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Katsuki is cleaning the blood off his double bladed ax when the call comes in. The obnoxious trill of the ringtone causes his ears to twitch. Katsuki tches, kicking the head of the once elite vampire Akaguro who’s been killing off people of high status for months now.
Well, not anymore.
The werewolf sighs, ripping his phone out of his pocket and answering it with a violent smash.
“What,” he growls. It’s late and killing that shitty vampire was a fucking pain and then some. His side aches from a slash of his stupid jagged sword, his shoulder his slowly healing from the vampire tearing it open with his fangs. There’s blood on his jacket that’s going to be a fucking pain to clean and he needs to change his pants before he has the police called on him.
Again.
He’s looking forward to returning home, maybe make some curry with that Indian spice given to him. He’s running short of it, but hopefully he’ll have enough for a bowl.
Or maybe two bowls.
Nezu’s shrill, reedy voice puts a halt to his plans.
“Ah Bakugou-kun,” Katsuki’s tail twitches at the pseudo politeness in his voice, “we need you to come in, there’s an assignment for you.”
Katsuki scoffs, poking at the headless body with his foot. By morning the body should be completely turned to ash.
“You don’t even know if I’m done with this shitty assignment yet and you’re giving me another?”
“Ah, yes, the Akaguro Chizome case, you’re still on that?”
“Fuck you,” Katsuki snarls, grip tightening on his ax, imagining it slicing through that tiny little fucker’s skin like butter, “of course I’m fucking done bitchwad.”
“Good, then you can come in.”
The click of the dial turn makes him clench the phone enough to shatter it, but he has extras on his bike so it’s fine.
Katsuki scowls, picking up the vampire’s shitty sword as proof of kill. He takes off his bloody jacket and wraps it around the sword and kicks the murderous vampire’s head one more time for good measure. It bounces off the wall with a thud.
What the fuck ever.
The building Katsuki and his clan goes to simply goes by HQ, which is cliche and cheesy and, according to Shitty Hair, manly as hell. It doubles as a typical cafe, so typical it’s almost suspicious. Above the cafe is where the real business starts, the home of the best hunters in the country. Katsuki is part of the clan that goes after high end vampires, like the shit stain he just put down.
When he gets to his bike, sleek and black and orange, he shoves his double bladed ax in the guitar case he had leaned against the bike two hours earlier. The sword is too long to fit, so he ties it to the back of his bike. If he loses it, he doesn’t get paid.
It had taken him three fucking weeks to find that sneaky bastard, weeks that he could’ve used doing something else, and his skin itches to go home.
He puts on his chrome black helmet and shoves his ashen tail in his pants. Not for the first time, or last, he wishes werewolves were more like the howling, feral beasts in the stories and not like a furry’s wet dream with this catboy-like shit.
He climbs on his bike with his guitar case around his back and revs the engine, feeling his girl purr into life. Behind his helmet, Katsuki grins.
In this city, running through the woods is a pipe dream, but riding his bike is close enough.
Katsuki slings Akuguro’s wrapped up sword over his shoulder, guitar case in his hand as he kicks the door to the cafe open, sauntering through the door as if he owns the place because he might as well. He had put a beanie on his wild hair to hide his ears. In the light of the shop, the blood on his jeans looks more like slightly discolored mud. He stopped bleeding the ride there, wounds all stitched together, there should be the beginning of a scar by the time he gets home. The fucking chunk missing from his shoulder will take awhile though.
Katsuki isn’t going to lie, because lying is for pussies, he revels in the looks he gets from the few customers still in the cafe at this time. Shitty Hair is manning the front, a black hat with the cafe’s logo on it covering his own spiky ears. There’s nothing he can do to hide his sharp teeth though.
“Yo Bakubro how’d it go?”
“What do you think Shitty Hair,” Katsuki rolls his eyes, glancing at the proof on his shoulder with a smirk, “I always win.”
The other werewolf’s eyes go sparkly like it usually does before he says something along the lines of:
“That’s so manly bro!”
That. Katsuki let’s his arrogant smirk soften somewhat, before he jumps over the counter easily, just to hear the gasp someone always gives off whenever he does so. He nudges Kiri with his guitar case as he passes, his own equivalent of a fist bump.
“Hey Denks and I are going drinking later, you coming with?”
“I got better shit to do!” The blonde werewolf calls back, already halfway through the door that leads to upstairs.
The first floor is milling with people going back and forth, some with wolf ears like him, others with fluttering wings or long, lizard tails. It’s a buzz that should have been heard from the cafe below, or at least seen through the window, but magic solves that problem easily. Katsuki pushes his way through to the reception desk, not even bothering to dodge away from anyone who gets in his way.
Pink Cheeks is behind the desk tonight, her witch hat on crooked. She’s leaning her chair back, chewing on a candy cane. She looks like the kids version of an outlaw. The werewolf slams the sword on the desk.
“Akaguro Chizome,” he drones, tapping his foot rapidly, “now give me my fucking money.”
“Always a pleasure to work with you Bakugou-kun!” Uraraka chirps, flicking her wrist and the sword flies out of the jacket he wrapped it in and into the window behind her. The window shuts and there’s a deep whirring sound as the container moves to the archive room, a place that no one knows where, exactly, it is. The window opens again and the sword is gone.
“Money.”
The witch sighs, as if it isn’t her job to put away the fucking items and give the money. She flicks her wrist again and Katsuki feels a weight in his pocket. He knows better by now to count it in front of her, the slightest suggestion that the greedy bitch is anything but honest sends her to overcompensate for something and Katsuki aching in the worst of ways for days.
“A thank you would be nice!” she calls out as the other moves to the elevators, wanting to get this over with. Katsuki flips her off without looking and she answers with a chilling cackle.
Katsuki shivers as soon as the elevator doors close. Fucking witches.
The top floor is all white halls and walls and sleek, shiny floors. The doors are inlaid with golden plates of the offices for the head of the different divisions at HQ. He passes Toshinori “All Might” Yagi with a sour taste in his mouth. Aizawa’s is wide open and he’s asleep over his desk, his protegee, some purple haired Reaper who looks like he hasn’t slept in two months, is lounging on the couch, sketching some sort of shit, probably the very same Raijuu that’s going out for drinks with Shitty Hair. He passes by the office without a comment.
Nezu’s office is at the end, typical. It’s the biggest office, too, or maybe it looks like it because the person who inhabitants it is the smallest fucking creature in existence.
“What? Is there no one else competent enough to take on hunts anymore?” is the first thing Katsuki says when he kicks open the door, a scowl on his face as he looks down at the puny gnome. Nezu raises his bushy eyebrows and takes a sip of his tea, gesturing for the werewolf to sit.
He doesn’t, because he doesn’t want to be here longer than he has to.
He has his curry and his Indian spices to return to.
“There is, but no one is as good as you. This next assignment is, well, urgent,” he slides a folder across the desk, taking another sip of his tea. Katsuki scoffs, crouching down to take the file off the tiny desk. All assignments are “urgent” that doesn’t mean jack shit.
He opens up the file and-
“You don’t have to take it of course,” Nezu says conversationally, “you must be tired with the Akaguro job. If you need a break-”
Katsuk snaps the folder shut and stands up, throwing his guitar case over his shoulder. The picture in the folder is imprinted in his mind, every little detail.
“I’ll take it,” he says, keeping his voice calm and cool. He leaves before the gnome can respond, the folder clutched tightly in his hand.
The ride home is slower than Katsuki needs it to be, but faster than he wants it to be. There’s not enough time to get his head sorted together, to get the file pressing against his sternum to stop burning into his chest. Not even the feel of his bike against the road and the wind roaring past his ears is enough to distract him.
The door is unlocked when he gets there, and there’s shuffling sounds in the kitchen he can hear from there. He lifts the door slightly so it doesn’t creak and his grip tightens around his guitar case.
There, in the halo of his kitchen light, is Todoroki Shouto.
The vampire he’s been sleeping with for the past year.
The vampire in the file burning into his chest.
His back is turned, head down, probably inspecting some common household object with a fascinated curiosity. He’s wearing Katsuki’s sweatpants and it’s a little short on him, revealing a flash of pale ankles. The shirt is plain white and slightly see through, enough that he can see the outline of the vampire’s lean muscles, where he traces the lines he knows so well up to the nape of his neck. His half red, half white hair is up in a loose bun, but he still clearly hasn’t mastered it yet, with hair still uncaptured by the bun falling loose against his neck, or tucked behind his slightly slender ears.
For a split second, Katsuki hesitates. For a split second, the double bladed ax in the guitar case feels heavy and conscious in his hand. For a split second, he thinks of his clan that he has never failed before, never let down, of Shitty Hair and Spark Plug, and the satisfaction of knowing he has killed another dangerous creature, kept his city safe.
Except Shouto is anything but a danger to his city, yet his name is in the file, which makes him wonder if- what if-
He shakes the thoughts out of his head and lets go of the guitar case, leans it by the door.
“What are you doing here?”
His words are wrong, stilted and quieter and fuck he hopes Shouto doesn’t notice, hopes that he doesn’t use his desgustingly perceptive brain and just chooses to not think like he usually does.
Shouto turns around, blinking at him in amusement. Hair frames his face perfectly, a small smile playing at his lips that draws on Katsuki’s heart.
“This,” he says, raising a bag that Katsuki didn’t even notice before, his family ring glinting in the kitchen light. It’s a bag of his favorite Indian spice, one that Shouto refuses to tell him what it is. If I do, then you wouldn’t have a reason to see me anymore, he had pouted and Katsuki had given in faster than tissue paper. Even back then he was fucked.
“You were running out the last time,” he continues as Katsuki stares, “and I know how you like to make that curry after a mission so I thought, well-mm?”
Katsuki doesn’t bother waiting for the rest of it, somehow and someway already in front of the vampire, grabbing him by the white shirt- the front has a black outline of a cat with its paw raised, a butterfly sitting on top of it, fuck- and yanking him down to crash his lips to his. The werewolf pushes him against the table, the other hand reaching to tangle with that stupid fucking bun, gripping those silk strand with a force that makes Shouto’s breath hitch.
He tastes like sugar and salt, like dawn and sunsets and Katsuki licks into the vampire’s mouth, chasing the taste almost desperately. Shouto responds just as eagerly, unzipping Katsuki’s jacket and sliding his hands underneath. For a split second, Katsuki thinks he’s going to grab the folder tucked in there, but the vampire simply pushes the jacket off and the werewolf lets him. It falls in a clatter to the floor, but neither of them seem to care.
Katsuki presses forward, his hands moving to be back on the vampire, sliding down his thighs. Shouto follows the movement and jumps, allowing the werewolf to grip onto him and lift him onto the table, the vampire’s long legs wraps around his waist, feet locking against his back. His arm slides around the back of Katsuki’s neck, gripping his hair, fingers scratching beneath one of his ears harshly, causing the werewolf to release a guttural moan and a shot of pure heat to careen recklessly throughout his body.
Katsuki draws back, panting heavily.
“Fuck you,” he growls.
“Okay.”
Katsuki groans as Shouto tugs him back in, his fingers tightening around the vampire’s thighs. Fuck he should draw back, ask the vampire to leave, ask to be left alone so he can fucking think.
He won’t.
He can’t.
Katsuki lifts him up again, the vampire tightening his legs around the werewolf’s slim waist, wrapping his other arm on top of his arm around his head. Even as they tumble into a wall and knock off a lamp they never let go of each other’s mouths, tongues dragging against each other’s, each little lap of Shouto’s shooting electricity down his spine. Getting to the bedroom from the kitchen takes longer than it should have, but they get there with only three different occasions of something shattering behind him. Katsuki really needs to stop buying such fragile shit to put around his house.
That thought isn’t nearly as important as what’s happening right now so he dismisses it swiftly as he falls to his bed and catches himself with his hands, Shouto hanging on to him tightly beneath him.
He bites on the vampire’s lower lip roughly as Shouto moves his hands underneath his shirt, dragging his nails down his back.
They part with a smack, for a second remaining close enough to breathe each other’s air, their noses rubbing slightly. Then Katsuki leans up and pulls his shirt over his head, feeling the vampire’s palms cool and light against his feverish skin. He chucks the shirt behind him, hearing it land perfectly into the laundry basket (not on purpose, but he’ll say it was).
In the dark, Shouto’s eyes glow slightly, vibrant and radiant and all the shades of the sky, all the textures of the stars. Katsuki’s heart is thumping hard against his chest, adrenaline and smoke and all the things hard to grasp but easy to feel coursing through his veins. Shouto leans up, his hand going back up behind Katsuki’s head, resting comfortably at his nape, the other touching his cheek in the same way he always does, no matter how rough they’re fucking, with a carefulness that one would use in putting eggs in a grocery bag or carrying kittens.
His vibrant eyes dart to his neck, before meeting his eyes.
“May I?”
He should say no, but he never could, not when he knows that Shouto never goes too far, he always draws back when Katsuki asks.
“Yeah,” the werewolf breathes and Shouto leans in, licking a long stripe across his neck, causing him to arch his back and buck his hips, hands tangling in the vampire’s hair as he bites down. There’s a short sting of pain, then Katsuki’s brain flatlines in pleasure. He growls, digging his fingers into Shouto’s hip, scraping slightly.
Katsuki can’t get drunk quickly, his metabolism is too fast, but every touch is like a drink of wine, every scrape of Shouto’s fingers like a shot, until the werewolf feels drunk enough to fight a god.
Shouto pulls back, not after licking the bite wound close, lips plump and red, eyes shining and face flushing with Katsuki’s own blood pumping through his veins.
That should not be as hot as it is.
“Fuck.”
Shouto arches a brow, mouth quirking up.
“Oka-”
He rediscovers how much he likes shutting his vampire up.
Afterwards, Katsuki shifts out of bed from under Shouto from where he has curled himself over him, breathing soft puffs against his neck. He shoves on some sweatpants, the ones that are his but Shouto was wearing, snatching the carton of cigarettes sitting guiltily on the bedside table, right next to the almost empty bottle of lube and heads to the balcony.
It’s cold outside, enough for Katsuki to regret putting on his shirt, but he doesn’t bother going back inside. The full moon calms him somewhat, but he still feels jittery, feels the taste of uncertainty on his tongue. Shouto had washed it out with his own taste, but it has now clawed its way back. The folder sitting on the kitchen floor pops up in his brain and Katsuki quickly lights a cigarette.
Katsuki isn’t used to not knowing what to do, being a hunter, especially one as fucking good as him, hesitation gets you killed or fucking worse. He has not once questioned the assignments he’s been given, not once faltered. HQ was created to protect the city, to protect the fucking country from dangerous creatures who actually meant harm, like Akaguro. Shouto is… not that.
He trusts HQ though, as much as he can trust, because he’s seen how ugly these elite vampires can get. Seen the horrors, basements full of children drained dry, bloodbaths (literal ones and figurative ones). Not just vampires either, werewolves gone feral, dark witches, creatures born and made of all kinds, even human beings, and not once had he thought that maybe, maybe the creatures he was hunting weren’t- they weren’t-
Maybe Shouto isn’t-
His head hurts and he sucks in another drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke clear his crowded thoughts, as brief as it may be. His tail is still stiff and puffed up, ears on high alert, but he lets his head drop, leaning his forearms against the cold railing.
Fuck.
“Katsuki?”
Fuck.
Shouto stands beside him, pressing against his side gently. When Katsuki looks up at him, he’s looking up at the sky, face softened by the moonlight (or perhaps something else). He has on Katsuki’s hoodie, his hair is loose and it surrounds him gently in slight curls. Katsuki swallows harshly.
“Something’s wrong,” Shouto notes, not looking away from the sky, not even when the werewolf goes still beside him.
“You don’t have to tell me of course, but I think it might have something to do with that paper that was in your jacket.”
Fuck, of course Shouto has to use his brain when Katsuki doesn’t want him to. Where was it when Shouto had asked what the difference between a grape and a grapefruit was or when he thought fettuccini was a classical music composer?
A billion options materialized in his head, from straight up lying to evading to fucking Shouto again to jumping off the balcony even though he knows he would just land on his feet, despite not being a shitty cat. If he jumps off, his bike is on the other side of the building so he’ll have to make a dash for it.
“Katsuki?”
Goddamnit.
“I’m supposed to kill you.”
Well, there’s that option as well.
Shouto finally moves to look at him, brow arched. The cigarette in Katsuki’s hand is almost burned out by the time the vampire responds.
“Okay.”
“O-O- Okay?” Katsuki splutters, suddenly insulted, “what, you think I can’t kill you? I could kill you in my sleep with my hands chopped off you-”
“I trust you.”
Katsuki freezes, cigarette falling out of his fingers and onto the ground three stories below. He looks up at Shouto, eyes wide, mouth parted open.
The vampire stares back, face smooth and eyes so clear and open he can see Shouto’s brain stem surely failing because why else would he say-
“I trust you, Katsuki.”
That.
“You- you’re fucking crazy,” he whispers, refusing to identify the emotion that’s rudely kicking his way into his chest.
“Maybe,” Shouto hums, before he slides his hand across Katsuki’s nape and leans down, brushing his lips against the fresh bite mark on the werewolf’s neck.
“I’m not the only one,” he whispers into Katsuki’s neck. The werewolf no longer feels the cold, but he shivers anyways.
Fair point.
Shouto draws back, stepping away from the dazed werewolf.
“I know you Bakugou Katsuki,” Shouto announces, “no matter what happens, you’ll make the right choice, even if it meant breaking your own heart.” He gives Katsuki a smile, sad and soft and big enough to crinkle the corner of his eyes and turn them into little half moons.
“Because that’s who you are. And that’s who I fell in love with.”
Then he’s gone, like the aftertaste of a dream.
Fuck.
A week later, Katsuki ignores Shitty Hair completely as he walks into HQ, he doesn’t even kick the door open. There’s no guitar case on his back, but he places a ring in front of Uraraka, watches it glint in the bright light.
“Money,” he says and the witch looks at him with wide eyes, before flicking her wrist shakily and the rings sails and slams into the container. Another flick and there’s money in his pocket.
Katsuki leaves.
He leaves HQ, he leaves the café, he straddles his bike and leaves the city.
Deep in the woods on the outskirts of the city, there’s an old abandoned house, often thought to be haunted so deeply avoided. The sunlight streams brightly through the mottled trees, highlighting a figure struggling to pull weeds from around the house, his fingers bare and caked with dirt, a sun hat on to protect him from the sun, his long hair, half red and half white, pulled into a loose bun.
The rev of a bike catches his attention and he turns, standing up.
Shouto smiles.