Chapter Text
There was nothing Blood Riot wouldn't do for his angel, his precious gem.
He had ripped out tongues that dared to speak ill of him. He had broken wrists for mocking gestures. He had burned gazes with real fire for daring to lay eyes on what was his. He had spilled too much blood from people who dared even to look down on his little hero. It didn't matter if they were villains on his own side or charlatans calling themselves heroes.
Blood Riot took care of them all.
He manipulated reports, sabotaged missions, and pushed enemies away from his blond friend's path with the subtlety of a cruel shadow. He made it seem like a coincidence, a miraculous stroke of luck… when in reality, he was the one holding every thread.
He followed him from a distance, always, like a spectral guardian. He had learned his schedule, his favorite routes, even the number of breaths he took when he was nervous. And when his hero was hurt, Blood Riot bled inside. But he never intervened... unless it was truly necessary. Unless someone else was trying to take away the only good thing left in the world.
To his hero. His sun. His gem. His angel.
"P-please! Stop!" the man on the ground begged. Tears and blood streamed down his disfigured face as he tried in vain to get away from the villain.
Riot gave a wry smile as he ambled forward, delighting in watching him grovel and beg for mercy that didn't exist. Perhaps he would feel pity… if it weren't for the fact that the scum in front of him was the one responsible for recently sending his precious hero to the hospital.
He remembers it clearly. He saw red when he found out. Red like his hair. Red like the blood he was about to shed.
"Please, Riot! I didn't do anything against you!" he begged. His back hit the alley wall. Shit. No way out.
"Nothing against me? Heh..." the redhead snorted, unamused. "I'm afraid you just signed your own death sentence with that lie."
His smile widened with sinister calm as he crouched down to face the cornered bastard. Even so, his shadow covered him completely. He was a living, tangible threat.
—I-I didn't do it, sir! I swear! Please...
Poor idiot. Pleasing is useless once he's made up his mind.
“You sent Dynamight to the hospital two days ago, didn’t you?” he asked, tilting his head. His red hair slithered over his shoulder like a living flame. His eyes darkened, and the scar across his face made his expression even more monstrous.
“W-what does D-Dynamight have to do with this, s-sir...?” the man stammered. His breathing became erratic. His vision was blurry. It hurt to blink.
"It has to do with everything, little man. You hurt him." Riot's voice dropped to a poison-laced whisper. "You dared to spill his blood. His precious blood."
A tremor, almost imperceptible, ran through his fingers. It wasn't nervousness. It was suppressed anger.
"Your only mistake," he added with a smile that showed more teeth than compassion, "was not knowing that Dynamight is untouchable. And now you're going to pay for it."
There was a moment of silence. Short. Thick. Like the second before a gunshot.
Riot reached up leisurely and cupped the guy's face with one hand, his sharp claws digging mercilessly into his cheeks. The poor wretch twitched, convulsing with gasps of pain and shortness of breath. His desperate hands tried to pry the villain's arm away, but it was like trying to move a mountain. Riot was an unbreakable tank.
He applied more force. His claws sank to the bone. Warm blood ran down his forearm like the ink of a fulfilled oath. Muffled screams mingled with the gasps from the damp alley, brief echoes of a life slipping away.
He didn't look away. He wanted to see him. He wanted that deformed face to be the last thing etched in the bastard's memory.
When the body went limp, Riot took a deep breath. His fingers relaxed, letting the corpse fall unceremoniously. He looked at the dark puddle soaking the floor, and his smile faded, replaced by a grimace of disgust.
“Disgusting,” he muttered, clicking his tongue as he shook his hand to remove the blood.
But inside, a flame burned quietly. Not because of the act... but because of the simple fact that, once again, Dynamight was safe.
He stood up heavily and stretched his tired muscles. It had been a long day, full of unfinished business. He kicked the corpse before turning and walking away without looking back.
He'd only made it a few alleys when a chill ran down his spine. He stopped, and an amused snort escaped his lips.
"I know you're here, kitty," he said, with a hint of flirtation in his voice. "Come here. Let me see you."
He didn't have to wait long. His little hero fell in front of him with the same fierce grace as always. Blood Riot scanned him, inspecting every visible inch for wounds or scars. He sighed in relief when he couldn't see anything with the naked eye, although he didn't rule out the possibility that they were hidden beneath the suit.
"What brings you here, angel? Were you looking for me?"
"Don't think you're so important, Riot," the blond growled. His scowl and murderous glare made it clear he was annoyed. He'd have to fix that... soon.
"Hmm. If you're not here for me, then for whom?" he asked in a low, playful voice. He smiled a smile that was both amused and provocative. He loved seeing that fire burning in his hero.
Dynamight hadn't moved since landing. He stood just two meters away from the redhead, arms crossed and staring. The time had come. He couldn't ignore him any longer.
For months, Katsuki had begun to see a pattern. Deaths. All connected by a single common thread:
He.
Dismembered corpses, decapitated, abandoned in remote places. They were all villains he'd fought with. It didn't matter if they were free or locked up in prison… they ended up dead. And not just any way. They were massacres.
At first, the Commission said nothing. They were villains, after all. But when the next people on the list became heroes… the scandal erupted.
Five.
Five heroes killed.
They all appeared mangled, covered in their own blood. Some were missing limbs. Others bore clear signs of torture.
And all of them— every one of them —had had public run-ins with Dynamight.
The Commission panicked.
They investigated. They interrogated him for days on end. They used lie detectors. They raided his apartment. They reviewed every text, every call, every step. They monitored him for over two months.
It was hell.
Katsuki couldn't believe they thought he was capable of something like that. But of course. How could they not? He was the impulsive hero, the one with the bad attitude, the one who exploded over nothing. He fit the profile.
And that infuriated him more than anything.
He'd worked his whole life to get where he was. He graduated from UA among the best. In less than three years, he was already in the Top 15. He'd bled, fought, and sacrificed too much to be treated like a murderer.
And then… he understood.
Of course they'd think it was him. Because they didn't know what he had known for a long time about who was truly responsible.
Since the first time they crossed paths. Since that damned fight where they traded blows until they were exhausted. Since the exact moment he felt eyes as red as hell staring at him with hunger.
Ambition. Desire. Obsession.
Since that night… since that first word.
Angel.
Katsuki knew his reaction was wrong. His body shuddered, and his cheeks flushed deeply. His heart raced like never before, causing his quirk to malfunction while he was in midair. He remembers it cost him a broken ankle that kept him home for a whole week.
He didn't know why it happened. It was a normal, damn word. It shouldn't have caused all those unpleasant reactions. Nor should it have affected him in the nights that followed that day. His dreams began to betray him, creating scenarios where the protagonist was a huge, muscular man with a wild mane of red hair down to his waist. Piercing red eyes and a sharp-toothed smile. The scar on the right side of his face should have made him terrifying, but it only caused an unwanted sensation in his body.
Mornings waking up sweating and shaking, followed by cold showers, became frequent. Katsuki hated how his body betrayed him, wanting that man. That ruthless villain. He felt hatred for wanting what he should despise more than anything in the world. He should hate him for the horrible things he's done and the consequences it's brought upon his life, but he just... couldn't.
He began to crave those encounters with the redhead, those battles where they pretended to hate each other and want to make the other suffer... all while their eyes conveyed juxtaposing emotions.
Desire. Pure desire.
Now, here, standing in front of the villain he should hate, Katsuki couldn't. His heart lurched at the smirk the other gave him; his hands trembled and sweated against his crossed arms. He could feel the heat swirling in his groin and his stomach churning like hell.
He knew the redhead desired him. It was more than obvious. But he didn't believe he was capable of murder for him. It felt like obsession. Katsuki should have been worried that a villain was obsessed with him, but he couldn't bring himself to feel it. On the contrary, he felt... a despicable satisfaction. Knowing that someone like that damn Blood Riot would do anything for him was... nice.
Katsuki hated him with all his soul.
“I know you killed them, Riot. Just like that asshole from earlier,” he replied tersely. “For your information, he didn’t hurt me. A weak guy like that bastard could never do anything to me. Now… why have you been doing this? Why the fuck am I the center of your ridiculous obsession?”
Blood Riot didn't respond immediately. He just stared at him. His pupils constricted slightly, as if he wanted to capture every part of what Katsuki had just told him. And then, that smile returned. Slow. Arrogant. Almost feline.
"Obsession...?" he repeated in a deep voice, drawling the word with relish. He took a step forward. "It sounds so... dirty when you say it like that, kitty."
Katsuki gritted his teeth.
"Don't call me that," he snapped, but his voice wasn't as firm as he'd intended. Damn it. His body reacted before his mind. As always, as it did every time he was around.
Riot noticed the subtle trembling in his fingers, the way his chest rose and fell a little more rapidly. He smiled wider.
"And what do you want me to call you, then? "Angel"? "Hero"? Or would you rather I tell you what I call you in my thoughts when you're panting in my dreams?"
His voice came out deep, like a growl filled with suppressed desire.
Katsuki felt all the heat concentrating on his face and below. He took a step toward him.
"You're a sick piece of shit," he spat out in a trembling voice.
“And yet here you are, facing me alone. Asking why. Are you sure you want the answer, Dynamight?” Riot murmured, his tone becoming softer, almost reverent. “Or did you just want to see me again?”
Katsuki felt his breath fail him for a second. He hated him. He hated him so much for knowing exactly what to say to disarm him. But he couldn't back down. Not now.
"Tell me the truth," he growled. "Why did you do all that?"
The redhead took another step closer. They were barely a meter apart now. The size difference between them was brutal, and the heat emanating from Riot was suffocating. His voice fell to a whisper that wormed its way between his ribs:
—Because they touch you. They yell at you. They threaten you. They approach you as if your existence belongs to them. And that, Katsuki, I don't allow. No one has the right to breathe you if I don't authorize it.
The blond blinked, unsure whether he wanted to kick him or throw himself at him. But his body had already decided for him: his legs wouldn't move.
Riot lowered his face slightly, his breath warm against the shorter man's cheek.
—Do you want to know why I did it...? I did it because you can't really hate me. Because it turns you on to have me in front of you. Because you dream about me. Because even if you call me a monster... you don't push me away. You're here. With me.
And even though Katsuki wanted to yell at him, wanted to deny it... he couldn't.
He just looked at him.
He just breathed.
And that silence between them… was no longer one of fury.
It was desire about to break.
Blood Riot let out a soft laugh. Not mockingly… but low, raspy. Almost intimate.
"And what you call obsession..." he repeated as he took a step closer, now completely invading his personal space. "I would call it... devotion."
Katsuki didn't back away, but his jaw tightened. This closeness was killing him.
"Don't give me that shit," he growled, trying to sound firm, although his voice came out huskier than he intended.
“Why not?” Riot murmured. He lowered his head until his lips were dangerously close to Katsuki’s ear. “Don’t you like the way it sounds when I talk to you like that, angel?”
A chill ran down his spine, and for a second, his body leaned slightly toward him. Shit.
"What do you want from me?" he snapped, trying to regain control.
The redhead smiled. Not the typical sadistic or cruel smile. It was something else. An intoxicating mix of desire, danger... and twisted affection.
“You know it, but you just don’t want to admit it.” His fingers, his claws, rose and brushed against Katsuki’s jaw, slowly. Not quite touching, but almost. “I want to see you like this. Trembling. Afraid. But wanting. I want to destroy whoever hurts you… and then, I want to kneel before you and worship you as you deserve.”
Katsuki gasped softly. His heart was pounding, his breathing ragged. He hated himself for not pushing it away. For allowing it to touch him with such twisted devotion. For wanting it to continue.
"You're a fucking crazy person," he whispered. But he didn't walk away.
Blood Riot stared at him. His eyes blazed with intensity.
—And you're just as screwed as I am, if you haven't run away yet.
Silence.
And then, Katsuki snapped.
"Why can't I get you out of my head, damn it?!" he screamed angrily, but his hands were already gripping the black fabric covering the other's upper chest, pulling him towards him. Their lips nearly collided. Barely millimeters apart. "What the fuck did you do to me, bastard?!"
Riot let out a low, dark, hungry growl.
"I made you mine," he whispered.
And that's where the invisible line broke.
It was Katsuki who closed the distance. A brutal kiss, filled with hatred, desire, and rage. One that didn't ask for permission or offer explanations. A clash of mouths that tasted of fury and pent-up frustration. Riot's hands wrapped around him tightly, holding him as if he was afraid he'd disappear. Katsuki bit his lip hard. The redhead growled and pushed him against the nearest wall, without breaking the kiss.
It was war.
And it was surrender.
And both were lost.
The kiss broke with a harsh breath. They were both left panting, staring at each other with fury and desire, their foreheads pressed together.
Katsuki closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain control. But there wasn't any. He couldn't.
I shouldn't be doing this.
He had to think about the Commission, about the dead heroes, about what this meant.
But for the first time in his fucking life... he didn't want to think.
He didn't want to be correct. Or rational. Or a damn example.
He wanted this. He wanted him.
His trembling fingers reached up to one of the large, sharp shoulder pads that decorated Riot's suit. He touched it lightly, hesitating. The redhead didn't move. He just watched him intently, like a wild animal deciding not to attack.
Katsuki gulped, his eyes lifting to meet the other's.
"Don't bite," he whispered, barely audible, with a lopsided grimace.
Blood Riot smiled with sharp teeth.
"It depends on where you touch me, angel," he purred.
Katsuki snorted through his teeth, but his blush betrayed him. With a little more confidence, his fingers gripped the right shoulder pad. With careful movements, he unhooked it from the suit, removing it completely. He tossed it aside with little delicacy.
He continued with the other one. Slower. More attentive. As if it were the most intimate thing he'd ever done in his life.
And Riot... didn't stop. Didn't slow him down.
Katsuki felt the texture beneath his fingers change. He glanced at him, seeing how the right side of the villain's chest, usually covered in that hardened, sharp, and dark skin like volcanic rock... was beginning to soften. The texture became more human. Warmer. The scar on his cheek seemed less intimidating with the dulled hardness.
The quirk had been deactivated.
He was letting him in.
The blond tensed, surprised by that silent surrender.
"I didn't think you'd be capable of letting go of control," he whispered, leaning close to his face. "I thought you were the kind who breaks before you bend."
Riot laughed softly, husky and low. His hand went to Katsuki's waist, firm but not pressing. "I'm only bending... for you."
The air became thick.
Katsuki bit his lip hard, feeling desire wash over him in waves. One side of him screamed for him to stop. To walk away before it was too late. But the other—that selfish side he almost never allowed himself to listen to—wanted to keep going. Wanted more.
He dropped one of his hands onto the villain's bare chest, just above his right side. The skin was warm, solid but not impenetrable. He felt the slight tremor beneath his palm and knew he wasn't the only one crossing a line.
Riot lowered his head, his nose brushing against Katsuki's cheek, his hot breath making his skin prickle.
"You're trembling," he whispered against his skin. "Is it fear... or desire?"
Katsuki didn't respond immediately. His fingers gripped the hem of the redhead's suit, right at the base of his abdomen. He stared at him intently, never looking away.
—Both.
A soft, almost human smile crossed Riot's lips. He lowered his head and this time kissed the corner of his mouth. Not forcefully. But with a strange tenderness that completely disarmed him.
Katsuki took a deep breath. He closed his eyes.
And he let himself fall.