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Sometimes suffering is just suffering. It doesn't make you stronger. It doesn't build character. It just hurts.
Bakugou wants to scream. And he absolutely would. Would tear his throat to shreds with the power of it. Would shatter the shitty fucking windows all to hell. Would scream until he made everyone's ears bleed. But not only is he tied to this stupid fucking chair — tightly enough to break any illusion that he might be able to escape — he's also got a strap of leather wrapped around his head and forced between his teeth. He can't scream for shit like this.
The scene before him is too normal to be real, too domestic. Makes him wonder if he cracked his head somewhere along the way. Shouldn't he be being tortured right now? Stretched over a rack, head dunked in water, fingernails yanked out one by one? What the fuck?
But the League of Villains aren't doing any of that. In fact, they haven't paid Bakugou much mind at all since kidnapping him and bringing him here to their hideout. If you want to call it that. It's really just a shitty bar. Dusty, dimly lit. Smells like smoke. And they're all just sitting around casually, chatting and having coffee like it's no big deal. Like they don't have a teenager gagged and strapped to a chair ten feet away.
At one point, there's an abrupt knock on the door and Bakugou's heart soars because this is it! Those dumbasses are finally here to get me! but it's a fucking pizza delivery. The fuck? Who gets pizza delivered to their secret villain hideout, anyway? How could he have been captured by such an incompetent group of idiots?
He glares and seethes and chews the leather piece in his mouth. Nobody offers him anything to eat, not that he would accept it if they did, but the common courtesy of it would have been nice.
Bakugou's nose scrunches in distaste as Patchwork lights up another cigarette in lieu of eating. What a gross habit. No wonder he's so scrawny.
He's not sure what's going to happen now. He heard the spiel. He declined the offer. He spit the biggest fucking loogie imaginable straight in the face of Handjob, which is what prompted the gag in his mouth. Now he's just bored and annoyed.
As the night progresses, the band of merry fuckwits slowly disperses. Until it's just Bakugou, still in the same stupid position on the same impossibly hard chair, asscheeks numb, lower back aching — just Bakugou, in the same spot he's been for more hours than he has been able to keep proper track of, and Shigaraki Tomura, who is sitting at the bar.
It pisses Bakugou off more than anything to have these dumbasses go to the trouble to configure this entire scheme, this elaborate plan to subdue him and bring him back here, just to what? Ignore him? The fuck? He grunts an angry noise around the gag.
Shigaraki glances at him over his shoulder, then turns back to the bar where he's looking at nothing and doing nothing, and Bakugou feels his eye twitch.
He grunts again, sinks his teeth into the leather and tries to maneuver his tongue around to maybe force it down his chin so he can speak again, but it's tied too tight for that. Frustrated, he tips his head back and glares at the ceiling. He can feel his palms smoking where they're pressed together. Any attempt to blow his way out of here will result in him losing his hands, and it's not worth it. Especially when these villains are so obviously lame-ass posers. They probably aren't even that dangerous. Bakugou's sure he's dealt with worse.
When he finally lowers his face to look at Shigaraki again, he's startled to find the man has swiveled on the barstool and is looking at him fully now. And as much as Bakugou had itched for some excitement, now that he has Shigaraki's full attention, he realizes that it was a mistake. He's pinned like a butterfly and it's pathetic how defenseless he is when Shigaraki rises to his bare feet and approaches him with slow, lazy steps.
Bakugou tries to swallow the excess saliva pooled in his mouth, but he can't quite manage. He feels stupid, messy, embarrassed as a little bit of slobber dribbles down his chin and onto his shirt.
"I want to trust you," Shigaraki mutters low like he's talking to himself, reaching out one slender, long-fingered hand and brushing his thumb across Bakugou's bottom lip, collecting the drool that's gathered there. "But it's still too soon."
Bakugou watches him warily, leaned as far back as the chair will allow, and the wood creaks under the strain of his flinching body.
"It didn't have to be this way, you know. It's not too late. You can still cooperate. You can still say yes. If it were up to me, you wouldn't be bound at all. I take no pleasure in seeing someone so strong and so useful reduced to this."
Shigaraki twirls a strand of Bakugou's hair around his finger and Bakugou feels anger well up inside him. The urge to scream crowds his throat again. To call Shigaraki a fucking liar because he knows what an ego trip the freak must be having right now.
It must show in his eyes, because Shigaraki smiles. So ugly, so unnatural, the way his dry and wrinkled skin pulls from the movement. His teeth are gross, off-white, almost yellow. Bakugou wishes he'd put the stupid hand back over his face because he hates having to look directly at him, way too close and personal. Shigaraki's hair hangs loose, the ends tickling Bakugou's collarbone and he shifts in the chair again, eyebrows pulled together in a frown now.
"What's the matter, hero? Don't believe me?"
Bakugou doesn't even justify the question with a response, only continues trying to squirm away from the unwanted contact. But Shigaraki is still touching him, has moved his hand down to cup Bakugou's chin, to tilt his face up so there's no hiding from his eyes. It feels gross, invasive, like he's doing something weird just by looking at him.
As oddly violated as Bakugou feels, he tries his best, his damned best, to not let his gaze waver. To not show any sort of fear, any sort of weakness. But fuck.
Shigaraki's grin stretches impossibly wider and he looks fucking unhinged. And Bakugou can't control the way his heartbeat picks up.
"You're just a child. It's okay to be scared. It's normal. A normal response to danger, right?" Shigaraki's hand is moving again, fingers trailing carefully down Bakugou's neck, pressing lightly against his throat. "The funny thing is, you don't understand just how much danger you're in. Because you don't know me at all, do you? Have you heard of me before?"
Bakugou's throat works nervously, tries to swallow, but a nervous cough sputters out instead and more drool streaks down his chin. His head's still tilted back and he's still drowning in Shigaraki's eyes. And his stupid fucking heart is racing like he's a rabbit about to be caught by a hawk, and why is this even happening? Why can't he shake it off and at least pretend to be stronger than this? What is this crazy fucker's quirk, anyway? Could it be something psychological to make him feel this way?
His fighting spirit has taken a small step backwards in retreat. He doesn't back down from any challenge, any fight, even when he knows he could lose. But something about this creep makes him want to disengage, avoid, get away. It's been swimming just under the surface, right beneath those crazed red eyes and that dry cracked skin and Bakugou finally identifies what it is about Shigaraki that makes him feel so scared:
The man reeks of death.
Bakugou feels it in Shigaraki's hands, in every small press of his fingertips into his flesh. It radiates like an aura, like a poison seeping out and into Bakugou. It pulses through him like a warning, dull and throbbing, a siren blaring, an alarm sounding. Bakugou shivers.
The truth is, he doesn't know what he's dealing with. He doesn't know Shigaraki at all. He didn't get the memo, didn't even realize he was a target until it was too late. He gives a small shake of his head in response.
Shigaraki sighs as if he's deeply disappointed. "I should have guessed as much. Your great teachers, your precious heroes... they didn't do a very good job of protecting you, did they? They didn't bother to prepare you. It's not your fault. You weren't given the resources you needed to survive." His eyes glint dangerously, and he's still smiling. "Don't you think it's strange that they haven't tried to save you yet? It's been hours."
Shigaraki's touch deepens, pressing hard enough that it's getting uncomfortable. Bakugou coughs again, eyes watering, but still determined not to break the stare. He's pretty sure Shigaraki hasn't blinked even once, the fucking weirdo.
"I'm not surprised they haven't come for you. That's the thing about heroes, right? They never seem to be around when you really need them. They'll stop a granny from getting her purse snatched just fine. Get a cat out of a tree and everyone praises them for it. But a successful, smart student like you? With so much power, so much promise... you're expendable. Not nearly so valuable as Midoriya or Todoroki, isn't that right?" His hand stills, wrapped almost fully around Bakugou's throat. That manic smile slips, a serious expression taking its place. "But not to me. I see your worth, Katsuki."
Bakugou's stomach swoops at hearing his first name spoken in such a low, gravely tone. He tenses instinctively. He wants to argue, wants to demand an apology. Wants to bash his forehead into this creep's nose and make him shut the fuck up. But he can't, can't manage to do anything at all right now except fight back tears and he's not even really succeeding at that. Because what if Shigaraki's fucking right? What if they decided he's not worth saving? That the risks outweigh the gain? He had told Izuku not to come, after all.
"As for me," Shigaraki continues conversationally, "I think you'll find that I am a more than capable leader. Someone worthy of being followed. I'm powerful and fair and I take care of things that belong to me." He's leaning close again, too fucking close, and Bakugou's hands heat up, every instinct screaming at him to protect himself.
"I like your quirk a lot. I think you could benefit from some self-control, though." Shigaraki blows the smoke from Bakugou's hands away from their faces. "Self-control's something I know a lot about. I can teach you."
The hand on Bakugou's throat that has, up to this point, felt nothing but threatening, takes on an eerily sensual touch. The hard presses that were making him cough and gag turn soft and gentle, caressing, stroking up and down his throat, thumbing over his bobbing adam's apple.
"My quirk is also in my hands. We have that in common. If I touch you with all five of my fingers at the same time," he pauses and Bakugou holds his breath, anticipation making his heart hammer and he's fucking mortified that it can be felt so easily against the pulsepoint Shigaraki's touching. "If I do that," breathes Shigaraki, nuzzling his face against Bakugou's sweaty temple, "Starting right here at your pretty little neck, your throat will be the first thing to disintegrate. In a matter of seconds, all that will be left of you is ash."
Between the emotions warring inside and the hand still at his throat and the sudden crashing reality of the hopelessness of the situation, Bakugou chokes on an uncharacteristic sob and angrily shuts his eyes as tears squeeze out, unbidden. And just like that, easy as that, match point goes to Shigaraki.
"Aww, hey now." Shigaraki stops messing with his throat and brings both hands up to thumb away his tears. "Don't cry. There's no reason to cry. Shh..." he coos. "I didn't bring you here to hurt you. I promise. I promise, that's not what I want to do. Hey, open your eyes. Look at me."
Bakugou really doesn't want to. He just wants to keep his eyes closed, pretend this isn't happening. Maybe he'll find out the whole thing has just been a fucked up dream. An awful nightmare. Maybe he'll wake up and be home in his bed, surrounded by his sweet All Might merch, safe. Safe and warm and cozy. He'll have a nice cup of hot cocoa and go back to sleep. Maybe tomorrow he and Kirishima will go to the mall and —
Fingers dig into his cheeks and he gasps sharply, pain blooming. His eyes shoot open and he's forced back to reality. This lame bar, these shitty villains, this stupid fucking chair. He meets Shigaraki's eyes again and feels his own fiery defiance wither immediately underneath that cruel stare.
"I need you to understand that I don't want to hurt you. But that doesn't mean I can't."
Shigaraki's voice lowers. Soft, private, whispered so close to Bakugou's ear that he feels the heat of his breath. "That doesn't mean I won't."
Bakugou feels his stomach drop out his ass and his fingers go numb. He's trembling like a fucking coward, but the death radiating off this guy has got him fucked up. Tears continue to drip down his face along with snot and drool and he's such a mess, such a gross, pathetic mess but Shigaraki is only looking at him with mild interest.
"I hope they come for you, Katsuki. But I don't think they will."
And then Shigaraki leaves. He just leaves. Just like that. And Bakugou finds himself all alone with his frantic thoughts that spiral to darker and darker places the longer he sits and waits to be rescued. Because they're definitely coming to rescue him, right?
~
"Awwwwww he pissed himself~!" squeals Toga in delight, clapping her hands.
Dabi frowns and looks at Bakugou with undisguised disgust. His boots sound heavy as he approaches and Bakugou curls his lip into a snarl, trying his best to look threatening even though he's exhausted, hungry and thirsty and unable to hold his bladder longer than an entire fucking day and night that he's been strapped to this chair.
"What are we supposed to do with him?" Dabi asks no one in particular.
It's Twice who answers. "We should—well, we should probably give him a bath, right? We can't just leave him there to marinate in his own... juices."
Toga screeches, "Dirty, dirty boy! Let me give him a bath. I'll take such special care of him!" She's already on her feet and halfway across the room when Dabi turns and stops her with a hand to the face.
"No. You aren't messing with him."
She slaps his hand away and pouts. "Who made you the boss, anyway? Shiggy didn't say I couldn't. And he's the boss. So that means—" She tries to dart around Dabi, but he stops her again.
"I said no. Go sit back down." Dabi sounds tired, like a parent dealing with an unruly child, and Bakugou expects Toga to put up more of a fight, but she only lets out an angry scream right in Dabi's face and stomps back to the other side of the bar, where she glares at them, sulking.
Dabi slowly turns back to Bakugou and looks him up and down.
"You must be pretty hungry by now, huh? Listen, if you can be good in the bath, I'll give you some food. But if you act up, you can go hungry another day. Got it?"
Bakugou glares and tries to ignore the way his stomach rumbles at the prospect of food. Dabi hears it and smirks.
Fine. Bakugou can play the game. Fuck it.
He nods sullenly, and Dabi's smirk pulls a notch higher.
"Good boy," Dabi says under his breath while he unties Bakugou's legs. He's being cautious, ready for Bakugou to fight for his life, but Bakugou can sense the trap. So he tamps down the anger that flares inside himself, muffles the bellowing voice demanding he fight run escape. It'd be a stupid move. He's not stupid.
He's surprised when he tries to stand up and his legs won't support him. He's grown weaker than he realized and wonders if more time's passed than he initially thought. He's even more surprised when Dabi wraps a steadying arm around him and leads him upstairs into a grimy bathroom.
Dabi shuts the door and leans back against it, crossing his arms and fixing Bakugou with an expectant look.
Bakugou looks back at him, feeling stupid. What is he supposed to do? His arms are still tied. He's still got a gag in his mouth he's not able to remove.
"Well?" Dabi says finally, and he sounds annoyed.
Bakugou does his best to give him a well, what? look, and Dabi rolls his eyes and kicks him in the stomach, hard.
Bakugou crumples to the floor at the unexpected blow, all the wind knocked out of him. He's on his knees and hunched forward, wheezing, trying to catch his breath around the stupid fucking strap still in his mouth, and he flinches when Dabi's big boot pushes him back so he's sitting on his heels.
"Now that's better," Dabi grins. Bakugou stares up at him, feeling sick to his stomach. Panic creeping up his spine. He feels the distinct danger of the situation, of being locked in this tiny bathroom, bound up, on his knees in front of a sadistic fucking psychopath.
"Stay there a minute, okay? Let me enjoy seeing Shiggy's new toy all shiny and new, while it still works. Before he rips off your arms and pulls out all your stuffing, hahaha!" Dabi stands over him and gives him another solid kick to the chest, toppling him over so he's flat on his back. Bakugou coughs violently and tries to bring his knees up to protect himself, but Dabi doesn't allow it.
"Look at you," Dabi sneers, blue light glowing from the palms of his hands. "Pathetic fucking loser. Dunno what he saw in you, anyway." He grinds his foot directly into Bakugou's gut, putting weight on it until Bakugou cries out.
"You're so weak. What do you even have to offer us, huh? Your cute little fireworks? That winning personality?" He rears back and stomps down again and Bakugou screams, eyes rolling in his head at the pain.
"You're just a stubborn fucking dog. Bet if I kick you enough, you'll roll over for me." He sneers again and crouches down over Bakugou's body, leans in close and Bakugou flinches at the searing heat radiating off the man. He smells like sulfur and burning flesh, and bile churns in Bakugou's stomach, rises hot and sour into his throat.
"I'm gonna take all this shit off you, but you better understand that if you act up, I've been given the discretion to punish you as I see fit." Dabi's eyes glow with that same blue flame and it's dangerous. As dangerous as his smirk, as dangerous as the patchworked hands that come up to untie Bakugou's restraints.
Bakugou's arms drop weakly to the cheap, dirty tile floor. His chest heaves. The gag falls filthy and wet from his mouth and he works his sore jaw, pops it, licks his dry lips. Tries to ignore the way Dabi is still crouched over top of him, not quite close enough to touch, but watching his every move like a beast sizing up its prey.
"Are you gonna be good?" Dabi asks, tilting his head like it's a genuine question and not a thinly veiled threat.
Bakugou doesn't say anything. His throat hurts. He just nods, trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible as Dabi finally rises off him.
Dabi returns to his spot against the door and watches with amusement as Bakugou struggles weakly to his feet and starts undressing. Bakugou does his best to ignore him.
His torso is already discolored, sunset red blue purple and he pointedly ignores that, too, and toes off his pissy sneakers.
He's annoyed at how badly he's shaking, how fucking hard it is for his trembling fingers to unbutton his own goddamn pants. He stops a moment, tries to gather all his strength and all his patience and be calm, to focus on this task that really shouldn't feel so monumental.
He's so focused that he doesn't react in time to Dabi's movement as he pushes himself off the door, and scarred, scorching fingers are impatiently batting his own away. They deftly unbutton his pants and push them down over his hips, over the swell of his ass. Dabi's eyes drift down his chest and fixate on the shape of the footprint there on Bakugou's skin, red and angry and turned a painful purple around the edges. You can see the fucking treads.
"Oh," Dabi breathes out, sounding a little surprised. He traces the bruise with his fingertips, nostrils flaring like an animal.
"Don't — don't touch me, asshole," Bakugou grits out. But it doesn't hold the threat he wants it to.
"Or what?" Dabi asks in that same breathless way, and Bakugou feels his skin crawling. The small hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end. "You gonna be a brat now? You want some more, is that it?"
Bakugou tries really hard to disengage, to take a step back toward the bathtub. He's naked now and the vulnerability of his position, of this entire fucking situation, is making his head spin. He holds his hands up in front of himself defensively, doesn't even cross his mind that it might come across as an aggressive move, like he's getting ready to fire off at Dabi. He's not trying to fight this time! But that's obviously not how how Dabi feels as the man snatches both Bakugou's wrists in a burning vice grip. A scream tears from Bakugou's throat and his knees buckle at the pain.
"Shut the fuck up!" Dabi hisses, but Bakugou can't. It fucking HURTS. He's burning, he's fucking burning!
He tries again to pull himself away, pull himself back, but he's held tight in Dabi's strong grip and it hurts so fucking much, it's unbearable.
"Let go, let go, let go," he pleads, practically sobbing, his throat raw and ragged. His guts churn, sweaty feet slipping on the tile and he'd have slipped down if Dabi wasn't keeping him standing, holding him up in that excruciating clutch.
"Kid, if you don't shut your damn mouth—"
"Hurts—!" Bakugou wheezes, struggling.
It's at that moment that the bathroom door slams inward and Dabi startles into releasing Bakugou. Bakugou stumbles, his wide eyes only having a moment to take in the sight of an absolutely livid Shigaraki, before he slips backward into the tub, bashing his head on the wall and knocking himself right the fuck out.
~
Who knows how much time has passed? Who cares? What difference does it make?
He's in a bed that is way too soft, that sags under his weight, that smells old and musty and unwashed. He presses his face into the pillow anyway and inhales. It doesn't smell like smoke. Thank god it doesn't smell like smoke.
He notices pretty quickly that he isn't bound. He isn't gagged. His head is pounding and he's sore all over, but he's alive. Figures it could be worse, right?
It can always be worse.
It takes some time for him to work up the motivation (the strength, the courage) to fully embrace wakefulness and open his eyes. The room he's in is small and it's dark. There's one window but it's covered with a sheet that keeps out most of the light. It looks like it's nighttime.
He props himself up on his elbows, wincing hard at the pain in his head, and slowly scans the room. He doesn't quite stifle the panicked, shrill breath he sucks in when he sees that he's not alone.
Shigaraki is sitting at the far side of the room, watching him. Like a creepy fucking perv. And Bakugou almost says something, he almost lets loose his barrage of insults, but — something stops him. Some small modicum of... gratitude? to this man? For saving him from Dabi. And how fucked up is that?
Instead, he licks his chapped lips and looks down at himself, noticing for the first time that his wrists are wrapped in bandages and he's wearing a shirt and underwear. He looks back questioningly at Shigaraki.
Shigaraki doesn't offer anything by way of explanation, just slowly rises to his feet and approaches the bed. Stands beside it as if gauging Bakugou's reaction to his proximity.
Bakugou only watches him, the way one would watch a venomous snake. You don't make any sudden movements, you don't make any sounds. You sit and fucking pray the thing moves on without incident. Bakugou never really had much luck with prayers.
"I wanted to say that I'm sorry." Shigaraki's voice cracks, and it sounds croaky like maybe he's been yelling. He's whispering but it sounds impossibly loud in the silence of the dark room. "I made a mistake leaving you alone."
Bakugou swallows around the lump in his throat. He's so thirsty. His throat feels raw.
"I'll make it up to you, okay? Give me another chance." Shigaraki's eyes bore into him, strip him down, tear him open. Asking, but it doesn't feel like that. Asking, but it feels like a command Bakugou isn't allowed to refuse.
So he nods, the movement of it jarring his throbbing brains and he makes a small noise of pain, and suddenly Shigaraki is touching him and it's terrible. Those hands, spidery, nasty creepy crawly, fingertips dancing at the back of his skull where everything is pain, and Bakugou's eyes slip closed against the onslaught.
"It hurts so bad, doesn't it? I shouldn't have let him do this to you. But I'll make it up to you, I promise. I promise. Will you let me? Please let me." Shigaraki is whispering, mumbling under his breath again like he's talking to himself instead of Bakugou.
And that's fine because Bakugou isn't really paying attention anymore, not really. It hurts too much. Shigaraki's presence is too overwhelming, too much to deal with right now. He lets his eyes stay shut as Shigaraki's touch disappears, then returns sometime later. And a glass is pressed against his lips and it's water, fuck, it's water.
"Slow," Shigaraki whispers, stroking Bakugou's hair, his touch a cruel mockery of tenderness.
And Bakugou obeys. Against all his body's natural compulsions to chug every drop of it down as fast as he can, he does as Shigaraki says and sips slow, letting the cold water wash over his wrecked throat.
"There you go. You're gonna go back to sleep for a while now, okay? Don't fight it. Don't be scared."
His words have the complete opposite effect and Bakugou's body tenses. His eyes snap open and latch onto Shigaraki, who looks entirely calm, way too fucking calm.
"What did you do?" Bakugou rasps, hands clutching weakly at the other man's chest.
Shigaraki shushes him and gently pries his hands off, setting them back down on the bed.
"What did you do?" Bakugou tries again, a little louder, and it hurts, but goddamnit! "Tell me!"
"It's just something to help you relax. To help you heal. I told you I'd take care of you, right? Just let me."
"N-no. I don't... Don't... don't give me—"
"Shhhh..." Shigaraki hushes, lowering Bakugou's head down to the pillow. His fingers trail down Bakugou's chest, push underneath his shirt so slow that Bakugou almost doesn't notice.
When he registers the touch, his body spasms. "Don't touch me," he gasps, words coming out slurred through numbing lips.
His brain can't keep up with the other's movement anymore. He feels like he's sinking in quicksand but his pulse is racing and his mind is screaming to escape because this is dangerous, but he's fucking defenseless. He can't do anything except watch.
He stares wide-eyed down at Shigaraki, watches his pale fingers as they lovingly trace every bruise. Shigaraki digs in a fingertip once, hard, like he just can't help himself, and Bakugou's whole body manages one last desperate convulsion.
But he's slipping away, he's fading. His body trembles, limbs growing heavy, eyelids growing heavy. He can only watch, watch the hesitant way Shigaraki touches him. The way his fingers twitch, the way they hover. It looks so awkward.
The panic, the fear, the pain all gradually dull away until all that's left is just a soft curiosity. He watches Shigaraki press cracked lips to the ugly bruises that have bloomed all over his stomach and thinks that it's funny that he touches him that way. It's funny that it doesn't really hurt anymore.
And distantly, through the fuzzy static playing in his ears, he's able to piece together some of Shigaraki's mumbled stream of words, whispered reverently against his skin. "—doesn't have to hurt. I promise it doesn't have to hurt. I don't have to hurt you. I can make you feel good. I don't have to hurt you. I don't have to kill you. I can make it feel good. I can make you feel good. I promise. I promise."
~
Bakugou wakes up warm and comfortable. Nothing hurts. Sunlight streams through the dirty window and dust motes float in the light like glitter. It's pretty. He stretches and relaxes back down into the unfamiliar bed, rolls over onto his belly and sighs deeply into the pillow.
A hand pets timidly down the curve of his naked back, but he doesn't startle. He looks back over his shoulder and sees Shigaraki, but doesn't feel disturbed by the other man's presence. In fact, he really doesn't feel much at all. Just good. Calm, relaxed, like he's floating above his body. It's a weird feeling but definitely not bad. Especially with Shigaraki's hand to ground him.
"Tell me what you remember," Shigaraki says.
"Mm..." Bakugou arches, pressing against the hand that's trailed to the dip at the small of his back. The touch is just a little too soft, a little too hesitant. He wants more, but Shigaraki hisses and pulls away entirely.
With no distractions, Bakugou pouts a little and tries to think. What's there to remember? Should he be remembering something?
"Remember about what?" he finally asks. He rolls onto his back again and finds Shigaraki staring at him with an intensity that makes his breath catch.
Bakugou decides that he likes being looked at like that. It makes something hot squirm in his belly and he unconsciously opens his legs a little. Shit, he's starting to get excited, can feel his dick filling out in his underwear that were already a little too snug to begin with.
"Do you know who I am?" Shigaraki's voice is like a caress in its own right. Low and dark and rough, and Bakugou's toes curl against the sheet.
He tries to make his eyes focus, but everything's a little fuzzy around the edges. Nothing is steady, like the whole room is tilted a little bit to the left. He squints and lays his hands flat on the bed, trying to get everything to just sit fucking still for a second so he can try to figure out who this guy is.
His brain just doesn't want to cooperate. A little frustrated, he says, "Is it important?"
Shigaraki doesn't answer for a moment. Bakugou thinks he sees him smile. "It could be."
"Can you give me a hint?"
Shigaraki's bare feet make no noise as he again approaches the bed. He kneels, the bed dipping under his weight, and Bakugou watches him stalk forward on hands and knees.
Bakugou's head is spinning faster and it looks like there's four Shigaraki's approaching him. He shuts his eyes for a second because fuck, he feels like he might actually pass out if he can't get everything to stop moving. Cold fingers brush against his ankle and he jumps like he got touched by a live wire.
"You want a hint?" Shigaraki purrs, gently guiding Bakugou's trembling legs further apart.
Bakugou's breathing hard, eyes still squeezed tightly shut, hands fisted in the blankets. "Yeah," he manages, sounding pathetic even to his own ears.
"Open your eyes, Katsuki. Look at me."
Bakugou does his best to obey, shivering at the weight of an order like that. He watches Shigaraki's hands as they slide carefully up the insides of his thighs, and Bakugou gasps, unable to control the way his hips buck.
Shigaraki rubs a thumb over Bakugou's clothed, straining erection, smirking as it twitches and bobs.
Then, with slow, careful intent, he clenches the material of Bakugou's underwear in all five fingers and Bakugou's mouth falls open as the entire garment disintegrates right before his eyes, crumbling away to nothing but ash.
Shigaraki's hand hovers over Bakugou's abdomen, eyes locked hungrily on his face, drinking in the fear and the horror displayed so unreservedly there.
Bakugou's mouth is moving but nothing is coming out, just desperate gasps for breath. His palms sputter sparks uselessly. He's too weak, too drugged and fucked up, to offer any sort of viable defense.
He tries to press his feet into the bed to give himself something to push off so he can move backward, anything to get away, to create distance. Manages to press himself up so he's cowering against the headboard, naked as the day he was born, hands flat against the wood as if it can give him the stability he needs. And Shigaraki isn't even touching him at all anymore, just kneeling there with his hands rested on his own thighs, still close to the foot of the bed.
"You really shouldn't overexert yourself," Shigaraki finally says, and Bakugou can hear the fucking amusement in his voice. This dickhead thinks this is funny!
"It's good to see you back to your normal self so quickly. It typically takes much longer for memories to return... But you are a very special boy, aren't you?" Shigaraki tilts his head, an almost affectionate smile pulling at his mouth. "That's why I chose you."
"You can't drug me into joining your stupid group!" Bakugou shouts, but instantly regrets it as his damaged throat protests. He tastes blood in his mouth.
Shigaraki only shrugs and backs up off the bed. "We'll see."
"I won't—" Bakugou coughs violently. "I won't take anything. I'd rather fucking die!"
"You might," is the only response he gets, leaving Bakugou with a chill as he walks out and shuts the door behind him. It doesn't lock.
Bakugou stares at the door, grinding his teeth, the double meaning of those words lingering like a nasty aftertaste.
~
Bakugou doesn't try to escape. He's still not in his right mind, not enough to form any kind of coherent plan to get out of a den of villains, who... it turns out, might be slightly more capable than he'd given them credit for.
He thought about climbing out the window, but found that when he pulled away the curtain, it was covered with iron bars. His quirk isn't working at all anymore, not even a little. And on top of all that, he's butt ass fucking naked and there are no clothes in this stupid, shitty, sorry excuse for a room. All he can do is wrap the sheet around himself and tie it off.
This is definitely more like the torture scenarios he'd fantasized when he first got captured. Maybe not quite as graphic, or as violent, but definitely along the same lines as being starved, getting his shit kicked in by a pyromaniac in combat boots, burned, threatened, drugged, and possibly almost raped.
Maybe it's not needles under his nails or cigarettes extinguished on his chest, but who knows what fresh hell awaits him when that fucker decides to come back?
~
The moon is high and Bakugou is drifting in and out of consciousness with his back against the headboard when the door opens.
It takes a great deal of effort to force open his eyes. He really just wants to keep sleeping. He's not sure how many days it's been since he had something to eat. He can't trust anything these villains give him. Not after they drugged his water. But what's he supposed to do, then? He either has to trust them enough to take what they give him, or eventually fucking starve to death. Talk about damned if you do and damned if you don't.
He sighs and tilts his head to tiredly look at Dabi, who's entered and shut the door behind himself.
Dabi casually leans against the door, a pose Bakugou wishes he weren't familiar with. The villain's holding something behind his back and grinning like a fucking maniac. The air in the room is suddenly stifling, but Bakugou's too dehydrated at this point to even sweat anymore.
"I have got the funnest surprise for you, oh my god." Dabi bounces on his heels once, then strides over to where Bakugou is already flinching, wishing he could disappear into the wall.
"Lookit you with your fire all burned out, haha aww... I was really hoping for more of a struggle, but what can you do?" He throws a bag of fluid down on the bed and before Bakugou can even wrap his head around what it is or what it's for, the blanket he's wrapped around himself is set on fire.
He makes some sort of sound, croaky and agonized, and can't do anything to stop himself from being yanked to the middle of the bed. Dabi pushes him face-down, pinning him in place with a heavy knee across his back and another holding down one leg. Dabi forces him to bend one of his knees, leaving him humiliatingly exposed.
Everything's spinning and Bakugou shuts his eyes. This could not possibly get any more fucking embarrassing. Why can't he just be put out of his misery?
"This is gonna suck for you, but you've gotta endure it, okay? Bossman's orders." Dabi sounds so casual, like nothing out of the ordinary is happening at all. He doesn't wait for a response from Bakugou before he pushes a slippery finger into the boy's asshole.
Bakugou tenses at the sudden intrusion, muscles locking up in panic.
"No," he whispers weakly, trying to struggle, summoning his last reserves of energy to try and buck Dabi off him, but it's no use. All it does is make Dabi laugh.
"Oh relax, you act like I'm fucking killing you. I'm actually being very nice right now and you're being an ungrateful brat, like always." He pumps his finger in and out a couple times and then pulls it out completely. "Really, you should be happy it's me and not Toga. Haha, can you imagine?"
Bakugou doesn't want to imagine but he thinks it might definitely be worse somehow.
Dabi fiddles with something Bakugou can't see, and then something slender and hard is being inserted into him. It's not big enough to hurt, and the lube makes the slide not as bad as it could be.
"There's a good boy," Dabi coos, running a hot hand soothingly up and down Bakugou's back. "Just pumping some fluids back into you so you don't die prematurely, you know what I mean? Shiggy said you wouldn't swallow anything anymore. Look, I don't want to know about all that, whatever freaky shit he's got you doing. But I don't blame you for refusing."
Bakugou wonders if he can suffocate himself if he pushes his face as hard as he can into the pillow.
And as if Dabi read his fucking mind, there's a rough hand fisted in his hair, pulling his head back. Bakugou gulps in air like a stupid fish.
"Nice try, but no. Isn't it funny that I'm the one keeping you alive right now? Pretty fucking wild. Bet you'd have never seen that coming."
The door opens and someone else comes in, but Bakugou honestly doesn't fucking care anymore. What more could they possibly do to him?
Dabi lets go of his hair but makes sure he's laying with his head turned so he can breathe. Gives his cheek a cheery patpat before turning his attention to whoever else is there.
"See? I told you it'd be fine. Look how well he's doing."
Bakugou can only imagine the picture he's making right now. It makes him cringe and blush.
"Did he fight much?"
That voice— Bakugou shudders. It's Shigaraki. They talk like Bakugou's not even there.
"Not at all! Took it like a champ. He'll be back to shooting off his little fireworks again in no time."
"Hm, or not. Here. Put him back to sleep. I don't like seeing him suffer."
Dabi just scoffs. "Whatever you say, boss."
And Bakugou can't do anything but lay there, body entirely limp, as a needle pricks his neck. He loses consciousness almost instantly.
~
Bakugou makes a decision when he wakes up. He decides he's not gonna fucking die here. He decides to play nice, to play dumb, and most importantly, to play along with whatever stupid shit these dumbasses want from him. It's the only way out. The only thing he can think of.
He doesn't feel so weak anymore, but he'll never know if it was from the whole ordeal with Dabi or from his body's own recovery capabilities. He's been bathed. It even seems like someone brushed his hair, as creepy as it is to think of someone doing those things while he's knocked out. And he's wearing clothes, too, soft and stretchy and totally not the right size, but who cares? He's just glad to not be naked anymore.
Theres nothing to do to occupy his mind in this empty room. He's a little surprised they don’t have him on suicide watch after the stunt he pulled with the blanket, but Dabi probably knew it wasn’t in his nature to do something like that. He would go down fighting when the time came, and take as many villains with him as he could.
He looks out the window but there's not much to see, really. An alleyway down below and no one around. Brick wall across the way. He wonders if he's ever been around here before, obliviously walked past it like it wasn't a villain den. He wonders how far away All Might and the others are. Wonders if they're on their way to come get him.
The longer he stares at that brick wall, the less hope he has in his heroes. The more he reflects on himself. And that’s not fun. He wonders if he'd been nicer, less argumentative, less hostile, more open with feelings, and if he'd been a better friend, a better person — would it have made a difference? Would it have made him a higher priority to save? Would his life have held a little more value to them?
He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't even hear the door open, doesn't hear anyone come in until a hand settles on his shoulder.
He jolts out of his fucking skin and screams—
And Twice screams too and drops the plate of food he's carrying.
Bakugou stares at him, breathing hard, leaning against the window and trying to recover, but fuck, that startled him. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Sneaking up on me like that?"
Twice looks just as freaked out for a second, but he recovers quickly and aggressively defends, "I knocked! I even called your name! Don't blame me for your—your brain damage!"
Bakugou growls and takes a step forward, his whole self-talk earlier about being good and playing along flying right out the fucking window because he has pride, goddamnit! Twice doesn't back up. "I'll show you fucking damage, you freak."
They grapple for a moment, but Twice easily pins Bakugou's arms behind his back and shoves him against the window again. Bakugou kicks out wildly, seething at being subdued with so little effort. He hates that he's gotten so weak that he can be manhandled by a fucking extra like Twice.
"Why don't you fight like you fucking mean it, you pussy?" Bakugou yells at him, still struggling in the man's grip.
Twice just sighs and wrenches Bakugou's arms back til Bakugou grunts and he's nearly popping his shoulders out the sockets.
"Probably because I don't need to. It's like fighting a cranky toddler."
Bakugou slams his head backwards into Twice's nose, grinning with triumph as he's abruptly released and Twice staggers away from him. Blood spurts from his nose.
"You little shit—!"
"Call me a toddler again, you Rorschach-looking sack of shit!"
Twice clenches his fists and takes a step forward like he wants to fight, but he shakes his head, splattering little droplets of blood on the floor. He kicks the tray of food in Bakugou's direction.
"You know what? Fuck you, kid. I don't need this shit. You're more trouble than you're worth."
He leaves, slamming the door behind him, and Bakugou's left alone with two slices of cold, hard, leftover pizza, and a bottle of water. He sits on the floor and stares angrily at the food, his stomach rumbling. Tells himself over and over that he has to keep his strength if he's gonna ever get out of this place alive.
He's gonna have to get better at pretending if this plan is gonna work. Better at kissing ass. He just needs to practice, probably. How hard could it really be to just not fight back?
~
It turns out to be really fucking hard, actually. It goes against Bakugou's very nature to be docile like a pet kitten. He's not quiet or agreeable or friendly. And he is way out of his element when he finally leaves the sanctuary of his bedroom to venture downstairs where the others are.
The scene is much the same as the first time he was brought here. Everyone is just sitting around and doing their own thing. Some reading, some drinking coffee. Dabi is smoking, because of course he is, and Bakugou feels a shiver of disgust run through him as he can't help but remember the last interaction he had with Dabi. He wishes he could wipe that from his stupid brain forever, because honestly, ew. And it runs through his head in graphic detail as he stares at the ugly motherfucker with a look of pure loathing on his face.
"Looks like sleeping beauty finally woke up," Dabi says through a veil of smoke, one boot kicked up on the table, looking like such a manspreading douchebag that it makes Bakugou's lip curl.
"Don't fucking look at me, perv," Bakugou growls, stalking forward to the bar and plopping himself down.
Toga, who has been teeming with excitement ever since he came downstairs, swarms him like a shark in bloody water. Her voice is high-pitched and annoying and her energy is waaay too much for Bakugou. But he has to try. He has to fucking do this so he can escape eventually, because the likelihood of him being rescued at this point seems virtually nonexistent.
"Well?" he says to her, flapping his hand. "You gonna pour me a drink, or what? Is this even a real fucking bar?"
"You are underage," says Kurogiri before Toga can respond.
"That didn't seem to matter when you had Patchwork beat the shit out of me and then shove his finger up my—"
"That was a rehydration method so you didn't die," Dabi cuts him off angrily with a wave of his hand. "Don't make it sound weird."
"It was weird! In no way was it not weird. You don't just do that to people." This isn't going the way Bakugou intended. He takes a big, deep breath and tries to reign in his anger. "I'm just saying," he says, a little calmer, "It was weird. Especially weird if you're gonna make such a big deal about my age. Just gimme something to drink, fuck."
Toga gives him a big, manic grin and flutters excitedly behind the bar, looking through bottles and bags. "I'm gonna make you something soooo special, Katsuuuki~" she singsongs, and mixes something up for him. "This one won't put you to sleep, hehehe."
Bakugou considers asking about it, but decides not to. Because fuck it, right? He's trying to get in good with these people, so he's gonna see what it turns out to be. What's the worst that could happen? It's not like they'll kill him. At least, he doesn't think they will.
He takes the drink Toga proudly sets in front of him and sniffs it. Smells like ordinary whiskey, so whatever. He takes a sip and it tastes like ordinary whiskey, too. Okay, great. Not sure why it took her so long to make it, but it's fine.
There's a clown in a mask playing cards a few chairs down and Bakugou studies him for a minute before saying, "Oi, what's your deal, clown boy?"
Mister Compress, who had up til that point been quietly keeping to himself, turns in his seat to look at Bakugou. The guy looks creepy as hell, wearing a big stupid looking hat and a mask, but he's wearing a pretty nice suit.
"I'm a magician, actually," Compress replies, smoothly shuffling his playing cards.
"Yeah? You know any tricks?"
It's the right thing to say, obviously, because Compress sits up straighter and proceeds to spend the next hour showing off his skills with cards, coins, and handkerchiefs. By the time he's removing his hat and bowing, Bakugou is clapping along with Toga and Twice at the impromptu performance.
He's feeling warm and relaxed and doesn't hesitate to drink down the second glass Toga offers him.
He can't shake the feeling that he's forgetting something important, though. And that's kind of annoying, but it's especially easy to get over it when a warm tingling sensation starts thrumming through him. Like a match striking, the feeling sparks, starts in his belly and flickers out through his limbs, dancing down his arms and legs. It feels good, really good, but it also makes him restless. So he stands up.
"Where do you think you're going?" Dabi asks from where he's sprawled on the loveseat, legs wide enough apart to effectively claim the whole thing for himself. The way the smoke curls from his lit cigarette and frames his face makes Bakugou feel weird for some reason.
Bakugou shrugs, because he genuinely doesn't know where he's going, just that can't sit on that stupid barstool any longer.
"Why don't you come sit over here with me, huh? Let's talk."
Dabi pats his knee and yeah, okay. Why not? He's being nice enough to invite, after all. So Bakugou climbs onto his lap, straddles him, a little hesitantly at first but the heat of the other man's body feels so good that the tension quickly melts away.
Dabi's chest rumbles, he's laughing. Strong, calloused hands slide down Bakugou's sides to settle on his hips and position him even closer, press him flush against his hard stomach and Bakugou puts his hands on Dabi's shoulders to try to create a little bit of distance between them, and maybe he shouldn't be on his lap like this. Seems too close, too intimate. Isn't this wrong? But then why would he invite him onto his lap if it wasn’t okay?
"Well aren't you just the sweetest little pet? It doesn't seem fair that boss gets to have you all to himself. We can play a little, right?" He cups Bakugou's backside, squeezes.
Bakugou frowns and searches Dabi's face, finding only cool amusement. He zeroes in on the staples, on the different colors and textures of skin.
"Go on, since you're so damn curious about it," Dabi allows, taking his cigarette and holding it to the side out of their way, and that's all the permission Bakugou needs to run hesitant fingers over mismatched flesh, marveling at the heat. At how the burns are so rough and dry, like a snake's shed skin, and the other is so normal and soft.
He's at Dabi's lips, messing with the rings pierced there, when Dabi's tongue slides out over his fingertip. Bakugou draws in a breath but doesn't pull away. There's a metal barbell pierced through his tongue, too, and it should be gross, he thinks. The skin, the wet smear of saliva on his finger, sitting in this guy's lap like some kind of prize. But it's not gross, it doesn't feel gross or wrong or bad, so he lets his finger be sucked in, sucked in like it's an extension of his cock, and fuck. He feels himself starting to get hard.
He can't understand how Dabi runs so hot. How his spit feels molten, how so much fire can be contained in one scrawny guy. It's crazy cool, it's awesome. He licks his lips, eyes following every sensual movement of Dabi's tongue as it traces up over his knuckles, dips into the space between his fingers, and Dabi is looking at him through his lashes like he's daring him to do something. And Bakugou fucking wants to. He pushes down on Dabi's tongue and watches those glowing blue eyes flare as the pupils dilate. Then Dabi grins, and that same feeling as before, that instinctive fear, that tug in his gut that has goosebumps raise over his arms... This is definitely not something he should be doing with this guy.
He pulls his hand away from Dabi's face, makes a small move backward with the intention of rising to his feet, but Dabi tightens his hold on his hips, grounding him firmly back in his lap.
"Where you going, hero, hmm? Why don't you loosen up a little?"
He presses a kiss to the side of Bakugou’s mouth, and the metal in his face is so hot that Bakugou worries it might burn him, wonders if it left any kind of mark. Dabi takes a drag off his cigarette that, ignored for so long, is almost all ash, blows smoke in his face. Takes another long pull, seals his lips over Bakugou’s, and feeds the smoke into his mouth. Bakugou breathes, swallows it down with a moan he can't quite contain, and welcomes the positively filthy kiss that follows.
"Mmm, Shiggy's gonna be so pissed," Dabi hums, extinguishes the cig on the arm of the couch, then leans back in for another long kiss.
The other villains are talking, loud, but its just background noise. Bakugou doesn't pay them any attention, can't focus on anything outside of Dabi's hands on him, of Dabi's lips against his, tongue hot and slippery and intrusive in his mouth, and their kiss is getting sloppy. Bakugou doesn't even realize he's rocking his hips until he feels Dabi laughing again, mocking, mean.
"Can you come like this? In front of everyone? Do you have any shame at all?" But despite his words, he doesn't stop from gripping Bakugou's asscheeks in his hands, middle finger rubbing against his hole through the thin material of his shorts, and Bakugou hides his blushing face against Dabi's neck.
"You're so soft and sweet here. Boss is gonna have so much fun with you." Dabi sighs like the idea bothers him, and presses a little bit harder, making Bakugou whimper. "Maybe I will come visit when he's finished, huh? Be a shame to let something so pretty go to waste."
Bakugou only moans agreeably and mouths at Dabi's rough, fucked up skin, playing with the scabs and textures.
Dabi uses his grip to guide Bakugou's movements, grinding him against his flat belly. He leans back further against the couch, spreads his legs wider, and watches through heavy, hooded lids as Bakugou goes along with it. Until Bakugou is moving on his own, panting wetly against Dabi's throat, hands fisted in the other man's shirt.
Bakugou barely hears the door open, is too strung out on chasing his own pleasure to notice the way Dabi's body stiffens and his hands still. The room grows so silent that Bakugou can hear the blood swimming in his ears. He whines and tries to press closer, demanding Dabi's attention, but Dabi only hisses and pinches his hip.
The baby hairs on the back of his neck prickle with awareness.
"Everyone leave. Now."
Slowly, Bakugou looks back over his shoulder to see the League scattering in all directions, except Shigaraki, who is standing completely still and looking at the spectacle Bakugou's making of himself. And he knows he should feel ashamed, mortified, but something about the way Shigaraki's staring at him makes the pleasure in his gut twist that much tighter.
"I thought I told you not to touch him again," Shigaraki says to Dabi, even as he still holds Bakugou's eyes.
"I was just keeping him warm for you, boss." Dabi swats Bakugou's ass, smirking at the way the boy sucks in a breath and stutters his hips forward. "Isn't that right, hero? We were just making friends." His hands drop down again to between Bakugou's cheeks, where he rubs him in a way that makes Bakugou moan and arch his back.
Shigaraki stalks forward, every movement telegraphing danger. Suddenly shy, Bakugou hides his face in the crook of Dabi's neck again, every nerve ending raw and buzzing. He can feel the presence behind him as Shigaraki crouches to the floor, and then a second set of hands are on him, the total opposite of Dabi's. Shigaraki's hands are cold and Bakugou's skin crawls at the inherent danger of them, at how quickly this could all end for him.
But alongside all the fear, there's a sick little thrill. An excitement that makes him gasp, makes him pant and shiver and lean back against the other man.
Shigaraki's touch is more light, more hesitant. And Bakugou finds himself wanting more.
"Please," he moans, blindly reaching behind him, and manages to clutch a strong forearm. "Come on." He feels so needy, so desperate, and every tiny touch feels amazing. The soft slide of his own t-shirt and shorts, the hot/cold mix of the two men's bodies that have him trapped snug between them. He leans further back into Shigaraki, lets his head fall back onto his shoulder and tries to guide that dangerous hand further down his body to where he needs to feel it most.
He misses the way Dabi and Shigaraki exchange looks over the top of his head, Dabi with a shit-eating grin and Shigaraki with furrowed brows.
"What did you give him?" Shigaraki asks, but allows himself to be positioned, lets Bakugou press his hand against his tented shorts and frowns at the keening cry that trembles out of the blond.
Dabi waves his hand noncommittally, then reaches into his pocket for another cigarette. He lights it with a flame from his fingertip. "Just a little E, maybe some other stuff. I don't know. Just enough to relax him. You know he can get a little uptight." He laughs, playfully pinching one of Bakugou's nipples. "He's cute, right?"
Shigaraki only hums in reply, pressing his nose against Bakugou's temple and breathing him in. His hand works slowly, gentle strokes from over top of the shorts and tugs until Bakugou is a wriggling, writhing mess on Dabi's lap.
Tendrils of smoke wrap around them from Dabi's cigarette. Bakugou is perched more on Dabi's knees now, the rest of his body being held and supported by Shigaraki's arms that have wrapped around him. Dabi pulls at his nipples until they're tender and swollen and sore and Bakugou is torn between grinding forward into Dabi or back into Shigaraki, and he whines, frustrated.
The way Shigaraki touches him is so fucking good, something about it, so different from Dabi. It's almost reverent, tender, like he's something to be taken care of.
And he is being taken very good care of, as Shigaraki sucks kisses into the side of his neck, down his collar bone, the curve of his shoulder. Hand working him until he's twitching and leaking, head thrown back, his own hands pressed palms open and fingers wide against Dabi's chest.
"Fuck, he's pretty," Dabi grunts, shifting, reaching down to reposition himself in his pants. "We're gonna keep him, right?"
Shigaraki trails fingertips over Bakugou's trembling inner thigh, caressing up underneath the material of his shorts where his nuts are drawing up tight, impending orgasm already evident in the way his muscles flutter, the way his eyes are pinched closed tight.
A sigh, long-suffering and sad against Bakugou's ear. "No. We're going to give him back."
Dabi frowns, haze of arousal dissipating a little. "What? Why?"
"Because I want him to come to me willingly. And I believe that he will, in time."
Bakugou's breath hitches, lost in his own pleasure, completely not paying attention to the conversation being had over his head. He claws his fingers down Dabi's chest and frantically tries to pull the other man closer, and Dabi leans forward and takes his lips in a deep, sloppy kiss. Bakugou groans into his mouth, dizzy, overcome with all the hands touching and stroking and pulling, the pressure of Dabi's fingers against his asshole, Shigaraki's hands gently rolling his nuts around, and fuck fuck he's so close—
"That's the way," Shigaraki whispers low in his ear, rubbing his thumb over the head of Bakugou's dick. "Such a good little hero, aren't you? But even you have to admit, sometimes it feels good to be a villain."
Bakugou nods dumbly, eyes glazed over, senseless in his lust. He turns his head, chasing Shigaraki's lips, needing to feel him more, to taste him. Dabi bites at his neck, sucks at his throat while continuing to rub him in all the right places, all the right ways.
He's shaking, body pulled taut, muscles rippling as he rocks between the two men's bodies. "F-fuuuck!" he cries against Shigaraki's lips, "I— I— I'm—!"
"Yeah... come on. Show me," breathes Shigaraki.
And stars explode behind Bakugou's eyelids. He seizes, damn near fucking passes out as he makes a mess of his shorts. He's held through it, stroked through it, kissed and cuddled and it's good. Everything feels so good. He leans back bonelessly against Shigaraki, breathing hard, worn out and happy and a little drunk and a little high, but feeling pretty damn great.
~
He wakes up in the hospital. All Might is there, shitty Deku is there. Kirishima. He blinks, all the sterile stark whiteness blinding and disorienting, and what the fuck is going on?
"What is all this?" he grumbles, throat feeling raw and sore, like maybe he'd been yelling too much.
Everyone jumps, and the fussing over him begins. He gathers bits and pieces from the annoying clusterfuck of everyone trying to talk at the same time. Kidnapped. Held hostage. And then inexplicably returned after two weeks. And of course the heroes had just been waiting for the right time to rescue him, of course they knew how strong he was and that he would be fine while they formed the perfect plan. Couldn't endanger innocent civilians, and all that. Right. Sure.
Bakugou nods, and nods, and nods, but his eyes are cloudy with a simmering anger. Resentment. Because he knows better.
He's seen the other side now and the seed of doubt has been planted. Maybe that had been the villains' intention the whole time.
It gives him a lot to think about. And in the weeks that follow, as memories of his time spent at the league return in heated fragments that leave him waking from dreams sweaty and aroused, he thinks he may have found his answer.