《TOXIC》katsuki bakugou × reader

Beggars can't be choosers

Uraraka and Pinky's concern was palpable as they noticed your swollen eyes.
Over dinner at your place, you knew you had to spill the beans about your recent job loss and Bakugou's unexpected offer.

"I can't believe Bakugou would do this to you, y/n. He's always been a bully, even back in UA when he targeted Deku,"

Uraraka empathized.

"I don't want to accept his offer, but I'm broke," you admitted reluctantly.

"We can help you out financially, y/n," Uraraka offered.

"No, I can't accept money from you guys," you declined, not wanting to burden your friends.

"But y/n, we're friends. We're here to support you," Pinky chimed in earnestly.

"I appreciate it, but I'll work for Bakugou. Maybe if I cook to his taste, he'll ease up on me. Plus, the pay is good," you explained, trying to reassure them.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Uraraka probed, sensing your underlying distress.

"Yeah, don't worry about me," you assured them with a forced smile.

"Promise us you'll ask for help if you need it, okay?" Pinky insisted.

"Of course, thanks for everything, guys," you said gratefully, steering the conversation towards lighter topics.

As you served them food, compliments poured in about your cooking skills, warming your heart.

The next day at school, you couldn't shake off the events of the previous night. Despite your efforts to distract yourself, thoughts of Bakugou lingered, leaving you unsettled.

Dressed in a chic ensemble, you entered class, trying to avoid attention.

"Hey, shawty, what's up?" Kirishima's friendly voice broke through your thoughts, offering a momentary reprieve

"Hi," you greeted nervously, grateful for the distraction.

"I'm Kirishima. By the way, love your outfit. You've got great style, girl. Right, Bakubro?" Kirishima complimented, turning to Bakugou, who grunted in response.

"Thanks," you blushed, appreciating the compliment amidst the chaos.

"Don't stress about Bakubro. He's always like this," Kirishima reassured, offering a brief respite from Bakugou's looming presence.

Class ended, and as you navigated the hallway, Bakugou intercepted you, his imposing figure leaving you speechless against the wall.

"What the hell, I told you to text me. Dont you understand anything?" Bakugou's voice was sharp, his intense gaze piercing through you.

"I-I was about to text you," you stammered, feeling small under his scrutiny.

"So, you're in for the job?" Bakugou's tone softened slightly, though his words carried a hint of disdain.

"Y-yes," you agreed reluctantly, eager to end the confrontation.

"Girls like you would do anything for money, huh?" Bakugou's smirk fueled your anger.

"What do you mean by that?" Your voice wavered,

"Stop being so dramatic. Girls like you act innocent, but you're not fooling anyone," Bakugou's words cut deep, leaving you reeling with self-doubt.

"You think I'm a slut?" Tears welled up in your eyes.

"Huh, stop being so damn dramatic. I see girls like you all the time, acting all innocent when they're not. And what the hell are you asking me about your clothes for? What the fuck are you wearing? Seeing girls like you dress up like that just for male attention makes me wanna puke," Bakugou spat out without a shred of remorse.

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Did he really just judge you based on your clothes? "What's wrong with my clothes? And how the hell do they define who I am anyway?" you asked, your voice trembling as your cheeks flushed red with anger and humiliation.

But Bakugou didn't give a damn. He just stood there, staring at you with no emotion, no regret for his words. He thought you were just craving attention, that everything about you was fake.

You tried to hold back your tears. "I've told you so many times, but you just don't fucking get it. Stop acting innocent. I don't have time to explain what's wrong and what's not. Here's the contract for the job, just fucking take it," he snapped, shoving a file into your hands.

"What kind of contract is this?" you asked, your voice quivering with emotion.

"If you're gonna be my cook, it's gotta be official. Give me a copy of your ID, read the damn terms, sign it, and let me know. I'm not having some fucking stranger in my house without paperwork," he barked, snatching your phone and leaving you alone in the hallway, tears streaming down your face as you struggled to gather yourself.

You went home and started reading the contract, desperate for money and unwilling to return to your miserable life. You were willing to endure Bakugou's torment if it meant escaping your stepmother, especially since you had made some good friends and were finally starting to embrace your quirk.

But as you read the contract, shock washed over you at its absurd terms. You had to live with him

wait what?

why????

cook two meals a day,

ohkay i don't  have problem with that.

And worst of all, you had to adhere to a strict dress code outside his apartment—no revealing clothes allowed.

Bakugou's reasoning? The media might think he had a prostitute in the house, damaging his reputation. It was absurd, infuriating, and downright degrading.

It was ludicrous, and you couldn't understand why your clothes mattered in the first place.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a call from a private number. "Hello?" you answered tentatively.

"Yeah, dumbass, have you signed the contract? You don't have much time. Either you move into my place before dinner or the offer's off," Bakugou's voice came through the phone, brusque and impatient.

"W-what? No, I have so many doubts about it. I need to talk to you about certain terms," you protested, but he cut you off.

"Shut the fuck up. Am I your math teacher who will clear you doubts? I'll be there in an hour. I already got your address from college. Either you come or forget about it. I don't fucking care. I'm generous enough to give you this fucking opportunity. Got it?" he spat out before hanging up.

You were left reeling, with only an hour to make a decision.