CW: mob/bakugo, drugged sex, noncon
Katsuki has no idea why the hell he let Mina and Denki drag him here. He's not exactly a crowd guy and this place, with its thumping music and flashing lights, is stuffed full of sweaty people grinding on each other.

In one word: gross
"C'mon, Bakugo! Grab a drink or something!"

He does not. He doesn't drink. It's a waste of calories and fucks with body function, particularly strength and endurance. Y'know, the two key things he spends almost all his time working on?

Mina knows a lost cause when she sees one.
With a sigh, she tugs Denki along and they disappear into the crowd, leaving Katsuki to lurk against the shadowed wall like some kind of quiet sentinel.

He feels.. creepy. But whatever, if he has to play their proverbial 'designated driver.'
If he has to make sure they get home from this club safe, then fine. But he's sure as hell not getting dragged along to a fucking dance club ever again. Once is enough.
Katsuki tries to get a glimpse of his two idiot friends and thinks maybe he sees a flash of pink, but ... maybe not? He's begrudgingly concerned. The place isn't exactly high class, but it's not the seediest place he's ever seen either.

Perfectly in between.

Still, he's heard about these places. About the kind of shit that can go down. Drunken mistakes. Creeps putting shit in drinks that they shouldn't. He knows Mina's got an eye for that kinda thing, never leaves a drink unattended.

So maybe it's more Denki they need to worry about
Damn it.

Why did they have to come here??

Katsuki glances to the man who's sidled up beside him, expression blank. He's not exactly giving off approachable vibes - he never does.

"Fuck off," he says, if only to make it more clear.

Doesn't work. The guy laughs, cracks a wide grin.
"Woooah! What's with that attitude?" ponytail teases.

Katsuki frowns. He doesn't like sharing nicknames and it feels wrong, using Yaoyorozu's title for this loser, but he's cranky and not particularly creative.

Ponytail it is.
The guy's got a few inches on him in height. Black hair styled back in a braided ponytail and a few creases round the eyes. Maybe 20-something to Katsuki's 19.

Doesn't look particularly jacked or anything. Pretty slim build, though not a total waif.

Anyway. Not a threat.
"I said fuck off. You deaf?"

Ponytail barks out another laugh, obnoxious and clearly feigned. He folds his arms cross his chest and, even as Katsuki looks away, he can feel the guy watching him.

"Y'know, you look kinda familiar."

This moron just ain't getting it, huh.
"That line ever work?" Katsuki asks, because short of abandoning his two idiots out in the crowd, he's stuck with this dumbass for now.

"More often than you'd think," Ponytail hums and takes a sip of his drink. A beer.

They're leaned up near the bar, enough that Ponytail waves
and the tender hurries over.

Which is weird. Considering there's a whole crowd of people fighting for the bartender's attention.

Ponytail must be a regular or something.

"What's your poison?"

"I don't drink," Katsuki says.

"Vodka soda for the blond!" ponytail orders anyway
The bartender disappears and Katsuki scowls at his undesirable company for the evening.

"How many times I gotta tell you to get the hell away from me?"

"Always at least once more," Ponytail teases as he turns his attention back with a wink, "I'm persistent."

It's not exactly fair, but he can't help but remember Deku, all those years ago, trailing behind like gum on his shoe. Katsuki's never been good with leeches.

The drink arrives far too quick and Ponytail offers it. Katsuki denies him. Ponytail sighs.

"C'mon, man. Loosen up!"
"I don't drink," Katsuki reiterates, louder as if that'll finally bash it through that thick skull.

Ponytail softens his smile a bit, sly fading into something exasperated but creepily fond.

"Just one drink? And I promise I'll leave you alone, you have my word."

Katsuki scowls
"Or we can be club buddies all night long, if you prefer?"

Katsuki doesn't doubt him.

"Fuckin... " he grits, irate, and snatches the glass. He takes a single chug and grimaces at the taste. It burns on the way down - soda too sweet and booze too alien to remotely taste good.
"That's the spirit!" Ponytail chimes.

"Disgusting," Katsuki decides, hating the foul aftertaste, and thrusts the glass back. "Now fuck off."

Ponytail laughs that ear-piercing laugh again and takes the glass, seeming pleased. Sets it on the bar, even.
"So... what's your name, anyway?"

"Fuck you."

"Blondie it is."

"Call me that again and I'll kill you. You said you'd go away, now go the hell away."

Ponytail's grin wavers into something Katsuki doesn't quite recognize. It's not... friendly, exactly. More ..satisfied.
"Sure, blondie. It's been a pleasure. I'm Yato - come find me later," he says and, infuriatingly, plants a hand on Katsuki's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

Before Katsuki can blow his stupid ponytail off his head, the guy's gone, disappeared into the crowd.
A few minutes pass. He's left blissfully to himself, getting a glance or two in his direction but, apparently, has sufficiently upped his 'do not approach' resting bitch face.

The songs thump on. The air stays heavy, muggy with sweat, but cool by the pumping A/C.
It's a weird mix. Uncomfortable. And it's giving him a headache.

Katsuki frowns at the swaying crowd, the glowing lights, purple and green and orange. He shifts a little, wipes the sweat on his brow that has no business being there and just.. watches.
Because the crowd's not just swaying.

It's blurring.
Colors blend together. Faces bleed in and out of focus. The music seems too loud and too muffled all at once and he swears his heart is fluttering in his chest.

Katuski'd been leaning against the wall from boredom, but now it feels almost like... he couldn't move if he wanted.
Is it... a quirk? A villain? Is someone doing something here, pulling some kind of crazy shit?

He plants his clammy hands on the wall behind him, blinks away the fog as much as he can to scan the people.

No one else looks off - drunk, sure, but not... dazed. Not like him.
Is he going to pass out? Damn it.. what the hell..

"Ashido.." he murmurs as he pushes away from the wall and widens his eyes. He meant to yell, to shout over the pulsing bass. "Ash.."

His mouth is full of cotton, tongue heavy and his heart feels like it'll explode.
Katsuki has to find them. Something's off - and it could be targeted, it could be them. As far as he knows, they could be the only pro-heroes here (sidekicks for now, but whatever).

If they're as fucked up as he is, he has to get them out - get their heads clear.
Only.. he can't.

He can't move right. Katsuki slogs slowly forth, stumbles over his own feet like a drunk and ambles stupidly into some poor random extra chick who gasps.


"You good, man?"

Someone's got their hands on his shoulders, steadying him. This is.. fuck.
Fuck, he's never out of control like this. Maybe in a fight, sure, but he's always at least lucid! So what the hell?

"," Katsuki tries stupidly, shakes his head - and holy hell, that was a mistake. He slumps a little, barely supported by the guy in front of him.

"Is he on drugs?" asks the girl, though he can barely see her face - sounds like she's speaking two rooms over.

"What'd you take, man?" asks the guy.



All he's had is a drink. One big ass sip.
He's not drunk. Katsuki's seen drunk, he's heard what it feels like and one sip, however large, isn't enough to do him this dirty.

"..Yato," he recalls vaguely, trying for a scowl but only accomplishing fluttering his eyes shut to try and get his bearings.
That's his second fuck up of the night.

He's gathered a small crowd of onlookers, one of whom lights up in recognition and slithers forward.

"Yato?" the dude asks with a knowing sort of smile, a big guy with a slimy-looking face.

"That's what he said.. you know him?"
Slime-face nods and loops an arm up under Katsuki like a human crutch. "Yeah, I know him. Don't worry, I got it from here," he assures. The girl frowns but the other guy shrugs.

Not their problem.

Slime-face leads them away.

Katuski can barely keep his feet under him.
He has to lean on this random fuck for almost all his support, fury shooting through him at the fact if he let go, he'd crumple in a heap on the sticky floor.

So he's left leaning on the guy, arm draped over his shoulder and face almost buried in his neck. He stinks like BO.
"..wait," Katsuki tries, but it's a murmur, a mere whisper and the only way slime-face hears him is by the hot breath against his neck.

"Damn," slime-face muses, quiet, but this close Katsuki can hear him under the music, "..hope Yato lets me have a turn."
It feels like days. Years. Or maybe seconds, because Katsuki feels like he blinks and one second he's in the crowd, the next, they're slinking behind a massive wall of curtains and shuffling slowly down a barely-lit hallway.
It's even warmer back here. Katsuki almost gags as the sudden thick scent of smoke and perfume mingles with slime's body funk.

They can't have gone far - the music's still too loud, but everything's blended. He can't remember how they got here, where they are.

"Puh..m'down.." Katsuki mumbles.

Slime-face obliges.

Katsuki lands on something cool, but soft. He numbly drags his fingers over the surface under him, clumsy fingers feeling the material.

A couch, maybe? Leather...?
He doesn't know when they left the hallway, or how, but they're in a room now. Dim lit as ever, the only source of light a warm yellow and a deep red. Katsuki sweats through his shirt, feels it cling to his back. It's gross.
Not as gross as the feel of fingers slipping up under his shirt, though.

Katsuki tries to push himself up, but he can't. Fuck, he can barely move his fucking arms. They're heavy as lead, flopping as he manages to swing one up only to have it fall over his eyes.
Idiot, he's basically blinded himself. He shrugs off the good-as-dead limb, blinks bleary eyed at the person hovering over him whose face fades in and out of focus.

Slime-face. Right.

Slime-face is the one dragging his pudgy fingers over Katsuki's chest.
"n..ngh.. n'stop.. "


Fuck. He's fucked. He's so fucked. He's about to lose a kidney or a lung or something. Or handed over to villains or-

"Hands off the merchandise, Sen. you know better."
-break- tbc 👀
Someone else is here now. They're a shadow, a blob Katsuki can barely make out. All he knows is the warm hands on his naked chest suddenly disappear.

He tries to bring himself up on his elbows, but he makes it barely an inch off the sofa before his arms give out.
Katsuki grits his teeth in frustration, sucks in a shuddering breath.

"Sorry, sorry," says slime-face - Sen, apparently, "You just know how to pick'em." Sen laughs. "I see why they pay you the big bucks."
Katsuki stares at the ceiling, lights swirling and spinning overhead.

Hell. He really is gonna lose a kidney.

Then, Yato speaks. Katsuki, dazed as he is, can hear the smile.

"Pretty, isn't he?"


Since when are black market organ harvesters concerned with looks?

Also, fuck that guy. Katsuki's not fucking *pretty*

Just one more reason to blow the bastard up ASAP.

"Since you're here, make the call. I'm gonna get him ready," Yato says.
Katsuki sees the glow of a cellphone, hears Sen as he shifts somewhere into the background and speaks to someone over the phone.

Things like 'bring the car around' and 'fresh meat'

And. Worryingly.

'pretty good price for him.'
He wants to yell at them, to tell them how far up their asses he's gonna explode them to death.

It comes out as a pitiful groan. It makes his face burn. Or that could just be the heat in this smelly ass, funky ass back room.

Katuski lolls his head to the side where Yato is.
The creep is fucking with something. It's a bottle - small. He seems to squirt some of it into his hand, coats his fingers. He grabs something else and wanders back over.

The only thing Katsuki makes out on his face is white teeth stitched in an excited grin.
"Ready, sweetheart?"
Katsuki's fucked up. Must be. Cause he can't have heard that right.

Lazily, his eyes fall from that sneer on Yato's face to the shit in his hands.

One glimmers, dripping something clear and goopy.

In the other, Yato holds something short. Stubby. Pointed, but fat at one end.
It looks like a cone. It doesn't look dangerous, even as it blurs in and out of focus. Not sharp enough to stab him. Even if he weren't drugged on who the hell knows what, Katsuki'd be confused.

Which must show on his face, because he sees that bright smile grow in disbelief.
"Seriously?" Yato laughs, "You've never seen this before?" he holds up the object and Katsuki feels his own brows furrow in confusion. He forces his face into a glare - it's all he can manage.
Yato whistles as he takes a knee, sets the weird cone on Katsuki's belly and starts tugging at his pants.

Katsuki weakly widens his eyes.

"You're a real catch, blondie.
"stop" he tries, but it's as unintelligible as ever. He wriggles more, tries to move his uncooperative body, but it only helps Yato pull his pants down. Boxers, too.

He's bare-ass on the sofa, heart pounding in his chest, so at odds at the relaxed state of his muscles.
It's like teetering on the edge of a heart attack. He blindly gropes for his pants, to pull them back up, but it's so weak, Yato need only gently swat his hands away. They fall limp, hang of the edge of the sofa and its a herculean effort to try and bring them back up.
Yato bunches Katsuki's pants up at his ankles and maneuvers his body around, gets Katsuki's knees pushed up til his legs fall open.


No. Fuck. Take his fucking kidneys. Sell him to the League.

This can't be going where he thinks it's going. No fucking way.
Katsuki stops breathing when Yato unceremoniously pushes a lubed finger inside.

It doesn't even hurt. He wants it to. Anything other than this neutral, weird pressure.

A shadow falls over him.
Katsuki looks in horror as Sen pockets his phone, looking totally unbothered by the scene before him.

Just what is this? Who are these people?

He grunts as Yato wiggles his finger around.

"They'll be here in 20. Need me to take over for the night?"
"Help me get him to the car when they get here. Then yeah, go for it. I'll be escorting our little prize here."

It's so casual. It's so fucking casual and nonchalant, even as Yato lets a second finger join the first. Like they're talking about the weather -
like he isn't finger-fucking Katsuki, some fucking stranger, in front of another fucking stranger.

"Sure," Sen says, sounding almost bored.

He's died. Katsuki's dead or something or having some kind of fucked up fever dream. There's no way this is real - absolutely not.
This shit doesn't happen.

It doesn't.

Not... not to him!
His eyes suddenly sting and water. It's stark, a sharper sensation compared to everything.

Because Yato's pushing that... thing in, Katsuki realizes after a moment. And - he numbly realizes - it hurts.
He squeezes his eyes shut, wills away the water in them. Groans out a gurgling, 'no-'

But Yato pushes and pushes and he's so fucking full until, suddenly, the thing just.. glides in. Like Katsuki swallowed it up.

It's bizarre.
"Got'im all plugged up," Yato hums, amused, and Sen nods. Leans in to let his fingers circle round the plug sat snugly inside Katsuki. He shivers.

"Alright. Let's get him out back."
soo .. I'm gonna continue this on Ao3 cause uh. we gettin fucky. And plotty, I think. oh no.

Will follow up later today with link! 👀

also lmk if there's anything you'd like to see, specifically 😏
Yato drags Katsuki’s pants back up and then the two of them drag him out to the car. Tinted windows. A fucking sedan. He expected some shady ass van, not a fucking soccer mom vehicle.

It’s impossible not to focus on the … thing they put in him.
Everything else is too surreal to focus on, but the … the plug? It’s read. It’s a physical, solid weight that’s uncomfortably grounding. He feels like he has to take a shit and it’s not a sensation he’d really like to prolong.

Even though he knows it’s probably a given.
He mumbles out a groggy swear when they set him in the back seat, none too gently. It makes the thing shift and poke and, at one point, he has to hitch his breath because it fucking touched something in him that felt like a god damn live wire.
Like a shock of electricity that came and went so fast he’s not sure he didn’t hallucinate it.
No one seems to notice. Or care. The door’s shut behind him and he hears the locks click shut. There’s some muffled murmurs.
He thinks he maybe sees Yato give the driver some cash and say his goodbyes to Sen before sliding in the passenger seat.
Then they’re off.

Yato and the driver don’t talk. It’s blessedly quiet. Streetlamps build and build and fade and fade as they drive under them. Katsuki can’t see stars in the sky - even if it weren’t for the clouds, the city’s too thick with light pollution.
Some shitty top-40 plays through the radio, humming through a quiet static.

Katsuki stares at the car’s ceiling. Lets his gaze follow a little rip in the beige fabric, down to the top of the window.
He never thought it could happen again - something like this. Or, more like - he’d promised himself, he promised, he wouldn’t… that he wouldn’t be weak. He wasn’t.
He’s not. It’s different now. It is.

It’s wearing off, Katsuki realizes. He’s lucid...ish.
His body doesn’t cooperate just yet. He’s not sure when it will, but he can think.

So, he’s been… kidnapped. Again.

It’s been a good...what? Three years? Four, now?
It’s a whole different game this time around. These aren’t villains and they didn’t target Katsuki specifically, at least from what he can tell. Villains (or bad guys in general) like to rub that kinda shit in people’s faces. A case of wrong place wrong time.
He just feels like a moron for being caught so off guard. Pathetic.

He can’t dwell on that right now, though. Self-loathing ain’t gonna help.
It’s not exactly his realm, this whole… trafficking thing. Katsuki - or Dynamite, rather - isn’t really a stealth kind of guy. Oh, he’ll gladly blow up the place the second he can and bring every last one of these fuckers to justice. It’s just… new territory.
They don’t know just how bad they fucked up, snagging him of all people.

He freezes up when he feels a distinct buzzing in his pocket, so unexpected it almost makes him jump. Holy hell, that’s right. Did these idiots really not do a strip search?
He drags his annoyingly slow-moving gaze to the front seats. He can’t see their faces beyond the head rests, but the hum of the road under them and the static of the radio must’ve drowned out his phone. He’s sluggish as hell, but he’s not bound
- more proof to the point they don’t know they decided to fuck with a walking time-bomb. Katsuki’s careful, the way he goes about it, lets his heavy arm adjust carefully while he crawls his fingers to the pocket in question.
It hurts. Pins and needles shoot up and down the length of his arm. He’s clumsy, going about it, but he brushes the cool, buzzing phone with his fingertips and slides it out, centimeter by centimeter.
He’ll have to hide the light and text, somehow. Send an SOS - it’s not like he can call. It’s closer - stopped buzzing now, missed call - but he’s almost got his fingers working, gets them to painstakingly curl around the phone-
“Holy fuckin’ shit!”

The car jerks violently. Katsuki’s thrown up, inches off the back seat only to land at an awkward angle on his side, in a heap.

“Watch the fuck where you’re going!”
“Like you saw that?! God damn pot holes!”

“Damn, that was a nasty one... we got a flat? Hey, blondie,” Yato wonders and turns around in his seat to look at Katsuki, “you okay?”

Katsuki, who can’t push himself up out of this angle.
Katsuki, who stares at his phone on the dirty car floor where it glows up at him with a notification of one missed call and four missed texts.

“Oh! Right,” Yato says. He leans down, takes the phone and gives Katsuki a brief once over. “Not hurt. Good. We’re almost there.”
Then he turns around as if he hasn’t just snatched Katsuki’s lifeline right from his fingertips.

He feels his eyes burn hot and wet again, frustration so all-encompassing it tightens his throat.

“Fuck,” he whispers.
He expects a warehouse. A shady sex cellar. A brothel, even.

Katsuki does not expect a house in a middle-class suburb. It almost reminds him of his hometown, the walk he used to take from his childhood home to Aldera and, eventually, UA.
They pull into the garage. The door closes behind them, loud and with a sort of finality.
It’s so basic, so almost familiar, it’s dizzying. There’s a workshelf over at one end, littered with tools. Normal tools, like a screwdriver - nails. A hammer maybe. No blood on them. No chains or whips, no meth lab or fuckin bones rotting in the corner.
They’re parked next to a plain-looking red SUV.

Yato and the driver get out and, to Katsuki’s continued fury, assist him out of the car.

He feels some semblance of morbid confirmation when they do at least descend into a basement.
tbc - - - - - - -
Hi we're going interactive with this thread since it's been a hot minute and I'm still drawing a blank :)
Katsuki opens his eyes and through the blur a red, blinking light stares back. There’s a throbbing in the back of his skull, right at the base and impossible to ignore.
He opens his mouth to swear, demand an answer as to what the hell is going on, but his tongue is thick as cotton and lays heavy against the roof of his mouth.
“About time,” comes a voice. Katsuki drags his eyes up.

The man smiles at him, far closer than he should be. Katsuki registers weight against his skull, fingers stroking through his damp, sweaty hair and breath ghosting his tender lips. Yato leans in, kisses Katsuki like he has any right and it’s then that it all clicks.
His lips are swollen - sensitive. There’s a hand palming his dick.
Yato’s been fucking with him while he’s been out.

“Gn..g’off…” he mumbles into the open-mouth kiss, works muffled against an intrusive tongue that’d have him gagging if his body felt like responding.

“Shh,” Yato murmurs.
He’s naked, he realizes. Stripped down and bare-ass on some shitty chair. He registers that it’s cold, but it’s more of an observation. His skin is prickled with goosebumps - maybe he’s shivering - but he doesn’t feel it the way he should.
Poor bakugo
It comes back slowly, the sensation. Katsuki shivers. He sucks in a breath and holds it, feels it catch in his throat when Yato's grubby hand slithers just that little bit lower.
It's a slow process, excruciating, like every centimeter he moves sets Katsuki's nerves alive in a way that makes him rage.
"Ge..get the..fuck off," he murmurs. Yato merely smiles against his throat. Katsuki can feel the curl of his lips, the warm breath as he laughs, soft and amused.

He scrunches his eyes shut when something coarse and solid probes where nothing ever should
It breaches. Katsuki grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut that much harder and ignores the hiss that screeches out his throat. "Die!"

Yato laughs again, soft and quiet, and kisses Katsuki's cheek as he shoves in a second finger.
It's raw. It hurts, it feels like those long fingers scrape and drag and Katsuki can't help it when his eyes shoot open and he snarls out a gasp of indignant fury.

Yato seems to catch on because he drags his fingers out and fucking spits on them.

And back in they go.
It's disgusting. it makes Katsuki's stomach churn. He jerks back in the chair. It's weak - he's too drugged still and his body wont respond the way it should, but it sure as hell feels the way it normally does.

He feels the slick glide, the in and out thrust.
He feels every last intention of those fingers scissoring him open, pressure unreal and like nothing he could ever put a name to.

"Stop!" he tries again, chokes on the word.
"No," Yato says. He shoves in, hard, and Katsuki gnaws on his own lip at the sharp pinch. Yato draws out his fingers, shows Katsuki the pink tinge of blood and, without a word, shoves his fingers in Katsuki's mouth. "I don't think I will."
Katsuki gags and it's violent. His eyes burn and water and Yato merely shoves his fingers further down his throat. He'll kill him, he'll die!

He can't - not here.

Not like this!
Without another word, his tormentor draws back. He stands, wipes his fingers off on his pantleg and stares down at Katsuki with a sneer.

"You know... I thought we'd seen you somewhere. When my buddy mentioned it, I couldn't get it out of my head."
Yato suddenly kicks forth, boot making contact with Katsuki's chest. It knocks the air from his lungs, sends the chair, and him along with it, falling back. He smacks his head on the concrete and groans, stars bursting in his eyes when he peels them open.

Yato laughs.
Louder, this time. Fake almost, and he drags his eyes to that blinking light.

Katsuki follows his gaze, head spinning and skull throbbing. He watches Yato spread his arms and it

A camera. It's a camera.

"He's familiar, I thought to myself," Yato announces.
"And then," he says, and his eyes twinkle with glee as he snags the camera from the tripod, skulks toward Katsuki, "it hit me. One of UA's finest. Our little spitfire, the explosion boy with an attitude problem."
He grabs Katsuki by the chin with his free hand, shoves the camera right in his face. His smile is wide behind the lens.

"Our very own Dynamight."

Yato shoves his thumb past Katsuki's lips, smirks.

"Smile for your fans, won't you?"
It hits him then, all at once, like a meteor slamming into the earth.

He widens his eyes and his face burns in horror as that red, blinking light blinds him.

"That's right. You've got us quite the audience tonight, Bakugo-kun."

They're fucking live.
108 VOTES? the power of hornee

Special Guest Star Kacchan it is 😏
Yato is careful in how he moves Katsuki, like he doesn't want to damage the 'goods.'

It makes his blood burn, makes his stomach tighten up in knots. Sensation bleeds back into his limbs too slow to be useful. He can wriggle his fingers, his toes, but he can't throw a punch.
He can't blow the bastard up.

Yato unfastens his own pants with one hand. Katsuki's head lolls uselessly to the side and he can't help but catch a glimpse that makes his guts roil.


Yato smiles and peers a kiss against Katsuki's cheek.

"You're just too hot."
Yato's hard. And he's ...endowed.
He spreads katsuki before the camera, full frontal and bearing all for the audience - whoever the fuck they are- to see.

It's slow. Agonizing and torturously slow, but he lowers Katsuki down and the thick, blunt head of Yato's cock probes and shoves its way in.
"I'll kill you," Katsuki promises and Yato responds with a brisk, sharp tug down.

Katsuki barks out a cry at the weight, the pressure suddenly embedding itself inside his guts.

"Smile for the camera, Bakugo-kun."
He opens his eyes, face scrunched up and eyes stinging hot. The camera blinks back at him, mocking. From the corner of his eye he sees a screen, the white-blue glow casting a dim light. It's at an angel, so he can't see much but there must be a chat up.

And it's moving.

He can't breathe.

This bastard's stupid fucking dick is too big and he's got his hands on Katsuki's waist and-

"Oh, look. We're getting some donations," Yato breaks his train of thought and tugs Bakugo up, only to shove him back down and impale him again, "Big ones, too."
It punches the air right out of his lungs.

Yato does it again.

And again.

He's exposed. Who knows how many fucking people are watching, but the chat moves by at a pace he can't see. The camera blinks and blinks and Yato digs his grubby fingers into his skin, sure to bruise.
It hurts. It hurts. He'll kill him, he'll KILL him, he'll-

Katsuki wriggles a little at first, wills his blood to move, his limbs to work. He curls his fingers into fists, feels pins and needles shoot through them as he forces cooperation.

And then he shoves back-
- jerks to the side, once - and it's weak - but again, violently this time.

It catches Yato off guard and them tumble from the chair, Yato with a shout and Bakugo with his arms flailing as they slowly begin to cooperate.

He hisses in pain when Yatos cock slips out of his hole
He's clumsy as he moves, but he feels nothing. There's a surge of adrenaline coursing through him, making his skin prickle and his heart thunder in his chest so loud it's deafening to him.

Katsuki drags himself up. He stumbles, pain shooting up from the base of his spine
But as he staggers, he wills himself to stand. He has eyes only for that ponytailed, evil smug bastard currently dragging himself up off the floor.

"Damn it. Drugs shouldn't wear off for a while," Yato mutters, tends to his sensitive dick.

Katsuki beats him to it.
He throws a punch. It's sloppy and uncoordinated, but he's forced everything he's got into it. There's a satisfying crunch under his knuckles.

Yato shrieks and Katsuki follows through.

He lunges - and it's vicious.
He feels nothing but the heat under his skin, like his blood is acid, the sole thing urging him on.

A foot comes down on Yato, right between the legs, and the subsequent screech is so vindicating, Katsuki can't help but bark out a hoarse laugh.
He blacks out. He thinks, at least, because one moment he's on Yato and the next, there's a bloody mess unconscious under his hands.

Katsuki falls to his knees, panting for breath, gasping for it and feeling his throat gone raw, his lungs on fire.
He'd been screaming throughout the payback.

The adrenaline still thrums under his body, though. Like a predator, he snaps his eyes to the camera - to the chat still scrolling, faster than he's ever seen.

He stumbles toward the computer, turns the screen so he can read it.
He finally throws up, dry-heaves until nothing but bile spills past his lips and scrapes his throat even more raw.
Familiar face may win- so… who?
His knees hit the concrete. The impact rattles his bones, shoots up his spine to the base of his skull and it's like the lingering drugs hit him all at once.

Katsuki falls flat, stare locked on the bloody, beaten face of his captor.

He hears footsteps overhead.
"S..shit," he breathes and tries to will himself to move, but the exhaustion is too much. Black creep at the corner of his vision. everything is too heavy to move and even breathing is asking a lot.

The steps get louder and the door to the basement is ripped from its hinges.

That familiar voice carries, cry shrill and downright *terrified*

A flash of green light forces Katsuki to blink and when he opens his eyes, Deku's there at the base of the stairs.

Of course he is. Deku's always there to see Katsuki at his lowest.
More steps thunder down the stairs. A shock of red and white.


"There- look!"

Kirishima and Todoroki.

They're all in casual clothes, but disheveled - like they were thrown on with haste.

"Kacchan!" Deku cries again, by Bakugo's side in an instant.
He parts his lips, but he can't even swear at the nerd. All that comes out is a pitiful croak, a furious, whispered, "..deku."

Katsuki closes his eyes the second he sees tears in Deku's.
It's pitiful. Wretched and pathetic how they, three of his friends - of the few people he respects - have to drag him up off a sullied floor. Have to dress his battered and bare body - have to *see* and grasp just what exactly happened - what Bakugo allowed to happen.
What he was too pathetic and stupid to stop.
Kidnapped. Again.

At least he didn't end any heroes careers tonight.

Maybe just his own. But maybe, if he ended up here.. that's not such a bad thing.
When Deku demands Katsuki stay at his place, for protection or comfort or whatever, he doesn't fight it.

In fact, he doens't say anything to any of them the whole way there.

He doesn't say anything when Deku 'cleans him up.'
He doesn't say anything when Deku insists Katsuki sleep in his bed and he doesn't say anything when Deku hovers far too close under the covers.

He speaks only when it's been quiet a while, Deku's soft breaths against the nape of his neck the only thing he can hear in the quiet.
"'d you find me?" Katsuki asks.

Deku's already so close they may as well be spooning. Katsuki can feel him tense up.

"..the.. the live stream.." Deku says. He presses a little closer.

Deku... saw.

He *saw*

How long did he watch?
Katsuki doesn't ask. He closes his eyes and ignores the warm, hard presence pressed against his ass as Deku holds him close.

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