Archive of Our Own ^beta

Even the most elite heroes can’t save everyone. That was the harsh reality Bakugou was forced to learn far too soon after his graduation from the hallowed halls of UA.

A massive battle had broken out near an office building on the edge of Sukarif City, and every Pro in the area responded to the ensuing all-call. A deadly assortment of powerful villains—remnants from the Tartarus breakout— straggler Nomu, and too many civilians to count made for a difficult encounter to balance. Tensions rose quickly as burgeoning heroes all struggled for dominance on the battlefield.

Dynamight and Red Riot were among the first to respond, a fact Bakugou was bitterly vocal about when the two were delegated to rescue work. But he accepted his lot when he saw how excited Kirishima was to team up with him again.

They had graduated months ago, but their movements and decisions flowed together like conjoining streams in the same river. They fought alongside one another like they were dancing. The stress and expectations bearing down on Bakugou with the weight of the sky simply melted away as soon as he heard Kirishima’s laugh.

Then the floor fell out from under them.

The building itself trembled and groaned under its own weight until it gave way. Pillars crumbled and snapped, the tile cracked and gaped, and Kirishima grabbed Bakugou in a defensive embrace as the ceiling collapsed. The terrain was too unsteady. It swallowed them both.

Bakugou’s head collided with something hard, and it took him longer than it should have to recover. He spotted Kirishima at the far end of what had once been an open office. Now, piled high with rubble, it looked much more like a cave. Bakugou stumbled to his feet and made a slow circle.

No discernable exit.

He activated his comms, but only dead air answered him.

Alright, Dynamight. Time to use your head.

Bakugou could count on one hand the number of times he’d been in an office space like this, and there weren’t usually desks strewn carelessly about the room. Even still, he could deduce from what was left of the layout the windows must have been to the north. Which meant the door was probably…

His lungs objected to every breath he took as he moved to the edge of the room. Fractured ribs, most likely. Whatever. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

Bakugou ran a hand along the uneven texture of the wall until he caught the glint of metal sticking out from the wreckage. He knew just how dangerous his Quirk was to the already-compromised integrity of the structure, but he needed to try something or he and Kirishima would be trapped in here.

A low rumbling reverberated through the wall as Bakugou’s palms began to faintly glow. A series of small, controlled blasts loosened the debris and cleared a way to the door. Hurray for small victories.

Red Riot hissed in pain somewhere behind Bakugou, but he soldiered on. Probably still recovering from the fall. That was fine. Bakugou could handle the escape route.

Except…he couldn’t.

“Shit.”

The handle was twisted and unusable. Bakugou blasted it off and kicked the door with all his might. He was rewarded with a shooting pang up his leg and a door firmly stuck in its frame. The hallway behind it must have caved in.

Just his luck. He’d already failed one mission today; why not prove his ineptitude elsewhere? Clearing the building was supposed to be a simple task. Any remaining civilians had to be dead by now. And it was Bakugou’s fault. He should’ve noticed sooner.

“Fuck.” Bakugou shoved his entire body weight against the door, doggedly ignoring the way his shoulder and hip protested. Some hero he was if he couldn’t even fight his way out of a damn locked room. “FUCK!”

“Bakugou…”

Not. Now.

Bakugou clenched his teeth and stormed to the opposite wall, staunchly ignoring the interruption. He wasn’t prepared to hear a lecture right now. He had work to do. He was so single-minded in his focus, he didn’t even notice the way Kirishima swayed unsteadily when Bakugou brushed past. He didn’t notice the cracked visage of Kirishima’s Quirk decorating his skin in a patchwork shield. He didn’t notice how much blood there was.

A sliver of light illuminated fissures in the wall. Bakugou’s temper stunted his foresight, and he lashed out with an explosion far more concussive than it needed to be. The wall bloomed open, revealing the battleground below.

“Need to get someone’s attention,” Bakugou grumbled. “Can’t fly you down like this.”

“Bakugou, I need to tell you something.”

Bakugou reached to his earpiece, and the comms easily patched him through now that there wasn’t any interference.

“Status report,” he barked. “How many do we have around the building? … Well, take them out, then!”

“Bakugou! I love you!”

The world spun to a skittering halt. Bakugou’s hand fell limp. He turned to stare wide-eyed at Kirishima, who bowed so low his hair swept the corner of a nearby desk.

He continued brazenly, “And if I’m…if I’m being honest with myself, I have for a while.”

“What are you saying.”

Bakugou’s throat felt dry. Pushing words past his lips was a Herculean labor.

“I’m in love with you, Bakugou Katsuki.”

Kirishima’s answer was soft and sweet, and his teary-eyed smile broke something deep inside Bakugou. The room swam around Kirishima in his distorted vision. He felt unsteady.

“What the fuck,” he breathed. They were on a mission, dammit! Bakugou needed to clear his thoughts. He couldn’t compromise the safety of civilians and heroes alike by allowing himself to be distracted by…by whimsical fantasies. So he responded the only way he knew how: he sparked a blazing rage in his chest to swallow the dry tinder of budding affection.

“The hell, Kirishima?” he exploded, stepping closer and jabbing an accusatory finger at Red Riot’s chest. “Why would you say that shit here of all places? Did a piece of rubble knock something loose in that empty head of yours? The smoking ruins of a failed assignment hardly seems like the right time.”

Bakugou had waited so long to hear Kirishima say those words. He didn’t want some rushed, bullshit confession—not after how long the two of them had pined for one another before they came to their damn senses. No, if Kirishima was going to pour his heart out, he needed to be clear-minded and sure of himself.

“O-oh.” Kirishima’s voice trembled, and his smile fell away. “Sorry. I didn’t—”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear it.” Bakugou backed up, fixing Kirishima with an intense stare. “Tell me again tomorrow.”

The corners of Kirishima’s mouth tugged weakly, and a weight lifted from Bakugou’s chest.

“I’m gonna head down and see if we can clear a way for you,” he announced, gauging the distance from their floor to the ground below.

“I can’t—”

“I get it. The fall took a lot out of you. Don’t worry; I’ll figure it out.”

Glass crunched under Bakugou’s boots as he moved closer to the edge of the overhang.

“Katsuki—”

Bakugou paused. He turned just enough to hear Kirishima more clearly. He was relieved by the tired smile evident in his voice:

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Bakugou grinned. He turned on his heel and launched into the open air, rocketing down to the ground with a tumultuous storm of emotion brewing inside him. He felt…light. His heart soared with him, carrying towards the promise of tomorrow.

He was far out of sight when Kirishima doubled over. He didn’t see the way Kirishima’s face twisted in anguish, bloody cheeks wet with silent tears. He hadn’t seen the splintered steel beam that tore through Kirishima’s side like the hero was made of paper. He didn’t know he’d left his best friend to bleed out.

Seven minutes later, the support heroes Bakugou had alerted managed to break into the room. Seven minutes later, Red Riot was declared deceased.

And Bakugou wasn’t there.

“Idiot,” Bakugou mumbled under his breath, scuffing the earth gently with his boot.

Bakugou had protested the epitaph, insisting Kirishima would’ve liked a more traditional marker, with only his name to show. But a hero deserved special accommodation, they’d told him; especially one who died in the line of duty. And in the end, the family he left behind had the final say. Still…Crimson Riot quote or not, it was a mockery of their final moments together, and it burned Bakugou to read every time.

“Fuck you and your stupid timing and your shitty hair,” he hissed. Several nearby mourners looked at Bakugou with disgust and disappointment. All they saw was blatant disrespect. They didn’t understand Bakugou’s relationship with Kirishima. They had no way of knowing.

A sudden, loud chime garnered him more disapproving glares. He ignored them just as easily as he ignored his phone’s alarm. He quickly silenced it and shoved it deeper into his pocket, pretending it didn’t exist.

“It’s supposed to get easier,” he announced to the gravestone. “They keep telling me it’s gonna get easier. They’re so full of shit.”

No one told him that even with years of weighted loss bearing down on his mind, he would occasionally slip. Kirishima was always the first person in Bakugou’s thoughts; he was the only person Bakugou wanted to tell about his successes, his failures.

No one had told him he’d still have dreams of Kirishima’s bright, smiling face, or that they would be so vivid he would feel fingers intertwined with his long after waking.

No one had warned him Kirishima’s ghost would never stop haunting him.

Four simple words. Bakugou was convinced that was all it would take. Kirishima could finally be at rest.

I love you, too.

But those words choked him. He still couldn’t fulfill that stupid, rash promise he’d made. He didn’t deserve closure. Not after what he did.

“The pain doesn’t go away. You only learn to acclimate to it.”

The only person to give Bakugou a shred of respect after the incident had been Aizawa. When everyone else tiptoed around him and spoke with a soft voice and condolences that stung more than the wound of loss, Aizawa was an anchor. He returned a semblance of normalcy to Bakugou’s life that he had so desperately craved.

“What you’re feeling right now is important. All the fear, anger, guilt, and sadness. Experience it wholly. Don’t let your pride stop you from grieving.”

So Bakugou grieved. For three long years, he mourned his best friend and the unlimited potential of a bright hero abruptly cut short. Hardly a day went by that he didn’t relive the fateful events of that battle. If Bakugou could drown in his guilt and his fury, he would be buried beneath an ocean of it.

Again, that repetitive chorus of obnoxious bells blared from his pocket and interrupted his reveries. He yanked his phone out to turn the alarm off.

‘Leave. The. Cemetery. Work. In. Fifteen. Minutes.’ read the text on the screen. He grumbled and shook his head. He had a very busy schedule full of self-loathing and internal monologuing, thank you very much.

“They just won’t give me a break, huh?” he asked, just in time for his final and most obtrusive alarm to trumpet across the yard, all the way to the temple.

‘LET THE IDIOT REST. GO TO WORK.’

“Yeah, yeah. Alright already,” he muttered. Ranked Pro Hero or not, he wasn’t about to push his luck. He wore the burden of angry eyes with comfortable familiarity, going through the motions of brushing off some nonexistent dirt from the memorial’s smooth stone.

“Same time tomorrow?”

The flight to the agency was short enough that Bakugou opted against taking the bus. Sometimes he needed to feel the wind in his hair to remind himself what it felt like to be alive.

The building was nondescript: a glossy, modern black structure built low to the ground with no signage denoting its business. Subtle and unintimidating. The foyer was pleasantly-decorated, and the secretary behind the front desk smiled politely as Bakugou passed.

“He’s in Conference Room Tau,” they offered helpfully. Bakugou grunted in reply.

He made his way to the staff elevators and swiped his keycard to unveil the buttons for the basement levels. The simplicity of the base was a facade meant to deter further inspection. The majority of its floorplan was devoted to the vast labyrinth of interconnected tunnels spreading beneath it like a root system.

Eraserhead had retired after he saw his class graduate. He made a grand speech to all of UA about the honor and dignity of serving alongside the finest heroes of the modern era, about how a bright future meant his work guiding and shaping the next generation’s heroes was finished. But that was such a load of bullshit, and Bakugou knew it. Eraserhead was scared. He’d sacrificed so much for his students, for that perfect future. If he continued, there wouldn’t be anything left to give.

Retirement didn’t suit him, though.

While he was used to staying out of the public eye, idle hands quickly drove Aizawa mad. He started up an agency, fulfilling the hopeful dreams of a naive kid before his world was destroyed by a brutal and merciless reality. His job now was a matter of divvying out missions to heroes whose skill sets would best benefit them. His roster was largely a list of uncontracted or underground heroes, but often enough, he would call up bigger agencies to share information and arrange team-ups.

Bakugou had to admit, he was well-suited for it.

The windows to Conference Room Tau were untinted when he approached. Aizawa was in the middle of a briefing, gesturing to a screen at the head of the room. Bakugou squinted as he drew nearer. Where did he recognize that data from?

The windows blacked out, cutting off Bakugou’s view of the presentation.

“What the—”

“You’re early,” came Aizawa’s voice in that classic tired and ever-disappointed tone. “Was he not very talkative today?”

Bakugou sneered as Aizawa stepped into the hall. He knew the jab was meant to distract him. He wasn’t so easily manipulated. The sound of the door latching behind Aizawa before Bakugou could brush past him into the room, however, was a boldfaced taunt Bakugou couldn’t allow to go unchallenged.

“The hell are you hiding from me?”

A map. He’d briefly seen a map before Aizawa noticed him and put the room on lockdown. It had been illuminated with several hotspots in a clear path towards Musutafu. That’s why he’d recognized it.

“How dangerous is it?” he asked, crossing his arms and jutting his chin out defiantly.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the crap. The Nomu. The new one that somehow crawled out of the ass crack of Hell years after we got Garaki. How dangerous is it.”

Aizawa’s lips thinned the slightest amount, but he held firm. “I have a team handling it.”

“How advanced is it?”

“It speaks.”

“Damn. Another High End, then?” Bakugou snarled and shook his head. “What’s this one calling itself?”

Aizawa paused for longer than he rightfully should have. Bakugou quirked an eyebrow and narrowed his eyes.

“Bloodbath,” he finally offered. Bakugou scoffed.

“Gratuitous. Self-aggrandizing. Why am I not surprised.” He rolled his shoulders and caught his fist, releasing a small explosion upon impact. “So what’s the plan?”

“No.”

Bakugou’s nostrils flared. He took a slow, controlled breath.

“No?”

“I told you; I already have a team. You have another assignment.”

“The patrols lately have been pathetic!” Bakugou’s voice carried in the empty hall. “I can handle more than petty purse-snatchers, and you know it. I can do more. I’m supposed to be more!”

The pity that flashed over Aizawa’s face was brief but unmistakable. Bakugou felt a dizzying disgust rise in his throat, but before he could give it form, Aizawa continued:

“Not every fight a hero faces is going to be apocalyptic. To the woman whose purse you returned, you may very well have saved her world.”

“When did you get so fuckin’ sappy?” Bakugou countered angrily. He stepped forward, crowding Eraserhead. “You know damn well I can take out a Nomu faster than any team. So why—”

“After all these years,” he interrupted with sharp, authoritarian resonance. A red glow bounced off his face as he activated his Quirk. “You still don’t trust me?”

“I don’t understand why I should have to,” Bakugou yelled, unperturbed by the intimidating display. It was an empty threat anyways. “What are you hiding from me?”

“That’s part of the process, isn’t it?” Aizawa asked, closing his eyes and hiding behind the mane of hair that fell back into his face. “Trust me. This isn’t your fight.”

Bakugou was furious. But he knew the betrayal brewing inside him was fabricated. Aizawa only ever acted in the best interests of those he respected and cared for. Bakugou might not agree, and he might not understand. But he could grit his teeth and bear it.

“I’m going on patrol,” he muttered gruffly. “You can give me my new assignment when I get back.”

The streets were quiet.

Bakugou knew that was a good thing. He didn’t want a high crime rate in his district. But his palms itched for some action. He needed a villain. Without an outlet for his anger, he had no other option but to turn it inwards, and that only served to make him more dangerous to the civilians he was meant to help.

Several woefully uneventful hours crawled by, which left Bakugou with a growing sense of paranoia and discontent. He was staring out over the street when he felt the distinct, uneasy prickle of eyes on him.

He was being watched.

His lips curled into a wicked grin as a relieved “finally” played through his mind. He whirled around, fingers curling around a fiery bouquet. Before he could properly aim, however, a tight grip on his wrist yanked his arm down to his side. His Quirk fizzled out without impact, and he glared at the man attached to the capture scarf as he tugged free of it.

“Oh, good. Eraser Junior’s here to babysit me,” he spat, turning back to his vantage point like he hadn’t been so distracted he nearly attacked a coworker. “I’m fucking fine. You can leave.”

“Nice to see you, too, Bakugou,” Shinsou replied with a sardonic sort of amiability. He strolled obnoxiously closer, ignoring the clear signs Bakugou was putting out that he didn’t want the company. “I’m doing well, actually; thanks so much for asking.”

“Don’t you have some other loudmouth brat to annoy?”

“Aww, so you admit you’re a brat?” Shinsou sounded far too pleased with himself. Bakugou refused to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging the jab. He really set himself up for that one.

“So whose dick did you have to suck to get the honor of patrolling with me?” Bakugou jeered. “Oh wait, I already know.”

But Shinsou was infuriatingly unaffected.

“Trust me, no amount of sexual favors in the world could get me out of tagging along with your unappreciative ass.” Shinsou sat heavily beside Bakugou, kicking his legs out over the roof’s edge. “Besides…this isn’t much of a patrol. You get lost finding shapes in the clouds, or…?”

Bakugou was silent for a long moment, watching the foot traffic of the city below. Finally, he offered a mumbled, “Not that it’s any of your business. But I’m gettin’ real tired of being treated with kid gloves. I’ve dealt with a lot of shit in my life. Yeah, some crap’s harder to deal with than others, but that doesn’t mean I’m fuckin’ useless.”

“Eraser doesn’t think you’re useless.”

“Right.” Bakugou laughed humorlessly. “You gonna tell me you don’t know anything about his special Nomu project?”

Shinsou’s silence was telling.

“Figured. Teacher’s pet always gets the fun assignments.”

“Bakugou…” There it was again. That teeth-grinding, gut-wrenching pity. And coming from Shinsou of all people? Disgusting. “This isn’t about favoritism. I can promise you that.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Bakugou dismissed. He pushed off the ledge and landed with a reverberating clang on the fire escape below, already calculating the best route to the other side of town. He needed some distance between himself and his babysitter.

“Is it really worth it?” Shinsou called in a bored tone uncannily similar to Aizawa’s. “You know I have to follow you. Why not just stay and chat.”

“Fuck off!”

Bakugou swung over the railing, catching himself midair with a controlled blast and catapulting towards the street. Flying always helped clear his head. He really needed that right now.

He spun through the air, riding the wind to keep him airborne as long as possible between shots of his Quirk. They were in a populated area, and he didn’t need any damn complaints tarnishing his hero record.

True to his word, though, Shinsou kept pace frustratingly well. They leapt across the top of the city like skipping pebbles off a lake, holding onto a begrudging and silent peace all the while. Bakugou would hold his gratitude close to his chest, but having Shinsou as a shadow at least served to ground him in the moment. It was hard to drift off into an existential void when a sarcastic asshole was watching and waiting for such an opportunity to present itself.

Patrol continued with an idyllic rhythm. After a few mundane encounters—two-bit criminals and petty, easily-resolved incidents—Bakugou felt a lot more centered. Shinsou never even breached their unspoken truce. He didn’t acknowledge Bakugou unless directly addressed. Bakugou could get used to teamwork like that.

Even without a major villain presence, the patrol was shaping up to be a lot better than Bakugou’s usual fare. He’d forgotten how nice it could be to just…exist with someone without the need for banter or hurling insults. After Kirishima, he had isolated himself. He rarely spoke to his old classmates unless they were on assignment. But maybe—

The distinct crackle of a comm bursting to life and a frantic voice on the other end caught Bakugou’s attention. He whipped around to glare at Shinsou. What the hell kind of transmission was he receiving that Bakugou wasn’t privy to? His mood instantly soured when he remembered why Shinsou was spending time with him. He was just overseeing Bakugou to make sure he could do his job. Dammit, how could he have been so stupid?

“Dynamight.” Shinsou met his gaze, and the hard intensity behind his eyes gave him pause. “Incoming bogie. You need to fall back. Direct orders from HQ.”

“The fuck do you mean, fall back?”

White-hot anger crashed over Bakugou. His face twisted, and he raised a smoking fist in impulsive warning. Shinsou didn’t flinch. He stared unblinking at Bakugou, with a gravity that made Bakugou balk.

“What is it?” he asked, reigning in the outburst that simmered just under his skin. “The Nomu? We can handle it. Where is it?”

“Here.”

Something about the way Shinsou said that one word…it sounded so haunted. Bakugou shook his head and rolled through it, painting a cocky smile on his features.

“Perfect! Showed up just in time to get—”

“Dynamight. This isn’t a laughing matter. This isn’t something you can go into blind. You need to fall back.”

Shinsou’s hand reached up, fingers twitching as if to remember dial settings. Bakugou fired a warning shot at the space between them. Shinsou’s hand froze inches away from his Persona Chords.

“Use your Quirk on me and die, extra,” he growled. “I’m not in the mood.”

“This isn’t about you, you selfish prick,” Shinsou retaliated in equal measure.

“Really? ‘Cause I’m feeling pretty fuckin’ targeted. Why am I the only one in the godforsaken country that doesn’t know about this damn villain? I’m a damn good asset. I can help.”

“Then leave,” Shinsou snapped, throwing his hand out and gesturing towards the open skyline. “If you want to help, then obey your orders like a good little soldier and leave!”

“I’m not gonna fucking abandon you!”

As angry as he was, as much as he hated every venomous word out of Shinsou’s mouth, he couldn’t ignore the anxious nausea building in his gut. He felt weightless and unable to breathe as the swirling tides of déjà vu buffeted against him.

“Is that what this is about?” Shinsou asked in the sudden calm. His voice was gentle but stern. No trace of pity this time; only a disappointed understanding. Damn, he sounded so much like Aizawa.

“That’s what it’s always about.”

If Bakugou had just stayed with Kirishima…if he had gone back up with the support heroes instead of fucking around cleaning up stragglers…if he had listened to what Kirishima had been trying to tell him…maybe Red Riot would be here fighting this new threat alongside them.

“I won't abandon my team. Not again.”

The heavy tension in the air was broken by the muffled, panicked voice in Shinsou’s ear. He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh and slipped the earpiece out, pocketing it and giving the two some privacy.

“This is about people you care about getting hurt, yeah?”

“With perception skills like that, it’s a wonder they took so long to enroll you in the Hero Course,” Bakugou groused.

“Listen, as much as I’d love to sit here and shoot the shit, we don’t have time for that. You don’t want me to get hurt. You’re very noble. Can we move on?”

Shinsou took a step closer, and Bakugou took a moment to investigate the sky, the streets, the buildings. He couldn’t sense anything out of the ordinary. Somehow that only made the threat seem more dangerous.

“Do you remember Cellophane getting hospitalized after your last mission together?” Shinsou asked abruptly, breaking Bakugou’s concentration. He nodded slowly. Guilt and unease tangled together low in his stomach. “Yeah, not the villains you put away. He was ambushed. This thing found him after you left.”

“What are you saying?” Bakugou asked carefully. His eyes narrowed, and he again glanced out over the empty skies.

“It’s targeting you. This whole time, its attacks have been moving. Circling like a shark. It’s getting closer to you. And it doesn’t very much like the people you’re close to.”

Bakugou was silent, staring out into the open air behind Shinsou like it might change what was said.

“You’ve got aggro, buddy. You wanna protect me? Then leave.”

Bakugou hesitated. He rocked on his heels as the reality of the situation finally began to sink in. He pitched forward and let out an incensed shout that bounded off the windows around them.

“FUCK!”

He fixed Shinsou with a fiery glare, taking in several heavy breaths before turning and launching off the roof in an unrestrained display of power. He’d lost his temper, and he knew it must have left a permanent mark on the building. He simply couldn’t find the willpower to care.

Right now, he had to focus on his route. He needed to make himself impossible to follow as he fled—strategically repositioned, he told himself. But soft words hardly cushioned the blow. He was running away. He was leaving a teammate behind instead of standing his ground and fighting with him. He was—

He was being followed.

Bakugou shifted his weight and spun in place to get a quick survey of the immediate vicinity. Part of him expected to see Shinsou tailing him from a safe distance. But everything was…perfectly normal.

Bakugou frowned and shot straight up into the air, skimming close enough to the windows that he could see them shake as he passed. He kept an eye on the reflections they held. Something was definitely moving behind him, always just out of the corner of his vision.

An angry wind lashed through his hair and stung at the exposed parts of his face as he finally rounded the rooftop ledge. He shot across it with alarming speed and dove back down the other side, heading straight for an alleyway across the street. His instincts were firing like mad. He was this thing’s prey. Bakugou hated the feeling. It crept under his skin and propelled him forward. He could feel the presence of his pursuer, even if couldn’t catch more than a fleeting glimpse of it.

Bakugou navigated the city’s labyrinth with ease, alternating between taking sharp turns in narrow alleys and jettisoning off rooftops for extra bursts of speed. The Nomu followed all the while, never far behind. Bakugou’s growing apprehension mixed with the familiar adrenaline of flight in a thrilling sort of taboo. Every challenge Bakugou set, this creature met. They read each other’s movements in the wordless way that came with years of practice and understanding. The pursuit felt more like a dance than a chase.

Bakugou had nearly made it to the city limit when their dance came to an end.

An enormous shadow descended upon him, blanketing the urban backdrop in darkness. A spike of fear lanced straight into Bakugou’s chest, and he felt the burn in his palms as he poured more energy into his speed. It didn’t matter. The creature easily overtook him.

Bakugou banked sharply with the intent to flank the Nomu and give it hell, but his plan was cut short. Excruciating pain tore through him as huge talons skewered his shoulder and side, directly through old wounds. He brought a trembling hand to the bloody claw holding him aloft and shoved weakly against it.

“Finally,” it purred. Bakugou held tighter and tried again to push himself free. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Without any further warning, the crushing grip around Bakugou’s chest tightened and the creature shot into the sky with a thunderous roar. Black clouded his vision as the sheer pressure of the movement dug into his body. Bakugou blinked hard, warring with himself to remain conscious. He thought he might have heard the beast speak again, but he couldn’t focus. His mind and body failed him.

Suffocating darkness overwhelmed Bakugou, dragging him into unconsciousness.

Sharp, throbbing pain shattered through the muffled darkness of Bakugou's mind, pulling him abruptly to the surface of consciousness with dizzying speed. Carmine eyes snapped open and burning splinters shot through his shoulder as he pulled himself upright. Vertigo made it difficult to take in his surroundings, but he easily managed to identify the decayed remains of cubicles and scattered office supplies. His stomach dropped.

Bakugou staggered to his feet, shuffling towards the huge hole in the ceiling framed with broken steel beams and crumbling cement. Pools of dried blood painted the floor, and Bakugou felt sick.

Why here?

The walls were still spinning, but he whirled around anyways, searching for any sign of his abductor.

Why?

"Aww, what's the matter, kitten?" came a guttural rumble so deep it reverberated throughout the room. Bakugou kept his head on a constant swivel—despite its pounding protests—as he tried to locate the source of the taunt.

"Hiding in the shadows, you coward?" he shouted. "Come out and fight!"

Bakugou blew a hole through the nearest desk, his frustration mounting far too quickly. The anger and desperation and long-buried grief inside of him was boiling him alive. Being back here, he could feel it bubbling over, and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

"FACE ME!" he screamed into the vacuum. The silence of this derelict sepulcher choked him. His vision blurred, and he entombed a ragged gasp in the blast of another explosion.

"Such a temper," the voice purred sweetly. Its resonance crept through the floor and up into Bakugou's chest, forcing its way in and settling with an uncomfortable weight. Disgust washed over him, and he stumbled backward. Why was he reacting to the creature's voice? Was it a Quirk? If it was anything like Shinsou’s, Bakugou needed to be a lot more careful controlling his emotions.

"Glad to see some things never change,” it taunted sweetly.

The shadows at the end of the room rippled and bent, giving way to a creature nearly too massive to fit in the building. Its scales were the same inky black color as other Nomu that Bakugou had faced, broken up by the deep red spikes down its spine. Its draconic appearance left little doubt as to which hero was its blueprint. Ryukyu had gone missing shortly before the attack on Sukarif, and now her Quirk was on full, gruesome, sacrilegious display. This Nomu might’ve even been a part of the horde that brought this building to ruin. It might just share the responsibility for what happened to Kirishima.

Bakugou ground his teeth together and lunged at the monstrosity. The second his heel made contact with the ground, however, his leg gave out from under him. He tumbled to the floor, unable to get his damn body to listen to him despite the adrenaline twisting through his veins. Anger burned a hole through Bakugou’s chest at the humiliation of it.

The Nomu moved closer, stepping surprisingly gently on its huge, clawed feet. Its head tilted curiously as it peered down at the crumpled hero, and its features devolved into a horrific smile full of deadly teeth. As a spot of light brushed over its face, blown-out pupils focused in narrowed slits flanked by bloody pools.

“Poor little broken thing,” it cooed as it came to a stop just short of Bakugou. It carefully reached out one of its four bulky limbs to press weight onto Bakugou’s leg. “And I’ll bet you never learned how to beg for mercy, did you?”

Bakugou jerked away, fighting back the pained cry that welled in his throat as talons punctured his thigh. “What the fuck are you s’posed to be, huh?” he spat. “Garaki decided he needed a—a damn pet lizard to keep the rest of his abominations company?”

“You should be grateful for what the good doctor did for me,” it replied with a growling chuckle. It gripped Bakugou tighter, and its head drew nearer. “For you.”

“Bull. Garaki’s rotting in a cell in the deepest pit we could throw him in.”

“Oh? And how sure are you about that? When’s the last time you checked in on him?”

Bakugou’s responding snarl was cut off when the Nomu dragged Bakugou close.

“Get the hell off me, you—nnng!!”

A strangled moan wavered in the air as a thick, pulsating tongue unfurled from behind rows of serrated teeth and pressed greedily into Bakugou’s still-flowing shoulder wound.

“The fu—stop,” Bakugou commanded, sending a powerful concussive blast directly at the creature’s face. An open mouth had to be some kind of weak spot, right? But the Nomu didn’t budge an inch. Dammit. Bakugou seethed, pressing into the rubble in a vain attempt to get further away.

Glowing red pierced through the dispersing cloud, and Bakugou caught a brief glimpse of an eerily familiar texture on its face before its scales shifted back into place. The creature hummed in delight and lapped almost playfully at Bakugou’s shoulder. Its tongue dragged a streak of crimson up Bakugou’s neck and across his face, sweeping over various cuts and scrapes in its path and hugging close to the curves of his cheek and jaw. It moaned at the taste of him, and Bakugou shuddered in revulsion.

“Relax, little hero. You’ll only make your injuries worse.” A disturbing wave of calm washed over Bakugou, momentarily stilling him. His head felt light, almost floaty. It reminded him of how it felt when his sleep aid finally kicked in and swept away all the intrusive thoughts that kept his rest at bay. He nearly lost himself in the comfort of it, until a rumbling voice lurched him back to the present. “I’d hoped you would last a while longer for me.”

Bakugou heard a distant creaking as he fought to focus, to clear that lulling fog from his brain. What had that thing done to him? He didn’t have time to consider. The sound evolved into something similar to cracking ice, and Bakugou’s heart raced. He frantically scanned the ceiling for signs of instability.

With a final fractured crunch, the Nomu crushed Bakugou’s remaining gauntlet. The liquid stored inside splashed across the dusty rubble, painting it in the dark varnish of last chances and lost hope. Bakugou bit back an agonized shout as shrapnel from his equipment carved into his arms. His head turned to the side so he could watch his best shot at defending himself crumble away like it was nothing.

“I think we both feel better with that gone,” the beast mused smugly.

Disgust and hatred broiled in the pit of Bakugou’s stomach, but he managed to keep his fists down by his sides. Attacking without a plan wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“The fuck do you want from me? Why haven’t you killed me?” he questioned instead. Was this some leftover programming from the days of the League? That didn’t make any sense. Nomus were never this interested in him, not even—

His eyes widened as they wandered over the massive, tattered wings draped over the creature’s back. Were those… No, the wings were from Ryukyu, too. He was overthinking things now. But then why did Bakugou feel like this monster was familiar to him?

“I couldn’t kill you, kitten,” it breathed, readjusting to carefully trail a taloned hand up Bakugou’s leg. “At least, I have no reason to. Not yet.”

A claw hooked under Bakugou’s woefully unequipped belt, tearing into the reinforced fabric beneath. The creature lacked the necessary dexterity to remove the garment entirely, and the garter straps made it impossible to rip the offending piece away without risking worse injury to Bakugou, so the Nomu occupied itself with slashing idly at the piece, searching for any imperfection it might exploit.

Bakugou jerked violently when the beast’s serpentine tongue laved over his chest and dipped beneath the neck of his shirt. He instinctively planted a scraped palm on the Nomu’s forehead and felt it heat threateningly before he could even consider the viability of such a warning.

“Don’t—fucking dare.” His voice cracked with something he refused to admit was fear. He twisted his body, hips retreating from those dangerously exploratory touches. “Get the fuck away from me,” he growled. “Don’t touch me, you freak, or I’ll nuke you to fucking ash.”

The tongue retreated, but Bakugou refused to let himself relax as he watched it dance over pointed teeth.

“Oh, I think your chance to cremate me passed a long time ago. Turns out, rigor mortis set in a little differently for someone with a Quirk like mine.”

A giant hand wrapped around Bakugou’s undamaged leg, and its claws sliced through the loose fabric around his hips, which fell away to expose more of the trapped hero. The Nomu’s pupils blew wide again as it moved closer to inspect its handiwork.

A rapid-fire crackling heralded the powerful explosion Bakugou set off in the creature’s face as he propelled himself out of its grasp. Talons bit into his thigh, and hot blood instantly welled up on the broken skin.

Bakugou flipped to his stomach and dragged himself away, despite the howling pain in his shoulder. He had to escape. He had to call for backup. Why the hell hadn’t Aizawa let him in on briefings for this thing? He was utterly in the dark, and for the first time in nearly a decade, he felt terrified.

Crushing weight bore down on his back, punching the breath out of his lungs. The creature hauled him into the air, drawing him closer again.

With the seat of his pants now exposed, the thing effortlessly clawed open the rest of the seam. Bakugou wore his pants low enough that his compression shorts weren’t caught in the crossfire, but his growing vulnerability left a heavy pit of nausea in his throat. A hot breath curled out of the Nomu’s mouth as it gripped the blond tightly, and Bakugou jolted. His spine went rigid at the foreign sensation of that thing’s tongue snaking under the leg of his underwear and sliding into him with a tapered tip hardly larger than a human tongue.

“I’LL KILL YOU,“ he roared, nails biting into the coarse, selachian skin of the Nomu’s thick fingers. The tongue paused before slowly winding back into the beast’s mouth. It hummed in disapproval as it considered him.

“That doesn’t sound very heroic.”

Cold dread settled over Bakugou, snatching his heart up in a skeletal grasp and stilling its wild thundering.

“What—”

He wasn’t given time to process. The claws gripping him punctured his flesh as the creature abandoned whatever restraint it previously had. Its tongue pressed into him again, drenched in ropes of spit that allowed it to slide deeper, deeper, deeper…

Warm, wet ridges stretched Bakugou open wider than any toy he’d ever taken. The aching burn of it eased far too quickly. The excessive spit slicking the Nomu’s way left behind a trail of tingling flesh, akin to cooling balms Bakugou would apply to sore muscles to relax them after a long patrol.

Realization prickled over Bakugou when that soporific feeling spread and warmth filled his gut, slowly seeping through every corner of his body. It took the edge off the pain and replaced it instead with a frightening, taboo pleasure. Where the hell would they even get a damn Quirk like that??

“Stop,” he whispered, coherent thought slipping through his grasp as he desperately struggled to make sense of this growing nightmare. “Liar, you can’t—you can’t be—”

The creature chuckled, slowly pulling free of him only to bully its way inside a second time. The length of its tongue doubled over, stretching him further still. It pulsed with uncomfortable heat, and a low moan was plucked from Bakugou’s unwilling lips as his rim tugged on the soft, pliable barbs lining the creature’s tongue. Kirishima’s tongue? No. No, that couldn’t possibly be true. The Nomu was just fucking with him. Toying with his mind and body.

Yet that deep rumble of laughter—cynical and derisive as it was—felt like home. It soothed more aches in Bakugou than whatever chemical was being pumped into his body through the thing’s damn saliva.

“Stop,” he repeated, face burning with the shame of how weak his protests sounded.

Hot air scalded Bakugou’s skin when the creature huffed, even more of that aphrodisiac dripping from its maw than before. The overwhelming fullness inside Bakugou abated as the tongue retreated, rolling over Bakugou’s thighs and returning for one final, startling thrust before recoiling entirely.

“That was a pretty sound, little hero.” Bakugou struggled to hold back the tremors wracking his body as he was lowered to the ground. He ached with a new sensation now, clenching around nothing as a biting emptiness crawled through him. The Nomu’s form began to shift. It was…shrinking. “I want to hear more.”

Another moan spilled out of Bakugou unbidden, and his jaw clenched reflexively.

“No, kitten,” it interrupted with a startlingly gentle, much more human voice. “That’s not the sound I meant.”

Bakugou watched in horror as the Nomu continued to shift. Its body shrank to about the size of a man—albeit an insanely big one, akin to All Might in his prime, or maybe even Fatgum. It stood comfortably on two humanoid legs, still peppered with inky black scales that contrasted with its pallid skin. Its crown of horns and spikes morphed into long, layered red hair that spilt over its back and shoulders in a feathered mane. Its reptilian face morphed into a familiar grin, interrupted by the flick of a barbed tongue licking over razor-sharp teeth.

Despite its still-present draconic features—the wings held close like a mantle, the tail sweeping back and forth in a grand gesture of self-satisfaction, the obsidian talons still pressing dangerously into Bakugou’s arms—the Nomu was distinctly recognizable, a macabre mockery of everything Kirishima could have been but Bakugou was never given the chance to see.

Its—no, his voice came out low and filled with a malice that shattered Bakugou’s heart.

“Beg.”

“K–Kirishima?” Bakugou whispered the name with the quiet reverence of a prayer. “Please, don’t—”

“No,” the Nomu interrupted with a cruel smile. “Beg me to stop.”

The command coiled around Bakugou’s throat, coaxing out unwilling compliance. His jaw ached with the desperate attempt to resist, but the longer he went without obeying, the more discomfort settled over him and threatened to force its way under his skin.

“Stop.” Bakugou glared through furious tears at the beast hiding behind Kirishima’s face. It wasn’t enough. The command battered itself against Bakugou’s mind, unsatisfied with an emotionless delivery through clenched teeth. Bakugou needed to do better. He couldn’t breathe. He had to be better for—

“St-stop!”

His voice wavered, and something chipped away in his chest. Bakugou couldn’t tell through his muddled thoughts whether it was frustration, fear, or some perverse desire to impress that moved him.

“Good,” the Nomu purred with a kind softness. “Just like that, little hero. If you beg pretty enough, maybe this won’t hurt.”

Something hot and slick and far too thick pressed against his hole, still wet and uncomfortably loose from the creature’s earlier assault on him, and Bakugou was sickened by the way his blood rushed in eager anticipation.

“Stop!” Bakugou wildly jerked away, but massive hands pinned him in place. A carefully-constructed dam hidden beneath the cage of his ribs crumbled apart, setting loose all the emotions he’d kept at bay. They spilled forth with reckless abandon: “Fuck, stop—don’t—you can’t—no—please don’t—”

“What’s that?” teased the absolutely mountainous creature towering over Bakugou. His hips rocked forward, pushing the plush, firm head of his cock into Bakugou the barest bit. “I don’t know who you’re addressing, kitten.”

“I don’t know your damn name!” Bakugou shouted, screwing his eyes shut and fighting every instinct screaming at him to seat himself on that tantalizing pressure.

“Don’t you?”

“You’re not him.”

“No? Say my name.”

There it was again. A command Bakugou couldn’t deny. The name flew past his lips before he had any chance to catch it.

“Kirishim–aaahhh!”

Immobilizing pain flared through Bakugou, rending his limbs of utility, as the monster hilted entirely inside him with one quick, brutal thrust. A creeping, forbidden pleasure threaded slowly through his muscles and sat deep in his core alongside the aching burn as he adjusted to the stretch.

“Mmmm…so tight.” The Nomu’s rumbling moan traveled through Bakugou’s body, and he clenched tighter still, which earned him a bright-eyed smile. “You keep yourself pure for me? Sure doesn’t feel like this hole’s seen any use since—”

Bakugou spat in the creature’s face, successfully cutting him off. He hardly had any strength left in his arms, but he swallowed down the blinding pain and strained to right himself.

Then it started moving.

Slow, rolling thrusts that pushed him even deeper and made Bakugou thoroughly aware of every foreign ridge and curve decorating the villain’s monstrous cock. He wanted to hate it. He willed bile to pool on his tongue alongside the salty saliva he could never seem to swallow back fast enough. But nothing came. His body betrayed him.

“Fuck you. Fuck you. You’re not him, stop preten—aahh—pretending!”

“Hmm. You’re right. You let Kirishima die, didn’t you?” He emphasized this taunt with a sharp snap of his hips, and a mire of disgust and arousal clamored discordantly through Bakugou’s chest. “Why don’t you call me by my new name, then? Baptized in blood and born anew.”

Oh, shit.

Bakugou suddenly recalled Aizawa’s hesitancy to give Bakugou the villain’s call sign back at the agency. He’d been stalling for an easy lie. Now Bakugou understood why.

“Blood Riot. You call yourself Blood Riot.”

An animalistic, snarling smile split across the creature’s face. It leaned closer—pushing impossibly deeper as it did—and licked a slow stripe up the side of Bakugou’s face. He shuddered and balled his fists tightly to ward off the unwanted desire that crept over him.

“Such a good pet.”

The villain’s praise arced through Bakugou’s chest like a lightning bolt, following down the line of his spine and settling in his swelling cock. Humiliation forced his eyes shut, but he couldn’t turn his head away. A huge hand cupped his chin and held him fast. Gentle pressure became the promise of pain, and Bakugou acquiesced before his jaw could be forcibly pried open.

Immediately, Blood Riot closed the gap between them with a hurried, primal clash of lips and teeth. It was sudden and hungry, and his tongue bullied its way into Bakugou’s mouth with ease, dripping with even more of that heady, aphrodisiac saliva that Bakugou had no choice but to gulp down. He could do little but moan helplessly as he was utterly, completely filled from both ends.

Blood Riot took what he wanted from Bakugou’s body, hammering into him with machinelike efficiency even as he explored every dip and curve of Bakugou’s mouth and throat with his tongue. Bakugou tried not to think about the fact that he could taste himself there. It was too much. His pulse was already thundering against his skin as all his blood threatened to redirect. All thoughts of pain or escape gave way to overwhelming need as spots began to dance around the room.

Bakugou gasped raggedly the moment his throat cleared. His lungs stung from the sudden oxygen overload. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t clear away the slimy, Quirked saliva coating his insides no matter how hard he tried. He could barely move, entombed as he was beneath Blood Riot’s solid mass.

“Mmm, my name tastes so pretty on your tongue.”

Even without the ample excuse of choking on the villain, Bakugou’s head swam. His entire body burned from all the pheromones he had just swallowed down like absinthe. He felt fuzzy. His tongue moved against the ghost of absent pressure. His lips yearned to be stretched open again. He needed…he needed…

Blood Riot withdrew, pulling free of Bakugou’s tight heat with an agonizing air of leisure. Bakugou rolled his hips in a useless search for friction.

“Nn—no…”

He needed more.

“That’s it…” The Nomu’s lips curled back into a toothy grin, and claws bit into Bakugou’s thighs. “Louder.”

“Don’t—”

Bakugou’s plea was cut off when Blood Riot unceremoniously fucked back into him with bruising force. He moved with a preternatural speed, and Bakugou once again found himself in reluctant awe of the creature’s prowess. A string of pathetic whimpering decorated his unabashed moans as Blood Riot’s thick cock carved a path deep inside him. He danced like a marionette under the Nomu’s control, singing an incessant chorus of stop, no, and don’t that felt increasingly less forced as distant pain and dull aching gave way to thrumming need with no possible reprieve.

Bakugou could barely breathe from the crushing pressure of spite and resentment bearing down on him. Resentment that he failed Kirishima. Resentment that he was so easily stripped of his humanity and autonomy. Resentment that he couldn’t regain control of his own body. He felt detached from the pleading words that spilled past his lips, but he couldn’t even manage to dissociate properly when Blood Riot kept hitting him at just the right angle.

Bakugou didn’t want this—he didn’t—but his body felt so good, and he was being forced to seem so weak, like he couldn’t take it. He could take it.

“Fffuuuck,” he whined, back arching off the rubble-strewn floor. “Stop—I don’t–want this. Please, fuck, no m-more—nnnngg!” Bakugou choked on a sob as he twisted away, trying and failing to hide his face as hot tears dragged down his flushed cheeks. “Get th’ hell…off’a me…I can’t—no. No, fuck, I need—no more. Can’t…”

Bakugou flinched when the Nomu’s tongue danced across his face, drinking down those traitorous tears. He bared his teeth, but only earned an amused chuckle as Blood Riot swelled inside him.

“Shit!” A delicious tremor shot up Bakugou’s spine, and he clenched down around the intrusion, desperate for—

“More,” he gasped. His hips wantonly ground down against the massive cock splitting him open. He mewled desperately, screwing his eyes shut when he met the enamored gaze of the creature defiling him. It was too familiar. Too much like…before. He couldn’t think about that. Not right now. “St-op. Can’t—I need—gimme—more! Fuck, I need more!”

Instead, Blood Riot’s pace slowed to a torturous crawl. Bakugou growled, nails biting into the pulverized tile beneath him.

“Maybe I was wrong after all. You turned into a little slut so quickly…maybe you have been sleeping around.”

“No,” Bakugou answered immediately. His head fell back, and he poured all his focus into keeping control. He took a slow, steady breath. “Never anyone but you, Ei. No one else.”

A menacing light glowed behind Blood Riot’s eyes as he snapped out of whatever trance Bakugou had lulled him into. The creature returned to its brutal, relentless rhythm, hips snapping into Bakugou with a possessive fury.

He looked so much like Kirishima.

“No one else?” Blood Riot mocked. Kirishima had never been this cruel. “Funny way of showing it.”

Long-buried memories swam to the surface of Bakugou’s muddled mind. Kirishima’s sweet smile as he gently worked into Bakugou. He’d been so patient and kind, so understanding. A far cry from the cold-hearted monster violating him now.

But Kirishima was gone, and it was Bakugou’s fault. Maybe he deserved this.

“Only ever you.”

Bakugou’s voice was hardly more than a whisper, but he knew Blood Riot heard him. He could feel the way the Nomu’s body reacted. Its cock twitched and pulsed erratically, and a warm, volatile pressure built in Bakugou’s gut, pumped into him in endless ropes that just kept coming. He whimpered in distress as his core grew tight.

Quirked saliva was nothing compared to the potency of Blood Riot’s cum. Bakugou felt as if his entire being snapped like a bowstring drawn too taut. Exhaustion and pleasure rolled over him in heavenly waves, permeating each limb and pricking the tips of his fingers. At that moment, his broken body seemed to stitch together again.

Bakugou blinked back the unending light overtaking his vision until he could again clearly see the giant looming over him, fucking him full to bursting with uncharacteristic mercy. Sharp red eyes looked over him with covetous desire, settling on the clear evidence of their union.

“Mine.”

Bakugou’s heart leapt treasonously at the claiming growl. He believed it with every cell of his being. Large hands wrapped around his back, scooping him up in a would-be tender embrace, ruined only by the warm trickle of cum leaking down Bakugou’s bloodied thighs.

Defensive instinct triggers as Blood Riot leaned closer, but his Quirk refused to cooperate when he summoned it. Crackling sparks sputtered at his fingertips as Blood Riot’s lips gently pressed against Bakugou’s shoulder. Hot breath poured over the wound as those lips parted and a small, furtive flick of the Nomu’s tongue ghosted across broken skin. Bakugou watched in fascination as Blood Riot once more licked clean his wounds, though this time with an uncomfortably intimate air to the act.

No matter how distorted, Kirishima’s face made it difficult for Bakugou to remember the severity and danger of the situation. Fatigue laid over him like a blanket, lulling him into a drowsy vulnerability and weighing down his eyelids. It wasn’t until he nearly failed to notice that they were moving that Bakugou forced himself back to awareness. He pried his eyes open in time to see Blood Riot duck through a hole in the wall leading to the next office over.

The space was fairly well-preserved and lit by intact windows splintered with spiderweb cracks. The sudden light spotted his vision, but he was still able to make out the silhouette of…what he could only describe as a nest, squirreled away in the corner and piled high with cushions and old bedding. As they drew nearer, Bakugou became particularly aware of the bloody messes dried into the downy pillows and once-soft blankets draped over heavily-stained futons.

More noteworthy, however, was the vast hoard of Dynamight merch scattered across the makeshift den. The Nomu had quite an assortment—ranging from recognizable, official runs to more niche, possibly even handmade items—and a disturbing number of the pieces were defaced or clearly intended for more…unsavory practices.

Bakugou grimaced as Blood Riot placed him almost reverently in the nest, finally slipping free. Bakugou felt the uncomfortable weight of his own visage staring at him, judging his inability to fight back. Blood Riot stared, too, and Bakugou took guilty comfort in the attention. He knew those eyes. He’d felt that gaze in his dreams for years, and it was a sad, twisted relief to live it now.

The creature descended upon him for the second time. His ridged cock met very little resistance, slicked as it was by its own release. Bakugou tensed for the coming onslaught, but Blood Riot’s touch was eerily gentle. He licked a determined path across Bakugou’s body, lingering to clean his still-bleeding wounds before continuing the trek down, down. Bakugou watched with wide eyes as impossible dexterity and flexibility allowed Blood Riot’s serpentine tongue to slip in alongside his dick to clean there, too.

Bakugou was stretched too full. His head lolled, and he tried hard to focus on the cloudless blue sky peeking through shattered window glass. His stomach churned as Blood Riot pressed deeper, backlit by the sparkling light of the midday sun. Bakugou had expected gray, overcast skies heralding a coming storm or the dark russet clouds of creeping dusk. Anything to reflect and validate the dissonant emotions warring inside him. Smiling sunshine felt so out of place here—a discordant backdrop to all the pain and pleasure, the bitterness and longing that folded and knotted together in an indecipherable mess.

The drugs in his system tangled his thoughts irreparably. He couldn’t make sense of anything. He wanted his anger back; he felt naked without its protective aegis to fall behind. Instead, he was left floating in a void.

Blood Riot’s movements were deliberate and slow as he rocked into Bakugou. He lacked all the aggression and burning hatred he’d carried just moments before. His touch was soft and deceptively sweet. Bakugou couldn’t take it. Heat bloomed in his face as he unabashedly pressed up into those broad hands exploring his body. He silently hoped those talons would pierce him again. Maybe the pain would finally allow him to refocus. He didn’t want this. He had to…he had to remember that.

“Good little hero,” Blood Riot crooned, far too sweetly. “See how nice I can be?”

Bakugou glared weakly at the villain, but his gaze wasn’t met. Blood Riot wasn’t watching his face; he was too preoccupied with the space where their bodies connected. Bakugou’s breath caught as the Nomu pressed in again—slow and deep—and his slitted pupils nearly swallowed the entire iris as he took in the way Bakugou’s abdomen swelled around him.

“So perfect,” Blood Riot breathed, resting his palm oh-so-gently over the bulge.

Bakugou felt off-balance. He teetered on the edge of some vast, dangerous pit, and a cord inside him tightened, struggling to pull him back to reality. He wanted to slip into the dream. He didn’t like the confusion and mixed signals his addled mind couldn’t interpret. He knew this was wrong—obviously, he knew that. But he couldn’t be angry when he felt so…relieved. Foreign happiness bloomed in his chest, shaking free of its winterfrost and unfurling for the first time in years. He couldn’t cope with this. His mind spun, and he looked to the ceiling for an anchor point.

It was all too close to having Kirishima back.

The drugs pulsing through his blood made his dick ache. He could feel the wetness of new precum mixing with the spend of his last orgasm. Maybe Blood Riot was right. He was just a needy little slut who’d take anything he was given. This wasn’t Kirishima. He had to get that through his thick fucking skull.

It was hard to breathe. The weight of his guilt and inaction bore down on him menacingly, robbing his lungs of air. So he just held his breath and ignored the sting of unshed tears welling again in his eyes.

“Why…?” he asked softly in a moment of sickening clarity before the fog around his mind had the chance to suffocate him.

Anger flashed instantly across Blood Riot’s face, pooling in bright crimson eyes that leered with wild malice.

“Why?” he repeated venomously. The hands that had held Bakugou so gently tightened their grip. Claws pierced through him like sawtooth needles and pulled him flush with merciless strength. He sucked in a burning breath and swallowed back a pained whine. Blood Riot’s lip curled, baring sharp teeth and a throaty growl. “Because you left me to die.”

“I know that,” Bakugou spat. His voice was tight, but he fought through the blinding pain, bringing his good arm up to grip Blood Riot’s wrist tightly. “God, I know that. Not a damn day goes by where I don’t think about that shit. But why all…this?” He gestured to the nest around them, the evidence of the Nomu’s obsession and mania. “Why not a fight? Why not just kill me?”

Pain and grief flashed undeniably across Blood Riot’s face. Bakugou was stunned by the show of emotion, no matter how quickly it was reigned in and masked.

“I can’t.”

“You could.” Bakugou chuckled mirthlessly. “Clearly, you could.”

“No, I—” Blood Riot cut himself off with a sneer. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what—hhhh, fuuuck—”

Bakugou’s question was interrupted with a cruel snap of the villain’s hips, striking him too deep and dislodging any chance at a coherent thought.

“It’s not about making you hurt,” Blood Riot snarled, strands of that intoxicating saliva clinging visibly to his fangs. He raked his talons across Bakugou’s back, and the hero moaned shamelessly at the rapturous pain the action induced. “It’s not about getting even.”

Bakugou’s jaw set and his eyes screwed tight. He didn’t know how much more of this he could survive. He was too injured. He was too full. He wrestled with the darkness that danced around his vision, promising to steal away his consciousness. He couldn’t just pass out. Not now. Not when he was so close to…to… What was he…?

“No,” Blood Riot continued, unperturbed by Bakugou’s struggle as he continued to savagely take what he wanted from Bakugou’s body. “This is about getting what I’m owed.”

Heat pumped into Bakugou again, and his body went slack despite the intense discomfort from being used and fucked full like he was nothing more than breeding stock.

Claws wrapped around his shoulders, and sluggish adrenaline thrummed through Bakugou. This was it. Blood Riot was in the perfect position to rip out his throat or twist his head off like a bottle cap. It would take so little force from those huge arms. He’d had his fun, after all, and now Bakugou was nothing but a used-up rag for the villain to discard.

Instead, they stayed like that, locked together and unmoving for a long while. Bakugou became very aware of Blood Riot’s breathing, cheek resting against a broad chest. A slow but distinct thud rattled Bakugou to his core. He could hear a heartbeat. It was strong, despite its languid tempo, and it was the sweetest sound Bakugou had ever heard.

The firm support of a futon eventually pressed into his shredded back as Blood Riot laid him back in the nest with slow consideration, and Bakugou finally let himself relax. He ached. He would never again find solace in the gentle embrace of sleep; Kirishima’s ghost had a new haunting memory to keep him company in Bakugou’s nightmares.

And yet, as terrible and disgusting and traumatic as everything was…Bakugou didn’t want to leave. He missed Kirishima. It was an ache so deep, he felt a pang in his heart when the Nomu finally slipped out, leaving a wet mess of slick and cum to spill out of Bakugou in a distressing torrent. He clenched down on nothing, some sick part of him hoping to keep it inside.

“Stay,” he begged around the knot in his throat. “Please.”

Silence stretched uneasily over the room. Seconds weighed on Bakugou like centuries, giving him all the time he needed to reflect on his stupidity. What was he doing? No command to hide behind and he was still groveling, begging to explore the impossibility of a life he didn’t deserve. He lost that chance years ago.

“You’re bleeding.”

Bakugou groaned, and his eyes nearly refused to obey him as he opened them to the ruins around him. Everything hurt. But if he could just hear that deep timbre one more time, maybe he could understand…

“Mmn?” was all he could manage. He turned his gaze sleepily to Kirishima.

“I said you’re bleeding. A lot.” Concerned eyes raked over Bakugou’s face and mangled body. He pulled away, and Bakugou reached out with boneless, uncooperative limbs. “You can’t stay here.”

“But—”

“Katsuki.” Oh. That was nice. Bakugou’s eyes slid shut, and he smiled dopily. “I need you to sleep.”

Bakugou shuddered at the command as pressure descended on him and wrapped him tight. He was so tired. He was finally being offered rest. But his brows knit together. Something wasn’t right.

“Ngh—I can’t…don’ wanna…”

He couldn’t leave Kirishima. Not again. Not after he’d finally—

“Shhh. Relax. You’ll wake up. I promise.”

Doubt slipped from his mind, and with it all the heaviness weighing him down. He felt only the floating gravity of dreams.

“K’ri…love you…”

And then his mind cleared, and he, at last, slid into the peaceful waters of sleep.

Cold wind bit a ruddy flush into Bakugou’s nose and cheeks, and the chill that settled into his weak, broken body only served to make his immobility that much more pronounced.

“I’ll be back for you later, little hero.”

Bakugou grunted and pulled himself upright, despite the protestations of his screaming muscles. Blood Riot looked different now, some chimeric amalgamation of both dragon and human forms.

“Don’t,” he hissed under his breath. The Nomu cocked a ridged brow.

“Don’t what.”

“Don’t go.” Bakugou swallowed around a painfully dry throat. “We can help you. We can…you don’t have to…be alone.”

Reptilian eyes pierced through Bakugou like a lance. He was skewered to the spot, unable to move any further.

“Oh? You can help?” The Nomu laughed, a haggard and distraught sound. “And how is dear old Kurogiri?”

Bakugou grit his teeth and shook his head. He reached out with a trembling hand and managed a forlorn, “Ei…”

Blood Riot stared emotionlessly at Bakugou before holding up a small metallic disk that winked at Bakugou with a flashing red light.

It was a Hero Agency’s panic button.

He didn’t have one on him when he was captured.

His stomach dropped at the unspoken implication of where the Nomu might have procured such an item.

“Your playmates will be here soon,” he purred, dropping the button into the tall grass below. His face was an implacable mask, yielding to neither his ludic tone nor his contrasting actions. He looked Bakugou over one last time before nodding resolutely.

“Bye for now.”

And he was gone.

Bakugou was left alone, on a grassy hill overlooking the city with only the rustling of trees, the distant call of songbirds settling in for the night, and the rhythmic beeping from the panic button to keep him company.

“Tomorrow,” he promised the evening air. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”