[dubcon, dkbk, somnophilia, bdsm]

It’s so hot.

Every inch of his body is flushed red hot and burning.

Despite the fresh air coming in from the open balcony door, he’s suffocating like there’s smoke in his lungs, like there’s a life threatening hand wrapped around his throat.

The slapping of skin flooded the silence above his heavy breathing, and he pushed his hands against his boyfriend’s chest briefly, feeling as it rose and fell with every breath.

‘Alive...’

Deku’s alive and he’s here with him safe in the confinements of his four dormroom walls.

He’s alive in his bed, sound asleep with his hands tied to the frame of his bed.

Bakugou sobbed, thighs burning as his hands returned to his thighs, cuffed together with too tight metal and crackling wildly.

The explosions are hot, dangerous, but makes his heart race even more.

Jaw clenched, his teeth bit hard into the gag in his mouth, saliva dripping down his bottom lip as a coil tightened in his stomach.

This is wrong.

This is so fucking wrong, but he can’t stop himself as he presses his forehead against Deku’s collarbones, breathing in his scent.

His soap smells of cucumbers, of melon, and it’s so much sweeter than the burning wood and liquor that he swears is surrounding him. He swears he can hear the crackles of humiliating laughter, of down right degradation.

They’re everywhere.

With his eyes covered, he sees them.

The League of Villains; they’re in the dark of his room when he’s unable to sleep, or in the silhouette of his jackets when he leaves his closet open.

His blind fold is soaked with tears, and with each sense heightened, adrenaline’s pumping hard like he’s about to fight.

But he didn’t fight them.

Deku got to fight them. All Might had to fight them. Best Jeanist tried to fight them.

He ran.

A loud smack of skin rang in the room, and he pushed his forehead higher, feeling the curve of Deku’s neck against his head.

Sobs shook his shoulders.

He fucking ran away.

There was nothing he could do with so many of them up against him, but he didn’t raise his hand more than once or twice. When the chance presented himself, he couldn’t win by himself like he said he would.

Did he even win?

As he is now... he can’t tell.

He moaned against the gag in his mouth, anticipating hands to just grab his skin, fear prickling the hairs on the back of his neck.

Nails scratched into his thighs, and his back arched, pushing his chest against Deku’s.

Sleeping, blissfully unaware he’s being used, Deku.

Unaware that the trust he had put in his boyfriend has been thrown to the wind.

Unaware that his boyfriend still can’t let go of the cold hand that had curled around his neck and pulled him away from his classmates, the hand thag tried so hard to keep him and change him.

His fingers ranked down his thighs, scratching hard into the burned skin, and he forced himself to sit up when he felt Deku shift beneath him.

When he tried speaking, it came out muffled, muddy, and broken.

“Ah...” He groaned, and Bakugou felt his stomach raise, his back arch.

“K-Ka... hah—”

Bakugou wants him to wake up, to see him so vulnerable and see him so desperate. He needs to hear his boyfriend validate that stupid voice in his head that refuses to go away, the one that says he’s a useless coward.

He needs it almost as much as he needs to cum.

But no.

He needs Deku to stay asleep, to never find out that he was weak enough and such a slave to his own emotions that he has to force himself onto him as he’s unconscious.

There’s no way in Hell Deku could know that he’s not as strong as he says he is, as he brags he is.

It’s hard. Dating him strains every bit of his mind and body, but he can’t let go.

He can’t stop himself as he rides his cock, grinding down on to the twitching length, the tip brushing his prostate.

A gargled moan filled the room, and cool air brushed his skin as he sat there.

Unmoving with his sight taken away, he can now feel the tickle of fresh air on his skin, and it’s freezing cold the same way fear is. It seeps right down to his bones, pebbling goosebumps on his skin.

“Kacchan...” He heard.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly.

“Kacchan, it’s cold...” Deku murmured, and he can hear the creak of his bed’s metal railing as the rope is tugged.

His boyfriend’s awake, and he’s staring at him. He knows it. He feels his gaze.

“What’s happening? What’s going on? Why are you riding me? Why are my hands tied?”

So many questions. There’s so many questions and he doesn’t have any solid answers.

The inside of his ass clenched, and Deku let out a breathy moan as he pulled on the ropes again.

His body shifted, and Bakugou pressed his palms down against his chest, right above his abs.

“N-No, don’t-don’t—”

He lifted himself on to his knees before falling back, listening to Deku as his breathing hitched.

“S-Stop...”

The chain of his cuffs jingled as he raised his balled fists, and his boyfriend groaned when he smacked them down on his chest.

‘Shut. Up.’

Deku can’t push him off.

He can’t use his quirks and break out of the tight knots he had spent half an hour tying with shaky fingers and blurry eyes.

He can’t take off his blindfold or his cuffs and then expect him to be perfectly okay when he needs this right now.

“Kacchan...” Deku whispered, and Bakugou whimpered when his hips jerked upwards.

He slammed his ass back down on his cock, leaning over him as to get closer.

His nose brushed his boyfriend’s chin, and he could feel Deku guide him further up with a nod, probably hoping to kiss.

“I-I don’t know why you did this, or why you didn’t just wait until we could talk, but I’m here for you, okay? I got you.”

His breath is hot against his forehead.

“Take what you need from me right now, and what you don’t will be here for you when the time eventually comes.”

Stupid Deku.

Stupid, selfless Deku who think he needs him when really he doesn’t know what he needs.

How could a shitty nerd, someone who has always been beneath him just admiring from the ground, possibly know what he needs?

And just how does he always know what to say?

Spit slick lips pressed against his forehead, and he leaned into the touch subconsciously, craving his warmth as frost creeped up his spine.

But no. He can’t have it.

He has to fight.

That ice in his veins, the adrenaline pumping through his heart, he needs it to go away.

Chained up, blind folded, and gagged, he’s vulnerable.

He doesn’t want to feel this exposed and unguarded in the dark anymore.

So if maybe, possibly, he could slip into such restrictions without that creeping paranoia looming over him, he can finally declare himself a winner.

With all his strength, he pulled away from his warm chest and soft lips.

This isn’t about feeling safe. If he wanted to feel safe, he would have waited for them to play.

No, this is about him taking the control that was stolen from him, back. Deku’s just his pawn to manipulate.