A/N:
this chapter was replaced with an edited version of the original that cuts out the smut. things don't make the most sense because of it, but if you'd like to read the original/the smut and not this odd version, you can go to ao3 and search up this fic/my user. i sincerely apologize for the inconvenience. additionally, i had no idea what i was doing when i wrote this (over a year ago), so i just apologize for the fact that some of this exists at all. i guess you need something to cringe at to know what not to do in the future, huh?

Shoto Todoroki
- Month 3, Week 2 -

I nod my forehead against Bakugou's and brusquely reverse our positions to pin him back against the wall. "Ditto, Love... It might be the case that I detest hot foods, but...you're the hottest meal I have the honor of eating," I sigh into his ear.

Bakugou's ruby eyes enlarge, and a scarlet wildfire sears his cheeks. "H-Holy fuck, Shoto!" he gasps, and in an attempt to ascertain his dominance, his lips lunge for my neck, but I halt his plan with a palm to his face. "Tch! F-Fuck you!"

"Are you upset?" I purr quietly, thoroughly charmed by his flustered rage.

With a balky toss of his head, he grumbles, "I didn't know you could pull hot shit like that out of your ass. Fuckin'..."

An empty, gentle laugh trickles from my throat. "You're adorable when you're flustered." I plaster on a smirk as I dive for his neck and soon sink my teeth into his warm, sweet flesh. "Mm..."

I truly am terribly cruel, aren't I? You could argue that this is purely manipulation, but I should think not.

"Tch," Bakugou scoffs while tucking his chin towards his chest to diminish the area I have to work with around his neck. "You're tryin' so d-damn hard to be the top, but that sure as hell ain't how this is gonna go... Why?" With a cunning smirk, he lifts his head and forces my head back from his neck. "Well, Babe..." He scoops me up into his arms and peppers my scarred shoulder with kisses before shoving my back against the wall adjacent to his bed.

I'm so worthless...that you'll beat me from the inside. So, beat me. Beat me again and again. Beat me until I forget it all.

Despite the remote voids of my eyes, my cheeks are mantled with boiling bursts of blush. "K-Katsuki..." Incertitude clouds my self-abasing thoughts for a moment. "What do you mean—"

"Look. At. Your. Fucking. Face. You're so fucking flustered already, Babe."

I brush the back of my hand over my steaming lips as my cold gaze falters to the side. I stripped myself for Endeavor out of absolute fear. My ass hurt like hell after that. Perish the thoughts. My heart is gasping fervently. I'm trembling. It feels wrong. It feels disgusting. Another man touching me and looking at me with lust in his eyes... At least red is essentially the opposite of Endeavor's eyes. But this all feels so right. It feels so disgustingly right. I silently tilt my head at Bakugou.

"You fuckin' look like a curious puppy, Sho," he cackles while I release a soft whine from the horrific memories of Endeavor forcing through my defenses. His digits massage a few of my elevated scars in circular motions.

I squirm a bit at his touch. "Ngh," I hiss, feeling as my breaths hasten from the salacious sneer of Endeavor dinned into my memories resurfacing in my head.

I'm...so uncomfortable. Why is he holding my hand? Why is he touching me? Why is he so close? I don't like this. I'm scared. I can't breathe. I can't move.

A large hand stroked across the top of my right thigh.

Please don't touch my leg. No. Stop it. I don't like it. Stop.

"Ah! P-Please stop... Not there. Ungh!"

"C'mon, Babe, we just talked about this..." His gravelly voice kisses my ears, causing me to shiver. "Pfft... Hot. Fucking. Damn. Look atcha, you gorgeous-ass bitch."

I fix my eyes on the wall to obviate a glimpse at my horrific body. "K-Kat, ah... Ah?" My wrists are loosely secured in Bakugou's grip as they're crossed above my head.

He gently pinches my chin with his free hand and orients my head to face him. "Oi..." He leans his head towards me; his warm breaths smudge my nose. "Look at me, Shoto." I hesitantly meet his soft yet stern gaze of garnet. "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable, Babe. I'm surprised this is happening at all—I'm over the moon about it—but I don't want you to feel like shit. We both know what it's like, but I don't plan on taking any risks."

I shake my head. "It's not that," I sigh as the impulse to scratch at my arm beleaguers my mind.

You're most certainly exalting my image. So many scars... They itch. There's an itch—a ceaseless itch—to generate more. Yet, I'm ashamed that you have to see these festering beds of damaged flesh. And I'm simply ashamed of this body for being what it is.

"Then, what is it? Lemme hear, you gorgeous, handsome ass." A benevolent smile works its way onto his lips.

Although I want you to break me from the outside and inside, wouldn't the process disgust you? "I've turned my body into an abstract piece of...ah, anything but art from how many scars I have." My nails habitually begin to scratch at my palms.

"You're fucking art itself—a goddamn masterpiece. But, what of the scars? Baby, you—"

"I'm really no one special. Midoriya is so compassionate, altruistic, pretty..." He isn't a fucked-up nightmare that cuts his problems away with scissors, glass, ice, etcetera. "I don't—I can't—fathom why you want me in your life. Am I not...simply a disappointment?" My bleak eyes remain locked on his.

His baggy grip on my wrists falls away, and instead, his hand now caresses my cheek. "You got two Quirks, Sho. You got beautiful-ass heterochromia, too. I get lost staring into your cold, pretty eyes, Babe." Through his serene lakes of scarlet can I see my own eyes reflected back at me. "Even if you're emotionally reserved, that sure as hell doesn't mean I love you any less. I love you more. I need you to know that you're enough, Shoto Todoroki. You're more than enough. You're cold. You're pretty. You're special. You're mine."

"You are more than enough, Uraraka."

My heart...won't stop pounding. Bakugou. Bakugou... I'm yours. When you give me such an epithet, I feel invigorated. I belong to you. You own me. I'm your property. Ah... My head is ringing. Bakugou. Tear me open and mark me from the inside that I'm yours. You... Only you. Bakugou. Katsuki Bakugou. Everything I see...is you. Everything I want...is you. Everything I need...is you, Katsuki Bakugou.

I affirm, "I-I am yours. And...you're mine." Mine...

"You bet your sweet ass I'm yours," he snickers. "Goddammit, you're so fucking gorgeous. Someone oughtta call the fire department...because just lookin' at the sexy motherfucker in front of me's got my heart bursting into flames." He pokes his tongue out from the corner of his lips as the rich hue of red mottling my cheeks deepens. "You're so damn hot that even your cheeks are on fire, Baby."

I don't believe I've fucked anyone before, so that shouldn't be possible. I would certainly hope not. How appalling. The fact that I'm capable of doing so at all...

An awkward scowl tugs at my lips. "I'm on fire because you combusted my sangfroid," I murmur, earning myself an intense, transient kiss on the lips from Bakugou. "Fuck you," I mouth audibly with a half-assed smile on my frigid mien once we pull away.

He chortles as I squirm. "Kidding, Babe." He smirks at my somewhat relieved sigh. "Maybe not..."

I bury my face into his shoulder to mask my scorching countenance. "You're c-confusing," I manage to whisper with cracked words.

He whistles quietly and pushes my chin up, now repositioning my head to face him again. "Now, tell me..." The brio of his enrapturing eyebrow flicks conjures up the sense that a devious machination is currently spinning through his head.

I avert my eyes from staring at his blindingly toned, lean body. "What...do you mean?" I swallow thickly.

It felt so right to say he's mine. Ah. Mm... Kitty Kat's mine. All mine... I'm all his...

He stops up a livid cackle. "Oh my God. And to think you were trying to be a dominant little Shoto? Nah. See—" I flush with the red of strawberries, yet my mind is racked with the fumes of triggering trepidation— "Christ, Shoto..." He presses my face between his neck and chest.

Endeavor... It was far from pretty. It was painful. It was so damn painful. Every thrust tore me apart. Yet...

My cock twitches from being both aroused and tickled by Bakugou's touch as a soft breath squeezes through my lips. "You're the asshole..."

Until I forget... Mine... I'm yours. Bakugou, I want to feel you breaking me apart. Draw my blood and paint me with it. I want you. Even if you prove to be a filthy man like him—which, I don't believe you will ever be—I would still want you.

"God, I can't stop staring at you. Doesn't matter if life fucks your body up, cuz no matter what you look like, you're still gonna be my beautiful, hot-as-hell Shoto Todoroki. Mm..." His devilish sneer burns itself into my head. "Yeah, I might be an asshole, but—" he swiftly whirls my body around and knees my lower back into the wall— "I'm looking at the best fuckin' asshole to exist, you pretty little fucker." His hands crawl along my sides.

Something about the way you called me a "little fucker" spikes my adrenaline. I"A-Ah, ignore that. K-Katsuki...can you call me a 'little fucker' again?" I roll my lower lip under my teeth, fidgeting.

He snickers. "You like that, you little fucker?" he whispers in a low growl while I squirm.

"Ungh! Agh... Worse." I grind my forehead against the wall. "Hgh. Ngh."

Now, however, the moment of remission fades.

Fuck. Fucking hell. Hearing him call me those awful names feels so good. I feel so high. It reminds me of Endeavor, but the memories are easily outweighed by the fact that Bakugou's using me as he wishes.

With a breathy grunt, I attempt to still myself and regain my composure to relax my taut muscles, but my progress is instantaneously eroded once Bakugou chuckles, "You want me to call you dirty shit, don'tcha? You're disgusting, Babe. Mm, I was right, huh? Who's a sick little bitch?"

I feel as though I'm going insane. My stolid persona is unraveled merely by his touch. Everything I thought I understood is trampled beneath my feet. He's telling me the truth. I am disgusting. I am a sick little bitch. I crave it. I want it. I want it so fucking bad. I'm addicted. Bakugou, please continue. I'm obsessed.

Panting, I gasp, "M-Me. I'm a disgusting, sick little bitch." I hang my head in dismay. I clamp my jaws down on my left wrist, but the enthralling bullet of pain that perforates my mind causes a gasp to escape my throat.

"Holy fuck, you sick son of a bitch," he growls with mirth lacing his words. "Calm the fuck down, you dirty little fucker. What other nasty kinks you got, you filthy rat?"

I can imagine that, in comparison to now, I'd be immensely calm if I never flung open the gate to the addicting degradation of my mind. Bakugou... The words I want to hear from you the most would be that you hate me, that I'm worthless and selfish, and that I would be better off dead. The piquancy of hearing you tell me that I'm worthless and better off dead would surely break me. As it is, I'm quite literally itching for more. But...it feels so fucking good when I can finally hear you tell me the truth with a ravishing smirk on your face.

Gritting my teeth as I stay my tongue to prevent any regretful impulses from fleeing from my mind, I offer him my deep, quivering breaths. Grinding my teeth against my wrist as cool, dull arrows of pain strike through my limb, the tart, almost intoxicating taste of iron pervades my tastebuds. I lap up the thin streams of blood drizzling across my wrist from a blissfully abominable feeling.

"You've gone all quiet," he mockingly chaffs as his breaths continue to heat my skin. "Tch. That's no fuckin' good. Sho...who's a sh-shit little failure?" He stumbles over his words as a pernicious poison of guilt seizes them.

Goddammit, I can't control myself... I immediately expel a guttural, pleading whine while once again somewhat relaxing myself. It hurts. The truth hurts, but I can't get enough of it. My own boyfriend is calling me disgusting, filthy, shitty... I'm a fucking failure, and he knows it. I'm brimming with joy.

"Me," I groan, "I'm a shit little f-failure," I shakily sigh in ecstasy. "I've completely l-lost my composure to you."

"But, Babe, you're not really a shit failure, 'kay? Mm. You got that, you kinky disgrace? Fucking hell, Shoto. Pathetic" He sharply jams his knee against my tailbone. "But...you're my pathetic little loser, and I fucking love you, so don't take any of the shit I say to heart." He cackles at how I've been helplessly flailing in his grasp.

Stab me with the whetted, unvarnished truth until I'm supplicating for my end to be written. Bakugou, I want to die, and you know that. But what you don't know...is how exceedingly obsessive I am over the idea of you happily beating me to death. I want that. I want it so fucking much. For my savior—yet also the hero that was unknowingly killing me from the inside—to beat the shit out of me, I'll do anything at all. As long as it's you, Kitty Kat. You're mine. Mine... All mine. I'll make you mine. I want to mark you as mine and only mine. Aha... Bakugou, I feel like I'm sitting atop the railing for the bridge overlooking pure, unadulterated insanity. I seldom feel anything anymore, but when I'm with you, you explode that door. It's like I feel everything when I'm with you. You really are doing a phenomenal job of insidiously causing my mind to deteriorate. I like that. I love that. I need that. I—

Bakugou uproariously snickers, "All I did was toy with your nasty kink like the shitty toy you are." He loosens his grip on the inside of me a bit. "Well, I don't mean—"

I'm just a shitty toy. Use me, then. Use me and abuse me. Break me. Exploit me until nothing I have remains. Do it.

With my cheeks slathered by a prominent shade of scarlet, I slovenly interject, "I don't know wh-what happened, but I-I don't want any apologies. Don't...back down, Love." Gasping rapidly, I turn my head to glance at him, but the sight of his fiery cheeks draws my attention back to the wall. "Ngh. It feels as if...I'm going to break." Despite my vehement gulps of air, my remarks remain saturnine and my expression aloof.

He lowers his brows a bit while holding his smirk up as he clutches my cheek and turns my head to stare at his muscular, thin build. "You're whining like a puppy, and it's so fucking cute. But, listen here, Sho... Whatever dirty names I call you, I don't mean them. Not one goddamn bit. Now, oi. Stay those wretched little peepers of yours on mine." Wandering through the imperial rings of vermillion that are Bakugou's eyes, I flinch at the feeling of his tepid, sticky fingers being stroked across my lips. "Baby..."

Ah? "What?" I question while slowly beginning to force my stimulated state of euphoria to simmer.

He withdraws his hand from my lips and visibly curls his tongue around his forefinger. "Babe, oh my God... This, you weak little shit."

Fuck... The way he calls me these deplorable names is a bullet to my glass heart. My heart is irate. My breaths fluctuate between exponentially hastening and immediately freezing up. I feel all that I'm feeling. I feel high. I feel dizzy. I feel numb. My head is splitting. My fingers are tingling. I want it. I want him. I want to be his.

"Ah? I..." I tilt my head at him. "Mm?"

"You innocent motherfucker... You ugly, useless shit stain. What, you wanna have a good little taste of pain?"

I may as well be fucking addicted to pain. Pain, and him. Ah... Ugly. Useless. Shit. A stain. It burns, Bakugou. My heart burns. It feels like I'm suspended upside-down in the air.

I sharply inhale. "Damn," I hiss through my creaking teeth. "Make it hurt. Make it...unbearable." Break me.

His devious sneer reveals a fraction of the whites of his teeth. "You fucking masochist," he innocuously jeers. "Fuck is it hotter than hell itself when you get so damn desperate for something. I wanna see you struggle, Babe. I wanna see what the fuck-up has to offer. Look at the sick fucker you are."

I grimace at the flowers and petals crawling through my chest.

"Mm?"

The grinding tug of his teeth gnashing against each other and rolling across my skin threatens to insidiously lull my hapless mind into a cold stupor. "It's...hard to breathe," I utter in a strained whisper.

His expression is lightly scrubbed by dubiety and perturbation. "C'mere. I have an idea, Babe." He shovels my body into his dependable grasp. "God, you're so dirty that ya might as well be my damn doormat. Look at your dumb face. Oi. Hold on... Sho, your wrist—what the hell happened? Tch. You bit them open, huh?" As he carries me into the shower in his bathroom, he smirks vaguely. "Leave your wrists alone. They don't...need more scars, Shoto. Hey... When's the last time you cut, Babe?" He closes the thin glass door to the shower and retracts his finger from scratching inside of me as he sets me down.

Does it matter anymore? I open my mouth to reply, but rather than words spilling from my parted lips, a golden barrage of petals and flowers erupt from my mouth. It's fine. It doesn't matter how many times I cut myself up as long as I'm alive, right? My heart, like a dolphin leaping up from the water and plunging back into the azure profound, batters against my chest and ebbs away into a faded hum as my vision is splattered with white.

Does it matter anymore? Does it matter anymore? Once I've retched up the fell flowers blooming from within my chest, Bakugou turns on the faucet and soon initiates the deluge of water that licks our skin. I truly am disgusting, and I deserve to be trampled by filth. Your words...hurt so much, yet I feel such satiating pleasure from them, and so they don't hurt at all. I glance up at Bakugou with a grim, neutral expression while he kneels down against the tiled floor and encircles my waist with his arms from my backside. I am utterly revolted by this, but...as long as you want it, it's fine. You. Bakugou. Katsuki Bakugou. My Katsuki Bakugou.

"Better?" he inquires, now reaching out a hand from my waist to pluck one of the chrysanthemum flowers I hacked up from the ground.

I nod and squirm a bit in his grasp as the dour, insurmountable memory of Endeavor forcing himself inside of me bites my thoughts. "Yeah. Sorry... Ah. To answer your question, it was last week." Why the fuck did I lie when it's painstakingly axiomatic that I recently mutilated myself?

With hair that now droops and dangles above his ears, Bakugou growls, "You fucking liar." Rather than being pierced with a bullet of self-culpability as I anticipated from foreseeing Bakugou's reaction prior to his expression of it, I find that his vehement statement fails to discountenance me. "You dirty, sick little liar, Shoto. Can't we compromise—even just a bit? Wish you didn't have to feel like you have to slit your goddamn wrists to cope with it all. We gotta figure somethin' out for you. That's an order from me, Katsuki Bakugou, Shoto." He licks the bridge of my nose as a stream of water slinks down it.

"Don't you...hate me for how much of my shit you have to put up with?" I candidly sigh while a river of a hefty weightlessness envelops my being; the familiar feeling of my jaded emotions being mired down and washed away swims through my veins as I audaciously lift Bakugou's hand clasping the flower; I shake the plant free.

His chin shakes against the back of my head. "Nope. Never gonna hate you," he murmurs. "Don't dodge the subject, Sho."

My mien remains astringent. "I don't see a point," I brazenly admit, cognizant of being noncommittal while I pull Bakugou's fingers to my lips. "Darling, regardless of how many reasons you lay out for me, I won't understand. Draw the lines and speak with actions and words, but you can't change my mind." I rest my head against his shoulder.

Aren't you exhausted of hearing me sound like such a pitiable, selfish piece of shit? I ask myself in revile while leaning my weight against Bakugou. I've betrayed you and lied to you so many goddamn times. I know what I'm doing is hurting you. You forced me to slash into your wrist to prove your point. Even so...without so much as a second thought, I'll bring the blades to my skin while I continue to be unabashed.

Bakugou hisses, "It ain't impossible. If anyone's gonna change your mind, it's sure as hell gonna be me, you asshole. You fucking crack me up..." I'm breaking you? "But I don't care if you don't see a point. I want you to be happy. I want you to feel loved, special, strong, pretty—you name it. I fucking love you, you sick swine. You're my sick swine."

If you want to make me happy...break me with those divine hands of yours. I'd love it if you strangled me, Bakugou. Force me into a state of feeling death encroach on my body while the pain becomes all that I can recognize in a world smothered by white. Then, end it. Such a splendid ending that would be.

"I love it when you degrade me," I chuckle in a desiccated sigh as Bakugou lays me supine against the floor. "You're warm." While staring into his smirking eyes of fire as the water from the showerhead splashes down on the two of us, he slams my back up against the wall and forces my ascension by clasping my throat and sliding my body up along the wall until my feet touch the floor. "Nn. A-Ah..."

So serendipitous...yet much too ephemeral of a moment to have truly been satisfactory. How tantalizing. Now...I crave it. I'm selfish, indeed. Despite that, I'm loved by Katsuki Bakugou. Why and how... I'll never comprehend.

"Tch. All right, you worthless, sick fuck..."

Hearing him call me "worthless" is one of the most piquant tunes I have ever heard. A sharp jab of addictive pain penetrates my mind. "Nn!" Reacting to the pleasuring pain throbbing in my mind, I wrap my fingers around my left wrist to augment the twinges rattling my body. "Ah!"

How long was I searching for something to prove to myself that I don't have to be worthless? I'd questioned while eating dinner with Bakugou, Midoriya, Eri, and Aizawa. I don't know, but I deceived myself with such a puerile thought for much too long. I'd tell myself I was more than they thought I was. I'd scrape up every reason I could in a futile endeavor to ascertain my worth. Then, I asked myself if I was really worth anything, and if I was anything more than just a creation constructed from my own father's lust for power. Then, I told myself I was worthless, and I still do. Now...it's all so normal that it's pitiable to those around me. I don't want pi—

"Oi."

"Ah... Sorry."

"Todo-chan?"

"I drifted away with my thoughts."

"Oh my fucking God," Bakugou chortles while tracing his hands along the minor curves of my sides. "Baby... Hey. I dare you to repeat what I said before this. All of it." His guile shimmers in his radiant eyes.

Of course you would ask me when my equilibrium is being thrown off course. "Oh my fucking God. B-Baby—"

"Nah," he teases me. "Can't stutter, Babe."

Fuck you. "O-Oh," I begin, but I bite my tongue in mortification at my immediate, anathematizing stutter.

Bakugou raises his brows with mirth. "Christ, Shoto, it's all right. C'mon, don't be such a fucking disappointment."

Sorry. "I'm not...trying to be," I huff as my nails bite into my wrist in place of my teeth while my sensibility flutters away like a piece of paper in the wind.

"Also nice to see you struggle to stay composed, you nasty little slut."

Fuck. I'm fucking disgusting. How the hell does he love me? Even my thoughts...are reminiscent of him.

"Any...other requests for me?" I groan.

His sneer of ardor widens. "You filthy, worthless slut." He flicks my head back and stands up to his feet while ruffling my hair as though I am his dirty puppy; the husky growl of his voice is irresistible as he sings for me his seemingly splenetic song.

Dammit, he may as well have a collar around my neck and a brand on my thigh. Yank me, then. Drag me by your deliciously coruscating words.

Dropping down to my knees in front of Bakugou's feet, I grasp his calves as I monotonously pant. With a blank, burning stare, I meet his eyes.

"You suck at this," he jeers while slicking back his caramel hair from it being wetted down. "Such a fucking mistake."

I force tears to gush from my eyes and weld together with the warm streams of water slithering down my face. My heart echoes through my mind like a drop of water firing rippling rings into what was once a still body of water. Even my breaths quicken and become raspy while my nails tear through the scars littering my wrist.

I feel like a filthy animal, but it feels so good to hear you spit the truth in my face without any repercussions on either end."P-Please..." I utter in a forced whine as my duplicitous tears roll down my cheeks. "Please. The useless mistake begs you," I add, but my insipid words remain achromatic.

I abhor begging, I cogitate as Bakugou rolls his somewhat amused eyes. The only thing I'd like to beg for...is for you to bring my life to an end, Bakugou.

"N-No more," I'd gasped during one of my first training sessions with Endeavor. "It hurts..."

"We've only just started, Shoto. This is the only way for you to surpass me. Get up."

"I can't..." I was pulled up off the floor by my wrist, but I immediately collapsed back down to the floor. "Please, no more. I can't take any more. Dad, it hur—"

"Do you want to be punished for whining and pretending?"

I'm...not pretending, Dad. "N-No. But I can't! I can't move! I-It hurts! Ah..." As my cheek was struck, I found myself beginning to weep.

"Your emotions are only detriments to your performance. You need to learn how to control and suppress them to get the job done. Now, stand, Shoto—don't disgrace the Todoroki name."

He sighs. "You're useless, know that?" His stern, cool voice licks my ears. "Can't even fucking beg if its life depended on it. Not that you'd try to live. You're weak and suicidal. It gets old. Just fucking get over yourself."

I couldn't agree more, but what you're saying is terribly paradoxical. "Sorry I'm not good enough," I murmur while listening to the hisses and taps of the water smacking the floor.

His brows lower for a brief moment. "C-Course you're...never gonna be good enough," he replies, initially fast and soft, but by the end of his veridical statement, his words are slow and sharp. "You're a cutter, and that just makes you a fucking burden to everyone else. Only an idiot would slit his wrists." He refuses to look into my eyes as he spins my body to press my chest against the wall.

I'm that appalling of a person to you? "I know it does, and I know I am." I lower my head a bit as I recollect my incident with the scissors after Fuyumi's death. "Hence why I'm not good enough. Ah..."

WHY DID I GET TO FUCKING LIVE?!

Numb. I continuously plunged a pair of scissors through my arm to generate a minefield of puncture wounds, but the scorching pain felt so numb. Even though my fulminating thoughts were conjured up with such irate verve, it was as though I was attempting to scream to assure myself that I still could. It all felt so numb.

"Or...was it all just for attention? Just so you could get someone to love your worthless self... You're just good at being a lowly thing of deception."

"Stop," I impetuously whine. "Don't say what isn't true," I add in an attempt to drown out the truth of the matter.

It hurts. Endeavor. Hands. Eyes. Stripped. No. Touching. Stop. Him inside of me. Please stop... Again. It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts—

My body trembles against the wall. "Fucking sociopath," he spits, yet no venom drips from his frigid words.

I reply, "I'm not." My breath is seized transiently. "The only reason someone would fuck...trash as worthless as me...would be to b-beat me from the inside."

Tearing. Burning. Grinding. Sharp. So fast. It wouldn't end. My own father...fucking me, raping me, stealing my virginity... I can't forget. Why can't I forget? Make me forget...

"God, you're disgusting," he huffs. "Y'know, even though we're in the damn sh-shower, it'll never wash away the filththat you are. You're dirty beyond...redemption."

Pressing myself up against the wall to keep myself from faltering as my body jerks against it, I grit my teeth. Bakugou causes my knees to crumble.

Endeavor...fucking me again. What? This... My memories want to convince me that reality is the nightmare and the nightmare is reality. It's not. It's not. It's not. It's Katsuki... It's okay.

"S-So weak and thin that you...can't even stay s-standing," he snickers. "Gh. Christ. Disgusting."

I haven't deteriorated to that extent...yet. My eyes peel open as I start to desperately rake my nails against my arm from the livid throbs of unembellished exuberance thrashing through my body. "L-Love..." Blood dilutes with water while I scrape my arms and wrists against the wall.

My senses are torpid, yet they rage on in endless loops and cycles, I think as I crumple down to the wet floor with a strangled whine. I hate this. I love this. I'd rather have you continue to call me worthless. Bakugou, I want you to break me.

"B-Baby..." he pants.

I want to bash my head against the wall. I nod at him while expelling a growl of tormented, dissatisfying glee. My vision is blurring into white. Wriggling around as my head pounds with scorching twinges of pain, I spread myself out across the floor of the shower with my nose pointed down.

"H-Hot fucking damn," he gasps while leaning himself back against the wall to catch his breath. "Goddamn, Sho... That was phenomenal. But...hey. I'm so fucking sorry... Went too f-far with what I said, didn't I? I didn't mean any of it, Shoto. I didn't mean one damn bit of it." Crawling towards my right side beneath the threads of water swishing through the air, he pulls me up into his chest and lap. "Babe, you're... Don't do this to yourself, Sho. We'll hafta get that wrapped up when we're done." He holds me fast while filling his palm full of soap and massaging my shoulders with it.

As the water raining down from above smudges with the soap and rubs together a barrage of bubbles, I tilt my head up to lick Bakugou's chin. "I'd say...you didn't go far enough, Love," I sigh while composing myself from my high. "There's still something I wanted to hear you say. Of course, I knew full well you wouldn't say it, but..." Staring at the glass door of the shower, I blink a few times as I await Bakugou's response.

Didn't you find it peculiar how I never made any comments about when you hugged my waist? Unless you did so with an ulterior motive... I can't imagine that you would suddenly forget about something I was so adamant about.

His hands snake around my chest as he continues to lather me up with slick, slippery suds. "I don't love you and never loved you?" His dithering words tremble while I shake my head. "I hate you?"

"That was one I did want to hear," I murmur in a soft hum. "Bakugou... I wanted to hear you say that for a while, but there's something else I crave. It's something...I tell myself every day. Broad, yes, but I know that you know me incredibly well." Well, to some extent.

As he scrubs at my sides, he uses only one hand to wind around my waist. "You...deserve to feel like shit?" I shake my head. "You don't deserve to be..." He pauses, audibly gulping. "Babe, I'm not gonna say that. You deserve to be alive, Shoto. And I won't fucking stop trying to get that through your thick skull until you understand. I love you so fucking much, Baby..."

I close my eyes and kiss across his neck. "I know it's selfish, but I wish you didn't. I'm not worth your love. Darling...shouldn't I want to live by now? Shouldn't I be fucking happy? After all you've done... After all this time... After all we've been through... Katsuki, I want to die. I still want to die so fucking much." I kiss along his jawline for a moment. "Before, I couldn't comprehend why I felt that way. I was exhausted. I was sick of asking myself why I continued to live while I sobbed. I was surfeited with tearing myself apart with blades and glass just to feel something nice...and to forget about it all for even a fleeting moment while my mind was pumped full of adrenaline. It was lonely. Touya left. My mom left. Fuyumi left. Natsuo left. I had to stay...because my fucking Quirk demarcated me from them. Good creation. Good little masterpiece. Good little machine made to rectify someone else's errors derived from jealousy, envy, selfishness...

"Endeavor acted much more human before his addiction to alcohol drowned his senses. His training was hell to endure, but I still survived each one. I figured...that that was normal for families. I figured I must have had it easy compared to others. So, when Endeavor developed abusive behaviors when he was intoxicated, I thought that was normal. I thought that that was what alcohol did. Happiness for hostility. I thought it was normal to be beaten both physically and mentally. To be reminded that I'm worthless time and time again. That I will never be enough. That I'm not a person, but a disposable object that can be stitched back together as many times as it breaks and falls apart. That it doesn't matter how badly I've been broken or how many times I've been broken...because I can be put back together again for the purpose of meeting the same failures all over again and never truly learning anything new—simply aggravating the festering wounds."

While Bakugou's fingers weave through my drooping locks of red and white that liken my hair to that of a candy cane, I start to lightly chew at my cheek between my words. "There were many times when he threatened me if I was to eat," I continue. "Even though I knew he would forget the next day, I was terrified nonetheless. Now, as it is, sometimes I just can't eat because it reminds me much too strongly of when he... You get the point. That is what transpired during the beach trip. Nonetheless, I was often called 'Candy Stick' in middle school. I tried my damn hardest to earn straight A's on my report card, but I always fell short. An A-minus or two was what it usually ended up being. My mother told me it was okay, but Endeavor was far from accepting of what he saw as an absolute failure. My link to Endeavor automatically demanded that those who looked at me would see me as receiving perfect grades, but I could never focus in class. I was physically exhausted, and as the day progressed, my thoughts mentally drained me. I started to dedicate my lunch break to cutting just to get through the day. I'd cut, sob, cut again, and then bandage the wounds, but I could never bandage the wound of wishing to disappear."

Bakugou wipes his eyes swollen with tears with his arm. "K-Keep goin', but I'm gonna rinse your hair now, all right?" As I nod, he kisses both of my cheeks.

I close my eyes and look down as the warmth of Bakugou's body being hugged against mine evanesces, but it soon returns as the showerhead wavers immediately above my head. "Last year...I slit my wrists in an attempt at suicide. I was impressed by just how deeply I'd cut. I'll spare you the details of what it looked like and what I did, but I felt sick when I looked at the damage." As if snipping through paper, I could hear my flesh being chopped open as the blades met from above my skin and underneath it to slice through. "But...you texted me. I suddenly felt so guilty. I had to stop, and that I did. That's why I'm still here. You. You, Bakugou. You, Katsuki Bakugou. You." I inhale deeply as he finishes rinsing my hair and body. "You want me to be okay. You want me to discard my unhealthy, self-destructive habits. You want me to live, and you want me to want to live. You want me to be happy. Despite that, I've only gotten worse, Bakugou. Why is it so fucking hard to live? To want to live? To not want to die? Why do I never know the answers to the questions I'm desperate to resolve? Why do I have to be alive? Why can't I... I'm sorry." I look up at him again and lock our lips.

Our tender lips smoosh together as our hands intertwine in a wet web of saccharine love. A profound, perfervid warmth spills through my being as ardent affection permeates the air. The tangy yet sweet emanation of shampoo and conditioner tickles my nose through our syrupy lake of saliva-coated doting that lacks the exchange of any words to employ our rich messages. Honey drizzles across my heart as our tongues fly together and we unconsciously initiate a battle for fragile dominance. Fluttering like the thin wings of a butterfly twirling through milky sunlight, my heart skips around as I gently pin Bakugou to the floor; the ghost of a smirk pulls at my lips while I straddle his broad chest. Blazing, ruby grandeur arrests my eyes with shackles of vanilla-glazed bliss.

I hate all of this affection...so why am I suddenly searching for it? I want more of it. As long as it's him. Use me however you want. I'll be obedient. I'll do as you say. Despite that, affection is rotten and atrabilious. Despite that, I feel as though I would do anything to fill myself with more. Him. Only him. Bakugou. Everything I need... Even so, I'm still selfish. So, so incredibly selfish...

Our tepid saliva unites us as one as we simultaneously split our lips apart. With a frigid, feigned smile of shaking vacillation, I stare down at Bakugou.

"Sho, Baby..." he pants as his throat gently vibrates in my grasp. "You don't know what the f-fuck you're doing, do you?" I shake my head and gradually tighten my grip. "Babe, give it up."

I silently shake my head again, dubious of his persistence. "Mm..."

He releases a grunt. "You a-asshole... But, Shoto, I'm not just gonna ignore what you said. I do want you to get better. I f-fucking hate that you always have to hurt and feel like...you'd be better off dead. I never want my time with you to come to an end, Sho. But I don't want you to keep doing this kind of stuff to yourself. Sho—"

As I pull back from him and sit at his side, I whisper, "I know. Love, I know what you want. I fucking understand that I'm loved, appreciated, valued..." I fill the palm of my left hand with soap and wince at the burn of the soap against my wounds as I slide my hands across Bakugou's chest. "But I don't want anyone to feel that way about me. I don't." I slink into silence for a moment. "Do you want to know what would make me truly happy?"

He nods, purring as I continue washing him. "Fuck yeah. Whatever the hell it is, I-I wanna give that to you, Sho." He kisses my earlobe. "But we can't help the way we feel about you, Shoto."

"K-Katsuki, it might seem...unorthodox. Are you certain you want to know? My dream...is different from what you might expect."

"Lemme hear it, Babe. Tell me anything. Oi... Speaking of which, you kept your promise to me."

"Katsuki, if you want to make me happy, then I want you to hate me. I want you to torture me both physically and mentally. All I want...is for the one who gave me a sliver of hope for a better tomorrow to take my life. The thought makes me feel so strange—in a good way. Bakugou, I want to see the one who gave me a reason to keep fighting break me apart. Let my source of hope be what writes my ending in so brutal a fashion that nothing remains. That's how fucking selfish I am. I want you—"

He claws his hands around my neck and thrusts my back against the wall. "Shoto! Get a fucking grip!" he inveighs sharply. "I know I said I wanted to give it to you, but you're right—I really wasn't expecting this! Figured it might involve pain or some shit, but I didn't think you'd ask me to fucking murder you. Not even just murder—that's putting it lightly—but torture!"

"Katsuki...please," I selfishly supplicate with hoarse words scraping against my throat.

"Shut...up. I'm not hurting you. That's...such a fucking horrible, fucked up, depressing thing to want. You're telling me you want to die, and you want me to be the one to break you?" He grimaces as my mind is infected with a sick form of pleasure again. "You want to be tortured until... Shoto, what the fuck?"

This is the truth. I seldom say the truth. The truth hurts you. Ah... Fuck. It feels good. Bakugou, you can't change my mind, and you can't change the truth. It feels so good. Not being able to breathe properly because of the one that loves me the most feels so damn good. Show me how worthless I truly am. So worthless...that the one who kept my head above the water would be the one to drown me.

In a strained gasp, I reply, "Love, it would make me genuinely happy if you beat me with a smirk. I—"

"Don't say shit like that! I'm not...gonna hurt you! Then why the hell am I practically choking you? So you can't say anything back to me if I don't want you to." An exasperated sigh greets my ears as I savor the taste of Bakugou's crushing grip on my neck. "Babe, that's just fucked up... Do you fucking hear just what you're saying? Baby, I couldn't hate you if being number one at everything depended on it. You've already been beaten to hell and back both physically and mentally, but if you wanna tell me that that's not enough... That you deserve it... That you turned the pain into what you love... God, my chest aches. Why? Because I'm fucking sad. I'm hurt. I'm worried. I'm scared. I'm angry. I'm confused." His visceral lour fades as he hangs his head. "I know you don't want me to feel like that. I fucking get it... Shoto, I can't change the fact that we're only humans here. That's all we are. Hate yourself or love yourself, but you're a fucking human, Shoto Todoroki.

"I can't tell you why the hell you're here or who the hell you are, but I can tell you that you're a human. Your mind blows everything out of proportion, and your mind has had enough—it wants to fucking die. But your body won't stop fighting. Do as your mind wants and stab scissors into your wrists all you want, but your body's still gonna fight to survive. You can endure so damn much...but there are limits to it. Shoto, as it is, you're withering away by the day. You told me yourself...that you've only gotten worse. The Hanahaki Disease is the thing to blame for a shit ton of it, though. Babe, this disease is going to fucking kill you if you don't get that goddamn surgery. Your body's already being broken by the disease, Shoto. Haven't you been through enough? The flowers are impeding your ability to breathe to the point where you can't fucking breathe. You've been having more and more coughing fits in a single day than before. You're throwing up flowers, too. Haven't these petals left enough scars for you?"

Struggling to mitigate the pain from Bakugou's vehement jabs of unadulterated, authentic love, I furrow my brows as I shake my head with enervated, minute sways. "Nn," is all I manage to choke out of my voice.

Bakugou wrenches his jaw open as he seethingly spits, "Let's make a fucking deal, Shoto." Despite the heat of his pernicious vociferation of words, his eyes are glazed with a glassy film. "Goddammit... I hate this, Shoto. It's not right. But...if you talk to the infirmary grandma today and schedule the surgery for sometime tomorrow, I'll... I'll give you some of what you want from me. Some." My eyes widen ever so slightly at the proposal. "But I refuse to kill you. Baby, I know you want to just end it all. I know you must be fucking sick of your emotions stabbing you in the back and draining everything out of you. I know you hate your own damn guts so much that you wanna be torn apart both inside and outside. Shoto, doesn't it hurt when your pain makes us feel pain? We're all so fucking worried about you. Does that...not m-mean a single thing to you?" His voice splinters by his final sentence.

I've gotten used to it, Bakugou—that's just how selfish I am. Disregarding my thoughts and ripping them asunder, I nod as I open my mouth to speak. This works out wonderfully. Katsuki, all I need is you. All I could ever want is you. You... You own me. I own you. You're mine. I'm yours. The rest...don't matter. Sorry, but I'm no longer sorry.

The hands which bind my neck loosen enough to allow my voice to spill from my throat in thin, divergent streams. "It does," I squeak while growing more fond of the feeling of being choked. "And...I agree to your proposal." How haplessly serendipitous, or, inversely, how serendipitously hapless—either is correct. "That's all I want..."