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He knows Dabi hates himself - to be fair, why wouldn’t he? He looks like a freak, he’s ragged and poor and his upbringing leaves much to be desired . Chisaki can tell from the way he likes to keep his shirt on and the way his smirks don’t quite cover the hurt in his eyes when the Yakuza tells him exactly what he thinks of him. Most of the time it’s surface level insults - ‘ your skin looks like something chewed it up and spat it out’ - that Dabi takes with only a slight frown. It’s not until Chisaki throws out a particularly vicious insult, one night in his office when Dabi’s already on his knees with Chisaki’s cock in his mouth, that he seems to take offence.

 

“Look at you,” Chisaki groans, tugging viciously at Dabi’s hair. There’s drool running down his chin and the stitching at the corners of his mouth are strained and bleeding. “A face not even a Mother could love.”

 

A panicked sound comes from Dabi so he thrusts harder into his mouth, ignoring the feeling of hands trying to push his hips back.

 

“Why would anyone want to love a fucking whore like you?” Chisaki pants, losing himself in the filthy talk. “I bet your Mother would be disappointed to know you’re on your knees sucking cock.”

 

Dabi’s eyes go wide, then redden, water and suddenly there are tears forming along the lower lash line. The glimmer makes Chisaki’s dick twitch - fuck, it’s a strangely good look on him. He shoves his dick further down the villain’s throat and grips his hair tighter, a filthy groan rumbling low in his chest.

 

“That all it takes to make you cry like a fucking child?” Chisaki taunts, picking up the pace of his thrusts into Dabi’s mouth. The man gives a strained whimper and Chisaki sees him clench his fists in his lap. “So pathetic. Go on, cry a bit more for me, you useless cunt.”

 

He pulls out and strokes himself roughly, observing Dabi with wide eyes as he gasps for breath, one hand massaging his assaulted throat. Chisaki drags him closer using the hand in his hair and pulls , breathing harshly as the tears spill down Dabi’s cheek. He drags the head of his cock through the trails beneath his eyes and snarls as the feeling sends him over the edge.

 

“F-fuck,” Chisaki breathes, gasping as he coats Dabi’s face with come. The other man splutters and shuts his eyes, letting more tears seep out from between his lashes and meld with the mess on his cheeks. It looks perfect , he looks so twistedly beautiful that Chisaki almost considers stroking his hair to comfort him. Instead, he pushes him back onto the floor and tucks himself back into his trousers, wincing slightly. “Clean yourself up.”

Chapter Text

Hawks tilts his head back as he sinks down, spit-slick lips parting, eyes rolling back in his head. It’s always so good with Dabi, so good when it shouldn’t be. He should despise every single second of what they’re doing, should hate the feeling of a villain’s cock in his ass and heated hands on his hips. The guilt is fleeting, replaced quickly by a feeling of utter euphoria when he starts slowly rocking himself up and down. His wings flutter behind him, a few errant feathers falling onto Dabi’s thighs. The villain grins and cants his hips up, biting his bottom lip in a way that he knows drives Hawks crazy.

 

“You’re molting.”

 

The hero lets his head fall forward and grits his teeth together as he drops himself down. Dabi’s smirk twitches - just a touch. “Shut up.”

 

Dabi laughs, the sound a horrible, grating rasp. Everything about him is disgusting and Hawks still isn’t sure why he’s so intoxicated by him. Perhaps it’s his affinity for playing with fire. Hawks lets out a breath and reaches back to hold onto Dabi’s thighs for support.

 

“Shut up? But you love it when I run my mouth, don’t cha?” Dabi teases, clenching his fingers tighter on Hawks’ hips. The hero gives him a sour look and retaliates by digging his fingernails into his inner thighs. “Thought so.”

 

“Shut up.

 

Dabi shoves his dick up harder, chuckling darkly when Hawks hisses and his wings fluff up in annoyance. “Fuck, you look so good up there, Hawks. I fucking love looking at you when you ride me.”

 

“Did you fucking hea-” Hawks’ complaint breaks off into a choked groan when Dabi holds him firmly and rocks up aggressively, hitting him dead on in the right place. He’s not sure if it always feel better because he knows he’ll be crushing Dabi under his heel one day, arresting him or slitting his throat with a sharp feather. Or maybe - maybe he’ll be the one who ends up defeated?

 

“Such a good little hero, aren’t you? So fucking good for me. Fuck.

 

Hawks has never lost before. He’s never even thought about the possibility. God it feels good. A half-gurgled groan spills from his lips and he clutches Dabi harder. The villain’s skin is so warm, any hotter and it would burn.

 

“You feel so good, I love fucking you. You look so fucking filthy .”

 

The hero releases Dabi’s hands and tilts forward, hands coming to rest on his stitched up chest, nails tearing into the already tender skin. Dabi just grins, goes faster.

 

“That’s it, be nasty. C’mon hero - aren’t you meant to hate villains?”

 

Hawks chews on the inside of his cheek, clenches harder around the cock inside him, screws his eyes shut. Yes , he thinks, yes he is.

Chapter Text

A thick haze of smoke hangs languid and heavy in the air, curling around the furniture of Chisaki’s office and the two men sprawled out on the sofa there. Dabi’s laying on his back with his legs thrown over the arm of the couch, head resting on the seats near Chisaki’s thigh. The Yakuza sits upright, watching the man below him through blood-shot, drugged-out eyes.

 

There’s a blunt between Dabi’s fingers and powder rimming Chisaki’s nose. They haven’t spoken for a while, content with letting the drugs seep into their systems and listening to the bluesy music Dabi’s put on the stereo. It’s a nice change from their usual routine - fight, fuck, go home - not that either one of them will admit that. It’d been a hard day for both of them and for once neither was in the mood for fighting, already worn out from the tribulations they both faced.

 

A plume of smoke erupts from between Dabi’s lips and Chisaki can’t tear his eyes away. He feels spaced out, gaze lingering on the curl of sickly sweet smoke as it crawls into the air, licking over Dabi’s face as he draws in a breath to catch a few wisps up his nose. It’s oddly peaceful to watch him blow the vapour back and forth, Chisaki finds his eyelids growing heavy with languid satisfaction. Dabi slumps further down and rearranges his position, letting his head fall onto Chisaki’s thigh. It might be due to the drugs, or the strange, secret fondness he feels for the little twerp, but he lets him stay there, stapled cheek resting against the top his his leg. Hesitantly, Chisaki raises a hand and threads his fingers through Dabi’s hair.

 

Dabi looks up at him through hazy eyes, the pretty blue somewhat marred by bleary red. “What y’doing?”

 

“Nothing,” Chisaki replies, curling his fingers over the man’s scalp. “Just shut up.”

 

They stay like that for a while, Dabi puffing away the last of his hash while Chisaki inhales the second-hand fumes and strokes his hair. When the blunt has burned out, Dabi turns his face toward the Yakuza’s stomach and nuzzles up into his hand. There’s nothing sexual about the action despite how close he is to Chisaki’s cock, it’s just a simple gesture seeking more comfort, more touch. If he were in his right mind then Dabi would probably leave here without a couple of limbs, but Chisaki is feeling relaxed tonight, for once he’ll allow the man to get what he wants. He trails his fingers across the stitching of Dabi’s cheek, winding a fingertip around each one.

 

“Do they hurt?” he asks, leaning down so he can inspect the strange metal staples. Dabi shakes his head. “Did they?”

 

“Yeah. They hurt a lot at first,” Dabi slurs, with a sigh. He shuts his heavy eyes and shuffles forward until his face is buried in Chisaki’s stomach. “Don’t wanna talk ‘bout it right now. Too nice. Just- just keep being nice.”

 

Chisaki nods absently and lets his head loll against the backrest, eyes fluttering shut. He keeps stroking Dabi’s face, noting the strange difference between the burned and soft skin. It’s peaceful. It’s nice. The blues album starts over from the beginning.

Chapter Text

“You are of interest to me.”

 

Aizawa leans forward slowly, a hiss of pain leaving his cracked lips when his restrained arms catch around the back of the chair he’s been shoved into. The position is uncomfortable, he can’t see for the blindfold tied around his head and there’s an odd smell in the air, something akin to hospital antiseptic. The voice that had spoken came from somewhere in front of him, low and dark and vaguely recognisable. His thoughts are sluggish, movements heavy, whoever has tied him to this chair must’ve drugged him.

 

“The ‘erasure of quirks’,” the man continues. His voice sounds slightly muffled.

 

The underground hero tenses up when he hears footsteps approaching. He knows that voice but he can’t place it. Damn it. This is a dangerous situation, he needs to get out so he starts fumbling over the ropes binding his hands. The comforting weight of his binding device is absent from around his neck, as are his goggles, not that they would be helpful in his current situation. Keep calm, he tells himself, he’s been in situations like this before. If only he could work out where the fuck he is it would make assessing the situation a lot easier. Just as Aizawa catches hold of the knot holding the ties together, a hand comes to rest on his knee.

 

A chuckle comes from above when he flinches. He can feel the man leaning down, weight growing heavier on his leg. Another hand grabs ahold of his chin, pressing it up so the stranger can stare at him. The touch feels strange, like it’s covered in rubber - a glove perhaps?

 

“What an attractive power you have,” the muffled voice murmurs, too close for comfort. “Shoto Aizawa.” The hand on his thigh moves up to his cheek and a thumb slips beneath the blindfold to press against the lower curve of his eye socket. “You should take better care of your eyes, they were so bloodshot when we brought you here. Well, I suppose you won’t need to now, not when I can look after them for you. No doubt, I’ll do a much better job.”

 

Aizawa can hear the man’s breath hitch and feels something strange touch the side of his face. It feels like firm leather and metal - a mask? Something connects in the drugged haze, there was a man, they were fighting, he wore a mask and gloves, he had piercing yellow eyes- that’s all his blissed out mind will grant him for now. The lack of wherewithal is pissing him off.

 

“Where the fuck am I?” Aizawa grunts, trying to jerk his head away from the rubbery grip. The person catches his chin and yanks it back to its former position. “Get off.”

 

The man hums and moves his thumb to the other eye socket, stroking softly over the exhaustion-stained skin below his lashline with removing the blindfold. “Hari really dosed you up, huh? How amusing. You don’t need to know where you are, Mr Aizawa.”

 

“Tell me where the fuck I am and who you are?” he growls, tugging hard at the knot keeping his restraints in place. Silence. The man releases him and takes a step back. The hero starts to speak again when a hand smacks hard across his face. Aizawa grunts in pain, head snapping to the side from the brute force of the hit. The restraints catch on the back of the chair and his shoulders are wrenched painfully back. He rakes in a breath then sits upright to ease the tension on his back.

 

The stranger grabs a handful of his hair and tugs it up, tutting under his breath. “I already said - you don’t need to know. You’d do well not to talk to me like that, Mr Aizawa. I don’t take kindly to it.”

 

Aizawa smirks and tilts his head up in the general direction of the voice. He spits a wad of bloody saliva onto the floor and hears the stranger suck in a harsh breath. “Fuck. You.”

 

He expects the second hit but there’s not much he can do to prepare for it it his hands behind his back. A few choice curses leave his busted lips as he’s rocked to the side, cheek throbbing with pain. Again, Aizawa spits out the blood in his mouth and earns a click of the tongue from the man.

 

“You’re making a mess,” he chides. Hands rest on the top of his head and his chin to force his mouth shut. “ Swallow .”

 

“In your fucking dreams,” Aizawa hisses out from between grit teeth. When saliva and blood start seeping down his chin the stranger steps back, making a noise of disgust under his breath.

 

“Vile,” the man admonishes. His voice starts to get further away, then Aizawa hears the familiar creak of a door opening. “We only need your eyes. Perhaps we could do away with the tongue.”

 

The door clicks shut.

 

Chapter Text

Ugh, his fucking head hurts. There’s bile sitting in the back of his throat, he’s going to throw up. When did he start drinking like that? He’s got a hangover the size of the fucking Eiffel Tower. Perhaps he should just carry on drinking, ‘hair-of-the-dog’ might be the best option to get through today. Bakugou checks his phone again and groans at the time. Two hours on a train in the direction of his temporary home - he’s going to get fucking cabin fever at this rate. More than anything he needs a damn smoke. He peers out of the window at the passing cityscape, the endless buildings utterly indistinguishable from others the train passed a while ago. With a gruff sigh, he leans back in his seat and shuts his eyes. Musutafu is two stops away, not long now. He rubs his temples, trying to soothe the ache that is still pulsing in his head. It’s almost a permanent pain these days - his recent ex says he drinks too much. Frankly, he doesn’t think he drinks enough to deal with the constant bullshit life throws at him.  

 

More time ticks away and slowly the sun slips behind the mountains in the distance until dusk falls and night cloaks the area. His mind runs over the details of ‘ the case’ , the one he never wanted, the one he’s being forced to investigate after his last failure. It wasn’t his fucking fault, what happened was deserved. he last criminal he’d been pursuing was some Yakuza boss who had been keeping a poor child locked up in a closet in his headquarters. They found her, beaten up and malnourished, Bakugou had gone apeshit and nearly killed the guy. He hates child abusers more than anything and the sight of her just made him lose it. The beating and his standing within the underworld allowed the mobster to get off scot free. Bakugou remembers the smirk the man threw he way when he was escorted out of the station - he had to be held back. As justified as Bakugou himself believes his actions were, he’s been paying for that slip-up ever since. Desk duty, patrol work, boring fucking shit that no-one else wants. At least the kid was rehoused, that’s the only good thing to come of that mess. 

 

He’s been assigned a new partner as well, some dipshit from the local Musutafu Department who he’s meeting at the station. Due to the distance and the need to work within Musutafu for extended hours, he’s got to stay with said dipshit as well. He supposes it’s better than having to make this journey all the time. The higher-ups said that his new partner would be ‘good for him’ - what a fucking joke. In Bakugou’s opinion he works better alone, everyone else just holds him back.

 

“You're a good detective Bakugou, and fuck knows we could use your tenacity in this hell hole but you got a foul temper on you. We can't keep spending out to cover for your shit. You almost killed a guy last time.”

 

“But Sir-”

 

“Look, you've got the lead on this case. Pretty horrible shit but you've got a strong stomach, ain't ya?”

 

“Yes Sir.”

 

“Last chance, okay Bakugou Try and get this wrapped up before anyone else gets - well, you'll see what happened to the victims from the photos. No fucking up and no more damages or you're back as desk lackey. Got it?”

 

“Yes Sir.”

 

Bakugou grits his teeth together and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. No-one wanted this case, that's why they've given it to him. No fingerprints, no DNA anywhere for that matter and the bodies yielded no real answers. He grimaces at the thought. The four victims were barely recognisable as human. It’s undoubtedly the same killer - the way the bodies were hacked at and displayed were similar and the remains were always missing some random limb or organ. The locations of the victims were scattered but never too far from Musutafu, thus Bakugou is inclined to believe he’s a local. But that’s about all he’s been able to deduce so far - the killer is intelligent and skilled enough not to leave any evidence behind. The blond tilts his head tiredly against the window - this case is a fool’s errand. The higher-ups have been on his ass since the fourth body was been found, so any scrap of a clue would help at this point but so far all he’s got is the letters and the stupid sign off.

 

Your faithful friend.

 

That's what the letters are signed off with. Bakugou received the first one after the third body was found. He almost destroyed the entire office after reading the vile, taunting words scripted on that bloody piece of paper. They mocked him, called him Kacchan , like triple murder was some kind of childish joke. There was too much detail, graphic detail about the murders for the letters to have come from anyone but the killer himself. The detective decided against making a public statement directed at ‘ Your faithful friend ’ which only seemed to incite the villain further. More letters started arriving after that.

 

-

Kacchan, you disappoint me! Come on, catch me if you can!

-

Kacchan is an idiot. You’re getting colder. At least talk to me.

-

I saw you at the crime scene the other day, Kacchan. You're prettier than I thought you'd be, if a little rough around the edges. You should scowl less.

-

I started looking you up online in between skinning the last one’s legs. It seems you're famous for being a mindless thug. Destroying all that public property in brawls, shooting criminals in chases, tsk tsk. More villain than hero, aren't we?

-

I read an article about one of your more recent escapades. The comments were rather amusing - ‘savage, not worthy to be a cop!’ ‘beast!’ ‘monster!’. Whilst your strength is impressive, you'll never catch me unless you learn to think rationally. You let your anger get the better of you.

-

They call me a monster in the papers too, Kacchan. I know how it feels. I understand you.

-

We’re both pariahs, Kacchan. Why don’t you join me? If only you’d let go of that ridiculous sense of justice maybe we could be monsters together.

-

I won’t stop until you catch me or you join me. I won’t stop.

-

 

No-one knows how the letters got to his desk, they just appeared at random intervals. One even turned up when he dipped into the kitchen for two minutes to grab a coffee. No postal stamps, no return address, not even a to address. Just the words ‘Kacchan’ scrawled across the front of the envelope. The coffee he had been holding that day ended up scalding his hand after he clenched his fist too hard around the paper cup and crushed it into a sloppy mess.

 

So - no leads, no evidence, no fucking nothing. And a new partner who was probably going to get in his way. Excellent.

 

The train screeches to a halt and Bakugou hears a disembodied voice announce his stop, so he gathers his belongings and heads out into the night. Much to his chagrin it’s pouring with rain and he didn’t bother to pack an umbrella. Rain pelts against his skin as he turns his face to look at the high-rise buildings in the distance. In the darkness of the night it’s near impossible to see any detail to the hulking black mass that is the home of his new partner but even from the vague, shadowy outline, he can tell that it is gargantuan. It’s only a short walk from the station to the entrance to the high-rise but the sheer volume of rain falling from the sky causes Bakugou and his small suitcase to be soaked to the skin by the time he arrives. Eager to get into the warmth of the block and more than pissed off, he jabs his finger to the doorbell. A loud shriek echoes inside, yet, even after five minutes, no-one comes to greet him and no buzzer sounds. Eventually, Bakugou bangs his fist against the sleek black door, taking care not to crack the wood beneath his hand, and is surprised when it swings open upon impact.

 

Tentatively, he enters the hallway, finding it well lit and delightfully warm. The light is a little too bright and he finds that it irritates his aching head only further. You shouldn’t drink so much, he berates himself. After gently closing the door behind him, he steps forward tentatively, unsettled by the sound of his footsteps echoing around the entrance hall. There’s no-one around, no reception desk - it’s a little creepy, not that he’s unnerved by stupid shit like that. As Bakugou heads toward the elevator, he flips open his piece of shit phone and searches for the note he made with the dipshit’s flat number. Seventeen, floor four, fine. The blond presses the button for the elevator but nothing happens, even after he rapidly jabs his finger against it. It’s only then that he notices the keycard reader below the call button - dammit. He’s five seconds away from saying fuck this and heading to the nearest bar. Angrily, presses the button again and starts yelling into the intercom.

 

"Hello? Fucking hello? " he calls, now standing in the centre of the room. No reply - simply the sound of his own voice echoing throughout the halls and the crackling of the speaker. Irritably, he turns to look back at the entrance door. Perhaps he should leave, head back to a bar and motel for the night and return in the morning when his head isn’t pounding so aggressively. He growls under his breath and rubs his throbbing temples, thoroughly annoyed by the way the evening is playing out. He doesn’t know the dipshit’s number so it’s not like he can call him down. The detective reaches into his pocket and removes the small bottle of painkillers he keeps there. Swiftly, he pops two into his hand and swallows them dry, wincing slightly at the taste of the chemicals on his tongue.

 

"Hey there!”

 

Bakugou nearly jumps from his skin at the sound of another voice. He turns to see another man entering the lobby, carrying a number of shopping bags. The man is around his age, sloppily dressed in a soaked vest top and dark sweatpants. His hair is a startling shade of red and laying slick against his skull due to the heavy rain. The most startling thing about him is his smile - his teeth are sharp and point reminding the detective of an overly cheerful shark. The man approaches Bakugou with a wide smile, looking him up and down.

 

"Sorry, I didn't think you’d be here so soon," the man says, placing the shopping bags on the floor. Bakugou gives him a blank stare and the man holds his hand out sheepishly. "Um, I’m guessing you’re Bakugou Katsuki? I’m Kirishima Eijirou, your new partner-slash-roommate.”

 

Bakugou wrinkles his nose. “You’re fucking kidding.”

 

“Nope,” Kirishima replies, cheerily. He flat out ignores the insult to Bakugou’s tone, which frankly stuns the blond. After a moment he lowers his unshaken hand and starts rummaging in his pocket. “Sorry I wasn’t here to greet ya, I presumed you’d be later. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

 

“Where the fuck were you?”

 

If the cursing bothers him, it doesn’t show through the beaming smile. God, his teeth are fucking weird. Kirishima points at the bags at his feet and chuckles under his breath. “I got us some beer! Thought we could celebrate your arrival with a bang!”

 

Bakugou scowls, though his interest piques at the mention of beer. “Whatever, just hurry up. I’m fucking soaking and I want to dry off.”

 

Kirishima pulls a keycard from his pocket and swipes it through the scanner, allowing the elevator doors to slide open. He gestures for Bakugou to enter and picks up his shopping bags as he follows the grumpy-looking blond into the tiny lift. Bakugou folds his arms across his chest and leans back against the wall as the doors creak shut and the start to ascend.

 

“Your building is fucking fancy,” he grumbles, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “How’d you afford this shit?”

 

“The rent is a lot cheaper here compared to Tokyo,” Kirishima replies, shrugging. He offers a cheeky smile as the elevator bell chimes and the doors slide open. “Perhaps it’s ‘cause of all the serial killers here.”

 

Bakugou balks at the suggestion and grabs his suitcase before heading out the lift and after the other man. They stop at a door at the end of a short corridor and Kirishima swipes his keycard through another reader. A buzzer sounds, a lock clicks and Kirishima opens the door, waving a hand to let Bakugou through first. It’s a pretty standard apartment, not nearly as fancy looking as the entrance hall. There’s a short corridor with a few doors leading to other rooms and a large kitchen-cum-lounge at the end. The decorations are garish, just like Kirishima’s hair, an assortment of old movie posters, lava lamps and beanbags. It’s very unlike Bakugou’s cramped shithole, which stinks of week old cigarette smoke and is covered in trash. Things went to shit when his ex left and he started drinking more, he couldn’t be bothered to pick up after himself anymore. What was the point? It’s not like he gave a fuck about empty crisp packets and beer bottles anyway.

 

“Make yourself at home,” Kirishima calls, shutting the door behind him. “I’ve put you in the spare room. First door on the left.”

 

The blond hoists his suitcase off the floor and moves to the room he’s been directed to, peering curiously inside. It’s a simple set up - a bed, bedside table, desk, chair, lamp - but it’s neat and clean and Bakugou finds it satisfactory. He shoves his suitcase onto the bed and unzips it to find a dry set of clothes. It’s already late so he settles on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt - fuck it, if Kirishima wants to dress like a slob then he’s going to as well. He chucks his wet clothes onto the floor by the desk, deeming the spot optimum for a laundry pile, then heads out into the living area to find his new partner. Though it irks him he supposes he’ll have to try to work with the guy, he knows the area well and could provide some useful information. That being said, Bakugou wants to drive home that he’s the one in charge.

 

“Oi, Sharkface,” he grunts, shoving his hands into his pockets.

 

Kirishima is stood in the kitchen area, packing away his groceries. He places down the bag of rice in his hand and turns to Bakugou, confused. “Sharkface?” Bakugou points at his own teeth and Kirishima’s face turns a bright shade of red. “C’mon man, don’t be a dick.”

 

“Fuck off,” Bakugou says, shuffling his feet back and forth across the floor. Despite his grumbling tummy he turns back toward the bedroom, pissed off, tired and more than a little fucking stressed out. He’ll go to the corner store they passed earlier in the morning and pick up a beer. That’ll do, surely that’ll do. He waves back at the partner he’s barely met and heads for the bedroom, feet stomping far too loudly on the floorboards. “I’m goin’ to bed. See you in the morning. Don’t fucking wake me up.”

 

Kirishima says something, he doesn’t listen.

 

Chapter Text

High on a hill stands a single tree, older than most of the people who live in the rural village of Kiso-cho that lay below it. There are very few people still residing in the tiny place and he’s not dressed in his costume, so no-one notices as Bakugou Katsuki sprints in the direction of his target, directed by the tracking device beeping in his hand. So close, he’s so fucking close. From the tree, hangs an old rope swing, tired, dilapidated, but just about functional.

 

His target leans back on the tiny wooden seat, scarred hands gripping the rope on either side of him a little tighter, closing his wide, manic eyes as he kicks off the ground and let the feeling of flight overtake him. A soft breeze rolls over his freckled face gently as he soars back and forth. The blue of the sky melds together with the mellow white of the clouds as he speeds through the air, rhythm steady like a pendulum.

 

Midoriya has always loved swings and the feelings they bring. As a child he would head straight to the swing set, begging Katsuki to push him, if only for a minute or two. Just as he begins to enjoy himself, the ride is halted abruptly. Something pulls against the left rope, thrusting the tiny swing round to the right, before stopping entirely. Midoriya keeps his eyes focused on the ground, recognising the presence now beside him.

 

He can imagine him, a sweaty hand clamping tightly around the rope, standing tall over him. His eyes will be glinting with victory, cheekbones defined sharply in the sunlight, blond spikes ruffling gently in the breeze. He can’t quite picture his expression - vicious, unpleasant, angry. Perhaps seething with the same explosive rage Midoriya saw the first time Katsuki saw him in the raid, all those months ago.

 

D-Deku? You're a- you’re a villain?!

 

"I didn't expect you to stop running," Bakugou growls, voice quiet. Midoriya has always admired his tone, deep and rumbling, it has a way of making everything seem confrontational.

 

"I’m not a coward," he replies, finally turning his head to look up at him. Katsuki stands just as he pictured him, eyes shining, shadowed by the sunlight. His expression isn’t anything like what he imagined. His mouth is twisted down into a frown, his brows are furrowed - he looks disappointed.

 

"Still."

 

Bakugou steps forward, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his dark trousers, chin raising slightly to look at the village below. Izuku can’t gleam what his intentions are now but he knows better than to think him peaceful.

 

Bakugou Katsuki is nothing but a threat to him.

 

"I'm not going to let you take me in," he says, staring at the other man’s back. His shoulders are so broad, so different from back in middle school.

 

"I know, Deku."

 

The sun is starting to set over the little hill, causing his figure to cast eerie shadows on the grass at Izuku’s feet. Heroes are supposed to take care of threats as quickly as possible, aren’t they? Is Katsuki waiting for something - or does he just not consider Izuku a threat? As he turns back slowly, Midoriya pulls himself off the swing, head tilting upward to meet Katsuki’s gaze. They watch each other intently - Izuku, waiting for him to throw a punch or an explosion, Katsuki, mulling over his next move.

 

"So, are you going to kill me instead, Kacchan?" Midoriya asks, watching him wince at the use of that nickname.

"You’re the only person who’s ever called me that,” he says, tone still strangely soft.

 

"I wish you were the only one who called me Deku ," Midoriya replies, sourly.

 

He lets out a short laugh, moving closer to the villain. Izuku’s body is shaking slightly, he observes, though his face shows nothing but resilience. Hatred . That’s better than the utter adoration that used to be there. Something that has long gone unsaid slips further away, deeper into the recesses of both their minds. It isn’t important anymore. It seems so childish when one of them is about to die.

 

“Is this my fault?” Katsuki asks, removing his hands from his pockets. Sweat pools in his palms. “Is this my fucking fault, Deku?”

 

Izuku huffs a laugh and hangs his head. He’s always been such a crybaby but his eyes are dry as a bone now. “I wanted to be a hero Kacchan. My mother told me I couldn’t, you told me I couldn’t, All Might told me I couldn’t. I went crazy thinking about it.”

 

It’s not a yes, but it isn’t a no. Katsuki feels his chest tighten. “You set off a fucking bomb.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You killed people.”

 

“So have you,” Izuku answers, dry, cold eyes rising to meet the hero’s. Katsuki sees it now, the slightly unhinged gleam that doesn’t sit with the childish youth of his face. He doesn’t look like Deku, not his Deku. “You’re thinking about doing it now, aren’t you Ka-

 

He’s was cut off when Katuski lurches forward and violently twists his head. A loud crack resounds across the landscape, followed by a small thud as his body slithers out of the hero’s grip and flops onto the ground. Katsuki gazes at the dead man for a moment, hating the way his eyes are flat, hating the way his neck sticks out at an odd angle. It's definitely not Deku anymore. It is a bittersweet feeling - he’s killed the boy who always offered his hand, but he’s done his job as a hero. As he turns and walks down the hill, hands stuck back in his pockets, he keeps his eyes wide open, refusing to blink. He knows if he does, the tears he felt brewing in the corner of his eyes will fall.

 

Chapter Text

It was Kaminari of all people who suggested they take a hiking trip to celebrate their graduation from U.A. The self-proclaimed ‘Bakusquad’ all agreed that it was a wonderful idea - even Bakugou seemed excited to get into the wilderness with his friends. The day after the ceremony, they met up at a trail recommended by Bakugou’s father, early enough that the sun was still low in the sky and it wasn't hot enough to distract them yet. They’d stocked up on food and drink one their respective journeys, so they headed straight up the trail to make as much headway as possible before the heat became unbearable.

 

“This is more like it,” Shinsou grinned, pulling his rucksack higher up on his shoulders.

 

“You hike a lot?” Kaminari asked, voice muffled slightly by the mouthful of gummy sweets he was attempted to chew through.

 

Shinsou nodded and turned his head to look at the smaller man walking beside him. “Yeah, me and my old man used to go all the time. I don't get as much chance to now he’s gone but I try to get out when I can.”

 

Kaminari gave him a small smile. He knew that Shinsou’s father had passed away recently, his friend had been absent from school for some time while he was dealing with the loss. He’d never asked Shinsou about it but that didn't mean he was unaware of the details. Shinsou was quite a reserved man, he’d talk in his own time. He didn't seem overtly affected by it but there were signs - the fact he seemed to gaze off into space, that he came into school with eye bags so dark they looked like bruises. Kaminari has been concerned but careful about the way he approached the topic and he made sure to keep a more observant eye on the brainwasher ever since.

 

“What do you like about it?”

 

“Mm, I dunno really,” Shinsou answered, peering around the trail they were walking on. “Fresh air, nature, just bring outside I guess. It's nice to just walk and forget about all the other shit at the end of the trail, y’know.”

 

Kaminari hummed skeptically. “I’ve always preferred cities to the countryside.”

 

“Yeah, but you like people watching, don’t you?” he replied. “Not many people out here to observe I’m afraid. You’ll have to settle for us.”

 

“Ah, Hitoshi, you are more than enough,” Kaminari winked, looping one arm around Shinsou’s.

 

“Flirt.”

 

Bakugou and Ashido were walking together a few feet behind the other two, going a little slower as they stopped every now and then to look at the plants and animals surrounding them. The blond was thoroughly enjoying himself, even if Ashido was a bit loud and Shinsou kept smirking at him to try and piss him off. He was wary of that  freaky brainwasher guy, he’s always seemed a bit shady.

 

“How do you know so much about bugs?” Ashido asked, peering down at the caterpillar that was perched on the edge of his finger. Bakugou moved it closer to her and she jerked backward with a disgusted shriek. “Ew, gross, get that thing away from me!”

 

Bakugou snickered under his breath at her reaction. He stopped momentarily to place it onto a nearby bush, then turned back to continue walking. “My uncle and I went hiking a lot. He liked bugs, taught me a lot ‘bout them.”

 

Ashido grinned and elbowed Bakugou in the ribs, which still sent the man stumbling a few steps to the side. She was a lot stronger than she looked. “Wish I had that brain of yours.”

 

“If you had my brain in your body, you’d be twice as dangerous,” Bakugou smirked, moving back onto the path. He looked up at the two men walking ahead of them to find Shinsou peering over his shoulder at him, irritating smirk firmly in place. The blond glared back at him hatefully, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Shinsou’s grin only widened, but he did eventually turn back to Kaminari. Bakugou attention was thankfully taken back by Ashido, who grabbed ahold of his arm and started chirping about some nearby butterflies.

 

The group hiked for most of the morning, crossing through a number of small villages, dense forest and field topped cliffs that gave them a great view of the sea. After a few hours, the sun had risen to the centre of the sky and the heat grew too much for them to bear. Bakugou worked out that they could reach the top of the cliff before sundown even if they stopped until the air cooled in the evening, they headed into a secluded thicket with good shade coverage and set up a small area to rest for a while.

 

Bakugou threw his bag down and collapsed onto the floor, rolling on his back so he could look at the sky. The trees shaded them from the worst of the sun’s rays, so all that was visible was the perfect blue of the sky. He sighed, relaxing into the cool grass. Kirishima dropped down beside him and began rummaging in his bag for a bottle of water, still talking to Sero about his upcoming hero placement with Fatgum. Kaminari, Jirou, Ashido and Shinsou followed suit, removing their bags so they could flop down to the ground.

 

“It’s so hot,” Kirishima panted, unscrewing the lid of his bottle. He took a long swig of water and held it out to Bakugou, grinning widely. “Want some?”

 

Bakugou shut his eyes and let out an exhausted sigh. “Could you pour some over my face?”

 

“With pleasure.”

 

Crack . It wasn’t Kirishima’s voice, nor was it water that splashed down onto Bakugou’s face. The blond spluttered and sat upright, wiping his eyes clear of the liquid to see Shinsou stood above him with an open can of beer in his hand and a smirk on his lips.

 

“You little shit!” he shouted, wiping his beer-soaked face with his hand.

 

Shinsou chuckled and passed him the can before sitting back down on the grass, crossing his legs over one another. “Have that instead of any apology.”

 

“Here you go, man,” Sero laughed, throwing a bottle of water at Bakugou’s feet. “Use that to rinse off your head or you’ll get sticky.”

 

“Maybe wasps would swarm around him,” Shinsou mused. He laid back and laced his hands behind his head. “Can you actually get stung to death?”

 

The blond scowled at him and snatched the water bottle on the floor. “Shut up, freak.”

 

Ashido hummed thoughtfully and rolled onto her front, resting her chin on her knuckles as she surveyed Bakugou. “Huh. You didn’t blow up or anything. Weird.”

 

“I know,” Sero commented, closing his eyes to enjoy the warmth of the air. “He’s not blown up in weeks, it’s really weird. I think Eijirou’s secretly sedating him or something.”

 

Kirishima peered out from behind Bakugou. “I am not!”

 

Everyone apart from Bakugou chuckled at his indignance. A few more beers were handed out, then cracked open in succession. Jirou raised her can with a solemn look on her face.

 

“To Katsuki’s waning explosions. They will not be missed.”

 

“I’m right fucking here guys!” the blond growled as the rest of them dissolved into laughter. He shook his head of the excess water and ran a hand through his hair to move it out of his eyes. After screwing the lid back onto the bottle, he chucked it back to Sero. “Thanks man.”

 

The man caught the water deftly and grinned. “No worries.”

 

Shinsou shoved a hand into his bag to fish out a box of cigarettes, craving one after the long journey up the trail. He placed one into his mouth and lit it before laying back on the grass to look at the sky. Smoke spiralled upward in elegant patterns, drawing the attention of all the group. They remained quiet for a while, watching the plume twist through the air and dissipate among the trees.

Chapter Text

There is a pivotal moment, just between ‘too soft, I do not deserve this’ and ‘too rough, holy fuck I cannot handle this’ that Dabi adores. Chisaki knows how to get him there and keep him there, teetering on the edge of too little and too much until he’s a fucked-out mess of a man who finds himself able only to cry out Kai’s name like a prayer. But sometimes, on those days when Chisaki storms in and tears off his tie with barely a word, Dabi finds the dial twists toward ‘too rough’. It’s never been far enough to complain, in fact he quite enjoys pushing himself most of the time.

 

But not tonight.

 

He’s sprawled across the Yakuza’s bed on his back with his legs wrapped around Chisaki’s waist and his dick in his ass. It was in his mouth before this, leaving his throat is raw and lips are swollen from the aggressive pounding they took. Chisaki is further pushing the limits of what he’s able to take thanks to the piss-poor excuse for preparation and lack of adequate lubricant. His asshole burns but it’s not unbearable, not yet, not while Chisaki remains still inside him. Dabi sucks in a breath and closes his eyes, thinking the other man will let him adjust, but the draws back and slams back in and Dabi’s eyes snap open in panic.

 

“F-fuck! Ow, shit - slow the fuck down!” Dabi shouts, wincing as Chisaki carries on the uncomfortable, brutal pace he’s set. He presses a hand against Chisaki’s chest to try and make him pause but it’s shoved down against the sheets beside his head.

 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Chisaki snaps, thrusting forward hard to make his point. Dabi’s eyes water at the sharp pain it causes and screws his eyes shut. He remains still and mostly silent as Chisaki continues, the latter filling the room with soft grunts and curses. Dabi’s silence doesn’t last, not when Chisaki crowds him back against the sheets and he lets out the most pathetic whine he’s ever heard.

 

“What?” Chisaki says, narrowing his eyes.

 

Dabi grinds his teeth together, fire still alive despite the brutality he’s being shown. “You’re hurting me, you fucking bastard.”

 

“Oh dear.”

 

The hand on his arm moves to his jaw, grips it tightly as he continues to push in without thought for Dabi’s discomfort. If he waits it out it’ll feel better eventually, that’s what Dabi thinks until the moment Chisaki twists his hips and forces himself deeper. Fuck, it hurts, it hurts and he wants to jerk himself off just to make something feel good but Chisaki’s pressed too hard against him and he can’t move. When he cries out again Chisaki shoves his fingers into Dabi’s mouth. He glares at him coldly as he thrusts in earnest, painful and movements that cause Dabi to splutter around Chisaki’s fingers.

 

“Quiet,” Chisaki grunts. Dabi’s arm twitch uselessly at his sides, pinned down by the weight of the man atop him. His breathing comes rough and ragged, lungs burning as he gasps and chokes and screams around the fingers in his mouth. Chisaki grits his teeth, bares them in warning. “I said be quiet .”

 

It’s only when nails dig into his skin as Chisaki wraps his free hand around Dabi’s throat that the man goes rigid and heat flares across his body. Smoke starts pouring from the crudely stitched-up seams as Dabi goes limp, as his eyes screw shut and he tries not to shudder. He does not want his throat touched. He does not want his throat touched. There had been many occasions in the past where he’d been throttled by hands larger and hotter than Chisaki’s and he’d turned himself into a walking funeral pyre, his unwanted, natural reaction to panic.

 

The hand leaves his throat, the fingers slide out of his mouth. He vaguely registers something twitching inside him, then warmth filling his backside, but he’s zoning out, shaking with the prospect of long-forgotten memories crawling through cracks in the carefully placed walls he built around them. Dabi’s heaving chest evens out and by the time he’s back to a slower breathing pattern, Chisaki raises himself up on his elbows and looks at him. He’s staring vacantly at the ceiling, blinking languidly. The Yakuza pushes himself up onto his knees and slides his palm over Dabi’s cheek, drawing his attention to him.

 


 

 

“Hey. Hey, Dabi?” he murmurs, patting the villain’s cheek until their eyes lock. “You okay?”

 

Dabi blinks again, bloodshot, watery gaze sliding away from him again. “Mm. Yeah. Throat hurts a bit.”

 

Chisaki frowns and shuffles away from him so that he’s sat beside him on the bed, pausing for a moment to wipe himself off with a box of tissues on the bedside. When he turns back Dabi sighs and rolls onto his side, shifting across the bed until he can rest his head in Chisaki’s lap. The Yakuza stiffens, fingers twitching as he restrains the want to throw Dabi off. He doesn’t know what the fuck the other man is playing at because they don’t do this. They fuck, then they fuck off back to their respective abodes until the next time one of them needs to blow off steam.

 

The change indicates he may have done something wrong. Slowly, he reaches down and smoothes a hand through Dabi’s hair. Dabi slumps against him, all the tenses seeming to ease out as Chisaki pulls the strain from his temples and across his scalp. He wonders what he did wrong, wonders if he should ask, but Dabi gets there before him.

 

“Use more lube, dickhead,” Dabi mumbles, huffing against his thigh. “And don’t- I don’t like your hands on my neck.”

 

Chisaki tilts his head slightly to the side and moves his hands to stroke over Dabi’s face, fingertips circling the stitches he thought were so disgusting the first time he caught sight of them. It’s odd, but he doesn’t think that anymore. This embrace feels just as strange, warm and comforting and he wonders which one of them hates that more.

 

“I-” he begins, clearing his throat. “I will bear that in mind.”

 

“Good,” Dabi hums, opening his eyes as he rolls his head back to meet Chisaki’s eye. “Now carry on stroking my hair, feels nice.”

 

Chisaki huffs a laugh, shaking his head, but continues regardless. “You usually just get up and go.”

 

“Yeah well, forgive me for wantin’ a bit of comfort after getting fucked so rough.”

 

It surprises Chisaki that he admits that and honestly, he isn’t really sure what to do with that information. He’s well aware of the fact he isn’t a very nice person, he doesn’t know what to do to give Dabi comfort. He can’t remember ever comforting anyone. Awkwardly, he scoots down the bed until he’s laid flat, head propped up on the pillows with Dabi on his chest. When he wraps an arm around the other man, he feels him tense.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Chisaki wrinkles his nose. “I’m giving you a hug.”

 

Dabi looks up at him, blinks, then snorts loudly and starts laughing. It’s a pretty sound, genuine and soft and unlike anything Chisaki has ever heard from him.

 

“Fucking hell, you’re so awkward .”

 

“Just shut up and go to sleep.”

Chapter Text

“C’mon, open up.”

 

Chisaki shakes his head aggressively, wanting to rage at the vile suggestion Dabi had made but unwilling to open his mouth. Dabi always does something disgusting when he’s in this sort of mood, he’ll probably want to jam his fingers in there or something equally nauseating. And while Chisaki might be down on his luck, what with losing his quirk, his arms and just about every fucking thing he’s ever worked for, he’s not about to let this patchwork freak take his pride as well. The villain sighs in mock disappointment and pushes himself off Chisaki, turning away from the bed with a thoughtful hum.

 

“Where are you going?” Chisaki asks, tightening the muscles of his stomach so he can curl up and prop himself up on the end of his stumps. “What’re you doing?”

 

Dabi turns back to face him after a moment, lazy, lopsided grin stretching across his face. God, how Chisaki hates that fucking smile, if he still had his quirk he wouldn’t spare half a second before shoving his fingers into the creep’s eyes and splattering his brains over the walls - but unfortunately for Chisaki all he can do is stare at him with as much hatred as he can muster. Him and that thing dangling from his fingers.

 

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

 

All that gets in response is a snort and a laugh and then Dabi’s coming toward him, spinning that fucking thing around on his forefinger. Chisaki starts to push himself back over the bed but Dabi clicks his tongue and grabs ahold of his ankle to stop him.

 

“C’mon, stop being such a big baby, it’s-”

 

“Go fuck yourself, get of of me!”

 

“-just a spider-gag, geez.”

 

Chisaki kicks at him in frustration so Dabi finally releases him and stomps around the side of the bed so he can throw himself down by the pillows. It takes Chisaki a moment to wriggle into a position that will allow him to roll away and that’s all Dabi needs to grab him under the armpits and haul him backwards. He positions the protesting man between his legs and groans softly when he starts squirming against his cock. Chisaki growls as one of Dabi’s hands comes to rest around his throat, warm fingers settling tightly to keep him in place.

 

“Open up, Princess.”

 

“I said fuck of-“ Chisaki’s words are cut off by the sudden intrusion of Dabi’s fingers into his mouth. His eyes bulge in shock, darkening quickly to anger as he tastes ash and sweat and cum lingering on his fingertips. It’s filthy, it’s so goddamn filthy and it’s in his mouth .

 

Dabi seems highly amused by Chisaki’s noises of frustration as he pushes his fingers deeper. He releases his throat and reaches for the spider gag, weighing up the best way to get it into his unwilling mouth. Being the impatient so-and-so that he is, Dabi settles for working the metal in by sheer force. Chisaki splutters and wriggles and kicks the entire time but with great effort, Dabi eventually gets the ring behind his teeth and the straps tight around his head. When the buckles and clips are finally in place, he collapses back against the pillows with a sigh and listens to Chisaki’s guttural, wet noises of complaint with great amusement.

 

“Phew, you can be so goddamn difficult, you know that?” Dabi chides, tugging Chisaki back against his chest by the strap on the back of his head. He looks so pretty when he’s flushed and angry like this, Dabi knows there are probably a thousand different murders scenes playing over and over in Chisaki’s mind right about now. And the little bastard can’t act on a single one of them - fucking hilarious, if you ask him.

 

He grabs Chisaki’s hair and bends his head back so that can look down at him. The gag has his mouth spread wide, tongue lolling out, chin already slick and shiny with his own spit - he must hate feeling so messy. Dabi bites his lip and places his hands on either side of the man’s reddened face to hold him still as a nasty idea comes to mind.

 

“M’gonna spit in your mouth,” Dabi slurs, eyes growing heavy with lust at the sheer thought of it.

 

Chisaki’s eyes seem to bulge out of his head at that and the groans of distress grow louder. Louder still when Dabi dips his head and meets Chisaki’s eye as he works saliva to the forefront of his mouth. He offers the disturbed man a wink before parting his lips and letting the spit ooze from between them. It’s not a quick process, Dabi doesn’t let it be, and the threads of tobacco-yellowed drool don’t stop seeping out for at least a minute.

 

By the time Dabi snaps his mouth shut and wipes the saliva from his chin, Chisaki is heaving, purple in the face from the stress of the situation. Dabi grins, eyeing the thick globs of spit cloying on Chisaki’s tongue. He leans down against and kisses his the tip of his nose in mock affection.

 

“There we go. Was that so bad?”

 

If looks could kill, he’d be a splatter of viscera on the wall right about now.

 

Chapter Text

They’re still arguing in the living room, he can hear them quite clearly despite the door separating them. The fools only stop fighting one another when they turn on him, so he doesn’t tell them to shut up, not tonight. His face is still smarting and he needs to change the gauze there so it doesn’t seem sensible to walk straight into another confrontation when there is a hundred percent chance that it will end with one of them stabbing out a cigarette on him. It never used to be the face, they never used to be so cavalier about the placement of the burns, the bruises, the myriad of other wounds Kai found could be inflicted on a human body. They’re either don’t give a shit because they know he can just reassemble himself or they believe that no-one cares about his condition. He winces as he stands up from his bed, aching from the bruises and the way his shirt rubs against the welts on his back. Perhaps they’re right.

 

With a few grunts, Kai walks across his room and sits down at his desk so that he can look in the mirror propped up against the wall. The wad of gauze on his cheek looks ridiculous and it’s ridiculous that none of the adults at school has mentioned it. No teachers, not even the receptionist threw him a caring glance. The only reason he left the damn wounds there in the first place was to try and get a reaction. Most of the students kept their mouths shut, opting to simply stare at him when they thought he wasn’t looking. There was only one person who asked if he was okay - that kid in his class with the weird, arrow-shaped hair. Kai retorted that he was fine and to mind his own business but he noticed that the boy keeping a close watch on him all day. He pulls out the small first aid kit he keeps in his desk drawer and sets it in the middle of the surface. Kai keeps his room tidy and clean, it’s far cleaner than the rest of the house. He used to try and keep the other rooms neat but the mountain of beer cans and scattered ash seemed unending so eventually he gave up. There’s filth everywhere, when he’s not in the safety of his room he can feel it crawling beneath his skin. It’s not like he wants to spend time outside of his room anyway, so it’s never bothered him.

 

Slowly he peels the current gauze from his face and places it down on the desk. The wound beneath his eye isn’t bleeding as profusely as before but the blisters have popped and now there’s something else oozing from the sores. Kai grits his teeth together, remembering the pain of the repeated stabbing of the burning cigarette tip. His step-Father was the one who held his torso down on the kitchen counter. His Mother was the one who took such glee in torching his skin. Bastard , she always said. A Bastard just like him. I knew you’d get his freakish quirk. He remembers the smell of alcohol on her breath and the feeling of his belt against his backside and lets out an angry snarl.

 

“I’ll kill you,” he hisses, low under his breath. He presses his fingers against his face with a grimace and screws his eyes shut as his quirk reassembles to skin. When he opens his eyes, he’s back to normal, without a scratch. Perfect . The sensation of filth wriggling into his pores doesn’t stop. His miserable expression doesn’t change - he doesn’t think he’s able to smile anymore, that was long lost in childhood.

 

Childhood . A time to play, grow and develop confidence. Kai closes his eyes and for a moment the memories of pain flood his body like water over a broken damn. It hurts, it always hurts so much and no matter how many times he washes himself, reassembles himself anew, he never feels fucking clean . His chests tightens as his breathing picks up and he twists the fabric of his school jumper between his fists to try and calm himself. He stares at himself in the mirror as he struggles to keep himself together until he lets out a shaky breath and his shoulders sag with relief.

 

“I’ll be okay,” he whispers, raising a hand to ruffle through his hair. The panic will pass, they always do. “I-”

 

There’s a loud crash from outside, so hurries across the room to lock the door. They’ll just fall through into his bedroom if he doesn’t. With a sigh, he seats himself back at the desk and rips open a sterile wipe to clean his hands, already feeling sullied just from touching the doorknob. They might’ve touched it while I was at school , he thinks as he dabs at his fingernails. When his hands are tingling from the antiseptic and deemed suitably clean, he slides the first aid kit back into the drawer and pulls on a pair of rubber gloves that he stole from the science department at school. His hold lingers on the edge of the wood as his gaze lingers on something tucked away among the items at back. He grips the handle of the knife and carefully removes it to place it on his lap. The blade shines in the dull light from the only lamp in the windowless room.

 

They’ll be drunk in a few more hours, drunk enough to not fight back. He can picture the way his Mother would gurgle around the blade as she tries to scream. Who’s worthless now?, that’s what he’ll say. He’ll take out his step-father’s eyes and crush them beneath his shoe. He can do it as many times as he pleases now he’s got better with his quirk, but he wants the experience to be more visceral, more violent. He doesn’t want to forget .

 

Another crash from outside distracts him. It brings Kai out of his daydream so he quickly slides the knife back into the drawer. It would do no good to act on impulse. Acts like this are complicated and require careful planning in advance. There is still so much Kai wishes to do with his life, there are so many things he needs to achieve to prove his worth in the world. He moves across the room and sits down on the bed, resting back against the headboard. His chest tightens and the filth starts creeping in again so he starts wringing his hands together, staring blankly at the ceiling.

 

“I’ll find a cure,” he says, quietly. The tone of his voice is soft but there is violence bubbling beneath the surface.

 

Even if that cure is murder, he thinks, he’ll find a way to rid the world of its disease. No more suffering, no more pain, he’ll change it all at the touch of a finger.

 

 

Chapter Text

“I can’t .”

 

“Yes you can, my love. Just open up.”

 

The young man sprawled out on the pillows shakes his head with a groan, clutching his stomach like his guts are about to spill onto the sheets. A sheen of sweat clings to his skin, shining in dim lamplight as his limbs twitch from the effort of sitting upright. Poor thing is panting, face screwed up like he’s in pain when all Giran has done is lavish him with all the little luxuries a street rat like him could never afford. There’s an empty bottle of Pinot Noir by his hip, long since uncorked and drained. Two boxes of champagne truffles lay unwrapped nearby and smudged at the corners of Dabi’s mouth. On the bedside table sits the oversized plate of meats and cheeses that Giran insisted on hand-feeding to him until all that remained was a few crumbs.

 

There’s no obvious evidence of the meal they ate earlier that evening, at a nearby French restaurant that took Giran weeks to get a booking for. It was worth the hassle to see his little urchin in a smart shirt and dress trousers - all bought by him, of course - happily stuffing his face with mussels and sliced steak and snails. Dabi’s manners were hardly appropriate for a place like that, the waiter gave him quite the look each time he came to refill their glasses, but Giran found him utterly beautiful as he licked his lips and sucked his fingers and belched without covering his mouth.

 

He still looks just as gorgeous now with his shirt hanging open around his swollen, food-splattered gut, mouth hanging open and eyes lidded from the forced excess. His trousers are long gone, cast away amongst the truffle wrappers on the floor beside the bed. Giran’s holding out a large glass of whiskey cream liqueur, another expensive brand imported from Ireland that he finds to be deliciously rich. The young man is eyeing it warily, heaving in breath under the weight of the luxury in his belly.

 

“Seriously Giran,” Dabi slurs, resting a hand on his bloated stomach. He groans at even the slight pressure of his own fingers. “If I eat or drink anythin’ else I’ll fucking pop.”

 

Giran bites his bottom lip as that image fills his mind. He pictures Dabi laid out on the silk sheets, entrails spilling out of his split stomach covered in the extravagant feast Giran has lovingly forced down his gullet. The thought arouses him more than it should and has him crawling up the duvet to press the glass of liqueur against Dabi’s belly. The young man grimaces and rocks his head back against the wall, nose wrinkling in discomfort.

 

“It’s just a small glass, sweetheart. It’s so delicious, I’ve been wanting you to try this for a while now,” Giran drawls, shuffling forward so he’s kneeling between Dabi’s splayed legs. His gaze greedily wanders over his torso. “I thought you liked being treated.”

 

He rests his free hand on Dabi’s stomach and groans when the young man lets out a high-pitched whine, clearly uncomfortable with the amount of food and wine in his belly. It’s such a lovely sight to see him like this, such a change from his usual street-wise, ‘tough guy’ persona. Dabi’s unlike any other precious thing Giran’s had in his bed, he’s unspoiled by prior luxuries, proud, hard . But even someone like Dabi can be whittled down with excess, just look at him now as he struggles to breath for the pressure on his stomach.

 

“Is it good?” Dabi asks weakly. “Really that good?”

 

“The best, I just know you’ll love it. Open your mouth.”

 

It hardly takes much convincing at all, the young man is likely weighing up the chance of getting another meal like this anything soon. He’d needn’t worry, not anymore. With a soft groan Dabi shifts to sit further upright and parts his lips to let Giran settle the glass on his bottom lip. The inner flesh is stained red from the Pinot, as are his teeth. Giran leans in to tilt the liqueur in his mouth and catches the sweet scent of expensive chocolate on his breath. He’s going to taste so wonderful when this final portion has been poured into him and Giran can slide their tongues together.

 

Dabi groans as Giran pours the drink into his mouth, a noise halfway between ecstacy and pain. He’s not used to such fine things and he’s so greedy when they are offered to him. Giran wonders if he could keep lavishing the young man with richness until his swollen belly distended and burst into his lap. Dabi would probably let him, gluttonous, nasty boy.

 

“There we go,” Giran hums, stroking his free hand down Dabi’s torso. He can still feel the bumps of his ribcage beneath his fingers, one night of excess is not enough to wipe away the years of poverty Dabi has suffered. They don’t talk about that, not now that Dabi has taken up residence in his bed and apartment and life . “Just like that, baby.”

 

A strangled moan comes from the back of Dabi’s throat as he guzzles down the whiskey cream. His lovely eyes are starting to water and his face is so ruddy that Giran assumes it must hurt to consume any more. The last dregs slip out of the glass but Dabi doesn’t seem to be able to take another drop and it dribbles down his chin, onto his chest. The info-broker smirks at the mess, leans forward to suck it off his skin, relishing the blend of creaminess with the salty tang of Dabi’s sweat.

 

“‘M so full, Giran,” Dabi whines, tilting his head back as the broker licks up from his chest to his throat. The whiskey cream tastes even more potent in the dip of his collar bone. “No more. I’m full, I’m really fuckin’ full.”

 

Giran hums and sucks a mouthful of Dabi’s skin into his mouth before pulling away, shuffling between his splayed legs to get closer to him. Both his hands rest on Dabi’s belly, fingers spanning out across the swollen area despite the young man’s heaving.

 

“I know baby, but you’ve done so well,” he soothes, noting how Dabi’s cheeks flush at the praise. It must have been a rarity in his life, poor thing. Nevermind, Giran is more than happy to belaud each and every rotten part of him. “I just want to treat you, it’s what you deserve.” He leans forward to press a gentle kiss to Dabi’s forehead, smiling at the taste of more sweat lingering on his brow. “You look so beautiful when you’re satiated.”

 

Dabi huffs and reaches forward to grip Giran’s wrist. He yanks his hand off his stomach and pushes it down to his dick, which is straining against his wine-stained boxers despite the discomfort he’s in. A lazy grin spreads across his face.

 

“I’m not quite satisfied yet.”

 

Giran mirrors his grin and squeezes his cock, earning a laboured moan in return. His darling loves excess almost as much as he does.  

 

“Anything for you, greedy little thing.”

Chapter Text

It’s due to Dabi proclivity for mouthing off that Kai reaches for his mask. There’s nothing else around apart from his tie and he’s certainly not going to stick something made of silk into the villain’s filthy mouth, thus it falls to the plague doctor mask to muffle the never-ending stream of filth that passes Dabi’s lips. He stops pounding into the sweaty, scrawny body beneath him and grabs a fistful of his hair to yank him upright. His cuffed hands press against Kai’s stomach as he tilts backwards, crushing his shoulders into an uncomfortable angle. Predictably, Dabi starts complaining.

 

“Ow, fuck - watch it! The fuck did you stop for, asshole?” he snaps, glaring over his shoulder. “Your tiny dick was just starting to feel go-”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Dabi snorts, though the sound turns to a pained gasp when Kai yanks his head back. He sneers over his shoulder and his stitches creak as they strain against his smile. “Make me, cunt.”

 

The fact he’s asking to be silenced makes it all the more enticing. Kai shoves him back down onto the bed and he falls straight onto his nose as he’s unable to catch himself on his hands. A stream of curses are yelled into the sheets as Kai reaches for his mask, quickly unclipping the back so he can slide it to the front of Dabi’s face. Despite the ‘tiny dick’ comment, there’s already drool slick on Dabi’s chin and it wets Kai’s fingertips as he secures the mask in place. Disgusting, he’s going to have to reassemble the object to clean it off before he wears it again - he knows where Dabi’s mouth has been. When it’s fixed in place, Kai tilts his head to get a better look.

 

On Kai himself the mask is imposing, a power symbol.

 

On a filthy mutt like Dabi it just looks like a muzzle.

 

“That’s better,” Kai smirks, raking his fingers back into Dabi’s hair. He grips the strands tightly as he starts moving his hips once again, holding Dabi up off the mattress. “I hate listening to you.”

 

A muffled sound comes from the man below him as he rams his dick harder into his ass, followed by a few unintelligible words that Kai presumes are insults. Whatever is being uttered quickly turns to shrieking when Kai slams forward aggressively, pounding hard against the villain’s prostate. Dabi gags behind the mask and his back arches toward the sheets as he rolls his ass back onto Kai’s dick with equal fervour, clearly chasing the high he’s been demanding all evening. Kai scowls at the back of his head and reaches forward with his free hand to hook a finger into one of the stitches on Dabi’s shoulder.

 

“Stop acting like such a slut,” he hisses, tugging violently on the metal staple until it starts straining against the skin. Dabi whines and tries to shake him off but Kai doesn’t let him squirm away, doesn’t let go until the stitch rips clean out of his skin and blood pools messily from the area that isn’t wrinkled with scars. It spills over his back and drips onto the sheets, sheets he’ll have Dabi burn to ash as soon as they’re finished tonight. The lesson clearly sinks into the villain’s dense skull because he stops rutting backwards and goes still, but for the trembling of his shoulders. He’s heaving in breath like he’s been choked and Kai’s done this enough times now to recognise that sound, that rhythmic clenching around him - the dirty little fuck actually came from being mutilated.

 

Kai snorts and slips his fingers from Dabi’s hair through the strap holding the mask in place. “You’re vile, you know that?”

 

Mphm.

 

He tugs Dabi backward using the mask strap and groans when his ass tightens around him. His other hand wraps around the villain’s hip to hold him still as he starts wriggling and fussing from the repeated pressure against his oversensitive insides. Kai couldn’t give less of a fuck if it’s starting to get painful for him, the stupid fuck shouldn’t have come so soon. They’ll stop when he’s ready and Dabi, with his bound arms and muzzled head will just have to lay there and take whatever he’s given.

 

Kai growls under his breath as he begins yanking Dabi back and forth at a faster pace, ignoring the whimpers of protest and fingers clawing at his chest when he leans over the villain’s back to get a better angle. It’s always so hot inside Dabi, so hot and fucking tight and god damn his ass is the only decent thing about him. He screws his eyes shut as sweat starts dripping from his forehead onto Dabi’s back - he doesn’t want to see that or panic about it, the dirt and filth of this whole affair can be dealt with after he’s finished.

 

Dabi’s hands curl up into tight fists and he trembles again, letting a strangled moan out into the mask. Kai might’ve throttled him for coming a second time were it not for the way his muscles clench perfectly around his cock, causing him to quickly follow suit. His hips drive forward a final time then he settles there, cock buried deep in Dabi’s ass as he comes, teeth grit tightly together. For a moment Kai stays there, panting softly until the final touches of pleasure ebb away and familiar anxieties crawl back into place. He makes a noise of disgust and shoves Dabi off him, letting the villain fall onto his side.

 

“I need to shower.”

 

The villain curls his knees toward his chest and lazily turns his head to look up at Kai, bloodshot eyes heavy with exhaustion. Even with his thighs wet with cum, his body torn up and skin slick with sweat, Dabi still manages to look pleased with himself. 

 

Chapter Text

As if one Dabi isn’t infuriating enough, two is downright unbearable.

 

“These clones is great, right Kai?” the villain huffs, raking his hands through Chisaki’s hair. He grins and reaches down to cup his flushed cheeks, humming thoughtfully under his breath. “I used to get one to bone me whenever I was alone and bored. Looks like they’re even more fun when you’re involved as well. Oi - he feelin’ good?”

 

The clone fucking roughly into Chisaki’s ass gives a strained moan and nods eagerly. “Y-yeah. Fuckin’ tight. You gonna get him to suck you off, or what?”

 

Chisaki grits his teeth together as the clone drags him back onto his cock, going too fast, too hard, too precise in targeting his prostate on every thrust. He glares up at the real Dabi, the one holding his cheeks and bares his clenched teeth. There’s not much more he can threaten him with at this point, not now he’s been stripped of his quirk and his arms. Dabi snickers and shakes his head, releasing one side of Kai’s face so he can wrap a hand around his cock. He leans back against the headboard and starts lazily stroking himself.

 

“Nah, he’ll probably bite my dick off,” Dabi says, patting his cheek.

 

“Shame.”

 

Chisaki can’t help but feel a little relieved at that, there’s nothing he hates more than having the villain’s cock in his mouth. He’s always so careless and aggressive, he rams into Chisaki’s throat like he doesn’t give a shit whether or not the man can actually breathe. Dabi pats his cheek again then moves back, fingers brushing down his jawline before leaving his chin. Another brutal thrust from behind has Chisaki gasping for air and his head falls forward onto one of his stumps without Dabi to hold it up. A shudder runs down his spine when he hears the clone laugh, Dabi laugh, and the chorus of unpleasantness rings loudly in his ears.



“No biggie, didn’t wanna fuck his mouth today anyway. He always makes such a fuss,” Dabi replies.

 

The clone scoffs and tightens his grip on Chisaki’s hips as he drags him backward. “Yeah I bet. Seems like a right little bitch.”

 

He slips a couple of fingers beneath Chisaki’s chin and pushes his head up, forcing the smaller man to look him in the eye. When he smirks his skin stretches disgustingly against those awful staples and Chisaki grimaces at the sight of muscle beneath the scar tissue. It’s not a good smile, it signals something bad is about to happen. In the last few months Kai’s become quite used to the sight of it.

 

“Just fuck him open a bit longer, ‘kay?” Dabi hums, tilting his head to the side. “Then either I’m getting in there too o-”

 

Chisaki chokes on his own breath. “No you are n-”

 

The clone grabs his hair and yanks it roughly to pull him up off the sheets. His sawn-off arms wave helplessly in the air as he tries to balance on his knees and Dabi shoves a foot against his sternum in a mockery of assistance. “Don’t fucking interrupt when I’m talking.”

 

“Thank you,” Dabi sneers. He bites his lip as he watches Kai get tugged back onto the clone’s cock at a pace that has drool spilling out of his mouth and down onto his chin. “Or, you can suck him off after he’s done with you. And no, he won’t be taking a shower in between. Which will it be?”

 

The very thought of putting something in his mouth that has just been buried deep in his own ass makes Chisaki physically heave. But two Dabi’s inside of him doesn’t sound all that pleasant either. Dabi presses his foot harder against his chest, grin stretching wider and wider.

 

“So - what’ll it be?”

Chapter Text

He’s going to die here.

 

God, he’s actually going to die here.

 

But what a fucking way to go.

 

A throaty laugh comes from somewhere above him, muffled by the flesh pressing tightly against both sides of his head. Dabi cracks open a bloodshot eye and stills the movements of his mouth, tongue resting just inside the cunt that’s squashed atop his face. Miruko’s peering down at him over her shoulder, leaning back enough so he can see her over her ass. She frowns and wrinkles her nose in annoyance, ears twitching on the top of her head.

 

“I didn’t say you could stop, did I?” she growls, leaning forward again to take his spent cock in hand.

 

Dabi jerks at the sudden pressure, sensitive from the release she’s already dragged out of him twice by fucking him open on her fingers. God, they haven’t even fucked yet and he’s already exhausted - he really should start working on his fitness if he lives through this. For a few gracious seconds Miruko lifts her ass and Dabi sucks in a couple of much-needed breaths. The pathetic little coughs and hiccups might be embarrassing if he had any shame left.

 

“Oi, Scarface. You hear me?” Miruko calls back, fist gripping tighter around the villain’s dick. Before he can reply she’s tutting under her breath and forcing her cunt back over his mouth, urging him to get on with it. “Seriously, all that damn bravado - ‘ oh it’ll be the best orgasm of your life’ - my fuckin’ ass.”

 

Your fuckin’ ass is suffocating me , Dabi wants to retort but all he can manage is a muffled groan. Miruko clicks her tongue and lowers her other hand to the over-sensitive head of Dabi’s cock. She begins palm rolling over it and fuck , it hurts, it really, really hurts. Dabi shrieks against her cunt and starts wriggling but his damn hands are tied to the headboard and her thighs grip his head tighter and he can’t fucking move .

 

“Aw, poor baby don’t like that?” Miruko sneers, ignoring his agonised cries. She grins wildly and flicks her middle finger against his reddened cock without mercy, enjoying the way he squirms to get free. “C’mon asshole, get back to work. I wanna come at least once before I get in that nasty ass of yours.” To make her point clear she slips her hand lower and stuffs two of her fingers into his already sore hole, curling them upward in a manner that makes Dabi shudder. “Seriously, if I ain’t blowin’ my load in five minutes then I’m gonna start to get pissed off. An’ not to be cheesy but - you won’t like it when I’m pissed off.”

 

Dabi groans and parts his lips, tongue slipping back into Miruko’s cunt to ferociously lick over her inner walls. The hero hums and grinds herself against his face, continuing to slide her fingers slowly in and out of him. He thinks perhaps he’ll misbehave anyway - he’d quite like to see her pissed off.

Chapter Text

“Take this fuckin’ thing off.”

 

Kai opens his eyes with a groan when he feels the clips at the side of his head release. Were he in any other state he might cause a fuss about his mask being roughly pulled off his face, exposing his mouth to the germs in the air around him. Scratch that, he definitely would. But as it is, all he can focus on is the aching fullness in his gut, on Rappa’s cock lodged inside him. He leans up to try and grab the trailing straps of his mask before they’re out of reach but his movements cause spots to cloud his vision and he flops back down against the mattress with a groan.

 

Rappa’s big. Rappa’s big everywhere and Kai thinks that perhaps he bit off more than he can chew when he asked his underling to fuck his brains out. He blames it on the drink, the coke buzzing through his veins, on the moment of weakness he experienced after forcing Pops into a coma earlier that day. He’d been pacing his office in a frenzy, hands raking through his hair as he rambled to himself - it was the right thing to do, definitely, it was all for the greater good - when Rappa found him. In the morning, when the booze leaves him with a headache and the pleasant carelessness of the drugs has vanished, Kai will probably be ashamed of the way he threw himself at the larger man and tore at his clothes, searching for pleasure, punishment, something somewhere between the two.

 

But that is the morning’s problem. At present, Kai has something a lot bigger to be dealing with.

 

“You doin’ okay Boss?” Rappa asks, dropping the mask off the side of the bed onto the floor. Kai can barely manage more than a tired groan, which makes the larger man laugh and wrap his enormous hands back around his hips. “I’ll take that as a yeah.”

 

If he’s honest, Kai doesn’t know if that’s a yes or a no, his brain is too addled to come up with any coherent answer. He chokes on his own breath when Rappa begins moving again - well, Rappa doesn’t move, Rappa moves him. It looks like it barely takes any effort at all for him to yank Kai back and forth, using him as a more vocal cock sleeve. Kai bunches the sweat-drenched sheets between his fingers and tilts his head back against the pillow, eyes screwed tightly shut and teeth grit together as he tries to bear it. The stretch hurts, it’s incredible that Rappa can actually get all the way inside of him, but there’s something dizzying about the way the end of his cock grinds almost constantly against his prostate.

 

“Fuck, y’got such a tight little ass Boss,” Rappa huffs, bulk arching over Kai as he continues to pound into him. “So. Fuckin’. Good.”

 

The smaller man’s eyes pop open when Rappa wraps a hand around his cock and starts roughly jerking him off. It’s too much at once, his nerves feel drawn out tight, every muscle trembles with the effort of just taking it all. Kai blearily stares up at Rappa and manages to raise a gloved hand to curl around the front of his massive bicep. He sucks in a shaky breath and nods feverently, swallowing the lump in his throat to ask for the treatment he deserves.

 

Harder .’

 

Rappa responds with a wheezy laugh and digs his thumb into the tip of Kai’s cock. “Whatever you say, Boss.”

Chapter Text

“F-fuck, Kai. Greedy little shit, ain’t you full yet?” Dabi groans, tightening his grip on the waist of the man sat on his dick.

 

He winds his other hand into Kai’s hair and tugs on it gently, trying to pry him away from the crook of his neck. The vampire makes a noise of discontent and strains against Dabi’s pull, digging his fangs harder into the unscarred meat of his shoulder. Dabi grunts in pain and snaps his hips up, driving his cock deeper into Kai’s ass. The sudden movement startles the vampire enough to make him pull back with a sharp hiss, fingers digging into Dabi’s biceps.

 

It’s unfair that he still looks so devastatingly beautiful with blood smeared across his mouth. It drips from the points of his razor-sharp fangs between their sweat-covered chests, down their stomachs, pooling where Kai’s thighs meet Dabi’s hips. Kai swipes his tongue across his swollen bottom lip and draws it back into his mouth to suck the lingering blood down his throat.  It’s a disgusting scene, it’s so violent and animalistic to be fucking whilst coated in one’s own blood - not that Dabi really cares. Actually, if he’s perfectly honest, it kinda turns him on.

 

“I’m not finished,” Kai complains, gazing at the puncture marks on Dabi’s shoulder that are still oozing crimson. He glances up at the villain’s face and wrinkles his nose. “Just sit there, would you?”

 

He lowers his head and opens his mouth to dig his teeth in again but Dabi pulls him back by his hair and clenches his hip hard as he starts rocking his hips up slowly. The whine he lets out is delightfully pretty, it urges Dabi to fuck him harder and chase it down again. For his efforts, he is rewarded and soon Kai is panting, letting out choked little groans as he rolls his hips and grinds his ass down to meet Dabi’s thrusts. The blood smearing between them is starting to get sticky but thankfully Kai seems too distracted to bitch about the mess.

 

“Such a fucking pig,” Dabi huffs, moving his hand from Kai’s hair to slap over the wound on his shoulder. “I’m too goddamn generous.”

 

He pushes down on the punctures and coats his fingers with blood, wincing as they become slippery with it. Fuck, the little shit really went for it tonight, the wound is going to take its sweet fucking time to heal. He raises his fingers to Kai’s mouth and shoves them between his lips letting the blood collect on his tongue. For a moment Kai looks shocked by the sudden intrusion but his surprise quickly turns to hunger and he wraps his hands around Dabi’s wrist to hold him in place as he sucks on his fingers, tongue lapping eagerly at the blood he’s being fed. Dabi groans at the feeling and tips his head back against the headboard, going still as Kai fucks himself on his cock and licks at his fingers like he’s been starved, like he’s not just ripped Dabi’s shoulder to shreds and gorged indulgently.

 

His head is starting to feel light, from blood loss or pleasure he isn’t quite sure.

Chapter Text

Everything is harder without his arms. Simple things like washing his face and pulling on his clothes are so much harder than he ever thought they could be, combing his hair is impossible, even showering is difficult. His stumps are still heavily bandaged but thankfully stitched up, held together with surgical staples and wire in a messy but life-saving manner. The stitches disgust him, if he could he would rip them out and let himself bleed to death. That would be far more bearable than the life he’s currently living.

 

“You full?”

 

Kai nods, staring blankly at the half-eaten bowl of rice on the bed beside him. He’s still hungry, he’s always hungry, but the shame of being fed always makes him stop before he’s halfway to satiated. It’s embarrassing, he’s not a baby. With the way Dabi hums and coos at him when he feeds him it seems he might think that is the case. The bowl gets whisked away and Kai settles back on the bed, turning his gaze up to the ceiling to avoid looking at Dabi. He knows what’s coming next, it always happens after dinner. The first few months he’d spent fighting tooth and nail to get Dabi off of him but after all the burns and beatings and those particularly awful occasions where the villain actually bent him over his knee and spanked him like a child , Kai relented. There’s not much he can do to stop it and the fighting only brings pain, so why bother?

 

The floorboards creak, the mattress dips beside him, then there’s the sound of Dabi’s shirt hitting the floor. A hand settles on his thigh and smoothes up until fingertips are crawling beneath the hem of his boxers. They’re soon discarded with the rest of Dabi’s clothes on the floor. Kai isn’t allowed to wear anything else, even when it’s freezing cold. Dabi’s apartment is a drafty, cool place so Kai spends most of his time shivering on top of the filthy bed he spends most of his time on. It’s warmer with Dabi around, he’s not shivering now that the man is close to him and he forces himself to find comfort in that.

 

He has to find comfort in something , right? Life is such a terrible state to linger in, he hates it, he hates it. There’s days where he just stares at the ceiling, numb. There are others where he sobs relentlessly into the pillows and screams into the misery soaked fabric because it’s all just so fucking unfair. There are some days, few and far between, like today, where Kai craves consolation and the only place he can find that solace is in the arms of the man who torments his every waking moment.

 

A soft moan leaves his lips as Dabi trails his warm fingers up his chest and brushes across his nipples. He closes his eyes, still not wishing to see his hideous face looming over him.

 

“You’re receptive today,” Dabi murmurs, moving between Kai’s legs. He’s gentler when Kai plays along, he touches him so softly that if the wounded man keeps his eyes shut he can almost pretend that he’s a lover. “You’re so pretty Kai.”

 

“Thank you Dabi,” he replies, automatically.

 

Dabi hums and draws his hands away. There’s the familiar click of a bottle cap opening and the vile squelch of lubricant dropping into the villain’s palm. At least he’s bothering with it tonight, there are so many nights where he skips the process and Kai ends up a weeping, bloody mess on the sheets. It’s nice when Dabi takes his time, like he is now, fingers slipping easily into his ass to stretch him out. Kai sighs and relaxes against the mattress, mind focusing solely on the push and pull of Dabi’s fingers. He tries to let everything else dissipate, all the worries and woes and pain.

 

It’s impossible. The misery is deafening.

 

“Hey.”

 

Warm fingers touch his face and Kai opens his eyes to find Dabi peering down at him. The look on his face is perplexing, something akin to concern but, no, it can’t be. Dabi doesn’t care about him, he doesn’t care about anything but the drugs and liquor he shovels into his body with reckless abandon. The villain purses his lips and swipes his thumb over Kai’s cheek. It’s only then that he realises he’s crying.

 

“Jeez, this ain’t a turn on,” Dabi huffs. He pulls his fingers out of Kai’s ass and wipes them on the sheets with a sigh. For a moment he observes Kai silently, then he sighs again and drops forward, turning onto his back as he hits the mattress. “We don’t have to fuck tonight. Doubt I’ll get hard with you looking so pathetic.”

 

“Thank you Dabi.”

 

Dabi shrugs and pulls him closer, repositioning so that Kai’s head rests on his chest. The metal crudely stapled into his skin dig into his face but he doesn’t move, the discomfort is sobering. A hand smoothes through his hair, back and forth, soothing. He cries openly then, shoulders trembling as tears pour down his cheeks into the raw seams of Dabi’s body.

Chapter Text

 

“Hari, wait-”

 

Kai’s pleas get cut off as he’s dragged forward by the chain linking his wrists, feet kicking down against the floor to try and twist out of Rappa’s grasp. He thrashes unsuccessfully against the dead weight that is his subordinate and keeps on trying to activate his quirk. Nothing happens, nothing fucking happens, he’s been castrated by his own creation. His desperate mind starts totting up the numbers - the serum was injected crudely into the nape of his neck, one shot, that’s one hour, it’s been five, maybe ten minutes. God, he can’t last another fifty with these people, not without overhaul , he’s no match for Rappa’s strength or Hari’s speed. In this state he’s probably not even a match for Setsuno.

 

“Why are you doing this?” Kai growls, tugging against the chain. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

 

Once warm eyes look at him coldly as he’s shoved to his knees. Hari never looks at him like that, never. Kai feels his stomach turn. He’s fucked up somewhere, hasn’t he? 

 

“You said Pops hit his head falling down the stairs.” 

 

Shit. Kai’s eyes widen. “He-”

 

Hari lurches forward and strikes him hard across the face. The hit rattles his brain, makes his vision blur and blood pound through his ears. His subordinates have never laid a finger on him before, not even Rappa who has challenged him so many time. The hulk of a man is holding his shoulders down now, silent. Hari clicks his tongue and Nemoto steps forward, face no longer concealed behind the masks he’s always forced upon them. 

 

“Shin, wait-” Kai begins, watching apprehensively as Nemoto kneels down to grip the chain of the cuffs. He’s dragged forward, so his arms are spread across the coffee table between them. “What are you doing? Hari, what the fuck do y-”

 

“Shut up Kai. Just- just shut up,” Hari replies, wearily. He rakes a hand through his pale hair and turns around to retrieved something from Kai’s desk, something Kai cannot see. “Such an affront can’t go unpunished. You know that, right? You were the one who wanted to Yakuza back to their former power, their traditions-” 

 

Kai’s eyes widen as Hari turns and he sees the chisel in his hand. Immediately he starts squirming, trying to wrench himself out of the hold his men have on him. “I didn’t- stop it Hari, stop this right now!”

 

His second-in-command just sighs, raises the chisel above his right wrist so the blunt edge digs gently into his skin.  “You know the rules. Yubitstume, Kai. It’s the only apology worth it. Setsuno, hand me that, would you?”

 

Setsuno is silent as he passes Hari the hammer on the desk, eyes firmly averted from the scene. The capo begins to raise his voice, panicking, not finding this joke very funny anymore. Hari lowers the hammer to the top of the chisel. 

 

“Hari, wait! I’ll fix it okay, I will! It’s fine, I can fix Pops, I can fix  everything alright. Just stop this, stop this at once!” Kai shrieks, trying desperately to move his arms. 

 

Hari glances at his face momentarily, lips quirking down into a frown. “It’s not just about Pops anymore, Kai. It’s everything. Eri, the experiments, that was never what we wanted. That’s not what we stand for. Just stay still.”

 

He’s serious. He’s going to do it. Kai screams and tries to wrestle free again but Rappa’s too big, Nemoto is too strong and suddenly it’s become startlingly clear that without his quirk, without them , he’s little more than another bug to be squashed underfoot. Hari raises the hammer. 

 

“A finger!” Kai begs, face beginning to turn ruddy with hysteria. “It’s supposed to be a finger!” 

 

There’s a pause. 

 

It’s Setsuno who speaks. 

 

“Your crimes are too great to fit into one finger,” he says, quietly. He spares Kai a look. It’s surprisingly cold. “They’re both coming off.”

 

Someone laughs . Kai wails again and shuts his eyes as the hammer comes down.