pro hero bakugou x pop star f!pop star reader(hiatus queue sorry im not really back)
summary: after some threats are made against a famous pop star’s life, the hero commission tasks Dynamight with getting to the bottom of it. hurt/comfort/smut
a/n: PLEASE READ I normally write a lot of hurt comfort, and i do believe this is that but it deals with somethings that might be triggering. Your team is manipulative, particularly about food, though the body of reader is never mentioned, there are some shitty passive aggressive comments, if you have an eating disorder or experience disordered eating, it's not glamourized here but please consume with discretion, as the contents might be triggering. bakugou(and I) love you just the fucking way you are, and im glad you're here. your manager is ageist, sexist, and creepy, there are guns, you have a shitty ex boyfriend, drugs are mentioned and taken, a past suicide attempt is discussed. All of this is done based on my own experience, and yours might be different.
TW: Guns, Eating Disorders, Dom!Bakugou, Sexism, Ageism, unprotected sex, violence, stalking(not perpetuated by reader or bakugou), impact play, breeding kink, marking, reader has a panic attack. daddy kink.
second less serious authors note - I'm aware that other people have written these tropes before with other characters, I do think mines pretty different BUT BUT BUT please do yourself a favor and check out @burnedbyshoto's fic wonderful bodyguard kiri fic(she really delves into his ptsd in a way i found really true to life and healing)
lastly lol obvi I didn't write these lyrics. The first song is from when we were young, by the killers, and the other song is feel by fletcher.
“You know the devil's water, it ain’t so sweet,” you sing lightly, all music cutting out from under you. “You don’t have to drink right now.” You close your eyes, feeling the rush of the crowd, the heat of the spotlight, “But you can dip your feet,” you open them, “Every once and a little while.” The music picks up underneath you and the hook plays, you belt it along with the music, doubling over with the effort that reaching for the notes takes you.
The screen pauses, and Best Jeanist swivels in his chair.
“A few hours later an attempt was made on her life when leaving the concert hall.” He flicks through the powerpoint images. “Ms. Ln and her team have upped her security, but for the first time, threats have been made not just against herself, but against the civilians attending her shows, and she’s refused to cancel them. Which should, Mr. Bakugou, answer the question on your lips, why is this your problem?” Bakugou shrugs, rolling his neck, stretching the sore muscles.
“I’m not a babysitter.” He rasps.
“You’re an up and coming hero,” Jeanist says sternly, and Bakugou looks away, “Rising quickly, but not above this. We have reason to believe that the threats are being made by someone in her inner circle.” Best Jeanist says. “You’ll be on guard duty, but also running an investigation. You were chosen for this assignment because you’re capable of both, but also because ah,” he pauses, “She’s got a bit of a reputation.”
“I know.” Bakugou crosses his arms. “She’s chilled out a bit now, right?” Best Jeanist shakes his head.
“I meant she has a reputation for being able to ditch her security.” Jeanist sighs. “Her stability is a concern, however.”
“Yeah, don’t worry.” Bakugou sneers, “Brat’s not getting away from me.”
“You start in a few hours.” Best Jeanist stands, shaking his head. “Go back and pack, you’ll be staying at her home. She’s been briefed that she has to listen to you, but ah,” he pauses, “Please be gentle and polite with her. I doubt she’s used to hearing no.” Bakugou stands.
“I do not promise that.” Best Jeanist holds a hand out and Bakugou shakes it. “Any suspects?”
“Everyone around her is a vulture at this point, her parents are estranged, she’s financially taking care of all of her siblings, her friends are all “former” drug addicts, and her manager is very focused on the bottom line.” Bakugou nods.
“Yes.” He nods.
Bakugou’s got a backwards red baseball cap over his unruly blonde hair, light grey joggers slung low on his hips, black t shirt a little tight on his chest. A light rain is falling, but under the porch in front of your house he’s dry. He presses a buzzer, and someone comes to the door.
“Oh shit,” A young girl with long hair dark hair and tattoos up and down her arms opens the door. “I’m Anya and you’re really hot.” Bakugou scowls, glancing past her into the huge entrance hallway.
“I’m here for Sawamura Kei.” He growls and someone behind the girl clears their throat She squeaks, and a huge man, just barely larger than the pro hero, with broad shoulders and dark hair, extends an arm to Bakugou.
“Mr. Dynamight.” Bakugou nods, shaking his hand. “We’re grateful for your help. I’m Sawamura, Ms. L/n’s head of security.” He motions for him to follow, and leads him into a huge entrance hallway, sparsely decorated with rustic accents, he sees a huge fireplace crackling through a pair of glass double doors, but the two of them head up the sweeping carpeted staircase. He knocks on a heavy pair of double doors.
“Hey,” He calls, “Did you wanna meet the hero on your case?” The dark wood door swings open and there you are, you’re so much smaller in presence than you appear onstage, and clearly makeupless, in a huge sweatshirt that’s falling off of your shoulder. You’ve got darkness under your eyes, he can’t tell if it’s sleep deprivation or smudged eyeliner.
“Hi,” You say, shyly, softly, reaching a hand out for him to shake. He swallows it in his fist while you blink up at him. “Sorry for the trouble.”
“You don’t seem scared.” He says in a low growl.
“I’ve been at this for a while.” You smile wearily. “And uh, the stalkers come and they go, you know? I mean they’re troubled individuals who need help.” You take a deep breath through your nose. “My PR team would kill me if I messed up that line on like, an instagram live or something. It’s honestly been a while since I’ve had to deal with one” You massage your temples. “Come in.” You pull the long sleeves of your sweatshirt down over your hands and flop on your bed. “What do I need to know?” You ask Bakugou and he looks to Sawamura.
“You can leave.” Bakugou shoves his hands in his pockets dismissing your head of security, but the dark haired man frowns, and looks to you.
“You heard the man.” You say cheerily, and Sawamura looks angry but complies, closing the door behind him. You relax on your bed, leaning on your hands. “So um,” you laugh, and it’s such a beautiful, musical sound, so controlled and calm that it sends shivers up his spine. “What do I call you?” He swallows.
“Really?” You raise your eyebrows, and he thinks about it.
“S’pose I am gonna be in your guest room.” He growls. “You can call me Bakugou.” he massages his shoulder a little.
“Okay, Bakugou.” You look at him, all faux joy and performance melting from your face, for a moment, you look absolutely exhausted. “How worried should I be?” He blinks at you, caught off guard by how quickly your mask slipped off.
“Moderately.” He admits. “But as long as you’re with me no one’s gonna touch ya.” He growls. “You’ve got my word.”
“Yes, your ego certainly precedes you.” You manage a smirk and his lips quirk into a half smile as his eyes narrow.
“S’built on a solid foundation, brat. Ready to hear the rules?” You grin at the nickname.
“There are rules?” You raise your eyebrows.
“Several.” He crosses his arms. “Rule number one is that you do as I say.”
“I do what I want.” You counter.
“You’re gonna get shot at.” He retorts. “So save the attitude for whatever loser you’re fuckin’,” your mouth drops open, “And take this seriously.”
“That’s a deeply unprofessional thing to say.” You retort, and he rolls his eyes.
“You’re not even wearin’ pants right now.” He says, scowling. “Don’t give me shit about bein’ unprofessional.”
“Fine. What’s rule number two?” You say delicately.
“Rule number two is that you trust me.” He says very seriously. “I’m your last line of protection for now, and if someone shoots at you, bet your ass I’m diving in front of the bullet, so I’m not gonna leak your petty shit to the press, you gotta be honest with me. I need to know if you got a bad feelin’ about anyone in your life, anyone actin’ off, if you lie to me, know you’re endangerin’ us both.” He regards you. “Say you understand.” His voice drips with condescension.
“I understand.” You press your lips together. “I’ll do my best to trust you,” you perk up a bit, “What about my rules?”
“Shoot away, princess.” He spits the last word like it’s an insult. You sigh and stretch a little, tugging your sleeves down over your palms.
“I’m an introvert. I spend all day performing, so I appreciate my alone time.” He smirks.
“Yeah, I can be quiet. You’ll have alone time with me.”
“So you’re rejecting my first rule?” You say petulantly and he nods, adjusting the baseball cap on his head.
“We’ll pass on the alone time. Ya won’t even know I’m here.”
“Fine.” You cross your arms, thinking. “Wait, what if I want to have sex?” He laughs. “I’m serious! I’ve got to go to some shitty club opening this weekend and the only thing that might make it worth it is getting laid.”
“You gotta know I’m gonna say no to that right?” He stretches a little. “I can’t let you fuck some rando in the bathroom when you’re gettin’ death threats. Buy a vibrator.”
“I obviously have a vibrator.” You retort angrily and he shrugs and grins.
“Sounds like you’re prepared.” His smile grows a little. “Listen, I’m happy to give ya a little leash,” you can see his sharp canines flash on the long vowel sound, “But break my rules, and you’ll lose all of it.” He leans forward and snaps. “Just like that.” You swallow, mouth dry.
“Fine.” You purse your lips.
“If you think you can ditch me, by the way, you’re wrong.” He digs his phone out of his pocket while you scoff and stare at the rain outside your french doors. “Put whatever number I can actually reach you at here.” You take it and punch your phone number in. “Give me my own ringtone and text alert,” He instructs, “So that you know when you’re gettin’ a dick pic and when you’re getting information that could affect your safety.” You nod. The door to your bedroom bursts open and a man in a brown suit barrels in.
“You cannot go dark on socials like this!” He ignores Bakugou. “If you want someone to run your accounts we can pay for it, but three days without posting, do you know how much money we lose on endorsements when you do this?” You groan, burying your palms in your eye sockets.
“I’m begging you to shut up.”
“I swear to god,” The man snaps, and Bakugou clears his throat. “And don’t think you’re good for her image,” He turns to the blonde. “Dynamight, huh? They couldn’t send us someone like Froppy, get a few pictures of you helping flood victims?” Bakugou is about to respond but you beat him to it.
“I got death threats, Dennis.” You cross your arms, and Bakugou wrinkles his nose at the strong scent of Dennis’ cologne. “You could attempt to act concerned for my well being.”
“You’ve gotten death threats before.” He counters.
“I got shot at!” You protest. “That’s never happened.” He sighs.
“Whaddya want me to say?” Dennis frowns. “Ooooh baby, I’m so sorry that happened to you, what am I? Your extremely expensive therapist who you never listen to?” You swallow. “Take all those bad feelings and bring them to the studio. You can bring your service dog.” He gestures to Bakugou who reaches out and grabs his arm so tightly that Dennis gasps in pain.
“You can call me Dynamight.” He growls. “Or I’ll throw you out a fuckin’ window and make it look like a goddamn accident.” You giggle brightly.
“Did you just threaten me?” Dennis sputters.
“I don’t think I heard anything.” You say, a smile on your perfect lips. Bakugou lets go of Dennis’ arm.
“I’ll see you at the studio, you’ve got a photoshoot tomorrow morning.” Dennis dusts himself off. “Try and post or something, either way we’ll get lots of photos of you at the club on friday.” You nod, looking tired again. He storms out, muttering something under his breath.
Dennis stands near Bakugou in the recording studio, watching you sing from the control room. Your voice is even better in person, he decides, it’s less perfected, but there’s something about the pure rawness of your tone that keeps making the hair on your arms stand up.
“Listen,” Dennis says in a low, conspiratorial voice. “I know she seems sweet, but don’t be fooled.” Bakugou looks down at him. “She’ll play who she has to get on your good side, and the second you disagree with her about something you’re enemy number one and she’s throwing a tantrum like a little girl.” Bakugou shrugs.
“Seems fine to me.”
“You’ll see.” Dennis grumbles, shaking his head. “You’ll see.”
“Oh my GOD!” The girl who first opened the door, Anya, he remembers, squeals when you finish a chorus, barging into the recording studio. “You are an ICON!” You laugh lightly and it can be heard in the recording room. Your eyes get a little glassy.
“Can we take five?” You give the other girl a hug and step out of the booth, “Bakugou, follow me.” He smarts a bit at the order, one hand curling into a fist, but he shoves the feeling down. You walk to the stairwell, and begin to pace while he leans against the wall.
“This is where I come to panic.” He nods. “So, um, do you have to look at me while I do it?” He nods again. “Ugh.”
“If it makes you feel better, I’ve seen a lotta people panic.” You take a sharp breath and lean against the wall, sliding to the floor. He watches you close your eyes, and is shocked to see tears leaking down your round cheeks.
“If this music is bad,” your voice cracks, ‘And people don’t like it, I’m gonna let everyone down. If I can’t be honest, and real,” you gulp in some air, “So many people depend on me, which,” you gesture wildly, “I know more people depend on you and I sound like a total fucking nightmare right now, god I’m so sorry, I’m not used to having an,” you take a shaky breath in, “An audience.” He clears his throat before reaching an arm out, measuring the warmth on your cheek, the softness in your eyes, and decides you’re being genuine. He fights that familiar itch, the tugging to provide comfort to someone. Shit.
“C’mere.” He orders, and you push off the floor and let him collect you into his chest. “Let the shitty extra’s take care of themselves, brat.” He grumbles. “You’re gonna have to brief me on who all these assholes followin’ you around are though.” You nod, pulling away from him, he smells like cologne and laundry detergent, with a hint of sparking citrus aftershave.
“Okay.” You take a deep breath and wipe your eyes, “Okay, I’m good to go back.” He opens the door for you, looking up and down the hallway before leading you back to the recording booth, heart racing as he shakes off the feeling of your body soft against his.
“So I’ll drink this wine,” Your eyes close, “Like it’s medicine for the mind, Onto my tongue, oh cause I still taste your love, all in my bones, head to my toes,” You look out, and you look so viscerally sad for a moment before you outstretch your arms, “Doin’ time, tryna heal, I’ll do it all, so I don’t feel,” You hold the last note as the music swirls, “You.” You keep going but there’s silence in the booth, there’s a sense that with every movement of your fingers you’re manipulating the people listening, a magnetism about your voice that’s crystalline and honest. Bakugou is hit with the realization that listening to you sing in person feels like sharing a secret with a loved one, it felt like something special to be savored.
And then, you do it again, and again, and again, hitting the same pure sadness with such a profound regularity that Bakugou barely notices the trembling in your hands, barely notices the way you’re swaying back and forth, unable to stand up straight, barely feels his heart twist when he sees how wet your eyes are.
“That was fantastic,” Dennis says to you in the car back to your house, rain drumming on the roof. “Beyond incredible, this album is your most honest yet.” You force a laugh, clearly placating him, and stare out the window at the rainy cityscape. Bakugou is sitting next to you in the limo, eyes on the road, on possible danger, on your driver.
“One thing about tonight,” Dennis says, handing you a pill that you take without question, letting it start to dissolve on your tongue before Bakugou even has a chance to register that the exchange occurred.
“No.” Bakugou snaps, catching your jaw in his hand, “Spit that the fuck out right now.” You twist your head, trying to get away from him but his grip is like iron and eventually you comply, spitting the pill into his open palm. “You can’t do that shit while someone is actively threatening her life, we need to know where the things that are goin’ in her body come from.” He snaps.
“You think someone would poison me?” He hears the doubt in your voice and is unable to resist the urge to moralize.
“I think you shouldn’t be takin’ any pills without a prescription for ‘em anyway!” He wipes his hand off with a napkin and reaches for hand sanitizer. You groan.
“It’s just fucking xanax Bakugou.”
“I don’t give a shit.” He leans over you, speaking so low and so close to your ear that it sends shivers up your spine. “What part of you do as I say do I need to tattoo into that thick fuckin’ skull of yours?” You roll your eyes and his blood boils.
“The pronouns are tripping me up.” You say coolly, crossing your arms. He chuckles dangerously, the energy in the limo crackles.
“When she’s a neurotic goddamn mess without her xanax tonight don’t come complaining to me.” Dennis interjects, waves the idea away, attempting to dispel the tension. “Anyway, Iwa’s gonna be at the club this weekend.” Your eyes shoot open, Bakugou and Xanax clearly forgotten.
“Then I’m not going.”
“You have to learn to co exist with your ex.” Your hands shake.
“I’m not fucking going, Dennis,” you snap, “I don’t wanna parade around like your special shiny new toy, and I especially don’t want to go to a club opening my ex is gonna be at.”
“First of all.” Dennis raises a finger, “You are not shiny, or new.” You swallow. “You may not feel like an old maid but in the music industry 25 is the new 30. You have to keep proving that you’re still young and fun and a little bit crazy. Which frankly, won’t require a ton of acting on your part.” You swallow.
“I don’t need a goddamn handler.” You mutter, staring out the window as the city flashes by, cold in the grey light of twilight.
“Do I need to remind you what happened the last time we let you run your own life?” Dennis takes out a smartphone, and Bakugou watches you go from angry to exhausted again.
“No.” You say quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“You could have lost everything.” He says, a touch of emotion in his voice. “And I could have lost you,” he pauses, “You know, you’re my everything, alright, you’re, you’re the reason I get up in the morning, I have dedicated my entire career to you.” You nod, and reach out and take his hand.
“I’m not gonna let you down again, I promise.” He softens.
“You’re like my own fucking daughter.” He says. “And you’re gonna have a great time tonight, alright?” You nod. Bakuogu shifts uncomfortably in his seat, you’d spent the entire day trading barbs with the people around you, but one mention of your previous public breakdown and all your hardness seems to melt away.
“Yeah.” You bite your lip and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m, I’m so lucky to have what I have.” You think for a moment. “Can someone else pick what I wear?”
“Of course someone else is gonna pick what you wear.” Dennis starts scrolling through his email. “God knows you’d perform in fucking sweatpants if we let you.” You tug at your sleeves, and ignore them both for the rest of the drive. When you get back to your house Dennis climbs out of the car and walks inside, you sit for a moment in the rain. There's silence. You reach for the handle of your door and Bakugou gives you a tch.
“Sit that ass down.” He gets out on the other side of the car and then slams the door so hard the car shakes.
“I can’t even open my own doors now?” You complain and he shrugs, standing in the rain
“Get used to it.” He smirks.
“I won’t.” You snap. “No one tells me what to do, and you could really work on your tone.” His smile grows.
“You don’t sound very pleasant. And I don’t appreciate being given orders.” You lift your chin a little so that you can more directly meet his gaze. How tall was he, 6’6? Maybe taller? He leers over you.
“You’re gonna get used to it.” He repeats in a low growl. “In a week or so I’ll have you respondin’ with my orders to jump with ‘how high Mr. Dynamight?’”
“Fuck straight off.” You huff petulantly, whirling around and stomping towards the house. He watches you go, closing the door before following. The evening is uneventful, as Bakugou becomes familiar with the twists of your mansion, it becomes abundantly clear that you’re not using most of the space. There are cameras everywhere, he notes, and Sawamura shows him where the security room is. He watches you pick at your dinner while other people talk, Dennis calls you four times before you finally shoo everyone out of your room so that you can go to sleep. You sigh, and look carefully at Bakugou.
“So, what do you think?”
“About?” He grunts.
“About the threats, and stuff. You can speak freely, it’s just the two of us.” Bakugou nods slowly, estimating what to share, how much you can handle.
“From watchin’ you all day today, I think maybe uh, s’not just the two of us. Someone could be listenin’.” You shiver.
“Oh.” You glance towards the door, eyes full of fear. “In my, my bedroom?” He nods. “What about out on the balcony?” He considers, the noise of the crickets should make the conversation more difficult to hear, and the humidity would have corrupted all but the most expensive of bugs.
“Alright.” You lead him through the french doors, barefoot in a satin nightgown, the picture of a damsel in distress. “You don’t have a lot of independence,” he says bluntly, “For a 25 year old.”
“They worry about me when I go off on my own.” You cross your arms, the night is warm, the air heavy with moisture. “But I’m,” you get this mischievous little smile on your face and he fights the urge to tuck your hair behind your ear so he can enjoy it in fullness, “I got a cottage out in the middle of nowhere, in Hyogo, and no one knows about it. I’m gonna run away there sometime.” You sigh happily. “Without any of them.”
“You’d like that, a little house in the middle of nowhere?” He can’t keep the surprise from his voice.
“I didn’t pick this,” you gesture to the sweeping mansion, “Most days I don’t even pick what I wear. But at a little place no one knows about, I could decorate it how I want, light a bunch of candles, have a garden.” You shake your head. “That’s not, my stupid little dreams aren’t relevant. I don’t get to complain, I have a life most people only dream about, I know. Just um, tell me, tell me what to do?” He smirks. “Asshole.”
“Brat.” He squints at your backyard, before turning back to you. “Get some fuckin’ sleep okay?” You nod.
For the next few days it’s amazing to see how the world moves around you, how you ask for coffee and it’s in your hands a few minutes later, how you say you have to pick out what to wear this weekend and three different people in various states of streetwear and undress, with long painted nails, and sunglasses despite it being both rainy and the evening, follow you upstairs and pull things from your giant closet while you lounge on the bed sipping your iced coffee.
He leans against the wall, watching you purse your lips as Anya pulls a red dress with huge cut outs on the sides from the closet. When she turns around he can see the tracks in her extensions.
“What about this?” She chirps. You cock your head.
“Something with sleeves?” She nods, understanding.
“Can I wear this?” You smile and nod.
“Yeah, sure whatever.” A deeply tanned young man stumbles out of the closet, heavy lidded, holding a lingerie set.
“What if you skipped the club tonight and just wore this?”
“No way, Brett.” Your face burns and Bakugou smirks as he watches him pout and go back into your closet. You take another sip of coffee, and wave him over. “Hey um,” you look nervously at your entourage, “I wanna eat, I’m hungry.” He blinks at you.
“Don’tcha have a fuckin’ kitchen?” Your eyes dull a little.
“Yeah.” You say and he crosses his arms. The constant full audience was starting to make the veins in his forehead throb, and watching you perform for everyone around you was sapping the energy from his veins.
“If I go get you food then I’m gonna leave Sawamura here.” He watches your face cloud over and files that information away.
“I’m fine, then, stay.” He measures your apprehension, the slight upward pitch in your voice, could you be attached to him, or was it that you didn’t want to be alone with Sawamura?
“Tell ya what.” He furrows his brow. “I’ll give you a ride to wherever this place is tonight, and we’ll grab some food on the way.” You nod.
“Um, okay.” You get the smallest hopeful smile on your face. “Pizza?” You whisper, like you’re sharing a dark secret. He grins.
“Sure, brat.” He touches your bare shoulder, the flannel you're wearing having slipped down your arms, revealing more of your tank top.
“I’ve GOT IT!” A third voice, and a woman with bright aqua hair and false eyelashes comes out with a skintight black dress, straps criss crossing the chest, and cutouts, but with long sleeves. You squeal and hop off the bed, running into the closet to try it on. You’re only gone a second, but you come bouncing back into the room, barefoot and joyful, twirling around.
“Holy shit.” The words fall from his lips before he can stop them, and you smile coyly in his direction.
“That is, exactly the reaction I was hoping for.” You sigh happily. “I hope Iwa implodes.”
“Babe!” Anya calls. “He’s the fucking worst, don’t think about him!” Bakugou’s ears prick up.
“I know,” you groan. “I know but he’s,” you nervously glance at the pro hero then whisper conspritiatorially to your friend, Bakugou has to strain to hear, “He’s so fucking good in bed, and I just think maybe I could-.” Anya shakes her head, nearly dislodging one of her fried extensions.
“You,” she calls to Bakugou. “She’s not allowed to fuck her ex tonight.” Bakugou grins.
“She’s not gettin’ laid unless it’s someone cleared by security.” He watches Brett perk up at this, but you continue to ignore him. You drag Anya back into the closet and he waves the other girl, uh maybe her name was Aali, over to him.
“What’s up?” She pops a hip, then pops her gum.
“What’s her exes deal?” Bakugou asks, keeping his voice low.
“His deal?” The girl blinks up at him, huge doe eyes dark and round.
“How’d they break up?” The girl still looks confused. “I’m investigating threats made on her life.” Bakugou says, gritting his teeth, begging the god he doesn’t believe in for patience. “So I need to know about people who might have problems with her.” Understanding finally dawns in the girl's eyes.
“Oh!” She giggles, then looks over her shoulder before speaking. “It was bad. Restraining order, their record labels stepped in and cancelled a duet they’d had scheduled bad. Ask her about it.” You come out of your closet then, teetering in high heels.
“I hate these fucking things.” You grumble, “Someone get me a drink.” There’s a flurry of activity and Bakugou watches as Aali produces a half drunk bottle of citrus vodka from a bag.
“No fucking way.” Bakugou snaps. “You can’t just accept food and drink, especially booze that’s not sealed, when you’ve been getting death threats. The bubble of joy in the room pops. Your jaw sets.
“Right.” You say, and he rolls his eyes. “I’ve got some unopened bottles downstairs.” You muse, “Would you guys go grab one?” You look around. “All of you?” The three of them exchange glances and one by one, Anya, Aali and Brett leave, closing the door behind them. You chew your lip for a second and Bakugou’s not sure what to expect, more of your attitude or the surprising vulnerability. He gets the latter.
“Do I really look alright?” You ask quietly. “You seem honest.” He scrunches up his nose in surprise.
“You look insane.” He says very seriously, like he’s annoyed you even have to ask. “Your ex is gonna shit his fucking pants.” You giggle, and then look up at him with an unbridled childlike glee, and whisper,
“Pizza.” Your warmth is contagious and he finds his lips stretching into a rare genuine smile.
“Yeah, brat. Pizza.” He pauses. “Who uh, who are these people?” He gestures towards the door. You shrug.
“They just kinda live here. They’re my friends, Anya and Ali do hair and makeup, Brett does some assistant work and organizes for me. Plus he’s a decent plug.” He quirks an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, has the Great Explosion Murder God never gotten high?”
“None of your business.” Bakugou says, crossing his arms and looking away, and you shrug.
“That’s a yes. But also they’re my friends.” You don’t even wait for him to react fully before hopping on the defensive. “Really, they could have sold me out to the press a bunch and they never do.” You pick at your already bloody cuticle,waiting a moment before changing the subject. “How um, how much danger am I in tonight?” He raises his eyebrows.
“Suddenly interested in my opinion?” You sigh bitterly.
“If you could be nicer when you give it I’d be more likely to listen.” He shakes his head, an evil smile spreading across his face.
“Don’t think I’m gonna though.”
“Why’s that?” You ask and he stretches, the muscles rippling in his shoulders, plainly visible through his thin black t-shirt. He walks over to you slowly, and you fight the urge to take a step back as his hulking frame invades your personal space. He reaches out and tips your face up to his with two calloused fingers before growling,
“Because someone’s gotta keep your bratty ass in line.” Your cheeks warm and you go to stammer an answer but the door bursts open and he drops his hand. Brett hands you a bottle of whiskey and Bakugou watches you struggle to open it for a moment before he extends a hand to you, radiating smugness from every pore. You scowl, but he opens it easily, with barely a twitch of his huge muscles. He watches as you throw back the bottle, drinking the liquor like it’s water for a few seconds before he snatches it from you. “That’s enough.” He passes the bottle back to Anya. “Someone else have some.”
“I am an adult!” You protest, stomping one of your feet like a toddler. “I decide how much I drink.”
“You can have more after we get some food in you.”
“Ooooh,” Anya says, “Are you gonna order something?”
“Bakugou and I are going to stop by Sweetgreen before I head to the club tonight.” You say, not bothering to look at Bakugou to make sure he’s going along with your lie. Anya frowns, pink sparkly lips pursing.
“Ugh,” she says, “Honestly their salad dressings are so fattening, maybe you shouldn’t.” She glances at your hips. “I know how important your image is to you.” You shrug, a deep sadness settling in your chest, but all you say is,
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Bakugou bites down on his angry immediate response, has no choice but to watch as the three of them help you get ready, burning the natural texture from your hair, painting darkness around your eyes, until you barely resemble the girl in the recording studio, with the trembling hands and teary eyes.
When you’re ready to go it’s dark outside, the crickets singing a plaintive tune as you wobble in your heels on the way to his car. You stumble over a bit of uneven pavement in your heels and he extends an arm to you. You take it reluctantly, and let him open the passenger door to his black jeep for you. You climb up into the front seat, and he closes the door behind you. He jumps into his seat and kicks the car into gear, speeding out of your driveway. You glance over your shoulder and he watches you pull a bag of wipes from your purse. You carefully dab at the makeup they applied, softening it, smudging the eyeliner.
“It’s not their fault.” You mutter. “They just want me to be on trend. I just hate it.” He doesn’t respond to that, flicking on his turn signal.
“So,” he says, “Are we goin’ to sweetgreen?”
“Fuck no.” You say, the happiest smile he’s ever seen returning to your face. “You promised me pizza!” He grins.
“I didn’t promise you anythin’ princess.” He glances over at you as your face falls and he can’t keep up the ruse for another second, “You can have pizza, in exchange for information.” You nod quickly.
“Who the fuck are Brett, Anya, and the green hair, how did you meet them?”
“Oh!” You say, “Alison”
“Yeah, who the fuck are they and why do they follow you around?” You wince.
“Um, we’ll Brett’s actually my mom’s boyfriends son, I can’t kick him out without my mom getting pissed at me, and we barely talk as it is so I just kinda let him eat my food.” Bakugou nods.
“And buy you drugs.” He says, and you shrug.
“Yeah. Anya is a makeup artist, she stayed over one night after a party and kind of never left.” Bakugou looks at you like you’re crazy, “I know, I know, but um, she’s nice, and I uh, you scratch your forehead. “It’s hard to have friends. And do this. Alison is Dennis’s assistant.”
“Dennis’s assistant?” Bakugou repeats.
“Yeah she reports back on me to him.” You rub your eyes. “This is the most alone I’ve been in months.” He nods. “Next question!” You pester him, “It’s been years since I’ve had pizza.” He swats at you.
“Have a little patience, brat. And get ready to go incognito.” He takes his baseball cap off and puts it on your head. “There are sunglasses you can borrow in the glove compartment.” You fumble for them while he thinks. “And you don’t think any of them would want to hurt you?” You chew your lip.
“I mean, I’m financially responsible for them. I’m Dennis’s only client, and the rest of them eat my food and sleep in my house.” You shiver, despite the early summer warmth, listening to the percussion of the rain on the canvas roof. “It’s probably some stranger right?” He shrugs.
“You’re Dennis’ only client?” He repeats, remembering the theatrical performance in the limo earlier, “Listen,” he says, turning into a parking lot. “It’s not just your life or mine at stake here. They threatened to bomb your concert next weekend.” You nod.
“I tried to cancel.” Your lips droop, “But the label wouldn’t let me, they said I’m contractually obligated to perform.” Bakugou squints at you before pulling into a tight parking space.
“I was told you refused to cancel it.” You blink a couple times.
“Heard ya were a real piece of work.” He says, turning the car off with the soft push of a button.
“Well that’s definitely true, but I’d never risk the lives of my fans.” you say, reaching for your own door handle.
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” He says, “Or I'll take that hat back and you’ll have to sign autographs in there.” You shudder.
“Okay, you got me, I’ll behave.” He grins, hopping out of the car and jogging in the rain, surveying the parking lot before opening the door for you and helping you down to the pavement. He catches sight of his reflection in the car and frowns, trying to fix his hat hair. You laugh,
“Come here.” You’re shocked when he obeys, bending down so that you can reach the top of his head. You massage his scalp with your nails while messing his hair up so that it stands at all angles again. His breath hitches and a shiver runs down his spine. He stands up quickly, a light dusting of pink on his cheeks.
“Enough touchin’ me.” He says. “Let’s go.” He leads you into a tiny strip mall pizza parlor, with a few people sitting on plastic chairs and in dark booths. The man behind the counter nods at Bakugou.
“Sit in the back, sir?” Bakugou nods, and the two of you follow the man into a side room of tables and booths that are empty.
“We can be alone here.” He says to you, in a low rasp. You tug your leather jacket around yourself, suddenly extremely aware of how odd you must look, in a club dress, baseball cap, and mens sunglasses. The waiter doesn’t balk at your appearance, just hands you two plastic laminated menus. You open it and run your finger down the cool plastic.
“So,” You look up at him. “Bakugou Katsuki, Pro Hero.” He grunts without looking up. “I googled you.” That get’s his attention, his red eyes crackle with interest.
“Up and comer, bit of a temper, a string of broken hearts.” He snorts.
“That’s all bullshit. I don’t have time to date.”
“Me either.” You look back at the menu.
“What uh, about what’s his name?” You shrug.
“The label put me and Iwa together, we hit it off, it was good for the pictures, the sex was decent, but uh,” you pause, and your eyes get this faraway look, as if you’re swept up by memory. “Have you ever met someone that was just completely different when they were drunk?” He nods.
“Yeah.” You confirm. “Not good. Sawamura stepped in one night when he took a swing at me in front of other people.”
“You trust him?” Bakugou says, folding the menu and putting it next to his paper napkin.
“Sawamura?” You ask and he nods, but the waiter comes by and you order quickly. “A medium pizza with pineapple.” He looks at you, disgusted. “Don’t say shit to me.” You sniff delicately, “It’s the superior way to consume pizza, and I’ll prove it.” He shakes his head, mock gagging.
“And you, Sir?” The waiter asks and Bakugou clears his throat.
“Eggplant parm.” The waiter takes the menus. “And a bottle of wine.” He says gruffly. “Red.” You smile.
“Bakugou Katsuki, is this a date?” He scowls at you.
“No, and I’ll be expensing this meal to the public safety commission.” Your laugh carries in the small space, your real laugh, not the faux bell toned giggle he’d heard all day.
“I don’t know if I trust him.” You say, when the waiter has disappeared again. You look nervous, Bakugou see’s your hands tremble again for the first time in hours. “But if I start doubting everyone around me,” you swallow and take a shaky breath, “If I start thinking too hard about who cares for me, and who's using me, I’ll go crazy, because with most people, even the kindest people, it’s probably a hybrid, you know?” Bakugou thinks about it.
“When I was in school, we had this competition, the U.A. sport festivals?” You nod your recognition, and the waiter comes back, opening the bottle of wine in front of you, pouring you a glass and leaving it on the table. “I was about 15 and suddenly people were stoppin’ me on the street with all these opinions on my character, my quirk, my performance.” He shakes his head. “Didn’t handle it very well. So I can’t imagine.” You lean forward on the table speaking softly.
“Fame is so isolating.” You sip the wine. “I can’t imagine anyone actually wants to hurt me though,” and for a moment in the low light, you look so naive, and hopeful. “I know the worlds been spinning under my feet, but I’ve spent the last few years touring and singing and writing, and I just woke up one day and All Might had retired, and there were parts of the city I can’t go to anymore, I,” you sigh. “I’m rambling.”
“If it helps.” He looks away from you, studying the floor. “You don’t got anything I’d want from ya. Not attention, because jesus fuckin’ christ do I wanna be able to go to a farmers market without bein’ recognized, not money,” he grins, “I’m doin’ just fine, and bein’ a hero pretty much gives me access to any room I’d want to go into.” He reaches tentatively across the table, brushing some hair from your face. “So ya can trust me.” He watches his words hit you, your eyes watering.
“The farmers market, huh?” You ask and he nods.
“I like fresh food.” You shake your head. You spend the rest of the dinner speaking softly in the gentle yellow light of the restaurant. Bakugou isn’t sure, but you seem sad to leave, a slight droop to your shoulders, a dullness in your eyes as he opens the door to his jeep for you. You touch up your makeup in the front seat of the car and he drives in comfortable silence. He’s pulling up to the clubs valet, 8:30PM, exactly on time, when you speak again.
“Please don’t leave me alone in there.” You glance at the big cement building. He reaches over and gives your perfectly manicured hand a squeeze.
“Wouldn’t dream of it brat.” He hops out of the car and jogs around the door. “Come on.” You take his arm and step out onto the red carpet. The camera flashes make it feel like being in the center of a thunderstorm, which is bad enough but then the questions start.
LookoverhereAreyoubacktogetherwithIwaizumiGiveusafuckingsmileHowareyouhandlingthethreatsonyourlife,whatsitlikeworkingwithDynamight, they all blend together, and they’re all shouted at you, demanded of you. You give them a little wave and take a step away from Bakugou so that they can get pictures of just you. You place a hand delicately on your hip, and move methodically in a circle, and then reach for him again, desperation in your eyes, like he’s a life raft and you’re barely keeping your head above the churning sea He takes your arm and leads you inside the club, music already thumping, lights swirling around the dark space. Immediately a few people run towards you and Bakugou scowls, stepping in front of you.
“Oh my gosh,” One of the girls shouts above the music, “Your music, like, 100% saved my life, I just, please can I get an autograph?” You swallow.
“Ah, oh, do you have a pen?” The girl looks stricken.
“I’ve got lip liner?” She says, and you smile wearily, signing your name on her cocktail napkin. You sign a few more things before Bakugou steps in between you and the gathering crowd.
“She’s gotta go.” He says, and you let him be the bad guy, rushing you away to the VIP section. You motion for him to lean down so you can speak in his ear.
“You know you’re good at this,” you say, and your breath is warm on his neck, sending a shiver up his spine, “If you want I’d let you babysit me all the time.” He shakes his head, grinning and leaning down to speak to you.
“Only if you’ll behave.” You beam up at him, pupils opium blown in the low light. “Fuckin’ trouble,” He mutters, leading you towards the velvet rope, eyes on the exits, on the flashing lights, on the extras who eye you up like you’re a meal and not a goddamn person. The back area is quieter, and not quite as quiet. Bakugou watches you text Dennis for a bit, your group is late. He hears a laugh, it’s deep and warm, but you nearly drop your phone at the sound. Bakugou follows your gaze to a tall dark haired man, with deep set eyes and broad shoulders. He leans down to speak to you.
“That’s the ex?” You nod. “C’mere.” He moves so that he’s blocking your whole body from his gaze and you sigh with relief. You only have a moment of peace though, Bakugou finds you a booth and a table and no sooner than you sit down is he turning down drinks that people send you, scowling at people who come to gush over your music, occasionally dropping a snide comment that you graciously let slide.
It’s almost imperceptible, but he watches you tire slowly, greeting people, dancing. He sends someone to bring you a sealed bottle of water. You pull him aside a few hours later, and he walks you to the private VIP restroom. You go to open the door but he puts a hand on your shoulder, checking the inside first before letting you inside the small windowless room. He’s standing outside the bathroom, eyes on the exits, when he hears someone clear their throat.
“She in there?” Iwaizumi asks. “I just, uh, I wanna talk to her.” Bakugou shakes his head.
“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“Are you her boyfriend or her bodyguard?” The man cocks his head and Bakugou’s scowl deepens.
“Neither. I’m the pro hero investigating a series of threats that have been made against a civilian.” Iwaizumi chuckles darkly, opening his mouth to respond but at that moment you step outside the bathroom and jump a mile at your ex looming over you.
“Iwa.” You say coolly, eyes darting away from him. “What can I do for you?”
“Missed ya.” He says sheepishly. “I’ve been getting better, you know,” you swallow.
“Good for um, good for you.”
“You sober?” He says suddenly, shocked, and you nod. “Damn,” he looks at Bakugou, “Maybe you should hang with the cops all the time.”
“Not a cop.” Bakugou interjects, but Iwaizumi ignores him.
“Dance with me.” He murmurs, eyes only for you, but Bakugou watches your hands do a nervous little jig in front of you.
“N-no thank you.” You say, “I think I’m ready to leave, actually,” you turn to Bakugou so you don’t see Iwaizumi reach out, maybe to hug you, maybe to grab at you, but you don’t find out because quick as a flash Bakugou puts his body in between you, and Iwa collides with 200+ lbs of annoyed Dynamight, and falls backward on his ass.
“Don’t touch her.” He says flippantly, as the musician is knocked to the ground.
“The fuck is wrong with you,” He hops up and takes a swing that Bakugou easily parries, pinning him to the wall,
“She said no.” He snarls. “You deaf or somethin’?” He releases I’m and Iwaizumi let’s out a stream of expletives, staring at you, cowering behind Bakugou.
“Stupid fucking cunt.” Iwa says, all kindness gone from his face, before he storms off.
“I-I-I’d like to leave.” You say in a tiny voice and Bakugou nods, taking you by the arm and leading you towards the back as chaos begins to brew. You hear shouts, there’s a fight, and the noise grows, louder than the music. Bakugou turns to you,
“Do you trust me?” he says, and you take exactly one second to decide.
“Yes.” He plucks you right off of your feet, and moves farther down the bathroom hallway, towards the back of the club, and the kitchen. He freezes when he hears it, stopping to adjust you in his arms so that he can hold you with one hand and press your head to his chest with the other, covering your ear. But the angry pop is unmistakable, a gun with a silencer.
He moves quickly, running down the hallway and then sprinting through doors the poorly lit offices at the back. He can feel you trembling against him and he runs faster, kicking an office door open in one swift movement, and then locking the door behind the two of you, depositing you quickly onto the floor before lifting the desk up like it’s weightless and leaning it against the entrance, doing the same with a bookshelf as you scramble to avoid the falling novels and ledgers. He stops after a moment, chest heaving, before looking back at you, on your knees on the floor.
“B-bakugou,” You choke out.
“C’mere,” He grunts, pulling you to your feet and holding you tightly. “No ones gonna hurtcha, I’m here.” You nod slowly. You hear the roar of the fight in the main room at the bar.
“People are getting hurt,” you mumble. “You should go save them.” Bakugou shakes his head.
“Security will handle it.” He murmurs. “Your ex is an asshole.”
“I know.” You sigh. He digs his phone out and calls a number.
“Oi, Kirishima,” He snaps, and across town, the redhead stretches out on his couch.
“I need backup, I’m walled in at the back room of a club with a civilian, heard gunfire, shouting, I’m sure the cops are on the way but someone’s gotta come deal with this shit and I’m not bulletproof.”
“Text me the address.” Kirishima says, “I”ll send it to Tetsutetsu too.” He hangs up and springs into action. Bakugou shoves his phone back in his pocket.
“My friend is on the way.” He says gruffly, rubbing comforting circles into your back. “You know a lot of this,” he gestures around him but you know what parts of your life he’s referencing, “Is fake bullshit that doesn’t matter.” You nod. “And you know that you’re gonna die someday,” he says, and your eyes widen, “Of natural causes as long as you listen to me, brat.” You laugh lightly.
“You seem miserable.” Bakugou says flippantly, “Why stay there, in that house with them?” You roll up your sleeve. There’s an ugly thin scar running vertically up your arm,
“I don’t have the right to tell anyone I don’t need to be babysat.” You say quietly, the only sound in the room is the low hum of the air conditioner. He takes your wrist in one hand, running his thumb up the scar and your arm erupts in goosebumps at his touch. “I’m lucky anyone’s here for me at all. I’m lucky to be here.”
“Huh.” He says, releasing you and crossing his arms over his broad chest as you pull your sleeve back down.
“What?” You ask, and he shrugs.
“Guess it’s none of my fuckin’ business.”
“Spit it out.” You say, pursing your lips and narrowing your eyes. He lets out a long breath.
“Just because they stuck by you doesn’t mean they know what’s best for ya,” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “And you don’t owe them your whole fuckin’ life.”
“Dennis and them, they’re the only people who stood by me after this. Everyone else left when they thought their cash cow had dried up, my label nearly dropped me, I lost all my endorsements, everything. I do owe them. I would have been alone after, after this.” He shakes his head.
“You’re a good person,” He says in his low growl, you can feel it rumbling through his chest. “But that doesn’t mean you always gotta put others before yourself, that’s not what it mens to be, uh to be good.”
“Bakugou, um,” You lift your head, and look up at him, his breath catches in his throat, “What if I wanted to live alone?”
“You’re a fuckin’ adult.” He shrugs. “Do it. Just have a good security team, that’s all I ask.” He watches you break into a wide smile and he hits you lightly on the back of the head. “And don’t stop goin’ to therapy, dummy.” You take a deep breath and jump when you hear a loud crash but Bakugou grins, it’s a familiar sound. “Dontcha worry that pretty head of yours,” he lets you go, pulling his phone out, “That just means my idiot friends are here.” It’s a few minutes before he hears Kirshima come down the hallway.
“Hey bro,” he calls, “Coast is clear, Sero and Jirou are sweeping the rest of the building and Denki’s checking each of the cars for explosives before people can leave.” Bakugou moves some of the furniture and cautiously leads you into the hallway. Kirishima goes as red as his hair at the sight of you. “H-hi,” he stammers, “I love your music.”
“Thanks,” you say, peeking out from behind Bakugou, who nods for Kirishima to keep talking.
“Anyway, we got the shooter, just first impressions but he seemed to be an unhinged fan. Cops are searching his van now, but they found floor plans for the arenas for your next few concerts, so I think we’ve got our man.” You sigh with relief, not letting go of Bakugou’s hand.
“Oh my god,” you sigh, “Oh my god, I’m so relieved.” Bakugou pats the top of your head.
“Didn’t I tell ya if you shut the fuck up and listen to me it would be fine?” You let out another long breath and lean against him, heart hammering as the blood collects in your cheeks. Kirishima starts to say something, then his eyes flick to your trembling hands and then back to Bakugou. “One sec,” he says to you, before asking Kirishima, “The area’s been secured, right?” Kirishima nods.
“This place is crawling with cops and heroes.” He reluctantly leaves you just a few feet behind him in the hallway, following Kirishima.
“You gotta keep her back here for a bit.” Kirishima says. “Guy had a lotta her creepy shit, underwear, pictures, and he’s been subdued, but the cops are going through it now.” Bakugou nods. “She shouldn’t have to see that. They’re gonna pull a car around the back of the building for her.”
“Yeah.” Bakugou nods, “Thanks, man.” He turns back to you, and he’s barely lifted an arm before you’re leaping for him, tottering in your heels, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Alright,” He grunts, holding you to him, “Alright, brat, you’re fine, you’re gonna be fine.” Kirishima nods and leaves the two of you alone, walking back around the counter.
“Bakugou,” you sniff, “I don’t wanna go home.” He nods.
“Cops probably need to look around since he had some stuff from your place, alright, so why dontcha swing by, get what you need, and then if you want,” he says, and is suddenly seized by an awkwardness he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager, nothing but some sharp edges, harsh words and sweaty palms. A rejection from you would, would mean something to him. Shit. “If ya want, we can chill at my place, I only got the one guest room so you’ll be roughin’ it but-”
“I’d like that.” You cut him off. He grins.
“I’ll pick ya up in an hour alright, let’s find the rest of your entourage and I’ll finish up here for ya.” You nod. Anya, Ali, and Dennis are waiting for you when you come out the back room, embracing you with the clang of bracelets and the familiar smell of Dennis’ cologne.
“Alright,” Dennis grunts, “Seems like we can say goodbye to the big guy over here, huh?” Bakugou smirks, but you speak before he can.
“Actually, I’m gonna crash at his place for a little, just get some space from everything, you know?” Bakugou sees something, something he wouldn’t understand until later, until it was too late, but a vein in Dennis’ forehead throbs.
“Yeah, I think it’ll be good for me.” You look so earnest, hands twisting in front of you, he fights the urge to steady them himself.
“Get her to the studio on time,” Dennis says to Bakugou, who shrugs.
“She’s a fuckin’ adult? She can get herself there” Dennis sighs and grumbles something under his breath, taking you back to the car, you barely hear him, he’s talking about schedules, and your upcoming tour, and how to make the best of everything.
Bakugou frowns, watching you leave and shoots a friend a text.
“Is um,” you ask as you scoot into your seat, barely noting that Ali and Anya get into a car behind you, leaving you alone with Dennis, “Is Iwa okay?”
“Fine.” Dennis says, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure his management will have a field day.” He glances at you. “You okay, sweetheart,” he inspects you and you nod. “Hey,” he knocks on the panel, “Start driving.”
“Sorry,” you hear an unusually chipper voice respond, “I’m new!” The voice is familiar, but you can’t quite place it, for some reason it reminds you of deep insomnia, and sleepless nights, but you can’t put even a silhouette with the face as the partition rolls up. Dennis reaches into his pocket, pulls out an orange plastic bottle, and hands it to you. You consider, but all paranoia is ebbs from you, in this moment, you’re only imagining the soft clean quiet of sharing a bed with Bakugou, of a man who couldn’t possibly drain you of what little you have.
“I uh,” You take the pill and fiddle with it, “I think I’m, I think I’m alright,” you feel the pill, a little blue grain in your palm. “I took my antidepressants, so I feel good.” Dennis lets out a long sigh.
“Couldn’t just go along with it, could you?” He says quietly, and you blink at him.
“What?” He draws a gun from his pocket, and points it squarely at your chest.
“I said, you couldn’t just go along, could you?” His eyes narrow. “Couldn’t just be my pretty little songbird, huh?” You freeze, so fixated on the barrel of the gun that your eyes are almost crossed.
“Dennis, please,” You whisper, exhaustion setting in, it had been a long, long day. “Dennis, what are you-”
“You need me,” His voice wobbles and you see tears glistening in his beady eyes, “I have sacrificed everything for you, my marriage, my life's work, and you, you’re outgrowing me,” he breathes, agony in a teakettles whisper. “I thought I’d just, keep you high, keep you happy, keep you,” he pauses, looking for the words, “Needing me. But your therapy is working, you were having fewer panic attacks, coming to me less.” His hand is shaking, finger on the trigger.
Your mind is far away, floating up out of your body and out of the limo, ice spreading across your chest, if Dennis, Dennis wanted to hurt you, then you were really and truly alone. A dark, heavy sadness settles across your chest, tears pricking in your eyes.
“You sent the stalker after me again,” You say softly, it’s not an accusation, it’s a statement of a fact. The car starts to move away from the club, it’s almost 4AM.
“It got out of hand,” Dennis is so quiet you can barely hear him, “I thought he’d just scare you but he went full on off the deep end, threatened to blow up your concert when you ignored him, he, I didn’t send him to do this, tonight, but he just,” Dennis wipes some sweat off his brow. “Anyway, it’s fine, because you’re gonna take this pill, and you’re gonna forget. Go on.” He eyes the orange bottle in your hands. “Take it, and forget. You’ve done it before.” The neon lights of the city reflect in his dark eyes, like sunlight on dark water.
“Dennis,” the tears in your eyes spill over, “I don’t want to forget today, I met someone, I liked today, please, I want to take some space, I want to grow up, I deserve a life.”
“You forfeited the right to free will when you tried to take yourself away from me!” He snaps, and for the first time in a long time you can see the anger in his eyes. “You don’t know what it was like, waiting to see if you’d pull through,” he chokes out a sob, “You’re, you’re the love of my life.” Your skin starts to crawl, a million little moments playing in your mind, Dennis’ hands on your body, under the excuse of adjusting your garment, or fixing your hair, the way his eyes would linger on your form and then he’d make some comment about what you were wearing.
“I don’t want to take it,” You warble, and realize how pathetic you sound, “Dennis I, please we can talk about this I-”
“No,” He snarls, “No, we can’t, you say that, you say that every fucking time, just take the goddamn pill.” Your hands shake as you unscrew the bottle, fumbling with the childproof lid as the car comes to a stop at a red light, you think of the tiny italian restaurant, of the soft light, of Bakugou’s hand on yours. All of it would be gone when you woke up, back to the same patterns, back to feeling unmoored and untethered to reality, back to-
A hand slips through the partition, and touches Dennis’ shoulder. Electricity arcs off of it, and you jump backwards in the seat away from Dennis as he falls forward, unconscious. The partition rolls down, and a face you recognize both from hero billboards and the energy drink infomercials that play at 3AM on news channels pops through.
“Hey uh,” He says, “I’m uh, Chargebolt, nice to meet ya. Dynamight asked me to drive you home just in case, and uh, looks like that was an excellent idea.” He sighs. “He’s so smart.” The cars behind him on the highway start to honk and he pops out of the rooftop compartment, “Hero shit,” you hear him yell, “Just drive around me!” He jumps out of the skylight and opens the side door, helping you step out onto the street in your heels. “You okay?” He asks and you shake your head.
“No.” You whisper, shattered. “I don’t, I don’t have anyone left.” Denki cocks his head at you.
“I mean, not for nothing,” he says, “But I, uh, Bakugou seems to care about you. If it helps.” You pick at your cuticles. “And that’s uh, that’s rare.”
“Um,” you look up at him, “Is he um, is he coming?” The cars are pulling around you, but people are stopping to take pictures, it’s slowing traffic down.
“I hope so,” Denki checks his phone, “Because you’re kind of a spectacle like this,” he glances at you again and slips out of his jacket, handing it to you, “Could you put this on and face the car, so that it’s harder to identify you?” You nod and obey, but it’s only a couple minutes before you hear a familiar angry shout and subsequent huge explosion. You whirl around and Bakugou lands a couple feet away from you. There’s one moment of hesitation before you launch yourself at him. He catches you with an easy dexterity, holding you to his chest as the cameras in passing cars start to flash.
“Hey, brat,” he growls and you wrap your arms around him. He looks up at Denki, who jerks his head towards the car meaningfully. “Why dontcha crash with me for a bit huh?” You sniff.
“O-okay,” the cars whiz past.
“Gotta pay rent though,” he says and you laugh bitterly. “I don’t like freeloaders.”
“That’s fine.” You mumble, refusing to let go of him. He looks over at Denki.
“You got this? I’m gonna get her the fuck outta here.” Denki snickers.
“Yeah I don’t think he’s gonna wake up for a few hours. I’ll text you though, alright?” Bakugou nods, and leans down to speak directly in your ear.
“How would you like to be anywhere but here?” You sigh with happiness and he knocks you off your feet, cradling you to his chest as the cameras flashing from the cars intensify. “You good with that?” he says, and you shrug. “Good.” He shifts you so that he’s holding you with one hand, and then lets off a massive explosion with the other, catapulting you to the roof of the nearest building. You gasp and cling to him as he flies you across town, every time you start to fall you brace for impact, but the movement is much more controlled than you would have imagined, and when you lift your head from where it’s buried in his neck, to see streaks of light across the purple sky. “Hey,” he says softly. “We’re on my balcony.” You glance around, it’s normal, small and unassuming.
“I like it.” You say and he rolls his eyes, sliding the glass door aside to step into his living space. You kick off your heels and spin around his apartment. “This is so normal,”
“How are you still awake?” He asks, rubbing his eyes and you laugh, it’s a soft musical expression of joy and it jolts about a thousand watts of electricity into his body.
“I’m genuinely unsure,” you smile, “Actually there’s exactly one thing that I’m sure about and the rest of my reality has completely crumbled away.” His mouth goes dry.
“Rough twenty four hours for ya.” He glances down the hallway. “Guest rooms down there.” He points. “If you wanna crash.”
“Um, Bakugou,” you mumble. “Can I, I just, I don’t wanna be alone.” He nods, and gently leads you down the hallway to his room. “This is nice.” You say softly, the walls are a dark grey, it’s conspicuously neat.
“C’mere.” he says, lifting you easily and depositing you on the bed. “Want a t-shirt?” You nod and his eyes narrow as you just pull your dress over your head, he can’t keep his eyes from the curves of your body, your thighs pool on his sheets and his mind races, he wants to bury his face between them, to sink his teeth into your soft - then he notices the expression on your face.
“Wait are you,” He can’t stop himself, “Are you self conscious? You have a fucking platinum record, you, you’ve won grammys and been on magazine covers-.”
“Yeah and every time I eat more than a few bites of food the news reports that I’m pregnant.” You mumble. “I know I’m not-”
“Know you’re not what?” He snarls, and you detect a note of genuine anger in his voice. “There’s nothin’ about the way that you look that isn’t perfect to me.” You swallow, and he realizes what he’s just said, opens his mouth to backtrack. “I mean-”
“That’s um, I guess,” you study the floor, “Thanks.” He hands you the t shirt and you wriggle into it. He feels another wave of nervousness wash over him,
“You sure you want me to uh,” he gestures towards the bed and you take his hand and pull him towards you.
“Please,” you breathe, “Please I don’t wanna be alone.” He nods, heart hammering as you guide his face towards yours. He kisses you, and it’s more tender than you expect, he cups your face with one hand, his thumb pressing into the plush of your cheek, setting the pace firmly. He pushes you down on the bed, and scoots you so that you’re lying vertically, with one of his thighs between yours. He feels you roll your hips against his muscle and he chuckles into your mouth,
“Did I say you could do that?” He feels you shudder under the weight of his words, “What a fuckin’ brat,” he spits the word, “Betcha think you’re some kinda pillow princess huh, but you’re backseat dommin’ the whole time?” You whimper, and the sound goes straight to his cock. He pins your hips to the bed with one huge hand. “You will behave for me.” You blink up at him, eyes wide with fear, but he recognizes the spark of mischief.
“Yes, daddy,” You say, voice dripping honey and he barks out a laugh, before slapping your thigh,
“That’s real cute,” He kisses your neck, sucking gently, pulling a moan from your lips, and then a sharp gasp when he bites down on your soft skin, swiping his tongue over the affected area. He reaches down with one hand, rubbing your clothed sex, more music falling from your open mouth, perfect little ecstasies he’s sure will haunt him for the rest of his life. “You wanna make it up to me?” He growls in your ear, the low vibrations of his voice sending shivers down your spine.
“Yes,” you breathe, and he smiles, pressing another kiss to your lips before flopping on the bed next to you. He takes you roughly by the waist, lifting you so that you’re straddling him but facing away, taking your panties in two hands and ripping your panties like tissue paper, then slapping your ass, enjoying the softness of your skin against his calloused hand, then grabs your thighs and leans up to start eating your glistening pussy.
“Get to work,” he complains, “‘N suck my fuckin’ dick.” You take one more second, even with the authoritative timbre of his order, because when you push his briefs down and his cock springs loose, heavy and thick, oozing pre, it’s almost, pretty. You give it a gentle little kiss on instinct, and his heart flutters as he feels your lips brush the tip. “Don’t tease me,” He warns, taking a painful handful of your ass and kneading at it, “C’mon brat, show me what you’re worth.” Your face warms as you take him in your mouth, he’s heavy on your tongue. At the sudden stimulation, Bakugou’s hips buck involuntarily, filling you even more. You take it as best you can, swallowing around the end of it as you move to take more of it, bobbing your head up and down. He leans forward and groans into your warmth.
“Mmh, fuck, baby,” He says, before anchoring his hands around your thighs and pulling you down on his face, you feel his tongue on your clit, and he holds you even tighter, holding back the groans of pleasure from how well you seem to be taking his cock. That, would have to change. You choke out a moan while he spells his own name into you with his mouth, sucking hard and flicking his rough tongue over the softest part of you, marking you as his own. You’re having a hard time concentrating as he slurps greedily. You whimper against his length and feel a harsh slap on your ass, the pain cuts through the pleasure and helps you focus. His rough hands move your thighs, pulling you down harder on his face until you have to give up all pretense of pleasuring him, his name falling from your lips like water.
“Little distracted,” he spanks you again, “Huh slut?” He says and you whine lightly, he chuckles into your core and then takes you roughly, throwing you by the waist next to him on the bed. He climbs on top of him, “I get it,” He grunts, climbing on top of you, “A little attention’s all it takes you break you,” he grins evilly, “You’re all brat and no bite.” You can’t even deny it, staring up at his crimson eyes as they glow like hot coals, he teases you, rubbing his cock on the soaking lips of your pussy.
“P-please,” you manage, and he whimpers.
“Please, daddy.” He corrects, grin getting wider.
“Please daddy, please fuck me, I-”
“Hmmmm,” he cuts you off, pressing the head of his cock to your pulsing clit. “Gonna be a good girl for me?” You nod emphatically, “Gonna do as I say?” he leans down and speaks into your mouth before kissing you, you can taste yourself on his tongue, “Gonna fuckin’ take care of yourself, dumbass?”
“Y-yes, p-promise,” you moan as he buries his face in the crook of your neck and eases himself inside of you, “Fuck, daddy, please-”
“Shit,” he breathes, “S’fucken wet baby, is this all for me?” You nod again and he kisses you as he starts to roll his hips against yours. You moan your response into his mouth as he hooks his hands around your shoulders for leverage.
“Feels so-OH,” you gasp when he slams himself into you, sending stars dancing across your vision, he can’t believe he’s this close to you, and the soft trust in your eyes is making his whole body burn, he needs to own you, to hold you, to mark you somehow as his own. The bruises on your neck won’t be enough for him, he needs more.
“Birth control?” He grunts and you, oh you sweet little thing.
“Yes, please daddy, want you to cum inside, please want you to fill me up-”
“Fuck,” he snarls, picking up the pace of his thrusts, and all you can do is mewl underneath him, and rake your nails down his back. You clench down hard on him and he bites down on your neck.
“Wanna cum,” you whimper, tears glistening in your eyes, threatening to spill over, “Please, please can I-”
“No.” He wraps a fist around your neck and your eyes roll in your head, “Now you can cum, fuckin’ look at me while you do that shit,” you vault over the cliff of your orgasm, dizzied by the height of your own pleasure as he fucks you into the mattress, every sensation heightened by how vulnerable you are, by how much you’ve given yourself to him. He chases his own high, groaning loudly as he cums deep inside you. Bakugou collapses on top of you, then holds you tightly, running soft circles into your skin as you twitch and cry softly in his arms. He presses a kiss to your teary cheek.
“You can trust me,” he says, after a few minutes of you laying on his chest.
“You know that I do.” You mumble, hooking your leg around his waist, one of your huge hands coming to rest on your thigh as the two of you fall into a much deserved slumber.
A Few Weeks Later
You pull Bakugou forward through the gardens, one of your hands curled around two of his fingers, yanking him up the pathway under a cornflower sky.
“Easy,” he says in a low growl. “The house is still gonna be there.” You turn around and beam at him.
“I know, I’m just excited,” you have this soft innocence burning on your face, and he can’t help himself, he gathers you in his arms and lifts you off the ground, kissing you tenderly.
“It’s nice,” He breathes, when he lets you go, “To see you excited.” The cottage is much smaller than your mansion had been, but you’d closed the sale on that house a few weeks ago, after firing all your staff and hiring a new private security firm to outfit your cottage with state of the art technology. The pro hero boyfriend didn’t hurt either.
You’ve got a guitar on your back as you beam at him, and pull him up onto the front porch, shielding your eyes from the bright sun. He stands behind you, ghosting his fingers over your exposed scars.
“I think um,” you whisper, watching a breeze work it’s way through the garden, “I think I might be okay.” He nods, interlacing your fingers with his own.
“Course you will be, brat.” He hits you lightly on the back of the head, only hard enough to mess your hair up. “You got me now.”
1K notes · View notes