AGENCY BAKUGOU

“Heya! Welcome to Cherry’s Château! What can I get’cha?”

He’s hiding behind a black cloak. Black as night and it drags all the way to the floor, absorbing the golden light in your tavern and then some from the moon. From what you can see, he’s pale, and his accent hints he hails from the north, raising the question as to why a polished northerner would be here, slumming it with the common folk.

“Just a blueberry muffin,” he says curtly, eyes trained on the laminated menu. “And a water.”

“One blueberry muffin and a water comin’ right up!” You respond with a bright smile, sealing the deal with pen and paper before you swivel on your heel, outfit fluttering as you turn. You feel molten mismatched eyes branding into your back as you sashay into the next table, but don’t turn to meet them.

“Welcome to Cherry’s Château! Are you ready to order?”

“A beer,” a man much greasier and less refined than the last grunts. Upon drinking in your figure, he reclines as his lips slide into an easy smirk. “And for a pretty lady like you to take the seat to my left.”

The “seat to his left” is guarded by the arm he hangs across it, but his hand lifts to invite you nevertheless. You shift, used to being hit on but never under such an intense stare, eyeing whatever disgusting slop that sits on his wife beater.

“Actually um, I have to work, so,” you cringe, waving the waiter pad in your hand as proof. “You want a beer, rig—“

“Awe c’mon,” he presses, leaning in closer. You take a step back, nose wrinkling under the moldy stench. “Y’wont need a job if y’got me, Sweetheart. I can give ya what you want.”

He leans in closer, fat fingers caressing your cheek. You hide your discomfort in favor of not making a scene, for the sake of your pub and entire life’s work.

“I wouldn’t touch her if I were you.”

The customer freezes and so do you as the hooded stranger’s silky smooth voice rises from behind. The man with his hand on your face barks a laugh at the other stranger’s audacity, and you pray to Merlin that you won’t get bad ratings over this.

“Oh?” The man chuckles, standing from his seat at the bar. He’s clearly much more heavy set in comparison to the other, but the cloak shrouds every inch of his being in black. “And who might you be?”

“A man who can tell when a woman doesn’t want to be touched,” the cloaked man challenges, ripping the meaty hand on your face away by the wrist. Hiding you behind his broad shoulders, he growls, “Give up.”

Your customer scoffs, eyes rolling though the pressure he’s being held at is more than intense. After blubbering for words, he finally comes up with: “Take your hood off, coward.”

He doesn’t even hesitate.

“Gladly.”

A pale hand rises to slide the hood off his head, and the tavern goes silent. The man finally takes his hand back.

“Prince Shouto,” he says with a little quiver in his voice and step. “I didn’t—I mean who would’ve—“

“Leave,” The prince threatens, unimpressed. You’ve never been in the presence of anything so regal and refined, and find yourself sitting in the audience with popcorn in your lap with everyone else in the tavern. “Before I make you.”

The man leaves without another word. Prince Shouto still has a hold on your hand and you swear you feel his palm heat to a worrying temperature before it fades with an exhale, and he turns to you as the evacuee rounds the corner.

“Are you alright?”

He’s on you in an instant, eyes anxiously flitting of any evidence that that man could’ve crossed a line. Though you both know he didn’t, and now that you’re standing so close in an emptying tavern is suffocating in the best way.

“I’m…fine,” you blink, still absorbing the fact that the runaway prince Shouto Todoroki is in your pub. Y’know, the one with sticky tiles and broken glass, shredded bar-seats—barbarians have never been the cleanest, and you can only do so much. Either way, he’s here in the flesh—not just on some random wanted poster or a pricey royal family photo—protecting you in this almost empty place. “Thank you, Prince Shouto.”

“No need to thank me,” he waves off with a casual sigh, running a hand through his multicolored locks like its water. “And Shouto is fine—though I should probably get moving. I have no doubt that the royal guard has been notified and will arrive at any moment.”

You watch him pack his things. A book, his satchel. His wand. The last item is his hood, and as he tosses it atop his head to return to his previous, more mysterious figure, you find yourself reaching out before you can slam your mouth shut.

“Wait.”

Shouto’s stood by the door with one hand on the doorknob. It seems like both of your breaths suspend in some stupid anticipation—him waiting for your next words as your mind illustrates his reaction. You have to force it out, but you manage.

“I’ve um, I live on the floor above if you would like to hide for a bit. Or something.”

You find yourself using turns of phrases you rarely use as if the familiarity would coax him into staying. Shouto picks at his hood before pulling it off, and yet, you still can’t tell if you have him when he looks you in the eyes.

“Please? I could—uh, use the company.”

“Is this what you meant by company?”

“Um,” you gulp, mesmerized in the way Shouto’s sweat-glazed skin glistens under the golden bedroom lighting, “Kind of, but I didn’t think we’d get this fa-aah shit—“

He stuffs you with two fingers after shoving your cotton panties to the side. His tunic has been discarded who knows where but you prefer it that way, so you can watch his bicep flex and roll as he works you open and makes you quiver.

“Good grief, Y/N,” Shouto leans to whisper lowly in your ear, and his words run down your spine to make you shiver like cold water. "The way you begged me to stay—you had me wrapped around your finger in seconds."

You mewl, clenching around him as you dig your nails into the meat of his back for purchase. Shouto chuckles at how sensitive you are and crooks his fingers towards the sky, groaning at the way your body seizes just for him.

"And now you're wrapped around mine."

To prove his point, it's almost as if he pushes in deeper. You gasp in surprise as trailing hot lips on your neck, body melting into his. He reaches for your wrists, pinning them above your head and against the headboard. It rocks.

"Merlin, you're breath-taking," Shouto exhales, nosing just beneath your jawline to nip where he pleases. You feel his lips slide into an evil little grin against your neck before he's fitting his third finger inside and watches you squirm.

“I—I wanna—“ you start, hands jerking to grab for his belt. Shouto tuts, his grip on your wrists ever-tightening, and you pout at the fact that you haven’t been able to touch him yet. “Wanna make you feel good too.”

“Oh Sweetheart, you already do.” The Prince guides your knees towards your ears for a better angle and uses himself as the parting figure in between, cooing at the way your eyes roll from his touch. Finally, he moves your hands to press them against his hard cock in his boxers, grinning against your neck as you gasp at how hard he is for you.

“Feel that?” Shouto purrs, breath catching as your hand squeezes. You feel his cock jump under your palm and bite back a grin at his enthusiasm—watching his neck flash red the moment you have your hands on him is a little more than a confidence booster. “That’s what you do to me. Angel, you already make me feel so good.”

Bucking into your palm, Shouto releases his first muffled groan of the night, and you find yourself shoving his shoulders until his back hits the mattress, hair fanning in a halo against the pillow.

“I’m not very patient,” you figure is a sufficient explanation in of itself, and Shouto’s breathless chuckle implies he doesn’t mind the view. You dip your hand underneath the band of his underwear and wrap it around burning hot skin, grinning at the way Shouto’s fingers twitch when you dip your nail under the head.

“Do you do this often?”

You snort and can tell he’s joking from the way his lips slide into a lazy smile, but it quickly falls in exchange for a hiss against your lips as you start to move your hand. Taking it as a challenge, Shouto begins to move the hand between your thighs at his own pace—you suppress a shiver and shamefully, your hips start moving on their own.

“Do I often invite runaway prince’s into my bedroom?” You lift an eyebrow. Shouto rolls his eyes, but snorts.

“Point taken.”

Taking advantage of the leverage and your semi-distracted mind, Shouto sieges the opportunity to send you two tumbling into the sheets until you’re the one facing the ceiling again. You huff but don’t let it deter you for too long, blindly shucking his flimsy underwear only to have your jaw drop at his naked glamour.

“Well in that case,” Shouto grunts to himself, fingers threading through your panties just to tear them off. You gasp, eyes narrowing at the sight of your favorite panties torn to shreds. “I’ll buy you a new pair.”

It seems like more of an offer for him to stay rather than an offer to buy you something new. Either way, you plan on holding him to it, but the thought doesn’t last long because he’s stuffing you full with three fingers again.

“You look heavenly,” Shouto groans, licking his lips at the sight of your wetness around his fingers, oozing liquid gold like honey. “Goodness, I’ve got to get myself in between those thighs and soon.”

“You can do it after—“ you gasp as Shouto’s fingers curl, thighs twitching as you inch towards the edge, “—after I make you cum.”

"Well you aren't very far off," he says, and you haven't been able to see the tension until now, in the way his jaw clenches and muscles strain, sweat rolling off his shoulders in rivulets to drip onto the sheets below.

Shouto's hand speeds up in a newfound need to push you off the edge with him as if your thighs weren’t burning already. Your press your lips against his and kiss him feverishly, hips gaining a smooth rhythm with is palm.

“Shouto,” you gasp against his skin. His chest rumbles in approval before bucking against your hand impatiently. “Shouto, I—I’m close.”

“Cum for me, Angel,” he insists as the slide between your thighs turns sloppy. As your hand around him speeds up and you start pressing hot kisses up his neck, Shouto gasps before filling your hand, shuddering silently as his hips lose control and start fucking your fist. Watching his linked face screw in ecstasy is enough to encourage your own orgasm and you help his name as you curl into him. Shouto massages you until you catch your breath and your skin turns tacky.

“You’re beautiful” he says with his face squished against the pillow, body aching from exhaustion. And then, with a snort: “It pains me.”

“You’re cheesy, Prince Shouto,” you respond with a roll of your eyes, but you let the arm around your waist pull you in closer regardless. Stupid Prince.

“But I don’t mind it.”

Shindo finds you, and quickly. He finds you and yanks you to left until you two are hidden behind a wall and (for the most part) out of the public eye. You can still hear the rhythmic beat through the floor and your skin stays dyed purple from the pink and blue lights, but as you stare up at Shindo with calm expectant eyes, he’s pins you against the wall with a vice grip around your waist.

“Y’think you’re funny, don’t ya?” He growls, the mask of false amiability shattered. You refuse to show you’ve been affected in the slightest, holding a mocking flatness in your face that you know will anger him to no end.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you radiate innocence, cocking your head to the side. Your earrings ring from the movement, and if Shindo could breathe fire, his nostrils would be steaming.

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean, Doll.” His words have enough of a derogatory tone to them to make you shiver, “You embarrassed both of us out there tonight. What’re you tryna get at, huh?”

The hand around your waist moves to your neck instead and squeezes. You gasp, and your tiny hands coil around his wrist but don’t move them an inch. Shindo’s lips slide into a cocky grin, and he coos.

“Awe, y’like this?” he chuckles when you give him a curt nod, because you’ve never been a liar and you’re ecstatic that your plan is working better than expected. “This was what you wanted, didn’t you? You wanted to piss me the fuck off?”

Your mind fills with cotton as he continues running his mouth, going on and on about how much of a fucking slut you are and how impossible it is for you to keep your legs closed. You zone out, too enraptured in the way his muscles roll and flex under pressure, and by the time Shindo notices, it’s much too late.

“Answer me,” he growls, though you aren’t sure what you’re answering in the first place. Embarrassingly, you blink while drawing a blank, and Shindo scoffs.

“Dumb little thing isn’t even listening.” The hand around your windpipe tightens as he inches so close you can feel his breath ghost your lips, and a faint boozy scent floats under your nose.

“Turn around,” he demands, though he’s already manhandling your body on his own accord. Pressing your cheek into the grimy club wall, Shindo uses his free hand to hike your hips at an angle and yank your flimsy dress above the crest of your ass, only for his hand to crack against it so hard you’re positive it’s turning red.

“Now tell me, Doll,” Shindo seethes, eyes radiating pure fury. “What were you gettin’ at, huh?”

“I jus’ wanted shum attenshion,” you struggle to say through your smushed cheeks. Then memories of his betrayal flood your mind, and you find your eyebrows furrowing as you spit, “‘Sheems like you pay attenshion to everyone but me.”

The truth only seems to anger Shindo further, and he tightens his hold on your face to the point where it’s impossible to speak.

“Y’didnt want my attention when you were talking with that green-haired idiot, did ya?” He sneers regardless, and you feel a calloused finger playing with the lace band of your panties. You whine as he swipes a finger through your slit, and Shindo chuckles at how pathetically ready you are for him.

“You’re fucking dripping, dirty girl,” he hums in your ear. You can feel his hard cock through his jeans as his entire body presses you against the thumping wall, along with his chest, rattling with fury and a determination to remind you of your place. “Don’t tell me this turns you on?”

Shindo gasps as if he’s discovered something that isn’t so painfully obvious, and though you both know better, the charade continues—Shindo with his mockingly base discoveries and you with your innocent eyes and airheaded questions.

“S-Shut up,” you have the bravery to stutter through burning cheeks. Shindo’s eyes widen at your audacity and he immediately stuffs you full with two fingers—and that’s enough to make you shut up.

“Someone’s feeling bold today,” Shindo scissors his fingers to stretch you out to the best of his ability, making you curse and collapse into the wall. His palm cracks against your ass at such a speed it would be impossible to not hear if it weren’t for the music and the millions of bodies stumbling over each other at the heart of the dance floor. Shindo grins ear to ear when you have nothing smart to say back, building an unfairly steady pace with his fingers as he says, “No? Nothing else to say? Pity.”

You whine and buck against his fingers. Shindo stills immediately, tutting as he delivers another harsh spank to your ass.

“Ah, ah—bad girls name take what they’re given, got it?”

Naturally you mewl in complaint—because you haven’t been bad, just neglected—but Shindo gives you no time to defend yourself as he starts thrusting his fingers twice as fast than he was before, curling them and exploring your insides like it’s the first time.

Shindo cradles your chin to where it borders on choking as he leaves wet and unforgiving kisses up the column of your neck. He sucks to leave marks in the most obvious of places, marking you as his for any curious eyes or curious hands. It’ll be embarrassing as hell to walk through the club with a fresh set of hickeys on your neck and soaked panties, but you suppose that was what you wanted.

“Baby,” you moan, reaching a hand to pull at the short hairs towards the base of his neck. “B-Baby, I’m gonna—“

Shindo’s hands disappear and the white noise of the club returns. You’re hyperventilating, and glaring daggers while he wipes his fingers on the lace of your dress, seemingly unbothered. When you open your mouth, he tuts, emerald green eyes blazing through the neon purple.

“Finish yourself off,” Shindo spits, tucking his hands in his pocket as he redirects his attention to the club. You watch him walk and blend in with the rest until you can’t distinguish him from the rest with an aching core and wrinkled dress. Your eyeliner has smudged and dried, and so has the drool around the corner of your mouth, neck covered in hundreds of hickeys that’ll only darken by morning.

And as you stand there, body aching from a denied orgasm, that area between your thighs buzzes in thought if what’ll happen once you get home.

“Stay behind me,” Eijirou grunts, subtly laying a protective arm across your torso. You huff because both of you both know you're perfectly capable, but allow him to exercise his fatherly tendencies nonetheless.

"This place is disgusting," you say with a scrunched nose, eyes never leaving the mildewy curtains until the carpet began to grow an equal amount. Eijirou chuckles at your doey eyes and twisted face—you may have been at the top of your class at Yuuei but it's clear you haven't been a professional for very long.

“It’s...different.” Eijirou says, ever polite, and once you do a quick sweep of the room before moving onto the next. The halo of your flashlight sweeps the room jerkier than his despite the moon providing a solid amount of light. “Just be careful. We don’t know what could be crawling around here.”

“Like villains?” You gloat, though there’s an exasperation in your voice from the lack of activity since you’ve become a sidekick. The redhead gently knocks you on the shoulder.

“Or a rat,” he reasons, and you click your tongue in defeat. Though, Eijirou doesn’t let your shoulders slump for long, saying, “Maybe we’ll come across a rabid dog or somethin’?”

“Can I fight it?”

Eijirou snorts, dropping his head, “No, Kid.”

“Then it’s not a villain,” you retort and cross your arms over your chest, subtly lifting your breasts. It’s not enough to be obscene but enough to divert his eyes, unwillingly, and Eijirou inhales as sharply as he can without drawing unwanted attention. Hopefully.

Because the thing is, Eijirou Kirishima is royally fucked.

You’re...distracting, to put it lightly. Not on purpose, of course not—but Eijirou’s convinced that’s what makes it worse. That his sidekick isn’t teasing him for fun, but because you just can’t help it, meaning he can’t tell you to stop.

“What’s over here?”

You bend over to examine the broken glass on the dining table, a professional finger laid across your lip as you carefully place your hand down for balance. And Eijirou gets a view of it all, or should he say all of you, and desperately looks towards the walls for anything that piques his interest more than your ass. He finds none.

You pull a hard drive out from the dust and rubble and flip it over. It glistens blue under the moonlight, spilling through the broken window—and so do you, with silver highlighting the highest points of your cheeks and nose. Eijirou’s 45 year old heart skips a beat, and silently reminds himself to get it together. Meanwhile, you turn his way, shaking the thing like a dead pen, and don’t notice a damn thing.

“What do you think is in here?”

A sharp inhale acts as a reset and he’s calm again, as calm as he can be, and picks the hard drive from your curious palm to pocket it with a chuckle. “Let’s be a little careful with that one, yeah?”

You pout, but let him take it and swivel your hips as you follow. Eijirou reminds himself to keep his eyes forwards as he ducks into the next room, and into what seems to be a makeshift living room, with a couple of grandmother-patterned couches and wooden crates for a coffee table. The space is relatively small and you do a solid sweep in about two minutes, returning with an unsatisfied look on your face.

“Nothin’?” Eijirou asks. You radiate pure disappointment.

“Nothing.”

You move onto two more rooms in the warehouse after these—both of which are unequivocally empty. Which is a notion Eijirou and his creaky knees can wholeheartedly get behind, but he understands how you feel—body vibrating with vigor and a need to just get in there, get in there and tally up all the XP points on the board. But once you reach his age, you start to see shit, cracks in the walls that supposedly hold this society together, and that spark quietly dies.

At least he gets to watch that spark live in you, even if it’s only temporary.

Whizz whizz!

You still so quickly Eijirou bumps into you—because maybe, his eyes were preoccupied with something else, okay—and arrows fly under your nose, sticking into the wall to your right. Your chests hammers in unison from how close of a call that really was, and you reach to yank the arrow out of the drywall only to find the tip soaking in dark purple dye.

“Poison,” you shiver, discarding the metal thing on the ground. “Seems like they were smart enough to put a few traps in.”

“Yeah,” Eijirou says, more shaken up than he’d like to admit. And all he can do is hope you don’t notice as he subtly takes the takes the lead and pushes you behind him. If there’s one trap, there are bound to be multiple.

“What a shit show,” he grunts to himself more than to you, so engrossed in eyeing the death-laced arrow that he doesn’t notice the can rolling down the hall until it knocks you in the foot. Eijirou only has a millisecond to recognize it’s peculiar shape, and wonder if that could imply that it’s more than an empty coke can.

Fuck.

“Get down!”

Eijirou’s body moves on autopilot, shoving you aside so harshly your gut collides with the counter to your right. Jumping over the can just before it bursts, his skin hardens as he takes the fall, curling over the bomb and strangely excepting the fact that he might get blown to pieces.

Instead, a vivid blue gas expels between the gaps in Eijirou’s homemade shell, sending him wheezing in the billows of a blueberry scented cloud. Body flinging into autopilot, his hands rush to his mouth while his throat is busy tearing itself out, and through the fog you scream:

“Eijirou!”

The redhead grits his teeth at the fact you shout his actual name instead of Red Riot, but he doesn’t have much time to dwell on it because you’re shoving a mask in his face and hiking his chest over your shoulder, thighs miraculously balancing his dead weight with little help from the heaviest out of the two.

When Eijirou’s muscles buzz and quiver, he knows that at least some of the gas is in his system. His hearing ducks as a high pitched ring stings in his ears, and all Eijirou can do is go comatose in your arms while you climb to safety.

—

Eijirou feels hot. Too hot.

And he doesn’t feel the floor rumbling beneath his feet until his head lolls right and his forehead comes in contact with something that matches the cool temperature of a car window. He pries his eyes open just to slam them shut again, head throbbing from all the bright lights and throat impossibly dry.

“How’re you feeling?”

Crimson eyes shift your way, absorbing the sight of you with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift. Your hero costume tears along your stomach and around the neckline, and Eijirou swallows in refusal to check any lower.

“Fine,” he rasps, and coughs before trying again. Eijirou can feel the telltale signs of an illegal aphrodisiac thrumming through his veins—the subtle hum, the dry throat, the thoughts. And being stuck with you in the tightest, most enclosed space possible make his hands twitch at his sides. Eijirou can smell you from here. He shakes himself out of it.

“Tired. I—What happened after I knocked out?”

“The building collapsed. Any evidence we could’a snagged is six feet under,” You say, professional as ever with both eyes on the road. Eijirou hisses in thought of the backlash he’ll receive from the agency for destroying a place with so much evidence. There’s a heavy disappointment in your voice, one that he feels responsible for, and Eijirou adjusts with a cough, and would pick at his collar if he had one. “Back-up’s coming to check the place out.”

“Shit,” Eijirou sighs, running a hand through his sticky sweat-dried hair. Though, the action takes a lot more energy from him than he’s like to admit, and slowly but surely his eyes drop to your chest just in time for them to bounce with the rhythm of the car. “What did—um, what did they say about...y’know.”

You don’t say a word.

“Um,” you stutter after a pronounced silence, rarely, before adjusting your back against the drivers seat, and don’t look his way once. “They don’t...um, know about that part.”

It takes a few raspy breaths for your words to finally sink in. When they do, Eijirou’s eyebrows fold at what could possibly be stopping you from informing the agency about his, er—little problem. Especially when it’s mandatory, and you don’t have one rebellious bone in your body.

“What?”

“It—“ Your chest balloons as you search for an excuse while Eijirou’s breaking out into feverish sweats and rock hard in his hero costume. “You pushed me out of the way. I should—I should help.”

“I—wha—whoa, kid,” Eijirou chuckles in disbelief, shaking his head. “Y’don’t owe me anything. I was just doing my job.”

Silence swells in the rolling car. Your tongue pokes at the inside of your cheek before you’re grumbling under your breath like a petulant child. “You were doing my job.”

Eijirou scoffs, somehow finding the energy in his feverish stupor to roll his eyes to match your childish behavior. “You’re a sidekick, not a Pro. I’m in charge of your safety just as much as anyone else’s.”

Your jaw pops as you run a hand through your tangled hair to the best of your ability. By vehemently shaking your head, you illustrate that he missed what you meant by a long shot, and Eijirou doesn’t even care, brain oozing out of his ears as his body temperature spikes. He takes another heady breath and keeps his hands at his sides.

“What I do need is a—a goddamn doctor so we can get this shit outta my bloodstream, yeah? Sound like a plan?”

His words drag like he’s trying to coax an injured animal out of a corner. Eijirou doesn’t know if this is the opportunity he’s been waiting for since you became his sidekick, but another part of him knows it’s a bad idea. Though, he’s licking his lips nonetheless, clenching his jaw as he wonders how you taste and sound.

“I wanna help,” you release in one clumsy breath, but it’s adamant. Eijirou’s patience cracks under the pressure of your body being so close to his, and before he can say anything, you’re pulling the car over to the side of an empty road and shifting the gear into park.

“Then you can help by telling Recovery Girl that I got—“

“Eijirou,” you edge on pleading, placing a hand over his hard cock that you’ve both chosen to ignore until now. Blinking his way with your pretty little lashes and licking your cute pink lips like they’re candy should be a goddamn sin but here you two are, and Eijirou feels the car floor fall from underneath his feet. “Let me. I...I want to.”

“We can’t,” he huffs exasperatedly despite the fact that he somehow just can’t stop thinking about how perfect his name sounds on your lips.

“No one has to know,” you bargain lowly, leaning in with a mischievous smirk. You saw him crack. Eijirou hisses from the extra pressure and finds his large figure being caged against the car door by your smaller one. “We’ll just exclude it from the report. Easy.”

Eijirou can’t help but look as you subtly push your exposed chest together, cursing under his breath once he realizes he’s too far gone to declines such an offer in the first place. He would’ve said yes sober.

“I—“

“C’mon, Red Riot,” you purr, illegally, and pick up his jaw to force his gaze upwards. Eijirou's voice dies in his throat as the hand ghosting over his cock gives it a small squeeze. “You want me to make you feel good, don’t you?"

The dam shatters, and he's pressing his burning lips to yours without a second thought about the repercussions.

You taste like sugar. It’s sweet but subtle enough to keep him wanting more, and Eijirou nips at your lips while reaching across the middle console to fist your hero costume and pull you closer. Eijirou scoops you from the driver seat and into his lap as you wrap your arms around his neck, sitting right where you belong with all of you on display for him and him alone.

“Fuckin gorgeous,” the redhead grunts, peppering wet kisses down the column of your neck. Once he reaches your ear, he growls, “You drive me crazy, y’know.”

You shiver in his arms and Eijirou hates to say he loves having this much control over you but he does, and the fact that you’re so pliable under his touch borders on dangerous. Though, you probably harbor an equal amount of authority over him.

“Backseat, now.”

The scramble to the backseat is nothing if not chaotic, especially with Eijirou’s wide shoulders—but the moment he shucks off his sleeves and his sweaty back hits the leather, his lips are all over yours again, and you crawl until you’re sat in between his legs, fiddling with his utility belt.

“Ever sucked a dick before, Sweetheart?” Eijirou’s heart hammers against his ribcage as your cool hand pulls his cock out of his boxers. Your doey eyes widen at the sight of him, tip swollen and leaking, and the moment your tongue darts out to lick your lips at the sight, Eijirou knows he’s a goner.

“A few times,” you answer briefly, too preoccupied with giving his cock a few solid strokes. Eijirou smushes the tip to your lips and slides in with ease, hissing while you hum around him. You choke as he hits the back of your throat but exhale through your nose, allowing him to fill your throat as much as you has space for.

“Good girl,” Eijirou coos at the sight of your watery eyes, exaggerated relief flooding his veins from the aphrodisiac. You hum around his cock in return, pretty eyes fluttering shut with the effort to cram him down your throat as much as possible. He swallows heavily. "Fuckin' hell, your mouth is amazing."

Eijirou's scarlet eyes roll as he rests his head against the carseat. A guiding hand finds the back of your neck right as Eijirou groans, thighs flexing as you dig your nails into them. He feels your smug little smile around him when his chest shudders and balloons, and scowls.

"Y'feel good?" You tease, voice broken and raspy. Your lips are glazed with precum and spit as you sit in front of him, steadily pumping his cock in between his thighs and dragging a teasing nail up and down his inner thigh.

"Mmm, is it obvious?" Eijirou chuckles with a lazy gaze, licking his lips, and you match his subdued energy with a bubbly one of your own, accompanied by a giggle too cute for someone who with a dick in her hand. There's a devilish edge in your eyes as you give his cock a surprise tug, prompting him to seize and keel over.

"C-Careful, shit," he hisses when you squeeze too tight, though the pain borders too close to pleasure for it to be indistinguishable. Your free hand drops to tug at his balls and as the slick slide turns tacky, Eijirou growls:

“Spit on it."

You listen, and the redhead finds a great thrill in watching the spit from your tongue drool all over the head of his cock and drip down the shaft. Pressing his cock to your lips, they give under the pressure easily, but he’s taking it away before you can continue any further.

"On your back," Eijirou huffs with significant urgency, gesturing for you to lay across the seat. Though, you don't move as fast as he'd like, and he finds himself manhandling you onto the damn thing himself. "C'mon, up."

He pries your thighs open and settles between them, mouth watering at the sight of your wetness glistening for him. The silvery evening moonlight pours in through the fogged car windows to illuminate your face a dark blue, highlighting the highest points of your cheeks and the curves of your body.

After clumsily fumbling for the spare condom in the glove compartment—because hey, this car edges on miniature and he's a big guy—Eijirou returns to loom over you and rips the package open with his teeth.

"Ready, Sweetheart?" He breathes the question against your lips. You lift an eyebrow, straining your neck.

"Are you?"

"Seems like someone’s got a mouth on ‘em," Eijirou chuckles, lining himself up as he picks your face up by the jaw—to watch you fall apart on his cock, naturally. "I like it."

With that, Eijirou enters, and your eyes bulge at the pleasurable burn—he gets to watch it all, gets watch you shake on his cock as he fills you to the brim and then some, eyes rolling when he finally bottoms out.

Now, Eijirou won't lie, he's not in a better position—his arms strain against the car door as he uses it for leverage and sweat rolls in rivulets over his broad shoulders and down his back, soaking his hair a deeper crimson red.

"How're ya feeling?" He grunts in your ear, unmoving. You're painfully tight, and as much as Eijirou wants to say he's waiting for you to give him the OK, his nerves buzz with the knowledge that he'll bust if he does more than move an inch. Your eyes blink open from their screwed position, glossed with a lustful haze and eyelashes dense with tears, and Eijirou curses under his breath because fuck, you're pretty.

"'M good," you slur with a weak nod, slinging your arms around his neck. Your hips move before your mouth does, forcing Eijirou's eyebrows to furrow and his cock pulse. "You can—you can move."

"You sure?" He nearly wheezes, voice thick with arousal. But you're hooking your legs around his waist in an attempt to push him in further, and your enthusiasm is what has him pulling out and slamming back in.

"Fuck," Eijirou growls, blindly scrambling for a solid grip on your thigh to yank it upwards for a better—deeper—angle. You howl like you're on top of the world and that's really how Eijirou feels, like he's floating on cloud nine and you're right there with him, burning up like comets flinging through the dead of night until you two become one. "You feel so good, holy shit."

You mewl and claw at his back, leaving red lines that'll only darken by morning. Eijirou digs his pointed teeth into your neck as revenge and never could’ve imagined the pay-off—to watch your eyes roll to the back of your head and spur you into clamping around his cock.

"Should'a done this earlier," he grunts, and slams a hand against the window. Your hips buck to meet his halfway and the car rocks in time with your bodies as he leans over to engulf all of you. Grabbing you by the cheeks, he chuckles at your bleary eyes. "Uh-uh, eyes open. Fuckin' sing for me, Sweetheart."

"E-Ei—" you attempt to stutter through your squished cheeks. He coos at how easily you fall apart around him as his hand gains a life of his own, wrapping itself around your neck. Naturally, you gasp.

"Wrong name, Pretty." Eijirou's lips slide into a cocky smile, one that radiates a darker energy than you're used to, forcing you to shudder and melt under his thumb.

He lets go of your neck, just enough to allow speech, and you take a big gulp of air before you scream, “Hard—harder Red Riot!”

And Eijirou didn’t know it was possible for his hips to move faster than they already were but somehow they gain the energy to speed the fuck up “There ya go, Sweetheart—fucking scream it.”

“Red, I—I nee—“

“Close already?” He mocks, dropping a hand between your thighs to rub your clit. You clench around him and mewl when Eijirou slows down—because as much as he wants to cum after all this time, ****the thought of dragging this out sounds so much nicer.

“No w-wait—“ you whine, tears welling in the corners of your eyes, but not enough to fall. Eijirou finds that the sight gets his blood boiling more than he'd like to admit, but admits it nonetheless with a broken moan and languid hips. Meanwhile, you pathetically hump against him in a poor attempt to get the ball rolling again. "Sto—keep goi—"

"Want me to keep going?" Eijirou derides, hiking your hips up higher for an angle he wasn't even aware of, "Then you'll sit there and take what I give you. Understand?"

You shiver, nodding as Eijirou's hair slides off his shoulders to brush against your collarbone. He slowly builds the pace, adjusting his grip on your thigh until he's nearly shoving your knee into the car door.

You're painfully close again, he can feel it, he can feel you squeezing him to the point where he's constantly dancing across that edge with you in toe. The flood gates release without warning—you curl, body quaking under the weight of your orgasm as he fucks you through it all. You kickstart an orgasm of his own and Eijirou chokes, tucking his head in your neck as he rides the drug-induced pleasure while you twitch and shudder from the aftershocks.

"Holy shit," Eijirou chuckles upon recovery, shifting to move albeit very slowly. He pulls out with a groan, arms quivering from overexertion. The redhead doesn't realize how the temperature had spiked in the car until he looks out the windows and can't see much but white fog, give or take a hand print or two. He blinks his eyes wide and combs through wet hair as his back sticks to the seat. "You—how're you feelin'?"

You stay in the reclined position but your eyes flicker to his, and you shoot a weak smile his way, "Fantastic."

Eijirou chuckles at your enthusiasm and pulls your limp body up via your waist for a quick kiss on the lips.

“Well,” Eijirou grunts, voice hoarse and dry. “I don’t think we’ve got this stuff out of my system. Whad’ya say to a round 2?”

Katsuki’s career didn’t pan out how he planned.

Well, it did, technically—he got his glory, his fame. He and shitty Deku traded the number one spot every other week and Katsuki has saved so many lives you’d die before counting them all. He even keeps in touch with Shitty Hair, who forces him on weekly bro-runs and the squad, who like to drag him out to some exclusive club at least once a month. But Katsuki has lived, and the death of a star is never quiet—he burst like a ball of fire, a supernova caked in blood and fury with passion thudding through his veins whilst protecting the city and the people he supposes he loves.

The moment the doctor entered with that look on his face, Katsuki knew. It was over, his entire goddamn career—and at fucking forty. That fight nearly paralyzed him from the waist down, and the way the doctor spoke implied that Katsuki was simply lucky to make it out alive. And he figures he could use that term. Lucky.

Katsuki won. Shitty Deku stood to the side while Katsuki fucking glowed, and national TV caught it all—the confetti cannons, the crowd, the star. His parents stood proud in the audience, next to his high school friends who had fat and ugly smiles on their faces, shouting bullshit like you did it man and you go Baku-Bro! All while Katsuki sat, decorated in green and orange lei’s and so many golden medals he thought his neck might snap, in a temporary wheelchair and begged to fucking differ.

“Shit,” he grunts, curling a lip at the pain lancing through his thigh. PT was a bitch but he got through it, and now his legs are nearly as strong as they were before—strong enough to support his morning jogs, at least. Katsuki pushes past the pain with a heavy sigh as he always does, opting to cut his usual two-mile run short instead.

PT was stressful, and so was the idea of early retirement. Seeing fucking Deku swing from rooftop to rooftop like he’s some citified Tarzan makes Katsuki want to tear his eyes out, all while his boots are still gorilla glued to the goddamn ground.

DYNAMIGHT, THE NUMBER TWO HERO, BOWING OUT EARLY?

The agency had solutions for his “restlessness” (read: anxiety) in their back pockets. With his only hobby six feet under and no more physical therapy to do, Katsuki found twiddling his thumbs at home absolutely unbearable; therapy once a week only worked so well, and the moment he began to get snappy, management shoved a new shitty solution in his face.

Get a hybrid.

“Hey man!”

Eijirou’s greying man bun bounces as he picks up the pace to reach Katsuki’s side of the park. The ash-blond invited him for a jog because for the first time he’s about to pick Shitty Hair’s brain for advice, even if it might be…well, shit.

They do the stupid “best bro handshake” that Eijirou insists solidifies their “best bro status” before they’re on their way: Pro Hero Red Riot and the Retired Hero Dynamight jogging kiddy laps around their neighborhood park.

“So, what’s up?” The redhead pries. Katsuki’s unsettled that Eijirou knows there’s something wrong in the first place, and he figures some reaction shows because the redhead chuckles. “You never call me to jog, no offense.”

Touché.

Katsuki shrugs at first, finding it ironic that he’s struggling to formulate the correct words in his head as if this hasn’t been the topic plaguing his thoughts for the past week. They string together eventually.

“There’s somethin’ wrong with ‘er.”

Eijirou’s frown is deep, “Y/N?”

Katsuki clicks his tongue. “Yeah.”

The entire fucking world knows Katsuki Bakugou owns a hybrid and he swears there were enough cameras at your adoption to deem it a marketing ploy. Adopting hybrids isn’t necessarily new, but it’s new enough that it’s unusual—and when one of the top Pro Heroes has something, everyone wants it.

“How?”

“She won’t leave her goddamn room,” Katsuki growls, his worry becoming more apparent as he walks it through. “She won’t eat. If I enter the kitchen, she leaves. She won’t even sit on the goddamn couch!”

The pedestrians taking up the surrounding sidewalk jump, and Eijirou gives them a small apologetic smile as they pass. Katsuki’s palm pops as Eijirou turns to say, “So, she’s avoiding you.”

“Way to fuckin’ rub it in, Shitty Hair,” Katsuki’s fists clench at his sides. Eijirou lifts an unimpressed eyebrow and the ash-blond huffs through his nose. “Yeah, she’s avoiding me.”

“Maybe she wants some alone time,” Eijirou casually offers, shrugging. And Katsuki wants to tear his hair out, because it ticks him off at how blind the redhead is.

You don’t do alone time. Ever. You invade Katsuki’s personal space so much your cheeks squish every time you two sit on the couch, watching whatever TV show you usually pick. You make Katsuki cook breakfast around you, his arms aching from trying to flip pancakes while you stand in between him and the griddle. Half the time (all the time) you sleep with him, because you don’t like sleeping alone and you’re terrified of the dark.

So what. The fuck. Changed.

“Maybe she’s dying,” Katsuki grumbles, nearly convinced. Eijirou snorts.

“I—no,” he snorts, before zoning out with a click of his tongue. “…Maybe she’s uh, getting ready for mating season?”

Katsuki short circuits and steps on his shoelace, disturbing the rhythm of the jog and almost sending him flying five feet forwards. He coughs to clear his throat.

“Mating season?”

“Yeah, dude,” Eijirou says, eyeing the pink in the blooming trees. “It’s Spring. And usually that’s like, mating season for hybrids.”

Katsuki snorts in disbelief—mostly because Eijirou shouldn’t know more shit about hybrids than he does, but then again, Eijirou watches the History channel for fun.

“Like—okay, I was watching this one thing,” he rushes, proving Katsuki’s point. “And apparently, female hybrids have to find a mate before they go into heat like mid-spring, and it’s super stressful for them and all that.”

“Huh,” Katsuki responds with a distant, almost glossy gaze, pulling for any recent signs that you could be going into heat. He finds none, and thinks that maybe, he should’ve read that informational pamphlet the vet gave him after all.

“Especially because once they go into heat I think it’s painful? I dunno, something like that.” Eijirou waves it off, but that comment plagues Katsuki’s mind for the remainder of the jog. For some reason, the idea of finding you a fucking “mate” just doesn’t sit right with him, but Katsuki adds call the vet to his mental to-do list either way.

When Katsuki gets home, the place is a mess.

There are torn pillows, couch stuffing torn and strewn across his atrium floor. The glass chandelier is swinging, and the pages from the decorative magazines usually stacked atop his coffee table are shredded to bits and trail back to his bedroom.

The only thing missing is you.

“Y/N?”

Katsuki doesn’t receive anything in response but his own echo, followed by a faint and peculiar buzz he notices once he’s looking for sound. With a frown, he follows the sound and ripped magazine to the closed door of his bedroom.

Opening the door was a fucking mistake.

“Oh m-my—“

The buzz emanates from the childish electric toothbrush whirring in between your legs. Your free hand has a vice grip on his pillow as you make a mess on his bed, with your pretty winking pussy and ballooning chest. It’s clear you’re new to this by the way your ears twitch and your body shakes, covered in a thin sheen of sweat that looks too much like glaze.

“Oh fuck.”

Your cute little puppy eyes widen as you realize you’ve been caught, and in his bed no less—but you don’t move to cover yourself up with his soaked sheets, of course not. You keep going.

“Ka—Katsu—I-I can’t—“

You can’t get your words out, let alone finish a goddamn sentence, and the pathetic way that toothbrush whirrs against your clit makes Katsuki thinks he could do so much better. You ditch the grip on his pillow to make grabby hands his way, and Katsuki finds himself on the wrong side of the doorway, closing the damn thing until he hears the lock click.

“Please,” you whimper. Katsuki’s pants tighten.

“Um,” he tries, throat feeling impossibly dry. Katsuki swallows and tucks his clammy hands in his pockets as if that’ll return this situation to any sort of normalcy—it doesn’t. “I don’t thi—“

“N-No,” you kick, baring your pointed canines. “No please it—it hurts.”

And fuck, the way you writhe really makes it seem like it does.

“Uh fuck—fuck fine, okay,” Katsuki supposes, because he is your owner, and if you’re in pain it’s on him to fix it, right? “But you can—“

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” you say, and Katsuki’s cheeks heat as he crosses the room and settles in between your thighs because he hates to admit he’s thought of this before. And here you are. In his bed.

“Yeah. Yeah whatever, just…” Katsuki says, but the sight of your dripping thighs and cunt is enough to make him lose all train of thought. Getting a steady grip on your thighs, he’s immediately obsessed with how pliable they are underneath his fingertips. “Fuckin’ hell, you’re soaked.”

You mewl as he swipes a finger up your slit, legs jumping. Katsuki pushes your toothbrush off the bed to place his mouth over your clit instead.

“Fuck,” you two gasp in unison, and Katsuki allows his eyes to flutter shut, convinced he hasn’t tasted anything better. He chuckles at your tiny little sounds as he starts to bite and nip, sliding a calloused hand up your shirt to coax more than a muffled whimper out of you.

“How’s that feel?” Katsuki pulls away with pink lips to rasp, voice gruff and unfamiliar. It feels out of place to himself, but he doesn’t have much time to think about it because you say:

“Y-Yeah, feels good.” Your chest shudders underneath his palm as you adjust for a better view, watching him eat you out like you’re candy. “I wan—I want more.”

Katsuki’s lips slide into a hungry smile as you ask, all apprehension from earlier fading, and he lifts an angled eyebrow to eye you down. “What? My mouth ain’t enough for ya?”

“Well um,” your eyes dart everywhere but him, claws digging into the sheets as your shoulders scrunch meekly.

"Whadd'ya want, Princess?” Katsuki catches you by the cheeks to ask, squishing your face to the point where your lips wrinkle and pucker. Your bottom lip protrudes, followed by a needy whine; you look dumb—and Katsuki finds that’s the way he prefers it. His dumb little baby.

“No, I—“

“Tell me,” he insists, a little harsher than before, and adds a slight pressure to your cheeks.

You say something, but Katsuki’s holding your face too tightly for it to be anything but a mashed garble. Still, he understands what you say, but something in him wants to hear you say it.

“Louder,” Katsuki growls, subtly loosening his grip on your face.

“Your fingers,” you finally managed, followed by a heavy swallow. Katsuki raises an eyebrow as your words hang in the air and you panic. “I want your fingers. Please.”

The ash-blond grins at the desperation in your eyes, and taps your jaw with a heavy index finger twice.

“Open,” he grunts. Your jaw goes slack and you stick your tongue out without him asking.

Katsuki’s cheeks puff before he spits down your gullet with a feral grin. You close your mouth and swallow, and he stuffs you full with two fingers as a reward.

“O-Oh,” you keen in surprise, eyes widening in the cutest little way as you start to claw at his back, immediately whining about how it’s all too much. Katsuki chuckles.

“Too much? I thought you we’re complainin’ that it wasn’t enough, brat.”

You flinch as he flicks your oversensitive clit before messily thumbing it over, not showing any sympathy. Your cunt has a vice grip around his fingers and Katsuki knows before you say it, chest ballooning and whimpering as you slur:

"'M gonna—gonna cum."

"You're gonna what?" Katsuki pokes fun at your garbled sentence, crooking his fingers upwards. Your entire body seizes until your back is stark straight and feet flat on the bed and Katsuki keeps aiming for your g-spot, clumsily fumbling through the sheets for your toothbrush to give you the ride of your life.

"Fuck!" You squeal. The obscene slap of Katsuki's fingers against your pussy sounds downright filthy—in fact, you sound downright filthy, absolutely fucking debauched, and Katsuki rips his hand away before you drive off the edge. Your eyes rocket open.

"Wha—"

“Ever gotten fucked before, Princess?”

“N-No,” you say, oh so subtly squeeing around Katsuki’s fingers and ultimately giving him the head rush of a lifetime. “But I want—I want it. Please.”

He hums, carmine eyes raking your figure up and down in debate. But you know he’s a sucker for those big puppy eyes as much as he does, and when you blink at him so cutely. Katsuki can’t do much but crumble.

A sexy little smile slides across your face as you hear the clink of a belt buckle. You got him.

“Sure thing, Princess.”