Chapter Text
Katsuki never even fucking wanted to go out to that new sushi place that Deku was so crazy about, and once he makes it out of here and sleeps for approximately 18 hours, the nerd is going to know that intimately.
This is what he chooses to focus on, with an almost feral determination, as another fist hits the fine bones of his face.
“You mother fuckers just wait—” another fist collides, to his right side jaw, “—the only reason you’re so confident is ‘cause you have me in chains!” Another, to his gut this time, a brutal uppercut delivered right to his diaphragm from a meaty fist, owned by a guy Katsuki has taken to calling ‘Patches’ due to the eye patch he’s sporting. Heh, clever. Once Katsuki has caught his breath, he continues, “If this was a fair fight, you fuckers would be dead!”
A punch connects with his right ear, and he barely restrains the pained grunt that tries to escape him as the pain radiates through his skull and the ringing reaches an uppermost pitch. His left ear is thankfully left alone, however, and because of this Katsuki easily hears the clicks of a tongue, sounding out in derision and disappointment from somewhere behind him where he hangs helplessly from two chains that attach at the ceiling, cutting into his wrists.
These assholes are gonna eat my fire for dinner. Tastes better than any damn sushi.
“What a shame, Dynamight. I truly hoped you had reformed by now—put your emotional teenage years behind you, if you will.”
Katsuki listens intently to every word, the gentle, smooth voice creating an image in his mind that he is ready to tailor with every information point gained. So far, he can tell that this is a man, the click of his heels on the hard concrete beneath them betraying a set of dress shoes that seemingly match his well-appointed, haughty accent and tone. This guy’s a fucking trust fund baby, he’d bet money on it.
“Am I here for therapy, or to be beaten senseless? If it’s both, you’ve got a weird program going on here, Prissy.” Heh, also clever.
The echoing steps stop close by to his left while still remaining out of Katsuki’s line of sight. The frustration of such a small inconvenience threatens to push him over the edge, his teeth already grinding together roughly. It’s because he’s angry of course; not at all because of the pain shooting through his limbs.
Prissy’s voice darkens, the lilting, aristocratic sound of it disappearing entirely. “I don’t like such ugly words, hero. They are not befitting of one such as you, looked up to by our citizens with blind admiration and trust. Children fill their days with toys of you, with shows broadcasting your bravery and heroism, and what do you feed them? Vulgar drivel, nasty language accompanied by horrendous manners.”
Katsuki laughs, loud and mocking, “Yea well, the people like what they like. They like power and strength and I’ve got that shit in spades—you’d know if you paid any attention. Was your nose too far up your fancy-smelling ass to watch my rise to the Top 10?” Katsuki snickers, licking his lips that have begun to clot with blood from hours old punches.
Prissy huffs. “Yes, well, if one cannot change public perception, one must change the object of their affections,” he spits, and Katsuki feels something suspiciously close to relief as the man finally begins walking again, his grey, bespoke suit finally coming into view as Katsuki lets his eyes roam hungrily, taking in every clue he can. He’s going to remember this fucker’s face along with every other one here and make sure none of them ever see the outside of a jail cell again.
There, see? He has grown as a person; before, he would have decided the only acceptable punishment was for their faces to become one with the concrete. He smiles to himself and thinks of Deku for some unknown reason. He can almost hear the little nerd agreeing with him: “Kacchan has grown! He’s completely changed since high school!” Katsuki would hope so—it has been almost ten years, after all. He shakes the small, eager voice of his rival from his head, his ear pinging unpleasantly.
He wonders where Deku is now, what he did when Katsuki didn’t show up to their agreed-upon meeting place. On second thought, maybe Katsuki isn’t as keen to get out of this place; he’d almost take a few punches over the look of disappointment on Deku’s face. Tch, when did you get so soft?
Belatedly, Katsuki realizes Prissy has been talking.
“—but if you could change on your own, you would have done it by now, don't you think, hero?”
“Are you still going on about not liking who I am? If you don’t like me so much, these,” Katsuki wiggles his wrists just enough for a metallic tinkling sound to echo through the wide-open space of what he assumes is a warehouse, “are kinda giving the wrong idea.” Katsuki, though it pains him due to a cut running right through his eyebrow, winks. “Kinky.”
Prissy, with all his fine features—a slim face and high nose, pointed chin and lifted cheekbones—goes quickly from a pale tint to something resembling red, and Katsuki thrives on it. There’s almost nothing better than getting under someone’s skin just right—it’s a high Katsuki has gotten himself into trouble too many times trying to chase.
Deku’s skin is especially fun to wriggle under, though Katsuki finds he does it a bit differently nowadays than when they were kids. The mean words are softer now, insults fewer and farther between though not absent, due to Deku’s skin being tougher than ever. No, Katsuki knows the real way to dig, the best way to get at the fleshy underbelly of Deku as an adult, is praise.
Deku is sole owner of Katsuki’s favorite shade of red.
Prissy is only getting progressively more upset as Katsuki lets his mind wander, and a small percentage of him wonders if he should be nervous. He’s chained up, toes barely touching the floor with only enough to keep his balance, and his hands are nearly useless, his blood flow and sweat flow kept to almost nothing by the angle of his arms and temperature of the room. He’d tried to blast the metal into shrapnel when he first woke up in a daze but hadn’t succeeded. Honestly, he’s well and truly fucked.
But even so, he can’t seem to feel fear. This pompous prick seems like a man on nothing more than a hyped-up power trip, and when he’s bored Katsuki assumes he’ll set him free. What’s he going to do, make Katsuki say he’ll be a good boy? Katsuki will feed him lies all day if it gets him out of here; he has no loyalty to this man who doesn't know him for shit, as there are only two people Katsuki gives allowance to supply an accurate opinion about him.
“Yes, I think you need a little outside incentive, Dynamight,” Prissy says through a snarl, teeth clenched in his rage.
The eerie, echoing sound of a small set of wheels coming into the room bounces against Katsuki’s skull, building a strange pressure right between his eyes as he scrunches his face trying to get rid of it. The lights that center around Katsuki don’t reveal much else about this place, a dusty fog obscuring the corners of how big the room is and where any exits may lie. The sound draws near, clattering over small bumps and rocks that lie exposed in the floor, and Katsuki feels his curiosity rear up inside him. The stakes have been raised it seems, though he doesn’t know how high yet. He narrows his eyes as a vaguely human-shaped form comes into view.
When the edges of a gurney accompany it, complete with thin mattress and white sheets, it still takes Katsuki a second too long to recognize just who is lying upon it.
“I think I’ve found the right incentive, Bakugou Katsuki.”
Katsuki trusts two people in the entire world to have his back unconditionally, to know him truly, and to always let him crash on their couch when he needs it. One is Kirishima, Katsuki’s best friend since high school days, friendship forged in blood and pain and softer things, too.
And the other...is Deku. Who lies face up on the bed before him, wrists and ankles bound to the metal bars surrounding the mattress. He’s unconscious.
“I hope you’re ready to behave, hero.”
The stakes have been raised, indeed. Katsuki hopes he can afford them.