𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓗𝓸𝔀 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 𝓖𝓸𝓮𝓼 | Katsuki Bakugou x Male reader

Chapter 8

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"No!" (M/N) cried as he sprung forward. It was too late to stop the arm from descending, and he instinctively knew he wouldn't have the power to block it. Instead he threw himself directly between the whip and Shoto. He'd flung out his arms to protect as much of Shoto's broken body as possible, so there was nothing to deflect the lash. (M/N) took the full force of it across the left side of his face.

The pain was blinding and instantaneous. Jagged flashes of light crossed his vision and he fell to his knees. One hand cupped his cheek while the other kept him from tipping over. (M/N) could already feel the welt rising up, the swelling closing his eye. The stones beneath him were wet with Shoto's blood, the air heavy with its scent. "Stop! You'll kill him!" (M/N) shouted.

(M/N) got a glimpse of his assailant's face. Hard, with deep lines and a cruel mouth. The powerful arm lifted again, his sights set on (M/N). (M/N)'s hand flew to his shoulder, hungry for an arrow, but, of course, his weapons were stashed in the woods. He grit his teeth in anticipation of the next lash.

"Hold it!" a voice barked. Shota appeared and pulled (M/N) to his feet roughly. "Oh excellent." His hand locked under (M/N)'s chin, lifting it. "He's got a photo shoot next week modelling wedding outfits. What am I supposed to tell his stylist?"

A flicker of recognition passed through the eyes of the man with the whip. Bundled against the cold, (M/N)'s face free of make-up, it wouldn't be easy to identify him as the victor of the last Hunger Games. Especially with half his face swelling up. But Shota had been showing up on television for years, he'd be difficult to forget.

The man rested the whip on his hip. "He interrupted the punishment of a confessed criminal."

Everything about the man, his commanding voice, his odd accent, warned of an unknown and dangerous threat. Where had he come from? District 11? Three? From the Capitol itself?

"I don't care if he blew up the damn Justice Building. Look at his cheek! Think that will be camera ready in a week?" Shota snarled.

The man's voice was still cold, but (M/N) could detect a slight edge of doubt. "That's not my problem."

"No? Well, it's about to be, my friend. The first call I make when I get home is to the Capitol," Shota said. "Find out who authorised you to mess up his face!"

"He was poaching. What business is it of his, anyway?" said the man.

"He's his cousin." Katsuki had (M/N)'s other arm now, but gently. "And this is my fiance. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us."

They were probably the only three people in the district who could make a stand like this. Although it was sure to be temporary. There would be repercussions. But at that moment, all (M/N) cared about was keeping Shoto alive. The new Head Peacekeeper glanced over at his back-up squad. With relief, (M/N) could see they were familiar faces, old friends from the Hob. He could tell by their expressions that they weren't enjoying the show.

The first one stepped forward stiffly. "I believe, for a first offence, the required number of lashes has been dispensed, sir. Unless your sentence is death, which we would carry out the firing squad."

"Is that the standard protocol here?" asked the Head Peacekeeper.

"Yes, sir," the Peacekeeper responded. Several others gave a nod in agreement. (M/N) was sure none of them actually knew because, in the Hob, the standard protocol for someone showing up with a wild turkey was for everybody to bid on the drumsticks.

"Very well. Get your cousin out of here, then, boy. And if he comes to, remind him that the next time he poaches off the Capitol's land, I'll assemble that firing squad personally." The Head Peacekeeper wiped his hand along the length of the whip, splattering them with blood. Then he coiled it into quick, neat loops and walked off.