some things here and there but not to disturb the personal belongings just yet.

Even though you know you won't stay long, never breaking one of your many rules that lead you to survive this long. But why not disturbing their belongs matters to you, you aren't sure.

Maybe it's the way that this home is untouched. Truly loved and lived in, while the other houses you've squatted in were long since looted. Ransacked and trashed, taken back by the unforgiving weather and those desperate enough to defile what was once someone's home.

For others, their Hell within four walls and maybe the big End meant nothing to them anyway. Besides, it wasn't like you weren't one of the many who rooted through homes and hissed when you found nothing of use, just fading photographs and old DVDs and CDs. Shit that didn't matter now.

Right now you were mostly looking for a good pen with a plan to roughly guess the year so you could add the rough date beside their names and put their bible up somewhere. As if compelled to end their chapter properly so that they may live on despite, their bloodline most likely having died long before them.

The couple really didn't have much and you were sure if you tried you could dedicate one small wall and bookshelf to their personal belongings to honor them. The thought makes you suck your teeth, so easily you cling to sentimental bullshit, out of spite now their things would be lucky to be stored away in a box.

On the dusty coffee table are two sets of coasters, tops well worn from sweating drinks, a black leather book and a copy of The Great Gatsby with a broken spine.

The book peaks your interest, hadn't read it since highschool and even then that felt like a foreign memory. Of harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed loud enough you were sure you'd go deaf to them after having lived in silence for so long. Tossing the tattered paperback onto the old wood top before your fingers grab for the worn leather spine, flipping the pages to see dozens and dozens of entries.

You settle into the old couch, the fire in the wood stove keeping the place warm as the sun lazily bleeds in through the windows to provide you with just enough light to read as you flip it open you're met with a threat.

If ya settle here ya better watch over our goddamn farm.

The cover page makes you snort, flipping the thick page to consume what you could, hoping there would be some hints on where they stashed their canned goods and supplies. Even if it didn't provide you with anything, at least it helped past the time.

Jan 31 20XX Six years after the "Rapture"

It's ain't all fucking peachy keen as I'm sure ya can see and I'm comin to realize that I ain't built to live forever.

And if I was, I couldn't imagine a worse hell than this.

If ya settled here in our little house I've got some rules.

No drinks on my damn coffee table without a coaster. I got plenty of 'em. The ones from my birthday (they got cats on em but the paint'll be rubbed off by now I'm sure) or the ones Emroy made outta small trees. Hell use a book if ya gotta.

Two, you best sweep this home. I don't care where ya came from or who ya came from, what god you do or don't worship but there is one thing for certain, house as old as this has a spirit and ya best keep it happy. Open the front and back door (good cross breeze in the sweltering summer) and you sweep my damn house.

Or I just might be the spirit that haunts ya.

Reckon that's it. So I'll quit my belly achin and step down from my soapbox to learn ya a thing or two.

Now if you're a country folk and from 'round these parts y'all'll know two things. When snows a coming, or rain, y'all can smell it real easy in the air. Can't tell ya the smell but if you know ya know. And the second being it always snows heavier in the next coming weeks before spring than it will in the dead of winter.

Now if you're from the city or just can't smell like ya used to, Bets the cow will be able to tell ya. She won't come out, simple as that and by the next day snow'll be up to your knees and Bets will look at you like she told you so.

Hopefully she'll live that long, seems this disease ain't affecting the animals like it is us folks. Reckon we didn't pray hard enough or some preachy shit Gran would've said. Now if the cow ain't there to tell ya, the farm log will. Use yer head, you'll see the pattern even with the blasted greed fueled heat spikes. It's best to prepare for the worst. We've enough canned rations to last us a lifetime in the cellar but Emory and I are old as dirt, it won't last forever but as long as these hands can can, they'll can what he grows.

Emory, my husband, says hello. Wants me to tell the "stranger" that's you I reckon, that the Great Gatsby is worth the read and that if ya find yourself with nothing to do, which ya will eventually, you should read it.

Go on now, get back to surviving and be sure to dust my damn picture frames too.

Yours truly,

Astrid & Emory.

Pushy. You think to yourself but relish in the fact that old folks like to ramble, even in written form. Quick to explore the home to find the cellar doors in the fading short lived light of winter before realizing the age of the home.

Shit, it's probably buried under a whole foot and a half of snow, you could exhume it now but you and twilight always seemed to have bad luck.

It's when you've been raided most and almost bitten more times than you can count and after finding this place you don't wish to push your luck. Even if the undead were few and far between in bumfuck nowhere.

Flipping open the cabinets in the kitchen you find a few manufactured canned meats. Fingers smoothing out the old label for any sign of denting or damage that could lead to botulism. Finding none makes you pop open the can to sit atop the old black wood stove, glass casting the room in a soft orange that rivals the sunset. It makes you pull the blinds closed in caution, not wanting any light to attract unwanted guests and when the wind howls you wrap tighter in one of the many blankets lying around.

Three days pass and there is only so many times you can study the farm logs and widdle wood into pitiful shapes with your dull knife before you drive yourself mad. Still avoiding the books for now in some sort of spite or rebellion to God knows who before you're outside and bundled up. Shovel in hand as you scrape the metal spade all along the foundation of the house until you hear a satisfying tink.

Your luck would be to start in the wrong direction and have to walk all the way back around the house just for the damn thing to be on the left side of the back porch instead of the right. Shoveling away the icy snow before coming across the wooden cellar doors. You wonder if you'll have to replace them soon but your curiosity of the future dies when you spy a combination padlock. Sucking your teeth pull a bobby pin from your hair, straightening it out and wiggling it between the rusting dials, scraping it around before feeling the soft give of the locking mechanism. You jab roughly and the lock pops open making you smile as if you hadn't picked anything ten times as hard.

Taking the steps into the deep cellar where the air was cool yes but warmer than outside. As if it were deep enough in the Earth to stay a balmy fifty degrees even in summer heat. Flash light paints the darkness in harsh white when you spy a candle and a box of matches into an enclave built right into the old cobblestone.

Once the fire flickers to life you switch your flashlight off, pocketing it as the candle washes the old glass jars and few metal cans aglow.

Jarred jerky catches your eye first as you snatch for that, then a small jar of syrupy looking strawberries, as bright red as when they were first picked, making your mouth salivate. The place neatly organized and labeled, the metal cans of all of those beef stews that were upstairs despite there only being enough of those left to last through this winter. Even if you stretched them out with water. Finger following the shelf lining to try to find more sweet fruit coming across the word peaches under a layer of dust.

Delight you look up, just to find the shelf empty and the sight of it makes you snarl.

But at least you had your strawberries.

They taste like late spring, like your childhood when you'd pick the berries at the local farm. How the sun beating down on your back made them taste that much sweeter in the field. A little reward paid by the sweat on your brow and the money your mother would toll out for the fresh fruit.

Well, well worth the price.

Spring is coming like her book says and you sweep and dust her house.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou Katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #kitten writes bakugou 🖤🐈‍⬛ 🖋️

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katsukikitten · 2 years

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Synopsis: Hunger forces you to leave the comfort of your apartment just before rain in hopes to find something that will satisfy you but you'll soon find out that hunger comes in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Quickly at that as an ancient beast stalks you for part of the night hoping to satiate what you've awakened in him.

Warnings: NON CON, prey predator stalking, werewolf Bakugou

AN WC: this is for @kinjuutsu monster fucking Collab I hope y'all enjoy 2640 🖤🐈‍⬛

Collab master list

The smell of rain hangs thick in the air, curling its fingers around broad shoulders as the ash blonde snarls his lip. The oncoming storm did nothing to satiate the hunger that sat low in his stomach or the ache in his teeth as the moon hung just behind the thick gray clouds. If anything it’s as the Witch say, the calm before the storm is the silent chaos that every Other craves. The Witch, the Vampire, the Paranormal and the Werewolf share the same innate need to feed on humans in one way or another.

Whether that was their life’s blood, the fringes of their soul or sex to ease an awful rut. Even Bakugou’s burning rings of onyx could barely keep his temper in check during what the elders call “moonlit madness.”

With the heavy full moon overhead Bakugou hardly feels anything tonight, other than his normal temperamental agitation, yawning even as he ducks into the 24/7 convenience store a few blocks from his home, craving something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

As if it sat on the tip of his tongue, teasing him as he mulled over what exactly he should buy to make at home.

Being out of the country left his home empty yet far from unkempt. He had spent far too many decades away from his original home and midnight was as anytime as ever to return. Least then his parents and the Elders of the clan wouldn’t grill him on when he was going to find a mate. He can hear his mother nagging now, “You turned 25 a century and a half ago. I want grandpups and I’m not getting any younger damn it!”

He rolls his eyes at the imaginary conversation still hearing her gripe about the other established families and how their children were providing grandchildren, that Katuski shouldn’t do this “lone wolf bullshit.” His hag of a mother ignoring the fact that every few centuries there was indeed a lone wolf from each bloodline. The most recent being Touya but Katsuki thinks he goes by another name now.

Nothing catches his eye and just as he’s walking out, not in defeat, you come in. Brushing his shoulder with a shy smile and an even softer sorry before you disappear back into the store.

Suddenly his throat closes up, choking on an overwhelming smell.

On your smell.

Your fucking scent that now clings to him even as the first drops start to wash the Earth anew, even as you stand on the furthest spot in the store and the pundgant bleach cleaner the employee in the back is using can hardly stand up to you.

You smell like the morning dew glowing golden on the petals of a rose, of honey spread over bread after a long day, of the milk of a coconut on the warmest beach.

Melding together in a sympathy that makes Bakugou’s body weak, ache.

Yearn for you as he swallows down air and the more he thinks of walking away, the more he finds himself staring at you. Entirely lost as his tongue toys with his elongating canines that ache unbearably.

A chill runs down your spine, the deadly kind of warning one gets when danger is close. Close enough to breathe down your neck or bore burning eyes into the nape of your neck. Absent-mindedly you brush your hair over your shoulder, exposing your throat only to further agitate the beast that’s lurking between the chips and the jerky in the next aisle over.

Suddenly your appetite fizzles out in your stomach, a dying ember as fear begins to take root. Growing faster than a summer weed peeking through the concrete slabs. Grabbing the straps of your purse you move your way back towards the front of the store, wishing you had an umbrella for the several block walk back to your apartment complex.

With each step you take it feels as if there is another at your heels.

And another.

Whipping around your eyes go doe wide yet do not see anyone lurking in the harsh fluorescent light between the aisles of neatly packaged snacks. Swallowing thickly you step again, this time rushing into the rain as you start down the slow side street that runs parallel to a small field and a thin strip of woods. The snaking pavement connects to darker, more sinister alleyways that keep your eyes glued forward to avoid staring deeply into the dark eyes of the void.

Fear slips into your skin easily, skittering under the surface as it settles into the soles of your feet. Burning and begging for you to move, to run.

That something big and bad is stalking closely.

And so fear wins as your sneakers slip on the wet concrete as you break into a sprint under the dim street lamps.

All you hear is rain and wind rushing past you and the occasional hiss of “watch it” from those you push past, running until your lungs ache.

Searing need for oxygen, begging for you to make your breathing even despite your beating heart. Giving into your inherent need for air as you slow to a jog, daring a look over your shoulder.

See? Nothing’s there.

Your feet slow to a walk, rational mind soothing over the raging instinct of your gut, that still occasionally flares. Reassuring yourself as you keep your gaze locked to the nothingness behind you that you cannot even see what’s right in front of you.

Bumping into a solid mass of muscle makes a shudder go down your spine. Looking up to apologize expecting to see someone’s back only to see a chest.

The man has his hands in his pockets, as if he’d been waiting for you, a cruel grin set on his mouth as his eyes glow red under the weeping gray sky. He leans over to better level with your face as he parts his mouth to speak.

“Where ya runnin to, Sweetheart?”

There’s malice laced between the purr of his voice.

It's jarring, causing you to take a step back, mouth going cotton dry as your soles burn. This time you don't think twice about it, rushing across the street and soon your shoes lose traction on the slick wheat. Tickling your waist as it slips under your t-shirt occasionally during your haste. Glancing over your shoulder to make sure he isn't following you look for the man and again nothing follows.

This time when you crash into the mass of muscle you fall onto your ass, the chill of the Earth seeping into the denim of your jeans.

"Fuckin hell." He looks different now, the moon just shining through a thick passing cloud before it disappears behind the veil, "Makin me look like a creep runnin like that."

He growls at the end, two sharp teeth poking at his bottom lip, he looks ghastly, horrific.

Like a devil out of a novel with his glowing red eyes, his mass had gotten noticeably bigger but mostly it was the air about him.

Menacing, sharp and an undertone of playful you'd be a fool to forget.

Like a cat catches a mouse, not that of hunger but of boredom.

Of fun.

This time a scream rips through you, rising up your lungs faster than you can think. Crawling backward so you can both get out of his reach and get to your feet. He lets out an annoyed sigh and a roll of his eyes letting you run.

The woods come quickly and the large man quicker.

"I just wanna play, Sweetheart." His voice echoes around the woods and yet it still sounds close.

Close enough it sends a jolt to your stomach that seeps slowly down between your legs where it begins to pool.

Twigs snap behind you and this time you don't dare turn around for fear of running fast first into your assailant again. Yet his voice is at your ear.

"I said I just wanna play." A feral sound in his throat as it echoes in the shell of your ear before a heavy hand is found between your shoulder blades. Pushing you into the old wet leaves that smell of decay. Another scream rips through you but before you can finish you're flipped onto your back with a hot palm over your mouth and nose.

"Ya tryin to get us caught?" He smiles, his bottom and top canines are long. Far too long to be human, he takes a sharp claw and begins to rip the front of your shirt, "Or are you a slut who wants everyone to see what I'm going to do to you?"

Slowly he brings his claw down the cotton until the swell of your breasts start to peak out. Your fingers grips at twigs, leaves and dirt searching for something, anything to defend yourself against this snarling beast. Finally your small hand finds purchase, a small rock about the size of your own fist brings a fire to your eyes.

Brings you hope as you slam it into the side of the ash blonde head, right across his temple. It's enough to make him bleed a bit, losing his grip just bit as you squirm out from beneath him. But not without his parting gift. His claws sinking into your skin to keep you still as you struggle away, leaving deep red wounds down your sides and back.

The pain surges you forward, step after step as your lungs protest from your poor breathing.

A sob racks through your body, rain less turbulent under the canopy of the trees but still enough to blur your vision. That or it was your tears as you see your apartment complex building jutting out over the trees.

Just keep going, you just have to keep going.

Ignoring the details of what's unfolding and instead using that fear to climb the four stories of slippery steps in the pouring rain.

Lightning reaches out and a loud roar of thunder shakes the building with its intensity. Mother nature herself warns you as the blonde takes the stairs two at a time.

Fumbling with your key as you try to shove the metal into the lock as he stands at the end of the breezeway. A nasty smile on his face as he watches you panic trying to do even the simplest task all the while taking slow, calculating steps.

Finally the key molds the pins to the lock's liking and the handle collapses under your weight, falling into your apartment foyer. Struggling to stand so you can slam the door shut.

As you do you see him and another yelp leaves your pretty mouth shoving the metal door with all of your might.

Only for strong fingers to wrap around the edges, crushed from the force as he pushes the door open.

"Hey baby." He says it like he's coming home from work late. A mocking apology as if you were angry that he hadn't told you beforehand. He closes the door and the outside rain can still be sent through the ridges that can mold to powerful fingers.

Your knees weaken before they give out, tailbone rattling your spine as it hits the hardwood floor.

He walks towards you, standing over you, hands in his pockets again.

"Nowhere to run huh?" He laughs and it echoes through the silence of your apartment, "I'll give you that. You did get me good huh."

He wipes the blood from his head and the gash that was once there is no longer causing your brows to furrow. Crouching over you now he examines you, takes a deep inhale and his eyes flutter.

"Fuck." It's soft, barely a whisper and you can see the bulge in his pants grow, causing you to whimper. It pulls his attention to it and he vulgarly grabs it, "Ya like that? 'ts all for you."

He rips off the rest of your shirt and your bra with such force your tits bounce from the motion. He pushes you up the hardwood and your wet body makes the floor squeak.

His head buried between your legs so quickly you hadn't noticed until his nose was pressed into the seam. Quickly the denim is shredded from your body, careful to leave your underwear intact.

"N-no -stop." You want out and he just hooks his powerful hands around your hips.

"Why would I when I can smell arousal on you?" He growls and it's said with such authority it makes you freeze. Submitting to a man whose name you don't know.

"Ah fuck." He can smell more of you now, can smell how delicious your essence will be on his tongue. He noses your clothed cunt, the tip of it hitting your clit causing you to squirm and squeeze his head.

"Soo fuckin wet." He grows tired of you trying to close him between your thighs. Forcing them open as his claws sink into the tender flesh. Gently he presses his tongue to the wet patch, shuddering from how right he was. He does that for a few moments, nosing your now throbbing clit, tongue lapping at the fabric before he leans up some, pressing his mouth around your puffy button giving it a good suck.

The way his eyes look, half lidded and glowing with red hot lust you're shameful to admit it makes you cum. Right there cunt fluttering around nothing as you keep your eyes glued to his.

He rips the cotton away then, lapping at your cunt with no hesitation. Sucking and licking like a starved man, fingers arching into you with a steady pace feeling you flutter around him. You cum again around his hot digits. Panting and he doesn't let up.

He keeps feasting and feasting until your vision is blurred with thick tears and your head is swimming.

"Aw, poor baby." He climbs up you, now pressing into the side of your throat with his nose wet from your sweet cum, "Tired already? I've only just begun."

His teeth sink into your tender skin, drawing blood that he laps up with fluttering lashes.

"Fuck" he groans grinding into your thigh, "Got me fucked up pretty girl. Like a rut when I was a teen."

Pulling down his pants and shoving them to his ankles. He bullies his way into your wet heat. Panting from how good you feel, he gives an experimental thrust and when he pulls away for another, your greedy cunt tries to suck him back in. He thinks he'll cum already. From how you feel around his weeping cock and how you smell.

Sweet florals that remind him of a garden a long time ago. It causes his teeth to sink into the apex of your throat and shoulder. Fucking into you with reckless abandon as he chases his own high.

Fucking you through another orgasm as you whine, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, weakly trying to keep him to you now. Locking your legs around his waist as he sucks the sweet spot on your skin.

It causes you to scream out in ecstasy, body withering under his care causing his hips to stutter. Balls slapping against the swell of your ass as he tries to fuck you deeper with each sticky rope of white he paints your walls with.

He pulls away from your throat with a grunt, keeping himself inside you as he looks into your face. Lids at half mast, lust clouding the iris as something deeper starts to surface and it takes your burning heart a moment to realize.

That your eyes reflect his.

Causing that blossom of deeper emotion to consume anything else as he growls out before he crashes his mouth to yours.

"Mine."

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #werewolf bakugou #bakugou katsuki x reader #tw : non con #kitten writes 🖤🐈‍⬛🖋️

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katsukikitten · 1 year

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Warnings: Body horror, Violence, child abuse. This is a work of fiction intended to be consumed by those who are 18 or older. If you are not 18 or older dni.

Mafia Heir Bakugou Katsuki, Guard Izuku Midoriya x reader.

The sound of a metal bay door clangs to life, shoved open by two strong hands as the gears echo their groans to the warehouse.

His lip twitches, brows furrowed as he sneers at the contents of the space dimly lit from the flickering lamps on the dock outside.

Two large shipments sit side by side, covered in black tarp sitting atop wooden pallets so fresh that the smell of pine competes heavily with the stagnant bay.

"How did those idiots forget both?!" He hisses under his breath, white paper cigarette bouncing between his lips as he pats himself down for his phone to call the more volatile buyer but before he can hit the contact the harsh fluorescent lights buzz to life overhead.

"Who the fuck-" He draws his gun but his threat dies quickly on his tongue. Mouth agape as his lit cigarette falls into a puddle formed from the neglected roof.

"Those 'idiots' didn't forget either shipment." Your voice rings out and when the goon spies you he sees you sitting atop what was supposed to be your shipment. You're looking over your claws, paying him no mind as if you were bored and seemingly alone. Although the man would have to be a fool to think that you alone wasn't the worst option he had.

"I have some questions. About my shipment." You hop down from the pallet stacked with pristine products taller than yourself. Pulling down the tarp and the one next to it that was supposed to be delivered tonight, to him.

"Can you spot the difference, Tadashi?" You give the man your back, stepping backwards and your heels clack. Echoing around the silent warehouse, "See how mine is a little bit shorter?"

Your dark eyes flash to him, close enough he can smell your expensive perfume and tonight you're dressed to the nines.

Tonight was supposed to be the meeting of clan heads by the surrounding syndicates. Your shipment was to be delivered by morning and the other was rushed to tonight.

"I don't see that. No ma'am." He can't even see any difference from where you sat on top of the heavily Saran wrapped white bricks. You were by no means a small woman either, strong in stature and you were not called Madame Morte for nothing. Your laugh catches him off guard, it's pretty, the sound contagious and the only reason he doesn't laugh along with you is because he knows exactly who you are.

But that didn't stop him from his little fuck up did it?

He swallows thickly and you smile up at him.

"Hmm that's funny then isn't it? A half inch difference is clear as day. So something must be wrong right? Especially since you take good care to make every brick the exact same weight, size and dimension." You walk over to the two shipments and take one brick off of each, holding them up where he can see the miniscule difference that he tried to pad up with extra wrapping. What's concerning is that the obvious ones shouldn't have been on the outside, he was careful with everyone else, more careful with you. Sure to wait until comfort had sat in and that the head wouldn't bother with the shipments and goons never look past the outside layers, normally that was after five shipments and this was your sixth.

"Ya know I found this one in the middle, about three layers were like this," You cut the brick open with your sharp claws the white substance flutters down onto Tadashi's shoes, "But there weren't bricks like this in the Red Dragon's shipment. Not. One. Single. Brick."

You walk back to return the brick from the opposing stack, ass swaying in that body con black dress and Tadashi tries to look everywhere but. He's seen you gouge out the eyes of anyone who lingered over your body for too long, he was sure it's why you kept those nails so sharp.

"You're a chemist right? Specializing in Bliss, especially correct?" Swiping your middle finger over the substance rubbing it between your digit and thumb, "So you know the chemical structure of bliss right?"

"Yes ma'am."

"I have a chemist as well, she isn't as smart as you, at least not according to everyone else, but do you know what she found in over half of this brick? A different structure. Baking powder." You're still smiling, still cherry sweet with the hint of deadly poison in your eyes before it turns into pure acidic venom, "So which is it? Are you an idiot or are you fuckin lyin to me?"

"N-neither ma'am." You roll your eyes and your done up lashes flutter wildly from the action.

"Liar then." You snap your fingers and a large man with emerald green curls shoves a woman and her two children into the light. Tadashi's eyes widen with horror as he looks over the crying half family.

His family.

"I'm sure since you have no issue lying in front of me, you'll have no issue lying in front of your family." You hum, cradling the woman's jaw in your hand, tapping the tip of a sharp claw to her cheek. The kids cling to their mother with tears in their eyes, their quirks flaring in their time of stress.

"Guess you weren't the smartest chemist underground after all. Pay attention kids, this is what happens to liars." Patience thin, you pull out your gun from under the thigh high slit in your dress aiming the cool metal at the goon who thought he could undercut and insult you in the same breath. The guy was getting off lucky in your guard's opinion given the fact you were electing not to use your quirk.

"W-wait! Wait wait! I can prove my loyalty." He grovels, hands shaking as he holds his palms up to you. It makes you scoff and cock your gun.

"You already did with how you handled my treatment."

"Bu-but I have this- this new product." He fumbles in his pockets, a red dot appears on his chest causing him to freeze.

"'Ts fine Zuzu." You wave him off but all your guard does is move his finger from the trigger, when you glare his way he lowers his gun.

Tadashi produces a small red capsule bullet, needle at the end when he takes off the top and it makes you furrow your brow.

"And what's this?" Curiosity melting your angry features.

"Something In development for mass production. For Overhaul. His shipment is in the back." It's obvious confidence is starting to come back to his sinful face as he nods his head to a crate behind you.

"Oh Kai? Hmm. What does it do then?" By now your gun is returned to its holster and hidden away.

"Quirk deletion." Tadashi gives a nasty smile, like he's truly proud of his work, "Ya know like Allmight's guard Eraser head 'fore he died."

"Ah well let's see it then." You smooth down the fabric of your dress a final time before looking up at him when he makes no action to move.

"Wh-what?" He stammers and it grates your nerves.

"You wanna live? You want your family to live? Silence your quirk." He shrinks under the disgust evident in your sharp gaze and shapter tongue.

"I-I can't do that." His eyes dart around looking for any sign of an out but when you play these silly little games, you always go for the kill.

"That too hard? Well pick your least favorite, silence one of their quirks instead." You gesture between the two boys that whimper at the wave of your nails.

"B-but…"

"B-b-but." You mock rolling your eyes, "But it's insurance isn't it? Proof of your loyalty to me? Especially since you've already been lying. You know how I feel about liars, or at least bad ones."

He swallows, stepping closer to his family and it's obvious now he isn't going to choose himself. Looking between the two boys as their quirks flare, like he's deciding which one is worth more to him.

All while silently telling you he doesn't have an antidote.

"Make up your mind I'm already running late for an event." Quickly he grabs at the hair of his eldest son, pulling the seven year old up by his roots and pushing the needle into his throat. His yelp echos around the warehouse but the most malicious thing of it all is that even with his back to you, you can see Tadashi's smile pushing up his cheeks.

"There." He turns around, sniffling, fat tears brimming his eyes, who he's trying to fool you stents sure, you just know it sure as hell isn't you, "I'll have an antidote for you by next week."

He wipes at his face, coming closer to you, well within arm's reach. Red dot on his forehead but you've spared Tadashi once, he figures you'd spare him again.

Because what woman would let a seven year old go without their quirk not that it mattered to him either way. Good riddance if you asked him, his eldest couldn't control his quirk for shit and it was annoying anyway.

"So I've-" But his sentence is lodged in his throat, unable to get past your steely grip, your lip snarled up in disgust. Your eyes bored, dull and he's coming to realize why they call you Madame Morte from his own first hand experience.

There are legends around your quirk, rumors, that yours is similar to the Ashen King's, although yours was more painful.

Rot, slow and hungry. Greedy in the languid licks as it spread through his body starting from under your pretty hand wrapped around his thick throat. Claws digging into flesh that darkens with blight before pieces of it begin to fall away from his muscles and bones in thick chunks, scream scratching up his throat.

"M-mercyyyyyy." His voice comes out garbled before ending in incoherence as his tongue melts in his mouth, sliding down his throat and taking with it his scream. You lean forward, watching the life flicker in his eyes as he rots slowly, too slowly and only once it's been a moment or so that the flesh is separated from the body does it turn to dust at your designer clad feet.

"God has mercy. I don't." Holding his head as his neck separates from his torso before dropping him all together.

Your eyes flicker to the broken family, the children hiding in their mother's thread bare turtleneck. Tears tracking through her cheap foundation and further exposing the poorly hidden bruises on her throat. It was obvious they were malnourished and it makes you gather saliva into your mouth.

Producing a hissing spit before it lands onto a stray eyeball that turns to dust seconds later.

Izuku is already across the room, rifle slung over his broad shoulders, face stoic as he grabs onto your wrist gently. Taking out a towel to wipe off your manicured hand.

"Kaminari." You look into the shadows before he appears, golden eyes glowing like a cat.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Take care of this."

"Yes ma'am." Kaminari nods, helping the woman up to her feet as Izuku carefully slides elbow length lace gloves onto your arms, that thicken around your palms and fingers, concealing the skin. "Usual collateral payment?"

"250k this time." You spit in the direction of Tadashi or at least what's left of him, again. Just ash fluttering in the bay breeze. Denki nods, skull half mask hiding his smile as he ushers the family out.

"And get them a new apartment, would you? Their old one was a dump." You hiss before going on a small tangent as Izuku fixes your hair, "Can't believe I set foot in there, piece of shit stealing from me and couldn't even fucking provide. Another thing Denks, I need the name of the landlord of that apartment complex. I want it in my name by tomorrow. Tenants relocated."

"Whatever you wish ma'am, it is done." Denki calls back before he takes the family to the van he brought them in, now given orders to relocate.

"You should really stop using your gift when you're in designer dresses, ma'am." Izuku fusses, his emerald eyes flickering to your body as he scrutinized the fabric for any lingering he may has missed.

"Why do you think I always wear black Zuzu?" You give him that damn look, the one that makes his heart clench, the one he can't say no to. He's sure there isn't a person alive who could say no to you.

"Because you like to make every day a funeral." Izuku smooths over your dress, double checking the zipper. He's pulled his half mask down to settle around his throat the second he needed to attend to you. His eyes lingering over your jewelry to make sure it was still in tact until your claw settles under his chin. Tilting his gaze to even with yours even with him leaning closely to you.

"I'm fine. Really." You lean up on red bottomed heels to gently press your lips to his before you're settled back on your feet.

He gives you that pained look he always wears with the two of you get "unprofessional." Still it doesn't stop him from leaning over to kiss your cheek, lips grazing the corner of your mouth before he pulls away and draws the line in the sand by adjusting his half animal skull mask back over his face.

You always think the line is for you but really, it's for him. You live in blissful ignorance on what you do to him and what you allow him to do to you.

It's like you forget the lengths he's gone and still willing to go to protect you at all costs. Even if that means killing his idol. If you asked him he'd tell you he'd do it all over again.

"Aw Zuzu bear don't pout." You tease and his eyes crease in that fake smile he uses to make pretty girls swoon as he presses his broad hand to your back.

"I'll call the car Madame."

"No, no. I'll walk." He gives you a glare but doesn't fight it, talking over the coms to the two waiting outside.

Meanwhile Ochako stands outside in her suit, half mask tiger skull still secure around her pretty face, making her doe like brown eyes that much more deceiving. She flips her knife over and over in her hand. Playing with her quirk that she activates to send it higher before letting it fall back to her hand.

"She should be here by now." Ochako doesn't like waiting, makes her anxious and Sero sighs, more than used to his partner's mannerisms. Mask around his throat as he's hunched over to protect his cigarette he's trying to light from the wind.

"You know madam gets caught up sometimes. It's never anything to worry about." Sero says as he straightens himself out, watching pier bay 42 with the door open just half a block down. He watched the man go in, watched the lights come on but no red confetti yet.

He blows out smoke before his com crackles to life in his ear, Ochako's fingers twitch as the both wait for the command.

"She insists she comes to you." Izuku's voice rings in their ears.

"It's clear and we are on standby." Ochako answers as Sero tries to finish his cigarette while he can, otherwise he'd get fussed at by his pretty boss who chided him on how it would rot his lungs.

And how she would know best.

Once he sees you he flicks the butt, smothering the ember into the gravel under his designer shoe as you walk closer, your lap dog at your heels.

Izuku isn't the same kid that Sero and Ochako grew up on the streets with, no longer the shy, cautious boy he once was. Especially not after the three of them were forced to hop around for mercenary work before the clans popped up to take over the cities. Like a shadow government that the real one feared more than the masses.

The three of them were good at their jobs, Izuku the planner, Ochako the executioner and Sero the getaway driver. But being good, too good even, made them cocky. It wasn't until they went up against a syndicate they had no business trying to steal from did they learn their lesson.

Your father was ready to kill all three of them. They were just lucky enough you had forced your way into sitting in on this very important meeting moments earlier.

Bags torn from their faces and your eyes widened in delight when you saw they were all the same age as you at the time. The ripe age of fifteen.

"Oh Father, killing them would only be a waste of their potential." Sero remembers how you looked, how you still make that face to this day and often. Like a cat that's caught a mouse by its tail with nothing but delightful day dreams of batting it around.

"I want them to train to be my new guard. They're mine now."

"Absolutely not." Your father's voice boomed around the room, making the teens shake, helpless with their wrists bound behind their backs, "You took in that blonde stray two months ago I'm not going to allow-"

"And yet who's men did they slip past? How many layers of security did they slip through? The blonde more so than them but our shit is secure now isn't it? Besides." You hop down from your father's old mahogany desk, "Princess always gets what she wants. Isn't that right?"

Your father pinches the bridge of his nose, he made a monster of you, he truly did.

He'd be lying if he wasn't proud of it, especially after what happened to your mother.

"Fine. But no more strays. That's final."

"That's fine. I won't need anyone else."

That was ten years ago and in the past decade Sero had been treated better than he could ever imagine. He has a lot of freedom for a head of a department and you've made it clear that only the four of them had the option of getting out if they wanted. No strings attached as long as they stayed silent you wouldn't look for them.

But you haven't once given them a reason to leave.

Sero fingers the swirling ink on the inside of his thick forearm, the family crest sitting proudly on display when he's driving you around, hidden in the city so he can float throat the crowd like all the other faceless nobodies.

You're graceful, even in the uneven gravel of the parking lot, smiling genuinely as you approach two people you have and would kill again for.

"Sero, Ochako, thank you for waiting. Ochako love, I have a task for you dear. Inside is a crate that Zuzu has marked would you be a doll and make sure that it gets transferred to Momo's office immediately. I'd like for you to hand deliver it and call me once you're there." You talk as Izuku helps you into the car waiting for you to finish before he shuts the door, "And you'll have no problem keeping your girlfriend company will you?"

"No ma'am." Ochako blushes as you wear your knowing cat smile. Izuku shuts the door and rounds the car to sit on the other side. Sero turns over the engine. Ready to pull away on your command.

Ochako watches her reflection in the pitch black tint retreat as the window rolls down revealing just your eyes that sparkle with that dangerous glint.

"One more thing. If you could ask her to expedite this antidote please. I've got a seven year old waiting on it."

"As you wish ma'am." Ochako nods and watches her reflection grow this time while your eyes disappear before Sero throws the car in drive and tries to salvage some of the lost time hoping to make you no later than an hour late to the most important meeting of the year.

But you wouldn't be the Princess if you weren't always fashionably late now would you?

#katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou Katsuki x reader #izuku midoryia x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #mafia!Bakugou x reader #guard!izuku x reader #kitten writes 🖤🐈‍⬛🖋️

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katsukikitten · 2 years

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Synopsis: Inspiration hits quick on a lazy Saturday but you'll pay the price for the risky photo you send Bakugou while he's away for work.

Warnings: toys, phone sex/FaceTime sex.

Ageless & blank blogs DNI | MNDI

A facetime rings out in the middle of you folding laundry on the couch.

Bakubaby 💣 is calling you.

With glee you dive for your phone, rushing to pick up as you haven't heard from the pro in a couple of days due to his mission. You slide to answer and before you can do anything a rough moan comes out of the speakers.

"Don't say anything. Just do as I say and moan my name real loud, like a good kitten okay?" He growls and you can see his face aglow with the light of his screen. Brows furrowed and faintly in the background a rhythmic pace is set.

"Sending me those damn pictures and acting all surprised when I'm fuckin my fist." He reminds you of the lewd pictures you sent him after seeing a video of how to pose. You set up your phone at lightning speed yesterday with the light of the golden hour giving you an ethereal glow. Hands resting on the side of the couch, ass poking out in the shot with his favorite thong and tits pushed together with your arms throw the low, low cut bra. It was playful, sexy, bratty even in the way you smiled at him like you knew exactly what you were doing to him. Followed up immediately with a photo of you in bedroom. 3/4 to the camera, giving a good angle of your ass, of your wide hips, poking out your breasts by keeping your hands clasped behind your back. Looking into the camera with a totally different look. The kind that you only gave him. A touch submission mixed with mischief, that he'd have to work for his reward and work he would. His eyes traveled back to your breasts and could see your nipples through the lace but it wasn't enough for him. He wanted more, needed more.

Needed to feel you sinking into his cock while your eyes flutter.

So he called you immediately.

"Set yourself up nice and pretty in the bedroom for me. Grab your pretty pink dildo I got you." His voice is rasped even with the lazy pumps he's giving himself, so much pre cum has wept out of his angry cockhead coating him nicely. But nothing would ever compare to the feel of your hot cunt soaking his balls with each thrust.

Surprisingly you do as you ask without so much as a word. Setting it up where he could get a good view of you while you kneeled on the bed for now.

"Take off your shirt, play with those pretty fuckin tits." He barks and you do. Pulling the nipples taunt when he asks you. You sigh and groan and he makes you so that whole he moans loudly. It's enough to make your pussy drool for him, his dominance, his demands has you melting a lot easier than they should. Maybe it because you haven't been able to see him as often or maybe it was because you were desperate to be given instructions during your time off.

"Take off those shorts and spread your legs for me." Slipping off the fabric and removing it from your ankles, your hand goes to touch your needy clit.

"Aht I didn't say you could touch what's mine yet." He can see your arousal leaking out of you, watch you clench from his rough tone. It's enough to send him over the edge but he doesn't. Not yet. If he can't get you to cum a few times first the least he can do is time it where the two of you fall into bliss together.

"Slowly," He looks up to your face and waits for you to look at him before he growls, "Slowly princess, touch yourself."

Gently you rub circles over your clit, trying to mimic how he would if he had your hands bound in his. It drives you mad, makes you bite your lip as you moan loudly.

"I know baby I know." He grunts, "Faster."

"Faster!" He says again after a few minutes and you do, seeing stars as you gasp for air. He watches your hips jerk, watches the way you grind against your fingers, "That's it baby. Cum on this pretty fingers."

"Katsukiiii." You drag out his name, pussy desperately trying to clench onto something as you reel your head back in pleasure. You need a moment to catch your breath as you come down from your high but Bakugou was never one to give you a moments rest.

"All fours, face on the mattress." You do as he asks, pressing your cheek against the smooth sheets as he continues to instruct you, "Grab that pretty dildo and fuck yourself."

You bring the toy between your legs and slowly push and pull it. Increasing speed until you start to match the sounds of his fist pumping his cock over the phone.

Bakugou watches with lustful crimson eyes, snarling and growling as he hears your moans. Watches you buck into the toy and whine when it isn't him.

"I know you can fuck yerself harder than that." He growls, so close. So fucking close and he knows you are too with how you whine and moan. Shoving the dildo in and out of you at such a quick pace. You increase it as he requests and a loud moan escapes your lips.

"Suki, I'm gonna cum." Another whine and you can barely hear his own pace increase over the sounds your sloppy pussy is making.

"That's it baby, cream my cock." You scream at his vulgar words, trying so hard to fuck yourself through your orgasm to no avail. Vision clouded and hand pushing the toy in and out of you slowly compared to before.

Bakugou grunts as he feels his stomach and balls tighten. Spilling white hot ropes onto his chest and stomach. You both lie there for a moment, the toy slowly being pushed out of your spent cunt and him covered in his own cum.

"Lemme see you." He sighs out and you remove the toy, get off of all fours and come closer to the camera, "Look what you do to me."

He shows his godly abs and chest, pulling out a soft smile.

"Miss ya." He says softly, he wishes he was there. Wishes he could scoop you up and take you to the shower for a quick rinse and have a nice long bath with whatever bath bomb you want.

"Miss you too." You say softly, eyes downcast and sad that he isn't there with you.

"Love you."

"Love you too."

"Two more things okay? Can you do that for me princess?" His voice is soft as he looks you over.

"Yes sama. I can."

"That's my girl." He purrs, "Now go get a rag and wet it with warm water. Clean up and before you come back to bed there's a shirt in the closet for you.

You do as he says quickly and he watches from his spot on the side table as you go into the bathroom. Hears the water running and stop before you're back after a few minutes. Grabbing onto one of his skull tshirts and you realize it smells faintly of his cologne before climbing into bed after putting it on.

"Now, I want you to get pu baby and long john. I want you to cuddle them real tight." It's easy to grab the two giant stuffed animals and put them on either side of you as you settle into the giant comforter.

"Lemme hear about your day baby. Did ya finish that damn sappy romance manga?" You smile at him before going on your rant, giving him a full detailed summary of what happened and he listens responds when he can.

But the whole time all he can't think about is how fuckin beautiful you look as you excitedly talk and how badly he wants to be there in person.

For now he'll have to thank the Gods for video chat.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katuski x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #kitten writes 🖤🐈‍⬛🖋️#kitten writes bakugou

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katsukikitten · 2 years

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Synopsis : Designing comes first and foremost in your life. There wasn't a damn thing that you wouldn't sacrifice in order to see your name as a luxury brand. So taking a job in a whole new country under the strongest woman owned and ethical brand Mitsuki was a no fuckin brainer. That is until you find out that the devil wears Mitsuki red bottom heels and has an attitude hotter than hell. Making you, her apprentice, fetch coffee like her personal bitch. But you were a sick dog with a sicker dream that you were going to bring to life. That is until a one night stand comes back to haunt you, making you hate the name Katsuki.

Warnings : drugs, choking, smut

Chapter Two : Feverish touch but a cold tongue

Master List | wc 4710

The contrast of Katsuki is maddening but irrelevant now as you step off of the elevator into the expensive lobby.

Gliding through across the marble floors in your red bottom combat boots, the cursive M stitched into the side in the same bloody hue that's on the sole.

Your phone chirps with a large coffee order and you close your eyes. Counting your breath after you see the seven fucking coffees, a party sized order of pastries, along with items that needed to be picked up from other designers that were possibly working with Mitsuki for an up coming event.

This was your third month in a row of treatment like this, dropping everything to please Mitsuki and God Damn it today was your fucking day off. At least it was supposed to be and yet your feet carry you to Starbucks.

The only thing you had a chance to discover about the new city you lived in. That and the high fashion district but other than that you weren't even sure where the hell the closest grocery store was or if your stove in your apartment fucking worked. Take out after take out after take out, drowning in fast foods if you even had the time to eat at all.

And the only reason you had the chance to go out and blow off some steam last night was because Mitsuki said she was going to dinner with her husband and maybe her son.

Two men you'd never seen and were perfectly fine never meeting.

It just felt like your luck was such shit recently or maybe it was your perception about everything.

Bullshit this fuckin sucks

This Katsuki asshole being the icing on the cake. How could such a funny, sexy guy turn into such a dick? Did he have a Hyde jekyll thing going on? By day a demon and by night an angel? The dick giveth the dick taketh or some philosophical shit.

It didn't matter, he was supposed to be irrelevant now that you're waiting in the long line for an extra tall iced coffee, your mind wanders back to last night.

Of how after your hot round of sex, after his silly joke, the two of you talked pretty late into the night. Him bringing out some fancy ass wine from the little cooler built into his massive island. How he didn't let you walk anywhere after. Carrying you with ease, shoving you into one of his shirts that would quickly get discarded when he was ready for round two.

In the meantime he had you sat in the only pristine room in the entire place. The kitchen, the cool marble under your plump ass as you sent rapid fire questions about why he needed a chef's kitchen for one. How his crimson eyes sparkled when he told you how much he loved to cook and then how his eyes clouded when he said he didn't have any reason to anymore. You knew he had money and he knew your designer clothes but neither of you mentioned work and for that you were grateful. You found out what felt like quite a bit, how he liked a large range of music, how he hadn't finished a book in years from lack of time. Who his favorite painters were, Böcklin, Millais, Kuniyoshi. He didn't scoff when you said Van Gogh and Monet for yours or how Ophelia was one of your all time favorites because you felt as if you were drifting through life like that sometimes. Floating dangerously on the cusp of numbness, of nothingness. Surprisingly he agreed.

"Born to live, live to die, nothing lies in between when ya hardly feel anything at all."

Tapping wine glasses together, toasting the shadow that loomed over everyone's shoulder. The wine was bitter sweet just like the moment.

The most memorable thing from that night, aside from the three rounds of insanely good sex, was how his hands stayed glued to your skin no matter what he was doing. Fingers ghosting your shoulder or gripping your thighs as he laughed at one of your stupid jokes.

It echoes in your head now and you snear, making the poor barista shrink away, stuttering as she repeats herself.

"I-I'm sorry ma'am I didn't catch that last one."

"Oh no worries, just cold foam on that one please." You gave your best smile and she returned, "Sorry about so many orders with such a long line."

"S okay, a lot of personal assistants come here." It made your jaw clench trying so hard to keep your disdain off of your face.

Just another reminder of what felt like a waste of three fucking months.

You were an apprentice treated more like an abused rotary phone and forgotten itinerary. Pampered her little dog she kept at the office, shredding the organic chicken and mixing it with special broth and pumpkin puree from the five star restaurant down the road.

Fucker not only ate better than you but more often.

Hell you even had Mitsuki's dry cleaning penciled in under your name.

A deep sigh as the coffee shop offers you a brilliantly designed way to bring all of the orders in with one hand as bags filled with heavy fabrics cut into the skin of your forearm.

Coming into the office nodding your head at the security officer that jogged to open the door for you. That follows you to the elevator to press the button as you give a tight smile.

"I still owe you that tour, pretty lady."

"Hmmmm." Is your only reply as the chrome doors take their sweet fuckin time to close. Riding it to the top floor and struggling with the double glass doors as the ACTUAL receptionist ignores you, filing her nails. When she makes eye contact with you she picks up the phone that wasn't ringing and pretends to answer. For a moment you stare into space with a dead expression before finally winning the fight against what felt like a two ton door with cursive M's and her last name stamped in kanji in the bottom corners.

"Such a bitch." You hiss as you pass the desk, sneering at the woman holding the corded phone to face.

"Oh, is that you?" Mitsuki asks bored as you struggle with the wooden doors that separate her personal suite from the receptionist area and the small desk you had.

"In the flesh." You hiss lowly, setting down her coffee before going to set out everything for what was obviously a meeting with clients.

You hadn't met a single one yet or drafted a garment or had any of your suggestions heard. Shit your own coffee order was often dictated to you. Tall black hot with one vanilla pump.

Who the fuck drank that?

Not you, your coffee was iced drowned in heavy cream and a hefty scoop of sweetener.

Back to the side table closer to her desk you meticulously set out each piece given to you by the luxury brands. Some big names and some small, both trying way too hard to impress instead of focusing on the theme of the event.

Crimson eyes watch your facial expressions with interest.

"Don't like them?" She takes a sip of her coffee, all of her questions were rhetorical so you didn't bother answering.

"Burn your tongue on your coffee today? Forget how to speak? " For some reason that's the final straw, temper you stomped and pressed down in order to keep this job was now burning up your throat.

You know the one you spent four fucking months on a submission piece for, that you had to design and sew in order to even be considered. Worked until your fingers bleed and ached. Spending all of your savings to ship it overnight and had half a damn mind to fly it there yourself.

This very job that you turned down a cushy spot in Paris for. Could have been sitting pretty under a huge label that was rumored to be easy to rise up the ranks.

But the only reason you're standing in front of Mitsuki herself now, is because this god damn job was advertised as apprentice, not errand bitch.

The fact that Mitsuki was one of the few women dominating the fashion world without giving up quality, ethics, or herself only sweetened the deal.

Bakugou Mitsuki bent to no one and you admired that.

Used to be like that.

Til you came to work for her and it felt like your tongue was stuck to the bottom of that red heel like spat out gum she happened to step in.

When you twirl around and see burning ember eyes searing your skin with scrutiny for some reason it makes you think of that damn asshole from this morning making you fully snap.

"Mitsuki. Respectfully. I don't fuckin drink hot coffee. I like it iced. Iced. I'm not here to get your dry cleaning, I'm not here to pick up coffee orders, I'm not here to play chef to your fucking dog who seems to be a replacement for your asshole inconsiderate practically non existent son!" You finish your rant with a heated huff, keeping your glare fixed to hers as you finally add with conviction, "I'm here to design."

She narrows her eyes at you, the room charged from the intensity of her weighted gaze and in that moment you think you've lost your job.

But fuck it, least you said your piece and got one last free breakfast and coffee from it.

Just sucks she may or may not tell the whole fashion world about your nasty attitude and even nastier mouth as if she didn't say fuck off every other sentence herself.

Lips twitching before they pull into a smile that she was fighting.

"Bout damn time you found your back bone again." She smiles, "And your full honesty. Now answer the question. You don't like them?"

She nods towards the outfits you've laid out.

"No, they're hideous and clash. Trying too hard to stand out, forgetting the theme is summer festivals and not a fuckin carnival." You snarl, staring at the pieces.

"And how would you make an outfit you liked with the items given?" You stare down at the fabric, "Obviously you're allowed to mix brands."

She sips her coffee again as you think.

"For myself or a client in general."

"Fuck it, let's say both." Mitsuki answers. Quickly you assemble something for yourself, finding the moodier colors that would be similar to dusk before they get ready to light the fire works. Pairing a small hand bag for a pop of color, much lighter than the darker tones of the outfit. Before moving on to what you'd make for the client, a bold red that you mixed and matched between the others until you made the perfect ensemble only second guessing your belt choice for it once you step away. Mitsuki comes closer, eyes judging every aspect of it.

"Perfect." She points to yours, nail hitting the purse. "Cotton candy pink paired with the black and twilight is nice."

"This one…" Reaching for another belt and swapping them out, "Is now perfect."

She stares at the composition of them, that in the quick time you captured the theme well, much better than whatever the hell they sent you with.

"Mitsuki-san, your party is here." The intercom on her desk pulls her away, pressing the big white button. "And my son?"

"Still hasn't arrived." Mitsuki rolls her eyes at the answer before she sighs, "Send them in."

Laughing is heard on the other side of the door before a large man with long red hair opens it. Letting in two smaller guys and one almost the same size as the red head. An electric blonde with an overly flirty smile, a raven haired man who's a natural heart breaker, an emerald haired softy, finally the mountainous man comes in and gently shuts the door.

"Mitsuki-chan!" All cheery with different tones. Pulling the woman into a hug as if she'd known them all their life, giving those little air kisses.

"My, my, you boys look well. Ya been eating?" She chides, "I know how you pros live off of coffee and crumbs."

Sheepishly they all look away, telling on themselves and earning her ire.

"Now this is exactly why I get a whole tables worth of special treats. I better not see many left when I come back."

"Come back?" One of them asks.

"Ah, I have to step out for a bit but you're in good hands." You blink dumbly for a second, wait was she leaving these high profile clients to you?

"This is my apprentice, she'll be working with you from now on, if you like the mocks she drafts up for a few upcoming events and leisure wear. Don't fret though I do have backups drawn if not. Just make sure you act yourselves around her, she's got a good eye, she'll know what you'll like. See ya boys!"

I will???? Oh my fucking god!

"Bye Mitsuki-saaaaan." The electric blonde winks as Mitsuki exists with that damn fluffy dog.

The men immediately go into introducing themselves starting with the raven haired man.

"Sero Hanta, Cellophane." He holds out his hand, it's a firm shake and he has such an easy smile. His civilian clothing plain and you take a mental note to look up the hero uniforms of the three who are in their street wear.

"Denki Kaminari, the one and only Chargebolt." He kisses your knuckles with a wink.

"Ease up Casanova." Sero scolds, picking up his coffee and extending Denki's order to him just to get him away from you.

"Flattered." You scoff, playful smile on your lips as it was obvious he was hamming it up.

"Kirishima Eijrou! Red Riot!" Out of habit he hardens his fists and slams them together. Before a slight flush paints his cheeks, as if he hadn't meant to do that.

"Izuku Midoriya, Deku." Izuku smiles, holding out his gloved hand. The only one of the four in his hero uniform. Another firm grip and this close you can see the freckles on his nose. You look over the uniform, noting the material and instantly recognizing the stitching, fingers touching at his arm, "Does Mitsuki handle the hero uniforms as well?"

"Uh yeah actually." Izuku starts one of his first information dumps of the day, "Mitsuki thought that the designers were only thinking of a quick turn over and as far as looks she thought most were tacky. Using 'cheap materials' and unethical shops for some of the mass production of standard uniforms. She partitioned the hero's commission and the government to allow her brand to subsidize costs while keeping quality high, especially for up and coming heroes. At first the support teams were against it thinking they'd lose their jobs or that fashion would outweigh functionality so-"

"Izuku, dude, cliff notes version." Kaminari chuckles.

"Oh yea," Izuku chuckles, "I tend to fall down the rabbit hole a lot."

"I didn't mind the history lesson." You shrug, "We all have our little quirks."

The guys laugh at your accidental pun and when the room dies down your devilish cat smile returns.

"Now, who's my first victim."

"Oh me. Pick me!" Kaminari says around a pastry before woofing the rest of it down. He's chatty as you work and you don't mind. Easily taking measurements and laughing at his jokes. Noticing the way he touches his wrist absentmindedly to diffuse any static shock he may have built up before you get close again.

"And that's how my bestie Sero made me take two shots too many." He ends his wild story about his 26th birthday party while you frantically write down design thoughts that came to you while talking to Denki. The electric blonde steps down as Sero steps up onto the platform for measurements.

"Yea and can you believe that's how he ended up reviving the trend of jumping on the bar to dance and sing off key."

"Hey! I have a great singing voice."

"Sure." Sero laughs, rolling his eyes in the process. This time around he's the one asking you questions that you answer here and there. Like where you're from, when'd you move from the states, did you like it there? Why you got into fashion? All the while you're still taking extra care to double measure his elbows for suits as you make him straighten and bend his arm.

"Ah ya know the usual. Been here three months, the states aren't super bad but still suck, honestly some men don't know how to dress and yet they get to design clothes? Yea fat fuckin chance." Sero nods his approval of your answers before Kirishima takes the smaller man's place.

"Red Riot-" You start but the redhead interrupts.

"Please, Eijirou." His sharp toothed smile earns a giggle from you and it makes him suddenly shy, running his broad hand on back of his head, "Since we'll be working closely together and all."

"Eijirou." You smile, knowing you shouldn't ask but they make your eyebrow twitch, pointing down to his shoes, "What are those?"

Instantly Kaminari bursts into a fit of laughter. Wiping tears from his eyes as Sero fights to not snort out his coffee. Izuku gives a soft chuckle.

Kirishima's cheeks heat, of course he'd wear his comfortable shoes when a cute girl was supposed to take his damn measurements.

"They're my crocs." He gives a pouting, pleading look as you give an obviously fake polite smile.

"Aw you don't wanna get him any croc charms?" Sero teases and Denki chimes in.

"Sero please. They're called jibbitz, not charms."

"You're fuckin lying!" You exasperate, wrapping the tape around Eijirou's large bicep, "Flex. Relax."

Jotting them down onto the paper as Kaminari and Sero laugh at Kirishima's flushed cheeks.

"Comfy and customizable." He tries to justify in a soft tone, so softly, that when you go to step onto the stool to measure the circumference of his thick throat you look down at them again with pity. A meat bone being the only "jibbitz" in the obnoxious red material.

"Guess when you're a hot hero you can pull off anything."

"OOOO she's flirtinnnn!" Denki teases and you roll your eyes.

"Shame we can't say the same for you Denki." He catches your playful cat smile and laughs at himself.

"Izuku looks like you're my final victim." You smile as he sets his coffee back onto the pastry table, coming closer for your care.

Izuku, much like Kaminari, is a talker. Although Izuku is telling you about all the best restaurants to get Katsudon or Cold soba, of all things. Where the safest 24 hour mart is once you admit how busy you've been and when they change over their sales. Izuku acts much like your own personal information desk about the big city.

You only had a few more measurements for Midoriya before you could sit down at your desk pop in your earbuds and get to drawing.

That is until the heavy wooden door slams open and the most obnoxious "OI!" echoes in the room.

What a grating fucking sound still not irritating enough to get your disapproving glare. Too busy dropping lower to wrap the tape around Izuku's waist before going to his inseam.

The ash blonde's stomach tightens as he sees you here. Face level with Izuku's God damn crotch. Why it bothers him only the gods know.

For the time being he tells himself it's because he still thinks you're a big bitch.

But the room scents with burning sugar and his hands pop before he shoves them in his pockets.

"Oh Kaachan!" Izuku chirps, "I'm happy to see you here. All might said he couldn't get a hold of you last night and wants us for tea."

"Can it, Deku." A deep, annoyed growl.

Wow what a dick. This has to be Mitsuki's son.

Izuku just laughs as you rise up, wrapping your hands around his back to bring them back to the front of his chest, memorizing the number, "All set."

Smiling as you gently pat his large pec, he steps down to chat closer to Kaachan.

Mitsuki returns with an angry tone as she fusses, "How many times have I told you son, no grenade bracers in my office!"

"Yea yea I fuckin hear ya, ma." He shoves them off his thick forearms, eyes glued to you as he lets the volatile braces hit the ground with a sloshing thunk.

"Well this is my only day off this month sooo." Kaminari starts before batting his eyelashes at Mitsuki, "Thank you for the breakfast Momma Bakugou."

"You're welcome, doll. Anytime." She sets the Pomeranian down and the dog trots to sit under the desk on its tempurpedic bed.

One by one they say their goodbyes to Mitsuki and the loud mouth that entered just moments ago.

"See ya on our shift tonight!" Izuku says to his coworker before gently shutting the door behind him.

Bakugou shoves his mask up on top of his head.

"Let's get this over with. You'll owe me big time if my shits the same." He snaps at his mom, as he steps up onto the little platform.

"Not me who's measuring you." She says focused on her phone before looking up, reading glasses perched on her nose, noticing the bags under his eyes.

"Ya been smoking again?"

"Ma."

"Drinking?!"

"Ma!"

"Are ya high right now?"

"Ma!" He growls, "I don't do that shit on the job."

His mother confirmed what his apartment already told you, that her son burned the wick at both ends and it was only a matter of time before he got caught in the middle.

And burned up in the process.

Mitsuki comes closer to inspect his face before her brows furrow up, "Wait is that lipstick on your throat, Katsuki?"

Katsuki?!

KATSUKI?!

Katsuki as in like the guy you fucked last night?

As in number one pro hero Dynamight?

AS IN YOUR BOSSES FUCKING SON?

Welp this was it, for fuckin sure this was going to be your last day as Mitsuki looks closer at the shade and then at your lips.

She furrows her brows and Bakugou is quick to answer.

"Yea some bitch left it on me last night, guess it didn't come off in the shower." He pulls out the tube of lipstick and tosses it into the garbage in front of you, "Sucks she left, it was a limited edition Mitsuki x Canel Collab."

"'Taste my cherry, please?'"

"That's the one." He shrugs, as you tighten the tape around his arm too tightly, "Oi."

"Sorry." Obviously you weren't. About as sorry as you were knocking shit down like a disgruntled cat in his apartment this morning.

"Katsuki, that one was expensive, you couldn't have just returned it to her?"

"I was hoping I'd never see her again." He looks down at you while you have a violent vision. Kneeing him in the balls and spitting in his face sounded pretty good right about now.

But you were sure Mitsuki drew the line at assaulting her son. So instead you internally rage over the 300 dollars that was thrown away.

Literally.

Mitsuki digs around in her desk drawer, finding a sealed golden tube.

"She's got good taste. For if she decides to let your dumb ass see her again." She places the lipstick in his hand as she's starting to get a call on her cellphone, "Anyway it's waterproof son, you'll need makeup remover to get it off."

She steps outside as she just catches the phone on the last ring.

Bakugou's palm is hot, practically melting the lipstick by "accident" in his hand before tossing it onto the ground between your feet.

"Here, ma said you could have it."

"Wow, thank you so much." You say dryly, grinding your teeth when you force yourself to go through the motions. Not surprisingly, Katsuki doesn't speak at all as you work. Leaving you to take a stab in the dark about his style.

Well maybe not since you did see the inner workings of his home. Among other things shared between the two of you.

You wrap your arms around his back you clawed up last night and bring it around to his broad chest. Noticing how good he smells, clean, smokey from his stupid cigarettes and from his own quirk. A deep caramel flavor that smelled like the end of summer and the start of fall. Another cusp ever permanent in his life, a limbo of sorts.

Ophelia in many aspects of his life it seems.

The animosity is practically tangible at this rate, filling up the room and making it too stuffy and hot. Making sweat prick the back of your neck as you were sure that if someone lit a match in here the whole top floor would blow up.

Reluctantly you lower to your knees to take his inseam, grinding your teeth as you try NOT to think of his thick length hiding beneath his black pants.

"Don't turn into a bitch in heat while you're down there." He tuts, looking down at you with burning ember eyes. You glare up at him and he thinks he likes the sight too much til you open that pretty mouth of yours to spit venom.

"Don't worry, I won't. Katsuki. It was much bigger in the dark." You give that damn polite smile before snapping the tape away from his leg and standing. Quickly moving away from him and towards the table with your notepad and purse.

He steps down with a growl, pulling down his mask and his hair falls back over his forehead before he stomps off. Stopping by the door for his bracers. You dare a final glance at him. Muscular body moving the heavy bracers with ease as he fixes them around his arm, double checking it's secure. Just barely you can see your lipstick mark that peaks above the collar of his hero uniform and you suck your teeth.

Imagining the headlines now as they try to swarm the hot headed asshole who you were sure didn't handle the media well. Part of you wants to leave it there because fuck him and the other part wants you to leave it there so everyone knows he's got someone at home.

Wait? Were you dumb? Someone at home? He just melted another 300 dollars to spite you.

Angrily you dig around in your purse, grabbing a makeup wipe, "Wait."

He stops, looking over his shoulder with a glare making your kissy mark stand out. You hated how good it looked there. Still you stand on tip toes, even in your platform boots. Pressing your pretty body against his arm as manicured fingers gently wipe at his tender throat.

From this angle he can see down your shirt, see all the bruises and bites he left on your body.

Could the other guys see as well? Did they know that you belonged to him?

Wait. Was Bakugou fuckin stupid? No one belonged to him and he didn't belong to anyone. Possession wasn't an option, love sure as fuck wasn't an option.

Fucking, that's all that was, just fucking.

A one night stand that he so greatly regrets.

Still the sight and feel of you makes his body run hot, just like it did last night, makes his cock stir. He grabs your shoulders roughly, putting you a full step back as he growls out a "Thanks."

"Didn't do it for you. Just don't want anyone to think I'd actually sleep with an asshole like you." You look up at him through your pretty lashes.

Both of you think about how the other looks when they cum as you stare into each other's eyes before a mirrored snarl is shared.

"Fuck off." He growls, opening the heavy wooden door before slamming it shut as you shake your head.

What a fucking Dick. You think to yourself as you sit down at your desk to work.

What a fucking Bitch. Bakugou thinks to himself as he pats down his pockets for his pack of cigarettes.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #kitten writes 🖤🐈‍⬛🖋️#kitten writes bakugou #drugs & dior 🖤🐈‍⬛

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