Bakugou’s senses came back to him slowly. He was swaying, spacial awareness slightly out of balance. The feeling of a hot hand between his shoulder blades and another pressed under his knees. He was being carried. Tokyo roared around him, a comforting white noise that wrapped around him and hid him from his instinctual panic. Memories were harder to grasp. He remembered running, the fear. Pain. In memory and in present, it kicked across all his nerves and made it impossible for him to remember. His entire body hummed with an insistent ache that settled in his skull. Something wet dripped down the back of his neck, but he wasn’t sure if it was his own blood.
It was only then that he realized he couldn’t see. The relative ease of his breathing tightened, a spark of panic broke through the cotton of his familiar surroundings. The pain was forgotten as the spark of panic caught and burned away all his protections. The hands tightened around his knees, bringing him in closer to someone’s burning hot chest. His hands were clumsy as he pawed at the figure, head whipping around as if that would dislodge the veil of darkness and pain from his pupils. All it did was disorient him further.
He swallowed, mouth and throat dry, trying to find his voice or settle himself enough to remember. The smell hit him before the memories could take hold. Charred flesh and metal slicked with blood. He still didn’t know if it was his own or not, but the smell only belonged to one man that he had ever met. Somehow, his breathing leveled again. Knowing the monster that held him meant he had some nebulous control over his current situation.
“Oh? Is the princess finally awake?” The roar of the city hadn’t yet dimmed, but no one had tried to stop the villain. He was speaking loud enough to draw attention to them, Bakugou didn’t think that screaming would make his chances of escape that much greater. As Bakugou peered into the endless darkness pulled over his eyes, he sagged into resignation.
Dabi grunted at Bakugou’s dead weight, more blood dripping out of the back of his head as he let the rhythm of Dabi’s strides rock him into a mockery of sleep. Time slipped away from him and his senses were dragged with it.
Memories licked behind his eyes like fire, leaving him restless and [pushing him far away from his current reality. Burning flesh and beatings. Promises like poison on Dabi’s tongue, mixed with threats. Memories of fighting. Bruising himself against the chains, setting off his quirk until even his skin began to blister. Memories old enough to be faded, terrifying enough to be wrapped in the cotton layers of repression. Bakugou’s head snapped to the side, nose pressing into fabric. His senses didn’t return, not quite yet. The fire was still burning behind his eyes, scarring his flesh making it impossible to see. What was it his therapist said?
Repression. Dissociation. The remnants of trauma. She was a pretty woman, no obvious quirk. It had been six weeks since the UA faculty forced him to meet with her, and he had actually begun to like her. He had almost started to listen to her.
He wanted to open his eyes, he wanted to wake up. He needed to see where he was, Dabi’s steps were changing, the rocking of his body like he was climbing stairs. Bakugou needed to see where he was, now wasn’t the time for therapy now was the time for action-
Dabi’s body came to a stop, and Bakugou with him.
What was it that he said? In the alley where he stole Bakugou’s sight. They won’t be able to take you away from me.
Bakugou’s senses returned to him as he was set on the ground. Cold concrete sucked away all the warmth that Dabi had sewn into his skin. He suppressed his nausea, unable to escape the words that swirled and took shape behind his eyelids. Dabi was walking away from where he put Bakugou, and his head snapped toward the sound of footsteps instinctually.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll be back in a moment.” A door snapped shut somewhere on the opposite side of the room. Bakugou swallowed. His hands weren’t bound, his shoes weren’t taken--and it was only then that he realized this blindness was well assured. Whatever Dabi did in that alley was permanent, enough to change his insurance of keeping Bakugou put. No need to chain up a blind toy-
Bakugou’s head bowed, chin landing on his chest. He cut off that line of thought efficiently and swallowed the salty saliva pooling under his tongue. Instead of thinking, he began to count to thirty. When the silence stayed thick around him, he raised his hands to his face. The moment his attention was brought to the sensitive area, the pain flared. He clenched his jaw tight together, overriding his immediate physical response and touching the very tops of his cheeks. He steeled his nerves and slid his fingers up toward his eyes.
The recoil hit him first, his head knocking against the wall and urging more pain across his veins. The superficial pain was a close second, the rippled skin above his cheekbones stinging. He pushed through it, searching over his fingers to the end of the burn. The damp, rippled skin reached up to his forehead. He’d never had to worry much about the degrees of burns, but he knew the blistered surface of his face was bad news.
Bakugou wheezed as he drew his fingers away from his face. Dabi had burned him, scorched his face bad enough for him to lose his sight. His head fell forward again, savoring the solitude as a moment to wallow in the painful death of one of his senses. Half the muscles in his face seemed to be paralyzed, the impending pain rendering him unable to move his forehead or blink.
A scraping sound echoed through the room, followed by air suctioning past his face as the door pushed open. Dabi kicked it shut, and the deadbolt scraped in the lock. The footsteps closed in on him, and Bakugou’s spine straightened in an effort to meet Dabi’s presence with his own. “No need to posture.” It wasn’t hard to freeze his face, with half of the muscles inoperable. Dabi might have been able to read his body language, but Bakugou’s eyes were no longer able to give him away.
Dabi set something down beside him and Bakugou sucked in a breath. Every sound felt louder, more important, without his eyes. But it was almost impossible to interpret them in the way he needed to. His heart rate picked up, knees drawing up close to his chest. There was a noise on his other side, and Bakugou cursed, kicking out in that direction and sending him colliding with an unknown object.
Dabi was laughing at him, but the sound bounced strangely. He couldn’t pinpoint where Dabi was until fingers were curling into the neck of his shirt. The backs of his knuckles rubbed against his collarbone before Dabi yanked him to the side. Bakugou threw himself away from him, choking himself on the neck of his cotton shirt until Dabi got a hold of the back of his neck. “Stay still,” he hissed. Bakugou fed his apparent rage, thrashing against the hold and not giving over the upper hand so easily.
Dabi’s earlier mocking adoration was replaced by unhinged violence. The air between them grew thick and hot, and it became harder to breathe in accordance with Dabi’s rage. Bakugou’s palms sparked in accordance with his panic, sweat rolling down the back of his neck as Dabi dragged him closer. “Don’t do anything stupid now.” His breath washed hot and damp over Bakugou’s cheeks with the smell of carrion. Bakugou barely heard him over the blood rushing and pounding in his ears. “Just stay still so I can take care of you.”
The thought of that made bile rise in the back of Bakugou’s throat. Dabi’s nails tore at the back of his neck as he thrashed, an inhuman screech of fear and rage bubbling in his throat before Dabi caught one of his wrists in his hand. The grip made the delicate bones under Bakugou’s skin grind together, an aching sort of pain rolling over his nerves. He whimpered, not entirely subdued until Dabi wrenched it in an awkward angle. Bakugou felt the tendons and ligaments in his wrist popping. He screamed, the noise tearing at his throat and echoing in his own ears.
He fell limp in Dabi’s hold. He chuckled and let go of Bakugou’s wrist. His hand dropped into his lap, more pain arcing up his arm at the barest of movements. “We could have avoided all of that,” Dabi’s fingers pressed into the base of his neck, trying to ease the tension from his muscles. “But you had to be a difficult little bitch.” Bakugou tensed. It didn’t matter how many months passed since his initial capture, he was never able to deprogram the certainty that insults were inevitably followed by agony.
Dabi’s fingers slid into his hair and maneuvered his head around. “Stay still,” Dabi had a magnificent talent for making a couple of words sound like a death sentence. Bakugou’s arm shifted and his nerves lit on fire with pain. It was a solemn reminder for Bakugou to pick his battles wisely. When Dabi’s hand slipped from his hair, Bakugou kept still. The noises of whatever Dabi was doing were too faint for him to anticipate the next touch.
“This is gonna hurt.” Bakugou braced his shoulder against the wall and gritted his teeth. One of Dabi’s waxy fingertips slid across his eyelid. He howled as his blistered skin screamed through the agony of some gel smearing across his face. He couldn’t have stayed still even if he wanted to, much to Dabi’s chagrin. By the time he finished spreading the salve across the top of his face, Bakugou’s blood thrummed with pain and his skull throbbed insistently. “There you go, see that wasn’t so bad was it?” Bakugou bit his tongue and managed silence as Dabi’s hands disappeared for a moment. A piece of fabric was drawn across his burned eyes and wrapped too tightly around his skull. The gauze pressed against his ears and robbed him of yet another one of his senses.
Bakugou was off balance and alone and even worse--at Dabi’s mercy. Which was never a good place to be. Dabi smoothed his hands down Bakugou’s biceps. He could imagine the unhinged grin the villain was wearing, and for once he felt lucky to have been robbed of his sight. “I took care of you, didn’t I?” Bakugou clenched his jaw. He knew that agreeing would save him agony, but his pride hadn’t been compromised yet. Bakugou felt Dabi’s breath on his cheek in the moment before his hand curled around his elbow. “But look what you made me do,” his fingers dragged down his arm, pressing against his swollen and bruised wrist. Bakugou only barely managed to swallow his shout as the pain peaked into bright agony.
Dabi pressed close, and Bakugou fought the instinct to flinch away. A bead of sweat rolled down Bakugou’s neck, and he swallowed against the pain and suffocating heat. “Looks like I’ll need to retrain you.” The words rolled over him, and Bakugou tried to dodge the weight of them. It was surreal. Surreal enough for him to avoid the crushing reality of sitting beside the phantom that plagued his waking life.
“But you know how this goes.” Dabi’s voice was soft, muffled further by the gauze against Bakugou’s ears. He could almost convince himself that none of it was real. He was still holding onto Bakugou’s wrist, massaging the swollen joint and never quite letting the pain subside. But his other hand was wandering. Familiar nausea boiled up in Bakugou’s belly. He bit down on his tongue, teeth slicing through the flesh and filling his mouth with blood. “You be good…” His hand was sliding up the inside of Bakugou’s thigh. Every few inches, the metal embedded in his skin would catch against the fabric and he would have to detangle it.
Bakugou never thought anyone would touch him like that again.
“I’ll make it easy on you.” It took Bakugou a second to understand what Dabi was saying. The pieces came together--a proposition that Dabi had once made but never fulfilled. His fingers were rubbing at the top of his thigh, and Bakugou swallowed the blood in his mouth. One of his hands was useless and held in Dabi’s grasp. But the other was free. There was a wall of heat in front of him, he assumed Dabi’s chest was pressed close to one of his bent knees.
He allowed instinct to take over. He let it trump fear and shame and disgust--and leveled a blast at where he assumed Dabi’s chest was. He had no way to tell if the attack connected, but he heard Dabi cursing and felt the heat in front of him disappear. The grip on his wrist vanished, and he cradled his arm into his chest as he tried to scramble away from Dabi.
“You stupid bitch,” he hissed. Bakugou’s teeth sunk back into his tongue, kicking out in the direction of the sound. Dabi’s hand curled around one of his ankles and dragged him across the floor. Bakugou screamed, his wrist pinned into the cold concrete as Dabi climbed on top of him. He wrenched Bakugou’s other arm behind his back, pinning his forearm between his shoulder blades. He wheezed through the agony of a new spiral fracture as burning hot hands yanked at the waistband of his pants. “Here I was, thinking I’d get a chance to make you feel good.”
Bakugou squirmed, the movement once again rendered useless as Dabi wrenched on the arm pinned against his spine. “Stay still.” He hissed the words into the back of Bakugou’s neck as he managed to bare Bakugou’s lower half to the coo,l damp air of the room. Even with his apparent rage, Bakugou could feel Dabi’s hard-on against the back of his thigh as he pressed two fingers between his cheeks.
He wished the fight could have left him then. That the unnatural feeling of Dabi’s waxy skin touching such an intimate part of him could have rendered his body frozen and his mind far away. But that wasn’t the case. Bakugou felt the touches intimately and with a hypersensitivity that left him winded. Even if it meant losing something worse than his sight, he knew he must fight.
Bakugou twisted his hips and tried to wrench his arm out of Dabi’s hold simultaneously. With the surprise on his side, it was easy enough to knock Dabi off Bakugou’s back. But he never had a chance to get far. Dabi nearly tore Bakugou’s shoulder out of its socket as he fell away. He nursed the agonizing pain as he dragged himself across the dirty floor with one hand, pants tangled around his knees. He had no idea how large the room was. Too disoriented to find the door again, he scrambled to the closest wall--head whipping around as if that would allow him to see his environment.
He managed to lift both hands, palms sparking steadily as he tried to pinpoint exactly where Dabi was. With his hearing muffled it was nearly impossible. One moment Bakugou swore he could hear skittering along the far wall before a step vibrated through the floor from his right. It was maddening. With a roar, he aimed a blast to his right, shuffling across the room to try and anchor himself against a corner.
Dabi cackled at him, the sound bounced and made it impossible to find the villain. The concrete scraped at the backs of his thighs, pinpricks of pain converging into pure agony as the room filled with phantasmic figures of his worst nightmare. “Silly Kacchan,” somehow Dabi’s voice managed to cut through the cotton surrounding his ears, slicing directly into his core as if he were whispering in his ear. “Do you really think you can still escape?”
Bakugou didn’t have any time to react before a burning hand was clasped around the back of his neck. He screamed, fresh explosions bursting from his palms and obviously doing nothing to deter Dabi. Smoke and his own burning flesh filled his nostrils as he screamed himself into silence. Bakugou’s cheek scraped against the concrete as Dabi pressed him back into the floor. When he lifted his hand from Bakugou’s neck, he felt some of his skin tear away with him.
“I told you, Katsuki.” Dabi’s breath was back on his cheek. Bakugou could only smell his own flesh, burnt and blistering as Dabi's hands cupped his ass. “You’re mine. They won’t ever take you from me again.”
A chill ran down Bakugou’s spine and his fingernails pressed into the floor as Dabi spread him open. “What?” He could hear the laugh in Dabi’s voice as his thumbs pressed at the edges of Bakugou’s hole. “Scared of being here with me forever?” Bakugou’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding together into agony. “That’s not it…” Dabi trailed off, unable to give up on whatever mind game could entertain him. For the moment, his favorite mind game was Bakugou.
Dabi spat onto his hole, the slimy warmth making Bakugou gag. Two fingers prodded at him again, spreading that wetness before pressing inside him. The sound was slipping between his teeth before he could stop it, a hissing note of pain that made Dabi’s fingertips press into his flesh. “Just as tight as I knew you’d be.” The pain coiled up through his pelvis to settle in his belly, cold and hot, stinging and aching. “Oh, I know.” Bakugou’s pulse throbbed beneath his jaw, but the rhythm of his heart could never quite drown out the scrape of Dabi’s voice in his ears. “You’re afraid that your sweet little heroes will bust the door down, just in time to see me pop your cherry.”
Bakugou kicked at Dabi before he could help himself. The strike didn’t connect. Dabi was giggling again, fingers spreading wide enough for Bakugou to fear bleeding. “Well, you don’t need to worry about that.” He spat on Bakugou again, and for a moment he was grateful for the makeshift lube. Until Dabi twisted a third finger inside him, and Bakugou was sure he was clenching his jaw tight enough to crack one of his teeth. “I won’t let any of them see you like this.”
Bakugou wheezed through the pain, trying to remind himself to breathe as Dabi’s thick fingers dragged in and out of him roughly. “And I’ll take good care of you.” The more he talked, the more it seemed that Dabi was simply speaking to himself. His voice was becoming softer, his fingers less intent on bruising Bakugou’s insides. It made his belly turn over in an entirely new way. Bakugou grunted, brain stalling for a moment before his disgust kicked into overdrive. He was getting hard. He bit his tongue, reopening the bloody wound in the hopes of making his cock go down.
But it was too late, Dabi had already noticed. His hand slipped between Bakugou’s thighs, brushing over his balls before he cupped his cock. Bakugou swallowed the taste of his blood, a sickening rush rolling through him as Dabi’s fingers twisted inside him as his fist squeezed around the tip of his cock. “Yeah, yeah,” Dabi was mumbling, too low for Bakugou to hear entirely. When his hands drew away, Bakugou was able to breathe a sigh of relief.
He heard Dabi’s pants fall open, and his knees were scuffed against the concrete in an attempt to shield himself from the inevitable. “Too late to play coy, baby.” The endearment tasted like oil when Dabi fed it to him. And Bakugou didn’t listen, thighs clamped tight together until a burning handprint was branded onto his lower back. Dabi wrenched his legs back open, as he spat into his hand. “Someday, I’ll have you get my cock nice and wet.” Bile rose in the back of his throat at the thought. “I’m sure you’d bite my dick off if you got the chance.” At least he wasn’t completely a moron.
“Someday, I’ll rip your cock off and stuff it down your throat.” Bakugou snarled. He was surprised his voice didn’t crack as Dabi scooted back between his thighs.
“There’s my fiery girl.” Bakugou thought about throwing an elbow back toward his face, only for the burns scattering his body to throb in time. He stayed silent and still, steeling himself for what he finally began to view as the inevitable. It brought him peace.
The peace was shattered by the feeling of Dabi’s rough pants pressing into the backs of his thighs, the V of his zipper digging into his flesh and the head of Dabi’s cock rubbing against his hole. Everything was hypersensitive again. The heat pressing deep inside of him, the stinging ache of his body being carved into two separate pieces. Bakugou felt every inch inside of him not quite slick enough. It seemed to end up somewhere in the cage of his ribs. Displacing his organs, blood rushing to inappropriate places. When Dabi’s zipper snagged rough on Bakugou’s skin, he realized that his body was no longer his own. As Dabi grasped at his hips and groaned, saying something about how tight he was--Bakugou fully understood that nothing could reverse this. The course of his life would now be framed in a before and after. The burns would scar, his eyes would never open and his body would be left behind in this concrete room.
It was a miracle he didn’t empty his stomach then. It was a curse that he didn’t lose consciousness, or fall into some sort of convenient trance. He was there--well and present--the entire time. Through every thrust of Dabi’s cock, every bit of dirty talk, and every burning touch the man scattered across his body. Nowhere was Bakugou left untouched. His fingernails broke on the concrete, blood collected in the lines of his palms--sticky and copper like the taste in his mouth.
He sagged into the bloody concrete like a broken marionette. Dabi’s hands curled tight around his wrists, keeping his ass pressed into each of the thrusts. The pain abated eventually, the drag inside him lessened by Dabi’s dripping cock. It was one small blessing in a sea of misfortune--and Bakugou was drowning in it. Dabi’s thrusts went from measured and clean to messy and jerking. It was nearly done, he knew that this ordeal was nearly over--
Dabi’s hand curled around his cock. His palm was slick and warm, the grip tight around the sensitive head of his dick. Bakugou screamed, nervous system confused between the insistent agony and pounding pleasure. His cock had finally gone limp, and even as Dabi grazed that spot inside of him, he wasn’t able to come. Some part of his pride had been preserved. Bakugou still had the wherewithal to be grateful for that as Dabi’s hips jerked against his ass, and he came inside him.
Bakugou had been thoroughly used and defiled. But, as Dabi’s come dripped from his ass and blood dried on his palms, he was most haunted by Dabi’s last words. “Don’t worry Kacchan, you’ll get used to it.”