#I hope you spent your birthday surrounded by happiness and love

[kimtaegis]

may you find happiness there, may all your hopes all turn out right! ↳ for @magicshop 🌸

cr. dwellingsouls, atoz v; insp.

[craisinsensation1029]

Never Forgotten

Kento Nanami

originally posted on AO3! :) wrote this back in July for Nanamin's birthday :3 <3

Fem reader, established relationship, alcohol consumption, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, cream pie, slight breeding kink, very light bondage, Nanami dealing w a shitty day, its like, kinda sweet if u squint a bit, a little praise & degrading

4.6k

MDNI

Nanami looked down at you as you stirred in your sleep, cuddled securely into his side. Your arm was wrapped around his midsection and his was around your shoulder. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, as he reached for the remote to turn the television off.

You two had been dating for nearly ten months now. You hit it off after meeting through a mutual friend for a night out for drinks, and have been happy together since. 

You two did have plans to move in together in a few months. Nanami owned a condo, and you still had some time before the lease on your apartment was up. This was the first major relationship either of you had been in, so it admittedly was a huge step, but both of you were prepared to take the plunge.

Until then you shared nights like these where you would come and sleep over. He loved having you over, seeing you move comfortably around the space as if it were your own.

Tonight was a bit different, as it was the night before his birthday. You two hadn’t spent one of his birthdays together yet, so he honestly didn’t know what to expect. Not that he was particularly a a person big on the occasion, seeing the day as just another year closer to retirement, but maybe you would make it different.

You were just that kind of thoughtful person that made everything worth celebrating. Hell, you baked him a cake when he told you he got another employee of the month award. You gasped when he shrugged lazily at the feat and sprinted to the kitchen. He told you it was really no big deal because he had so many, but all you did was narrow your eyes at him and told him he needed to be more excited he was being recognized for such diligent work.

He smiled at the memory as he pressed another kiss to your forehead.

He looked at the time on the clock. 3 minutes to midnight. He was unsure if you were supposed to spontaneously wake up out of your sleep with a song and dance, but there was nothing but silence to surround him when the clock struck midnight. 

Your sleeping form was so serene, he wouldn’t dare disturb you. Instead, he repositioned your bodies by unhooking your arms from his waist and wrapping his around yours instead. You stirred again as he let out small sigh mumbling to himself, “Happy birthday to me.” He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

The same way you always fell asleep before Nanami, you always woke up before him. You were already somewhere in the condo when Nanami woke up. He was hopeful this was going to be a birthday to remember. 

He went into the master bathroom to brush his teeth and got dressed for work. He never took the day off, because well, the retirement fund needed to be supplemented somehow. He took a look at himself in the mirror. Maybe he should have gotten a haircut a few days before, but no matter.

He walked out into the kitchen where you were sipping tea at the island. “Hey, good morning boo. Coffee’s in your mug.” You always made his coffee in the morning, just the way he liked it, but a wave of disappointment hit him. Was that it?

“Thanks, baby,” he answered, walking toward you to press a kiss to your lips. You kissed back. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. “Sleep well?”

“With you? Always,” you gushed, your soft hand landing on the side of his face. Wasn’t there anything else you wanted to say?

“Oh, good,” he nodded, his voice tight. “Uh, I guess I should get going then.”

“Already?” you pouted. “Do you have an early meeting or something? You didn’t even sit down and drink your coffee yet.” He loved spending mornings with you, drinking your hot beverages together while you entertained him recalling your always too wild and vivid dreams, but he couldn’t act like this wasn’t bothering him.

His girlfriend forgetting his birthday. His heart clenched, but he just tried to remember why he had never made it a big deal in the first place. It was just a day, he would just have to remind himself of that. 

“Yeah,” he lied, opting to pour the coffee in the mug into his tumbler. “Email came in about earlier this morning. I wasn’t expecting it either,” he chuckled, but his laugh was strained. He was lying through his teeth, couldn’t you tell?

“Ugh, okay,” you groaned. “I got called into work tomorrow, so I probably won’t be around when you get home. But I’ll cook something for you to eat for dinner.” 

Great. Even better. Now he would truly be spending the day alone. He cleared his throat before he spoke again, although he didn’t know what to say. He settled on, “Okay.” He swiftly placed his laptop in the bag before heading toward the door.

“I love you!” you called out behind him.

“Yeah, I love you too,” he said, just loud enough for you to hear as he pulled the door closed behind him.

The day Nanami was having would give A Series of Unfortunate Events a run for fucking money, and he was pissed off.

Not only did his morning start off with a lack of birthday wishes from you, but it was immiedtaely followed by some asshole deciding to go NASCAR speed on the residential street, a large puddle of last night’s rain drenching his slacks. 

He stood on the train while a parent’s curious toddler had the gall to ask him if he was still potty training. He knew he couldn’t glare at a child, so he held on the the pole even more tightly as he ignored the kid who decided to ask the question again and again until he and his mother eventually got off at the stop before him.

The morning meeting he lied about turned out to be a very real meeting. If Nanami actually checked his emails that morning, he would have known. So there he was in the office with drenched slacks and fifteen minutes to prepare a presentation that he didn’t give a fuck about. After being able to throw something together, his supervisor thanked him for being so flexible, but informed the team the meeting was actually for next week. “I guess I made an oopsie!” he shrugged. Nanami left the conference room without a word.

The fire alarm went off in the building a few minutes before lunch was going to start. He groaned, reaching for his lunchbox so he could at least warm it up somewhere else, only to realize he was reaching for air. He fucking forgot it at home. He groaned again, knowing not only did he have to take a fuck ton of stairs down from the twenty seventh floor, but he would have to buy lunch from some overpriced, overcrowded shop.

Once he got to the town square, it was already bustling with a bunch of people trying to get food for the lunch hour. He was already too aggravated to deal with that shit. He opted to just get a croissant from his favorite bakery instead. Taking the short walk there, he clenched his fist seeing a white note on the door and the lights off. Walking closer, the note read, Closed for inventory today, see you tomorrow! He absolutely wanted to scream.

With only fifteen minutes left in the lunch hour, he trudged back to the office where the fire alarm had stopped going off, but they advised everyone to take the stairs for safety purposes. Safety his ass, he didn’t have anymore fucks to give, but there was no choice. Hungry, and more then fed up, he trudged up the stairs and threw his head back once he got back to his desk.

His phone went off and he pulled it from his pocket, smiling seeing a text from you. He unlocked it, his face falling upon reading your message. I just left. I made you some chicken alfredo and garlic bread for dinner :) i’ll be back on Saturday! I love you!! ♡

Was that really it? His phone was littered with other birthday wishes that he would get to in time, but that message from you may have actually just made his day worse. Thanks baby, I love you too , he replied anyway. He wanted to throw his phone across the room.

The rest of the day was equally annoying; too many conversations with people that couldn’t take a hint that he didn’t want to talk, emails that were about as useful as white ink on white paper, and hunger still gnawing at his stomach from his lack of lunch.

By time time it was five, his supervisor was sauntering over to his desk. Nanami visibly scowled, but that didn’t deter him at all. “Nanami!” he greeted. He already knew where this was going. Overtime today of all days, fucking great. “I guess I made another oopsie.” His supervisor began to explain how his incompetence was now Nanami’s problem, and an hour later he was seething when he left the office.

The elevators were still deemed unsafe to use, and he trudged down the stairs yet again. He was finally out of work, but there didn’t seem anywhere for him to go. He could have hung out with some other friends, but more than anything he wanted to be with you. He sighed, deciding to get on the train and pop into the bar by the house. Nothing like some greasy food and some alcohol to wash away the day.

He sat at the bar, waiting for the bartender’s attention. “Hey man, can I just see some ID?” Nanami fished his ID out of his wallet, flashing it to the worker. “Oh, happy birthday man! I got to give you some shots on the house!”

“Woo! Birthday boy!” a visibly drunk man next to Nanami whooped, clapping him on the back.

“Thanks,” Nanami muttered as the bartender immediately poured two shots of brown liquid in front of him. He didn’t know what they were, but he didn’t care. He threw them both back in quick succession, the liquid burning his throat all the way down. He scowled at the aftertaste as he pushed the empty shot glasses back toward the bartender.

“Naw, you’ve got to give him something a little smoother,” the man next to him said. He ordered four shots of something Nanami wasn’t famailar with, pushing two his way once the bartender had them all poured, He raised one, motioning for Nanami to do the same. “Happy birthday, man!” He threw it back, and then easily the other. It indeed did go down a lot easier than the other.

Four shots in a matter of less than ten minutes was probably not very wise. He ordered some sweet chili boneless wings and garlic parmesan fries for himself, along with a beer to sip on. He knew he would feel it later for sure, but who cares. He would be alone anyway. He ate the greasy food when it came out, his head already feeling heavy by the time he was done.

He paid his tab when the bartender asked, “You got far to go?”

“No,” he slurred. “I live right up the block.”

“Oh, then one for the road won’t hurt!” He poured Nanami a final shot, some clear liquid. He threw it back instantly. This one was smoother than his choice of dark liquor before. “You’ve got some hot ass waiting for you at home?”

“I wish,” he grumbled. “But thanks.” He bid adieu to the bartender and the man that was sitting next to him as he made the short walk home.

Perhaps he was a bit more fucked up than he realized, because he was absolutely struggling to get the key in the door. He took a breath and rested his forehead against the cool door. What was the rush anyway? Then again, he didn’t wan’t to be standing outside when what he needed was a shower and his bed. He fumbled with the door again, his efforts successful this time and pushed the door open.

He furrowed his brow, seeing a large Happy Birthday banner hung from the wall facing the door in the living room. Streamers and balloons hung from the walls, and he had to rub his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Then you stepped into view from the kitchen, a large grin spreading across your face. You ran up to him, throwing your arms around his neck in glee. “Sorry, I went to go put the food back into the oven, I thought you were going to be back earlier!” You pulled back slightly to press a kiss against his lips. “Happy birthday!”

He was confused. Or drunk. Or maybe a little bit of both. 

He took a small step back, taking in your appearance. You had one of his favorite dresses on, a short, strapless, floral print number that flared at the end with lettuce edges. It was perfectly form fitting, your breasts bouncing at the top as you walked, your figure that he loved accentured, and your ass he adored getting a handful of on display.

“Huh,” he said dumbly. 

“Your birthday?” you laughed with a soft shake of your head. “You drunk? Is that why you took so long?”

He was stunned into silence. 

“Aw, come on!” you pouted. “You couldn’t have possibly thought I forgot! Maybe my acting was a little too good…” you contemplated, but he couldn’t help but just stare at you, and then back at the decorations littering the space. Even the banner meant so much to him. He knew you couldn’t have possibly put that up without asking for someone’s assistance or using a ladder, both of which you hated doing. But you did it, for him. 

He suddenly felt like an idiot for even thinking you could have forgot. For the first time today, a smile genuinely crossed his face. “Thank you, baby.” He pulled you tightly against him, hands immediately grabbing at your ass. Maybe the bartender had a premoniton on his behalf or something, because here you were, hot ass and all.

You playfully swatted his hands away opting to taking his hand in yours. “Come on, don’t you want to at least have dinner?” He was admittedly already full, and eating something else was the only thing occupying his mind now, but he let you pull him toward the kitchen anyway.

He was dumbfounded. The table was set with the good china you just insisted would only be used for important occasions. 

He was an important occasion. He felt his heart swell.

Another birthday banner, and more streamers and balloons decorated the space. A small cake decorated with purple icing and sprinkles with Happy Birthday, Kento! scrawled in white frosting sat on the middle of the table. You grabbed some oven mitts and bent over to open the oven. The dress was short enough to see the meat on your ass cheeks, and all he could do was walk over and stand behind you, gripping the flesh. Maybe it was the alcohol, but his cock was already straining against his slacks.

“Kento, let me get this food out,” you giggled. He stepped back to give you some space and he instantly knew what was in the oven; it was one of his favorites, oven roasted lemon garlic chicken with potatoes. You walked over and placed the dish on the table, a bright smile on your face. “Maybe I should have said something earlier, I just wanted to surprise you.”

You strided toward him, your hand caressing the side of his face. He placed his hand over yours, closing his eyes and leaning into your touch. This is what he needed after today. You were what he needed. “I would never forget a day as important as this,” you whispered. “Do you really think I could forget my favorite person’s special day?”

“I was a bit silly for thinking you did,” he admitted, a laugh escaping his lips. “I was having a fucking shit day and thought I was coming home to an empty place.” You frowned, and he hated seeing you frown, especially on his behalf. “But that has nothing to do with you, baby. This is already the best birthday ever.”

You smiled softly, although your brow was still knitted. “Well we can talk about your day while we eat.” Your eyes quickly brightened again. “Oh! And I can give you your gift!”

He wasn’t interested in talking or receiving gifts right now. He never understood the rationale of people in movies and television shows pushing food and silverware off the table to ravish their partners, but it fully made sense to him now. He was only interested in having you bent over the table and rutting into you until you were creaming around his cock and crying out his name.

“That sounds great,” he mumbled, bringing you back to him. “But I’ll be very honest. Let’s get that food back in the oven for a bit. There’s something I need to do first.”

You were lost, but nodded nonetheless. “Oh okay, we can do that! It is your day, after all.” You gathered the dish with the chicken and walked back over to the oven to keep the meal warm. At the same time, Nanami was pushing the plates further up on the table. 

You strolled back over to him, and he instantly smashed his lips against yours. One hand was grabbing your ass while the other was on the small of your back. One of your legs instantly rose while your arms wrapped around his neck, making any space between the two of you nonexistent. He felt bad for his breath that must have reeked of liquor, but the feeling faded when your tongue was pushing past his lips and exploring the inside of his mouth.

He gripped the material of your dress tighter, and if he didn’t like it so much he was afraid he would have ripped it off of you with his bare hands. He moaned against your lips as your hands shifted so your manicured nails were running through his undercut. Fuck, he loved when you did that. Your tongue continued to move inside of his mouth, and he moved his against yours. You always tasted just divine, savory and sweet at the same time, and man was he so blessed to be loved by someone as amazing as you. 

Your tongue slowly exited his mouth and you began to nip at his bottom lip, eliciting another moan from him. He jerked his hips against you, his erection swelling by the second as his tongue began to explore your mouth. Your mouth was always so inviting and willing for him as your lips parted for him. He closed his eyes, enjoying the pure bliss of the moment. Hard to think he was having the seemingly worst day ever just a few hours ago when he was here now, his hand full of your ass and his tongue shoved deep down your throat surrounded by so many of his favorite things.

His tongue exited, and the kiss became sloppy as your bodies stayed melded together, but he wanted more now. He quickly spun you around and bent you over the kitchen table. He slapped your ass, watching it jiggle in the material of the dress. You mewled, and arched your back more, wiggling it in the air. He slapped it again, letting his hand massage to spot before pushing up the material.

He figured you had a thong on the way your cheeks were out when you bent over when taking the food out of the oven, but no. You weren’t wearing any underwear at all. “Were you expecting something, perhaps?” he asked, letting a finger swipe through your folds. You were already wet, but he knew he could have you soaking in a matter of minutes.

“Something like that,” you answered playfully. “Thought it would come a little later, but now works too.” Oh, you would be coming later too, but Nanami needed his fix now. 

“You little slut,” he chuckled, sinking down to his knees behind you. “Acted like you forgot my birthday just to cook my favorite food and wait for me in my favorite dress with no panties on,” he tsked.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you teased, wiggling your ass for him. “How could I ever make it up to you?”

Nanami just laughed as he brought his hand to your ass, kneading your cheeks again. “I can think of a few ways.” He spread your cheeks to look at what was his before letting his tongue swipe across your center, instantly moaning at your taste. He swiped his tongue through your folds again, letting his eyes close as your familiar taste infiltrated his tastebuds. Your moans were music to his ears as he continue to stroke your center with his tongue.

One hand reached around to circle your clit as his tongue began to push into you. You writhed against his face, and he loved it. His thumb and middle finger slowly stroked your clit as his tongue slowly and shallowly fucked you. “ Fuck, Kento, please,” you whined, arching your back more, giving him more access to your clit.

He always loved when you begged for him, despite how much he would tease you for it. His mouth left you, but his fingers were still working against your clit. “I thought you wanted to make it up to me?”

“I-I do,” you choked out. He could already feel your legs trembling, and you could be coming for him at any moment.

“Then either shut up or use your words,” he grunted, putting his mouth back on you. You moaned again, pushing back on his face while his tongue continued to lap at you. He was achingly hard now, and was pretty sure his dick could drill for diamonds in the mines.

He started to rub your clit more quickly, and you were falling apart. Your legs struggled to stay steady as your moans turned into desperate pants. “Please, need to come,” you begged.

“Oh, look who knows how to talk,” he chuckled, his voice muffled. But he would do just that. He swiped his tongue against you once more, and you cried out as your orgasm had your juices coating his face. He let out a moan of satisfaction at your release and stood quickly. You rose from your position of being bent over the table, to which he chuckled and bent you back over. “I’m not done,” he said, undoing the buckle on his belt.

He pulled the black leather through the loops on his slacks, using it to bind your hands behind your back. “That feel alright?”

“Feels great,” you answered. He could hear the amusement in your voice despite not seeing your face, and couldn’t help but shake his head.

“Naughty little bitch,” he murmured, admiring your exposed ass. “You were just dying to get fucked in this dress, huh? I guess this is a lucky day for you too.” In the blink of an eye, the button on his slacks were undone and his erection sprang free. He pushed down his boxers briefs and entered you quickly, hands positioned securely on your hips.

He groaned as your cunt hugged his cock. It simply didn’t matter how often you two fucked, and your sex life was pretty healthy. The first thrust never failed to make him want to come right on the spot. His pulled his hips back and slowly pushed inside of you, the veins of his cock dragging against your walls. You both let out moans simultenously as his hips developed a steady rhythm. He loved seeing your ass bounce against his hips; even more so now with your arms bound and seeing that all you could do was moan and take him like a good girl.

“Fuck Kento, more, more,” you cried out.

“Shit, okay, baby,” he groaned, wiping the sweat that was forming at his brow. He held onto your hips tightly as he started to slam into you roughly, shaking the table. You let out a yelp that was quickly followed by a moan, and he couldn’t help but bite his lip as he continued to pound into you like his life depended on it.

He could start to feel your pussy spasm around him, and used one hand to slap your ass. “Fuck, you look so good taking my cock like this,” he grunted, his hips still moving quickly. He was determined to give you the fucking that you wanted; the one you deserved for making sure he felt special, loved, and utterly cared for.

“Ah, Ahhh,” you cried out, helpless to do anything except for take the vicious pounding that you asked for. “W-want you to come in me,” you stuttered out against the creaking of the table.

If he weren’t so determined to keep thrusting, he would have stopped, and asked if that was what you really wanted, but fuck it. It was his fucking birthday, and he was going to stuff you like a twinkie. “I’ll fuck a baby into you tonight if that’s what you want,” he panted, continuing his onslaught.

You moaned again, and then he felt the telltale signs of your orgasm washing over you. You were obscenely wet with your juices coating his cock and running down your legs as your pussy violently clenched around him. He fucked you through your orgasm with slower thrusts until the wave of pleasure passed through you.

He undid the belt that kept you bound, and pulled his still hard cock out of you. He quickly hauled you up, spun you around, and sat you on the table. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed another kiss to his lips while he slid inside of you. 

You whined at his entry with the sensitivity of your last two orgasms, but clenched around him. He kissed you back sloppily as he rutted his cock into you. He pulled down the dress to expose your breasts and you leaned back slightly so he could slip a nipple into his mouth. He sucked it hashly, letting his teeth bite down gently on the bud.

“Oh fuck Kento, that’s so good.” Your hand was soon coaxing his head in the other direction so he could do the same for the other. He obliged, sucking your other nipple into his mouth and giving it a small bite before letting his tongue trace the area around your areola. 

His orgasm was fast approaching and he gripped your chin tightly, squeezing a thigh with the other hand. “Fuck baby,” he grunted. “I’m going to fill this pussy up real good.” You put your hand on his lower back, bringing him closer, and he was done for. He stilled and let out a pant as his seed spurted inside of you, coating your insides white.

He rested his forehead against yours, and you cupped his face with a smile, pressing a soft kiss to his nose with his cock still seated inside of you. “Happy birthday, boo.” You moved to press a kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.” Yeah, best birthday ever.

[hwaightme]

Impressionism

(masterlist) (taglist)

🩸 pairing: vampire!gallerist/collector!seonghwa x art historian!gn!reader 🩸 genre: fluff, noir, soulmates, supernatural, strangers(?) to lovers, art nerding 🩸 summary: a post-graduate student specialising in impressionism, you were a regular visitor to the many art galleries in the city. who knew that among the paintings you would encounter your favourite, timeless work of art? 🩸 wordcount: 12.3k 🩸 warnings/tags: questionable editing, mention of blood, fangs, wounds, suggestive, many pet names (love, darling etc), art theory/history ponderings, time skips, mention of rituals, philosophy, hwa is centuries-old, yearning hwa 🩸 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🩸 a/n: happy birthday to @starrysvn!! lheo, ilysm, and i hope you enjoy this little rambling <3 hugs to everyone, all reblogs, notes and comments appreciated! 🩸 playlist: nfwmb - hozier, who is she? - i monster, keep on loving you - cas, la vie en rose - edith piaf, a l'ombre de nous - pierre barouh, les feuilles mortes / sous le ciel de paris - yves montand, moon over bourbon street / until - sting

‘Love and Pain’ - an enigmatic masterpiece that was painted by Edvard Munch, the famous Norwegian artist, in 1895. In vibrant oil paints a dramatic scene interpreted by millions as something more sensual, darker, revealing was immortalised. Perhaps quite literally. You leaned back on one hand, feeling the coolness of the bench located in the middle of the gallery hall, careful to not let the notebook in your hands slip from your lap. ‘Vampire’ - first, it was a label for the woman with the alluring, long red locks that was leaning over her supposed lover, then it turned into a second name for the work. It was comical how Munch himself had initially stated the piece depicted nothing more than a woman kissing the neck of a man, and yet, the tale had told itself. What followed were six versions of this same subject, with a woodcut titled “Vampyr II”, followed by paintings titled ‘Vampire’ and ‘Vampire in the Forest’, and then through common acceptance that this indeed was the ‘submission of a man to the bite of a vampire’, if you were to paraphrase a critic who had been in an astoundingly similar position as you, except without the decades upon decades of other material to refer to. They had been the firstcomers, the initial perceivers to set the tone for society’s consumption of the artwork, the louder of the many voices in the artwork who often had the final say. In some senses, they were your long lost colleagues - they were there to create history, and you were there to study it.

While it was not exactly a part of the movement you had decided to specialise in, you nonetheless would never reject the opportunity to learn more about the stunning world of visual arts, trying to guess how the artist had felt in the moment, what did they see beyond what they presented to the world, how did they translate the heart into brushstrokes. You were taken by all forms of art since you were little - having grown up surrounded by items that were far removed from what you called your air, you were intrigued by anything that was external to your version of ordinary. In your case, it just so happened to be the little private gallery that you had spent almost all of your monthly allowance to visit when you were a school kid - you had been so dedicated, in fact, that the elderly guard who had often also acted as a guide to the visitors had become your first friend in the art world, something of a grandparent figure, and on multiple occasions - when the lack of eyes would allow, simply let you through with a grin and glance out of the entrance doors.

And so here you were, many years later, many hard decisions and conversations behind you, regarding artworks with an unprecedented soulful closeness that you had initially thought was unattainable. Had you believed all those who remained outside of the walls of your personal paradise, you would have been immersed in the same cycle that had been drilled into the majority of your family members, except maybe a handful who you had never met for the exact reason that they had chosen something for themselves. But you regarded your dream as the thorned path - undoubtedly more challenging, not immediately fruitful, but in the long run leading to the heaven of your design. What more could you ask for?

It was enjoyable to be alone with the paintings surrounding you, portals to new realms that any visitor could have the pleasure of exploring. And what was even more inspiring, was that in the eye of every beholder was a different universe, and no matter who one would speak to, their version of the painting would be different, even if just slightly. You huffed, amused. When was the last time you had visited a gallery with anyone else? You could not quite recall - it was likely that you had never seeked company from another because you were more than satisfied with the company of the legendary works that were regarding you from the many walls. It was possible to compose oneself, spend limitless time on every piece, study the details, and drift into one’s own musings when there was no one to ground them. This was when you dared to say you got your best work done. Even though you, of course, conducted research within university and ventured out to galleries, museums, collectors or auctions only within professional bounds, the bulk of the thinking process was carried out in times such as this. When it was just you, your notebook and pen, and a new point of focus. However, this time, you could not say you were fully attentive to the painting that you had decided to focus on, as a certain someone was appearing to share your level of interest in ‘Love and Pain’ too. 

A gentleman who could not be much older or younger than you, at most a couple of years, stood off to the right of the bench, unmoving, gaze fixated on the painting. Dressed in a pinstripe navy suit, light blue dress shirt, lacquered dress shoes and a matching navy tie, he was nothing short of being a moving work of art. Hints of a glimmer from his thin framed, elegant silver spectacles gave the man a scholarly aura, while the slicked back dark hair - evidently a lot longer than the styling would suggest, added notes of business, entrepreneurship, perhaps leadership. Nothing was out of place, not a crease, not an exposed thread in sight. Needless to say, your curiosity had been sparked.

Much like you found joy in exploring creations in the realm of the visual arts, you were fond of crafting stories about the people who were strangers in passing. You could not help it; perhaps this affinity for creative internal ramblings had come as a package with studying the degree you had selected, or perhaps this was a naturally occurring guilty pleasure that you simply had not had the chance to entertain before you cut yourself off from expectations and predetermined patterns of thought. But now, you had the full pleasure of wondering, letting your mind travel to lands far away as you took the real life masterpiece in, and pondered why the man could be here, what he could be thinking as he studied Munch’s work, and what resonated with him, and only him. 

There was a melancholia with the weight of centuries resting upon his shoulders, that much you could decipher in the stranger’s stance. Even then, there was a gentle burning flame within his heart judging by just how dedicated he was to inspecting the artwork. Like he was seeing an old friend for the first time in years, and was attempting to memorise them anew and recognise each change, bit by bit. You suppressed a chuckle, entertaining the possibility of this man finding a kinship with the painting, but chose to set the idea aside for the time being, instead focusing on sketching his emotional landscape. Was the stranger remorseful? Lonely? Perplexed? You could not quite pinpoint the answer, at least not before you noticed the man’s head starting to turn, and soon enough, his eyes were peering into your own.

They were two pools of deep chocolate, an all-consuming shade that, due to the ever so slightly dimmer lights than in the general halls of the gallery, appeared to be approaching a captivating onyx. The gaze that originated from behind the glasses, and glided across the room that was suddenly too small for two struck you, and you could feel heat starting to rise on your face, blush threatening to reveal the effect of the man’s spontaneous act of confidence. Lowering your head, you gave the stranger a sheepish grin, and pretended to make a random note, pen erratically scribbling over a filled page. He continued to regard you with that same unwavering expression, and only when you looked up again did he seem to catch himself and give you a closed-mouth smile, equally as bashful as yours, and crossed his arms. One step, another, and he was right by the painting, though careful to not obstruct your view - instead, he took his time to read the brief paragraph on the information plaque that had been stuck to the wall off to the side of ‘Love and Pain’. With the same familiarity that is common among those grieving, or in a state of existential sorrow. A bittersweetness prevailed in his aura, one that reminded you of autumn - the falling leaves in red and gold, twirling to join a magnificent carpet, but nonetheless, making a departure, albeit a nearly unnoticeable one. Had he seen many fallen leaves? Was he himself approaching the season? You gasped, but even though the sound was barely audible, you caught the stranger making a minuscule turn in response. 

His footsteps were louder than your thoughts, his departure an irrevocably impactful act that left you breathless. You did not know him, and yet you felt as though you had gotten a glimpse at multiple lifetimes, and were part of a moment that was greater than yourself. In the wordless exchange, question after question had found its root, and something told you that you should not dare attempt to craft him a backstory, and choosing to believe in anything but what would be declared by him would be a gross misinterpretation, much like one that was carried out by those who did not wish to reflect on art and look beyond a first impression. For the first time since you had made your initial discovery of the arts, you felt like you were not alone in the gallery, the other visitor’s presence remained so intense that he could be sat right next to you, scrutinising the same painting, entertaining the same thought. Was the woman with the bright tresses indeed what she had been declared to be over the many years she had been introduced to many venues, many variations of public, and finally finding a home on this wall? Did she settle with her lover, or perhaps a carefully selected victim? Would the man have an answer?

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ . It was unlike you to retrace your steps a mere few days after a visit and return to the same gallery, amble down the same halls, and seek for a new source of investigative inspiration among the same selection. This obviously did not mean that you would never return, definitely not, that would be almost criminal of you to possess such intentions, but you tended to try to cleanse your palate with alternative movements, contemporary takes and avant garde interpretations between searches which were more directly related to your studies. And yet, for the first time in a while, nothing was stopping you from your return. It felt only natural, and so right. Moreover, you felt no unease when you headed straight towards the section that housed the impressionists. An individual with an unspoken, mysterious mission, you were on the hunt for the creative streak, something that would help you ponder the next section of your hefty dissertation, and you could sense that it had to be somewhere here. And, like always, you were right.

‘Bazille’s Studio’, one of the most famous works painted by the so-called ‘tragic artist’ of the impressionists, Frédéric Bazille in 1870. In fact, it had been a collaboration between him and Édouard Manet, another gifted artist, though more renowned as a figure leading modernism, and depicted a scene of discussion and creative collaboration in the studio that Bazille had shared for a certain period of time with other spectacular figures of the visual arts, Claude Monet, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, who could also be found in this painting. On the walls were works rejected by the Salon, which at the time had been the one of the most influential, famous art exhibitions in the Western World, administered by the Académie des Beaux-Arts in Paris. Interestingly, above the piano on the right hung a painting which Bazille had purchased from Monet, potentially hinting at the material ties between them, and the importance the young artist had because of his familial wealth. In a sense, Bazille expressed his support, as well as showed an intimate, platonic scene of the art world where there was a moment of calm, of mutual appreciation, despite the financial troubles and tensions due to character that had been experienced in those walls.

You stepped closer to the painting, trying to detect the transition from Bazille’s to Manet’s hand, the latter of whom painted in the former to take ‘centre stage’, palette in hand. Truly seamless work, though what else could it be? This painting had been a new addition to the permanent collection, and after strenuous, detailed restoration work to give the oil paints their original vibrancy and for impeccable strokes to forget the burden of time, you had the pleasure of seeing it in person. You were an arm’s length away from yet another work essential to history, culture and the arts as a societal colossus.

While it was easy enough to appreciate the technical detail, you found yourself halting to remember the names of all those depicted in the painting, failing to finalise the list in your head. Starting from Bazille, you had determined for yourself the presence of Monet and Manet in his vicinity quickly enough, however where Renoir was, or what were the names of the two other gentlemen in the scene, slipped your mind. You rocked to the side to lean closer to the plaque that was meant to provide you with the information, however you only found the name of the painting, the artist and the medium, much to your misfortune. Clicking your tongue, you returned to studying the faces of each individual, and furrowed your brows in agitated concentration. It was simple to take out your phone and search for the answer, though you knew that just as neutral that action would be, so would be your reaction unless you were to remember, or somebody were to-

A presence to your side caught you off-guard, and you felt a shiver run up your spine. One glance was enough to determine that it was the same man from yesterday, only the outfit revealing a change. Other than that, he had the same impeccable posture and stance, as well as a thoughtful look towards the painting in front of you both. His arms were crossed, though not in a defensive manner; instead they offered an interpretation of philosophy, as though this man was carrying centuries of wisdom with him, history having pummelled down on him and yet needing to support it like Atlas; the titan carrying the world.

Today, he was dressed in a mahogany coloured suit, with a white top underneath and some black boots with thick white rubber soles - quite the transition from last time, when he had been a manifestation of a sleek and pristine office gentleman. Hair, now let down and wavy, neatly framed his face, accentuating the regalness of his features. It was astounding how you were still sure that it would be more likely to find a man of this fashion in a painting, rather than standing beside you. You kept quiet, not wanting to interfere with his musings. Perhaps it was just a silly coincidence that the two of you were at the same place and at the same time again - how else? You did not know him, and you hoped that he did not know you. Though, you truly did not mind his company, and maybe it could serve as your motivation to figure out the rest of the characters in the painting. Once again, your attention returned to the task at hand, but before you could even begin to list off prominent figures of the art world during the era of Impressionism, a deep, honey-like whisper halted you and made you hold your breath. 

“Auguste Renoir is the one seated, Emile Zola, the writer, is on the stairs, Monet, Manet and Bazille are, as you likely know in the centre, and that,” he paused to raise his hand, gesturing in the general direction of the far right of the piece, “is Edmond Maitre. Pianist, art collector, and Bazille’s closest friend.”

“I- uh- thank you. How did you know I was trying to recall? Pardon me, I must look so clueless-” you trailed off, eyes finding the floor, an action which seemed to be your automatic response to being under inspection of the man, though this time, he captured your gaze quickly by stepping closer towards you. Looking up, you found concern and apology in his eyes.

“No! Not at all, I… sorry if I misunderstood and I am sorry for forcing you into such erroneous conclusions,” he gave you an ever so slightly crooked smile, charming, very disarming and so suiting this beautiful stranger, that you were instantly prompted by your instincts to return it, dismissing doubt. 

“You saved me,” you joked, though the phrase contained within itself an unlikely compassion. Two people, alone in the same gallery, sharing a precious dialogue was something to cherish, and with all your might you wanted to make it last.

“Just as you made me regard the painting in a new light, for which I thank you, greatly,” he bowed his head, the smile not leaving his face for a moment. There was a recognition in his gaze, as well as an inexplicable admiration. What did he discover?

“I guess it might be true that no matter how many times you see a painting, every viewing brings something new,”

“Well said. Are you an artist? A critic, perhaps?” He inquired, moving closer to stand level with you, head turned slightly in your direction to spare the occasional glance. You shook your head slowly, wondering if in a retelling of your destiny you could have pursued either of the careers he had mentioned.

“I am in the arts, though rather than looking at the present I remain in the past. Art historian, well, a postgraduate. Nothing too fancy.”

“Oh? But that is marvellous, and what are you focusing on?”

“I like to call it the painting in plenair during the turn of the century. I focus mainly on impressionism, though do sometimes stray into its interplay with post-impressionism, modernism and expressionism.”

“Ah, no wonder I have been seeing you here often. Enjoying the new collection?” he asked, eager to hear your opinion. There was excitement in his voice as though you were a renowned expert and were about to bestow upon him a priceless evaluation. And this was without considering the technicality of you having only half-met. Just crossing paths twice in one week.

"Yes, of course… The collection is unlike any other I have seen. I keep wanting to return and stay here for ages." You explained, glancing at the stranger while he nodded along.

"Incredibly happy to hear it. I swear I have seen you around quite often during the past month that the exhibition has been open? Am I correct?" evidently, your rapid blinking was interpreted rather quickly as perplexion, for the man gasped ever so lightly, as if to catch his own speeding thoughts.

“I- how do you know? I do believe this is our… second time meeting?” you uttered, one eyebrow raised in suspicion, which, to your disbelief, revealed something akin to fear in the beautiful stranger’s features. Nervously, he adjusted a strand of hair that was threatening to cover his right eye.

“Not quite… you were present at the opening event, right?” he quizzed.

“Indeed, my depar- wait. But how? Respectfully, I am starting to think you know me.” you enunciated with newfound caution, while the man pursed his lips. One second, another passed in near total silence, until a chuckle escaped him and he shook his head. It appeared as though he was mentally scolding himself - his eyes held no malice, instead glinting with hope, that melancholic wisdom, and something unidentifiable, ethereal, supernatural.

“I think it is high time I introduce myself before this gets out of hand. See, in some sense I work here, and most of my days are spent in the gallery or labouring for it-”

“Ah, I see-”

“Park Seonghwa, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” with one arm folded behind his back and the other on his chest, he bowed to you like how you imagined princes in the numerous portraits you had studied would bow. And the most enthralling part was how the gesture flowed, and was so befitting. Quickly, you bowed in return, but while raising your head, you froze. It hit you why he would know. And know a lot. And would remember you, and likely anyone and everyone who visited. In a low whisper, you asked:

“Am I… correct in assuming that you are ‘the’ Park Seonghwa?” quickly enough, you realised that it was a mistake to find his eyes again - clearly, you were not ready for the intensity, nor for the intrigue that was contained within them, nor for the fact that he moved another step closer to you, the rubber of his boots dampening any sound produced.

“I never knew that there was a ‘the’ attached to my name. I simply love art.”

“Well that love translated into the creation of what is possibly the greatest gallery in the nation, if not worldwide,”

“Oh you flatter me too much, ah, your name-”

“L/N Y/N, and I, too, love art.”

“Elated to hear it,” he gleamed, and you swore the room exploded with the illumination of a thousand stars.

Stunning, awe-inspiring, ever so elegant. He was a walking dream. In that smile was concealed a certain something that had been taboo, a well-kept secret until a couple of decades ago, when those like Seonghwa had started to be fully integrated into society, and no longer had to hide, changing identity from one century to another. With that came Seonghwa’s success - you had read in an article that advertised the permanent exhibition a short blurb of his story, and how for many turbulent decades, the man single-handedly collected masterpieces, crafted a meticulous network and introduced genius artists to the world, and the world to the artists. The gallery was a magnum opus for Seonghwa - a presentation of what he had achieved as a collector, as a patron of the arts, and a celebration of his personal culture. 

You could not help but hone in on the fangs, and recall the original reason why it was even possible for Seonghwa to obtain such legendary works and have as much influence as he presently did. It was not spontaneous; submerged in turmoil, he had personally approached artists who, previously abandoned by critics and other prospective buyers, had never considered a future beyond a mysterious tomorrow. Hiding his own true nature, he crafted the tale of a ‘Park’ dynasty, and rose again and again to continue his work. Perhaps, now, some might argue that once he had revealed himself as a vampire the velocity of Seonghwa’s developments had fallen, but you would passionately argue the opposite. It was challenging to believe that any move by this stunning artistic mastermind was not strategic - the announcement had given the gallery more partnerships, more donations, and in turn, an even greater prominence in the community both among professionals and enjoyers. 

“Thank you,” the phrase spilled from your lips inadvertently. It seemed to be the only thing that was reasonable to say in that given moment. You pondered the pains that must have been suffered to make the world that you were consumed by come together, and the painting in front of you, aside from what was contained within the frame,now shined in a new light externally too, possessing its own story, resembling a search for a kindred spirit, a true home. 

Seonghwa remained quiet, the words of gratitude echoing in his heart. It was endearing, encouraging to hear such warmth from you. So, you did know him, at least the parts he had shown to the public - as was expected from someone so deeply ingrained in visual arts and history, but he could not help but identify it as something much greater than mere awareness. The openness with which you had welcomed conversation with him, the kind charm that radiated from you as you engaged in the careful verbal waltz reminded the vampire of times long, long ago when all that existed for him was drive, enamourment and art. Oh, how your eyes glimmered. His heart clenched into near unbearable agony as he read your expressions, and wondered how much you have seen, what have you yet to see, who you were in this temporary life. If only he could ask fate to tell him how much you remembered of who you had been before. 

“No, thank you, for giving this,” he gestured to the gallery around him, graceful hand unfurling as though revealing a delicate flower, “meaning, and reason to exist.”

“I highly doubt I am of much significance, Mister Park,” you responded, a soft smile on your face.

“Would anything hold the same meaning if there was no one to behold it?” he responded. You chose not to answer, catching onto the rhetoricism, “and please, call me Seonghwa. I’d like to say we are to be good friends.”

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Sitting across from Seonghwa in the cafe that was located on the top floor, above the main halls of the gallery made you feel strangely serene. Today he had foregone the straighter hair styles that you had begun to get used to, surprising you with a head of tousled, almost curled locks that embodied the world’s softness, though remained to be quite the contrast to the more formal and highly fashionable attire that adorned his stature. A suit, tastefully oversized with a buttoned double breasted jacket that was simultaneously serving as a shirt, the plunging v-shaped neckline revealing perfectly smooth skin, and what you noted to be a solitary freckle right in the centre of his collarbone. The trousers, at least from the glimpse that you had allowed yourself when you had met at the entrance to the cafe were of a loose fit, defining his waist at the top and falling to form an almost skirt-like silhouette should he stand how he usually stood: the echoes of what would be called the ‘third position’ in ballet, more relaxed, but still retaining an elegance that only he could carry. The biggest shock to you, however, was Seonghwa’s choice of shoes - a refreshing point to the visual, he had selected to contrast the formalwear with a pair of limited edition, geometrically intriguing Converses. You could catch a glimpse of one of them from over the edge of the table whenever his slightly shaking leg, positioned over the other, would rock forwards just that tiny bit stronger. 

While the setting was meant to be casual, the circumstances in which you found yourself were nothing short of miraculous. Never in a million years would you have imagined for it to be possible to be sat across the table from, quite possibly, one of the most legendary contributors to art restoration, collection and exhibition. On top of that, Seonghwa was a figure who actively bridged the gap between disparate communities, finding a common language, and using the arts as a salvation. You were in awe, and could not hold back on regarding the handsome vampire as he quietly reported your and his orders to the waiter who had floated to your table.

“Are you sure you do not want anything else?”

“Yes, I am sure. I do not wish to exploit your kindness-”

“-Not at all. I hope you do not mind that I… must make a rather unconventional order,” he smiled sheepishly, clearing his throat so as to attempt to hide his doubts, though you were uncertain as to how much of such emotions could possibly be left after what had to have been centuries. 

“An unconventional order is pouring a sugary energy drink into a triple shot espresso and calling it dinner,” you answered, eyes travelling from Seonghwa’s face to the mural on the wall a few tables away that wrapped behind him and to your left, disrupted only by the occasional floor length window that provided city vistas - rather gloomy, compared to the optimistic illumination of the restaurant. Perhaps out of pity, or out of genuine entertainment, Seonghwa chuckled.

“That does sound like an acquired taste, indeed. Thank you,”

“No need. Thank you for inviting me,” you turned back, nodding a polite bow as he softly waved your gesture off.

A silence settled across the table as you waited for your respective drinks. Your hand, had you not consciously restrained yourself, would have probably reached for the phone that you stored in your purse, but now was fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt, finding the buttons to stress test the threads that had them sewn tight to the fabric. You were not bored, in fact, far from it. You needed a barrier. The grandeur of this man’s presence was almost overwhelming. He was not a mere individual in a room, he consumed it. Had you just walked in, you were certain that your gaze would still settle on his form. Just like the concrete outside was grey, and the pause retained a divine ambiguity, Seonghwa was unforgettable. In an attempt to calm your clouded thoughts, you studied the mural once more.

“May I inquire into your thoughts on the decor?”

“The choice of ‘A Sunday on La Grande Jatte’ is wise. I am guessing you were the one to make the decision?” you heard an exhale, and once more your attention was captured.

“Alas, I cannot take full accolades for this. This stemmed from a discussion that a good friend of mine and I had one late night. Seurat just so happened to make an appearance amidst the chatter, and so… this was born,” he gestured at the surroundings. Clearly, the interior was picked carefully to fit the theme of the legendary painting. 

From the colours to the textures and the greenery that had been intricately set up across the restaurant, every detail had a meaning and a place, and did not take away from the spaciousness of the hall. It was breathable, while still giving the illusion that you were stepping into a whimsical impressionist paradise. Perhaps that was another reason why you could not quite contain your disbelief firstly in your encounter, secondly in its progression, and thirdly in your interlocutor’s warmth. 

“Spectacular, truly. I have heard you have an eye for detail, however this surpasses all expectations.”

“Oh? There is more you have heard?” he interjected, leaning closer to you and placing an elbow on the table, simply to rest his head on his hand. While this could potentially be seen as slightly unceremonious, it hinted at well-kept confidence, ownership, control. A healthy undercurrent of motivation that came with indirect praise.

“I-oh y-yeah of course,” you did not mean to stutter, but some part of you was grateful you did, for the smirk that had threatened to burst on Seonghwa’s lips was enough for you to feel ignited to elaborate, “if my memory is not failing me, you were the one to distinguish a reproduction of a piece some time ago, no?”

“Ah- yes. That was a Degas reproduction. I must say, the attempt was sincere, however when I saw the-, hm, you will not be startled, will you?”

“Please,” you urged him to continue, intrigued by the story. 

“When I saw the original, as it was being made and when it had been finalised, it would be shameful of me to not spot a fake,” he fell back into his chair, just in time for the drinks to be served. 

A coffee for you, and a non-descript beverage concealed by a semi-opaque, tall glass for him. Though, you did not need to be a detective to guess what it was that Seonghwa was bringing to his lips, and what he took a tentative sip of. The only mystery that was remaining for you was what ‘type’ he had picked - was it O+? B-? Whatever else? You joined him in the tasting, lifting the mug and indulging in the wonderful aroma of your americano. It did not strike you as necessary to opt for something fancier and lie to yourself - so you settled for your regular order, much to your joy. Familiar taste and the reliability of the caffeine hitting your system painted the scene in more comforting colours, and gradually, you found yourself easing into the dialogue more and more, until life stories, musings and a surprisingly large common ground came pouring. 

You discovered that Seonghwa possessed a unique sensitivity and attunement to those around him. Focused on the emotional experiences, he felt through time and could recount emotions like the memory was from a mere few days, rather than decades ago. He was well-spoken, eloquent, intelligent, polite in every right as he navigated through the linguistic landscape and guided you like a partner in a dance. You were spiralling oh so quickly, intrigue catching up to you and prompting you to sacrifice all of your senses to the man and the pleasantly intoxicating atmosphere he captured you in. He was enchanting, and it was far too easy to give in. 

“May I reveal something?” in a hushed tone, he inquired, a finger absent-mindedly tracing the rim of his glass. 

“Oh, a little secret?” you raised your eyebrows in jest, lightening the initial seriousness with which Seonghwa uttered the question.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Depends on how you take it. A confession might be more accurate,” he waited for you to take the final sip of your coffee before continuing, unphased by your unwavering focus, “if I were to be honest, I have been meaning to approach you.”

“Pardon?”

“As you know we have a… common awareness of each other thanks to what is housed under this roof, but ever since we first unknowingly crossed paths… I wanted to speak to you.”

Confused, you did not speak, though the words contained an unparalleled affection within them. What could he possibly mean? You chose to refrain from commenting, your hesitation prompting the vampire to continue.

“Do you remember the most recent opening night? Of the exhibition? I believe you were with someone…” he trailed off, hoping you would continue for him.

“Ah, yes, a friend of mine from university. So?”

“This might sound strange but, I distinctly remember you mentioning a name. An artist from the same era, dubbed as L/N Y/N?”

“Goodness, you overheard that? I am so sorry, it is just that said artist has intrigued me for some time, and I was half-hoping to encounter their work. Maybe it is because our names are the same but still….”

“Elusive, aren’t they?”

“To put it softly, yes. I only vaguely recall seeing… maybe one piece in my lifetime, when I was little, and then… nothing. And there is barely any information on the artist online, let alone libraries and archives.”

“Hm, indeed. I guess that makes two of us…”

“Two of us who are searching?”

“That’s right. It brought me happiness to know that I am not alone in this endeavour.”

“Then we can keep searching together.”

While you were positive that you could not conceal your interest, Seonghwa’s did not go unnoticed either. It was of course possible that he was simply well-versed in political correctness, but the burning depth of his pupils told you otherwise. Enthrallment, the discovery of a kindred spirit, recognition, the rekindling of a bond that had existed at some point long ago - all fantasies that played out in your mind as you returned that look with subtle fervour. You wondered how many people he graced with those charms. How many had succumbed to his influence, becoming a marker on his infinite life path, a fleeting second? How many had his lips known, how many had turned into a decadent treat for a genius man with natural peculiarities? While the researcher part of you was perplexed and aching for answers, the you that was caught in the moment simply let it go on, and the feeling of Seonghwa’s leg brushing against yours, and the pride blooming in your chest as he praised the few articles and papers you had published upon having claimed that he ‘knew some things about you too’ preoccupied you in the most magnificent way.

Naturally, you agreed to meet Seonghwa again. On your journey home, in the privacy of the anonymous metro, immersed in the cacophony of deafening rails and the millions travelling to anywhere, you pressed your phone to your racing heart as the vampire, the man, the beguiling Park Seonghwa sent you a message confirming so. Who knew a simple selection of words could be so captivating?

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Under the comforting thrum of raindrops on the large umbrella, you walked down the streets of the grey-coloured city, your hand lightly holding onto Seonghwa’s arm while he ensured that both of you were protected from the elements. Despite the dull light and bitterness of the cooling season, Seonghwa appeared radiant, truly timeless with every gesture and stride. The elegant angles of his face that you could tirelessly study stood out against the monotone buildings and overcast skies. His voice drowned out the sound of droplets racing one another to the ground. A miraculous gentleman who appeared in your life much like a portrait, or a landscape - a masterpiece you wanted to explore in every spare moment, and better yet, this masterpiece was equally as open to you as you were to him. 

“...essentially, yes. It is like another nationality. A marker of species isn’t too far isn’t it? Just another line on a stack of documents. Nothing more,” Seonghwa concluded his explanation, pursing his lips for a moment before letting an exhale turned dragon’s breath escape into the afternoon.

“Makes sense. So would that mean there are separate medical papers and treatment too?”

“Well… when regeneration fails us or when a given case is severe enough… yes. Though it is handled by private clinics run by other vampires.”

“There are private clinics?”

“Of course. Often they are connected to donation points too, and that is how we remain on the right side of the law and stay alive,” he nodded to himself, giving you a bittersweet smile when he noticed confusion overtake your gaze. “Blood,” he stated as-a-matter-of-factly, “I mean blood.”

In a nervous stupor, you cleared your throat and focused on a droplet that was hanging onto the edge of the umbrella, right in front of you, all the way until the gentle motion of Seonghwa’s amble provoked its abrupt descent onto the stone under your feet. 

“Ah, yes, I see-”

“If you find this disturbing, we can forget the conversation ever-”

“-I want to know you better, Seonghwa, truly-”

“Careful-”

“Sorry wha-” 

With an extraordinary swiftness, you were tugged abruptly by the arm. Not registering your surroundings, you merely went with the inertia, caught off-guard by the proximity of your face to the vampire’s as he held you against him with the arm that you had previously been resting your own on. A hand that you raised on instinct went limp and landed on Seonghwa’s chest, feeling the thick felted wool of his coat. The ringing of a bell, going farther away from you by the second, incessant but at least waking you up from the blur, was enough for you to put two and two together - a cyclist who thought they owned every part of the street, like always. You sighed.

“Reckless… my apologies I did not mean to-” Seonghwa tried to detangle himself, refusing to remain in your personal space for longer than necessary no matter how much he did want to, but his efforts were reduced to nothing when your hand moved to a hold on his upper arm - reassuring, comfortable, accepting.

“Thank you,” you interrupted, “that bike would have definitely run into me…”

“It’s nothing,” a low chuckle echoed in your ears as Seonghwa peered into your pupils, confidence that had previously wavered out of habitual caution now restored, growing into a pride as you continued to hold onto him, “the man was slow enough for there to be no risk of harm. I hope you are not too startled though.”

“Oh? You have super powers too? Do elaborate,” you jested, resuming your walk.

“I would call it more like… being a finely tuned machine. Can’t say I have bad reaction speed. Though I must say, it was a little challenging pulling you out of the way,” there was an evident intent behind the words. However, you were too curious to pay it any mind, instead preferring to find out their meaning live.

“How so?”

“I think this,” dropping his arm, Seonghwa’s hand reached for yours, and without a moment of hesitation, his fingers were intertwining with yours, his palm pressed against yours, “would be better. You know, for safety.” As if you could ever reject him. This was a fact you had established for yourself with an unprecedented certainty. His gallant disposition, attentiveness all confirmed a care for you that was impossible to ignore. 

There was something picturesque about the present after meeting this wonderful, infinite pool of art and humanity. You found yourself leafing through articles, art books and biographies with a more wistful and sentimental perspective, imagining what it would be like if it were you who was immortalised in the thousands of brushstrokes, or if you were on the other side of the canvas, how would you go about depicting the scenes unfolding before your very eyes. Timelessness - a quality shared between the art you so adored, and the man you had encountered and over the weeks, let your intrigue be transformed into a shy flame of infatuation. Perhaps it was the underlying reason why you did not reject his advances, nor cower in fear of his true nature with which he was upfront. The other, of course, was the search for the mysterious artist, an adventure that fuelled many of your dialogues, and prompted you to spend more time in the library and the archives of your university than you had ever done before - to the point where Seonghwa himself had encouraged you to take a break from your intellectual expeditions and step into the world as a casual observer. So, you let yourself drift; it finally hit you, what scenes your once again tranquil stroll reminded you of, and you smiled to yourself as you recalled the intricacies of the not quite commonly discussed representation of the Impressionist movement. 

‘Rue de Paris, temps de pluie’, painted by Gustave Caillebotte; his most famous work. Not quite as widely discussed, despite still technically being created in the Impressionist era, perhaps due to the meandering through form, realism and reliance on stronger lines rather than broad brushstrokes and the study of light. You did find it fascinating how Caillebotte’s passion for photography had seeped into this piece, however. Much like how, in recent days, you could easily find a way to mention Seonghwa in conversation, be it related to the arts or not. From the subjects in the foreground being slightly out of focus while the middle ground was crystal clear, to how the shapes of some passersby were cropped were all characteristic of photos, rather than paintings, making this particular work all the more dear to you. It was a reflection of life, of behaviour and of what had been daily back in the late nineteenth century.

Was it any different from now, aside from those grand, global topics that historians dedicated their lives to studying? If one were to whittle down to the intricacies, the miniatures that ornamented the span of a human existence, was it so terribly far away from what you were born into, and Seonghwa saw develop and had adopted? How people shielded themselves from the rain with umbrellas, and then used them as a tool to isolate themselves from other urbanites who were in a rush to take a day-long route out of their homes… and back again. The latest silhouettes of dress and accessory; the same rush to be with the times as now.

You felt your companion’s arm move, prompting you to let go and leave your hand hovering as though you were awaiting some kind of change. You bit back an unprecedented sliver of disappointment, only to be caught by surprise once again as you felt the hand settle on the small of your back. Cautious, like you were going to melt from any more pressure than the brush of a feather. A quick glance was enough to determine that you were being studied intently for any sign of discomfort - Seonghwa was ready to pull away at any moment, any sigh, and most definitely at any word. A meek smile settled on your lips, and you shyly used an oncoming stranger as an opportunity to affirm the gesture, stepping towards the vampire, and sensing the confidence of his protective measure be solidified. With glee he followed your every tilt and turn, angling away from the passing form that neither of you could focus on. The touch was electric, somehow monumental despite being so common and barely present. Your mind was on fire, pondering what it would be like to put your head on the elegant man’s shoulder, and let yourself be carried away into a terrific fairy tale.

“This really is a rainy day,”

“Seems quite sunny to me,” you respond with sarcasm, realising only after the fact that your phrase still did retain an element of truth within it. 

Sunshine did not have to be literal. It was easy to see, you just needed to return Seonghwa’s gaze, and watch as another spring flower blossomed in the soul of one you had initially assumed to be so cold, so distant. In the darkest winter was a safe haven that you could not help but lean into, and regardless of what you had initially thought, with him, you felt more human, more safe and alive than ever. He listened without fail to your ramblings, and could easily pick up the ball and balance it with his own musings that you could listen to for many lifetimes.

Lifetimes; immortality, the one concept you couldn’t quite wrap your head around. Well, the latter was technically not true, as Seonghwa had elaborated some few days ago: vampires did age, albeit at such a slow pace that to the run of the mill human being, it was impossible to notice, and if they did, it would be someone very close, and only over a matter of decades. Maybe it was this exact inability that made you want to stay and learn all there could be about the gallerist - you thought that would make you feel like you have been living forever. His wisdom was beautiful. The kindness with which he treated you, akin to that of how a spouse treats their long-time sweetheart with a mellow and comfortable affection, was not something you asked for nor expected, but something which he introduced himself with through every action, progressively more amiable when you allowed him to advance.

“Mm, no wonder I can’t quite look at you,” he mused out loud, dramatically looking off into the distance. You raised an eyebrow, curious about what was going to come after his theatrical pause, “your brightness is unparalleled,” Seonghwa chuckled, satisfied with your sigh and the way in which you pretended to be annoyed, only to dissolve in a mute giggle. “So, I do suggest we get out of the rain for a moment and stop by that book shop over there, shall we?”

Following his hand, you spotted an antique bookshop a few doors down, marked by an iron sign and ornate shop window decorations that glistened with each hit of the dancing droplets. A warm golden light emanated from the inside, the hue comparable to a summer’s day. An odd feeling of deja vu washed over you, as though you had been in this store before, even though this was quite the distance away from your home, not on any of your usual commutes and in a part of town you barely visited aside from the occasional brisk walk. It had been established over a century ago, sporting a historical plaque and detailing original to the era the date on the sign suggested. Suppressing your internal monologue, you simply nodded, fond of Seonghwa’s excitement as he pushed lightly against your back and walked on ahead. If you were any more of a romantic, you would have assumed that the shop was a representation of his heart, but you couldn’t allow yourself to think that way, at least not when you felt heat rise to your cheeks as he whispered your name, openly planning what you could look for amidst the rare editions together. You and him turned into a ‘we’ so naturally, you barely had time to blink. A new brushstroke on a canvas, brave, bold and bright. Impressionist.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

The hypnotising improvisation on a semi-acoustic guitar, followed by a launch back into the theme of a well-known jazz song had you tapping on the counter, unknowingly following every drum beat. The bar turned cosy music venue that Seonghwa had invited you out to was proving to be every bit a wonder of the world, and paradise inside of the otherwise gloomy city which had been plagued with miserable weather and lack of daylight for atrociously long. The classy establishment was a well known favourite among the vampires residing in the city, especially those aligned with a more bohemian and art-focused lifestyle. Critics, painters, collectors, musicians, poets alike all gathered to share ideas and energy, and reminisce days long gone, while the band - one that had not changed since the bar’s establishment, revived legendary pieces one after another. 

With ease, Seonghwa had ordered your favourite drink, having memorised it after your many outings that had smoothly transitioned into dates and shared nights. He remembered every detail about you, holding each one tenderness. Your lover gazed at you as he ended a conversation with a fellow collector who had recently come to town for a few days, stretching out his hand until it just touched yours, guiding it to lie flat on the counter. Seonghwa’s palm, still retaining a pleasant coolness despite him having had a couple of drinks of his own, was another reassurance that in the buzz of the venue, you still had your person by your side. Feeling his digits tap and then proceed to brush the back of your hand, you hummed in contentment, and let your eyes travel over the beautiful vampire, who leaned back, tempting you just for fun, knowing full well that you were wholly his, and even when you turned to look elsewhere, it was his face you saw in the crowd, it was his voice that rang in your ears, it was his touch that ghosted over your skin. 

The bustier from Alexander McQueen, the gorgeous flowy shirt with ruffles and cuts so tastefully sewn and executed, the statement necklace that was worthy of being displayed at a gallery and must be the envy of many, the high heeled boots that were concealed by elegant trousers - Seonghwa was your favourite work of art, and you could never deny it. Each one of his gestures was worthy of marvel, and the care with which he approached everything - even the tending to the items which he painstakingly selected and matched for tonight made your heart skip a beat. It was boggling how each garment and accessory was either an original, or a one of a kind piece. But at the same time, you did not expect anything less of Seonghwa.

He must be impossible to depict in paintings, you concluded, shamelessly staring at your lover’s face, from the shape of his nose, to the plushness of his lips, to the waviness of his night-like inky locks. You bet many had tried, but judging by the lacking evidence in the art world, they must have failed, miserably, to create something more immortal and invincible than the model and muse. You understood them, and Seonghwa gave no signs of being perturbed. 

“So, was that the intent behind our spontaneous trip to this bar tonight?” you gestured at your surroundings, taking another sip from your ornate glass. A sharp exhale accompanied a contrasting soft answer:

“Not at all,I had the business sorted a couple of days ago, and tonight was a lucky crossing of paths to secure the deal,” cryptic as ever, Seonghwa only alluded to the matter at hand.

The matter, or how he had referred to it as ‘business’ was a particular artwork that he had been hunting, by the elusive artist you had been investigating, first in your lonesome, and then joining forces with Seonghwa. Apparently, one of the pieces, by some stroke of unimaginable luck, had been kept safe in the private collection of a ‘Mister Kim’, at least that was how he had been initially introduced to you. Until you put two and two together, and when the very well dressed and styled character had entered the bar and made a beeline towards your partner in artistic musings and romance, recognised the man as a world-famous designer and fashion icon, Kim Hongjoong. And of course, another vampire and kind soul in one. 

Their conversation had happened outside of your earshot; whether it was on purpose or just so happened to unfold that way was for your ruminations to determine, but you did overhear enough to figure out that this was a portrait, a never seen work, and was completed by the artist who as it had turned out had been closer with Seonghwa than you had initially thought. 

“Seems to be very important, and not just in a ‘collector’ sense…” you trailed off, watching as the ice in your drink cracked, “is this why you were interested, you know, back then?”

“If I were to be honest, darling, I was, and still am, a lot more interested in you. The artist was something of an excuse to get a conversation going. And I do hope,” Seonghwa turned and sauntered towards you, “this conversation does not end.” 

Even though you were sitting on one of the bar stools, the heels and stance still left him some room to look downwards, and his sultry expression, orbs glinting at you through dark lashes left you transfixed. In moments such as this, you hated to be mortal. There were so many things that you could not possibly know, and no matter how hard you would try to comprehend the vastness of the angelic man’s mind, you would always remain theoretical, and accept the grand majority of intricacies as axiom.

“I hope so too,” your voice barely rose above a whisper as his gloved hand landed on your neck, gliding upwards to caress your jawline.

“I’m so glad I found you,” his thoughts were elsewhere, you were sure of it, and yet, his gaze remained unwavering, “my eternal love”. Lips stained with bittersweet worship, the words stumbled from them to strike you repeatedly in the heart, forcing it to lose its rhythm. He was regarding you like he had stumbled upon a priceless treasure, a divinity, a paradise. Something far from you and from this planet, but by Seonghwa’s careful selection, etched in your features.

Were you the embodiment of something greater for him? You would not consider yourself to be a model example of a human being, neither were you a pretty statue to display in an exhibition. You were you, but Seonghwa kept on convincing you that it was exactly this that had captivated him and showed him a new beginning. Did you wish to believe that? Of course. But a vampire who was hundreds of years old could keep a grand variety of secrets beyond your understanding, even if he were to exclaim them right in front of you and sketch them out. His eternal love - your version of eternity, or his? A life the duration of a butterfly’s abstract dance to the heavens.

“Love?” he called out to you, eyebrows knitted in concern due to your prolonged silence. You had set your drink down, and were staring at the shine of the glossy chrome silver and pearl on Seonghwa’s necklace. “Talk to me, say anything.”

“I- hm. I think I am just tired. Yeah, that must be it. Tired so I am overthinking, no worries. I’ll just be right here and-”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you tilted your head, noting how Seonghwa immediately straightened out, and instead of attempting to tower over you stepped over to the side to set a protective hand over yours.

“This is a majority vampire bar, full of unfamiliar individuals, this whole deal with the artwork is up in the air and-”

“First of all, I don’t care. Second, you are here with me. And third, I want to trust in the fact that you would not do anything foolish nor harmful. Am I right in my evaluation?” you uttered, still not quite able to look into Seonghwa’s infinite pools of brilliant sienna and dark brown.

“I- I am honoured, but that still does not detract from the fact that we can go get some air and come back. Shall we?”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to. Hell, need to. Let us have a quick wander?”

“...I’d like that.”

In no time, the winter air hit your cheeks and you were wrapping yourself as tightly as you could in your oversized coat. In your ears the pleasant sound of the vampire’s heels rang out, echoed by the stunning road onto which you were spat out by the heavy black front door of the bar. Warm-toned streetlights liberally decorated the sidewalks and painted the night in honey, gold and copper accents. Reflections of an artificial summer in the puddles and winter chill. Downright magical. Seonghwa seeked out your hand, holding it tight and guiding it into the pocket of his own coat, smirking when you raised an eyebrow. 

“What?”

“Nothing at all.”

You were certain that you were walking through a landscape painting, every element captured by your vision falling into its rightful place, harmonising with the rest. The mumbling and music was long gone, only to be replaced by conversation of other late city explorers and the occasional rumbling of a car lazily rolling past. 

“Pissarro.”

“Hm?” Seonghwa kept looking ahead, but squeezed your hand to ask for you to continue.

“Boulevard Montmartre at Night. Painted in 1897, no?” you pointed at the surroundings with a tilt of the chin.

“Ah, indeed! Your perceptiveness never ceases to amaze me.”

“Well, thanks to you I got to see the original, so how could I not make the visual analogy?” you nudged his shoulder, earning a chuckle.

The painting was the only example of a landscape at night from the artist Camille Pissarro, making it all the more special despite it being part of a series of 14 views of the same location. Snow, rain, fog, morning, varying seasons, but only one glimmering night. It was one of the works that Seonghwa had managed to provide for your studies, resulting in a more than impressive academic outcome. Like Pissarro kept on painting the vista, your lover kept on giving, never asking for anything more than for you to share your hours with him, something you did not need to be prompted to do anyways.

“...I’m sorry I cannot reveal more than I do, at least not just yet,” he apologised, as though what he was committing was the greatest crime known to humanity and the supernatural.

As you looked up at the starry night sky, you swore you had heard these words before, uttered by the same voice, the same fingers interlocked with yours. A stabbing sensation in your cranium made you gasp, but you regained your composure quickly enough to not make it a priority for either of you. At the same time, Seonghwa’s expression altered to a semblance of… hope? Longing? You could not pinpoint it, but one of the many glowing dots above you clearly landed in his shining orbs, and he eagerly waited.

Waited for longer than you could realise in your present state.

On their own accord, your lips moved, forcing out a subconscious acknowledgement, previously suppressed. You swore the phrase belonged to another being, but it was as refreshing as the breeze tousling Seonghwa’s locks.

“I know. I can wait too.”

“Soon, my love.”

“I-I know.”

“I miss you.”

“I-” vision growing hazy, you reached to the vampire for support, which he readily provided, “I- too.”

One blink - oil paints decorated your hands, and those alluring eyes were staring back at you from a canvas. Another blink - Seonghwa was repeating your name, pressing his cheek against yours as he shielded you from falling into darkness with his strong arms.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Your office was inviting and offered a secure haven: a collection of neutral and wooden tones, with dashes of greenery to relax the eyes. From a potted ivy plant settled on the top of a large wall-length shelving unit to an indoor palm tree enjoying the rays in its designated corner, the room was a miniature paradise. You ran your hands over the thick birch desk, cautiously avoiding the stack of documents you had arranged for yourself to go through this day. Artwork restoration reports, contracts, exhibition plans for years to come… everything you thought you would never see, and yet it was right here in your palms.

Time moved slower, or at least that was how you began to perceive it now that it was in abundance. A fountain that did not cease to bestow gifts upon you - again, something you would have never imagined prior to the curious series of events that were your previous life unfolding the way they did. One fateful meeting, and you were a changed person, staring into the horizon and labelling it as a continuation rather than as a termination of all you could achieve. The world was your oyster, and loving dedication was the price. But when the price was so sweet, and so easy, who were you to say no? If you had to pick a concern, it would be the bandages and binding on your right arm; friction from the sleeve of the turtleneck and blazer you had worn today applying uncomfortable pressure to the delicate wound concealed within. 

You stood up from the leatherbound office chair, adjusting your clothes and stepping to the window behind you to look out at the garden belonging to the gallery - a recent expansion. Grand, regal, and as the papers had emphasised, now returned to its rightful owner. You wondered just how much of the city had belonged to vampires at least for a portion of time, and you had no doubt that you would be making more discoveries soon, but for the time being, you were happy with the re-acquisition, or as Seonghwa had called it: your ‘turning’ gift. A particularly strong shift of the arm made you wince, and your other hand shot to nurse your sore arm.

“I’m so sorry darling, does it still hurt?” Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa had slipped into the office, and immediately rushed towards you, concern painting his beautiful face through furrowed brows and a tiny scowl.

“N-no, barely. The sweater is silly-”

“Let’s not disregard ailments, shall we?” your partner gingerly lifted your arm, and after gaining permission through a few lethargic nods, pushed the sleeve upwards to reveal the bandages, “I- really, we need to apply the ointment again, that must be it-”

“Seonghwa-”

“Work can wait, I just need to-”

“My love-” Seonghwa paused his ramblings to stare back at you, puzzled, “it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Literally just a bite, isn’t it?” you smiled, the action instantly being mirrored, albeit with a tinge of remaining worry.

“Mm, perhaps I am overreacting, I can’t help it,” your thoughts were numbed by the silken touch of his lips on the back of your hand, wool against cotton as he pulled you into an embrace, “it should heal well once you get used to your new form, I am sure of it,” his tresses tickled your nose, but you ignored it, instead letting your head fall against him.

You stood almost completely still aside from the rocking side to side that was habitual for you both. A lulling motion, one that either of you revealed only to each other. A secret reserved for intimate, loving moments such as this. You shook your head in amusement and buried your nose in Seonghwa’s sweater, inhaling the aroma of his sweet perfume, recalling ‘Love and Pain’ - the painting that had marked the tightening of the invisible string tying you together. Or was it? Coincidentally, on the wall behind your lover was the real inception of your union, one that you had forgotten from one lifetime to the next. A portrait. The one that Seonghwa had been chasing, and what had been his decades-long mission came to an end.

Signed with your own hand, were initials of your name and the year of completion of the painting. None other than the beloved collector and muse, Park Seonghwa, who had posed for you, or rather a version of you, and ever since then, you were the only one on his mind. You had been the master both of the arts and of his fate.

“Please, I am embarrassed…” your partner mumbled, settling for futile attempts to position you in such a way that you would be looking out at the garden, but to no avail. Poking him playfully at the side, you induce a halt, and question him:

“What is there to be embarrassed about? That’s you. Painted by me.”

“Exactly. And you have it in your office, of all places.”

“Well I can’t exactly have you, in the flesh, on display all the time and I would like a work of art around here-”

“Shh-”

“Don’t shush me, Park. Be grateful I don’t keep the sketches out too.”

In all honesty, He would not mind if you did. You could do anything, and the vampire would adore and honour it. Whether it was in your blood or in his nature, he had never regretted almost losing himself in your favour. In your last life, he had gone against all rules set up by vampires, playing against what he swore was the devil in order to have the sliver of a chance to start again and, this time not lose you. Had his plan not succeeded, it was highly probable that he would have been erased from this planet too. But he would rather call himself a masochist than be law-abiding when it came to you.

“Next, you’ll be threatening me with a showcase of just my face-”

“What if I do?” you quipped, pulling back to boop his nose with yours, “I think it would look very pretty. Besides, now that I remember my apparent mastery of the visual arts, can’t I be a tiny bit proud, hm?”

“I would be terribly disappointed if you weren’t. Now, may I put that ointment on you?”

As if you could refuse those sparkling eyes. Promptly following him to the loveseat, which unfortunately for Seonghwa was situated right under the portrait, you sat down and waited. Your partner rushed to the medical cupboard - another new addition installed exclusively to support you as you were getting used to the vampiric nuances in your day to day. With well-practised motions, the required kit was in his hands, and in a blink, set down on the plush cushioning of the miniature sofa. You held back a chuckle as you saw the pout you so loved appear as he focused on unwinding the bandage with utmost care. Before you could feel any hurt, Seonghwa would already let go, or alter the angle at which he was tugging on the material. As soon as the plaster was peeled, you were met with the reason for your eternity and reawakening.

Two deep punctures, still a little irritated, not quite healed, but nevertheless a marking of your future and something you regarded with fondness. Wounds did not hurt when they were merely physical, especially not when you had someone who had bound their immortality to yours to tend to them. Seonghwa bit his lower lip, discontented with the ache as though he could feel it too, and took numerous pauses while cleaning up the wound to glance at you. 

“I’ll be applying the ointment now, tell me if it stings, okay?”

“Okay,” you knew it wouldn’t. You had never heard a man be so adamant on checking ingredients at an apothecary before following Seonghwa after your first appointment as a vampire. But just to appease him, you followed this small spoken routine. 

“You know… I was scared,” his voice was barely audible, and he could not look at you.

“What were you scared of?”

“Losing you again.”

“Well, I am here, aren’t I?”

Even before you were aware of Seonghwa, let alone the truth behind the portrait, all the roads still led to the same resolution. The arts, art history. Virtually synonymous, for without creation, there would not be the past, and without the study of the past, there would not be the celebration and respect of creation. Finally, you understood the beauty of evolution that Seonghwa had undergone all while remaining the same vulnerable yet legendary figure, dedicated to his vision of the arts, having recollected your own. 

“So many things could have gone wrong,” Seonghwa’s mind was reeling from the sheer terror of possibility. He had taken advantage of his high social standing as an aristocrat and pulled rank to avoid waiting for any ritual guides to step in - it was not the first time, but still only the second. And both cases were related to you. 

The first time might have been a foolish decision in retrospect, but considering the dire circumstances the extreme solution was the only one. With one foot crossing to the afterlife he was combatting the reapers, and was not going to let go of you even if it meant being pulled in. This time, when you had approached him a number of nights ago with your final agreement to his tentative proposal and kissed his ruminations away, he was ready. Years of study were not going to waste, after all. And yet when he studied the same irises as those from a time long gone, when he held the same hands, his blood ran even colder. What a gambling man he had been back then. The procedure to regift life to you had been risky, and Seonghwa, having never practised those elements of the dark arts bestowed upon his kind, had been taking shot after shot in the dark. How dare he play with your being like that? How dare he hold your existence on a sinful scale?

“But they didn’t.”

No they did not. Your confidence in him had aided considerably, he had to admit. The positioning of his fangs was perfect, and he had memorised all incantations down to the inflections. Second time a charm, but much more anxiety-inducing. Turning was not the same as revival, either. He could not stop himself from imagining the many scenarios of where he would have gone wrong, and cemented your identity only as a name on manuscripts, dissertation, paintings and reports. 

“Even the ritual, what if you did not remember-”

“I would love you just the same. Whether I had all my memories or not. That much I can assure you of. That is why I trusted you in the first place, Seonghwa.”

You did not need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. All you could do was suggest a brighter palette, and be by his side no matter what colour scheme he were to decide on. It was an artist’s duty to know when to set the tools aside and consider a painting finished. The luxury of a collector was to live through many paintings, unify the souls contained in each and sustain a chronology of expression. The keepers, the scholars, made to observe change rather than induce it directly. This was why you were all the more grateful for Seonghwa daring to change your mortal fate not once but twice, risking himself and his image in your favour.

When your partner was satisfied with his medical care, he hummed to notify you and began to clear up, at least until you placed a weak hand on his leather-clad thigh to gain his full attention. He searched for a hint in your features, eyes darting across your face at lightning speed. Relief came when you grinned brightly, whispering sincere gratitude.

Impressionism - the movement and path made by legends. A rejection of traditional practice, a new vision and interpretation of the outside world in the hues of the soul. Light, reality, immediate action. A breath that reset the arts, magnificent and radical for the time, and now, much adored. From its conception to its establishment, you were there to witness and fall in love, and now could look back at the beauty that had bloomed. His irises, your favourite colour. The speckles of various shades, your favourite details. You stared into Seonghwa’s eyes and did not dare blink. Your favourite impression.

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[parkerslatte]

14 and 45 with azriel and it’s really fluffy! Thanks and congratulations 🎉🎉

A/N: tysm for your request! I hope you enjoy :)

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Drunken Kisses

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: none

Summary: It is Azriel’s birthday and Y/N originally wouldn’t be able to spend the day with him. The Inner Circle take him to Rita’s and he gets extremely drunk and Y/N surprises him.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

3000 Follower Celebration

•••

Azriel rarely got drunk, at least to the point of losing control of his body. He didn’t mind getting tipsy from time to time but he could simply have a good time being surrounded by his family. However as Cassian placed another drink in front of him, one that would surely tip him over that edge of being drunk to the point of memory loss, Azriel missed the one person who should have been sitting by his side. 

“Where is Y/N?” Azriel slurred as he sipped his drink. “It’s my birthday, she should be here.”

Amused looks were passed throughout the Inner Circle as Azriel pouted. Y/N had been away at the Summer Court for nearly two months now but Azriel felt like it had been a lot longer. From the moment Y/N went away, Azriel missed her. Ever since the two had gotten together nearly ten years ago, they hadn’t spent too much time apart. 

“I miss her so much,” he whined. “She has never been gone this long before.”

“She’s only been gone two months Az,” Cassian said. “I thought you were meant to be the patient one.”

“I am,” Azriel protested. “But I miss her.” Azriel finished his drink. There was a silent communication within the group to not give the shadowsinger another drink. 

Cassian clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “It’s your birthday, put a smile on your face!”

Azriel shook his head. “I’ll only put a smile on my face if Y/N sits next to me right now.”

Azriel folded his arms across his chest. His heart hurt from being away from Y/N. When Rhys had sent her to the Summer Court, he begged him to go with her. Rhys refused, Azriel had his own work that he needed to focus on. The day Y/N left, Azriel was the one to bring her to the Summer Court. As soon as they arrived, Azriel refused to let go of her. His arms remained around her waist as he buried his head into the crook of her neck. 

“Please come back with me,” Azriel mumbled into her hair. 

Y/N hugged him tighter. “I can’t, my love. I have to do my job. I wish I could.”

“I will miss you,” Azriel said, resting his forehead against hers.

“I will miss you too,” Y/N said, pressing a kiss against his lips. 

Azriel was ripped out of his own memory as he felt someone sit next to him. He took no interest in who it was as he stared at the empty glass in front of him. Azriel never thought it was possible to miss someone this much. The constant pain in his chest from their separation was something he never wished to experience again. 

“Az, there’s someone who is trying to get your attention,” Feyre said, looking between the shadowsinger and the new presence that had joined their table. 

“I’m not interested,” Azriel grumbled. “If it’s not Y/N, then I don’t care.”

“Then maybe you should actually look for yourself, brother,” Cassian replied. 

As Azriel finally raised his gaze from the empty glass he looked at each face of his family who were simply staring at him in amusement. His gaze drifted around the circle until they landed on the one person he had been talking about all night. 

A goofy smile appeared on Azriel’s face as he looked at Y/N. “You’re here!”

Y/N smiled at her mate, as he reached out to her. She simply moved until she was close enough for him to pull her onto his lap. 

“I missed you so much, my love,” Y/N mumbled, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Happy birthday.”

Azriel’s head nuzzled into her neck as he breathed in her scent. “I love you. Don’t ever leave again.” His words were slurred and quiet. 

With one hand, Y/N ran her fingers through his hair and with her other hand she gently stroked his cheek. 

“When did you get back, Y/N?” Feyre asked, sipping her drink. 

“Only an hour ago,” Y/N responded. “I asked Rhys where all of you were.”

Azriel hugged Y/N closer to him and began to press small kisses against her neck. Y/N simply smiled. 

“Can we go home?” Azriel asked, his lips grazing her ear. “I wanna kiss you so badly. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Y/N replied, pressing a kiss against his forehead. 

Once she pulled away, Azriel pouted. “I wanted to kiss your lips.”

From beside Azriel and Y/N, Cassian laughed. “It’d be best to take him home, Y/N. He’s been like this all night.”

Azriel hand caresses Y/N’s thigh as he begins to pepper kisses across her jaw, completely ignoring Cassian. Y/N intertwined their fingers and squeezed his hand gently. 

“Let’s go home,” Azriel begged. 

Y/N turned back to him and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Azriel practically melted. His mind was solely focussed on Y/N. As her lips pulled away from his, Azriel whined. 

“Come on, let’s go,” Y/N said, slipping from his lap. 

Azriel jumped up from his seat, swaying on his feet as the room spun around him. 

“Good luck, Y/N,” Cassian commented. 

Y/N shoved him playfully as she walked past him. “I will see you all tomorrow.”

“Not likely,” Cassian said. “You’ve been gone two months, I’m sure Azriel will keep you within your bed all day tomorrow.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you all whenever then.”

Azriel gripped onto her hand and tugged her to him. Y/N waved back at her family before being pulled out into the night air. There weren’t many people on the streets, many being home or in the many different bars and pubs in Velaris. 

The couple hadn’t even made it far enough away for the music to be completely inaudible before Azriel pulled Y/N into his arms. Y/N let out a noise of surprise before wrapping her arms around him. 

“I missed you so much, Y/N,” Azriel muttered. His wings encased the two of them, giving them more privacy. “It- it hurts to be away from you.”

Y/N pulled away from the hug and cupped his cheeks. His hazel eyes bore into hers. “It hurt me too, Az. I thought about you every single day.”

“I felt it,” Azriel said, placing a hand over his heart. “I felt all the love you would send my way.”

Y/N rested her forehead against his. “Well I needed to remind you how loved you are.”

A large smile spread across his face before he was surging forward and captured her lips with his own. In his drunken state, he stumbled as he threw himself off balance. Pulling away with a laugh, Y/N rested her hands on his shoulders. “Let’s get back home. We can do all the kissing you want.”

Azriel’s face brightened. “Really? What about anything else?” Y/N rolled her eyes at her insatiable mate. “We can focus on that tomorrow and when you are sober.”

Azriel huffed. “Fine.”

Y/N giggled and wrapped him in one final hug. Azriel had never felt such love before and as soon as he met Y/N, he never wanted to live in a world without it. Every single touch sent his senses into overdrive. He was normally one who could control his emotions well but he could never control them around Y/N. She could always tell exactly what he was feeling at any point. To Azriel, Y/N was his home. Wherever she was, it was where he wanted to be. 

“Your hugs feel like home,” Azriel said. “You feel like home.”

Y/N only held onto him tighter, a feeling of warmth coursing down the bond and Azriel smiled. I deserve this, Azriel thought. I really deserve this. 

“I know you said that I feel like home,” Y/N began, “but can we go to our actual home? It is getting quite cold out and we can go and cosy up by the fire and you will get all of the kisses you want.”

Azriel pulled away and smiled. The smile only Y/N saw. “Then let’s go home, I only wish to be with you all night.”

Y/N pecked his lips. “Happy birthday, Az.”

“You are the greatest gift I have ever received,” Azriel responded, intertwining their fingers together.

[euaphoric]

MAKE A WISH ✨

♡ ♡ ♡ all jungkook wishes for on his birthday is you ♡ ♡ ♡

✩‧₊˚ pairing — jungkook x f!reader, best friends to lovers

✩‧₊˚ warnings — mostly fluff but i sprinkled in a *tiny* bit of smutty action towards the end hehe, the cliche (but cute) dynamic of being total opposites, koo wants you sooo bad omg, jk shoots his shot in such a cute & smooth way, food play (kinda?), unedited for rn but i’ll edit it later at some point !

words ⥂ 2.3k

made a lil post for jk’s birfdayyy, even tho he’s 26 he’s still like 21 in my eyes hjsjfjfds. i haven’t posted in a while so this is the least i can do for now lol hope y’all like it 😵‍💫

it’s your favorite person in the whole world’s birthday today ! you woke up in the wee hours of the morning to get everything ready for your best friend’s big day. you texted him straight away at midnight, sending the sweetest birthday message along with a gif of my melody holding a cake. you could never express into words enough how much jungkook means to you but your actions do most of the talking anyway. since he was turning 26 you got 26 pink and white balloons to scatter all over your living room, you also work at a bakery so it was obvious you had to make one for his special day. it was a single tier cake in the shape of a heart with a cute minimalistic design of a bunny and pink/white stars surrounding the edges. though the cake itself looked fairly simple, you worked really hard on it and took about 4-5 hours perfecting it. there was a lot of time and effort well spent into all this but was very worth it— only the best for the most amazing person you love and cherish. <3

the sheer excitement within you couldn’t be contained, feeling so giddy about him being on his way over to your place to come celebrate. you’ve known jungkook for years but this was the first time celebrating his birthday with just the two of you. a couple weeks ago, you asked him what he wanted for his birthday, to which he simply replied, “i don’t need anything, i just wanna hang out with you all day.” it was an odd request to you since he had so many other friends but you didn’t go against his demands, who are you to question the birthday boy’s request? to dress for this special occasion you wore a pretty pink flowy dress with a satin bow barrette in your hair, pairing it with white frilly lace socks and mary jane platforms. you looked super cute and jungkook will definitely think the same, it’s too bad he doesn’t wear much colorful stuff anymore, he’d look great in pink!

you get a call from jungkook saying he’s at your place and you immediately sprint to the door, going in for a hug as he steps inside. “happy birthday to the bestest boy in existence!” you cheer, gleefully smiling up at him. “thanks sweetie pie— wait, did you really decorate your whole house for this? there’s so much pink everywhere!” his glassy eyes soared around the room, taking in all the pretty decorations. jungkook’s outfit completely contradicted the theme, he was wearing a black fitted CK tee with black distressed jeans, very much on brand of him. “i thought it’d be cute! but that’s not all, i made you a cake, come look!” you grab his hand, leading the way for him to follow you into the kitchen, “tadaaa!”

he couldn’t stop smiling at how cute you were being, flailing your arms out towards the cake like it was some extraordinary discovery. he only chuckles in response, staring at you instead of the cake. “do you like it?” you hesitantly ask, second guessing if the cake design was a bit too simple. jungkook indefinitely snaps out his trance to respond, “oh i love it y/n, it’s adorable and i can’t wait to eat it!” well thank goodness, a weights now been lifted from your very tense shoulders. “phew.. okay good. you better have or else, i didn’t break my back doing all this for nothing!” you jokingly tease, pinching the side of his face to squish his adorably round cheeks. “can’t believe my boy has turned 26 today, you don’t look a day over 20, no wonder you still get ID’d at the bars!” it was too easy to keep teasing him, you have way too much fun doing it over the years.

“is this why you were so eager to spend my birthday with me? just so you can bully me all day?” he pouts like a child who’s about to throw a tantrum, “better be lucky you’re so darn cute..” that last comment made your face grow hot, attempting to cover your face so he doesn’t see you blushing. it’s weird how you’re getting so worked up over your best friend complimenting you, he always does it, there wasn’t much of a difference now. “you know you didn’t have to do all this for me right? celebrating this day with you is already a gift in itself.” jungkook really was a simple guy, all he needed was the people he loved most around him, that’s the best birthday gift in his eyes. “oh please, you’re my best friend so obviously i’m gonna go all out for this! plus i literally do this kinda thing for a living.. i had this prepared days in advance for you. also, quit being so sweet, you’re gonna make me cry on your own birthday!” you don’t know what’s in the air today but you can’t shake this feeling of butterflies in your stomach. “nooo, don’t do that you’ll ruin all the gorgeous makeup you’re wearing, i’m sure you spent a lot of time on that too!”

you’re not sure if it’s because it was his birthday but jungkook was acting extra cute towards you. the way he was paying more attention to you than anything else around him built an inexplicable tension between you. “i’ll go get the candles and something to cut the cake with, then after that we can do whatever you want!” you squeal from excitement, grabbing the box of colorful pastel candles and a cake knife that you actually stole from your job. placing the tiny candles around the rim to make it look aesthetically pleasing, you take the lighter from the table to light the candles. “turn off the lights!” you shout to him behind you, he hurries to find the switch to flip it off, making the room completely dark except for the tiny orange flames. you gesture for him to come closer, “ok now sit here!” sliding the chair out to let him sit down. the omitting light from the candles illuminated his face so beautifully, making your heart burst when he looks up at you with star-filled eyes. you’ll never understand how this man can be single, he’s so damn breathtaking.

it isn’t a birthday without any singing involved so you began chanting the happy birthday song to him in a cutesy high pitched tone, being the annoyingly loud best friend you always are. you had your hands rested on his broad shoulders, swaying side to side as you sang your little heart out, it probably wasn’t the best singing he’s ever heard but it’s the thought that counts! “you’re so freaking cute, stop ittt.” jungkook says after you finished singing, “it hasn’t even been a full hour yet but this is already my best birthday, thanks y/n, you made me feel special today.” he couldn’t help but express thorough gratitude for all this, you went so above and beyond for him. “oh it’s nothing really kookie, i’m just happy i get to spend this day with you.” you know he can’t see it but you smile anyway, hugging him from behind, the intoxicating scent of his cologne on his shirt made you feel dizzy.

“ok, now it’s time to make a wish. wish for anything in your wildest dreams, the world’s your oyster!” “hmm, alright.. will it come true though?” he asks in a hopeful tone, “of course it will! and if by chance it doesn’t, then i’ll make it happen.” you’d practically do anything for him, your friendship meant the world to you. “okay, here goes nothing i guess.” he shrugs, closing his eyes for a minute to think of his undying wish, once he opens them again he blows out the array of candles. “yayyy, it’s official now!” you ferociously clap, turning around to go find the light again but jungkook stops you in your tracks. “wait, please don’t turn the lights back on.” his voice sounding a bit more serious than usual. you listen and turn back to face him again, “wanna know what i ended up wishing for?” he gets up from the chair to walk towards you, pulling your hand to hold you in close to him. here comes the butterflies again… “what? you aren’t supposed to tell me your wish silly, then it won’t come true!” you playfully argue, thanking the heavens above that it’s too dark for him to see how flustered you looked. “but this wish is important, i really need it. you even said so yourself that you’ll help make it happen, right?”

just what the hell could he be up to right now ? you’re so clueless about what’s going on but you decide to humor him anyway. “hmm, yeah i guess i do remember saying that.. what was your wish that’s so important then?” pressing your body further into his chest, the atmosphere felt much different than it usually did, you couldn’t seem to put your finger on why though. without any hesitation he reveals his only wish, “i want you to be my girlfriend.” your body felt frozen, you were sure this had to be a dream at this point, there’s no way your best friend is asking you out.. no freaking way. “w-what?” the dry lump in your throat made it impossible to talk, you were so overwhelmed with emotions it seemed like you were rejecting him, but in reality you were just too stunned to speak. “i don’t care if this ruins our friendship anymore, i can’t keep holding this in… i’m in love with you y/n. ever since you broke things off with that loser i couldn’t stop thinking about you being my girlfriend. i can treat you so much better baby, i promise, just give me a chance. that’s all i want for my birthday, just wanna make you finally mines.” he gravely confessed everything, laying out all the thoughts he had building up over time.

you were still in shock but you had to say something before you mess up, clearing your throat to voice what you had to say. “i can’t believe i’m about to say this but, i don’t want to keep being friends anymore...” slowly pausing before finishing your thoughts. “wha-” “because i want to be your girlfriend too.” you quickly cut him off, heart anxiously pounding at the fact you just admitted to this. it never dawned on you that jungkook could ever feel romantically towards you but he hid his feelings a little too well for you to never detect this secret. the distance between you was seemingly nonexistent, feeling his warm breath against the side of your face as he leans in closer. “i guess it’s official then, you’re my girl now.” a pair of ring clad hands cup your face gently, pulling you in for a slow kiss. his soft lips felt so divine against yours, the languid movement of his body with yours was like magic. out of all the fake scenarios you created in your head about kissing jungkook, none of them could top the real thing. his peach flavored lip balm tasted so sweet, delighting you with even more hunger for him, the room felt like it was spinning.

a whine slips from your lips when he momentarily pulls away, missing the peachy candy taste of him. you could kiss him for hours with absolutely no complaints. “now that you’re my girlfriend can i do the thing i’ve really always wanted?” jungkook cranes his head to the side while asking, tracing the outline of your lips with his thumb. you thought him kissing you was what he wanted most but guess not. “of course honey, whatever the birthday boy wants the birthday boy gets!” you were willing to make this the most memorable birthday he’ll ever have. “to be completely honest, i want you to ride my face. but you can do that later for me, i wanna try this cake you made!” his attentions drawn back to turning to the light on again, finally getting able to see each other better. you were trying so hard to play it cool after he said that, but on the inside was total chaos. this whole day escalated so quickly, you wanted to pinch yourself to wake up but this felt way too good to be a dream— you’re now dating your best friend and couldn’t be happier.

“this looks so damn good, i can’t wait to eat it.” jungkook smacks his lips at the piece of cake you cut for him, and of course, it was on a pink plate with a matching fork to fit the theme. “i’m most excited to eat you instead though.” he smugly grins, dipping his finger into the frosting, but instead of eating it he dabs it on the side of your face. “what are you doing?” you cluelessly respond before he leans in again, this time licking the sweet buttercream off your cheek. “i wanna try somethin’ real quick, hold on.” he announces as he goes back to dip in the frosting again, you could sense the mischief all over his face. his other hand travels to the neckline of your dress, pulling it down slowly to reveal one of your perky breasts, his eyes were like a deer in headlights, in complete awe of how perfect you looked. “so much fucking better than i imagined.” the tent in his pants grew inevitably, biting his lip at the stunning sight in front him. bringing his finger to your perched nipple, he coats it with the pink icing, bending down to sensually lick it off once again. “nnghh.. that felt so good..” you lull out a moan, body turning into straight puddy by his touch. “don’t worry babe, there’s more where that came from,” the devilish smirk on jungkook’s face was enough to know he wasn’t kidding around, “i’m about to have the best birthday sex ever.”

[tteokdoroki]

*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— the mystery of misery + katsuki bakugou, eijirou kirishima.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — you’ve spent your whole life running from the shackles of your past and the misery surrounding it, but, after the death of your estranged mother— you return to your small hometown to lay her to rest. while you’re there, the whispers of whiteridge begin to unravel, revealing mysteries of love, loss and lies that all tie back to a childhood flame and the town’s recluse.

⭑ general warnings — please read + mdni ! heavy!angst, heavy!smut, fluff, happy ending, characters aged up to twenties, strangers/childhood friends to lovers, major character deaths, themes of death, injury descriptions (bones), murder mystery, childhood trauma, gaslighting, manipulation, arguments, fight scenes, anxiety, panic attacks, therapy, pet names (sweetheart, darling, baby etc.), fem!reader, southern!au, small town!au, quirkless!au.

⭑ smut warnings — three scenes, protected/unprotected sex, drunk sex, clothed sex, oral sex (m + f!receiving), blowjobs, handjobs, fingering (f!receiving), nipple play, body worship, dry humping, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, orgasm control, choking, biting, scratching, marking, threesomes, cucking, frottage, double vaginal penetration, squirting, creampies, possession, birth control, condom usage, aftercare, light!degradation, light!dumbification, light!dacryphilia, light!baby trapping, strength!kink, praise!kink, size!kink, spit!kink, uses of cunt, pussy, cock dick etc. reader is picked up/carried.

⭑ words — 51.1K.

⭑ notes — waah !! here it is !! my baby, my passion project. this fic is an accumulation of of a month of screaming, crying + throwing up but i'm so happy to give it to you all. i've never been so proud of something, it's a lot, its heavy but its very much me and indulgent. sorry in advance for the text walls/length but i hope you guys will love it as much as i do! special thanks to @yuki-no-akumu for all the support and editing and formatting!! and @heartdevil too ! m.list / playlist / ao3 ✩

some memories are easier to forget than others.

like scars, they can fade with time until they’re hardly noticeable— as if they were never even there to begin with. others cling to familiar scents and sights and sensations, etched into the landscape of your brain never to be erased, never to be replaced. no matter how hard you try, certain memories will always come back to you— close in on you like a shadow in the night, jolting you from your peaceful present day. 

at least, that’s how you feel when you get a call from your hometown about your estranged mother’s sudden death— and all of those painful memories from your childhood you worked so hard to forget, constantly pushing them to the back of your mind come crashing down on you in a giant wave of stinging nostalgia. and you feel as though you're drowning in the weight of them. 

as soon as you were old enough, and on the cusp of your eighteenth birthday— you’d abandoned your life in a small town in the south to make it big in the city. you wanted to write, wanted your name on big billboards and your books in every store, so you left it all behind as a naive young woman to follow a man who’d promised you a fruitful career and that all of your wildest dreams would come true. back then, you’d have done anything to get out of that tiny town. 

and you did, though just barely breaking into your mid-twenties you made a name for yourself as a best-selling author of fiction books. known far and wide, you thought that your career was your way out, but you’d never thought that you’d be dragged back to the hellhole of your childhood hometown either. the place where people cursed your name instead of cheered it, where you were an outsider instead of someone to be loved. 

the memories of your bitter mother and piece of shit father ( who’d abandoned you all very early on ) sit at the forefront of your mind as you make the long drive to your old southern home— you would only go back to sell your dead mother’s house, see to her funeral arrangements and be back to your new, better life in the city within the week. you couldn’t possibly stay any longer, you refused to.

except, the words of your publicist, mina ashido, serve as a haunting reminder that your plan isn’t just a quick in and out.

‘when you go on this trip and go back home, sit in your feelings. talk to the people you used to know! write something. something refreshing that your fans have never seen before.’

you remember the conversation as clear as day, after having received the news of your mother’s passing— your nosey publicist thought it would be a good idea to pester you to consider writing that autobiography. she’d told you that your fans wanted to know the real you, that you were too private for your own good and apparently your science fiction romance novels just weren’t cutting it anymore. 

you scoff to yourself, alone in your rented jeep, cruising down mountainous dirt roads with nothing but dust and rocks kicked up by your tires, cold air and the clear sky above to keep you company. “the real me, my ass.” there was a reason that no one knew anything about you prior to who you are now. why your childhood memories were kept safely behind lock and key. no one needed to know the neglect you faced after your elder brother’s death, they could be spared the details on how your mother went bat-shit crazy trying to investigate his accident. what good would it do anyone to know how the town and its people turned against your mother when she couldn’t handle her duties, being too consumed with grief to help those that needed her? 

to help you, when you needed her? 

everyone in town hated her, and by extension, you. 

what good of a story would a life like that make to your readers? 

a sign for the town of whiteridge, population 356, comes into view— a little rustier than when you’d left it, and for a moment, you bring your car to a complete stop.

though the darkened memories of your past sink their claws into your mind, you take a deep breath and push forward— facing the demons that taunted you throughout your childhood, making them your bitch in your adulthood. 

as it turns out, funerals are much harder to plan than expected. 

the town’s coroner had already picked the date for said celebration of life ( a good riddance for you ), which settled on the day after you had arrived in lovely old whiteridge. there was much to organise in such little time. 

dealing with the funeral director had been exhausting, picking colours and flower arrangements and headstone designs— you end up throwing a wad of cash at the coroner, too tired to deal with the matter or to care. you doubt that your mother would have spared enough of her attention to do the same for you if you’d swapped places with one another. in the end, you put down enough money to cover twice the budget for the funeral and after party and whatever wages will be needed by any staff involved at the director with a polite, yet strained smile.

whatever you need to give to put your mother in the ground and bury your past with her— you’ll give. 

after more discussion, you come to find that the only condition the woman who raised you had for her death was that any celebration in her honour was to take place in your childhood home— the one with creaky floorboards and wailing walls that accompanied the symphony of your mother’s sobs each night. the funeral director had told you that, and again, you agreed to the condition without a care, paying off the decorators with your hard earned money ( not what your mother had left you or what was kept for her funeral arrangements ), telling them to get it sorted for the following day. 

you couldn’t bear to deal with the house yourself, at least not yet, and decide to put yourself up in the town’s nicest hotel for one last night of peace. 

the hotel is on the far side of whiteridge, by the town centre surrounded by warm looking diner’s and old rickety antique shops you remember being coated in fresh licks of paint as a child. the owners are a sweet couple, who sign you up to their cosiest room right away— the taller, momo, desperately trying to hold back on asking for your autograph while her partner, jirou, looks for your set of keys in the back behind their reception desk. 

eyeing momo— taking in her round, soft cheeks, her gentle obsidian eyes and silken dark locks, you wonder how she ever survived a place like this looking so kind and hopeful and make a mental note to buy an extra copy of your latest novel from the gift shop later on, so you can leave her with a signed copy as a thank you for being so hospitable throughout your stay. 

a mop of purple hair returns from the darkness, each one of jirou’s steps jingling with the set of keys dedicated to your space for the night. “you’ll wanna head ta room 205, it’s up the stairs ‘n to the right,” she explains nonchalantly, her southern twang ringing in your ears as she twirls the keychain over her perfectly manicured finger before pushing the set of keys across the desk towards you. “checkout is at noon, breakfast is served by sato from eight am sharp ‘till then.” 

her hands settle onto her hips afterwards, returning to momo’s side— the picture perfect painting of a happy couple residing in this fucked up world. with a smile that barely reaches your eyes, you take the keys graciously and slip them into your coat pocket— fiddling with them before you speak. “is it possible for me to get a later checkout, or leave my luggage somewhere safe?” casting your gaze around the hotel’s reception, you click your tongue before looking back at the pair with a smirk. “got a funeral first thing tomorrow morning,” 

both women soften at your words, but your grin remains— not faltering at the expression of sympathy that flashes across their features. “oh goodness! of course! we can keep your bags locked up back here until you’re ready to get them,” the words rush out of momo, quick to correct their blunder before she elbow’s jirou— who gazes up at her in a gleeful mix of shock and irritation.

it makes you laugh, how natural they are with one another— like a married couple with their own special ticks and love language. nothing like what you saw around whiteridge growing up. they fuel a small fire of inspiration in the back of your mind, characters for your next book forming from nothing in your imagination but then you suddenly remember that you have an autobiography to write while being here— not a means to escape reality. your face sags at the thought.

“‘m sorry for your loss,” jirou hums quietly. “may i ask who it was?” 

adjusting your posture, your hand forms a fist around the keys in your pocket— the cool silver metal cutting into the soft skin of your palm. 

“my mother,” you give her name, letting out an amused chuff as recognition takes its place on the couple’s faces. you shrug next. “and don’t be.” bringing a single finger to your lips, you make them wordlessly promise not to say anything. not to leak your little secret to anyone outside of this town. 

the world beyond whiteridge knows nothing of your family and the person you were before you left your town. not only that, but ashido would quite literally kick the bucket too if she found out your mother’s death had spread to the wider internet. it was a secret, the goldmine and key to your autobiography’s success. the chilly outside calls to you through a blue and red stained glass window— the yellow street lamps just shining through, accompanied by happy shouts from residents in the town. the sights and sounds lure you out of your own stuffy thoughts and taunting memories. you feel like you’re holding your breath, that you’re suffocating in the pressures of trying to live up to and prove yourself to your mom even though she’s stone cold and long gone.

twirling on your feet, you face the happy couple and plant your hands on the front desk eagerly. “i’m dying for a drink,” you blurt out brightly and try not to laugh at your awful choice of words. the tone of your voice carries something much more chipper to what it was mere seconds ago— shocking the hotel owners standing before you. “any recommendations? i haven't been to whiteridge in years!” 

jirou hesitantly lifts her finger to the window that had beckoned to you earlier— seemingly pointing to a busy joint just across the street. “liquid gold bar, s’owned by a friend of mine. used to be the town’s chapel ‘fore it got burned down a few years back by a couple of highschool grads,” she says fondly, as if remembering something happy. “i may or may not have been one of ‘em. they’ve moved further out now. but if ya do go to the bar, tell kaminari we said hello.” 

you both share a wicked grin at the story— laughing between each other while momo only scolds her partner lightly. they can’t be much older than yourself, meaning the chapel had burned down just after you’d finished highschool as well. ironic, you think.

“they do a great roast as well! if you’re hungry for dinner while you’re over there!” the ravenette beside jirou chips in, offering you a warm smile. 

thanking them both, you muster up a genuine smile of your own before asking for a pen and some paper— which momo is quick to shove at you. satisfaction flits through your body as your signature glides easily across the bit of scrap that she’d given you ( which you’re pretty sure is a receipt for their maintenance bill ). you step back after pushing it across towards her, nodding in acknowledgement. 

“thank you both for your help. i’ll be sure to find a copy of one of my books so i can give you a proper signature as thanks. have a great night.” 

you take your leave after that, gathering your bags and suitcase in your arms as you trot up the stairs. you can hear the excited squeal and kisses that follow your departure, momo blabbing on about your parting gift, her fondness of your works accompanied by jirou’s gentle and exasperated ‘i know, momo’ and ‘calm down or i’ll kiss you!'. you can only grin once you reach the landing, glad that at least some positivity has manifested in this wretched town. 

the atmosphere of liquid gold is buzzing.

after setting up in your room, showering and switching into something clean and comfortable— you head over to the bar and restaurant per jirou and momo’s recommendation. upon entering the establishment, you can already feel the life burning bright in every single corner of the room. it’s not busy, but people from every walk of life, people you don’t recognise from your awful childhood seem to be having fun. you feel safe here, free from the tendrils of trauma whiteridge usually had clinging to you.

you arrive at the bar in a few short strides, tugging the sleeves of your old woollen sweater over your hands, not bothering to flag down the bartender as you enjoy the animated and rustling atmosphere you’re currently surrounded in. 

“yer not from around here, are ya?” an electric blonde appears before you, startling you from the peace and quiet of your mind. he notices you jump, a smile breaking out across his chirpy looking face as he pours you a shot of brown liquor and passes it to you. 

folding your arms against the top of the bar, you quirk a brow before knocking back the shot with ease— the alcohol leaving a comfortable burn in the back of your throat. one that doesn’t hurt to feel, like the burn of hearing your mother’s name again when the solicitor called to tell you the news of her death. “what makes you say that?” slamming the glass down against the smooth sweet-cherry countertop, you lick your lips, and hum at the taste of dark rum coating them. 

the chipper blonde gives you a look from his place behind the bar, amber orbs dragging up and down your frame as he gestures to…well, all of you. “for starters, you’re at the hottest spot in town dressed like yer about to join a seniors knitting class!” he starts, topping you up with another shot as you lean over to get a better look at him. he’s pretty, with wild hair and bright eyes and a cheeky aura about him— someone way too positive for a town that haunts your nightmares. “and second, yer just too pretty for a town like this.”

scoffing, you roll your eyes and look away. “could say the same about you,” you say to yourself— a little too quiet for him to hear before downing your second shot of the night. “thanks, but i was actually born at the hospital just up the street.” 

“no kiddin’! me too!” the blonde seems giddy at the news that you, a stranger, has shared with him.

“aren’t we all…” you mumble back, blinking slow as the alcohol steadily begins to simmer through your body in the heat of the blood flowing in your veins.

“you don’t have the accent either,” he comments.

“skipped town at eighteen ‘n dropped it t’get where i needed to be in the industry i work in.” you fire back, locking your gaze with the bartender who seems thoroughly impressed by your ability to bring back the southern twang on command. 

“i hear that,” the bartender looks you over, gesturing to the bottles of water behind him in concern and nods when you shake your head, gripping the bar. he’s fast to set you up with a third shot of rum, hesitant to give it to you. “so what brings ya back? tourism can’t be it.” 

you swallow the rum, satisfied with how it calms your raging mind and temporarily eats up any anxieties you might have about the funeral tomorrow. 

“dead mother.” 

your companion reaches under the bar with a handful of black polished nails to grab a bigger glass for you— pouring you a heavier drink and a shot for himself. “bummer…” he laughs, as if understanding why you’re drinking tonight and lifts his shot glass to cheers with you. you share his laughter, already feeling lighter and clink your glass against his. “‘m denki kaminari, the owner of this joint, so if ya need anything, just holler at me, okay?” 

with that, denki backs off to go tend to his other customers and gives you a sweet salute as you wave him off. “i-i will!” you hiccup cheerily. “oh! jirou and momo say hi!” 

tapping your nails against the cool surface of your glass, you try not to think about the loneliness creeping up on you and the dread you have for the funeral. though, you’re somewhat relieved to let go of the woman who took away your childhood and failed to raise you in favour of digging deep into your older brother’s accident, in turn letting you be swallowed by the hate from the people in town. there was dread— fear for confronting your demons, the townspeople who failed you and the alcohol could only numb that for such little time. 

“can i get a drink, please?” someone rasps and the sound of a chair scraping against the floor next to you pulls you from your thoughts for the second time that night— but you don’t bother to look up, wanting to be alone. and like denki had said, you’re pretty. it’s not uncommon for you to get hit on in a place like this. 

tracing the rim of your glass, an irritated sigh leaves your lips as you take another sip of the dark liquid filling it. “before you ask, i’m not interested, but thanks anyway,” you reply smoothly, voice lowered by the alcohol clinging to the ridges of your throat. 

the voice speaks pipes up again, this time sounding as though it’s directed at you. “‘nd i wasn’t fuckin’ talkin’ to you, sweetheart,”  only then do you spare a glance at the person speaking— his voice husky, lower than yours and filtering through your ears like liquid gold honey. “but thanks for the clarification anyways.” 

oh fuck.

you pause, meeting a pair of narrowed ruby red eyes, deep and enticing— calling to you like riches call to a man of greed. once you look up, you can’t tear your own eyes away, pulled into the trance of the handsome man before you. his hair looks like it’s been touched by only the brightest days of sunlight, a soft pale blonde that just barely covers his eyes. his skin is golden despite the cool and bone chilling weather outside— dotted with honeycomb freckles that remind you of stars in the sky. his lashes are long, long enough to make you insanely jealous of how pretty they are and your mind dares you to think about how soft they must feel when brushing against your skin.

you can tell that the man is strapping from the way his arms bulge and how broad his chest is, barely hidden by the fabric of his black turtleneck that stretches over his bulky frame. he seems familiar, but blurred from your memory— as if you knew him but weren’t supposed to.

he also looks like he was made by the gods.

like he’s the love interest that's walked straight out of one of your most famous books.

“don’t they teach you outsiders that it’s rude t’fuckin’ stare?” the stranger asks, a brow raised into his hairline as he accepts a drink from an amused denki. 

shaking your head in surprise at being called out, you splutter out a response. “an outsider?” 

“yer clearly not from around here.” 

“you’re the second person who’s told me that tonight. what’s your reason?” 

raising his drink to you, ice clinking against the sides of the glass, he utters simply. “firstly, ya don’t have an accent, sweetheart.” 

rolling your eyes again, you swivel in your seat to fully face the handsome and apparently— all knowing, yet unknown person with an unimpressed glare. “let me guess,” leaning an elbow on the bar top, you bat your lashes at him and push your arms together to mockingly accentuate your chest. “i’m too pretty to be from ‘round here too.” you add in a faux dumb tone, scoffing when he falls for your trick to take a glance at your tits from over your sweater. “unbelievable.”

“was gonna say ya just give off the vibe that yer uptight, but that too.” 

“uptight?” you gasp incredulously and if looks could kill, this man would be six feet under. “you don’t even know me.” 

“know enough to know you don’t give a fuck ‘bout yer mom dyin’ or… at least you pretend not to. yeah i heard that.” he mumbles and takes a sip of his cool beverage, swirling it around the tempered glass before locking eyes with you again. “but then again, who am i ta judge? if she was from this shitty town, then that old hag was probably a pain in the fuckin’ ass jus’ like the rest of ‘em, hah?” 

he looks to you as if reading your face, but you don’t have it in you to tell him that he’s wrong— so you laugh and raise your half empty glass to him. “right on the money…” you trail off, hoping to get his name. 

“bakugou.” 

“bakugou…” you repeat his last name, playing with the taste of it on your tongue, happy with it. “the people in this place are fake as shit.” 

he grins in response. “they’re all bullshit, i’d rather avoid these fuckers as if they had the plague.” 

you grin back. “cheers to that then.” 

“cheers to bein’ the only sane people in this god-awful town,” bakugou holds his glass up to yours, cheers-ing  with you before you both down your drinks in one smooth shot. when he looks back at you, you softly give him your own name, buzzing with newfound confidence as the alcohol once again takes up residence in your bloodstream.

“can i get’cha another drink, bakugou?” you ask, flagging denki over with a wave of your dainty fingers. “my tab’s already open.” 

“i won’t say no t’that, sweetheart. start me off easy, yeah? don’t wanna get too drunk before i get ta know ya.” 

now, that shocks you. someone interested in you for more than just your books and your money, someone who seems not to know you like the rest of the world does…or even this town. you tilt your head, intrigued by bakugou and speak softly to him again. “you wanna get to know me?” 

“no one hates this place as much as i do, people like us gotta stick together.” the pale blonde with the dauntingly beautiful vermillion stare; smirks— exposing a row of sharpened pearly whites that make your heart stutter in its place residing in your chest. “’sides, i meant what i said earlier. i think yer pretty.” his smirk turns dopey, a coy smile crossing his perfectly slanted lips, sending your brain into some kind of frenzy. bakugou leans in real close, having turned to face you fully as well, and lets his hand slide over your jean clad knee— further and further until it settles on the swell of your thigh, giving it a hearty squeeze. 

walking your fingers up bakugou’s own thigh, you drop your tone into a sultry. “yeah? you’re not so bad yourself.” you coo, twirling your fingers through his belt loops and tugging on them shyly. though there aren’t many people in the bar, you feel like the temperature of the room is rising— scorching you from the inside out. maybe it’s his touch, maybe it’s how close you both are, but it’s almost as if bakugou is swallowing you whole, pulling you into his air of mystery. 

“not bad, hah? don’t act like i didn’t catch ya starin’, sweetheart.” he responds darkly, cocking his head to the side. 

your hands travel upwards, fisting the fabric of his turtleneck as you follow the tilt of bakugou’s head. “god, you have something to say for everything, don’t you?” there’s nothing but an inch of air separating you both, your lips ghosting over one another. 

“‘course i do, s’cause i never lose.” he whispers softly, his breath warm and wet against your cupid’s bow before bakugou closes the gap— pressing his lips against yours in a slow, alcohol and lust driven kiss. you briefly seize up, before letting the man lead you further into the dark. bakugou’s tongue drags over the seam of your lips, tasting the rum that’s caught on the chapped skin of them. he groans deep, the sound vibrating through you and straight down to the heat between your thighs— making you uncomfortable in your denim jeans.

you tug him close, desperate for more, for something else— but kaminari comes over, waving his rag about the place until both you and bakugou part. 

“hey! hey now! get a room! you’re scaring away the customers!” 

“can it, dunce face!” bakugou grumbles at the loss of contact but keeps a hand on your thigh to keep you in place while you calm your breath. “what customers?"

“um, rude!” 

“‘nd s’not even like that anyways,” the lighter blonde continues, grabbing his coat and subsequently pulling his hand from your thigh— making you whimper at the loss of his warmth. 

grabbing onto his sleeve before bakugou can vacate the bar, you pout, giving him your best doe eyes and pleading voice. “it can be…like that if you want.” you say breathlessly, not quite ready for your evening with the handsome stranger to end just yet. “i’ve got a room at the hotel across the street for tonight.” 

and then bakugou gives you the same, slow sexy smirk from earlier and steps in between your thighs. 

“yeah? then show me the way, princess.” 

that’s how you end up slamming bakugou against the door of your hotel room— roughing him up between sloppy, spit swapping kisses. your hands cascade down the blonde’s well built frame, feeling his chiselled and washboard abs from over the thick fabric of his clothing, squeezing the meat of his pecs and tugging on his belt loops— hardly giving the man any room between your sensual lip locks. bakugou groans into your temperate mouth, following each movement of your lips like it’s a perilous siren song calling to him, like he can’t bare to be without your tongue crawling across his, both pink muscles dancing in a salaciously sinful song too debauched to happen between two complete strangers. 

his lips feel so good, they’re soft and plump— balmier than you expected them to be for someone who seems so rough on the exterior. they move with calculated precision, not too rough, yet hungry enough to make you feel wanted and elicit a light blaze in your lower stomach, right between the plushness of your thighs. though you’re the one who has bakugou pinned against the maple wood door behind you, he’s the one that controls the flame of your desire— poking at it until it roars bright and orange, scalding you from the inside out as he pushes a thick, muscled thigh between your legs and making sure it’s snug against your clothed cunt through your jeans. 

though he kisses you in a way you’d described as unhurried, cushiony and ductile, bakugou’s hands cup the maturing curve of your face between calloused fingers to tilt it upwards so he can pour more of his passion into you— enough to fill you to the brim as though to replace your soul with his own and leave you with a piece of him. his fingertips feel scarred with memories not quite sure you want to know the history of, fluidly sinking downwards until they cup the scope of your neck, dragging against your smooth unmarred flesh before finding purchase in your pesky clothes— tugging you closer to him to kiss you more, tease you more with his thigh grinding painfully slow into your aroused core. 

you can’t be any closer to a man you’ve only just met, noses becoming neighbours with how frequently they bump against one another between your sticky lip locks and the blaze in the base of two sets of lungs whenever either of you come up for air. your chests expand with every ragged breath you take and the more your lips touch and tongues glide over chapped surfaces before meeting in the middle. alcohol clouds your judgement, should you really be doing this? your dread and fear of the day to come simmering on the stove into something more raunchy and taboo— a one night stand the day before your mother is due to meet the ground and possibly her maker. maybe you’re a little sick for that. 

bakugou’s tongue feels like a new weight in your mouth, damn near down your throat but in a sexy way— drooling against your own, his spit shining against your chin as your makeout becomes nastier, sloppier and his thigh tenses up beneath every swirl of your hips down on him. there’s some sort of hunger, a growing and untamed appetite you have for one another, showing only the worst intentions for the rest of your night. 

“fuckin’…take it off—“ bakugou grunts, restless and hot under his collar. his pupils dilate until they’re filled with a menacing shade of obsidian black that’s diluted with the red in his eye. you can tell that he wants you, his touch searing straight through the layers of thick winter clothes you have on, scorching the mark of his fingertips against the fat at your hips while he plays with a loose thread on your sweater. “wanna fuckin’ see what’cha hidin’ sweetheart,” he adds in a disguised plea, letting you pull back only slightly so you can shrug of the top layer of clothing until you’re bare to the predator’s stare. admiring the view, bakugou drags a digit up the softness of your tummy, pinging your laced bra against your skin once he reaches the valley between your breasts and exhaling deep at the sight of them bouncing for him. 

a muscled arm circles your waist until you’re flush against bakugou’s bulky frame, hearts beating in sync, eyes fluttering across one another’s features illuminated by the shy sparkle of the moon peeking through the curtains and right into your room. bakugou’s skin sparkles under the silver light. his mouth is on yours again within a matter of seconds, a light blush panting his cheeks and the bridge if your nose all the while, his tongue licks into your mouth with insatiable wanton, the tip of it curling around the strings of saliva that connect the roof of your mouth to the pink muscle below.

it’s all to sedate himself, satisfy his raging ravenousness while the sweetness of your mouth drips onto his palette, making him go cross eyed and a throaty moan echo between you both. 

all this from kissing a woman he just met— from kissing you.

the situation is insanely absurd, not even close to bakugou’s regular style, but he can’t help but feel enticed by the way you nip at his bottom lip and run your fingers through his blonde locks from their roots to their ends, fisting them when he lets out a breathless chuckle against your open mouth and flexes his thigh against your jean-clad pussy once again. it’s only then that you seize the opportunity— pushing the stronger, well-built man up against the door once more with some force before you quickly sink to your knees beneath him. your eyes shimmer, your mind clouded over and your lips wet and parted— you’re a fallen angel for sure, a walking temptation for bakugou himself. 

he’s not a man strong enough to resist. 

the descent upon bakugou’s body, one seemingly built by the highest of gods and carved out of ingenious rock, had been too quick for him to notice. and now, the sight of you on your knees for him has him embarrassingly hot all over. he’s burning bright like molten lava as you make quick work of his snake-skin looking belt and push his jeans down with his boxers in one swift motion. your fingers twirl the soft tufts of blonde hair forming a happy trail, lips twisted into a giddy, wet smile as it leads you down to his cock. 

you press scorching kisses to bakugou’s pelvis, tracing your name against his golden skin with the tip of your tongue and grab at his tight ass with your eager hands, nails digging into the flesh until he snarls down at you. 

“fuckin’ hell sweetheart,” he laughs through the thickness of ardour caught in the ridges of his throat. “fuck me, yer an animal.” bakugou manages through stuttered breaths. he runs a hand through his mussed and sweaty locks, staring down at you with a wolfish grin as he does so.

mirroring his expression, you toy with the elastic waistband of his boxers and hum in content when his entire body tenses up. “what? did you think i was just gonna roll over and take it? you must not know girls from the city.” 

you can barely remember the journey back up to your room, both of you taking staggered and exaggerated steps across the slippery cobblestone surface of the whiteridge plaza, fuelled by sex crazed hormones and the thirty-five percent alcohol drinks pumping through your systems. the pair of you had stumbled up the stairs, curious hands slipping between layers of clothes and laughter. the sight of bakugou trembling above you makes the judgemental stares jirou and momo had given you completely worth it. 

you’d failed to notice that their sights were set on the blonde and not you.

after making yourself comfortable—your tongue twists at his skin just above the button of his jeans, tasting the salt on him, sucking a cute little pink mark there so bakugou leaves here tonight with the memory of you and the best head he’ll ever get in his life. you’re almost ashamed to admit how fast your thighs squish and squeeze together as you peel back the fabric and reveal bakugou’s cock to your greedy gaze— you drink in the sight of him, heavy as his length thuds against his tummy due to the weight of it. his tip shines under the moonlight with a thin layer of white which only indicates just how turned on the blonde stranger is.

the rest of him is thick— mouthwatering— and you can feel saliva pooling on the palette of your tongue as you run your fingertips up the blue-ish, purple-ish forked veins that prettily decorate the man’s shaft and his balls sit heavy with cum.

the drooling only gets worse when you take hold of bakugou’s cock, feeling it twitch to life beneath your fingertips— your hand dwarfed by his size. you can only imagine the deliciousness of the stretch you’ll experience when he takes you later, you don’t think you can wait either. 

“c’mon princess,” bakugou grumbles, his voice carnivorous and eyes intense as you squeeze him lightly between smaller-than-his fingers. his broad chest rises and falls rapidly, face twisting in a salacious mix of pain and pleasure with every teasing pump you give his cock. “f-fuckin’ put that pretty mouth t’good use, yeah? since ya got s’much to— fuck… t’fuckin’ say…” your thumb just grazes the leaky slit running across the centre of his bulbous, blistering tip, and the plumpness of your lips trace over each pulsating vein that’s wrapped carefully around his length as if they’re a perfect bow on the perfect present just for you. “open wide, sweetheart.” 

you hardly know this man, but in the time you’ve spent together it’s easy to tell that he’s far from a patient one. bakugou is a go getter, he gets what he wants, when he wants and by whatever means— so he thrusts up, hurting his gooey-cockhead against the seam of your lips, glossing them up with a salty-sweet layer of precum. he flinches at the contact and his head falls back against the door with a dull thump, bakugou fighting back a timbre moan when your grip on him tightens and you palm starts to stroke him at a steady pace— slickening up the centre of your hand. 

experimentally, you kitten lick his tip and your own eyes flutter at the taste of him— it’s addictive, drugging you up with an agonisingly amatory desire. “no one’s ever made you wait, have they?” you ask, voice dripping dangerously with arousal before taking bakugou deep into the wet cavern of your mouth— the spark residing in his blood red eyes tells you that you’re right, but you have little time to focus on his answer now that you have the heavy weight of his cock sitting against your writhing pink tongue. your own eyes flutter at the feeling, drool pooling in your mouth like an erotically hot flash flood. you’re completely full, feeling as if the blonde is halfway down your throat already— and that very idea only makes you crave more. 

you want all of what bakugou has to offer, content with how he pushes further into your mouth until his balls sit on your chin and precum oozes in thick waves against your tastebuds. “oh fuck…yer tight. shit, sweetheart,”  he curses from above you, his brawny arm thrown over his face as it burns bright with heat— bakugou draws his hips back while panting, hands fisted at his sides as he barely escapes the clutches of your needy little mouth so he can give you room to breathe. he swears he might cum when he hears you gargling. “can’t wait to see ya fuckin’ cry fer this cock. g’nna make y’such a pretty mess…”

missing his dick inside your mouth, you lean forward, pawing at his spit-slicked erection like a desperate little puppy— flicking your wrist in quick movements as you glare up at him. “then stop interruptin’ me and let me suck yer fuckin’ cock.” you say breathlessly, with a twinge of your old accent before sucking your one night-stand down again. his angry, sticky cockhead bulges against the inside of your cheek, sensitive slit rubbing along the soft epidermis there, only making him shudder until his back and slender waist arch away from the door. 

bobbing your head, you waste no time in working up a pace fast enough to have the blonde above you melting like putty in your hands— you fist what doesn’t fit, the movement of your soft palms guided by the copious amounts of precum that leaks onto your tongue, that you spit out onto bakugou’s shaft only to slurp back up and repeat the process. 

you breathe harshly through your nose, hollowing your cheeks as your nails sink deep into bakugou’s toned, beefy and jean-covered thighs to steady yourself before the plunge— they twitch beneath your grip and his hands slowly make their way to the back of your head. with erogenous doe eyes full of delirium you push down on the blonde’s cock, letting it hit the back of your throat while you’re forced to gag on him— nose pressed into the fluff of his happy trail. 

“that’s it pretty girl, so fuckin’ pretty takin’ me like this, look s’good with my dick down that slutty throat,” bakugou drawls, his accent layered thick on top of his praise makes your own essence soak the crotch of your panties, makes your head dizzy too— though that may be because of the lack of oxygen you’re getting, struggling to breathe around the fat cock plugging your drooling mouth. 

both of you keep still, letting your jaw go slack around him. one second you’re nursing on his precum, giggling around him and the next bakugou is fucking your throat until it bulges, using it as his own personal fleshlight. a frothy mix of spit and pre dribbles down your chin— his balls slapping against them with every weighty thrust of the blonde’s hips.

you grip those same swollen balls, rolling them between your soft fingers, breaking bakugou’s mind. all the while, he throws his head back, deep and throaty whimpers escaping his lips that he has caught between a row of pearly white teeth. 

bakugou’s hips roll languidly into the addictive heat of your mouth, dopamine sparking in small explosions across his brain. he thrusts again, and again, and again— his pupils dilated like a rabid animal while his gaze hones in on the way your tight little throat takes him over and over. he doesn’t know how he’ll cope after tonight, if he’ll be able to survive without your greedy mouth happily sucking on his dick. 

sweat beads in fat droplets against bakugou’s hairline, soaking through his sweater before he lets you go to breathe— watching you slowly pull off his cock with arousal glossed lips, coughing as oxygen fills your lungs and your chest heaves. “what’s the matter?” you chuckle once you’ve regained composure, going back to making out with the sloppy tip of bakugou’s girth. “can’t keep up?” 

your hook-up laughs back, using the hem of his shirt to wipe his brow before shrugging it off. within seconds, he’s cupping the roundness of your face and his rough thumbs are digging deep into your soft cheeks.

“oh. i could go all fuckin’ night, sweetheart, whether you make me cum or not, ‘m gonna make sure i fuck that dirty lil’pussy ‘till you forget how t’walk.” 

bakugou slurs in his heavy southern accent like it’s a promise, grabbing your tiny hand ( at least compared to his calloused one ) and guiding it into a fist around his achey, creamy cock. staying haunched over you, he finds your lips— tugging the bottom one away from you with his teeth before capturing you fully in a searing, messy kiss. he simpers at the taste of himself on you, mixed with the sweat sitting on your cupid’s bow.

he laps at your mouth, cupping the back of your head to deepen the lip lock— both of you moaning like fools into one another’s mouths and swallowing your raunchy song of laments and whines. the tune is only accompanied by the slick, dewy sounds of your hand jerking bakugou off. his hips continue to ram forward, never letting up their aberrant and urgent rhythm— fuelled by your hook-up’s innate need to cum. 

“shit— ‘m right there… ‘m right fuckin’ there, sweetheart,” he pants against your tongue avidly, losing pieces of himself to you as you palm him faster and faster— the lewd mix of your drool and his arousal slinging from his cockhead to your knuckles. “gonna fuckin’ cum… g-g’nna fuckin’ cum!” 

you work at him for a few seconds longer, kissing his red-hot tip every time it peeks through your closed fist and using your other hand to circle the seat of your palm against it, too.

he leaks ungodly amounts of arousal the closer you take him to orgasm, the world seconds away from crumbling around bakugou’s crimson gaze. “gimme that cum,” you say lowly, voice dipping. “want all of it.” you command, causing the dam to break and bakugou to finally hit his high. strings of his hot, viscous seed spurt from his sore, ravaged cock, painting your tongue, face and chest in his possessive shade of white. 

“holy…holy fuckin’—shit!” bakugou cries out, and you don’t slow your fist around him until he’s done cumming, catching any smaller spurts of his orgasm with your eager tongue— looking up at your hook up with a smile as bright as the moon when he finally stops trembling and starts coming back down to earth. 

though there’s static ringing in his ears and bakugou’s legs are beyond weak thanks to the life shattering head you’d given him— he still finds the strength within himself to haul you up from your knees and push you back until you hit the plush bed on the other side of the room. you squeal, bouncing in the sheets and pillows, but can’t help the streak of excitement that runs through you when you catch the darkened expression on bakugou’s handsome features as he looks down at you splayed out for him. 

“t-take…take off those fuckin’ jeans ‘n let me get at that cunt, s’my turn now, sweetheart.” 

you do as you’re told, unbuttoning the denim that suddenly feels a little too tight around your waist and kick your jeans off before bakugou cages you in against the bed— two sturdy arms stay planted firmly either side of your head.

the scent of flowers mixed with cotton that was embedded into the sheets is quickly replaced with the heavy musk of sex and caramel, which radiates off of bakugou in strong waves as he swoops down for another kiss. it’s softer than before, more fluid as his hot fingertips push their limits and explore what hides beneath the underwire of your bra. the blonde gropes at your plush mounds of flesh, twisting a nipple between a thumb and forefinger and leaves a trail of burning kisses down your neck— chuckling darkly at your shoulder when a feather-light gasp escapes you.

“b-bakugou,” you murmur needily, arching your back on instinct while he moves to unclip your bra with practised ease. “bakugou, please.” you add, all other logical words wasted on you as he encapsulates your pebbled nipple in his mouth and runs his tongue over it in smooth, wet circles. the mattress dips beside you from where bakugou’s shifted his weight to lie on his side to your right. tufts of sand blonde hair tickle your skin only causing goosebumps to rise against it in a ripple effect. 

“hmm?” comes his lazy reply, the man still lapping at your heaving chest, all while sucking pretty marks against your tits that you know will feel tender to the touch in the morning. he only looks up at you when he switches, leaving one fleshy mound covered in saliva in favour for tending to the other. “try moanin’ my name. that’ll get my attention, sweetheart.” bakugou knows exactly what you want, what you crave for next— leaving you teetering on the edge of insanity with his hand smoothing over your tummy. it’s destination beyond the little bow on the hem of your mismatched panties. 

pouting, you let your hips rise from the sheets only to have them forcibly pushed back down. “you’ve told me your name,” you say in an exasperated cry that has built up in the back of your throat. “it’s baku—“ 

“katsuki…s’katsuki when yer moanin’ pretty f’me, baby.” bakugou— katsuki— cuts you off, pressing his thumb into the crotch of your underwear to get a feel for how wet you are. “fuck, yer soaked. y’get this wet from suckin’ a stranger's cock, hah?” you almost hate that him teasing you only serves to turn you on more, your tight little hole gushing and clenching around nothing. the blonde grins at the whimpers you let out through gritted teeth, carefully tracing the letters of his name into your swelling clit. 

reaching down, you grip katsuki’s wrist to keep him in place, locked between your thighs— as if he might choose to pull away from your honeyed cunt at your next words. “f-fuck you.”

“fuck me, baby?” he coos to you condescendingly, his teeth sinking into the shell of your ear. “don’t think yer pussy can handle that just yet, need’a stretch her open first.” the blonde pulls your trembling, doughy thighs apart until his palm can fully cup your sex— already so sticky and warm for him even through the thin layer of fabric. bakugou growls in satisfaction, yanking your panties to the side and watching with perverted crimson eyes as your slick ties the material to your dripping mound. 

“please katsuki!” you try again, wailing like a petulant child for something…anything to relieve you of the unbearable heat twisting knots of ecstasy in your lower belly. 

he tsks in response, pushing his lips into mocking pout as if to console a baby. “a’ight, a’ight…calm down sweetheart. y’want my fingers? wanna feel good?” the blonde says airily as he eases a single finger past your fluttering entrance, curling it immediately against your molten ichorous insides. lust lodges itself into your throat, a silent scream on the seam of your lips while you reach out for something to hold, to bring you back down from cloud nine. 

your fingernails take residence in the pure white sheets beneath your writhing body and with your other hand, make a home for themselves in katsuki’s bulging biceps as he starts to finger you. they break crescent moons against sunshine skin, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to leave a reminder of your night with him.

he pushes in another digit alongside the first, slipping into you with a little resistance from just how thick they are. marvelling at the sensation of you rippling around him, of how hot your inner walls feel, bakugou curls his fingers once again— causing lewd, squelching sounds to reverberate in the air between your sweat-slicked bodies.

his dull fingertips brush against pleasure spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed, silver tears blessed by the moon starting to clump in your lashes, threatening to spill over at any moment. 

“yer so fuckin’ sensitive,” your hook up muses outloud ruthlessly. he forgets that he’s being mean, too entranced by the way your cute little sex sucks him in— tries so hard to stop his fingers from pulling out. “this fucked up from grindin’ against my thigh? from a couple of fingers? ‘ve barely even touched ya.” he’s forced to grind the seat of his palm against your puffy clit, helping your tight hole ease up just enough for him to pull his fingers back with your sweet juices running down his wrist before he pumps them forward— sending you into a fit of squeals. 

your brain actually lags, failing to register katsuki’s rapid and ravaging movements between your thighs that send your manuka honey mess flying up his arm and across your skin. he has your eyes rolling back into the abyss of your skull, your legs locking around his wrist and trapping him in place so that he can send you to the high heavens of electrifying pleasure over and over again. 

he’s reduced you to a puddle against the bed, all moans and hiccuped sobs and begs for mercy. you can’t breathe, can’t feel anything as bakugou continues his erotic assault on your ravaged pussy— searching for that one spot inside you that he knows will shut your brain off for good. “d’awh, that’s it baby, look at that pretty pussy— she likes gettin’ finger fucked like this. i can fuckin’ tell,” he rambles, a man lost in the sight of your arousal spewing out of your spasming hole in small streams every time he thrusts his fingers into you. “you spread your legs like this fer every man you meet?”

shaking your head, you can’t help the pathetic yowl that tumbles from your cherry-bitten lips when katsuki pins your hips to the ruined duvet— stopping you from chasing the blinding ecstasy he dangles in front of you like a carrot for a working horse.

“n-nuh..n-no.” 

“no?” your hook up smiles, pearly whites on display. you’re so cute underneath him, letting him stroke your enticing, sopping insides into the shape of him— preparing you to take him later on. the way you twitch and stir against the sheets with your mouth so full of saliva and your tongue rolling out over the plumpness of your lips. you’re such a fucking mess, but it pleases katsuki to no end. to have a stranger this fucked up and all for him.

“just the ones with blonde hair ‘n red eyes that say just what’cha like to hear, hah?” your feedback is nonexistent aside from your useless babbles that katsuki swallows, losing his battle in the urge to kiss you once again. he burns right through you, frying your nerve endings and neurons carrying logical thought across your brain. 

instead, katsuki fills you like an overflowing glass with pure, unadulterated bliss— forcing it into your bloodstream like alcohol, poisoning your veins with a slow stack of pleasure. building the stairs to your high. letting your lips go, he leans down to spit onto your pulsing mound, rubbing the frothy mix of your shared saliva into your budding pleasure nub, making you open up for him like a blooming flower even though it’s the middle of winter. 

your mind is still blank when the blonde speaks again, only grabbing your attention with a sharp slap to the cunt. “can’t even fuckin’ answer me that’s how much of a messy slut you are.” katsuki snarls mean, but angles his hand just right to press sweetly against your g-spot, grinning when your face crumples at the new pressure.

“‘m going to cum, katsuki.” you tell him earnestly, squeezing his bicep at the same time your cunt squeezes down on his fingers— practically falling apart on them. 

tilting his head to the side, katsuki speeds up the unrelenting pace of his digits thrusting in and out of you— pressing encouraging smooches to your shoulder as he watches you lose the fight to your high. “c’mon then, can feel ya clenchin’ around my fingers. make a mess on ‘em, sweetheart. so i can fuck ya nice ‘n proper after.” and your body follows his raspy command, reaching your orgasm with a high pitched and borderline pornographic moan, squirting hard right up katsuki’s arm and virtually forcing him out of you with how much leaks from your pulsating gushing cunt. 

katsuki gives you a second to calm down, nosing at your neck while your breathing slows and you feel ready enough to keep going. “can you take another?” he asks you huskily, slipping his fingers into his mouth with a moan— tasting your nectar on him. 

“i thought you said you were g’nna fuck me. good ‘n proper?” you slur, old accent slipping through when you finally open your eyes to look at him. bakugou shines all while smirking down at you, the crown of sweat on his head illuminated by the moonlight— giving him the appearance of an angel. maybe you’ve scored lucky tonight, comforted by the presence of your own angel after the loss of your mother. maybe that’s fucked up too, but you push the thought to the back of your mind— reaching up to soft blonde locks and tug him down for a wet, encouraging kiss. 

“a’ight, roll over baby. ass up, i’ll give ya what’cha want.” bakugou grunts smugly, tracing your hips as you roll onto your tummy and tuck your face into the pillows. “you know how fuckin’ gorgeous you are? your body…s’perfect,” he grabs handfuls of your ass, pulling your cheeks apart slowly as threads of your arousal drip between them. “y’want a condom? ‘m clean, but i wanna make sure yer comfortable.”

casting a sultry glance over your shoulder, you debate the choice. while you’re sure katsuki would feel amazing raw, you know for a fact your publicist would chew your head off for possibly getting pregnant and or sick from fucking a stranger before a funeral. so you decide to be smart, for once, and give him a nod. 

“gonna need a verbal response, sweetheart.” 

rolling your hips back until your ass pushes back against his growing erection. “a condom, please, katsuki.” 

he pats your bottom once, watching it jiggle proudly before reaching into his back pocket for a silver packet and shrugging off the rest of his jeans. sharp teeth sink into the curve of your behind, accompanied by sloppy kisses at the dimple of your spine and right up to your shoulder blades. “so you do follow orders…good girl,” he simpers, tearing the condom open with his piercing canines before rolling it onto his pulsing girth in one fluid motion. 

it’s not long before bakugou finds himself at your neck again, the knife-like edges of his teeth sinking into your neck while he lets you adjust to the weight of his body caging you in against the sheets. “you ready f’me, baby? ‘m gonna give you my cock now. wanna make sure you can take it.” he interrogates you lightly, searching the sex tainted air in the room for your consent, brushing his lips along your neckline and shoulders patiently.

“y-yeah. can take it, katsuki,” you stutter and rest your head back against his shoulder, bowing your body into his with a pleasingly fuzzy mind. grunting in approval, bakugou uses his knee to part you by the soiled meat of your thighs and spread you open for him again— manhandling you until you’re positioned in a way he likes.

grabbing hold of his dripping dick, katsuki runs his shaft through the length of your quivering pussy lips, grinding it against the heartbeat in your clit and tapping your clenched hole a few times before he whines needily at the sticky and indecent sounds your sexes make when they slot together perfectly.

you’re so wet, oozing at every chance you get, breathing hot and heavy as the blonde slips his mushroomed tip past your tight entrance— he snickers smugly at how well you take him and so fast, clamping down on katsuki as if never to let him go. he rocks his hips experimentally, testing your sensitivity and how badly you want him by fucking you with only the tip at first— taking at you when you whine.

pushing back onto him, pleading with your body for more— you sigh desperately. “don’t tease, bakugou…” 

“s’katsuki,” bakugou cups your throat as he corrects you, giving it a reassuring squeeze as his nose nudges the side of your head. “hold on f’me baby, doin’ such a good job. waitin’ to be fucked. have a little patience, will ya?” he rasps, taunting you as he thrusts all the way in, hips flush against your fleshy ass and bottoming out inside the warmth of your crying cunt. he sticks a thumb in your mouth to pacify your cloying cries— letting you suck on it as he pushes your arched back down onto the sheets and relishes in the warmth of your sloppy, syrupy walls wrapped around his painfully bricked up shaft.

and while he loves the feeling— katsuki finds it within himself to pull back from your selfish and darling little hole to set a sensual, deep-hitting tempo, dragging his seedy latex covered tip along your ribbed walls and pleasure spots. he rolls his hips like a rushing river, making sure that they hit so deep you feel him stirring up your guts.

the sheer force of his thrusts already have the headboard bouncing off of the wall, tearing crybaby-like and pitiful yelps from between your cherry-bitten and tear stained lips. katsuki takes rein over your body like a barbarian brute claiming occupied land, ruling over what little thought runs through your mind. your hands take purchase in the poor pillows bellow you— the ones that swallow your gluttonous screams while you’re fucked to the moon and back, stars dotting your tear lined vision.

mind blanking, there’s hardly anything left for you to do except take what you’re given while bakugou takes you from behind— moulding your insides into his shape with every wild and feverish buck of his hips into yours. “f-fuck, katsuki. m-more, need it!” you squeal hungrily, succumbing to his intensity as you throw your sticky ass back onto him in your best attempt to match his rhythm. squeezing around every pulsing vein that decorates his fat, milky cock while it pushes and pulls at your gummy walls with lewd squelches, bakugou nudges your g-spot over and over again. “god, fuck…you’re so deep.” 

“yer such a greedy girl, so eager to get fucked by the first man who calls ya pretty.” katsuki moans condescendingly, thrusting his thumb past your lips in perfect harmony with his dick plunging into your tight hole. using his free hand, the blonde grabs at your ass and spreads your slicked up cheeks apart— working himself further into your heat, stretching you open for him and him alone.

“love the way you feel around me, sweetheart, how you suck me in.” the praise relieves any anxiety that rattled through your body before— a lustful haze fogging your mind so you don’t have to think for yourself for once. it’s like bakugou knows the pain  whiteridge has caused you, knows what it’s like to be forced away from what you love and written behind his rough touches is a sense of sympathy. 

you hate the feeling of sympathy, but crave the numb mind you know that sex with katsuki bakugou can give you— even if that makes you a self-centred brat. “actually you’re the second to have—oh fuck!” you choke on the tail end of your words as bakugou lands a sharp spank against your bottom, a different kind of pain blooming under the skin there. it makes you drip nastily, juices running down bakugou’s length until it practically bathes his balls as they clap against the curve of your ass, heavy and full of a brand new load of cum just for you, ruining the sheets and blankets in turn.

the way he fucks you is hard, pounding you into the mattress which spring’s squeak for dear life. katsuki ravages you like he loves you— though he hardly knows you…but you feel his vulnerability, what you’re sure you’d see in the red hues of his eyes if you were on your back instead. 

“‘m always gonna be first, baby,” bakugou growls like a feral animal, pressing his body hotly against yours until his chest is to your sweaty back, hardly peeling away from you. greed, anguish and yearning spark within you both, their explosions compressed between your bodies as they move in sync— skin meeting skin, slapping throughout the hotel room.

“the first person y’think about when you touch yerself after this, first dick you’ll imagine when you’re gettin’ fucked by any person after me—“ the blonde’s voice is tight, stuck on the ridges of his throat as he pounds away at your creamy pussy, just brushing against your cervix in a way that has you howling at the moon. your core locks and unlocks around the curve of his dick, choking precum out of katsuki, fat drops of it beading at his sensitive slit— making him falter for only a second.” r’member sweetheart, i. never. fucking. lose.”

katsuki punctuates each of his words with lunges of his hips forward, practically forcing you up the bed since you wobble weakly on your hands and knees. you’re sure that by now your nails have torn holes in the linen below from how much you’ve gripped and scratched at them— but the amount couldn’t even begin to compare to how much of his precum smears along the inside of the condom, which slides against your wrecked insides, juices drooling down your thighs in a honeyed, viscous and gooey mess each time bakugou jackhammers into you. “you’re s’fuckin’ filthy,” he drawls, red stare laser focused on where your bodies meet. “remind me, sweetheart, who’s makin’ you such a fuckin’ mess?” 

“y-you!” you babble brainlessly, somehow finding the strength to reach behind you to grab at straw blonde hair— forcing katsuki back onto his haunches while you bring him down for an uncoordinated kiss. you mewl happily at the taste of salt on his cupid’s bow and shift onto your knees as well. he grins, licking impressed curse words into your mouth as he gets the idea— a singular arm of his curling around the fat at your waist to support you as you bounce back onto his thick cock. “you make me a mess, katsuki, only you.” you mumble against his swollen lips, spewing the lust blown words against his strawberry tongue and memorising the taste of sex in his mouth while he fumbles around your connected bodies to toy with your pleasure nub. 

appeased by your hands lost in his hair and your pussy working itself down on him, sucking him in like magic— katsuki rewards you with a pinch to your clit and a barrage of love bites along the column of your throat, grinning wicked at the ocean deep purples and blues begin to blossom underneath your skin. “wanna see you cum f’me like this, stuff you full. y’deserve it, baby. fer grindin’ this cute lil’ cunt down on me.” he wants it, so bad— you can tell by the way he pulses to life inside of you, drives his dick upwards to chase the sweltering heat of your mound and your arousal every time you pull off of him only to slam back down.

bakugou pushes his creamy cock deep, deeper, as far as it can go until your back arches away from the safety of his chest and your lips part in loud, open mouthed moans— all with the hope of sending you over the edge, to make sure he stays true to his word and has you hooked on the way he fucks for weeks and weeks on end. “god, you make me wanna lose it.” 

you’ll remember nothing else but the shape of him, once you’re out of this hell hole. 

and neither of you can tell who wants that more.

vulnerability trickles into the air, intertwining with the heartache that neither of you dare to voice but anchors you both down to the same shitty town. bakugou changes the angle of his hips, grinding it so that his bulbous cockhead never lets up on that one special spot inside of you— sending shocks of serotonin, dopamine and other happy sex hormones from your brain straight to the tips of your toes. they curl and your fingers clench, pulling on katsuki’s hair so hard that it lulls a desperate bleat out of him while his freehand brushes over your nipples in a weak attempt to drag you towards your high. 

his lashes tickle your shoulders as he buries his face against you, praises and curses drenching your skin— alternating between little nips here and there. neither of you seem to care when bakugou breaks skin, your blood on his lips. “a-are you close?” you simper, tears of lust dotting your lashes as he slams his cock into your tight hole over and over again. “‘m sorry…don’t think i can—oh shit— hold it, ka’suki!” 

he nods his head at your question, eyes screwed shut while you gush all about the place. “cum f’me, let go. don’t need’ya t’hold on, sweetheart,” he moans to you through gritted teeth, rolling your clit between a finger and thumb, grinding his tip into your pleasure spot. “‘m right behind ya…oh fuck! there we go,” he squeezes your swollen nub once, cooing to you through a chuckle as white flashes behind your eyes and the damn finally breaks— release trickling from your body in clear streams. bakugou swallows the scream of his name that rips through you, holding you tight through the aftershocks of your high before he follows you over the edge. 

you’re still twitching when he pulls out of you and shoves you face first into the bed— tearing off the condom to jerk himself off over you, hot stripes of his seed landing against your back, potent and milky before exhaustion settles into his bones and katsuki collapses to the right of you once again. 

the pair of you lay there, together in a comfortable silence as you catch your breaths, neither of you having the brain capacity to speak just yet. you roll over to face the blonde stranger, not sure if your night together solicits the comfort you crave after being fucked stupid. “c’mere,” bakugou says tiredly, though his eyes are still closed. “can feel you starin’ at me… ‘nd contrary to your first thoughts on me from the bar, ‘m not entirely an asshole.” he cracks one eye open to look at you expectantly— lifting an arm up so you can snuggle into his chest. 

you take the chance before he can change his mind, settling against katsuki sleepily. “you might not be an asshole but you fuck like one,” you laugh into his skin, feeling his chest rise and fall with yours. “which is a good thing, by the way.” 

“i’d hope so. i didn’t wreck yer shit only t’get called a terrible fuck.” katsuki smirks. “where’s my thanks, by the way?”

“you can have the free hotel soaps ‘nd first dibs on the shower in the morning, that good enough for you, blondie?” you shoot back, fighting back the sleep beginning to creep up on you.

it’s a fight worth losing though, for bakugou makes sure to pull enough blankets over you both for a good night’s sleep, barely hanging on himself.

“ya got’cha self a deal, sweetheart.” is the last thing you hear him say, before drifting off to sleep. 

you wake up the next day with a steady pound against the inside of your skull, the world spinning as if someone has grabbed you by the head and shaken up your brain— like a never ending rollercoaster with enough twists and loops to make you want to spew out your guts. it’s still dark outside, from what you can tell, and winter’s grasp on the early morning sky is as strong as ever, fighting off the sun’s need to rise.

in the inky abyss of your hotel room, you shift around the bed in search for your phone— finding it plugged in and fully charged on the nightstand next to you…though you don’t remember doing so last night. there’s a few emails from mina asking you if you arrived safely, some tweets from fans playfully complaining about the cliffhanger ending of your last book and one message from the funeral director with a few details about today’s plans. 

funeral director at 6:29 AM - the procession starts at 8:30 AM sharp! ceremony will last until 3:50 PM taking place at ‘the freedom’ chapel with any celebration taking place at your old residence at—

clicking your phone shut, you don’t bother to read the rest of the text and stare blankly at yourself on its screen. she, your reflection, looks back at you tiredly, mascara clumped in your lashes and panda circles around your eyes— you feel a little greasy, feel exhaustion in your bones like weights have been tied to you only to pull you down. 

she did this to you, the person who was supposed to raise you, left you a hollow mess and a void of emotion who couldn’t feel a single thing towards her death except for fear or anxiety. 

your mother. 

turning on the bedside lamp, you’re immediately met with the sight with a note, orange juice and an array of medications to combat your raging hangover— a piece of bakugou left with you after your whirlwind of a night together. you pop the pills and swallow the juice with a twitch of your face at how bitter it tastes after being so freshly squeezed, and through the clarity of your glass you spot your freshly pressed clothes across the room for the funeral. a simple black, sleek jumpsuit and matching blazer. crisp and hanging from the wardrobe. 

a kind gesture from a man you hardly knew, spoke volumes compared to what you’d been shown as a child. 

it wasn’t anything close to the love you needed, but it was the kindness that you deserved all along. 

you don’t go down for breakfast, with barely two hours to get ready and be on your way. showering off the grit, grime and sex from the night before and slip into your clothes— into someone new. a woman who’s meant to miss her mother and not the woman who had been forced to grow up fast and raise herself. by the time you’re all dressed and ready for the day’s events, you’d only just remembered the note left by your hook up from the night before so you swipe it up from your mess on the bed, tucking it into your designer bag and slide on your red-bottom heels.

“o-oh! you look nice,” momo chirps after you come down from the landing, heels clicking against the trusty wooden flooring of the hotel. her hair is notably slicked back, wearing a form fitting black dress as she checks over her front of the house book. “i love your—“ pulling up your shades with leather gloved hands, you smile bright at the hostess and makes her stutter— red painted lips seeping into your cheeks. “look. you look beautiful.” 

you reach the receptionist’s desk in three short strides and clicks, and hum with appreciation. “a girl’s gotta show up and show out at these things, don’t you agree?” you say, and you’re sure she might think you’re insane for the nonchalant front you have up. “where are you headed looking so pretty?” 

“the funeral,” jirou responds for her, appearing from the back in the same manner as before, dressed in a similar manner to her partner. “we uh— our parents were invited along.” 

momo adds on. “a-and! we thought you could do with the company, since you’re here for your mother’s funeral alone and all. we could even go together! i can't image how hard this must all be!“

“it’s not hard,” you snap without meaning to and your back straightens like a steel rod. though you hadn’t cared enough to think of a guest list, telling the organisers to invite whoever they pleased so long as they got the job done, you didn’t anticipate that they would hand out passes to everyone in town— to everyone who hated you. “and thank you for the offer ladies, but i have a car waiting for me. i’ll send it back later for my luggage.”

turning swiftly on your designer heels, you leave the hostess couple before you can feel a flick of remorse— before they can see even a crack in the foundation of walls you’d spent years building up. because no one deserves to know how much this town and your mother hurt you. no one.

it’s not hard. today will be easy. you tell yourself, buckling yourself into the black expensive car that’ll be parading you around all day— following right behind the hearse, carrying the villain from your childhood inside. with some time alone before being exposed to the fake tears and falsely sympathetic apologies, you dig into your bag for the note from bakugou, thumb trailing over his chicken scratch handwriting on the front of the folded paper.

‘good luck out there tomorrow or break a leg, whatever they say. give this town fucking hell like you did me last night.

— k.bakugou.’ 

his words bring an eruption of laughter out of you. so like him, though you’re not really sure what him really is. katsuki bakugou is a man you shared a night of passion with, not a friend you’ve known all your life— even if flashes of a face so similar to his resonate with memories of your brother and your childhood. your heart settles then, right there in your chest, no longer battling the anxiety of facing your old home and all its inhabitants. 

and maybe, you’re not alone in all this— maybe really you do have an ally here. 

you’re not unfamiliar with the concept of death, nor sudden ones either. you have your older brother, izuku to blame for that. 

your memories of him had always been fond. you remember luscious curls of evergreen hair and sun-spotted freckles that looked like the constellations he’d point out to you through the bedroom window late at night. his hands were warm, always handling you with care as if you were a wounded baby bird— especially when you’d cried or scraped your knee. you remember how smart he was, nose always buried deep into a book rather than going outside to kick rocks and snap twigs with the other boys his age. you remember loving izuku, chest bursting with adoration and admiration whenever you looked at your brother because he always held the same emotions when his forest eyes were settled on you. 

he was only a few years older, but he felt like your platonic soulmate— your twin flame. back then, your mother had always said you were inseparable, when it was just the three of you in your big, old and creaky house on the far side of the town. you were happy then. without your dad who had left you, you were happy. and even then, with only a few years of life under your belt, you knew that izuku would be your person forever. 

what a naive and childish wish you’d had. 

nothing lasts forever; not every flower on the forest blooms into something brilliant. some things die, outcompeted by others in the quest for survival. you wanted that for izuku— so badly— wanted that for you both together. 

one day he was there, and another, he was gone. 

izuku midoriya died just shy of his eleventh birthday— in the summer when whiteridge was warm and the golden leaves hadn’t fallen and the rivers hadn’t frozen over yet. for everyone except your mother, his death was an unfortunate accident, a miscalculation and a misstep on your brother’s part. he was smart, but accidents don’t happen to smart people— is what your mother lived by. his death was no mistake to her, and she chased every single lead until she’d chased away everything and everyone in town trying to prove that. 

she gave up her duty. she was the town’s main source of produce and other food products, and while she was allowed to feel her pain and, to cry for help like any grieving mother would— loosing her only son and in that process, she’d given up on the town’s people and her job leading the grocers to feed everyone. 

even when your dear izuku was put into the ground, his soul could not rest— because your mother was no longer looking out for you. instead, she searched for whatever truth she thought lay behind his death. your only parent neglected you, subjected you to the vicious cruelty to the people in the town who had thought she’d gone mad trying to find something that wasn’t there. 

from the moment izuku died, you no longer had a mother or a brother or a family to fall back on. you only had yourself, and what you could do to take care of your inner child. you didn’t have time to grieve, to cry after losing your soulmate because of how much your mother needed someone to keep her alive and eating and drinking and bathing. for years, you were her lifeline; for years, you were her shield and her foundation until you could no longer handle it. 

until you had to run away. 

so, of course, you’re no stranger to the black mist known as death that had taken the precious light from your only sibling and clouded your mother’s judgement. maybe that’s the sick reason why you feel numb and look as blank as a canvas during the entirety of your mother’s funeral service. it’s beautiful, you suppose— the organ playing while someone blathers on and on about the miracle of life and the woes of death.

but you hate the entirety of it— how people speak of the woman who failed at raising you as if they knew her personally. you’re surrounded by people who hide their resentment for the midoriya name behind fake tears they’d cultured in their eyes. you catch it in slight twitches in their faces while whiteridge townsfolk mutter their fondest encounters with your mom with wobbles in their voices that sound overly rehearsed and pauses in the perfect places that give others the time to weep. the whole ordeal makes you feel queasy and sick to your stomach, how these people can find the most tender words to speak all while holding some of the most blackened hearts you’ve ever come across right in their chests— beating selfishly strong. 

you sit alone, on the front pew of the chapel— radiating resentment in thick waves. for your mother, for whiteridge, for even your darling brother. wishing that he never left you, so that he could be sitting right next to you right now, suffering with you through this ceremony. wondering what life would be like if he were still by your side. would the people of whiteridge have turned their backs on you if he were still here? 

would he hold your hand as they lowered your mother’s casket into the dirt a few paces away from where his lay? 

the day doesn’t end at the chapel, plenty of cars clog the driveway to your mother’s house where the ‘after-party’ is being held. though the place is rackety and a little gross, the organisers had done it up well enough for people to forget the death that lingers in every corner as they pop open bottles of expensive wine and champagne you’d had imported for the very occasion. they’re hypocrites. celebrating her death rather than the life she lead— and perhaps that makes you the same, being relieved that she’s no longer breathing to torture you with how much more she loved your brother compared to you. 

everywhere you turn, there’s someone apologising to you, someone patronisingly telling you that they’re sorry for your loss and wishing you well in wherever life may take you next, cooing at you about how good you look and how pretty you’ve gotten since they last saw you. you wonder if they really pity you for having no family or if they’re after the fortune and name you’ve made for yourself since leaving town. you’d changed, of course, carried a classy air about you and that was enough to fuel their gossip for weeks.

they were all but dying to ask you about how wealthy you were now. after all, your outfit cost a fortune. neighbours and doctors and store owners and highschool classmates that you used to know suffocate you with their condolences until you feel like you really might cry from how overwhelmed you are— it’d be the first time that day. 

hastily, you make a break from the kitchen for a moment to breathe— taking large gulps of air as you steady yourself against the rusting, cool metal of the kitchen sink. “give ‘em hell, he said,” you chuckle to yourself, reminding yourself of the words bakugou had left you with. “more like they’re giving me hell.” you wonder where he is, almost everyone in town is here invading your childhood home and your personal space… you’d have thought he would’ve at least been one of those people but then again, he was just like you.

he fucking hated this place. you grab a full bottle of aged red wine and a handful of hors d’oeuvres that have yet to be served up and shove them down your throat— chewing at them unceremoniously just to kill time and give yourself a moment to think.

it’ll only be a few more hours until you run out of the alcohol that warms them up and loosens their lips, then you’ll have the house to yourself— see over a few repairs and head back to the city within the week. free of all of your childhood trauma and hopefully enough material to write a short book on your life so you can please mina, your publicist. until then, you decide, you’ll camp out here in the kitchen where it’s safe and quiet and peaceful. 

at least that’s what you thought.

“i am so sorry for your loss.” a nasally voice cuts through your silence and you sigh, exasperated. 

popping the cork on the wine bottle in hand, you take a swig before turning around to superficially thank your guest. “that’s so kind of you to say…” you begin, voice trailing off and gaze dropping a few centimetres as you meet the beady eyes of an old schoolmate. 

“you probably don’t remember me, now that’cha all big and famous. we went to school together, i sat next to you in calculus. i’m minoru—“ 

“mineta.” you finish for the purple haired male with an obvious grimace and sip your wine again, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “i remember you. you peaked up my skirt every day throughout highschool ‘n tried to sell my underwear after gym twice a week in senior year.” you state, tongue glossing over your teeth from under your painted red lips. “you made my life a living hell.” 

you hated him, it burns bright in your eyes as you look down on mineta. you hated everyone who watched on as he made a fool of you throughout your teen years. you hated this place.

he laughs you off, taking a step closer to you and you stand up straight. “let’s put that in the past shall we? we were just kids!” mineta gestures between the two of you, making the hairs on your neck stand up on end. “besides, we both know you could’a done with the cash. since your mom went kinda cookoo ‘n wasn’t supporting you—“ 

“what do you want?” you breathe out, frustrated and hot under the collar, torn between throwing up and killing the man. “you still here to bother me, mineta?” you’re not the same girl you were in highschool, a victim to your mother’s mistakes and the cruelty of the people around you. but, fucking hell, it stings. to have come all this way as someone who established herself as a writer, with more fame and fortune than this town can ever hope to see— only to be seen as an easy target again, like you’re a worthless piece of meat.

“i just wanted you to know, that if you ever need anything,” mineta winks, his behaviour scummy and reminiscent of your old school days. “then ‘m right here to—“ 

“help?” a timbre, calm voice cuts through— making the short and slimey man before you jump out of his skin. “she won’t be needin’ any of that from you, minoru.” 

looking up, relief and recognition washes over you. your saviour looks a little different than you remember, but his ruby gem eyes are still warm and still safe— he’s a lot taller now, a broad strapping young man that has to duck as he makes himself known in your mother’s tiny and cluttered kitchen. locks of silky, eye-catching cherry hair would have been tumbling down his back had it not been effortlessly thrown up into a fitting man bun. he glows, skin golden and clear— with only a few scars littering his bulging arms, peeking out from his rolled up sleeves. his suit jacketed abandoned somewhere else in the house. 

“k-kirishima!” mineta squeaks.

“why don’cha head outside, minoru? i heard they’re startin’ to serve up cake. wouldn’t want ya to miss out.” though he says his words slowly and his handsome face remains kind, there’s something eerily threatening about the way kirishima speaks to the other man that makes him scramble outside to join your other unwanted guests. “hey,” the redhead greets you next, muttering your name and approaching you as if you’re a deer about to be spooked. “you okay?” 

letting out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, you nod your head vigorously and set down your wine— face bursting with your first genuine smile of the evening. “well, if it isn’t eijirou kirishima!” you squeal excitedly, tipsily thrusting yourself into his arms and giving him a tight squeeze. 

eijirou kirishima was probably the one thing that kept you sane during your time at whiteridge. growing up, he was the boy next door, the one who always had missing teeth but the biggest grin you’d ever seen. and even though you’d spent most of your childhood by izuku‘s side, you remember afternoons full of sunshine playing with the redhead from across the street, digging up worms and rolling in mud puddles that you’d both get in trouble for doing later on. you were close, up until you lost your brother.

other parents keeping their children away from you didn’t stop eijirou from splitting his lunch with you at recess or lending you his protractor in geometry class ( in exchange for your help, of course, it wasn’t his strongest subject ). 

the pair of you officially cut ties when kirishima didn’t continue with highschool in favour for taking over the family repair business— and after you’d graduated, you skipped town, not leaving him with anything to contact you by. so eventually, you lost touch. 

“lil’ midoriya!” eijirou cheers back, arms wrapping around your waist to squeeze you into him. his hugs were always incredibly comforting, and being tucked into the plushness of his chest does wonders for soothing your inner turmoil. “s’been a while.” 

“i-uh, i actually don’t go by that name anymore,” you mumble to him, feeling like a sheepish school girl under his inquisitive gaze. 

“oh yeah, i forgot. yer like some big-shot writer now, huh? ya even look the part!” kirishima keeps his hands on you as he pulls back to give you a once over, twirling you lightly while the fabrics of your clothes fly about.

you can’t quite place it, how he makes you feel so small, in a good way but you don’t dwell on it— happiness simmering in your veins instead of anguish. for once. “i haven't completely changed! like you said…it’s just been a while!” 

“change ain’t a bad thing, darlin’,” he grins, the casual use of the pet name nearly making you short-circuit. “but ya did lose yer accent.” 

“oh my god, shut up! you’re like the third person who’s mentioned my accent since i’ve been back!” 

the pair of you share a laugh, which quickly fizzles into thin air as nostalgia clouds over you both. kirishima hasn’t heard you laugh in almost a decade, and you haven’t seen him at all in the same amount of time. he slowly lets you go, and an odd mix of pity and sadness crosses his features as he looks down at you. “ya looked so gloomy t’day. i-i wanted to speak with you earlier. it’s just…been so long,” he whispers, the happiness of the previous moment fading away. “you can’t be holdin’ up well.” 

you’ve tried your hardest, not to feel sadness, to seem weak in front of the adults who failed you as a child. but it has been hard. your mother is gone; your brother is gone; and even though it always has been just you— that feeling is even more real to you now. 

shaking your head, you blink back tears you didn’t know had, as if it’ll make them stop. “i’m not,” you reply quietly. “but such is life, right? we’re all a little miserable.” 

kirishima hums in agreement but doesn’t seem pleased with your answer. “wanna get outta here? looks t’me like you could do with a lil’break. my moms are around, they could clear this place out while we go for a drive?” he suggests without thinking, the kindness in his heart speaking for him. 

eijirou’s always been like that. kind.

he was one of the few people in your life to show true kindness to you. 

so trusting him blindly, and without hesitation, you take the metaphorical hand he holds out to you and give him a simple…

“yes, i’d love to.” 

“r’member when we were little, ‘nd izuku used to make us sneak out t’come watch shooting stars ‘nd meteor showers?”

like he’d promised, kirishima took you for a drive ten or fifteen minutes just outside of whiteridge where the woods are peaceful and the sky is clearest. it had gotten dark, fast, the moon making herself at home up above and her children shining bright right along with her as your red haired companion parked up just shy of a spot you recognised from when you were kids.

the little clearing, you remember frequenting, was surrounded by the cool scent of pine as if it were a blanket— crystal streams running through with a soft rippling tune to them, and the perfect view of every star ever to be named if you find yourself there on a clear night. its almost ironic how eijirou had driven you here, as if he knew you needed a moment with your brother after such an emotionally draining day. even after all of these years, he still knows you, what comforts you when you’re overwhelmed and need a breath of fresh air. 

kirishima sits in the back of his truck, leaning back with eyes illuminated by the balls of fire burning a million miles away as he speaks. he looks to you after— his face soft and smile…adorably toothy. his entire aura, comforting. 

you turn to face him with a warm smile of your own, fixing his suit jacket that he’d given you over your frame, your fingers just barely peeking out of the sleeves. “yeah, and you used to make me hold your hand ‘cause you were scared of walking here in the dark.” you’re teasing the red head as if no time has passed, like you’re still that little squadron of neighbours and other kids that would follow your brother’s lead. kirishima was just the one you were closest to out of all your older brother’s friends. he lets you saddle up to him once you get cold, wrapping a bulking arm around you— his hand on your knee, practically dwarfing you in size. 

“it was f’protection!” eijirou whines as you nestle yourself into him, praying that you don’t hear fast and hard his heart is beating. 

“oh sure, for protection,” scoffing, you don’t even bother looking up at your old friend— choosing to press the chub of your right cheek further into his warmth. “it was like you were in love with me or something.”

it’s a joke, initially. you’re still teasing him like you would have when you were younger— back then you thought you were the only pretty girl eijirou knew. he was much more squirmish and easily flustered back then. and even though it feels like no time has gone by, kirishima has gotten bolder. he doesn’t try to push you away, but instead pinches your waist playfully and rests his head on top of yours as if to hide his raging red cheeks under the guise of keeping you warm. 

“…’nd what if i had been.”

a comfortable silence settles between you both in the back of eijirou’s truck— punctuated by the odd chirps of wild animals and the bristle of the trees around you. “then i wish you’d have said something…maybe i would’ve stuck around.” you say quietly, your voice a little hoarse from the alcohol you’d consumed earlier on in the day. 

you feel him shake his head above you, soft hair tickling your forehead. “then i’d just have been holdin’ you back,” kirishima tells you like he means it, as if he knew the outcome of telling you how he really felt in the past. he doesn’t want you to dwell, to feel regret on a day of loss like this. “i mean look at’cha! you’ve got the job of your dreams. you’re successful. ya must be happy!”

your response is immediate and solemn, your pretty features airbrushed with an unwritten expression. “i wouldn’t quite call it happiness, eiji.” in the mess of your limbs huddled for heat, you walk your digits down the length of the red head’s arm and play with his fingers timidly. “but look at you! you’ve grown so much, i’m sure i used to be taller than you.”

“oh yeah?” kirishima doesn’t like that you’re sad. he spent too much of his teen years watching you drown in it. “well maybe—!”  pulling himself off of you ( regretfully ), he quickly hops off the truck to stand between your legs— hoisting you by the backs of your thighs into the air so he can twirl you around in his arms. “you just got shorter!”  the night sky twists into a Milky Way cocktail above you, pure and genuine laughter spilling from between your lips ( your lipstick has long worn off by now ) as you hook your ankles at the small of kirishima’s back to keep yourself secure.

coming to a standstill once more so he can catch his breath, your childhood friend brushes a thumb over your hip before he whispers to you. “…there’s one other reason why i dragged you out here.” he says your name, garnering your attention.

“and what might that be?”

“my moms wanted to know when i’d be able to start the repairs on your house, they got the call from your solicitor a couple days ago and—“

your nails dig into his broad shoulders out of excitement, head whipping down in a happy rush. “no way! you’re the repairman? thank god! at least i’ll be seeing someone i like everyday.” 

kirishima breaks out into a grin at your joke and pokes at your cheek “ya like me?”

of course you do. he’s your friend, your reason for sanity…maybe your first love.

but you won’t ever admit that. you don’t need anything tying you down to this town— no less, someone like kirishima. 

someone who actually cares for you. 

“don’t push it, red.” you warn him simply, your tone etched with a light friskiness to let him know you’re joking— biting the tip of his finger too. “you can come work on the house whenever you’re ready. it’s not a problem to me since i’ll be a little busy working on something the whole time. just let me know the costs of anything you need, i’ll pay full price for everything, and then some.” 

adjusting you in his grip, eijirou bounces you and smirks sexily when you squeak in surprise at his movements— at his brute strength. “oh? what’cha workin’ on lil’miss writer?” 

“i don’t kiss and tell, eijirou.” you wink.

“really? even if i kiss ya right now? if i offer you a discount on the house?” he keeps his voice low and gravelly as he talks quietly against your earlobe— and you don’t believe for a second the stupid southern hunk doesn’t know what effect he’s having on you. 

so you swat him, right in the chest and pout like a petulant child— trying to hide how easily flustered he makes you. “nuhuh! and it’s full price or no work for you, mister.”

“alright, alright! i got it!” kirishima grins, twirling you both once more. “full price and no spoilers. now c’mon, let’s get’cha home. yer shiverin’ like a city purse dog.”

calming down, you steady your hands on his broad shoulders— feeling the muscle ripple beneath your touch. “thank you for tonight, eiji.” there’s a certain wistfulness that you speak with, satisfaction and happiness breaking through your usual simple tone of voice. eijirou kirishima has always brought out the better sides in you, soothing your inner child. “all of this, it helped me feel better about not being sad for my ma’s death. helped me feel a little more free.” before you can back down or change your mind, you plant a soft smooch against the side of his face— staining his skin with the last of a crimson lipstick mark. 

his gaze that matches the colour painted onto the plushness of your lips flicks down to them, before looking away— embarrassed. “oh… well s’nothin’... you deserve t’have someone t’rely on. everyone does,” kirishima mumbles as he sets you down on two feet, scratching the back of his head bashfully, letting out a nervous chuckle. “we should uh…really get’cha back. ‘fore i do somethin’ reckless.” 

he bundles you up into his truck after that, guiding you into the passenger’s seat and buckling your seatbelt in— even though you both know that you’re more than capable of doing so yourself. you let him, because for once, you feel like you deserve to be cared for and looked after. the drive back is shorter than it was to the creak, mostly because you spend it teasing your old friend, swiping his cowboy hat from the back seat and shoving it atop his messy red mane to make him laugh so hard that his truck swerves along the empty mountain roads.

your mother’s house is clear and vacant when kirishima’s truck pulls into its gravel driveway, just like he’d promised you. both of his moms had texted him on your drive back to let him know that all of your guests had been promptly kicked out, leaving the place near spotless— sparing you the worry of having to clean up in the morning. like the gentleman he is, eijirou offers his hand to you when you hop out of his truck, and the novelty of it all warms you from the inside out, wrapping around your ice cold heart. 

the steps to the front porch creak under the weight of the well-built man, almost dwarfing the thing as kirishima ducks his head to stand under it more comfortably— towering over you at the front door in the process. “i uh—probably should give you this back—” you say breathlessly, watching the air wrapped around the syllables of your words come out in cool puffs. you gesture to his suit jacket, still drowning you and move to shrug off the fabric, remembering how he’d so sweetly given it to you. 

“n-no! keep it,” kirishima blurts out quickly, before you can even finish speaking. he grabs your hands— face hot and tainted with a bright rosey blush. “i’ll be round in a few days t’come pick it up ‘n fix a few things around the house anyways… maybe y’could try and get the lipstick stain out until then?” he’s staring down at you like he’s going to kiss you, like he wants a little more than an innocent lip lock too.

and you’d be a liar to say you weren’t thinking of inviting your childhood friend upstairs for something not so innocent either. 

“i think you like it this way,” comes your response as you stand on your tiptoes, meeting kirishima halfway— giving him the space to back off or to swoop down and take what he wants. 

“yeah,” eijirou breathes while his eyes flutter shut, long lashes brushing against his cheeks and in that moment— he’s close enough to have his nose nudge yours. “i do.” he takes off his hat, a hand resting on his chest as he leans down to press his lips against yours— not moving until he feels you fall into him, reciprocating with a tenderness that has you melting like butter in a pan even in the coolness of the night. your arms reach up to wrap around his thick neck as his finds your waist, tangling in the tiny carmine curls at its base while you pour unspoken words and thankfulness into the sweet smooch. 

“i should go…don’t know what i’ll do if i don’t hold back so…goodnight,” he murmurs your name in pillowy hushed tones as he pulls away— barely wanting to let you go in favour of filling his lungs with oxygen again. “sleep well, kay?” 

“k-kay, g-goodnight!” you sway in place, waving kirishima off with a dreamy smile before unlocking the door, rushing in and slamming it shut behind you. 

there’s a tremble to your fingers as you touch your kiss-swollen lips, a squeal erupting from your throat shortly after. 

you hated this place, everything about it. 

except for maybe one person, who’s maybe made your trip to whiteridge worth it, after all. 

‘my life fucking sucks…’ 

the cursor flashes on the page of your google doc teasingly— taunting you to add to the four existing words meant to be the catalyst of your origin story.  the crème de la crème of your life. the piece de resistance. your god awful fucking autobiography. your brows knit together, meeting like two bristled and angry caterpillars in the centre of your forehead as you stare at the near naked document. the words don’t feel right on the page, nothing like anything you’ve ever written before and you struggle to write more. 

because this doesn’t feel like you.

yes, this is meant to be a book on your life— a dedication to how you got where you are, an ode to everything you’ve ever made but… it’s not you. you’re used to building worlds from nothing but the eightieth song on your favourite playlist and three minutes of the best music you’ve ever heard. you’re familiar with designing a character based on the colour gradients in the sky that afternoon and garnering their personalities from interactions you’d seen in coffee shops or on trains throughout your week. what you were born to write is fiction, cultivating your own escape from your memories— a solace, somewhere else to breathe and exist away from real life and world issues.

writing about yourself feels like a grotesque science project, or learning about punnett squares in your tenth grade biology class. it’s like writing an essay on a concept you can’t quite wrap your brain around no matter how many sources you read into. you’re forced to analyse every little detail you spent smoothing over in your adolescence, synthesising a new skin for yourself to live in, pretending your trauma wasn’t really there. 

pressing the backspace button your laptop’s keyboard, you delete the words and pull back from the screen to crack your knuckles— holding your interlinked fingers high above your head to stretch the lethargic muscles in your back. you’d been sitting at the desk in your mother's master bedroom for hours at this point— waiting for words that never come, anticipating a bigbang of inspiration to hit you until your words hit the page. you wonder if this is how the higher power felt before they created the universe, if they sat in silence, annoyance and confusion. just…waiting.

your fingertips coast over the keyboard again, typing out another sentence to start your story with.

‘my life really fucking sucks…’ 

did adding that extra curse word help? does starting it off like that come off as too ungrateful? you have everything, you muse, a life people only dream of having. money in your account, the number never falling too low— healthcare, basically free of charge, a secure job with rich foods to fill your stomach and all the fans where you could only ever wish to meet them all in person. that’s how your readers would perceive you, at least.

in reality, you’re bitter and lonely— you have no family, you’re too scarred from your past to make new friends and all you really have is yourself. and your publicist, mina, but she’d been pissing you off with pestering you about this book. 

maybe you could be vulnerable here, use the solitude of your adulthood as material for your book. your mind starts to drift with fresh new ideas printed into some lobe of your brain until you land on a certain someone from the other night. a warm glow in your current state of gloom. kirishima…he could still be your friend. after all, you’d made a connection when you’d reunited at your mother’s funeral and his number was right there in your phone. for repairs, of course, but it was still there…

no. you shake your head, trying to realign your focus with the task and craft at hand— you could go back to your roots and do an internet search for sentence starters, a ‘how to a start book for dummies’ might help you out, too. however, the goddess of higher power seems to be messing with you, for when you click on your internet browser, you’re met with the foul message that the wifi in your mom’s house has completely gone out. 

you’re so fucking lucky google docs is able to work offline— otherwise you’re sure you would have lost what little progress you’d made on the start of your book. that surely would have ruined your morning. it does appear, in spite of it all, that having no wifi gives you an excuse to take a break from your work and from mina’s nagging to call a certain hunky and red-haired repairman for assistance. 

at least fate is on your side— sort of… she has a funny way of toying with you. for now, you take it as a positive sign and shake off your frustration, reaching for your phone to make the call.

“kirishima repair service, where your repairs make us riot!” 

eijirou picks up your call before you can even hit the first dial tone— he’d been eager, drinking up your words like a cool glass of water on a hot summer’s day as you complained to him about the wifi, the creaky floorboards in the bathroom that freaked you out last night and the mysterious drip in the hallway connecting the living room to the kitchen. you’d been lodged up in the house since the funeral, no point in spending money on a hotel when you’d need to oversee the work on your mother’s old place anyways— sorting through her belongs for sale or storage while you worked on your book.

and, you hadn’t thought much of it at the time, one casual comment about the god-forsaken house slipping out after another and the redhead hadn’t even protested. ‘i’ll be right over,’ he said, so proud you could hear the smile in his voice from over the crackles of the line. ‘i was plannin’ to start today anyway. wanted to see your face too…’ 

“hmm, that’s cute.” 

giggling and hiding your smile, you hold open the door wide enough for eijirou to slip past you— trying not to dwell on his size as he ducks his head to enter your childhood home, ridding yourself of any inappropriate thought. like how he nearly had you pinned against the door the other night, with the vague confirmation that he was thinking about fucking you right then and there. 

“will you be needing anything, ei? i, uh, found some tools and the instructions for the router back in the kitchen…” you mumble, planning an escape route from the bulking man and your thirsty thoughts as he practically dwarfs everything in the house. 

kirishima looks at you once, his inquisitive and bright eyes having swept over the interior— as if he was trying to match the look of the house to his memory. it’d been a while since either of you had been here together. “oh! nah. got everythin’ i need right here, darlin’,” he says, gaze still set on your face and neither of you making a move. right…where? did he mean you? were you everything he needed? after a beat of awkward silence he coughs, probably having realised his words and lifts his toolbox sheepishly— cheeks a shade darker than his hair. “i-i mean in here, the toolbox.” 

“right…um should i point you to the—?” 

“the wifi router? please.”

“don’t sound so desperate to get away from me eiji, it’ll make me feel bad.” 

“‘m not!” he defends quickly, letting you guide him to the living room and to a high rustic bookshelf where the point of internet connection sits. the device is too high up for you to reach, but kirishima swipes it down with ease— avoiding eye contact with you as he inspects the red lights indicating a bad signal. “s’just…yer lookin’ at me in ways that’ll make me forget that ‘m here to work. and i need to focus, sweetheart.” 

oh.

so he had been thinking about the other night too. 

grinning slyly, you cross your arms over your chest— avoiding the heat bubbling under your skin when your repair man’s gaze drops down to follow your movement. “i’ll leave you to work then, eijirou. wouldn’t want to distract you from your hard work,” you coo, cocking your head to the side in satisfaction when his whole body stutters— the wifi router slipping from his grip before you catch it and pass it to him, getting a little too close. “call me if you need me, i’ll be across the hall, working on my book.” 

“i-i will. if i need you. f-for the wifi! i’ll probably need’ya to check if the connection works once i reset everythin’—“ he stumbles over his words, not quite saying what he means, not quite knowing what he means, if you’re even talking about the repairs anymore. “yanno what? i’ll just start workin’ now.” 

he’s so cute, so easily riled up just like you remember from back in the day. with one last pinch to his bulging bicep, you skip back to the kitchen to try and get started on your dreadful own task at hand. 

“good luck, cowboy.” 

about an hour and a half later, eijirou politely ( disrespectfully ) disrupts your bubble of failed creativity by clearing his throat, an apologetic expression plastered across his face before he hesitantly steps into the kitchen. you glance up from your laptop and from where you sit at the rustic, hand carved wooden dining table in the centre of the room— blinking twice to stop your eyes from bulging out of their place in your skull when they finally land on kirishima. 

“any luck?” you whisper, breathing deep through your nose as he approaches the table in short strides— the scent of pine and his own musk filling the air. 

“not an ounce,” kirishima huffs, clearly annoyed and you can tell by the adorable pout spread across the shine on his lips. “damn router won’t connect for more than fifteen minutes! can’t freakin’ figure the thing out!"

the red head’s shoulders slouch as he takes a seat at the table with you, squeezing himself into one of the chairs he used to have to climb into when he was little. letting out a fond laugh, you put your hand on top of his and give it a comforting squeeze— not wanting eijirou to be too annoyed with himself. “if it helps i’ve not made much progress either,” you gesture to the chicken scratch notes you’ve resorted to taking on the various sheets of paper, scattered across the table. “i can’t seem to figure out how to start this book. it’s killing me.” 

this time it’s eijirou who gives your hand a soft squeeze, flipping his palm to lace your fingers together— you try not to dwell on how thick and rough they are. “‘m sure you’ll get it,” he whispers to you, a dopey look on his face— pride, for you, dancing in his ruby gem eyes. “yer amazing at what you do…” 

“thanks eiji,” you chirp at his praise, bristling with happiness. “you always know what to say, huh?” 

“of course, i’ll never stop tellin’ you how proud i am of you fer gettin’ outta this place. makin’ a name for yourself.” he goes on, rambling earnestly with excited dips and dives sprinkled throughout his voice. “how about this? i needa go into town to get you a new router, so after that, we can grab some grub at that old diner ‘n maybe take our frustrations out on that? my treat.” 

your stomach rumbles at the thought— hunger sneaking up on you like a big cat on its prey.

“y-yeah, that sounds great!” 

“one black coffee for the ‘lil lady, and one super sweet hot chocolate supreme with extra whipped cream ‘n marshmallows for you, baby.” 

you try to ignore the trill of displeasure that runs through you as the waitress places your drinks on the table— leaning in real close to eijirou as she passes him his hot cocoa. he’s too distracted to notice her blatant flirting, like a child on christmas as soon as he’s got his sickly sweet beverage in front of him. but you do. she was cute, definitely from around here and pretty as a picture too— she’d make a cute little wife, and if he wanted, she could give eijirou as many kids as he damn well pleased. 

you sit across from him as you stir a teaspoon of sugar or two into your coffee—bitter, tired but still mysteriously sexy so at least you had that going for you and eijirou kirishima would be a fool to pass you up for some hillbilly bit—

“black coffee? is that seriously all ya want to drink?” he cuts off your trail of thought, staring straight past the waitress and right at you— as if you’re the only person in the room. 

smiling to yourself when the waitress scurries away, you circle the spoon around your mug— watching the white sugar crystals dissolve into the dark, piping hot  liquid. “as black as my soul,” you joke, eyes darting up just in time to watch kirishima snort his whipped cream. “what’s so funny, ‘shima?”

“your humour was never this…dark when we’re kids.” he chuckles in response, nose scrunched and eyes bright. 

you take a sip, hiding behind the rim of your cup. “being a writer does that to you.” as does being abandoned by your mom, losing your brother.

kirishima quickly senses the dip in mood and overs you a tender smile, resting his hand atop yours just like in the kitchen back home and rubbing his thumb over the backs of your knuckles. “so…this book yer workin’ on?” he pokes the bear, running back to sip on his cocoa when you playfully scowl at him.

“i said no spoilers, eiji!” 

“c’mon, just one? i am treating you to breakfast — at least tell me what it’s about.”

you can’t resist when he begs like that, like a big puppy awaiting his treats— so you reply, hesitant words clinging to the steam rising from your coffee. “it’s…” you start. “it’s about my life?”

“and you’re struggling to write that?” kirishima quips incredulously, whipped cream tainting the cupid’s bow of his full lips.

body flushing with embarrassment, your lips turn into a frown. “h-hey! it’s a lot harder than it looks!”

pulling his hand from yours to wave the pair of them about, eijirou is quick to apologise— nearly knocking over your drinks in the process. “n-no! i just mean—“ the words die on his sugar-coated lips as he flounders for the right thing to say, to articulate himself properly. “i-i mean yeah, what would i know?” he speaks quieter now, looking down at his lap while his jubilant actions calm, and you cock your head to the side— curious to pick his brain for an explanation as you prompt him with a tiny ‘go on…’ “like, i dunno, i dropped outta school but…you’re interestin’, ya always have been! a-at least to me…so i figured… you’d have a whole lot t’talk about.”

you’re the one who turns bashful after that, picking at the sleeves of the random sweater you’d thrown on, discovering it at the bottom of your suitcase. your gaze wonders to the wet and frosted windows of the diner noticing the chipped paint on its panes and the walls now coated in an inviting shade of yellow— different from the colours you remember from coming here as a child on saturday mornings. there was never any consideration for how other people perceived you when it came to yourself.

you had to learn fast and hard that society didn’t take kindly to children who didn’t meet the norms, whose families were a little twisted with tragedy like yours. almost everyone you knew growing up had turned on you as soon as your brother lost his life, same as when your mother started to lose herself, too. 

it never occurred to you— that someone outside of the damaging thoughts plaguing your mind would care for your story, would care about you and the little details that make up your DNA. perhaps your readers would take interest in how you and izuku would play hopscotch on the way to school, how you preferred wearing your tie loose on your neck or not at all because you didn’t like to feel too constricted, how you liked your eggs fried until their edges were a little black in your bentos or how you would trade them with the kids in the playground before it all came crashing down. 

before the accident.

and maybe, your readers would take comfort in the girl the accident forced you to become. the one who kept her head down, got the grades she needed and fucked right out of town. the one who got lost in the city and published story after story in smaller anthologies until she got her big break— until someone noticed the passion she’d penned onto paper. until someone saw her for more than just her mother, and her brother and her harrowing past. 

until someone finally saw you. 

but someone had been seeing you all this time, rooting for you from here. from home. and he was sitting right in front of you. 

“i didn’t think—” you pause, looking back at the rugged man before you. “i never knew you saw me…t-that way! that way. i never knew you saw me that way.” 

kirishima hums content, an expression of wistfulness taking residence on his face. 

“i don’t think you ever really noticed how i saw you.”

you open your mouth to speak— dying to know what eijirou means, but the waitress from earlier returns with the steaming hot plates of breakfast you both had ordered with the red haired repairman quick to steal a bite from yours. he forks his way through half of the omelette on your plate in favour of scraping it onto his own, giving you a wolfish grin as he downs a bite in mere seconds. 

the whole ordeal makes you forget what you were planning to say. “hey! i was gonna eat that!”

“oh yeah? but’cha never finished your plate back when we were kids.” he taunts, daring to swipe more food from you. 

“that’s ‘cause you always ate what was on it before i got the chance!” you squeak back through your laughter, blocking his fork with your own.

after breakfast at the diner, the rest of your day is spent pressed right up to eijirou’s side as he guides you around whiteridge’s town centre. he’d fought you over the bill, let you stand on your tiptoes to ruffle his mane when you paid a tip worth greater than the bill as he pouted on the way out too. his fingers graze yours along the way, not too far out of reach but enough to remind you that he’s there— walking with you through the memories that you relive.

he points out the tuck shops you would sneak into after class. he forces you to press your nose against the glass with him watching the bakery put out fresh loaves of milk bread and tucks his hat over your ears when the breeze starts to pick up, sending ice chills down your spine. 

kirishima is unbelievably warm and it’s intoxicating, his joyous spirit floods through your dark memories of whiteridge with hues of soft pinks— removing the taint of loneliness from your childhood. he’ll kiss your knuckles after every spot you visit— good and bad, reminding you that he’s there with every step you take through the town that left you to rot when you were too young to defend yourself. 

kirishima is there, kirishima will always be there and he’ll always choose you. and you remind yourself not to take his comforting presence in your life for granted from now on. 

you both fly back almost ten years when you stumble upon the playground you used to frequent as little ones. like children, you race to the rusted and red painted swing set— slipping on the ice, with your cheeks bitten raw by the cold as it shows in each puffed out breath you take. it makes you feel alive, makes you feel the blood pumping hotly through your veins again.

there are mothers with their infants that look down on you both, but neither of you can think to care, too wrapped up in the happy bubble of nostalgia that shelters you both from the cruel world. of course, eijirou beats you to it, claiming the last remaining swing and sitting on it with all his weight— nearly pulling the damn thing from its old and worn out chains.

“push me, darlin’,” eijirou demands jocosely, his big hands gripping the chains— his crimson eyes rioting and roaring with a teasing glint as he looks up at you. flirts with you. “or yer chicken.” 

rolling your eyes, you stand in front of him. “you think i can’t, red?” placing your hands over his on the chain and muster all your strength to start swinging him back and forth, the heels of your boots crunching against the frosted tarmac beneath them. “you’ve gotten bolder while i’ve been away! what’s gotten into you?” you goad him, picking up momentum while you both sway with the swing. “did you look up flirting tips after that girl… who was it? nejire from two grades above found out you had a crush on her in middle school—“ 

“you still don’t get it,” he says. the swinging comes to a dramatic halt, kirishima forcefully digging his boots into the rubber flooring below to stop you both— his grip on the chains dropping to cling to your waist, dragging you to stand between his wide spread legs. “do you?” 

“e-eijirou—?” 

your words die with the gust of wind that blows over you both and you can’t tell if you’re shivering because of how cool it is or because of kirishima’s warmth as it spreads through you like a flame taking over kindling— his lips ghosting over yours, pressing a feather light kiss to them as if to test the waters. when you tilt your head to meet him at a better angle, the redhead knows it’s safe to continue— deepening his actions, gliding his tongue against the seam of your lips as though to ask permission for more before you let him.

the kiss is a little rougher than you’ve felt with him before, contradicting with his gentlemanly nature— not that you mind, feeling all the emotions he pours into it. 

“meant what i said, yanno,” kirishima breathes into your mouth after you pull apart, eyes half lidded and his hold on you still tight— as if he doesn’t want you to slip away. “ya never noticed the way i looked at you. how much i liked ya. even now, there’s been no one else since you left.”

“eiji…” you gasp, wordless for the moment but he presses on, brushing a thumb over your cheek. 

warm, unlike the weather.

“i’m not asking for all of you now…or for you to magically have feelings for me. i can wait, i’ve had to for this long anyways.” he adds with a smile, one so soft compared to how he just kissed you— sending you reeling and making your heart a rapid beating mess. “no pressure or anything, we can make this whatever you want it to be.” 

“a-and what if…what if i want you by my side?” 

“then i’ll be here.” 

“for how long?” 

“as long as you’ll have me.” 

you fist kirishima’s jacket under your grip and steady yourself— blinking back tears of appreciation before they fall, letting kirishima thumb them away when they do. “that’ll be a while red, i hope you know that.” you huff, holding onto him so that he doesn’t let you go.

kirishima only wraps the entirety of his arm around your waist— keeping you close as he says. “i know, i’ll make that time worth your while,” he presses a small smooch to your midriff, looking up at you with those same rioting and lovesick red eyes and speaking again. “let’s get’cha back home ‘n set that wifi up, yeah? i think me kissin’ you in front of all those mommas has them a little spooked ‘n to be honest, ‘m barely holdin’ myself back here.” 

“you’re insatiable, red.” you swat at his chest, stepping back so he can tower over you once again. 

“and who’s to blame for that?” kirishima pinches your side back all while taking your hand to lead you out of the park and back to the bustling square of whiteridge.

‘me.’ you think giddily and your heart settles in its place, soothed by eijirou’s heavy hand in yours.

for once you’re happy to take the blame for this one.

there’s a car you don’t recognise in your driveway when you get back— blocking kirishima’s truck from parking up next to your own vehicle. 

“do y’know whose car that is? were you expecting guests?”

raising a brow, you peer up at kirishima who sits confused behind the wheel. “you’re the only person i like in this town and all of my family is dead. of course i’m not expecting guests.” you deadpan, but raise your hands in defence when the repairman glares down at you. “i kid! i kid!” 

“not funny, darlin’,” he grunts and sets the car into park, making sure she’s steady before opening the door on the driver’s side. “stay here, ‘m gonna check it out. robberies aren’t that common here but i don’t wanna risk it.” risk you.

with your face scrunching up, your actions follow the same path as your red haired companion and you unbuckle your seatbelt swiftly to jump out of the truck. “you’re not leaving me here! what if mineta’s lurking around, waiting to get me alone!” you huff, boots crunching on the ice below as you follow kirishima’s tacks up towards your mother’s house and current place of residence. 

“neither of those jokes were funny, stop makin’ fun of yer trauma, kay?” he scolds you gently, casting his gaze over his shoulder to check on you. only when eijirou‘s back is turned again, do you mimic and mock him a little before slipping your hand into his— noticing he was holding it out for you from behind. you hear the porch creek up above, breath hitching as kirishima yells at the intruder. “hey! don’cha know that this is private property— you can’t be here!” 

“calm yer tits shitty hair, ‘m just here to get my stuff. i ain’t botherin’ no one.” a rough voice responds, sending a wave of familiarity through you. “b’sides, i got. a fuckin’. key.” the last sentence is punctuated with pockets of a condescending tone— causing light bulb memories to flash through your mind and back to the night at the bar.

“bakugou?”

stepping out from behind the mountain that is eijirou kirishima, you reveal yourself to another set of red eyes— watching as recognition flood’s the blonde’s features and smooths over the crease between his knitted brows. “well, well, well. who do we fuckin’ have here…” bakugou rasps, his signature smirk tugging the corners of his lips upwards as he gives you the once over. “how ya doin’, sweetheart? mind gettin’ this big red oaf off my back?” 

“oaf? sweetheart, do you two know each other?” kirishima grunts defensively, squaring himself in front of you as if to protect you from katsuki’s leering gaze.

“know each other?” bakugou interjects before you can, smirk only widening. “we slept together, shitty hair. couple days ago, weren’t it, baby? she took me real fuckin’ good—“ 

“now hold on a second!” 

“are we lyin’ now, bakugou? doesn’t the town hate you enough for that already?” 

“e-eiji! that’s not nice—“ 

“you don’t know shit, fuckface.” 

“oh, i know all about whiteridge’s shitty little recluse—“ 

growing more irritated and embarrassed by the boys’ back and forth arguing— you reach into bakugou’s car through the window ( as it’s still running and open ) and press down on the horn until it shocks them both out of their bickering. “that’s enough!” you growl, eyes shooting between them angrily as you take turns pointing fingers at them. “kirishima, backdown. you’re not my guard dog…and bakugou! what the fuck are you doing here? is your name really even bakugou?” 

both the blonde and the redhead settle for a second. “it is, i am katsuki bakugou.” bakugou shifts on your front porch and lifts a box up high for you to see, once that you didn’t notice before. “used to live here, helped ya ma out since she looked after me durin’ a rough time…after ya skipped town ‘n stuff.” he explains simply, wincing when you let out a quiet gasp that’s slightly visible in the cold air. “just came t’get the last of my shit. couldn’t bring myself to tell ya before…and it wasn’t appropriate at the funeral. ‘m sorry for that.” 

“you…knew my mom?” you frown, clutching onto kirishima who stays as still as stone, watching the exchange. 

“yeah…she wasn’t as crazy as ya made out to be at the bar, yanno.” the blonde smiles sad, yet wistfully, passing by both you and eijirou to get to his car.

kirishima barks from beside you, tracking bakugou’s movements like he’s defending his territory. “don’t you think it’s rude to speak ill of the dead?”

“don’t you know that i ain’t fuckin’ talkin’ to you?”

“boys,” you warn again before turning to katsuki to give him your name. your real one, with the midoriya last name and all, and it brings you comfort when he doesn’t immediately point it out or apologise for your loss like everyone else. “thanks for stopping by bakugou, and thank you for that night, i guess?” 

he nods, slipping into his vehicle with the box now in the passenger’s seat— the rest stashed away safely in his trunk. “anytime, princess,” he coos, revving up his engine to drive away and around eijirou’s truck— only reminding you even more of the explicit night that you both shared before your mother’s funeral.

you watch him go with the redhead as your company, jumping out of your skin when he speaks to you, roughly. “y’should head up to the house. i’ll get the new wifi router from the truck ‘n set up for you.” 

“do you need any help again?” 

“no need. i got this.” 

just like he said, eijirou handles everything on his own— fixing your wifi and setting it up with speed. except, he’s icy the whole time, rejecting your advances, meaner and slightly ruder than before as he works until he doesn’t anymore. gone is the soft, warm and comforting heat of eijirou kirishima from earlier, where he kissed you and practically begged you for a chance. you can only assume it has something to do with your hook up and encounter with bakugou… but that was before and it’s not like your sex life was any of his business. 

kirishima rushes off before tending to any other repairs to the house— grumbling something about coming back in a few days time as he slams the door shut behind him, leaving you to fester in silence once more. men are fuckin’ weird, you decide.

with no inspiration left in the tank and you feeling a little butt-hurt from the boys— you take solace in exploring your old house and the memories that dance within it’s creaking walls. pictures line the pathway up the staircase to your childhood or teenage bedroom, and you can’t help but stop to look at framed and dusty photographs of you and your brother throughout your early years. all toothless and gappy smiles.

a particular one catches your attention— a snap of both you and izuku decked out in swimmer’s gear, juice stains from red popsicles smeared along your chubby cheeks and orange against izuku’s freckled ones. you remember it being taken on a summer’s day before you ventured into the woods to swim about in the streams so you could cool off. 

lifting the frame from the wall, you blow off the dirt, thumbing your older brother’s youthful face— missing him, hurting for him and pressing the trinket close to your chest as if to hold him for one last time. you squeeze a little too tight, jumping back as paper slips from behind the frame and onto the wooden steps with a light thud. 

“what the—?” you muse to yourself, hanging the portrait back on its nail before carefully scooping up the sheets of paper.

the notes, with your mother’s writing on them. 

a photo of deku, katsuki and eijirou all together. 

‘they know something.’ one reads. ‘the boys, izuku’s friends.’ says another. 

a chill runs down your spine, your body not liking the ominous wording or the idea that you’re reading a dead woman’s thoughts. a million questions race through your mind all at once while you dart up the stairs and to your room, snapping pictures of the notes just in case— sending them to your laptop. just in case.

they were hidden for a reason, tucked behind one of your happiest memories in hopes that you’d…find them? perhaps? you can’t figure out for the life of you what they mean, why your mother wrote them or her motive to have tucked them away…but what you do know, is that something doesn’t feel right about them. that something tells you that she might have been right about izuku‘s death being somewhat suspicious.

you can’t help but dwell on the thought, even up until you’re tucked into bed, an idea for the startling line of your book coming to you once you finally manage to drift off. 

‘my life, is a complete and utter fucking mystery. and you’re going to help me solve it…’

apparently, being simultaneously ghosted and pissed off makes you write a whole lot faster.

it’s been a few days since the stand-off outside your house between the two men you’ve somehow gotten yourself involved with— resulting in you getting ghosted by both of them. bakugou, mostly because you don’t have his number. and kirishima? well he’s just been a prick. since beginning his work on the house he’s probably said all but twenty words to you— clearly still riled up by the fact that you’ve slept with someone else.

fuelled by your annoyance at the two, you’d managed to make a breakthrough on your book and kept yourself hauled up in your mom’s old room, writing away while staying to oversee repairs on the house for a little while longer. it’d been at least two weeks since everything went down.

silence and the sound of your fingertips married to your keyboard have been your only friends since eijirou started to ignore you— not that you mind, they were great company growing up too. with more than three pages filled with the intricate details of your early life, your birth, your first crawl and then your first walk, you decide to take a break from your work before delving deeper and head for a piping hot shower.

the water soothes your tense muscles, washes away the fear and anxiety you’ve felt since discovering your mother’s notes and trying to figure out what they mean. lathering up, you scrub at your skin until you feel clean of any discomfort and mystery clinging to it before the water suddenly runs cold— acting as a shockwave that runs through your system.

it forces you to begrudgingly send a text to eijirou, asking him to fix the shower while you work and he sends a quick, disinterested reply of ‘sure.’ as you towel yourself dry for his arrival. he’d wanted to do some repairs to the house anyway.

you’re lucky that the house is warm, waltzing around in nothing but an oversized shirt and fuzzy winter socks by the time kirishima pulls up in your driveway— a hot mug of coffee and milk between your fingertips when you open up for him. “coffee?” you ask him politely as if the redhead is a stranger, closing the door behind him as he kicks the ice from his boots and sets his toolbox down. 

“is it black?” 

“no.” 

“then yeah, i’ll have one.” 

he’s still being cold, a bit of an ass— but perhaps you can’t really blame him. literal minutes before bakugou had shown up on your doorstep, he’d been asking for a part of you. telling you that he’d wait for you and you’d agreed after many years of being apart. kirishima had a right to be mad, but you were, too— nobody ghosted you. in the kitchen, you brew and sweeten up his coffee, setting it on the counter above his head as he works on the water source in the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink, tools splayed out beside him. 

now, as you write at the dining table, you’re accompanied by an awkward silence, clanking tools and your fingers on the keys. every now and again, red eyes stray over to your bare thighs squeezed together ( from sneaking peeks at the way the burly redhead’s arms bulge with every twist of the water pipe with his wrench or whatever the hell it is ). tension layers itself thickly in the air, and you know eijirou’s been holding himself back when it comes to you, so you take this opportunity to try and get him to talk to you. to get the answers you need about the notes you found the other night.

“hey kirishima?” you call out to him as he stands up to finish off his hot drink, closing your laptop. 

“hmm?”

“uh…” you pause, gnawing nervously on your lower lip. if you ask him now, there’s no telling how kirishima will respond, you’re not on speaking terms and as far as he knows, he doesn’t owe you anything. just like you don’t owe him an explanation on bakugou— who he doesn’t seem to like very much. “were you…you and bakugou, friends?” 

kirishima stiffens— gaze shooting up from your thighs to your face, as if to read it. “why you askin’, dollface?”

“my mom,” you start, fisting the hem of your shirt between your fingers and fiddling with a loose thread. “i found some photos of hers, of the two of you with izuku…some notes too. it just got me thinking…maybe she was right about the accident and something happened, and i just want to know if you truly know anything about what happened to him.” 

the red-haired repairman shakes his head slow at first, picking up in velocity as if he’s denying any thought that comes to mind— turning away from you to get back to fixing your water. “i’ll tell you what i told y’mom ‘n the police at the time. i don’t know anythin’ much about what happened to midoriya,” he huffs simply, grunting with exertion. “and look, midoriya, you and i were good childhood friends and … i’ve no idea why bakugou was hanging around us or in the photo from back then. so, maybe…just drop it?” 

your face scrunches up sourly at his words, anger flashing through you. “drop it?” you snap— tone so harsh that both you and kirishima jump out of your skin. “eijirou, this is my family…i never understood what my mother meant as a kid. i didn’t get her pain or why she suddenly turned on me, but i feel like this is a sign, her way of reaching out to me after she—“ 

“after she what? died? you didn’t even care up until now! and now ya wanna go diggin’ through skeletons in the closet because of some…some note? blaming me?”

“that's not fair, eijirou! and that’s not what i’m saying!” 

he dares to bite— baring his fangs at you like you do with him. “oh? so what are you sayin’?”

“that maybe there’s some truth to what my mom believed. that something really did happen to my brother…to izuku. to your friend.”  you fight back, standing from your seat so fast that it flies back and hits the floor with a loud clang. “why else would she have hidden the clues, the pictures in the house?”

“why are you even lookin’ into this shit now?” 

silence. 

kirishima folds his arms over his chest, breathing heavy from all the yelling before he prompts you again. “why are you doin’ all this?” he asks, nursing your name bitterly. 

“for my book.” you state, quieter and shamefully. 

watching eijirou’s face morph from an expression of confusion to one of hurt, and shock, and betrayal makes you feel sick to your stomach— knowing that you caused it. “yer fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” he slurs angrily, brows furrowed and meeting in the centre of his forehead. “seriously? your brother died. and you’re diggin’ into his past, his death for some fuckin’ clout?” 

“eijirou it’s not like that—“ 

“don’t you ‘eijirou’ me!” this time, the redhead roars so loud it makes you cower back— surprised that he would ever direct such a tone towards you. “yer not the only person who lost a brother. yer not the only person who fuckin’ grieved. stop sticking your nose in places they shouldn’t be and let izuku rest! do yourself a favour and quit while you’re ahead b’fore you end up goin’ crazy just like your ma—“ 

the world around you shatters like glass as eijirou hits you where he knows it’ll hurt the most. it’s like he knew exactly what cells and nerves of yours to target in order to cause you the most pain. before you go crazy, like your mother. the one thing you couldn’t possibly stand in this world, would be to end up exactly like her. to have driven away everyone, to be perceived as a freak who just couldn’t let her loved one rest in peace. you didn’t want that for izuku, and hell, eijirou was right. you didn’t want that for her either, in a way. 

still, it doesn’t make his words ache any less— tears stinging at your eyes like acid or poison before you can even stop them, letting them fill the silence echoing between you both. 

“fuck,” kirishima abandons his tools faster than the speed of light, brushing a hand through his red mane before striding over to you— lifting you to sit on the kitchen label and pulling you into his plush chest since you’re too numb to resist him. “‘m sorry, i— i shouldn’ta said that to ya.” his forehead presses against yours, his large hands parting your thighs to stand between them as he rubs circles into the swell of them— doing anything he can to bring you back down to him, to soothe your quiet sobbing. “‘m so fuckin’ sorry darlin’, dunno what came over me. what i was thinkin’. that was an asshole move from me.” 

he goes on, mumbling apologies over and over again— but you’re numb to them all, eyes glazed over and mind blank…because maybe it’s true. maybe eijirou is right and you really should just leave it all alone. 

you let him kiss you softly, a few times, gentle pecks against your lips until they’re brushed with unspoken forgiveness. because it feels nice to have him close again, to not be ignored by the only person in this shitty world who might, still actually give a fuck about you. 

“‘m so sorry,” kirishima says when you finally make an effort to kiss him back, angling your head just right for him to lick at your lips— tasting the coffee on them. 

you shake your head, letting your fingers tangle in his luscious mane— gripping him as he calms your frenzied mind. clears it of any thought. “it’s okay, kirishima, it’s okay.” you offer in comfort, even though he should be the one comforting you.

you let kirishima stay the night after he fixes up the water and a few other things— with it being too dark and the colder weather starting to pick up a little bit more now that the temperatures have dropped below zero. he orders takeout, on him, from a quaint little business owned by someone else you went to school with— someone who went by the name sato.

it almost freaks you out how tenderly he treats you after damn near tearing your head off earlier— spoon feeding you, keeping you tucked into his toned and blisteringly hot side while you watch silly cartoons to fill the space as you finish off your writing for the day. neither of you speak about the argument, nor dare to bring it up in fear of setting one another off again but you can’t seem to shake the suspicion feeling— debating whether or not kirishima has something to hide.

you have a moment to breathe when he asks to wash up before bed, and you agree, offering to make you both a warm cocoa so you can settle down for the night. though, when you return, you don’t expect to see eijirou hunched over your open laptop at your desk— seemingly clicking through files even though he’s fresh out of the shower, red hair dripping about the place and broad, bare and golden shoulders decorated with crystalline droplets of water, a pair of cotton sweatpants hanging low around his waist. 

“what are you doing?” you ask hoarsely, using your voice properly for what feels like the first time in hours. 

spinning around in his seat, eijirou looks at you with an expression that reads ‘a deer caught in headlights’, quickly clicking out of whatever he was obviously snooping in. “oh um— i was lookin’ f’some music, somethin’ romantic so i could set the mood for tonight,” he turns back to your laptop and pulls up the draft for the intro to your book, reading over it proudly as you walk up behind him and set the mugs of cocoa to the side. “then i came across this, and i know you said no spoilers but… s’really good. i like it, pays homage to izuku.” 

kirishima lies smoothly, to the point where you almost believe what he’s saying— but a quick glance at your files from over his shoulder tells him he’d been looking through the notes and photos your mother had hidden, the ones you’d sent to yourself. “please don’t go through my stuff, eiji. it’s private,” you murmur, realising that only one of the files is missing, and you shoo eijirou out of his seat at the desk to recover it and password lock the data.

“s-sorry,” he seems apologetic, holding his hands up as a sign of retreat as you stand to face him once again. “i didn’t know you were that serious ‘bout that stuff, wouldn’t have looked if i had known.” you almost hate how timbre and hypnotic kirishima’s voice is— feeling as though you can’t be mad at or irritated with him for long; like he knows just what to say to get your mind to do a clean sweep and forget any wrongs he might have done. it’s hard to put your walls up around him, shut him out when he’s so inviting— cautiously taking you into his arms, his lips finding your neck to place calculated smooches along the path of it. 

feather light, barely there as if the kisses never existed in the first place. 

“i-i told you,” you reply, holding your breath— depriving your brain of the oxygen it needs to be able to think properly. “no spoilers, eijirou.” 

his sharpened teeth come into play next, just barely puncturing your skin with little marks and bites between ever growing sloppy kisses, his spit leaving a warm shine against your throat. “alright, alright, no more spoilers,” he whines against your neck, heated breath coasting along your skin until it rises with goosebumps. “just…didn’t think that y’cared about yer past that much.”

writhing in his hold and letting eijirou push you back to lean against the desk, you whine back— sounding needier than he did. “i don’t… i just got curious.” you let your counter argument slip away from you as kirishima sucks a mark just under the shell of your ear, humming at your speeding pulse beneath his lips. 

he uses a knee to nudge your legs apart, both of you growing more desperate— hungrier, the red haired repairman lifting you to sit on the edge of the table by the waist. “thought we weren’t supposed to talk about it, though,” he keeps going, teasing you and taunting you— picking you apart under his touch as eijirou’s fingertips ghost up your shirt to massage the swell of your thighs. 

your breath hitches, lips parting in a quiet moan at every squeeze of your flesh— your own fingers curling in a sea of ruby locks. “eijirou…please,” you plead with him— wanting to hear anything but talk of your book, wanting to hear your name coat the inside of his mouth. you buck your hips up into nothing, using your grip on his hair to tug kirishima close enough for some friction, grinding your clothed cunt against his girth showing through his sweatpants. 

“please, what, darlin’?” his words hang between a set of shark sharp teeth— ones that leave bruising marks against your skin while his hips follow your movements, pushing back and forth against your panties for some relief too. “what? y’want me to fuck you, is that it? that why you’re grinding this cute cunt against my—fuck— cock?” kirishima soothes what he bites, pink tongue peeking out between pearly whites to gloss over the inflamed areas he’s left on you, knowing that they’ll be more visible come sunrise. “say it, darlin— say you want me.” 

“i need you,” you wheeze, at a loss for words with kirishima descending from your neck, placing open mouthed kisses along your collarbones, tugging the collar of your shirt down to give the same treatment to your chest. before he can go any further, one of your hands leaves his hair to tilt his chiselled chin up to face you, a neediness taking over your tone and desire spreading through your bloodstream. “come up here, kiss me.” 

eijirou’s mouth is quick to melt against yours just as it has done many times before, his wet tongue grazing your bottom lip before forcing its way into your mouth— claiming you as his. his cheeks flame at his own boldness, while you surge forward and chase the dopamine high he gives to you every time your lips lock. your teeth sink into his bottom lip, daring the man to pull away as you drag the flesh away from him but kirishima is just as hungry for you as you are for him, hands sliding up your shirt and over your rib cage, thumbing the bare skin until you gasp— letting your tongues come together sloppily, lips slotting against one another in mismatched ways.

kirishima doesn’t stop the route of his hands under your shirt, letting them settle on the clasp of your bra before he pulls way— both of you panting for breath. 

“w-what?” you grumble, nosing his face, missing his kisses already. “is something the matter?” you’re impatient, you don’t like waiting for something you feel you deserve. kirishima had been pining after you for years, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s imagined having you like this for several of them so you don’t understand why he pauses, ghosting his fingertips under the curve of your breast where it meets your rib cage— marvelling as you arch into him subtly.

the repairman shakes his head, a slow smile tugging on the corner of his lips, as if he knows how much he affects you— knows that your body tingles with anticipation, craving something more than a few kisses and playful touches. “yer just so pretty, darlin’, wanna take my time with you,” he drawls, finally undoing your bra and letting the nylon material fall away from your breasts and revealing them to his hungry hooded eyes. “that okay?” rough padded thumbs press into your budded nipples from under your shirt, the cotton material only serving to make them more sensitive— you can’t even think straight to answer eijirou, writhing and shaking your head from a few simple touches. “c’mon gorgeous, don’t be like that. you wanna feel good, right? lemme take care of that.” 

his voice oozes with condensation accompanied by gentle tones of adoration watching you react to him in such a way— it’s like your body knows to love him, to trust him even if your mind doesn’t and you whine out for him. “wanna feel good eijirou, i’ll do anything just—please,” 

“awh, s’fuckin’ cute,” he laughs, leaning back down to kiss you hungrily, making his goal to swallow you whole and fill you with every ounce of lust he has for you. kirishima’s mountainous frame looms over you, chest to chest as his teeth sink into your lower lip— pulling back while you desperately attempt to lick up into his mouth and suck in his devious tongue. “god, you’re so fuckin’ cute, baby, taste so good, so sweet.” spit slings between your eager mouths, drool running down your chins the messier you both become and as he gropes and pinches and tweaks at your sensitive chest, your own hands make the trek down his muscled back— the dull edge of your nails carving a red streaked patch down his flesh as well. 

your tongues dance messily with one another, a little out of sync for new lovers or the teenagers that you once were finally admitting your feelings for one another after all this time— truly proving to you that kirishima had waited. that there was no one else while you had been away, just as he’d told you earlier on. his hips rut against your arousal soaked panties, pressing against your fluttering cunt and riling him up beyond belief— both of you shudder as you practically ride his precum loaded tip, the dull head of it nudging your clit over and over again to the point where you’re scared you might cum to soon.

“eijirou,” you croak, needy and without shame— your soft hand darting between the bump and grind of your bodies to grasp at his thick, temperate shaft as it glides through the length of your cotton clad slit. “s-slow down…’m sensitive,” you breathe heavily into his mouth while both of you gasp into each other’s open mouths and share high-pitched moans, your chest rising and falling as if you’ve been running a marathon. his forehead, lightly doused with sweat, rests against yours as he pouts— leaning close to tug on your bottom lip.

his usually kind and bright ruby eyes are lust blown, the black in them nearly eclipsing the red colour. “but sweetness,” he whines, cock twitching in your hold as blood pulses through the pretty purple veins wrapped around it. “fuck, s-sweetness, ‘m barely holdin’ back here.” kirishima sounds like a broken man, more wrecked than you from only a little dry humping. his grip on your thighs tightens in anticipation, the broad and muscular man close to collapsing on top of you. 

“lemme touch you,” you whisper, voice silky smooth and sultry while you work your hand past the band of his sweats to get a better proximity to his hardness. “make you feel it,” your gentle fingers explore him, tracing over the thick veins on the underside of his length before forming a fist around the rest of him— creating the perfect sticky fleshlight for eijirou to fuck. he hisses, jutting his hips forward into your hand while the air tingles with a newfound desire to be close— to forget whatever bad blood had brewed between you both earlier on in the day.

wet, slick sounds fill the room, acting as a personalised soundtrack to jerking kirishima off. he leaks copious amounts of arousal, white and loose from his bright red tip coloured in a shade to rival his hair and eyes. his precum guides the movement of your hand despite the restriction from his waistband, slipping and sliding up and down his dick. saliva pools on the palette of your tongue as you gauge the sheer size of your childhood crush— he’s huge, swollen and fat with an oncoming orgasm, with the seed that weighs down his balls that swing with each rut of his hips.

the wild whine that resounds from deep within kirishima’s rock hard chest makes your cunt quiver, your juices darkening the crotch of your underwear. all the while, the redhead ravishes you pulling your atoms apart and putting them back together with just his touch— running from your thighs, over your hips and stopping just below your ribcage, thumbs sitting under the flesh of your breasts. “pretty girl, you’re g’nna be the death of me if ya keep jerkin’ me off like that,” he stutters out, breath condensing on spit shining top lip. it makes him throb knowing that it’s him, that did that to you— using his saliva as his claim over you. “ohhh fuck, just like that…god, i-i can’t.”

you feel a little powerful, breaking such a big and strong man down into nothing but a resolve of pathetic squeaks and hiccuped mewls. though, you fail to remember that you’re just a puppet on eijirou’s strings— he’s the master in this scenario, his large hands moving up to cup the entirety of your chest, groping them roughly as the feverishness of hips increases. without a second thought, he tweaks your nipples, brushes over them with the heat of your palm as if to make you as much of a mess as himself. levelling the playing field. 

though he’s hunched over you, kirishima falls like an angel with burning wings angel from up above and descends down on your clothed chest— ravenous teeth biting into your right sensitive and stimulated mound, hot mouth sucking on it while his free hand cruelly toys with the other. his strawberry tongue rolls languidly over your nipples, earning him those darling babyish cries from between your bruised lips and a squeeze to his dick— the sensation sending his eyes rolling far back into his skull. “d-don’t get too cocky, baby,” the redhead rasps nice and low despite his voice cracking like the slow burn of firewood. “‘m in charge r’member?” and he is, even if you pump his slick cock to your heart's content, he still dominates every corner of your mind. he still has mastery of your every waking thought, raunchy or not. kirishima owns you, whether you like it or not. 

without another word, he latches back onto you— biting and sucking at whatever he can like he’s teething, marking up your raw and covered flesh like a man starved of his last meal. you don’t dare to think of anything else, drinking up the sight of kirishima’s wet and sloppy cock in your hands instead, sure that his sweatpants are tainted with the preview of his impending high, a charcoal coloured patch forming where his clear and stringy arousal seeps through the fabric and dirties your hands with salacious sin. 

your watery eyes dart upwards to watch the man’s face, serene, pretty as he uses you…and in a way, you use him. a crutch for your emotional imbalances, a numbing drug for the pain lodged in your chest. eijirou kirishima is the visage of beauty that distracts you from the harsh, ugly reality of your daunting world— with fuzzy and contented eyes, ropes of his own drool connecting the roof of his mouth to his eager tongue and rose tinted cheeks that are coloured almost the same shade as the apple the snake offered to eve ( a perfect match ).

he’s forbidden, he’s a trap set out to get you— and you find yourself going against all the alarm bells ringing off in your head.

because you want him. you want to be wanted by him. 

“can ya do me a favour, darlin’?” eijirou shakes in your hold, crumbling as your thumb glides over the oozing slit on his tip before you circle it subtly. “think ya can make me cum? be so fuckin’ good f’me, hm?” they’re not questions, more like candy wrapped order and you follow them blindly— led head first by his alluring voice into a pool of honeyed praises with each syllable running through your ears, sending a shiver right down your spine and to the tips of your toes. “got so much f’you sweet girl…fuck, wanna give it all to you.”

when you nod— desperate to please him, the corners of kirishima’s lips twitch up into slow sick grin that you know shouldn’t make you melt, should strike fear into your heart, before he kisses you tenderly, letting you know how good you are for him.

your free hand joins its partner beneath the layers of eijirou’s clothes, letting him fuck through both of your fists as if they’re the tight, velvety depth of your cute little pussy clenching around him. “are you close, ei?” you ask him softly, pleadingly with a growing appetite to see him weak above you. the pace of your fingers switches from fast to tantalisingly slow, and the changes in stimulation only serve to bring kirishima closer and closer to his high— his chest heaving and speech pattern slurred, like he’s losing touch with reality and the last remainders of his sanity. 

it doesn’t take much for him to tumble over the edge, just a small whimper of his name on your cherry bitten lips has kirishima seconds away from cumming— hard. he pushes your hands away, hazy and swaying on his feet as kirishima takes over on tugging one off on his fat cock. “lemme see that pussy baby, need’a see her, w-wanna—!” his rambled words taper off into a strangled groan as you lift your night shirt high and yank your soiled panties to the side with freed hands— revealing your warm shiny mound to his greedy gaze. “f-fuck!”  he can’t help it, how much he cums— white hot seed spewing from his aching cock all over your thighs, your shirt and your adorable twitching sex, so wet and sticky all for him. his orgasm shakes the mountain that is eijirou kirishima like an earthquake, and much like a rockslide, he tumbles over you— humping the creaminess between your thighs like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

kirishima doesn’t stop cumming, his heavy load thick and lubing you up while he pushes his milky shaft through your bare folds, convulsing over you on the desk as your pussy lips cling to him— tied to his shaft by your syrupy nectar and the remnants of his orgasm. “oh…eijirou,” you sigh, barely holding back your hips as they circle upwards to meet his, grinding your naked mound against his— the scent of sex beginning to hang in the fizzling air between you both. “w-we should grab a condom… or somethin’…” you add half heartedly, the rawness of his cock slotting perfectly against you replacing all rationale in your mind as you commit the feeling to memory.

“but i like you like this darlin’, so close, so wet up against me…makes me wanna fuck you raw,” kirishima says like a petulant child, blissed out and already throbbing with life again— gearing up for another round. “don’t you wanna feel me that way? lemme stretch you out, get nice ‘n fuckin’ deep…ohmyfuckin’ god, y’feel like heaven, baby...” just being pressed up against you like this makes his dick spurt tiny streams of seed, eijirou’s eyes screwing shut as he pushes himself past his overstimulation to grind into your addictive heat  some more.

your jaw goes slack, muscles giving out on you as you collapse against the desk— an electric current of pleasure humming through your body each time eijirou catches your clit, pushing his milky seed through the length of your puffy pussy and letting it stick between your folds. “w-we can’t…” you weakly protest through your clouded judgement. “‘m s’pposed to be responsible.”

shaking his head, kirishima pouts down at you. “baby please…, please,” there’s no denying that eijirou knows his way around people, maybe a little more so than you. he knows just what to say to a customer to get a better price for his work, knows how to charm someone into doing exactly what he wants with just a smile. “won’t put it in, we’ll just keep goin’ just this,” he pants, slowly drawing his hips back until the only thing that connects him to your sopping cunt is strings of your mixed arousals. “we’ll get’cha plan b in the mornin’ too…please, i’ll do anythin’,” pushing back against you, it’s clear that he knows how to get to you, predicts your next move in every game of chess you play. so when he grins down at you dopily, noses your cheek softly and almost romantically, you can’t help but give in. 

“p-promise, eiji?” you ask him wetly, with big bambi eyes and your lips caught between your teeth. both of you cry out in unison when the repair man reaches between your sweaty bodies to take hold of his cock— making sure to circle the bulbous tip into the swollen nub peeking out from between your folds.  

he coos when your puckered and clenching hole gushes from the new stimulation— calling out to him, begging to be filled and fucked. “yeah yeah, i promise,” he says under his breath distantly, stretching his thumb up to spread your pussy, groaning from deep within his chest at the raunchy view. it’s a picture of scandal— viscous, treacle-like tides of your nectar, like dew drops on an early morning, run down the length of your slit and drip to the desk below.

no one would believe kirishima if he told the world he had you like this, and part of him selfishly wants to keep you writhing against his hot and heavy dick all to himself, anyway. “god…ain’t i lucky, got the cutest lil’ cunt in the world right here. all mine.” 

“all yours,” you slur back and trip over each word, throwing an ambrosial and avid look kirishima’s way— telling him without words how much you crave him. “move, please.” your hands take purchase on the curve of his taut ass so that you can lazily grind into one another— your hips rocking fluidly like a boat on waves. you feel like you’re going fucking insane beneath kirishima, but god’d make him a liar if he said he didn’t feel the same. he chases after your sweltering, soused sex like a dog after a bone— pushing forward when you pull back and vice versa.

“baby…y’so wet, can you hear that?” kirishima simpers, his dick slotting against you perfectly,  both of you moving with an air of vigour and restlessness— grasping and tugging at one another wherever and whenever you can. “so nasty, so sweet. s’adorable!” he praises you over the crude sound of your sexes echoing into the night air, each sugar-coated word running through you like honey in your system.

he cups your neck while your eyes roll back in an attempt to keep your blurry gaze on him, ensure that you can watch the man fall apart on top of you, so you know he only gets like this for you. so you remember you can only get like this for him. “you look like you’re about to cum, darlin’… must be so close, huh?”

the feeling of your orgasm twists in your lower tummy, the pressure building right above your pelvis at a painfully slow pace. a gargled gasp and the pinch of your nails into his flesh will tell kirishima that— though he’d earned it, tapping the weight of his shaft against your spasming pussy to test his theory. “mhm…so you are about t’cum?” he guesses, the vibration from his condescending gripes rattling you beneath him. “gonna make a pretty mess of me, yeah?” 

“uhuh,” you sigh out, voice increasing in octave while your tongue darts out to wet your lips and the tips of your ears start to burn. “‘m right there, s-shit! don’t stop—!” 

“don’t cum.” one second, eijirou’s teasing your clit— dangling your orgasm right in front of you like a carrot in front of an animal, the next he’s plunging the monstrosity he calls a cock deep within your warmth— letting her welcome him home all while telling you to fight your body’s instincts. telling you not to cum. “you cum, ‘nd i fuckin’ stop, you got that?” the way he stretches you out is delicious, stinging at the rim of your entrance with a delightful twinge of pain. he’s lucky you’re so fucked out, wet too, otherwise you would have chewed him out for forcing his hefty girth all the way into you and without a condom too. “g’nna hold it f’me baby, promise it’ll feel so much fuckin’ better…” 

losing his composure, the repairman sets a brutal tone to the pace of his hips— jack hammering into your poor swollen pussy without a second thought, groaning loud and proud over the desk that creaks under the burden of your animalistic ministrations. “k-kirishima!” you wail in surprise, tears biting at your waterline, spilling out onto your salt licked cheeks. “y-you’re bein’ unfair!” everything you say is hiccuped out and warbled, shaken up by the forceful thrusts kirishima gives to your lush and goey sex. 

“you’re such a crybaby, gorgeous, i—fuck— only asked you to hang on fer a lil’bit longer,” he snaps back through harsh breaths, throwing his hips back and forth, back and forth— cock smearing it’s precum along the pleasure spots on your ribbed and overstimulated walls. “thought you wanted to be my good little baby, now you’re bein’ a brat? now you can’t wait? such a fuckin’ pitty,” this kiri is meaner, harsher, but still tops up your lungs with a blistering lust in explosive shades of red and orange.

though they hurt so good, it feels even better too, there’s not a moment where you don’t feel filled to the brim with bliss, the redhead’s huge dick repeatedly jamming against your g-spot, lightly pressing into your tummy— at least that’s what it feels like.

eijirou is bigger than you could have ever imagined, but you should have realised that from the moment you couldn’t wrap your hand around the entirety of his cock. he’s weighted, chubby against the sugar-glazed stickiness lining your gummy walls the further he presses into you. if you squeeze down on him, douse him in your candied essence then kirishima shakes like a leaf above you— a mountain brought down to his knees by an earthquake as his uneven breathing prickles at the shell of your ears. the raunchy sound crackling across your brain like electrical static. 

usually, the redhead is a man of restraint, patience and kindness— but he’s done holding himself back from indulging in the treasure he’s been hunting for most of his life. you. “i wanna move, darlin’,” he seethes through gritted teeth with your bodies flush and close, pelvis to pelvis when he reaches the hilt. your cunt clamps down on him so hard that he feels like he can barely move, suffocated by the selfishness of your creamy hole. he’s barely keeping himself together at this point, pulled another step closer to the edge by every ripple of your sex around him. “s’fuckin’ tight, almost like you want me to fuck you open…”

something on your face changes, the slightest twitch of your features indicating your desperation. your brows are knitted, lips parted and doe eyes dazzling bright— it makes kirishima grin, lick his lips like he sees right through you, right down to the cells and DNA that make up who you are. make you a needy little bitch who’s hips buck up to coax more of his pulsating, scorching hot cock deep into your guts. “i want you t’do whatever you want with me, eiji,” you hiccup pathetically, oozing nectar down both his thighs and balls. 

“what a sweet expression…” he mumbles fondly, using his brute strength to manhandle your calves up and over his wide and toned shoulders— the pair of you choking on pitiful groans with how deep he gets. “y’makin’ me wanna kiss you again.” with both of you positioned like this, kirishima drops his entire weight onto you and pulls his length back from the snugness of your heat, simultaneously diving back in for a lewd and uncoordinated kiss. you yelp at the loss, but your eyes roll back when his hips surge forward and kirishima fills you up to brim in one powerful thrust. 

the desk squeals louder than you do, overpowered by the force that eijirou used to brutally pound into you— fat drops of his precum beading along your ripe insides, the ones that welcome him home with every push and pull of your sexes dancing together. your pussy froths at the base of him, as does your mouth as it slots against his— sharing moans and swapping spit, tongues rolling over one another’s. it makes you twitch, makes you scale your nails down his back possessively knowing that he waited this long to ravage you like this, even if he’d lied and hurt you just to get you to take his dick.

“s-say it,” you fight through the thick drool on your tongue and the tears that burn in your throat to whisper to him. at first, the redhead doesn’t hear you— hyper focused on his large hands spreading your pussy lips apart so he can spit onto your mound, watching the crude mixture disappear inside of you. “eijirou.” you grunt a little more sternly, speaking over the wet pap pap pap of his dick plunging in and out of you. “you’re mine. n-no one else’s. you’re only like this for me.” cupping his cheeks, you pin his blood ruby stare onto you, watching as it softens only just.

kirishima falters, the rhythm of his hips stuttering just a little. “‘m yours, darlin’,” he says genuinely, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as if to keep you from slipping between his fingers. “f’as long as you want me.” he pulls at your heart strings, pulls little whines from deep within your chest, eijirou kirishima stretches you both physically and mentally beyond your limits to the point where everything feels so good that it hurts. you’re afraid of what lies on the other end, what waits for you after all this blinding and mind numbing ecstasy is over— you don’t want him to stop.

“i gotta cum, sweetness… ‘m close,” he huffs against your shoulder, wisps of his red mane sticking to your damp, sweaty skin. he shifts, resting a hand against the wall behind you for leverage— ravaging you with the last of his energy driven into frantic, hungry movements. “you r’member what i said right? n-no fuckin’ cummin’ until i say so.” 

gone is your darling kirishima, his warmth replaced by the beast of lies and lust. “fuck…’m so close, gonna cum all over this lil’cunt,” he drawls loud enough to wake anyone in a ten mile radius, swaying with you in sacriligeous dance, speeding up to chase his own high. almost leaving you forgotten and left behind.

“s-slow down eiji, i can’t— can’t hold back if you don’t—!” 

you squeal out, but he doesn’t care, lost in his own pleasure. “maybe i’ll fuck it into ya, fill you so good…” the redhead simpers when you sieze up and trap him inside of you. the dam bursts before you can push him off, his fingers shakily snaking between your bodies to roll over your clit as he creams your insides— potent seed clinging to every ridge and soft spot of your inner pussy. 

tainting you. 

ruining you. 

“s-shit. sorry baby.” he mumbles, never letting up or slowing down despite how sensitive he is— rubbing at you until you’re rendered weak and useless, your own release crashing over you in a sudden wave. “c’mon…let go for me… that’s it, good girl.” 

you claw at his back hard enough to draw blood the entire time. you want him to hurt, just like he had done so with you.

“pretty girl,” his voice cuts through the fog settling over your mind. “let’s…let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? do you wanna shower or i could grab a cloth and—“ 

it amazes you, how he can switch between personalities so easily— make an emotional mess of you one second and treat you like you’re the only person in the world the next. “i just want to sleep, eiji,” you say numbly as he carefully sets you back down, as if you’re made of glass. 

he frowns, for only a split second, replacing it with a tight lipped smile. “at least let me take you to the bathroom, i don’t want you getting sick.” 

“fine, red.” you oblige, letting the man lift you into his arms to clean you up— an uneasy sleepiness taking over you as you follow his command, helplessly once again.

if there’s one thing you know for certain, it’s that eijirou kirishima has always been sweet.

perhaps it’s in his nature, hardwired into each individual fibre of his DNA, to be as kind and as caring as he— like he was genetically coded from conception to some incredibly gentle giant. a man who would cherish his partner or romantic interest above all else, or maybe it was down to his two mothers and the way they raised him. 

but being a person who’s experienced all sides of the dice, who’s had to read into the eyes of others to know what they’re really thinking about you— you can feel that something is eerily off with kirishima. despite the night of passion that you’d shared, succumbing to days, if not weeks of want directed towards one another— you still feel somewhat afraid. he stays over most nights, and you fall into the same routine in the sheets, waking up to mornings of regret and staring at the ceiling when he kisses the pulse point on your neck. you feel scared. like he might try to rip your lifeline out every time he does. 

eijirou is sweet, you have to remind yourself when he randomly squeezes your hip during the day, passing by to work on repairs on another part of the house. eijirou is not bad. he would never cause harm to you, but the thought still lingers in the back of your mind every time you catch him lingering around corners; or following you around the house only to surprise you with affections that don’t feel real— don’t feel like him. perhaps kirishima was never nice, never sweet or never good— and you’re only just seeing through his gentlemanly facade.

your rose tinted window is beginning to crack. 

if he hadn’t been so avoidant of your questions about izuku, about what you need to know for your book, maybe you could see past the true parts of him that begin to show. for now, you shift uncomfortably underneath his coal furnace heated limbs after another night tangled in the sheets with kirishima, his arm is slung heavily over your waist as you struggle to find your phone amongst the mess you’ve created. 

the device chimes with two notifications, though early in the morning and you grunt with both annoyance and success once you pull it out from beneath your pillows and the screen blares blue light into your face. 

mina ashido ( publicist beloved ) at 9:45AM: hey love, just checking in to see how the draft for that first chapter is coming along, gonna need an update soon x

reminders app at 10:27AM: izuku’s anniversary. 

your vision swims, that sickly feeling of grief flooding your veins like thick black tar— suffocating you from within your own body. the anniversary of your brother’s death has never slipped your mind like this before, it usually arrives weeks before the actual date does, a mental reminder creeping up on you like that wolf in the children’s fable of little red riding hood— but this year, you’d almost forgotten the event.

the tragedy that changed the trajectory of your life forever. 

maybe you can place the blame on your mother, like you do for most things, blame her for not holding on long enough to see another torturous year without izuku by your side— torture her for a little longer with the loss of her golden child. 

it can still be her fault that you forgot, if you try hard enough. after all, she’s the one who decided to kick the bucket, too, making it all about her grief— yet again.

“that’s today?” kirishima utters from over your shoulder, voice laced with sleep with his gaze settled on the digital glow from your phone. you’d failed to notice him wake up, too engrossed in the notification to feel his movements around you. “are ya okay?” 

shaking your head, you shrug and allow yourself to use the redhead as your crutch and as your comfort— no matter how confused you might feel about him right now, you know that he’s been through this loss too and deserves some solace like you do. so you lean into his grip as you speak. “i had no idea that it was going to be today either,” your voice is the most devoid of emotion it’s ever been. at least to eijirou it is. you look empty, feel lifeless in his arms and he hugs you close to try alleviate the shockwaves of pain running through you. “i think… i think i wanna go see him. his grave.” 

“you sure? ya want me to come along or somethin’?” 

“no, i should go alone.” shaking your head no again, you turn to look eijirou dead in the eye. “it’s been a while since i’ve been and i’m sure you go to see him all the time.” eijirou stiffens and loosens his hold on you— almost as if he’s revealing a part of himself that he doesn’t quite want you to see. taking off his mask as the rose tinted glass above you both threatens to shatter once more. “but we can do something together when i get back, a family dinner? like the ones we used to have. i think izuku would like that.” 

“for sure,” eijirou responds quickly, perking up again and pressing kisses up your arm in an attempt to keep you calm. you almost hate that it works, that he plays you for a fool even though you know he holds secrets above your head. little white lies that he feeds you just to keep you sedated— you hate that at this moment, it’s still not enough to steer you away from your sweet old eijirou kirishima. that you don’t distrust him enough yet, despite what your dead mother might have believed about him and your brother’s death. “i could cook his favourites after ‘m done re-paintin’ some of the rooms today.” 

you seemed to have forgotten that eijirou stuck around out of convenience to work on the house and not just to keep you company and ravage your body night after night as a distraction from your discoveries or anguish— perking up too at the mention of paint. 

“oh, you finally picked out colours then?” 

“mhm, though some are mostly different shades’a green.” 

“why green?” 

“t’honour him, was his colour after all.” kirishima says simply, checking your face for permission for his idea. 

the colour green is supposed to represent health, the shade of life. your brother’s colour. and you despise that, how it’ll be immortalised in the walls of your childhood home… because to you, none of it is true. green when associated with deku means death, it means sickness, it means envy of the happy life others around you lead when yours fell apart as soon as he was taken from you. 

green walls wouldn’t even begin to honour the person you loved most. 

but it was his. it was present in his glistening and curious eyes, his unruly and wild curly hair. it was definitely his. 

so, you push through the pain and you pull yourself together enough to offer kirishima a half-hearted and appreciative smile— instead of screaming the protests your lonely heart sings. 

“thank you eiji, i’m sure izuku would love that.” 

kirishima insists that you take his truck up to the graveyard. it’s a little ways away out of town, up one of the rockier trails where lost loved ones can quite literally rest in peace. overnight, it had snowed up to your ankle, and there was absolutely no way your little sports car-convertible had the strength to pump itself uphill in this weather. you weren’t sure if it was worth the risk either. 

your brother was a sentimental person, that much you remembered. he found something to cherish in almost everything he touched, appreciated gifts no matter how big or how small— just knowing that you’d thought about him was enough. that’s how you knew not to splurge on the overly priced bouquets of flowers in the whiteridge gift shop, how you figured something homemade for his grave would be better than the half-assed and plastic-wrapped wilted flowers sold in the convenience store next to liquid gold.

so, with this in mind, you stop kiri’s truck just outside of the woods— trudge through the thick snow and black ice in search of something…something thoughtful.

wildflowers.

you gather sweet violets in the shade of a rich purple, barren strawberry for their delicate white petals and the gentle blush pink of butterbur. each flower, growing wild and unruly at the foot of overarching pine trees or huddled together, reminds you of him— the way his curls couldn’t be tamed, the way his star-spotted cheeks still held warmth despite the bite of cold in the winter seasons. they all somehow connect back to izuku. you don’t know how long you spend picking flowers as you make your way up to the graveyard, your fingers growing stiff with the frosty air, your nose sore and chest a little tight from the oncoming cold you’re about to catch…but you can’t find it in you to care. 

izuku would have loved this, you know that, you can practically hear the quiver of gratefulness in his youthful voice— see the smile stretching across his lips and the fresh stream of tears in his eyes. ‘f-for me?’ he would have said to you. ‘t-thank you so much!’ he would have added. because izuku was not a materialistic person, he was not one for gestures of grandeur; he'd always want something from the heart. you can only hope that your small bouquet of children from nature is enough for him, enough to make him feel loved even while he rests. 

you love him so much, you miss him more and you even hate him just a little— for leaving you alone so soon. 

by the time you reach the top of the hill, melted snow has infiltrated your boots and soaked through to your socks— you’re shuddering, you’re teary eyed but you’re there and a little more ready to see his stone. kirishima had told you that he hadn’t visited your brother in a while, so the headstone might have needed a little sprucing up but when you arrive, it’s already clean.

there’s not a cobweb in sight, it looks like it’s been scrubbed of any grime brought on by the countless types of weather that falls upon the little town of whiteridge and there’s a bouquet of flowers that look similar to the ones you clutch tightly in your right hand sitting on the ledge— a box of steaming pork katsu right beside it. 

izuku’s favourite.

approaching the grave, you drag your fingers along the engraved cursive of your brother’s name— brows crinkling and face sagging with a muddled lour. a twig snaps behind you and between the snowflakes that fall hard but slow, you manage to make out tufts of straw blonde hair poking out from beneath a thick cable-knit hat and a pair of blazing crimson eyes. “hey,” as he gets closer, you can just about follow the movement of his lips as words form around them, the man from the bar towering over you— his hand with a flask in it, outstretched. “want some green tea? ya look like a shakin’ purse dog.” bakugou offers so casually as if running into him at the grave of your dead brother isn’t the strangest thing in the world. 

a beat of silence passes, filled only with the wind's wails— a symphony of pathetic howls and cries that only your mother could recreate. when you don’t respond, katsuki shrugs with the rustling of his winter coat and unscrews the cap of his flask, pouring a cup of tea out for you and shoving it between your nimble fingers. 

he almost thinks that you’re frozen in place, before the piping hot mug thaws at your state of shock. “what the fuck are you doing here?” you blink up at him with snowflakes in your lashes, a warm puff of breath condensating on your lips from how much your chest heaves— annoyance and bewilderment rattling about amongst the sparse oxygen in your lungs, from being so high up.

bakugou looks at you like he’s holding back— pained as he debates on what to tell you. “it’s deku’s anniversary—“ 

“izuku’s.” you snap back harshly, correcting him, snarling and baring your teeth like a provoked and angry dog. “first the bar, then my mom’s place and now here. it’s like you’re obsessed with my family or somethin’. you don’t— did you even know him? my brother?” it’s irrational the way you speak to him, using your heightened grief to lash out at a man you barely know. regardless, bakugou stands his ground— let’s you vent at him over the steaming drink he’d been so kind as to pour you. “it’s not like you were even friends—“

but every man has his limits, his invisible line before the point at which he snaps. “that’s a damn lie.” he barks back a little too honestly and with just as much force, words piercing through the blizzard and your force field of anguish. “we were more than friends…fuckin’ brothers and i—“ everything he had planned to say, dies on the tip of katsuki’s tongue, lost in the wind as if he can’t tell you anymore. as if he’s too far over that invisible line.

“and you miss him,” you finish for him, gesturing to the small display of flowers the blonde had set up— crouching a little so yours can join them. “how…how did you know him?” prying gently, you think back to the photos of them that your mother had hidden— he and kirishima and your brother— and take advantage of the vulnerability clinging to katsuki like the heavy snowfall. 

“we met at school, like everyone else did.” bakugou fixes his blood red stare onto your other hand clasped around the mug and nudges at it after a few moments, prompting you to take a sip and not saying anymore until the temperate liquid slides down your throat and earthy tones spread across your tongue. he notices it then, the satisfied twitch of your face amongst the wretched snow, and continues— knowing that you’re warmed up, doing what izuku would have done for you.

“he was the only kid that spoke t’me after the town practically fuckin’ villainised me. a freakin’ kid.” he laughs bitterly, nervous fingers tapping the cool marble of izuku’s headstone. “not that it mattered, was the drug addict’s son, all of whiteridge hated that. hated me.” then he looks at you, right at you— as if he’s reading deep into your soul and picking out the parts of your brother he sees in you. “‘cept for deku. he showed me kindness, hung out with me when other kids wouldn’t…” 

“he even got’cha ma t’look take care’a me from time to time. s’why i stayed with her after everythin’. we really were friends,” the blonde continues, telling you this like it was a promise. “we all were. ‘nd i shoulda done more t’save him.”

perking up, you grab bakugou’s wrist. “if you’d done what? what did you say?” 

“n-nothin’,” he yanks his hand back, walls building back up and sheltering his grief stricken heat by pulling his sleeve back over it. “i just meant, that maybe if i had been there f’deku like he was from me…he wouldn’t have died. not like that.” 

to hear someone else take the blame you’ve been bearing all these years, to be gifted with the knowledge that they’d been loved and cared for by izuku too is enough to bring you to tears— and you can’t even remember the last time you cried like this. crystalline and salty droplets strike a hot and stinging path down the apples of your cheeks as you realise. you are not the only person this town wounded in the war, you’re not the only person whiteridge viciously chewed up and spat back out. for once, you are not alone in the pain that you feel. 

you might not have remembered bakugou from back then and you might have even played your hand in his suffering, but if he truly meant a lot to your brother, then he now meant a lot to you too. more than a hook-up. a friend.

“‘m sure izuku would be happy that you came to see him today, you even brought his favourite.” you offer, reaching out to the blonde in the storm of grief— letting him know that he has you too.

“was gonna share it with ‘im, yanno just fer old time’s sake,” bakugou quips in response, relieved to have the topic changed. he fiddles with the box of the convenience store version of your brother’s favourite curry and passes you the set of wooden chopsticks it comes with before closing his eyes and putting his hands together to thank whoever’s out there for the meal. “but ‘m sure the nerd wouldn’t mind if i split with ya too.” 

bakugou peeks an eye open to look at you from the side, admiring how the blanket of settled powder white illuminates your features. “i don’t think he would mind, izuku loved to share,” mimicking the blonde, you clap your hands together and thank izuku for the food, for the memories and for bringing you someone to walk through the rest of your loss with. “and he had this weird habit of bringing people together,” snapping the chopsticks and rubbing them together, you take a mouthful of the food, humming at the warmth that embraces you— as if you’re being held by your brother himself. “in the most unconventional of ways.” 

you let the blonde take the dish and utensils from you— parting your lips when he holds another bite to them before feeding himself. “like gettin’ us to sleep together, sweetheart?” he chuckles, light and full of life— as if he’s feeling the same pain relief you are. 

“alright hot-shot, this is my dead brother you’re talking about.” you joke back, pulling another sweet symphony of laughter from bakugou. “what’s so funny, hah?”

“you mockin’ me, sweetheart?” katsuki cocks his head at you, swiping a thumb over the corner of your mouth— wiping away some leftover sauce.

“what if i am, sweetheart?”

at that, bakugou scrunches up his nose adorably, nearly killing you in the process, and pinches your cheek hard— tugging the flesh away from your face until you apologise between fits of giggles and squeals, begging for the blonde to let you go. 

the rest of your visit to izuku’s grave is spent in much higher spirits. you understand now what it means to share your grief with someone else. yourself and katsuki spend hours by your brother’s side, reminiscing, laughing and crying— drinking through the green tea flask to warm your souls until it’s finished and your fingertips are close to freezing off. 

taking your fingers between his, bakugou rubs the heat of his hands over yours— blowing some breath over them as he tenderly looks to you between the slowing snowfall. “yer freezin’ up, doll,” he murmurs, pressing his lightly chapped lips to the backs of your knuckles. “do ya need a lift back t’the house? i think deku would have my head from beyond the grave if i left’ya to walk back on yer own.”

your shoulders raise as you shrink in on yourself, not because you’re cold…but because of the way the blonde looks at you. as if you remind him of all things good in the world, as if you’re special and important and all things wonderful wrapped up in a gift with a pretty little bow. no one’s looked at you that way for as long as you can remember, not since your brother at least. 

katsuki looks at you as if you matter.

“uh, no,” you start, clearing your throat as you shy away from his intense stare. “i drove out here.”

“in that shitty ‘lil sports car ya got?”

screwing your face up into a pout, you send a playful glare his way. “you leave duchess outta this!” 

“pfft,” bakugou sucks his teeth, but grins at you and facetiously pets your head, nonetheless. “whatever.” 

“i took kirishima’s truck on the way up,” the blonde grimaces, visibly wincing at your words. “he insisted because my baby duchess couldn’t handle the snow and iced up roads…but if you drove too, you could follow me back to the house?” you explain calmly, pulling bakugou’s attention back onto you and not the fact that you’re so buddy-buddy with the aforementioned redhead. “kirishima and i are having a dinner for deku and…we—i’d love it if you came to celebrate him.” 

the man before you doesn’t respond, still eyeing you with that same intense and calculating stare before he shrugs, slinging his arm over his bent knee. “what’s in it fer me?” 

you smile at that, remembering his words from your night at the hotel. “a free meal and spending some extra time with me?” 

“fine,” he says, standing and outstretching his hand for you to take so that he can help you up. “sounds like a deal, princess.” 

“hey darlin’, is that you? you back already? i was just about to finish up with the—“

kirishima’s voice fails him when he notices you standing in the doorway to the kitchen sheepishly, your jacket folded over your arms neatly while bakugou shrugs his off from behind you. subtle scents of fresh paint and spices that once filled the room quickly become mellowed out by tones of testosterone and quiet rage that both men exude. “hi eiji…i hope you don’t mind but i brought one of izuku’s strays over for dinner…” setting your clothes to the side, you step forward to greet the now brooding redhead, but he looks straight past you— his face hardened while his usually sparkling ruby eyes darken with the clouds of an oncoming storm. “eijirou…” you whisper with a little more firmness, only to be shrugged off once more.

“what is he doing here?” he asks, keeping his voice short despite the anger skimming just below the surface of his skin, particles of the emotion vibrating against kirishima’s vocal chords.

innocently, albeit mockingly, katsuki tilts his head to the side— rows of his pearly white teeth on display as he smirks slow. “you got cotton between ya ears or somethin’ red? she invited me over fer dinner,” he juts his chin out to gesture towards you as you turn away from kirishima, exasperated with both of their behaviours. “‘m here to celebrate izuku’s anniversary.”

kirishima rolls his eyes and tugs on the sleeves of his green-chequered button up  even though they’re already rolled up snug on his convex biceps. “celebrate.” he throws down the towel that’s slung over his shoulder, snarling his words with an incredulous tone. “you weren’t even friends with izuku!”

“shut the hell up, y’don’t know a damn thing, red!” bakugou fired back, equally as riled up as the other man in the room— his own wrath bubbling over like the soup kirishima has going on the stove. “talkin’ shit about friendships like what you had with him even meant somethin—“

“oh, i call bullshit, bakugou.”

“yeah? ya sure that stencha shit ain’t comin’ from you?”

you feel as though you’re in the middle of a war zone, dazed and confused at the two people who seemingly meant a lot to your brother ( as far as the picture you had of them went ). they fire worded missiles and shrapnel insults at each other, not caring that you stand in the middle of no-man's land, seconds away from being hurt— too caught up in whatever conflict that’s brewed between them over the years.

“will you two just shut it?” you screech into the midst of the battle, eyes screwed shut and fists balled at your sides. “what’s the matter with you guys? arguing like this on the day your close friend died.” both men reach out to touch you, silenced and apologetic but you shake them off, inhaling deep to calm yourself down. “yanno, i have this nagging feeling that the two of you were supposed to mean something to izuku, that he cared for you both so…profoundly…and i have no idea what happened between you both, but i know that he would hate it— hate this.” opening your eyes slowly, you look between kirishima and bakugou with helplessness and a pleading gaze. “so please, just for today. can you try to get along for him? and if not for izuku, then for me?”

a tension lays thick and suffocatingly over the three of you, so much so that you’re sure not even the sharpest of butter knives would be able to cut through it. yet, slowly but surely, the redhead and the blonde nod their heads, grumbling out their agreements. 

“yeah, of course, darlin’.”

“whatever ya say, sweetheart.” 

though, both of them fail to admit that they’ve only agreed for a selfish reason— only agreeing because of you.

the rest of the meal goes without ( and you say this lightly ) a hitch, aside from the few snide remarks bakugou makes about kirishima’s cooking and the way that the taller redhead barges him back in response. they, at least, try to be on their best behaviour when you begin clearing up after your meal, three sets of dishes and cutlery all stacked up to the left of the sink with bakugou on washing and kirishima on drying. 

“see,” you coo, watching the boys work dutifully side by side. “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

passing a bowl to kirishima, katsuki shakes his hands of the apple-scented suds on them and grabs another, grumbling and he does so. “yeah, i guess,” he grunts with an irritated tick to his actions. “the food weren’t half bad, shitty hair.”

“neither are you, asshole.” the other responds, running a tea towel over the water droplets on the bowl.

“what’cha say t’me?”

“what’s the matter, bakugou, y’got cotton between your ears?”

sighing again, you find yourself stepping between them both before fists are swung and break up the fight with a bribe. “okay, okay, while you boys play nice, imma go sift through my mom’s stuff and see if i can find a place to call for dessert,” you tell them, pushing yourself from the dining table to leave the room. “be good.”

and as soon as you’re gone, the claws come out.

keeping his voice low, eijirou is the first to pounce, practically tossing the dish he was drying into a nearby cupboard to point an accusing finger in your other companion’s face. “the fuck is yer game, bakugou? what the hell are you doin’ here? we promised to never speak to each other ag—“ the bulking redhead hardly ever gets like this, hardly ever feels the urge to put his hands on someone else— thats not how he was raised…but looking at the blonde before him drives him crazy and up the walls, his piping hot blood carrying vexed hormones straight through the logic in his brain.

“you think i wanna be here, red?” katsuki snaps back and cuts his rival off with stinging words, bearing his fangs, showing the pink of his gums. “the only reason i came was for her.” that much is true, after everything that’s happened between them, katsuki bakugou wouldn’t have been caught within a ten mile radius of this red haired jerk. 

“her? since when did ya give a fuck about anyone aside from yourself?” the whole idea is entertaining to kirikshima…the idea that the brooding blonde could possibly care for someone outside of his own being. it’s practically laughable, a joke so unheard of anyone would cackle the first time they heard it.

scrunching up his nose, nostrils flared—bakugou jeers back at the younger male, throwing the sponge he’d been using to wash up into the sink in a fit full of pent up irritation “yanno that’s real fuckin’ rich comin’ from you, asshole.” 

eijirou hisses back, refusing to back down in this fight for who’s right. “fuck you, katsuki, you were never supposed to come back, you got some damn nerve bein’ around her.”

“well unlike you, she’s got more reason t’trust me over anyone else in this fuckin’ town! even over you. ya don’t deserve her, you don’t deserve half the shit you got.” katsuki’s words are like acid, singeing right through eijirou’s supposedly unbreakable skin. they hit him right where it hurts the most, in his strong heart that beats for you. the girl he’s loved since before he even really knew what that meant and what it entailed. 

eijirou moves before he thinks, acting on instinct as his fist suddenly collides with katsuki’s face— stunning them both. bakugou barely has time to recoil, blood oozing thickly from his now busted lip before the redhead grabs him by the collar— seething directly in his face. “and you do?” he whispers through gritted teeth. “you’re nothin’ but a lowlife, a sad lil’ man livin’ on the out-skirts of town ‘cause no one’s given a fuck ‘bout’ya since your precious old lady died.” the back and forth between the two men never dies down, like a continuous game of tug of war with both of them pulling as hard as they can, giving the other burns from the rope in the process. 

seeing who can cause the other the most pain.

“you take that shit back, eijirou. she was like a mother to us. you know that.” bakugou’s voice wobbles, near crying out like a wounded animal.

“ah, so you’d still defend the woman, even after everything she put her through.” your childhood friend, he’s talking about you and the suffering your mother put you through— but neither man can tell if it's because he cares for you, or if it's to put the blonde through another round of mental agony.

“and you’d still keep on lyin’ to her, even if it meant costin’ her feelin’s instead of tellin’ her the truth!” he barks venomously. 

“what truth?” interjecting softly, you re-enter the kitchen with your phone in hand, the dial tone echoing from the device. “who’s feelings?”

bakugou is the first to say your name. “you’re back.”

“y-yeah, i found a place to order from…i just came to ask what either of you wanted,” you trail off. “what’s going on, you guys?’

you must look scared because both men relax their stances, worry cascading over two sets of features. “n-nothin’ gorgeous, we were just talkin’, s’all good,” kirishima says, using that sickly sweet tone that makes your skin crawl, the one he uses to play pretend and act like nothing’s wrong. “right, bakugou?”

the blonde looks over eijirou with disbelief, failing to fall for his nice guy facade where you usually do. “fuck you.” he spits, pushing kirishima away from him. “fuck this shit, ‘m leaving.”

“w-wait, katsuki!” 

“i shouldn’t have even come here,” he brushes you off, grabbing his coat as he curses under his breath. “i knew this shit was a bad idea, can’t fuckin’ be around him when he lies like that.”

eijirou moves to defend himself, but you catch katsuki by the sleeve desperately, searching his face for answers. “eiji wouldn’t lie to me...and please, stop being vague, i just want to know what’s going on,” you exclaim, equally as desperate as when you’d grabbed ahold of him.

“get off’a me!”

“don’t talk to her like that, bakugou.”

“i thought i told you, shitty hair, fuck. off.” katsuki froths like a rabid dog, pulling away from you both.

reaching out for him again, you try your best to plead with the man from the bar. “what’s the truth? eijirou would never lie to me!”

sparing you a glance, his eyes bore deep into your soul, reading you— looking for something you can’t see. “do ya trust him?” you hang back before nodding ‘yes’ in response. “do ya trust me?”

your throat bobs, an uncomfortable soundlessness feasting on the oxygen in the room. do you trust him? “i-i…” you hesitate to admit your truth. “i hardly know you, bakugou. kiri…he— we grew up together, he’s always been there for me.”

“and where was he these last couple years, hah?” bakugou laughs coldly when you don’t reply. “exactly. but that don’t matter, does it? as long as he puts his dick in ya t’keep y’quiet at night, you’ll keep on believin’ whatever bullshit he feeds you, ain’t that right, sweetheart?” he sends a heated glare over your shoulder. “right, kirishima?”

“i think you need to leave.” the other male voices from behind you, stern, level.

bakugou looks back down at you, waiting for you to wake up, offering you his metaphorical hand to shake yourself from this nightmare…but no matter what suspicions you hold to kirishima— you know him. you’ve known him all your life, and you’d be a fool to pick a stranger over him. 

bakugou takes your silence as his answer, and scoffs in sad mixture of disappointment and amusement. “fuckin’ figures. yer just like ‘em, everyone else in this shitty fuckin’ town.” he turns on his heel, marching out of the room before you can even stop him, slamming the front door to your mother’s house as he makes his own way out. “i hope yer makin’ the right choice,” he adds as he goes, the words echoing down the halls eerily. as if its a warning.

eijirou is quick to swaddle you in his candied, overbearing affections, wrapping his arms around you from behind— his chin resting on your forehead while you tremble from hurt. from fear. “‘m sorry, pretty girl,” he says, breath just tickling the shell of your ear. “i shoulda warned ya, kept ya away from him. that bakugou’s no good. the whole town knows that.”

ripping yourself from your childhood friend’s grip, you glower up at him— the look on your face is enough to put him six feet under. “what makes you think anything the town thinks of people is the least bit true?” you hiss, unimpressed.

“woah, hey! i’m not the bad guy here…” kirishima throws his hands up in defence, confusion taking residence on his face— evident in the crease between his brows and the downturned corners of his lips. “his parents did drugs yanno, he was practically raised by himself! you don’t know what kinda things guys like him get up to!”

“i practically raised myself! you have no fucking clue, eijirou! no clue what it was like for me or for him!” you’re screaming now, hot all over— so angry that you can feel the lump in your throat telling you that you’re about to cry. “does that make me bad? does that mean i deserved the way this town treated me?”

“n-no, darlin’ that’s not what i meant!” he tries to coo at you, tries to hold you again— but all you feel is disgust, betrayal towards him.

your head pounds, a migraine brewing at the back of your mind like a thunderstorm over the horizon. maybe everything you’d found, the letters and pictures from your mother had been a sign. a warning. trust no one, believe nothing but your intuition. “i want you to go.” deadpanning, you circle the sides of your head with two fingers in order to alleviate its ache. everything both bakugou and kirishima had said has your mind a whirlwind of a mess, like the aftermath of a hurricane and just having eijirou near makes your head hurt even more. “i need you to go.”

“baby…please, i didn’t mean it. t’mess this all up. what i said…i—“ the repairman attempts to reason with you, but you resist yet again.

“please!” you scream until you feel like your throat is bloody and raw, tears glimmering in your rain-clouded eyes. “just leave me the fuck alone!” from here, kirishima is quick to gather his belongings as you continue to scream and scream, following after him. “don’t come back, don’t call unless you’re going to be useful and fix this damn house instead of lying to me!”

you don’t stop yelling until he’s out of your childhood home, in his truck and halfway down the drive. 

you don’t stop crying until you know that he’s gone for sure.

nothing stops hurting until you crawl into your mother’s bed, wrap yourself in the sheets that smell like her and fall asleep to the warm memories of her, yourself and izuku back in your happier days.

and you swear, right before you drift off, you feel them both embracing you— telling you that the truth will come out and that it’ll all be okay.

some questions are best left unanswered.

its a common saying that you used to believe. you’d scream it at your mother all throughout your teenage years, begging her to open her eyes and see that you were suffering behind her cloud of desperation to uncover what had happened to your brother. but the longer you spent in the clutches of white ridge, the less faith you had in the saying— there were too many questions, too many puzzle pieces that fit together to paint the perfect picture. something happened here, that both kirishima and bakugou refuse to tell you, despite all the signs and odd behaviours that lead to them.

curiosity killed the cat.

you think you understand that one a little better now. your inquisitiveness and investigative nature will be the death of you. you need to find out what truly happened to izuku midoriya, the urge to uncover any ounce of the truth spreading through your body like a virus, your bloodstream teeming with the deadly infection known as said curiosity. it rots at your brain, sitting at the back of your mind like a heavy weight that stops you from concentrating on your original task. your book.

a few deys after your dumpster fire dinner for deku, mina had sent you the edits she’d made on the beginnings of your transcript. it wasn’t enough, she’d told you more or less, you needed something more captivating and in depth. your work just wasn’t enough. the thousands of words you’d poured your heart and soul into, every little raw and scalding detail of your early years deemed uninteresting in a matter of small and yellow highlighted notes. no matter how much digging you’d done, no matter how many pictures of them boys you’d uncovered— it wasn’t enough. 

“fuck that,” the cursor on your laptop and google doc flashes at you mockingly, daring you to type up more words that’ll only be obliterated by your publicist. you can’t write like this, with so much on your mind so you slam the lid of your device shut and rush yourself to get ready. there’s somewhere that you need to be, some questions that you need answered, no matter how much of a risk the truth may cause to you. 

to your destination, you take more hidden photographs that you’d uncovered beneath your mother’s mattress, ones of eijirou and katsuki, their arms around the shoulders of your shorter and youthful older brother. their smiles had been wide, eyes innocent and much unlike what you see in them today. on the back of the glossed papers, you find hand written messages— a list of belongings owned by your brother that had never been returned, friendship marks of tiny hearts on their inner wrists that indicate a lifelong bond. 

a bond that’s seemingly fallen to pieces, leaving you with clues to solve the mystery the shattered glass has left behind.

anxiety blossoms in the soils and flesh of your chest cavity once your car pulls up outside the whiteridge police station, it grows faster than you can keep up with, fertilised by the blood rushing through your ears and your levels of cortisol, the stress hormones, that spike. you remember it vividly, memories of frequent visits and damp questioning rooms and jingling handcuffs rush forth in your mind— making you swing open the door to the driver’s side in fear that you might throw up out of nervousness.

you feel your inner-child recoil with a hunger to escape with each step you take into the police building, remembering the hours you spent sat against PVC covered chairs in the waiting room, listening to your mother sob and plead for investigators to re-open izuku’s case.

you think about how she died without being able to rest, without bringing justice to her son.

you feel guilty for putting the blame on her for all these years too.

with a shaky breath, you approach the front desk and the officer behind it, coughing to grab their attention. “hi,” you mumble your name softly, leaning against the cool varnished wood for some relief that combats the world spinning around you. “i need to look at a case file? whatever you have on the midoriya incident.” you give him the date too, stumbling over the exact day and month.

“sorry lady, but that case has been closed for years,” the officer, officer monomania, drawls— grey eyes dragging lazily up and down your frame. “since before i started workin’ here, and we don’t give out scoop t’primp ‘n proper city journalists like you.” that same feeling of sickness from before crashes over you like a strong tidal wave and you grip the ledge of the desk to steady yourself. you wonder if that was how your mother felt, denied time and time again the opportunity to seek rectitude for her eldest child.

“i’m not a journalist, i have rights to the case,” you say simply, trying to keep the edge off of your trembling voice— this town has done you no good, chipping away at the strong walls you’ve built to protect yourself from all the harm it’d caused you while you were young. you may be from the city, you may not look like you’re from the quaint life of quiet little whiteridge, but this had been your home, and you’d be damned if you let it wear you down again. withhold the truth from you again.

standing tall, eyes darkening— you lower your voice to a bone chilling sneer. “if looking at me isn’t enough indication of who i am, then you’re going to have to listen to me very carefully, officer monoma.”

“i am one of this country’s best selling authors, the cost of my car parked right outside this building is probably worth more than every person in this shitty, filthy little town alone.” you’re tired of the world and the way in which it's treated you up to now, so you say fuck it all and direct all your rage at the one person who stands between you and your truth in this moment. “you don’t even want to know how much is in my bank account right now, and how little of a dent suing you and this place will make in my earnings. so i suggest, you take your ass to the back, get me the case file and whatever belongings you’re holding from these pictures and bring them back to this prim ‘n pretty fuckin’ author. y’got that?”

monoma visibly shrinks underneath your steeled gaze. “y-yes ma’am.”

you feel like you can finally breathe again once you’re back in the safety of your car, duchess, whipping out a bottle of water from the glove compartment and chugging it back just to wash the taste of bile out of your mouth. you can feel the weight of izuku’s case file sitting in your lap, scared to open it, scared to see what you might find— his belongings that they’d found at the scene fitting into a small ziplock bag, wrapped in a brown paper envelope. 

using careful fingers, you flip open the file— eyes skimming over the report, the autopsy and the witness statements. it tells the same story that had been relayed to your mother all those years ago. izuku midoriya, nearly two decades ago, had wandered into the woods just outside of west whiteridge unaccompanied at mid-day, and passed away alone after falling into a nearby river. the autopsy revealed a broken ankle, blood bond markings on his inner wrist that were freshly made the day of his death, and his shirt and accessories tucked away into a nearby bush.

final ruling: accident.

the contents of the ziplock bag reveal just that of the report, and you feel like your whole world has come crashing down. izuku knew how to swim, izuku was smart— he wouldn't have just wandered off injured and exposed himself to danger like that. not on his own.

that’s not who he was, and it wasn’t fair for the world to treat him that way.

with the evidence now in your possession, and every possible route or bridge to the truth burned and fizzled out, you make your way back to the house at top speeds— fuelled by your emotions, aching to get back into bed and scream into your pillow about how unbalanced the world seems. however, on your journey home, you notice a familiar looking jeep, one that you know belongs to a certain blonde who you haven’t seen or heard from since the night of deku’s dinner.

you know that the abrupt ending to such a pleasant night had mostly been your fault, taking kirishima's side over bakugou’s was a bad move, especially after the scene you’d walked in on. they were both equally to blame.

for the millionth time since you’d arrived in whiteridge, you move before your brain can catch up— turning your steering wheel so that your car blocks up the middle of the empty, icy country road and bakugou is forced to come to emergency stop. “are ya fuckin’ insane?” he yells, hauling himself from his driver’s seat and slamming the jeep door shut with force. “i coulda hit ya, or worse, killed ya!”

is it weird? that even when katsuki’s fuming he’s one of the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen? cherry red eyes suddenly fiery while he marches over to your car, your ribcage dramatically lifting and dropping with your ragged breathing from behind the wheel. 

“k-katsuki,” you breathe out when he opens your car door from where you’ve left it unlocked for him.

“jesus sweetheart,” his gaze sweeps over your face, eyes brimming with concern as all of his anger dissipates just from taking in your teary expression. “have you been cryin’? why the fuck’ve you been drivin’ so recklessly?”

his calloused fingers brush over the swell of your wet cheeks, and instinctively, you lean into his touch. “i wanted to apologise for the other night…i shouldn’t have put so much pressure on you and…” your voice tapers off, still confused by katsuki’s dynamic with eijirou and where they might stand today. 

he shakes his head, offering you a soft smirk. “don’cha worry about that, we shouldn’t have put’ya in that situation,” shrugging, bakugou nudges a stray tear from your cheek with his knuckle.“‘m skippin’ town anyways, so none of that matters anymore.”

this makes you perk up, and not in a good way. “y-you’re leaving whiteridge?” you grab at katsuki’s sleeve just like you did that night, a silent plea for him to stay and not leave you behind. 

“yeah, s’like kirishima said, i ain’t worth shit ‘round here.”

that's not true, bakugou has to know that. he was kind where the world had chewed him up and spat him right back out, he was honest where others were cruel and fed you lies on a silver spoon…and most importantly, he cared. for you, for your mother and for your brother. 

he had to know, that at least to you, bakugou was worth the world and then some. 

“you’re…you mean something to me, katsuki,” your hand on his wrist shoots up to his collar, tugging him down. so fast that bakugou has to balance himself with one hand on the roof of your car— his lips falling to meet yours in a gentle, pillowy kiss. having him like this, compared to the fast paced and rough nature of the sex you’d had before is like walking on clouds.

he tastes like caramel apples, feels like heaven and slowly but surely, he relaxes in your hold— noses brushing and his long golden lashes brushing against the apples of your cheeks. 

when the need for oxygen becomes too much for you to bare, you look at him yearly, brushing your own thumb over his kiss-swollen lips. “i-i like you, and i’m thankful to you for being my support this past month,” you hum, sniffing a little from the cold. “don’t forget me when you leave, kay?”

“how could i ever forget the girl at the bar that night, hah?” katsuki responds like its a promise, resting his forehead against yours.

déjà vu is a funny thing.

as soon as your back hits the inside of the door to your mom’s place, you feel as though you’re reliving your first night in whiteridge again. katsuki’s all over you, having followed you back here after your rushed confession— both of you deciding to say fuck it all and have one last hurrah. he floods your senses, he’s all that you can taste as his tongue sloppily glides over yours.

he’s all that you can smell, the scent of burning sugars filling your nostrils— poking at the flame burning in your lower belly. his low moans vibrate around in your skull erotically, between your own gasps for air and the rustling of your clothes.

you feel him everywhere, his hands on your waist, the back of your neck and up your skirt, groping at the flesh of your ass as bakugou hoists you up, lips still melting against yours like hot candy, and carrying you to the living room.

in a pile of limbs, you collapse onto the couch which squeaks underneath your combined weight. katsuki briefly pulls away from the alluring prison of your kiss— he would have been destined to a life sentence if he didn’t— and rest his head against your shoulder for a moment. 

katuski’s breath is balmy against your skin at the nape of your neck, and if you focus your fuzzy brain hard enough, you can feel his lashes there too. the steadiness of your pulse lulls katsuki closer, the blonde descending on your neck and whining at the taste of your skin spreading across his tongue. the man’s mouth is right against the column of your throat, and he’s embarrassed to admit, he’s had your body committed to memory from the very first night he’d touched you— knowing exactly which spot made you whine and which one had you arching into him too.

there’s an odd sense of tenderness about katsuki as his teeth graze your skin to paint deep shades of purples and blues against it— wet tongue lolling over any bruise he leaves. 

he treated you like a flower left to fend for itself out in the cold, covering you with the heat of his muscled body while your nails scratch down his back and fingers move up to curl in the blonde baby hairs on his nape. “k-katsuki,” the syllables of his name tumble from between your lips wistfully as knocks at your front door echo through the shell of the house. “katsuki…should probably get that, s’probably kiri—“

bakugou who had above you for a moment, his palm resting against the arm of the couch swoops down before you’re able to finish your sentence, delving deep into your mouth, his lips moving feverishly as if to leave one last claim on you. “he can fuckin’ wait, can’t he sweetheart?” he chuckles into the sweltering ambience of the room, licking into your mouth to swallow any protests you may make.

kirishima finds his way into the house anyway, using the spare key under the plant pot to get in as he usually would if you had overslept on days that he came for repairs. or, more recently, when you’d started ignoring him after the dinner incident. he hadn’t expected you to let him in for his job today, but he did plan on apologising for the way he’d treated you up to now.

that is until he catches you mewling on the couch pinned down by the man he hates more than anything in this world, katsuki’s hand practically half way down your panties, rubbing one off on you from under your skirt.

“what the fuck—?”

“don’t get pissed ‘n calm the fuck down, red. you’ll have yer chance with ‘er once i skip down s’dont fuck it up.” bakugou moans into your mouth, showing off a little as he sucks on your sucking on your syrupy tongue. “so either fuck off or come join us, she’d love it. she needs it. don’cha baby, s’fuckin’ pent up, poor thing.”

stepping into the room, kirishima reaches the pair of you in three short strides— using a rough thumb and forefinger to tilt your head over to face him, luring you into a slow and sultry kiss with the flavour of a bad decision. the blonde continues to draw shapes into the crotch of your panties, faster and faster to get you panting and drooling into the redhead’s mouth. your fingers curl in two sets of hair, keeping both of them close to ground yourself and when kirishima finally gives you the chance to breathe, you shyly push their heads together as the temperature of the room rises to a scalding heat.

bakugou makes the first move, cupping the sharpness of eijirou’s jawline and bringing him into a similarly sinful lip lock, dragging the tip of his strawberry tongue over the seam of the other man’s plump lips. “gonna let me in, red? g’nna lemme kiss ya?” he slurs with hooded eyes and a predatory gaze. 

“go ahead blondie, ‘m waitin’,” kirishima goads in response once they’re a breath’s width apart, not giving bakugou any time to dwell on the nickname before they’re kissing welty, all teeth and tongue in an uncoordinated rhythm. 

“f-fuck,” you whimper between the two of them, thighs squeezing together as if to hide the slickness pooling in the middle of them— far too turned on at the sight of them messily making out in front of you.

bakugou laughs at the sound, breaking away first. “she enjoyed that, look atcha pantin’ so fuckin’ nasty, hah?”

“don’t be mean bakugou,” kirishima reaches between his thighs, giving katsuki’s growing hard-on a playful squeeze. “you obviously liked it too.” vivid and merlot eyes drip into something dangerously dark as the redhead palms your other lover faster and faster— dragging salacious moans from between stubborn lips with each precise touch. “yer rock hard blondie, practically drippin’ all over my fingers. c’mere darlin’, feel what a mess you’ve made him.” giving katsuki some time to breathe, eijirou guides the three of you to sit up— your frame pressed between the heat of the two large men before he guides your smaller hand to the erection twitching in the middle of the shorter man’s thighs. 

“feel that? all that from just kissin’ ya doll.” there’s a hint of a smirk tied to the dips and dives of eijirou’s voice as if he’s mocking bakugou, gluttonously drinking up the way you gently pull bakugou’s cock out from his rough denim jeans— a wet patch formed at the crotch from where you’d smeared your pretty panty clad pussy all over him earlier. 

now that you have him in your grasp, you can already tell the difference between the two and their cocks. where bakugou is longer, his tip a shade of terracotta though slightly flushed from him being so aroused, kirishima is chubbier, his tip usually a bright red— harder to stretch around in a way that causes you to remember his delicious burn when pushing into you. bakugou is pretty and kirishima is monstrous. both make your mouth water. 

glancing over to the blonde, you drag your soft fingertips over the slit on his bulbous cockhead— rubbing a thumb through it a little more confidently when he exhales deep through his nose and his tip lip twitches upward, his eyes fluttering shut. “shuddap, kirishima,” he snarls, though the insides of his mouth are coated with a quiet moan just for you. “feels good baby, such a tease. you gonna keep playin’ with me or are ya gonna get me off like the good lil’girl i know you can be?” 

the air of nonchalance about him, despite how bakugou throbs in your hold, has your stomach in desire laced knots— an innate urge to make him feel good taking over you. “fuck that’s good,” he mumbles, opening one eye to look at you, a carnal lechery simmering between the flecks in them as you slowly start to flick your wrist and jerk him off. you smile to yourself after spitting down onto his dick, watching it bob in response before the frothy mixture disappears into his pre that helps guide your hand up and down his shaft.

“awh, come now gorgeous,” kirishima sighs darkly from your other side— again using a soft touch, which contrasts starkly with his rough hands, to pull your focus onto him by cupping your chin. “can’t let the two of you have all the fun. i want some attention too,” 

eijirou makes you watch as he fiddles with his belt buckle to get to his own length— he doesn’t kiss you like you want him to, holding it against you until his girth is free, pinkish tip bleeding with milky arousal as he stands tall and proud, smearing precum against his shirt that covers his tummy. the redhead is cruel as he brushes his lips over yours, goading you, coaxing you to take a hold of him and give him the same treatment as a blissed out katsuki on your other side.

you fist what you can— tiny fingers barely fitting around the entirety of kirishima… but lewd squelches from both of your hands around two cocks only serves to spur you on, making lust bubble hotly under your skin. you alternate between the two boys, thumbing at katsuki’s slit while you squeeze eijirou, drinking up their moans and the way their hips keen into your touch— giving them attention in different ways. and even with them both a wreck between your sticky fingertips, the duo still find ways to dominate you…make you feel like a treasured fuck toy even though they’ve yet to touch you themselves.

kirishima noses up the side of your neck, as if the very scent of you drives him wild and sucks his claim into your skin, grazing you with the tips of his pointed pearly white teeth. “don’t stop now, angel,” he rasps, the hint of a smirk rippling throughout his voice when your breath hitches at the sultry contact. “keep goin’…makin’ us feel so good,” you can’t help the way your body twitches to follow his command, speeding up your gentle fists around them, both sets of your knuckles coated in stringy opaque. “would…fuck, hate to see what happens if you get too distracted…” 

the redhead’s mouth is back on yours before you can register his shift in movement, tongue dragging over the chapped skin of your lips, twisting around your own. “thas’ right baby, s-shut him up…mmm fuck, feels fuckin’ good,” katsuki slurs, blending his words together messily. he’s red in the face and hot to the touch, fiercely bucking his hips in an attempt to keep up with you jerking him off. the softness of your palm messes drastically with the chemistry of the blonde’s brain— altering it’s levels of dopamine until they’re sky high and katsuki feels as if he’s just high off of wanting you. “y’talk too much red, why can’t ya just moan pretty like her, hah?”

crimson cut and covetous eyes flutter open, drifting over to where you play with kirishima too and bakugou would be lying if he said the sight didn’t make him hornier, the glint of your hands covered in arousal causing him to swallow thickly. eijirou grins against your lips, reluctantly letting you free from his sinful hold to cock his head over at your blonde lover. “katsuki, you’re hard as a rock just from watchin’ me with her, d’ya really need to hear me moan for you too?”

“bet you’d sound like a pretty lil’ bitch too.”

“alright,” kirishima hums, finding your mouth again and hisses into it— as if relieved to be making out with you once more. this time he presses his fingers between your thighs, prying them open with a growl when you resist a little. “c’mon sweet thing, lets put on a show f’him, yeah?” the biology of your body tells you that you have no choice, blindly following his domineering lead and falling in tune with eijirou as he guides you into lifting your hips and tears off your skirt and panties in one go. “yeah that's it… you’re so cute, doll, moan a little, tell us who’s makin’ you feel good…”

at first, he spreads your swollen pussy lips apart to give your other lover a nice, nasty view of your juices that slide between them— his eyes goad you, tell you what to do as you quiver and the pad of his thumb slips over your budding clit. “k-katsuki! f-fuck!” you cry out, like the song of an angel, at the same time bakugou groans from deep within his chest.

“look at you baby, grindin’ all over red like that, so fuckin’ pretty,” his breath stutters, cock throbbing and spurting pre in your hold.”‘nd what ‘bout you, red? gonna whine like that for me too?”

kirishima only scoffs, spitting onto your dripping mound and watching as the frothy mixture slowly slides between your folds. he’s quick to gather it up before it hits the couch or your ass, dragging his fingers over your hole as if to push the mixture into you. the very feeling makes you jolt, one hand jumping up and into tousled red locks— pulling on them hard to ground yourself during your spiralling desire and neediness. all the while, you never let up on pleasuring eijirou, though your fist tightens around kirishima’s shaft, as if to mimic your fingers clenching down hard on his thick fingers working their way inside of you.

“katsuki!” eijirou quite literally whimpers, the sound high-pitched and breathy— surprising both you and bakugou. 

bakugou hums cruelly, content with the pair of you calling out for him, toying with one another like cute little sluts just for his amusement. “both of ya need me that badly, huh?” he coos, pulling your hand off of his dick to suck your tiny fingers into his mouth. both you and kirishima watch like dazed animals as katsuki cleans you up, moaning hungrily at the taste of himself. “wanna see you play fer a ‘lil longer. eijirou, use your fingers…and you sweetheart,” the blonde recluse leans in real close, the scent of him mingling with the obvious tones of sex in the air clearing your mind of reasonable thought. “touch yourself f’me…”

the repairman at your side wastes no more time, sinking from beside you to his knees on the floor. kirishima swirls his digits over your entrance once more, threading your slick between them with a hearty grouse tainting his lips. “katsuki, he murmurs, looking up at your face from below. “she’s cryin…” and he’s right, silver tears brim in your waterline as eijirou slips a finger into you and immediately curls it against your slippery walls.

katsuki’s latched onto your neck now, marking over wherever kirishima might have with jealousy-rich blood pumping through his heart. “she can cry all she wants, but it better be from pleasure, red. want you makin’ her see fuckin’ stars,” he warms between licking and sucking at your salty skin. 

kirishima marvels at the creamy, viscous mess growing between your thighs— amazed at how wet and tight you are while he pushes another finger in alongside the first. he’s eager to please, to explore you, blunt tips brushing along your most sensitive spots and even landing on your g-spot almost instantly. 

“she takes me so well too, always does. there you go, darlin’… just like that,” you can’t tell who it is that krisihima is talking to you, whether its you, your puffy salacious sex or katsuki who’s mumbling sweet nothings and praises into your ear. but no matter which way you look at it, the desperate lilt to his voice seems to have only one purpose, and that’s to drive you insane. 

bakugou can’t help but laugh in amusement as you fall apart between the two of them— exploding into a million tiny pieces and letting them put you back together. kirishima pumps his fingers in and out clenching hole while the blonde wraps his hand around your wrist and ushers your hand towards your clit. “touch yourself baby, wanna see you fall apart.” he hums, tongue darting out to wet his lips while you slowly trace shapes on your pleasure nub, blossoming for the boys like a spring flower.

“k-kats…e-eji,” you gasp at as the pair of them pick up their pace, bakugou using your hand to smack down on your sticky bud while kirishima bites down on your inner thigh as if its a fresh fruit for the taking. you bruise, soft like a peach, and he’s quick to soothe the pain sprinkled into your bloodstream with a roll of his greedy tongue over the inflamed area. “i can’t…”

“yes, you can.” the redhead grunts menacingly, the carmine in his eyes darkening with bloodlust while your cunt dribbles and drools into the seat of his palm. you’re close, he can practically taste it— salivating at the scent of your honeyed sex. “gonna cum for us, darlin’?”

your body flashes with heat, like you’re being swept up by an inferno and all you can do is nod weakly in reply— gasping for air, desperate for oxygen to fill your lungs instead of the smoky fragrance that the two men exude. “why don’cha let go for us, sweetheart? be messy, wanna fuckin’ see it.” bakugou adds on, tempting you over the edge with sadistic dip to his tone of voice. it’s low, hot against the shell of your ear and you find yourself unable to resist, giving in to katsuki as well as kirishima.

eijirou scissors his fingers one more time, just enough to get you where you need to be, and then you’re cumming— release crashing over you like a vicious wave amidst a raging storm. pleasure pulls you under, and your body is rendered useless between the two beefy men. shaking, writhing and trembling as bakugou slaps down on your pulsating mound to help guide you through the rest of your high.

“fuck…that’s hot,” kirishima comments wistfully, watching your orgasm trickle down his thick fingers, soaking your thighs. “i gotta…wanna…taste—“

a hand on his forehead pushes the thirsty redhead back, his blonde counterpart snarling in warning. “nuh-uh. s’my turn, shitty hair.”

the next few moments are a whirlwind, your mind still spinning and still heavy from cummings just seconds ago. you’re lifted into a pair of well-built arms, your face tucked into a sturdy chest and you’re not far gone to know who is who. footsteps trek along the creaky floorboards of your childhood home, and you’re familiar enough with the sound to know where you’re headed.

the bedroom.

when you finally come to, eyes fluttering open— bakugou is lying fully naked on his back at the head of your bed, his expression almost as needy as kirishima’s was earlier. “crawl t’me, baby, come sit on my face.” he purrs, chest rising up and down with ragged breaths as the vines of fervour have wrapped themselves around each of his ribs, taking root deep in his lungs.

before you have a chance to respond, kirishima ( who had been holding you this entire time ), unceremoniously tosses you onto the bed to join the blonde— nodding his head over to him. “go ahead, be a good girl for us.” 

you make your way up the sheets, tossing off your top and shuddering as your now bare skin brushes up against the heat of katsuki’s. he welcomes you with a dirty, uncoordinated kiss before guiding you up to and over his face with a pair of rough palms on the globes of your ass. grabbing the headboard, you take a peek down at the ravenous man beneath you, nervousness flickering over your sweat-licked features.

“what’cha waitin’ for, sweetheart?” he mumbles, squeezing your flesh between his fingers in encouragement. “y’don’t think i can take it?”

shaking your head, your lips part in protest. “n-no, ‘m just—“

“sit on him,” eijirou barks at you like its an order, looking up from stripping himself of the rest of his clothes. “he can handle it.”

it amuses bakugou, how thin the other man’s patience has worn and he nips at your inner thighs to test the waters. “you heard shitty hair. sit.” neither of them give you much choice after that, katsuki wrapping his arms around your waist to drag you down onto his awaiting mouth. the entirety of his tongue presses flat against your slit, sucking the juices from them as he groans— sending vibrations straight up to your clit. “god…kirishima, she’s so fucking wet down here.”

“yeah?” kirishima responds huskily, kneeling on the bed behind you both just as you start to roll your hips back and forth across the blonde’s eager mouth. “how does she taste, kats?” the bed dips underneath his weight, with eijirou swooping down between katsuki’s thighs this time, instead of yours. “is she sweet? i wouldn’t know… you wouldn’t let me…”

his words taper off, drowned out by his own gagging as bakugou bucks into the heat of his mouth in surprise. “thas’ a cheap shot, red.” he damn near howls, stuttering as he traces the tip of his tongue over your slit, spelling out his own name and slurping on your lower lips. “fuck thats it… quit yer talkin’ and use that mouth on me.” when kirshima licks, bakugou sucks and each time, a symphony of salacious moans bouncing off the bedroom walls.  katsuki alternates the pressure of his tongue against your clit, dragging the tip of it around the hood of the tiny nub in lazy circles before he forces it past your entrance as far as he can go. 

high pitched moans that burst through the saliva-slicked seams of your lips mingle with eijirou’s gargles from deep throating katsuki, bobbing his head up and down in a steady rhythm before he uses an arm to pin the blonde’s hips to the sheets below. “j-jesus, bakugou,” he pulls off of him with a layer of precum coating his tongue, aggressively spitting it down onto katsuki’s seedy cockhead and making it shine. “you tryna choke me t’death or somethin’?”

“w-what? can’t handle it red?” even katsuki struggles to get his words out, ruby framed eyes disappearing into the depths of his skull between the feeling of eijirou pressing their cocks together and you, gushing all over his lips and chin, glazing in him in your arousal. “thought you were a big boy, thought you could— mmph!”

“shut up,” you wail, tears threatening to spill once more as you force your hips down on the blonde’s face and muffle his speech— ecstasy rolls off of your body in waves, hypnotising the two men who’ve only come together to make you feel good and reach high heavens. “both of you talk too much… i wanna cum.” you gasp out, katsuki’s tongue now wrigglingly against your ribbed walls, making the knot in your lower stomach twist and twist until your insides burn with pleasure. “want us to cum, together.”

chuckling from behind you, kirishima makes a fist around both his and bakugou’s sopping lengths— creating a makeshift fleshlight for the both of them to fuck into. he alternates his grip to mimic the clenching of your raw, puffy mound and his grin broadens against the bare skin of your shoulder blade, causing goosebumps to rise across the expanse of it. “i don’t think you’re in the position to be makin’ any demands, gorgeous,” he coos, slowing down his words as if to dumb them down for you. after all, the way katsuki sucks on your pussy, languidly rolls his tongue between your folds is rendering you thoughtless. your only feedback being made up of pitiful mewls. “but i think your little friend here wants to cum too. and i, for one…well, ‘m hardly holdin’ back here.”

calculatedly, eijirou shushes a thumb through katsuki’s milky slit— spreading the beading precum across both of their cockheads. this earns you the vibrations of katsuki’s whine against your juicy pussy, and the stimulating sound of the redhead’s breath faltering. all you can do is take what your boys give you, the heat of your bodies slotted together sending your internal temperature off the charts. all you can hear is the wet slap of kirishima’s hand has he jerks himself off along with bakugou, their crude mix of frothy white arousal slinging about the place.

they’re a mess, but you’re in no better state than your lovers. the ones that pull you apart with every suck, bite and pinch as you choke or heave and piece you back together just by moaning your name. your body cries out for another orgasm, bakugou switching between leaving lovebites on your inner thighs and nipping at your clit while you tug on his hair— harder and harder each time. your legs shake either side of his head, every drag of his pink muscle in and out of you, fucking you as if it were his cock— drags you closer towards cloud nine. it’s so close you can almost touch it.

katsuki’s hips rut up to meet the slide of eijirou’s cock back and forth against his own, his bright red and almost sore cockhead catching on the thickened blue veins that wrap around kirishima’s shaft. the repairman throws his head back, pearls of sweat dripping from his forehead and running from it, down his throat and right over his adam’s apple. 

you jerk as that same and familiar feeling from earlier begins to simmer in your lower tummy, threatening to bubble over like a pot on a stove if you’re touched just right. you whinge and sniffle the closer you get, one hand raking through katsuki’s sweaty blonde locks and the other bracing your weight on the headboard as you throw your hips and sopping cunt down against his soaked face. “‘m gonna…oh god! think ‘m gonna—!”

connected by a heavy string of your clear, syrupy nectar that flows in streams from your gooey insides— bakugou pulls off of you with a lewd pop, panting for air. “she’s gonna cum, kirishima,” he mewls, lapping at you like a kitten. “wanna…fuckin’ cum with her too.”

“don’ worry, i’m…shit. ‘m right there with you guys,” eijirou sobs, biting down hard on his lip to suppress his pathetic squeaks, flicking his wrist faster, clumsier around their viscid and creamy cocks— desperate to get them both to the edge. “k-katsuki, b-baby!” the redhead chokes on the moan of your name, his orgasm hitting him first as his hot white seed spills over katsuki’s thighs and shaft. the blonde follows suit, back arching off the bed along with his hips as his potent load shoots up your back and adds to the mess.

he groans deep into your cunt, crying out your name as well, weakly. “oh fuck! fuck yeah…”

your orgasm breaks you.

blood rushes through your ears and static crackles across your brain— all that tension, all that ecstasy that’s been building up is finally released. your juices splash out against katsuki’s face, who gulps everything you give him down— three fingers on your clit, rubbing you in tight circles to coax you all the way through. colour dances behind your eyes and you squeal, and shake— collapsing back into kirishima’s plush chest as he catches you before you fall.

you watch contentedly and with hooded eyes, after rolling onto your side ( once again stuck in the middle of your boys ), as they reach over you to share the sweet, candied flavour of you in a kiss. bakugou’s tongue dominates kirishima’s, pushing into the hot cavern of his mouth in a nasty, hungry exchange— riling one another up even though you’ve all just cum. they turn to you next, with rose tinted cheeks and heart shaped pupils to pull you into the kiss as well. ensuring that you get a taste of yourself too. 

now, with the three of you catching your breath against solid sheets, you find yourself calming a bit— letting eijirou trace affectionate patterns into your left side, katsuki beginning to mumble praises to you on your right. “did so fuckin’ well for us, sweetheart, you okay to keep goin’? you came fuckin’ hard.” he’s teasing, you can tell, a bright and lazy smile on his face as he watches over you— the only hint of concern you detect being hidden behind the brownish flecks in his eyes.

“i-i think i can go again, if you both want to,” you say bashfully, pressing a soft kiss to bakugou’s cheek before rolling over to give kirishima the same treatment. “i-i like having both of you fuck me.”

kirishimma laughs fondly, his dick twitching against your side just as katsuku’s does. “is that so?” he inquires coyly, rough fingertips dancing over your slick thighs while he locks eyes with his blonde counterpart— as if to send him a message. “i think we can manage a double stuffin’, since y’want both of us, right?”

“d-double stuffing?” you breathe, brain lagging as you process the words.

the sound of moving fabric does nothing to cover the sound of your heart hammering against your ribcage at redhead’s suggestion, bakugou already shifting to get into position— lifting your thigh and grinding his half hard erection against the wetness of your cunt. “i mean, that’s what yer after, no?’ he chimes in, licking his lips and looking down at you as if you’re nothing but a hunk of prey. “to have both of our cocks, fillin’ ya up’ta the brim. pluggin’ you full.”

“y-yeah…i do,” is all you can respond with, especially with the newer friction from kirishima sliding his cock against katsukis over your pulsating pussy. you gladly bask in their attention. “oh god, i do. i want it so bad.”

someone speaks, but as lust tremors through you like the aftershock of an earthquake, you cant seem to tell who. “then say please.” the voice utters.

“p-please! fucking, please!” you comply, desperate.

“atta fuckin’ girl.” rasps the other voice.

kirishima hooks your knee over the bend of his arm and you end up back to chest with him while bakugou takes you into his arms so that you’re chest to chest for better positioning. his caramel skin is hot to the touch like molten sugar, comforting even when you become hyper-aware of eijirou’s cockhead pressing against your entrance— groaning as he tries to ease past your tightness. 

your nails form reddish crescent moons along katsuki’s biscep as you clutch onto him for dear life, still adapting to the stretch of the redhead behind you as he pushes deeper into your fluttering cunt slowly. “easy red, don’t want you hurtin’ her,” bakugou is gruff with his words and settleshis large and worn down palms on your waist, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your lower back to distract you from the burn between your ruined thighs. 

“i know what she can take, bakugou,” eijirou snaps back, staggering for breath but stops his hips in order to give you time to adjust. “j-just lemme know when i can move, kay baby?” he’s only got the tip in, your hole stinging only just as it resists his intrusion. the slight twinge of pain is enough to bring a fresh set of tears to your eyes but feels significantly better than it hurts.

“s’okay kiri, keep goin’,” you croak and lean forward, too needy to think and capture bakugou’s lips in a chaste kiss. you shiver at the taste of yourself and kirishima’s lip balm on him too. the display of affection is aimless, going nowhere except for consoling you the more kirishima thrusts into you.

a broken moan reverberates between the three of you, planted firmly against the blonde’s lips when your red haired partner finally bottoms out, snug against your slick walls. “shit darlin’…you’re so fucking wet ‘n hot ‘n tight,” he groans, fidgeting against your back. “have i not fucked you enough? poor thing.”

you respond with a sweet little mewl, near purring at the feeling of kirishima’s girth sitting heavy inside of you— practically in your guts even though he’s only shallowly thrusting into you. he whimpers against your shoulder, his grip bruising against your thigh to the point where you’re sure you’ll have handprints on it tomorrow. “kirishima, ya idiot, did’ya put a condom on?” bakugou fumbles for your clit again, tracing his initials over it as if the added stimulation will help. 

“no…you really gonna make me pull out?” he whines like a petulant child.

“s’okay, i just wanna…i need you. both of you.” you plead and cling to him, eyes wide and glittering— pushing back on kirishima and forth on the blonde’s fingers for some friction and some form of pleasure.

the repairman languidly juts his hips forward, smearing his new wave of precum along your ribbed walls, the sound of your laments and simpers syncing up with kirisima’s makes bakugou relent. “fine. but you better pull out before y’get close…” katsuki lets out a hiss, just as his counterpart grabs at his shaft and circles it around your stretched entrance where you and kirishima meet, a mix of your arousals making it easier for bakugou to slip right in. “damn…she’s so cute, y’gotta let me in baby, ease up…”

your body follows his command, relaxing as you slump between the two boys— mind too numbed and dumbed by the pair and their leaky cocks. you can barely move, only jolting with them whenever their dicks brush against each other inside of you. “move katsuki, wanna give her the fuckin’ that she needs.” kirishima pouts, losing his patience again.

the entire world spins, barely preparing you for the feeling of both boys thrusting into you at the same time. everything is so tight, vulgar and souse— neither of them wasting any time in pounding you to hell and back and the bed cries out under the intense and sudden movement, though it isn't any louder than you. when kirishima throws the weight of hips into you from behind, fucking you without thinking, bakugou pushes you back with his own passionate lunges of his hips too. as if they’re fighting for ownership of your spasming cunt. 

you soak their dicks in your honeyed nectar as they pump into you, and bakugou grabs at your waist roughly to stop you from writhing about the place. he quietens his moans with love bites and kisses across your skin, your throat— pulling you down onto his rock hard cock. they stretch you for all your worth, bathing in the essence that you give them all while sharing sloppy kisses from over your shoulder.

its not like you haven’t slept with either one of them before. you’ve spent plenty of nights with your fingers stuffed deep into your needy sex, trying to pleasure yourself to the memory of your first time with bakugou and just as many nights bouncing away on kirishima’s length— filling the void with a melody of your mixed moans. but this is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. being double stuffed by two brawny and beefy men has you losing your very last shreds of sanity with each hard rut into your drenched, convulsing cunt. bright red and lacteal tips brush up against your g spot at the same time, doubling down on the dopamine and rapture tingling in your bloodstream. 

poor eijirou sniffles, cries at how good your pussy grips him as he hits it from the back— his arousal and your juices tangling in his happy trail and slinging between your ass cheeks, glossing you up with a layer of sin. from behind, his palm snakes around your throat, giving it a light squeeze and restricting airflow into your lungs and to your brains. only serving to make you dizzier, easier to fuck. 

on your other side, katsuki drops his grip to play with the cute bubbly flesh of your ass— spreading it apart so he can force himself deeper against your gushing, gummy insides. the further he spreads you, the more of your scent fills the air, accompanied by timbre groans and heavy pants. clear, thick liquid seeps out from between your folds and against katsuki’s tummy which lubes up your tangled limbs. “sweet fuckin’ girl, you feel so good. basically milkin’ us dry,” the blonde praises though his tone is slightly patronising, barely surfacing through his husky sighs. “you like that?” he adds, slowing the roll of his hips to grind up into you, making kirishima growl and you squeak.

“he’s talkin’ to you sweetheart, y’got an answer for him?” the redhead teases, shifting his hand to grab at your tear stained baby fat cheeks to turn your face to him. his chest bristles against your back in entertained laughter, pride dancing in his bright red eyes. “oh poor baby… what’s the matter, huh? you been fucked dumb? too full? god, look at her katsuki. a fuckin’ mess.” he continues to mock you over the sound of skin slapping harshly on skin, nipping at one of your wet cheeks. they cream warmly inside you, backs arching whenever their sensitive cocks brush against one another during your nasty double stuffing.

“don’t be fuckin’ mean eijirou,” bakugou coos to you softly, contrasting to his usual personality and with kirishima’s brashness as they take turns in ravaging you. “she just wants t’cum. don’t worry, angel, we’ll get’cha there.”

“p-please, just wanna be fucked, want all of you. harder katsuki, more eiji.” you beg, tripping over your words as they’re punctuated by your pleasure filled gasps. what you want, they give to you. balls clapping against your ass and your cunt.

the three of you make the trek up to cloud nine, just touching the gates of heaven. your expression is lewd, eyes rolled back in your skull, lips parted and your mouth hanging open— strings of saliva connecting the roof of your mouth to your tongue as it lolls over your bottom lip. bakugou and kirishima press bare down hard on your g-spot, never letting up on it while they angle their hips just right to make you see stars. 

you’re seconds away from erupting, scratching down bakugou’s pecs while reaching behind you to tug on kirishima’s sweaty ruby strands of hair. their hips stutter but still attempt to delve further into your sopping, welcoming heat. “can feel how close you are, doll. clampin’ down on us. gonna make us lose it,” the blonde slurs.

“let go for us, c’mon baby. cum.” kirishima hiccups, working the three of you over the final hurdle— head first into an orgasm.

they pull out of you, as promised, just as you hit your high. your brain fuzzy and cleared of thought as you squirt for the boys, juices tainting their skin. they follow suit, two heavy loads of hot cum soil your thighs, your back and tummy— laying their claim on you for now.

the three of you flop against the ruined sheets, kirishima scoops up the mix of your arousals from the crudeness between you all and holds it to bakugou’s lips. the blonde blinks sleepily but complies, licking the redhead’s digits clean with a satisfied hum. and if you weren’t so fucked out, the view would have made you horny all over again.

“good boy, katsuki,” eijirou smiles, holding down his counterpart’s tongue.

bakugou bites down on his fingers cheekily, brows furrowing once the pink muscle is set free. “fuck you, eijirou.” looking down at you, a quivering cute little mess, and nudges your cheek. “you wanna get cleaned up, sweetheart? or do you wanna sleep.”

“sleep please,”

“‘m down for that. as hot as this was, you guys really wore me out.”

“yeah, yeah. settle down then red. let her sleep, alright?”

bakugou rolls his eyes, unimpressed, but smiling softly and throws an arm over you and the taller man in some form of a hug. completely blissed out, the three of you drift off into a deep slumber.

when you finally come to, one side of the bed is cold and the other warm from where a familiar figure has wrapped themselves around you. like a boa constrictor might do with its own prey.

“hey sleepin’ beauty,” eijirou greets you fondly, brushing a thumb over your pudgy cheek to gently coax you awake. “c’mon, katsuki said i had t’get you to go pee as soon as you woke up. don’t want you gettin’ sick.”

groaning, you rub the crusts of sleep from your eyes and stretch your limbs, sore from the countless rounds of sex earlier. “where is katsuki, anyways?” you mumble back, still drowsy, still clinging to the big muscular repair man in your bed. 

“shower, he woke up first ‘n said he felt gross. try not to miss him too much, darlin’, you have me to keep you company.” he explains as if the two were never at each other’s throats, sinking back into the linens with you and squeezing you close to his chest. you think you could get used to this, the domesticity of it all if the boys can get along well enough, at least for your sake. maybe katsuki wouldn’t have to leave whiteridge, maybe you wouldn't have to leave and the three of you could be like this, together. 

maybe you could help one another grieve in a healthy space. all together, as the found family izuku left you to be.

perhaps, this is the love that you’d been missing. deprived of.

you peer up at kirishima as he cradles you into the molten hot centre of his chest, sitting up with you in his arms slightly. even after everything you’ve been through you think that he’s beautiful, somewhat of a guardian angel to you and you can’t seem to fight the words trapped under your tongue. “eijirou i think i—“ love you. is what you want to say, but those butterflies carrying adoration start to go up in flames. they die under the wave of anxiety that crash over them. crash over you. 

you change your words with your changing mood. “eijirou, what’s that?”

the redhead had been playing with your fingers above the duvet, allowing you to catch a glimpse of his inner wrist. “hm? what’s what, darlin’?” 

there’s a mark embedded into his skin, familiar to you but you can’t quite put your finger on it. you wrack your brain, dash through your memories trying to place the little heart and match it up to what you know. 

izuku comes to mind again, but not pleasantly. he had the same friendship mark, the same blood bond on his inner wrist. you remember it from the files in the autopsy report. they’re practically a perfect match. grabbing the repairman's arm, you inspect it closely, brushing your fingers over the symbol. “izuku. he had one of these…” you whisper. 

“don’t be silly, i’ve had this for years and—“ 

“no.” you retort roughly, springing up from the bed and throwing on the nearest shirt. you ruffle through the papers on your desk until you find the report— frantically tearing out the photographic evidence and shoving it into eijirou’s face. “there’s no way you have the same intricately designed mark in the same place, faded like that. its not just some coincidence—“

panic starts to take over you, your brain running a mile a minute as you try to figure out the biggest question you have. why? 

“baby. calm down. you’re being hysterical.” kirishima says in an attempt to bring you back you down, but he looks tense— scared. he knows what he's said is wrong, highly aware of the minefield he’s just stepped on.

“don’t you dare call me crazy, eijirou. you’ve done it before and i won’t let you do it again.” you growl, protecting yourself from any sensual lies he may try to feed you. “tell me the truth or so help me i’ll scream. when and how did you get that mark?”

bakugou resurfaces from the bathroom, sweatpants low on his hips while he confusedly towel dries his hair. “what’s goin’ on in here? why are you screaming?”

this time, you yank at the blonde’s arm to get a good look at his wrist too— right after you whirl around to face him. you’re sure you look crazed and you don’t have the time to dwell on the fact that he’s still wet, the water droplets on his skin sinking through your clothes. “you…you have it too,” its like a shock to your system. the fact that all three of them have the exact same mark printed against their skin. 

you back away from katsuki, distance yourself from eijirou and tremble right in the middle of the bedroom. your head pounds as you try to figure out the possibilities and put the timeline together. bakugou looks between you and kirishima in confusion, and you watch as his face crumples upon making eye contact with your other lover.

“did…did he tell ya?” katsuki asks hesitantly, frowning deeper when you flinch as he steps towards you.

“t-tell me what?” you breathe out shakily, stomach dropping as katsuki confirms your suspicions. they’ve been hiding something from you. “no one tells me anything in this goddamn place! k-kirishima says i’m crazy, you can hardly look at me when i ask for the truth. i just want to know why you both have the same mark as izuku got on the day he died, why you were with him, why you won’t tell me shit!”

the room falls silent and all the air in it becomes replaced with a tension so thick you’re sure that not even the sharpest tool in the shed could cut through it. eijirou stands up from the bed this time, reaching out for you but you glare at him in warning to stay away. “let’s all just take a breather,” he proposes nervously and holds his hands out in deference. “you’ve had a long night doll, you gotta rest up—“

your face twists in disgust, hardly believing that kirishima would use the fact that the three of you had just had sex as an excuse to deny you the truth. “why do you keep denying me? why won’t you be honest with me?”

why. why. why.

katsuki makes a pained noise, mouth opening and closing as he debates his next words. he says your name welty and remorsefully. “because…we love you too much to hurt you.”

“katsuki.” eijirou says in warning, though he doesn’t rebuke the confession. they love you, they love you enough to lie to you. “don’t.”

“why not?” you fight back, even though you feel like you’re losing the battle already. “i know something went on between the two of you, i know now that my mother wasn’t crazy trying to find out either.” emotions rush through you all at once— guilt, anger, sadness. everything you thought you’d pushed away since leaving whiteridge coming right back to the forefront of your mind— brought forth by the last people you thought would ever hurt you. “if either of you cared about me like you say you do. love me like bakugou says—“

stepping forward and almost crossing your boundary, the redhead cuts you off, his throat dry and eyes wild. “we do!” he exclaims, trying his best to be convincing. “we do love you. i always have, you know that.” he says your name once and for some reason it feels like a punch to the gut, a betrayal to even utter the syllables after lying to you. “y’gotta believe me when i say it…”

“then let me put them to rest, kirishima! stop dodging my questions and being vague. quit gaslighting me into thinking there’s nothing fucked up about what’s going on here!” you argue, not even bothering to stop the flow of tears that fall freely from your glossy eyes. “i just want my mom and izuku to have their peace…and you’re not letting me do that.”

that seems to break something in katsuki. you can almost hear his heart break when he looks at you, like he’s been dying to say it all from the start. if just push a little more, he might crack, if you try a little harder, he might open up to you like you need him too. so you plead with him, try to appeal to the softer side you know exists within katsuki bakugou— hold that metaphorical hand out to him like he’d done for you at your brother’s grave some weeks ago.

“please,” you choke back a sob, not caring if you look insane or if you’re a snotty and teary eyed mess. “i deserve to know. i need to know, and if you have any sense of love for me, you’ll tell me what happened to izuku that day.”

“it was an accident,” he starts slowly, voice raw. bakugou looks like he’s hurting, taken a bullet to the chest as he bleeds his truth out for you. “we…we didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“katsuki, shut up!” 

“kirishima let him talk—“

“—god damn it, eijirou!” spinning on his heel, katsuki directs his frustrations at the latter— seething through his heartache. “quit playin’ around! she deserves to know…t’know what we did.”

kirishima’s lips form a thin line, expression solemn as he visibly gives up— stops building up his happy go lucky wall that keeps you on the outside of it all. it could have been his way of protecting you, like he had said but no matter what side of the card kirishima showed you, you knew in this moment, knew that somewhere in the back of your mind you couldn’t trust him. not anymore. not even if your heart wanted to. 

“it really was an accident,” he croaks after some time, his words punctuated by bakugou’s heavy breathing. “we were with deku that day too, just the three of us. like we always were. y’couldn't separate us back then…even if you tried.” kirishima is wistful as he speaks, almost as if that fateful day was a good one for him. he looks as though he can feel the sunshine on his cheeks and the fresh air in his lungs, hear izuku’s laughter accompanied by the sway of the canopy up above their youthful heads. “katsuki had given us the marking… they were stick ‘n poke tattoos, he stole the kit from the convenience store, you remember that kats?”

bakugou nods his head, but doesn’t dare look at you— aware of the fact that if he does, he’ll shatter like glass under the weight of his own guilt. “i r’member. you cried like a bitch when i got yours. deku…” he laughs, but it’s heartless and cold before he corrects himself. “deku took his like a champ. he was brave like that, the bravest out of all of us.” 

hearing them talk about your brother so softly makes you feel both sick and, in a weird way, happy at the same time. just knowing that even in his final hours he acted the same way as he always did— just like your izuku. “how did you guys end up by the lake?” you prompt. “what about his ankle? the picture my mom had of you guys?” 

the redhead rolls his shoulders, tense as he recalls the story to you. “we weren’t s’pposed to be that at the lake.” 

“w-what?” 

“we were only going for a hike, to izuku’s favourite spot— i swear we were just kids— just being fuckin’ stupid,” bakugou seems more panicked now, as if the memories were too anxiety inducing for even him to bare. “o-on the way up he tripped, i’d been messin’ with him ‘n made deku trip on a fuckin’ rock of all things.”

a rock? that would have explained how your brother had broken his ankle— the thought of his bone crunching makes your skin crawl, imagining his beautiful freckled face twisting in agony only pisses you off. you’re across the room before you can register, gripping him by the shoulders and shaking him. 

“what for? why did you touch him?” 

he’s never seen you so vicious, like a rabid dog pushing the bulking blonde back against the wall. and he lets you, barely putting up a fight. “i-i…” he stutters. 

“it’s because he liked you and deku didn’t approve.” it’s kirishima who confesses this to you and you stop your attack on bakugou to listen attentively— holding back despite your trembles. you hadn’t known the blonde back then, but you remember spots of him in your life. how he’d be kind to you when izuku wasn’t around, how he looked out for you behind the scenes. it hadn’t occurred to you that he might have liked you the way eijirou did, you’d hardly known each other after all. his lack of deku’s approval could been foresight, knowing what all comes next. “bakugou wanted to turn back after it happened, but midoriya insisted on getting to the clearin’ so we carried him up…he wanted to camp out ‘n see the stars that night.” 

“we found the lake by accident tryna find somewhere t’rest before we got there. we stopped and…” kirishima trails off, swallowing thickly and an awful feeling swirls around in your lower tummy. like that feeling you get just before you’re jump-scared while watching a horror movie. you’re stomach drops, your pupils dilate— air becomes scarce to you. 

this is the plot twist, the truth your mother died without knowing. 

“it was an accident,” eijirou repeats the same mantra from earlier, sounding as if he's about to burst into tears. 

“so you’ve said,” you say, voice devoid of any emotion as you wait for the big reveal, for the ball to drop. “what happened, eijirou?” 

“he pushed him.” 

ice runs through your veins— freezing your beating heart in its place as your gaze trails back up to katsuki’s face. he catches you as you stumble and the world starts to spin as if you’ve been thrown on an unstable rollercoaster. “pushed him…right over the edge. ‘cause deku said he weren’t brave enough for you.” bakugou mumbles, plainly— though the rubies in his red eyes are shattered with grief. 

it was stupid. the dumbest thing you’d ever heard— your older brother, the only person who’d ever truly loved you shoved over the edge of a fucking river bank over you. you who didn’t know the two men before you had loved you too. you were the reason eijirou kirishima had let him drown. you were the reason eijirou kirishima had pushed him to his death. 

“t-that doesn’t…that doesn’t make sense!” you try, clutching at your chest because you feel like you can’t breathe no matter how hard you try. something as simple as taking in oxygen and letting out carbon dioxide becomes a chore, eyes darting everywhere around the room only to settle on the man who took your world away from you. “izuku can swim. he could swim!” 

kirishima hiccups, doesn’t dare to move or touch you— knowing that you’ll lash out or tear him apart. “i didn’t mean it, i-i swear, if i could take it back i would have—!” 

“why didn’t you go in after him? why didn’t you save him?” you scream this time, realising the gravity of the situation. realising that izuku, like you now, in his last moments couldn’t breathe. how he’d slipped under the surface of water that’s meant to give life and instead had it taken away from him. he’d been cold, he’d been in pain— suffocating and neither of these men had gone in after him. how could they have possibly claimed to love you after all of this. “you…you murderer!”

even though your knees are weak and wobble, you follow your fit of rage and toss yourself in the redhead’s direction with the intent to kill— probably no better than him. bakugou circles his strong arms around your waist even though you kick and scream and cry, scratching at him until you draw blood. 

“we thought he’d come back up!” the blonde whimpers.

breaking free, you look at bakugou incredulously— like a wild animal in fear and you might as well be. you have no idea what these men are capable of almost a decade and a half later. you sniff, your eyes lined with red and liquid silver tears. “why didn’t you get help?” comes your choked out question.

“we were kids… we thought if we just went home…it’d all be over. that it’d never happened. what else could we have done?” eijirou warbles wetly. you don’t know how he can sit there after all this time and have the audacity cry. how either of them can act like they hid this from you out of love. love isn’t playing mind games or dragging you through rounds of mental gymnastics. love isn’t pushing the person you care for to the brink of insanity.

they don’t love you. 

only izuku was capable of that, it seems. 

“you could have helped him.” you utter quietly— as cold as the thick shards of ice once again guarding your heart. your next movements are quick, have you running on adrenaline and that same desire to escape this town from years ago. you grab what you can, the important stuff— clothes, your laptop and any notes, your mother’s pictures and something to remember izuku by before making a dash for your car. your second great escape. 

the men that you thought you could call your lovers are quick to follow you— calling out your name hopelessly through the loveless walls of your childhood home. every bad memory you thought you’d replaced here turns sour, every second you’d spent between them with katsuki and eijirou garners a visceral reaction from you. you can’t stand to hear their voices anymore, to think about how close you had allowed yourself to be with them. you’d been vulnerable, let them see the deepest parts of you that you’d kept safeguarded for years only to have it shown to the wrong people. 

to have everything thrown back into your face.

defeated tears burn at your tired eyes as you reach your car— fighting with its handle to get inside. you’d never given so much of yourself to other people before, only to find out they were the ones who’d hurt izuku. it breaks you, in the worst of ways— as if someone had taken the delicate vase of your heart and thrown it at a wall. you’re cut by the shards, worn down beyond repair. there’s no coming back from this, to this horrible place. 

“baby…baby please don’t go.” katsuki tells to you as he rushes down from the porch to meet you with eijirou in tow. despair dulls his once beautiful vermillion eyes, but just looking into them hurts you. you can’t trust what they say anymore. “we…we never fuckin’ meant for any of this to happen. to hurt’cha like this. please don’t go. let us make this right. give us a chance. just one—“

“just don’t go to the police.” kirishima cuts bakugou off once they’re fully by your sides, desperation clinging to his voice and ringing out into the night air. “it’ll ruin our lives.”

your actions pause, and you no longer find yourself slipping into your car but instead eerily turning around to face the duo. before you can realise what you’re doing— your hand flies back and lands harshly against the redhead’s cheek, stunning you all into silence. “are you fucking kidding me, kirishima? your lives?” there’s so many years of rage echoing in your voice, a wet tiredness in your face that no one else in the world could possibly relate to right now. his words sting, they fill you with a poison that only blackens your weak heart and you don’t bother to stop the viciousness that spills from your lips next.

“that’s all you can think about? you have no fucking idea what its like to have your life ruined, to live day by day absolutely-fucking-miserable because the only thing…the only person that you lived for, is gone. you don’t know shit about living life or having it ruined.” neither of them think to speak as you rant away, releasing everything you’d ever held back since leaving whiteridge. kirishima clutches his swelling cheek, an expression of regret plastered across his features and bakugou can’t even bare to look at you— gaze focused purely on the dirt beneath his shoes. 

“my brother is dead because of you. he is gone. he’s never ever coming back and it’s all your fault. i hate you. i hate you more than i’ve ever hated anyone in my entire life. both of you.” you spit, slurring over your words, crying the hardest you ever have in all your years of living. you’re still met with nothing, you’re not sure if you even want to hear what they have to say but you keep going, nonetheless. 

“that’s what it feels like to have your life ruined, when there’s no more love left in you. you will never know what that's like…what it’s like to be me. my life, all my hopes and dreams, they were ruined the day you took my brother from me. the day you murdered him.” 

taking a deep breath, you wipe your face on the hem of the shirt you’re wearing and throw yourself into your vehicle, duchess, reviving her up in frustration. kirishima sets his hand on the glass of your window and feebly mumbles your name, bakugou doesn’t budge. you’ve said your piece and now there’s nothing more to it. 

“fuck you. both of you.” you growl as best as you can before pulling out of the driveway and making sure you leave for good. 

you contemplate stopping at the police station, but without their confessions recorded you have as little evidence as your mother did when she fought for the lost life of her son— and you barely have it in you to spend a second longer in this town. god forbid they start calling you crazy too. 

so you drive, you drive through your choked tears and heaving sobs. you drive until you can’t see the sign to whiteridge anymore. you drive until your wrists hurt from holding the steering wheel too tight— and until you feel safe again.

safe like the day you left for the first time, all those years ago. 

your book releases exactly one year and one day from the day you’d left whiteridge for good. 

the loneliness of your luxury apartment deep in the bustling life of the big city had welcomed you back with working heating and open arms— giving you the space to recover from your emotional and mental wounds left on you by two men you thought you could trust. the ones you thought that you could love.

from there, it takes you six months, a shit tonne of black coffee and low-contact with the outside world to fully complete your autobiography. you tell every story you can think of, every lust, every love, every loss and every lie— permanently inking them as your life’s work for the whole world and it’s mother to see. you want anyone who will listen to know your story and know that there’s nothing more the universe could throw at you to mess with you. 

mina receives your full and completed manuscript via email right before she’s due to board a plane with her fiancé hanta sero ( the graphic designer for the cover of all your books, as it turns out ) and both of them drop everything to swing by your place to check that you’re alive and well. you’re far from it, actually. they can most certainly tell by your sunken red lined eyes and your kind-of gross pyjamas that you wear and the litter scattered across your living space— but at that time, neither of them question it. 

sero orders take-out for dinner ( or whatever meal of the day it’s supposed to be ) and ashido cleans up the apartment, before cleaning you up, and together the three of you read through the final transcript. 

of course, she loves it, she holds you when you cry and sero holds her when she cries. they don’t dare to ask you what happened out there, in the small town of whiteridge, its written clear as day in your heartfelt words… but for the first time in your life you feel that people really know you, and genuinely care.

mina gets you the best therapist money can buy after that night.

your book launch comes sooner than expected, and it does better than you expected as well. fans from all over the world sympathise with your story, they mourn the loss of your family right alongside you, they curse the two men you’ve named as ‘red’ and ‘blondie’ and most importantly, they hate the town that hurt you. these days, jirou tells you that almost every establishment in whiteridge has negative reviews on yelp, except for the hotel she runs with momo and denki’s bar right across the street— in fact, both businesses have been skyrocketing since your autobiography hit the shelves.

kirishima calls around that time too. when you answer, the line is full of static crackling over the loud silence and neither of you speak. “finished repairs on your mom’s house today,” he says, floundering for words and time. “think it’ll be up f’sale later this week.”

“thanks, kirishima.”

his breath had hitched at the use of his last name, no sweet pet name, no tone of affection or butterflies in your stomach. “i read your book too.”

“hasn’t everyone?”

“i should have told the truth, i shouldn’t have lied to you,” he goes on, clinging onto one last thread of hope. “then maybe—“

“then what?” you ask slowly, clutching your phone a little tighter. 

“then maybe we could have been something, like we’d always wanted.”

there’s more silence, and then you laugh— brightly, genuinely, rendering the repairman confused on the other end of the phone. “i doin’t think you ever wanted me that badly, eijirou. otherwise, you would have come after me.” you tell him once you catch your breath. “besides, we wouldn’t have worked out anyway.”

“why not?”

“because, even if you’d told me the truth. lying to spare my heart would’ve always been an option to you. you’d never be honest to hurt me and comfort me after— you’re too nice for that. you’d rather not see me hurting at all.” when you explain, he has no answer and your phone beeps signifying another call on another line. “kirishima?”

“maybe… maybe you’re right.”

“i think i am.”

“yeah,” he whispers in harmony with the static. “i guess this is goodbye then.”

“it is,” you whisper back as the beeping gets louder. “goodbye kirishima.”

“goodbye, lil’ midoriya.”

he never apologises after that, and the only time you hear from him is via text regarding the house. bakugou never makes contact with you, and you can’t help but wonder if he even bothered to read your book— that’s if he even knew about it.

according to management, and mina, a book tour was the next and final thing on your agenda before you were allowed a well earned break— the promise of freedom and the time to relax or write something a little less soul-damaging, getting a little closer with each tour stop you make.

“so, when you found out that these two men you’d been falling for had lied to you and hid the truth about your brother, how did you feel? i-i know you talk about it in the book…but i’d gone through something similar a-and i wanted to hear it from you.”

you end up back in the beautiful city you call home for the last tour-stop. the girl who had been asking you the question stands in the very front row, she seems nervous, like she’d been silenced her whole life— and the way she clutches onto your book gives you the impression that she’d found her voice through you. you see your old self in her too.

“well…” you start, carefully folding your hands into the centre of your lap. in the back of the auditorium mina had rented out for the event, the door swings open, and you swallow thickly as it reveals a pair of familiar and daunting red eyes. “well, to be honest… i felt the greatest loss i’d ever felt in my life.” you muse out loud, refocusing your attention to the timid girl in front of you. “you’d think, after everything i’d seen and been through, that i wouldn’t be able to feel anything aside from numbness at that point. i’d spent years of my life trying to fill the hole izuku left…that my mother left too. and to be betrayed like that? well you might as well have cut open my chest and ripped my heart out.”

the audience applauds your monologue, and the girl thanks you sweetly but most of it falls on deaf ears before your next question— those same red eyes locking with yours once again, saying only one thing.

‘i’m sorry.’

after your talk, there’s a two hour book-signing and you don’t expect your unexpected guest to be leaning against the wall, waiting for you outside, once everyone has gone.

“you didn’t want your copy signed?” you ask with a tiny hint of amusement, leaning against the opposite wall to your visitor. “i think i still have some ink in my pen if you do.”

adjusting his cap on his head and holding out his copy to you, bakugou scoffs but mirrors your playfulness with his signature toothy smirk. “don’t do too well with crowded spaces, so i figured i’d wait until after,” your fingers brush only just as you take the book from him and scribble your name across the first page with your dedication to both izuku and your mom on it. “was an amazin’ read, by the way, i loved the endin’— how y’solved yer own mystery ‘n shit. the girls at work loved it.”

looking up from the printed version of the story of your life, you give bakugou a small smile. “mystery and misery do seem to go together.”

“ya still miserable?”

“sometimes,” you admit to the blonde a little too quickly for your liking. “but i have more good days than bad now. what about you? is whiteridge still as shitty as ever?”

“nah,” katsuki hums proudly and matches your smile. it’s nice to see him happy, after to so long— but maybe a part of you is a little glad to see him when you should be hating him. “moved outta that shithole ‘bout six months ago. i live here in the city now, ‘n work in a small family owned restaurant downtown. they serve the best fuckin’ pork katsu you’ll ever have...”

you wrap your arms around yourself, a shiver running through you despite how warm the building is. your mom used to tell you that those random cold shivers were the spirits making their presence known to you— so you think that izuku might be watching right now. “i’ll have to try it someday,” comes your quiet voice.

“you’ hafta lemme take you sometime soon—“

“i don’t mean to be crass, bakugou, but...what are you even doing here?” then the conversation goes quiet.

you’ve come to hate the sound of silence these last few months— no one who knows you, no one who loves you knows what to say to you anymore.

your silences are no longer filled with the click and clack of a keyboard because you no longer have anything to write about, they’re no longer broken up by text chimes or ringtones because you’ve cut off kirishima and he used to call you almost everyday, they’re no longer filled with the laughter you would share from bantering off of bakugou. there’s no one to occupy your silence except for the frenzy of your own mind, because izuku is dead, your mom is dead and it’s just you now. 

but then, bakugou speaks up— rasps through the heavy hushness for you, reaching out for you like he always does. “i-i don’t fuckin’ know,” he begins aimlessly. “i wasn’t even s’pposed t’be here, ‘m meant to be on dinner service tonight but i got an ad fer ya book signin’ on the way over ‘n just…called in sick,'' the world comes to a standstill as he explains himself to you, the blonde is right in front of you but feels a million miles away all at the same time. katsuki looks to the ceiling, as if you’ll be scorched by his gaze. “i had this whole plan in my head, of what i was gonna say t’you when i got the chance, but now that ‘m here…well ‘m.. fuckin’ blankin’!”

“i don’t… i don’t need a long-winded monologue from you, katsuki, i just need to hear you say it and know that you mean it.”  your voice trembles with the threat of crying, tears already forming in your waterline. 

you don’t need much, is what you tell yourself, as bakugou’s mouth opens and closes— formulating the words, finding the right order to put them in. you just need one more ounce of truth. you’ve been given the bare minimum almost all of your life, but this is the highest standard you’ll ever hold someone to. taking accountability for hurting you.

katsuki takes a step towards you, and another more confident one when you don’t move. “‘m sorry,” strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into his safety net of an embrace, one of his hands cupping the back of your head. “‘m sorry for all the fuckin’ pain i put you through, never wanna see you that hurt ever again.” you melt into him, tears falling freely as bakugou fights back his own. “i stayed away f’too long, tryna figure out if i was worth forgivin’, if i deserved a second chance but i know now… it was never about me. you jus’ needed me to apologise. so ‘m sorry, to you, your mom and to izuku.”

katsuki bakugou says it all, everything you’ve been needing to hear from every adult in your life since you lost your brother— so clutching his shirt tight between your fingers, you pull him into you, letting your eyes bore deep into his own. in the life you’ve lived, you’ve had to learn how to read people, see through their eyes to know what they truly mean and think when they look at you.

but staring into katsuki’s right now, all you can see is the honesty in them— intertwined with the dark brownish flecks that contrast with their rich vermillion colour. he truly means it. 

he’s truly sorry.

and with that, you lean up and press a feather light peck to his lips, feeling him tremble in your hold before hesitantly melting into you— saying the words he needs you to say. 

“i forgive you, katsuki, we both do.”

END.

[aestheticaltcow]

Our Future

A/N: I've been workin' on this one for a couple weeks now and I finally finished omg

“I just don’t know if I want her to meet Eva.” Tiffany sighed, crossing her arms over her chest as she stood in the doorway, “Tiff, do you wanna meet her first or somethin’?” Richie asked, scratching the back of his head. “Richie, I’m sure she’s a lovely girl, but she’s like, what 23?” Richie sighed awkwardly. “Yea…” Tiffany shot him a look, “Look, Tiff, she’s really great-. I want Eva to meet her.” he looked down at her hopefully, Tiffany sighed. He’d been okay with Eva meeting her current boyfriend, so it would be hypocritical for her not to let Eva meet Richie’s girlfriend- you. Tiffany nodded. “Just promise you aren’t breakin’ up with her anytime soon. I don’t want Eva to also get her heart broken.”  

~

Over the summer, you worked as a waitress at The Bear. You thought Richie was handsome from the start. He was tall and rugged, and you couldn’t help but watch his hands as he did paperwork or signed for the liquor order. His hands were so big… you couldn’t help but imagine what they’d feel on your body. Manhandling your breasts, wrapped around your neck, pulling you over his knee to spank you… you dragged yourself out of a daydream when Carmy asked the wait staff a question. “I’m sorry my mind was elsewhere… what was the question?”

It went on like that for weeks, Richie being the focal point of your daydreams. Your friends slowly started noticing how you’d turn down guys when you’d go out. Your parents noticed you were taking your time to do your hair and makeup before work. They’d assumed you had a crush on another waitstaff member or, heaven forbid, a line cook; oh boy, did they not expect the man you’d been dolling yourself up for someone 20 years your senior. 

One night, you agreed to go out with some friends from high school. You weren’t looking for a hookup or anything, but when you saw Richie across the street from the club at some pizza place, you were glad you’d borrowed a short cheetah print dress from your friend Mandy. You snuck away from the rest of the group and ‘causually’ bumped into Richie. He’d always thought you were pretty and quick as a whip, but he was significantly older than you, and the idea of even hitting on you made him uneasy. But, when he bumped into you on that night out, he couldn’t get the idea of you out of his mind. “Yo, cousin. You good?” “Ugh yea… was just sayin' hey to y/n.” Carmy chuckled when he saw you walking away from Richie, “She’s into you.” Richie adamantly disagreed, “She’s a good kid, but I’m way too fuckin’ old for her Carm.” 

As the summer came to an end, you’d turned in your two-week notice. Leaving  Richie with a sense of urgency to at least follow you on Instagram. By your last day, he did manage to get your phone number, which, in turn, led to some late-night Instagram stalking from both of you. Richie didn’t expect anything to happen. You were three hours away from Chicago, back at school, surrounded by boys your age. There's no way a girl like you would ever want some 40-year-old divorced single Dad. At least, that was until you’d come home for your Mom’s birthday in mid-September. 

You needed a break from your family. You saw Richie was out with some of the guys from The Bear and decided to make a move. ‘Casually running into’ the group was more challenging than you thought, but when Sweeps noticed you enter the bar, he knew why you were there. “Richie, your girls here.” he laughed; Richie was confused but was happy to see you. You two spent the night talking, “So you got a little boyfriend at school or somethin’?” Richie had hoped the answer would be ‘no,’ and then he could swoop in and show you how a man should treat a woman of your caliber. “Depends on who’s askin’.” you teased, making Richie chuckle. He offered you a ride home.

As Richie pulled up to your parent’s apartment building, you said fuck it and swiftly moved to place a kiss against his lips, the tickle of his facial hair adding to the stimulation. Richie was taken aback; he’d wanted to kiss her for months but didn’t think it would be like this. He kissed you back as soon as he’d realized what was happening. What should have been the perfect first kiss was ruined when your Dad saw you get out of ‘some random old guy's car’ and told you to get your ass inside. 

Your parents scolded you, “Wasn’t he your boss!” “Y/N! We forbid this!”. You were mad at the pair and returned to school sooner than expected. You turned your phone off and stared at the ceiling for a few days; maybe they had a point. Was Richie too old for you? He disagreed; if two people like each other, what’s the big deal? It’s not like she was fresh out of high school- she was 22, and he’d just turned 42. 

A year later, you graduated college and moved back to Chicago to be with Richie and work at a tech start-up. It took a while, but your parents had warmed up to Richie. Granted, your Mom still hated him, but you took a win as a win when your Dad referred to him as an ‘okay guy.’ 

~

Tiffany was hesitant when Richie brought you around Eva at first. She liked you, but she knew Richie better than anyone and didn’t want you to get your heart broken. She didn’t bring anything up until Eva’s birthday party. You were watching the kids play in the backyard when Tiffany saw an opportunity to talk to you. “Hey, Y/N, thanks for comin’.” you smiled up at Tiffany as she sat beside you. “Of course, I couldn’t miss Eva’s Taylor Swift party.” Tiffany nodded before asking, “Can I talk to you about somethin’?” you nodded, “What’s up?” “Might be a little awkward, but um, you and Richie? How’s it goin’?”

You squinted in Tiffany’s direction, “Why do you wanna know?” “I don’t want him back, but you’re just in such a different-” you scoffed. “Tiffany, I don’t think your daughter’s birthday party is an appropriate place to bring this-” “Y/N. I know Richie better than anyone. You have so much life to live. Don’t you wanna travel or get married or have kids someday? I just want you to know what you’re getting yourself into before you’re too invested in this.” “Thanks, Tiffany.” 

Richie was talking to one of Eva’s friend’s Dads when he saw you walking toward the gate, “Sorry, I gotta check on somethin’...” he ducked out of the conversation to follow you out of the backyard. You wiped your eyes as you walked up the street. It was only a couple miles to the closest train stop, and you figured the walk would be a good way to clear your head. “Hey baby- you okay?” Richie called as he ran up behind you. You nodded, “Yeah, everything is fine… I just have to do some stuff…” “What about Eva’s party? Haven’t even had cake yet…” he noticed you’d been crying, “Did Tiff say somethin’ to you? I can-” “Richie- do you wanna get married again?” the question left him dumbfounded. “Maybe?” he shrugged, “Why are you askin about that?” 

You sighed, “Richie, I wanna get married and have kids someday.” you flexed your hand as you stared at the ground, “Okay, we can… we can talk about it later… come back to the party?” Richie said, trying to change the subject and cut the tension between you. “ Yes or no, Richie? Would you want to marry me and have a kid or two within the next three years?” “Baby,” Richie said softly as he touched your bicep, “Let’s talk about all of this later.” you shook your head. “Go back to the party. I have some thinking to do.” you calmly said as you looked up at him. “OK,” Richie nodded and kissed your forehead, “I’ll see you at home?” 

You haphazardly packed some clothes into a suitcase before grabbing your chargers and laptop from the bedside table. This wasn’t how you thought your day would end, but Richie’s answer- or lack thereof- was all you needed to know. Before leaving the apartment, you messily wrote Richie a note saying it was over and your Dad would come by to pick up the rest of your stuff later in the week. You felt your heart break as you locked the door behind you. It was over.

[19ndonboy]

religion’s in your lips - mason mount

words: 2.1k

A/N: back again with a new imagine. i hope y’all will like this one, feedback is appreciated!! thank you

you could feel soft lips on your shoulders as you slowly drifted off sleep. you opened your eyes, adjusting them to the light passing through the curtains as they landed on your boyfriend. and years later, you still found your heart doing a somersault. you thought about how lucky you were to have this view every morning and you wouldn’t change it for anything else in the world.

you turned your head to face him and as you whispered a quiet “hi”, he felt his heart skipping a beat. he was so in love with you, he feared it could destroy him. he kept on his trail of kisses from your shoulders to your jaw to end up on your face as he counted them.

“18” on the mole on your right cheek, “19” on the tip of your nose, “20” on your eyelid as you closed your eyes with a smug smile plastered on your face, “21” on your forehead, “22” on your pink lips.

a kiss which ended up being messy as you couldn’t stop yourself from stupidly giggling as he thought about how he would turn the world upside down if he had to to hear your laugh over and over again.

“happy birthday my love” were his words that erupted a crimson taint on your cheeks. and with words minimizing how full of love your heart held for the man in front of you, you cupped his head and passionately kissed him. and you were hoping he could hear your heart exploding in you just as much as you could hear his.

you pulled away from his lips and he gave you his signature look, the one that got you weak to the knees before kissing your forehead as only him had the secret recipe to that warm and safe feeling that was spreading through your stomach. you laid your head on his bare chest as his hand found its usual spot in your hair, tangling them while you appreciated the peaceful silence surrounding the both of you.

and you don’t know how long you stayed here until all you could hear was your stomach growling, being too hungry to think about anything else but mason’s speciality, avocado toasts. you heard him chuckle behind you before he spoke “what do you think about getting out of bed, i’ll make you breakfast and then we can do what i planned for this special day” with a smirk on his face. he had a way with words and he knew it. you nodded and then made your way downstairs to the kitchen with mason following you.

he wasn’t happy with that though. before you could even realize, he had lifted you up and you were on his shoulders, you let out a high-pitched sound before laughing out loud. his favorite sound in the whole world, he repeats every time he hears it. he sat you down on a chair, asking you not to do anything as it was your day, “just like every other day” he would say when soppiness got to his head.

so you spent the next ten minutes watching him go in circles between a drawer and a frying pan in your kitchen while he was humming to your taylor swift playlist. and he took your hand to dance with you when the famous song 22 started playing in the room, joking about how you had waited an eternity to “relate to those words”.

you, then, both took your plate and went to sit on the sofa in your living room and started to eat in front of a random tv program, paying little to no attention to it as you were talking about your plans for the day. although, your birthday was never something you were looking forward to and therefore there was never much celebration on that day and it had been like that for years. but that was until you met him. he always made sure you knew how much you were loved and appreciated by people around you and he swore to himself, a smile would be the only trait visible on your face on that special date.

having finished your avocado toasts, he stood up, gave you a quick kiss on your head and excused himself two minutes as he ran upstairs. he returned right after with a box in his hand and a grin plastered on his face. you hid your face in your hands, which provoked a laughter from mason. you grumbled as he took your hands in his to make you look at him. “mason, you know i didn’t want anything for my birthday” you said, barely audible. “y/n i know but i wanted to. please, take it” he said while kissing each one of your knuckles.

you opened it and found a smaller black box, you gave him a quick glance before opening it and what came to your sight was a necklace with a gold heart locket. you opened it and what you weren’t expecting was a note with the words “forever and always, m” in it. a first sob left your lips and you couldn’t stop the ones following it. he held you tight and your head found itself in the crook of his neck, thanking him a hundredth time. he kissed your forehead, and waited for your sobs to subside. “hey hey, no crying on your birthday” and your sobs turned into giggles. “this is the best present i could’ve asked for mason, tha-“ he stopped you knowing another thanks was on its way. “your day is not over baby, get ready and wear a bikini” he instructed you to as he winked, making you roll your eyes as you did like he said and ran upstairs to your wardrobe to get ready for the day.

you put on your favorite blue bikini, your pink and orange crochet dress and you were ready to leave for his surprise destination. he was wearing a linen white shirt, one of your favorites, and a black short and all you could think about was how you wanted to unbutton his shirt and take it off. he was so handsome, the prettiest man you ever laid your eyes on, you thought. you hopped in his car, your playlist ready to be played through the car speakers. kendrick lamar’s song was starting and you were good to go, not knowing where he was leading the two of you, excitement filling you.

an hour and a half and you could see a beach in front of you. he knew how much you loved the beach, as it reminded you of what used to be home for you in your country. he was happy with his surprise when he landed his eyes on you and saw you smile. lucky for you two, there weren't much people here that day. being too excited to leave for the day, you didn’t even realize when mason put a basket full of chocolate chip cookies and a bottle of hard lemonade in his car. looking at the cookies like a kid on christmas day, you sat on the beach blanket and ate one.

and you spent the next hours just like that. eating cookies, drinking lemonade, laughing, kissing each other, talking and appreciating the moment. you couldn’t have asked for anything better as the two of you thought back to your first date.

“you know i was so nervous before. i called christian and he couldn’t stop making fun of me.” you laughed as it was the first time that you were hearing about this. “hey don’t laugh! him and nicole literally joked about how much i was sweating last week. they laughed about how smitten i was already back then” he blushed and you couldn’t stop yourself from pecking his lips “and they were right.”

“idiot” you rolled your eyes, although you’d never admit that his words made you feel dizzy. “that was the most chaotic date ever” as you recalled. “god, it had started so well in that café. stupid joke after stupid joke and i was asking myself how lucky did i get to be here with you. and i remember how neither one of us wanted to end it here so we went on a walk.” you could hear him laughing as you continued. “and then it just started pouring and as people with common sense, we ran to a store to get umbrellas”

“and that’s when i knew you were it for me.” you couldn’t hide the frown on your face at his words. “we got out of the store and before you opened the umbrella, you looked at your face through a car window, saw the mascara stains on your face and erupted in laughter.”

“mason, i hit your face with that umbrella a few seconds after. how-“ you both laughed at how concerned you sounded, clearly a tree had knocked into him to come to this conclusion at this time, you thought. “i know some people would have ran away after how this date ended but not me, that was the best one i ever had. from the moment i saw you enter that cafe in that little black dress to the moment i let you in the front door, my vision blurry because of the blow.”

you couldn’t stop your heart from beating so fast. you never knew this was how he felt after your first date. you know you made it here after this but you never thought he had felt like that. he kissed you, the kiss getting more heated by the second and you had to stop the two of you before going too far on the beach. he wrapped his arms around your body and you laid down on the beach blanket, kisses left on each part of your skin he had access to. and you stayed in this position for the next few hours, watching the sunset with no desire to leave this beautiful place for now.

eventually you had to go home and this day was slowly coming to an end. your hand in his, you made your way to his car and went home. his hand rested on your thigh the whole ride, making you feel safe and all giddy inside. he parked his car in the porch, flexing his biceps which earned him a slap on his shoulder as you feigned to be disgusted. he was so stupid and why were you laughing like a 15 years old girl?

you made your way inside and left your shoes in the entrance, taking the basket with you to put everything you took with you away. mason then took you with him and led the both of you to your bathroom. there was no better way to keep going with your day than to hop in the shower with your boyfriend. the two of you undressed yourself before getting under the steamy water. he grabbed your shower gel and started to wash your back, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck to your lower back.

your turn to wash him arrived and while doing so, you left kisses here and there on his collarbones, his shoulders, feeling him shiver under your touch. water soon turned cold and you both got out of the shower. picking pajamas for the night – one of mason’s shirts for you. and when you thought that this day could not get any better than this, you heard the doorbell. confusion written all over your face, you followed mason downstairs and saw him with a bag from your favorite japanese restaurant. food he had ordered during the day without you noticing.

you sat on the sofa, a blanket covering your legs and you ate sushi in front of one of your favorite rom-com movies, how to lose a guy in 10 days. you couldn’t recall the amount of times you had watched this movie, mason being your first victim when it came to watching the same movies over and over again. but as much as you loved it, your eyes drooped, wearied after such a long and emotional day at the beach. mason, on his side, could sense your tiredness as you weren’t commenting on the movie like you would usually do.

tv off and before you knew, mason was bringing you to your shared bedroom, and next you were in your bed. he followed you right after turning the lights off and he had his arms wide open for you to engulf yourself into them. one last meaningful kiss shared and before you drifted off to sleep, you heard him whisper “you’re so special y/n, i don’t think you’ll ever realize what you do to me”.

tag: @10vnderhaze @mountymase @fallinforerling

[fuckyeahsufjanstevens]

I don’t know if this is the right thing to say because English is not my first language, but some people fly too close to the sun. When I think about Sufjan Stevens or Ryuichi, Terry Riley, Frank Ocean, I feel like their music is great, but you love them because you can really hear their suffering, their agony, their pain. They have been given a role to filter not just their own feelings through music, but other people’s suffering and pain, too. I always feel so sad for them. Like, why them? Why do they have to bear that role of witnessing so much hardship and the difficulty of just being alive in this world and then translate it through music? I have endless respect and support for this type of artist. I went back to Japan for the first time since the pandemic and there were changes in my parents’ lives. I had to help my father change his living situation. It’s never easy to prepare them for the next chapter, the next chapter, the next chapter, and then you die. Yet I’m so grateful for that and to return to Japan and still feel like it’s my home. Sufjan and I share the same birthday, maybe one day apart [Stevens’ is July 1, Makino’s is July 2], so we’ve spent two birthdays together by his place in upstate New York. He made it so special. I was quite shy, and maybe being the same sign is why he’s just as shy as me, but I really appreciate his way of carrying himself. He wears super colorful clothes, he’s super different, and I love the way he’s not shy of being shy, like he just kind of stares at you and then doesn’t say anything. Everything about him hits close to my heart. He was obsessed with the fireworks then, almost like a child, and even though we didn’t talk much, I felt so much tenderness, intimacy, and warmth from him and his partner. Now I think about Sufjan and his surroundings quite often. His music has been helping me quite a bit: Carrie & Lowell, Call Me By Your Name, his recent piano work that sounds massive. I listen to him in the middle of nowhere in Japan, trying to clean up my parents’ shit. I’m amazed by his responsibility when dealing with very difficult stuff. He’s the type of person who flies quite close to the sun. I hope he’s doing alright, I hope he’s happy, and I hope he’s gonna manage. Because some people just have a very difficult role to feel things so intensely, and that’s not easy. It’s a big ask—even of someone phenomenal like him. - Kazu Makino (Blonde Redhead) on Sufjan

[gingiesworld]

Reunited

Wanda Maximoff x GN! Reader

Warnings : Zombie Apocalypse. Death. Violence

Taglist: @ginnsbaker @gb12d @lifespectator @imaginationeuphoria @louxbloom @mfd-101

18+ MINORS DNI

Now

Y/N remained on the lookout of the camp, ready to ring the bell if any walkers stumbled across the small amount of survivors that had resided their. Their rifle remained readily within their grasp as they continued to look out through the darkness, listening for any sounds that would mean they could indeed be in danger.

They fingers played with the necklace they wore around their neck, remembering the birthday they had recieved it from their wife and sons.

Then

Y/N woke groggily to the sound of the bedroom door bursting open, the twins bounced on the bed excitedly as Wanda walked in with a tray full of pancakes. Enough for the four of them to sit and eat breakfast together, like they always would.

"Happy birthday baby." Wanda told them sweetly as the twins started to wolf their breakfast down.

"Thank you my love." They whispered as they kissed her lips tenderly before they all started to eat. Listening as the twins came up with a plan for Y/N's birthday, of course it was to be spent at the amusement park which Y/N didn't mind at all. In fact, they preferred to spend as much time as they could with their family.

"I got you something, well the twins also helped with picking it out." Wanda told them as she reached into her pocket, taking out a velvet box and handing it to them. Y/N beamed as they saw the Jedi emblem on the silver pendant.

"I love it. Thank you." They smiled as Wanda helped them put it on before ushering the boys from the bedroom so Y/N could get themselves ready to spend the day with their family.

Now

"It seems quiet tonight." Bruce spoke up as he approached Y/N on the lookout.

"Yeah." Y/N whispered, not taking their eyes away from their surroundings. "But that doesn't mean it is a good thing."

"I know you miss Wanda." Bruce told them as they just hummed. "But it has been years Y/N, maybe they're."

"Don't you dare say it!" Y/N growled as they turned to face their friend. "Do you know over the years I have looked for them, even among the undead. Hoping to see them either way, maybe put them out of their misery and maybe give them the burial they deserve."

"I know." He patted their shoulder.

"No, you don't know Bruce." They told him. "Natasha is here, along with Tony and that kid Peter. You have your family." They looked back out at the horizon. "I just want to be with my family and I will not rest until I know what had happened to them."

Even as the days wore on, not that anyone was really keeping score. They had struggled with the supplies, needing to go into a nearby village to find some food and other supplies.

"It's dangerous." Peter spoke up as everyone hummed.

"But if we don't do this, we will die of starvation kid." Y/N told him. "So, Nat and I will head out and get what we can."

"Just be careful." Bruce spoke up as both Nat and Y/N grabbed their weapons and threw the empty duffel bags over their shoulders.

The two walked through the woods, remembering the way towards the village as they listened to their surroundings. Nat always observed how Y/N was closed off, especially when either couple shown affection to their partners.

"You were married right." She stated as Y/N nodded. "What happened to her?"

"I don't know." They answered her honestly. "We were split up, the kids went with her and I just. I wonder what happened to them."

Then

As they heard a siren blaring through the town, Y/N and Wanda jumped up and grabbed their clothes. Running straigh towards the twins room and grabbing the two. As Wanda helped them get ready, Y/N filled their backpacks with the essentials.

They all froze as they heard screaming, all jumping as they heard their front door open and slam shut. Heavy footsteps headed up the stairs and the twins door opened to reveal a worried Pietro and Monica.

"Come on." He told them all. "We have to go now."

The four of them followed Pietro and Monica to their car, that was when Billy turned back to the house, Y/N chasing behind him as the others screamed after the two of them.

"Mr Sniffles, I can't sleep without him." Billy whined as Pietro was right behind them.

"I'll get him for you." Y/N told him as Pietro grabbed Billy, taking him to the car. Wanda yelled as she watched Y/N run back inside, Monica keeping her from following them inside. Y/N searched Billy's room for a couple of moments before they found his brown teddy bear. Running down stairs as they saw some of the residents running towards them, growling or yelling as they approached. Pietro had started the truck as Y/N soon ran behind the truck. The stuffed teddy in their hands as they tried to jump onto the back of the truck bed. Only just managing to put the teddy in the back as they lost their grip. Falling in the road as Wanda screamed for her brother to turn back. Y/N stood up and ran after the truck as Pietro shook his head.

"We have to carry on Wanda." He told her. "You and the boys are safe." He told her regretfully as Y/N soon disappeared the further away they went. They sprinted towards a neighbouring house, and ran inside. Locking the door behind them as they ransacked the place, sighing in relief as they saw a shotgun above the mantel and shells in a nearby cupboard. Only one goal in their mind, finding their family.

Now

Y/N and Nat looked through the local shops in the village. Already seeing the practically empty shelves. Nat had a defeated look on her face.

"We're going to have to move on." She stated as Y/N hummed in agreement.

"Let's just take what's left and get back." They mumbled as Nat nodded. The grabbed what little was left and made their way to the exit of the store. Glancing around before they made their way back to where they had came from. Their hands on their weapons, ready to attack at any given moment.

"What if they are dead?" Natasha asked them as they just froze.

"They can't be." Y/N told her. "In years I haven't seen her or the boys, not even her brother." They continued to move as they spoke. "I just hope that they did make it out of there because I don't think I can live in a world where they don't exist."

"You really loved her." Natasha stated as they hummed.

"I do really love her." They told her. "There isn't a day that goes by where I don't think of my wife and sons."

Then

As Pietro drove, Wanda kept screaming for him to turn the car around. The twins were both crying as Monica tried to calm them.

"I CAN'T DO THAT WANDA!!" Pietro yelled as he hit the steering wheel. "I know you must hate me right now but I had to. I just." He sighed as he looked at her through the rearview mirror. "I promised mama and papa that no matter what, I would always protect you and I won't ever break that promise."

"Y/N is alone." She whispered as Pietro wiped his eyes before his own tears fell.

"They could be dead by now." He told her sadly.

"No." She shook her head as she looked out of the window. "I will not believe that."

"Those things Wanda, they used to be people." Monica told her. "There was a breach at one of the Shield labs and a bio weapon got released." Monica's voice faded as Wanda cried silently, wishing for the day she would see them again. For them to hold her in their arms once more.

Now

Within the walls of Haven, it was a town surrounded by electric fences, 10ft tall and surrounded by boobie traps. Wanda walked through the streets, like she did every morning as the twins remained with their uncle and aunt.

She always looked up at the sky, thinking about Y/N, wondering if even after all of these years, they had somehow survived.

"The boys are awake." Pietro found her as she just nodded. The twins were now teenagers, both 14 years of age. They had still kept asking about Y/N, wanting to know if they had ever survived.

"I'll be there in a moment." Wanda told him. Although she hated her twin in that moment she was separated from her love, she now understands that he had made the hard choice that she wouldn't have made, saving all of their lives which is something Y/N would want.

"Bucky and I are heading out to scavenge the nearby towns." He informed her. "We will be back before sundown."

"Be careful." She told him as he just nodded. Wanda made her way back towards the house that they have resided in since they had found refuge and safety. Thanks to Steve Rogers who also happened to be someone who had predicted there would be some sort of apocalypse. Once Wanda approached the house, the twins were already helping Monica with the fruits and vegetables.

"Good morning." Monica greeted her as she just gave her a small smile. As the world around them was dying, they lived as comfortably as they possibly could.

"Morning." Wanda mumbled as she headed inside. Looking at the picture of the four of them. The one Tommy grabbed from the wall on the way out of their home all of those years ago.

"I know this must be hard Wanda." Monica started as Wanda shook her head no.

"You don't." Wanda whispered as she looked at her sister in law. "Everyday I wonder what happened to them. I wonder if they died that day we escaped. Did they become one of them things and will we see them as one of the walkers who totter around the fence before Clint shoots them with an arrow." Wanda wiped her eyes. "I just, I want to know what happened and it kills me inside because there is that possibility that they could still be alive out there."

Monica had no words so all she could do was wrap her arms around her as Wanda gathered herself.

"Don't get me wrong, I am thankful that the twins are alive and well but." She took a shakey breath. "I just wish I could go back, back to how it was."

Y/N was looking over the old map they had with Tony and Nat as they decided to map out a direction which would be best for them to head out.

"What about near the city?" Tony suggested as both Nat and Y/N shook their heads.

"I understand you were a city boy and miss that life, but that is the most dangerous idea you have ever had." Y/N told him. "The city was highly populated which means."

"There's a high possibility that there is thousands of walkers in the city." Nat finished as Tony huffed. "We're safest if we stick to the backroads, less population and the small towns around help with some of the supplies."

"Ok." Tony hummed as both Nat and Y/N looked over the map.

"So we will head towards Harmony, there's a clearing and a ranch just around here where we can camp out." They pointed to a spot on the map.

"Maybe if the ranch is empty, we can stay there." Nat suggested as Y/N hummed as they packed away the map.

"It should take us a few hours to get there." Y/N mumbled as everyone picked up the bags and weapons. Following Nat as Y/N took up the back.

"So, what is the deal with Wanda?" Bucky questioned as both Pietro and Bucky were stood inside a pharmacy, gathering as much supplies as they could.

"She is still hung up on Y/N." He stated as he picked up a bottle of aspirin. "They are Wanda's partner and we left them behind. I guess she is still holding out hope that they are still alive and will find her and the boys."

"It's been years." Bucky whispered as he looked shocked. "What if she is holding out hope just to lose it."

"She doesn't care about that." Pietro told him. "You should have seen them together, whenever Y/N had looked at her, even from when they both started to see each other, they looked at her like they would move mountains for her." Pietro smiled at the memories of seeing his sister so happy and in love. "I remember the first time she came to me to talk about them. They had been dating for 5 months I think, and her words made me smile and I wanted to find that love that she always spoke about. She told me, 'I have finally found my forever in Y/N and I understand what Mama always used to say when she spoke about love.'"

"That's really nice." Bucky beamed as the two never realised how long they had remained in one spot. "Yelena has been having a hard time lately." Bucky told him as they exited the pharmacy. "Her sister, Nat's birthday is coming up."

"I remember Kate mentioning something about that." Pietro noted as they started to walk through the streets towards the exit, not paying any mind to the walkers closing in from the west. "I guess we should just." A blood curdling shriek sounded through their ears as the two men froze. The two looked around frantically, seeing a small horde approaching them.

"I don't think we can take them." Bucky mumbled as Pietro shook his head.

"Nope. We don't have enough ammo." He stated as he looked to his left, seeing more.

"Maybe we can hide out in the store?" Bucky suggested.

"Yup, let's just give ourselves over to them." Pietro spat sarcastically.

"We can't lead them back!" Bucky told him as he nodded. He knew Bucky was right. "Let's just kill any that get to close for comfort." Bucky soon led the way towards the building in question as the walkers closed in on them. Soon enough they barricaded the doors, Pietro was froze as the sounds of their shrieks and the banging on the walls and door filled his ears. The fear was evident as he started to feel like he was suffocating as Bucky searched for another exit.

"Do you hear that?" Nat asked as she stopped everyone from moving further.

"It sounds like walkers." Tony stated.

"A lot of walkers." Peter mumbled as he moved closer to the group.

"Maybe we can go around." Nat stated as the others nodded as Y/N made their way towards the sound.

"They're surrounding the store." They told them as they pointed towards the small horde.

"I know you have hope that you might see Wanda, but we need to survive Y/N and heading over there is a death wish." Bruce told them as they shook their head.

"We have more than enough to take on the horde that small." Y/N told him. "What if there are kids in there? A family."

"Just like the one you lost?" Tony questioned as everyone glared at him. Y/N just shook their head as they headed to wards the horde, seeing as one of them at the back heard them kick an empty rusty can.

"Come on." Nat grumbled as she cocked her gun, following behind Y/N who started to fire. Aiming for the head as the walker dropped to the floor, the others started to walk towards them as they fired.

"I'm running low." Bruce stated as he reloaded the last cartridge in his 9mm.

"Do you hear that?" Bucky asked Pietro as the banging on the door ceased, the only sound that joined the walkers shrieks was the sound of gunshots.

"Who?" Pietro questioned as he raised his gun.

"I don't know, could be a gang?" Bucky reasoned as he walked towards the window. Watching as the number of walkers decreased instantly.

Y/N had run out of ammo so they had to change to the machete they had strapped to their belt. Swinging it as they got close enough, the blade slicing through the neck as the head fell to the floor. One by one, until the last one was done. Y/N got to the door and knocked on it.

"Come on, we know you're in there." They called out. "It's safe now. You can join us if you wish to."

"Come on." Bucky told Pietro as he started to move the barricade from the door, opening it to reveal Y/N and the small group of survivors. "Thank you." He thanked them as Y/N just nodded. Looking around at the group as Y/N walked passed them, recognising Pietro as he was still clean shaven like he always was before the outbreak. Although he never recognised them as their hair had grew out and their face had some scarring.

"We just need to get some more supplies." Y/N grumbled as they approached the counter at the back of the store, getting the left over ammo for the group as the others grabbed the food and water, and other supplies they may need.

Pietro observed Y/N as there was something he had recognised about them, but he couldn't quite put a name to it.

"We are heading just a couple hours north to a nearby ranch if you would like to join us." Nat stated as Bucky waved her off.

"We actually reside in a nearby town." He told her. "It's actually some sort of safe haven if you would want to join."

"Safe havens don't exist anymore." Y/N stated as they stood behind Nat.

"Well it's not perfect but it has a huge electric fence surrounding it and boobie traps. We also have lookouts." Bucky explained as Pietro observed Y/N. Trying to figure out why they are so familar.

"Y/N." He blurted out as everyone looked at him. "It's you." He beamed as Y/N looked away.

"You two know each other?" Nat questioned as Y/N groaned.

"He is my wife's twin, the man who left me to die all those years ago." Y/N stated as they left the building. Looking either way before they started to walk away from the store.

"Wanda and the twins are safe." Pietro yelled as he followed them out, causing Y/N to stop in their tracks. "They will be so fucking happy to see you. Wanda will be happy to see you."

"You left me." Y/N yelled as they turned to face him. "You were a brother to me and you left me to die!"

"I had too do what I needed to protect my family." He told them.

"I WAS YOUR FAMILY!!!" They yelled as they stepped towards him. "I was family." They whispered as Pietro gave them a sad smile. Neither really paying attention to one of the walkers that they had missed coming from around the building until Y/N saw it approach Pietro. It all happened so fast as Y/N moved as fast as they could, using the knife as they held the walker, not realising it's head had tilted towards their arm holding it in place. Y/N cried out as they plunged the knife into it's skull.

"Fuck!!!" Y/N yelled as they held their hand.

"What do we do?" Peter questioned as Bruce approached them.

"Get me a blow torch now!" Bruce yelled as he grabbed Peter's clean machete before he approached Y/N who cradled their arm. "We need to be fast." Bruce stated as he gestured for Pietro to hold their arm. "Look away." The two looked away as Bruce swung the machete hard, the others flinched as they heard their scream. "Ok, I'm going to cauterize the wound."

"What if it doesn't work and they change?" Pietro questioned.

"You should just shoot me now." Y/N groaned as everyone shook their head.

"I remember it took Thor 24 hours before they turned." Bruce told them. "Maybe if we wait it out." He suggested as Pietro nodded.

"No." Y/N shook their head as they groaned as Bruce used the blow torch on the severed arm. "I don't want to take that chance."

"No." Nat stated as she stood nearby. "I am not going to lose my best friend so we are going to do it Bruce's way."

With very little room to argue, Pietro held wrapped their good arm around their shoulder as they helped them walk as Bucky led the way to the town. Steve was there with Monica and Wanda to greet Bucky and Pietro, before they noticed that their was an increase of people approaching.

"Who is with them?" Monica questioned as Wanda shook her head. Unsure about the new comers with her brother.

"NAT!" Yelena boomed as they approached, Nat smiled tenderly as she heard her younger sister's voice. Speeding up as Bucky opened the gates, everyone watched as the two embraced as they cried in each others arms.

Wanda felt a pang of jealousy, hoping she would have that same reunion with Y/N. But she was starting to give up hope until her brother approached her. Soon enough, she recognised those eyes she had missed every single day since the day they were separated.

"Y/N?" She whispered as she approached the two of them. Her hands reaching up to caress their cheek, her fingers tracing the scars on their face as her tears started to fall.

"Wanda." They smiled tiredly as they went to reach out to her, only to stop as they remembered they lost their arm.

"What happened to you?" She whispered, pain in her eyes at the thought of them going through so much agony over the years apart.

"We have a lot to discuss." They told her softly as they stumbled slightly.

"Is there anywhere we can put Y/N to rest for 24 hours?" Bruce asked Steve as he had discussed what had happened. He nodded as he led them towards his own place he shared with Bucky. Wanda followed as Pietro filled her in.

"Don't tell the boys just yet." Wanda told her twin as she opted to remain with Y/N. "Just in case they aren't out of the woods." The two watched as Steve strapped them down in the medical bed they had taken from the doctors office.

"The straps are just a precaution." Steve told them as they just nodded weakly. Bruce cleaned and changed the dressing on their wound before he left Wanda alone with them. They smiled at her with a tired smile as she sat on the dresser.

"I am happy you made it." They told her. "Did the boys?"

"Billy and Tommy are fine." She told them. "All of us are fine." She approached the bed cautiously. "Leaving you wasn't easy." She whispered as they nodded in understanding. "I pleaded and begged for him to turn back for you but he just wouldn't."

"It's ok." They told her as she shook her head no.

"It's not ok." She told them. "I should have fought him harder on the matter. I should have fought for you."

"Wanda, you had the twins to consider." They told her. "I would prefer if you always put yourself and the twins before me anytime because you three are the most important people in my life."

"You saved Pietro." Wanda stated as Y/N nodded. "I just, thank you for fighting to come back here." She told them as she ran her hands through their long shaggy hair. Leaning down to kiss their lips, the two sighing at the contact they had missed over the years.

"Not a day went by were I didn't think of you or the boys." They told her honestly. "I love Wanda, I always have and always will."

"I love you so much more Y/N." She kissed them once more, her heart full again as the missing piece had returned.

As the months went on, Y/N had adjusted to life with one arm as everyone had their part to play in survival. The twins were emotional and extremely happy to have their parent back with them, even if they had missed years and years together.

Y/N stood at the door, watching as Nat taught the twins some of her moves, even though they hope the twins never need to use them but it is always best to be prepared. Especially in a world that is fading away around the little piece of heaven they have found with their loved ones.

[luvtak]

8:32

❀ pairing bf!haechan x gn!reader

❀ genre/tw buckets of fluff, something small for hyuck’s birthday!

❀ w/c 514

❀ a/n i don’t know if this is universal, but i find it so easy to write for haechan, he’s just so sweet and special to me<3

He looks so lovely in the candlelight, giggling softly to the sounds of the Birthday song. His cheeks are blushing pink from the beers he’s consumed throughout the night, and his eyes are staring right at you. Maybe it’s because of his birthday that he’s become so sentimental, but he’s been staring all day—always with a fond smile and bright eyes. His grin grows wider when you stop singing to mouth “I love you” staring right back as you watch his skin grow more flushed.

It’s at the “Dear Haechan” when he finally looks away, gracing his friends with his attention. They’re not ignorant of the way he’s barely looked at them, in fact they’re used to it; Whenever you’re around all his attention is on you, holding your drinks and making sure you’re not too hot or too cold. Even when it’s his birthday, he can’t seem to get away from taking care of you. The boys would be annoyed if they didn’t like you so much, but it’s hard not to love someone who makes your best friend and little brother happy. Even the most unobservant of the boys can tell he’s the most himself when he’s with you—as bright and brilliant as his name suggests.

This is the third birthday you’ve spent with him, three years of his life spent hearing your voice butcher the birthday song; three years spent receiving sweet and silly gifts, three years all with you. You were the first person to say Happy Birthday, whispering the words from your pillow, and singing him a sleepy rendition of the song before going to bed. You’ve said the words so many times today, eager to see the way his eyes scrunch and his mouth lift.

It's been a warm and happy day, even better now that he’s surrounded by his family. All joking and praising the boy, gifting him his favorite things—affection and attention. You can’t help but be overwhelmed with love for him, not when he’s giggling and cuddling into you. He’s spent the day attached to you, telling you the only thing he wanted for his birthday was to surround you with his love. Which is just like him—sacrificing materials and keepsakes to hold your hand and kiss you in front of his friends.

You allow him the public displays, quietly reveling in his infatuation, even when he smears frosting on your nose and tries to kiss it off in front of everyone. You think this must be what it is to love someone, to feel their happiness as yours—to be so excited for someone else’s birthday.

As the night goes on, he only gets closer and closer, mumbling ‘thank you’ into your neck as his friends sing karaoke around you. He didn’t tell you, but when he blew out the candles all his wishes were for you. His day has only been as wonderful as it is because you were there with him, and he hopes when it’s your turn he can make you as happy as you make him.

© luvtak

[lostmyremembrall]

📖

love the way you write the prompts <3 may i request prompt 18 ??

📖𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐭

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝐻𝑢𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑟, 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝑇𝑜𝑚 𝐵𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝐺𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑦 𝐴𝑠𝑠 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝐽𝑜𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 1𝐾 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡! Now closed

A/N: Oh my god. I am SO sorry it took this long to get to yours. Please forgive me, and I hope you'll still enjoy this.

You surprise Tom with a cat

Tom’s eyes widened at the sight that awaited him. Four tiny paws. A ball of brown fur. Large two ears. The tiny creature stared up at him, and bared its teeth as it meowed. Tom couldn’t help but jerk his head backwards 

“There he is!”

The enthusiastic voice of Abraxas greeted him when the resident Dark Lord peeked his head in through the doors of the Room of Requirement. His cautious eyes flickered around the room, reminiscent of an uneasy salamander that dared to poke its head out from underneath a rock to survey his surroundings.

“Let’s get this over with,” Tom sighed as he walked towards them, completely ignoring the birthday decorations that you, Abraxas, and Canopus had spent hours putting up.

“Of course. We won’t dare take up your valuable time any more than necessary,” Canopus responded somewhat sarcastically, approaching Tom and reaching up to put the cone hat that read ‘Birthday Boy’ on top of the disgruntled man’s head, knowing full well that he detested it. You might as well say that, for Canopus, seeing Tom in this humiliating hat was the only redeeming aspect of hosting this birthday party. 

“You never fail to make my day, Canopus,” Tom murmured quietly, his eyes coldly narrowing on the black-haired Slytherin. You had to admit, despite the comically small ‘Birthday Boy’ hat perched atop the Dark Lord, his seething glare was still enough to send a shiver down your spine.

  “Well, it’s tradition,” Canopus shrugged with a smug smirk on his lips, a brave reaction worthy of praise from a Gryffindor. You had no idea what it was that Canopus had: courage, stupidity, or simply a warped sense of fear. But, whatever it was, you couldn’t help but pity and admire it at the same time.

“So... Presents,” Abraxas clapped his hands excitedly, contently watching as the group sat around the sofas.

“Here, Tom. Happy birthday,” Abraxas beamed at Tom as he passed the wrapped package that was clearly a book from its size and shape.

Tom did not respond and tore open the paper wrapping.

“Oh. Actually… this is quite helpful,” Tom showed the book cover to you and Canopus; the title read ‘Dictatorship 101: A Beginner's Guide to Regime Change by Khalilah D Smith’. “Thank you, Abraxas. For the thoughtful gift,” Tom even managed a slight curl of his lips.

The blond looked quite pleased with himself, turning his nose slightly up in the air with a proud smile.

“Pshhh, as if our great Tom needs any instructions on becoming a dictator,” Canopus rolled his eyes. 

“I, on the other hand, got the only thing Tom needs on his destined path to greatness: Time,” Canopus added an exaggerated flourish to his hands that gestured to the box on the coffee table, ignoring the clear annoyance that flashed across Abraxas’ elegant features.

“You should know, Canopus,” Tom raised a brow as he opened the box. “Your words bring nothing but anxiety to my already troubled mind.”

You peeked in over Tom’s shoulder to find what exactly he meant by ‘time’, as Canopus dramtically worded. To your surprise, it was packets of energy drink powder.

“Ohh… nooo, Canopus…” you murmured quietly, recalling the Dark Lord’s sensitivity to caffeine. The last time he tried one cup of coffee, he stayed up for four nights in a row. “What on earth made you think this was a good idea?”

“Shush shush,” Canopus silenced your words of terror, not even giving you a glance. “Tom, remember the coffee that you had? Imagine that, but double that.”

Tom’s eyes widened in amusement as he glanced at it. “By that logic, I could conquer the wizarding world twice as fast.”

“Exactly my point!” Canopus’ eyes glimmered wildly. “You don’t trust us with a thing. And you’re right to do so. Imagine how much you could get done if you could do everything yourself.”

Tom hummed, nodding along. “You know what, Canopus? For the first time in my life, you did not disappoint.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “You two are just enabling his unhealthy obsession with power!” You grabbed Tom’s shoulders, and he slightly wobbled from left to right as your seething eyes captured Abraxas and Canopus. “What Tom needs is stability. Emotional support.”

The wincing was visible on Tom’s face as you said the word ‘emotional support’, but before he had any opportunity to protest, you presented him with a medium-sized box. Tom was bewildered by the way the box seemed to shake on its own. But still, carefully, he opened the box.

“Oh,” Tom seemed lost for words. “Oh. This is… rather… unexpected.”

“Unexpected? What is it-” but Canopus did not need to finish his question, as a small tabby kitten poked his head out of the box and pressed his paws against Tom’s eyes. 

Tom grew silent.

“You thought giving Tom a cat was a good idea?” Canopus turned his disbelieving eyes to you. “And here you were, telling me gifting energy drinks was irresponsible.”

You scowled at your friend, not noticing the kitten that had begun climbing Tom’s uniform like it was his life mission. “Well, I, as his friend who actually know him, happen to think that an emotionally volatile person like Tom needs a support animal.”

“Emotionally volatile?” Tom repeated to himself quietly, doubting his ears over the words that came from this supposed friend of his. At that moment, Tom was trying to ignore the kitten on his shoulder, who was pressing his paws against his cheek.

You had to admit, Tom was showing a surprising level of patience towards the kitten, a bitter realisation following closely behind that, perhaps, Tom tolerated the kitten more than any of his human friends. The tabby cat began to incessantly meow by Tom’s right ear, demanding his attention.

Abraxas was watching all of this with intrigued amusement in his pale eyes. “Well… let’s just hope that the cat will survive to see adulthood.”

You found the meowing rather adorable, but it was clear that Tom’s patience was quickly wearing thin. Even for kittens, the Dark Lord had his limits, it seemed. “Look, I only speak snake,” Tom barked, turning his head to the right, speaking directly to the kitten with frustration evident in his voice. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

The kitten only responded by pressing his paws on Tom’s lips, perhaps for the first and the last time the Dark Lord was silenced. Either from rage or being overwhelmed by the kitten’s cuteness, Tom’s cheeks turned a bright red. For the sake of the kitten, you hoped it was the latter.

“Oh hey,” Canopus’ eyes widened at the kitten’s bold move. “What do you know? He might just live to see adulthood.”

Tom growled as the kitten began his climb up Mt. Tom again. “How wonderful,” he murmured darkly, his displeased eyes following the kitten’s tail that swung back and forth in front of his face as he made his way up his head. The kitten was now wrestling with the ‘Birthday Boy’ hat, fighting for his spot on top of his head.

“Not so intimidating anymore, are you Tom?” Canopus snickered as his eyes flickered

between the Dark Lord and the cat that had settled comfortably on top of his head.

Tom’s vehement glare from behind the swinging tail was quite the sight to behold. At that moment, for whatever came over its small brain, the kitten leapt off of Tom’s head and landed on Canopus’ face.

“Agh! What’s happening?!” Canopus tried to pull off the kitten while its claws dug into his face. “Get it off me!”

“Yes. Yes!” Tom’s dark chuckle echoed in the Room of Requirement, while Abraxas watched the scene in terror, his hands elegantly covering his gaping mouth. 

You could confidently say, that for the rest of your life, you would never forget the cheerful eyes of Tom when he turned to you and said, “You were right, dear. Emotional support was exactly what I needed.”

A/N: Ended up writing as a sequel of sorts to 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓀 ℒℴ𝓇𝒹 ℴ𝓃 𝒞𝒶𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒾𝓃ℯ. Not my best writing, but hope you still enjoyed it!

[watchmegetobsessed]

TWENTY-NINE

A/N: happy birthday to my number one celebrity crush!! i hope he feels lucky, bc i have a looong list of crushes and he's been on the top for years hehe

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

SUMMARY: It's Harry's birthday, he is surrounded by love, but there is one person missing from beside him. You.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Palm Springs is celebrating tonight, because it’s Harry’s 29th birthday. It’s a special day for everyone, especially his fans and his loved ones. Even though he is loved all year round, on this day he always feels like it multiplies. 

It’s been like any other day, he started the day with a run, then a nice breakfast at the hotel he has been staying with the crew, he had some down time he spent answering messages, he was on the phone with his mum and sister, other loved ones. 

After lunch his band surprised him with a little cake, they sang him happy birthday and spent the afternoon together until it was time to leave to the venue for tonight’s show. It’s been a nice birthday, but there’s been one thing that’s been missing all day.

You. 

As always, he woke up to the sweetest message from you.

My dearest love, happy birthday! I know we are thousands of miles apart, but know that I’m right there with you, celebrating the best man I’ve ever known. I love you so much, have the best day and we’ll drink to you when we reunite! Xx

He couldn’t stop smiling as he typed out his response, but had to swallow the bitterness because you weren’t there beside you. He added the Palm Springs shows way too late to make it work with your schedule so he ended up having to spend his birthday without his girlfriend.

All through the day he’s been thinking about you and while you exchanged texts in the noon, you stopped responding hours ago and Harry’s been missing you like crazy. You must be working, he knows you can’t just hang on the phone all day because it’s his birthday, but he still wishes you could’ve joined him. 

Now it’s time to give a show and give back the love he’s been receiving, to celebrate with his fans who have been there for him all along. He is giving the show his all, busting his ass to light the stage on fire, the whole arena is shaking from the energy and he is high on adrenaline as he performs song after song. 

“How are you feeling tonight?” he asks, crossing the stage to get some water between two songs. The crowd screams and he grins as he looks around.

“We have a couple more songs to go. I want you to–”

His speech is cut off by the lights going dim and he turns around with a confused look as the screaming enhances. He tries to seek any information about what’s happening from his band mates, but they are all just smiling back at him without a word.

The screen lights up and Harry’s head snaps towards it as a video darts playing.

“Hi baby!” his mum appears smiling ear to ear and Harry exhales with a chuckle as he shifts his weight to one leg while watching. “I can’t believe you’ve turned twenty-nine! I still remember the day you were born.” Then the video cuts to Mitch and Sarah.

“Happy birthday to the best boss and bandmate!” they smile at the camera before the picture cuts to the next person.

Friends follow family members and all his loved ones are wishing him a happy birthday in the sweet video message as he stares up at the screen, his chest swelling from the love, eyes watering slightly. He is so thankful for all the sweet wishes and nice words, it makes him forget about how anxious he’s been feeling about entering his last year in his twenties. 

And then your face appears at the end and his fans go crazy.

Even though you’ve been dating for almost three years now, you haven’t appeared next to him in an official way, you never posted about each other, never appeared at events, you’ve been only spotted by the paparazzi and that’s how the world knows about your relationship. But now here you are, in his birthday video that’s displayed to thousands of people in the arena.

“Hi baby! Happy birthday, Handsome. I miss you very much and I’ll see you soon. Now go and sing your heart out!”

“I miss you too,” he whispers to himself as the video ends and the lights come back up, everyone around him clapping. He needs a couple of moments to recover, Pauli walks up to him, patting him on the shoulder before he is able to speak up again.

“That was an unexpected gift, thank you!” he chuckles. “Now… back to our regular schedule!” he holds up his index finger as he walks over to his microphone stand and the starting accords of the next song fill the place.

When the show is over he runs off the stage, his palm slapping against the hands of fans before he disappears backstage. He is a bit out of breath, sweaty and tired, but he’s still buzzing from the great show and it’s once again proven that he is doing what he loves the most.

When he walks into his dressing room he freezes instantly as he spots a familiar duffel bag he’s seen millions of times before. It’s yours.

“Surprise!” you speak up and his head snaps to the side, seeing you sitting on the couch, his mouth hanging open.

You chuckle at his reaction as you stand up and start walking towards him, but then he finally recovers and launches at you, picking you up from the ground as he twirls around with you in his arms.

“What are you doing here?” he breathes against your neck. He puts you down, but keeps his arms locked around you. 

“Should I leave?” you tease him, arching an eyebrow.

“Don’t you dare!” he chuckles and finally presses his lips against yours. 

“I wanted to spend at least a bit of your birthday with you,” you mumble against his lips as he keeps peppering your mouth and cheeks with tiny pecks.

“Now it’s my best birthday ever.”

“You say that every year, H!” you chuckle leaning back a bit as you take his face in your hands. 

“Because it’s always the best if I’m with you. And I’ve spent the last… how many birthdays with you?” he purses his lips, pretending to count in his head.

“Five,” you answer for him.

“Ah, yeah. Because even before I grew some balls and asked you out, you were there with me.”

“Only took you two years,” you smirk at him. “Happy birthday, Harry. Twenty-nine will be amazing, I can feel it.”

“I know,” he nods. “Because I’ll spend it with you.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[kurogane2512]

It's my birthday today

And I would love it if you could do nsfw and sfw headcannons of what cabernet, La signora, arlecchino and Chameleon would do with me today (how have you been? I'm great!)

I have been doing good too and HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! 🥳🎂 I hope you have a great day ahead and here is a little present from me ❤️

18+ CONTENT

Games: Genshin Impact, Path to Nowhere

Characters: La Signora, Chameleon, Cabernet x male! Reader (separate)

Type: NSFW and SFW hcs (celebrating your birthday)

A/n: I do apologize not writing Arlecchino, I'm really not good with her I didn't want to ruin it

La Signora

SFW

She'd spoil and please you the whole day. She has been planning for your birthday for months, she will do everything perfectly and give you the best day ever. It would start with her bringing breakfast for you in bed, and everything is handmade by her. She doesn't generally cook as she has maids in her mansion, but today she will show you all her cooking skills (spoiler, she's amazing literally even better than the maids).

Will give you so many kisses right in the morning then bathe together. She basically wants to be together the whole time, she cleared her schedule for you and she will make the best use of it. She prefers to keep things more private, so there won't be a loud and lavish birthday bash but just you two being together and doing things.

She'll take you out for a picnic! It'll be a very calm and beautiful place surrounded by flowers and just overall serenity. She'll lay your head on her lap and sing for you, will lovingly gaze at you from above and caress your hair then watch you nap and she'll continue her humming. Don't forget she packed lunch for you too! Will handfeed you and tease you by showing some affection in public

And if all this wasn't enough already, she will even take you out for dinner. Now this one will be a lavish and expensive place, she'll wear your favorite dress and gift you a new suit as well. The restaurant is still private, it'll be a high-class meal but you can't deny you loved her handmade dishes the most. Oh, and even more teasing at the restaurant. She's so seductive in public, she gets you riled up for later~

NSFW

She will please you sexually many times during the day. in the morning, she'll give you a handjob after waking you up. But nothing more than a handjob, she knows you want more but she'll intentionally edge you. During bath too she'll rub her body all over you, her hands and boobs are all over the place and she'll kiss you a lot but as soon as you try to do more she'll hold you in place with a simple "Hold your urges, tiger....There's plenty of time~"

At dinner she'll tease you under the table by rubbing your dick with her foot. She's just preparing you for the main attraction later. When you reach home, she can tell you are ready to pounce at her but she still makes you wait. She'll reward your patience diligently, don't worry.

The entire night is spent with her overstimulating you. She edged you the whole day, now she'll make up for it. She'll suck you off so well as if milking you dry, she'll tie your hands to the bedpost and ride you telling you to fill her up. She'd even give you a boobjob, she knows how much you love it.

She'll get particularly feisty later when she puts a collar and leash on you, tugging you forward when she finally gives you some control and lets you fuck her as you want. You may be on top now but she's pulling the leash and controlling how deep or fast you go. She'll contract her walls as your dick thrusts inside her, gripping you so tight with full intention of milking you.

Chameleon

SFW

She won't prepare much in advance; she knows when your birthday is ofc but she prefers doing whatever you want to for the whole day. She'll let you speak your desires, or just find them on her own by looking inside your mind.

She'll make it as if she planned these things when in reality, she saw them inside your mind and decided to fulfill them. It'll be one of the few days she listens to your needs and tries to make you happy. She's not enthusiastic about it, but she doesn't mind it when you enjoy.

She'll not go to work if you want, she'll stay with you as you want. Want to go out? Sure, she will take you. Maybe a movie and dinner date? Alright, no issues. That's the kind of attitude she'd have, and she can't deny she likes seeing you happy. She'll secretly buy a gift at a shop when you are looking elsewhere, she'll give it to you later.

NSFW

Similarly, for sex too she'll do what you want for once. She's usually the one dominating but today she'll listen to you, irrespective of whether she becomes bottom or not. Oh, but she sees you like it when she tops? Sure, she'll do exactly that. Tie you up and blindfold you, ride you to her heart's content and not let you cum until she says.

You want to top her? Fine, she'll allow it today only cause you'll be happy. So you better get to fucking her already, put her on fours and pound into her sopping cunt. Literally do any position; doggy, prone bone, mating press, she'll let you do everything today.

Will give you cleanup blowjob too, which just lets you fuck her face even more. Oh, but she realizes she kind of like this. It's not bad letting you dom her once in a while. By the end, she'll milk you so well and be overstimulated herself. She planned to let you have your pleasure first, but if you like it this way then she's not complaining.

Cabernet

SFW

She will throw a grand celebration for you, a big birthday bash inviting all celebrities and Eastside dignitaries. There'll be a grand feast of all the kinds of food you like, everything made by her hand-picked top tier chefs. She will make you feel so special, because she knows your soul would taste exquisite when you are this well fed.

She's so dignified and elegant in front of others, maintaining her reputation as a top-notch food connoisseur. She will also brag about you to others, praising you as a partner and making you flustered in front of everyone. She'll even dance with you, just to keep up appearances of you being a perfectly normal couple.

NSFW

Oh, she's going to tease and rile you up so much during the party. She'll pull you into a balcony and get on her knees to give you a blowjob right then and there. You may be hidden but her sultry sounds couldn't make it more obvious what was happening. She loves it when you pull her hair and bury yourself deeper into her mouth, essentially fucking her throat.

If balcony wasn't enough, she'll pull you into the dining area where the maids were preparing to serve dinner. They'll leave on her command; she picks up a peculiar fruit and feeds it to you mouth-to-mouth, it's sweet and refreshing. Little do you know it had aphrodisiac properties.... Now you have her bent on the dining table as you fuck her from behind relentlessly.

And don't forget the bathroom.... She'll 'accidentally' spill some wine on your clothes then take you away to clean it, only to rip away your suit and fish out your cock for her to pump it and milk you dry. Pick her up against the sink and cum inside her again, all the while she drinks the wine in her hand and tells you to fuck her deeper.

Later at night when everything is over, she'll have some food play with you. But this time, you get to decorate her with all sorts of ingredients and dine on her. Oh, the way she moans as your tongue glides down her body and eats her out, the way she arches up when you press an ice cube to her nipples....She can't wait for when you mount her and fuck her out of her mind for the rest of the night.

[sstormyskyess]

Party Favors

author's note: wrote myself a gift for today since it's my birthday and of course i'm sharing the love with y'all 💜

cw: poly tf 141, fivesome, blowjobs, spitroasting, handjobs, fingering, praise, light degradation, implied off-screen aftercare

word count: 2700+

TF-141 x GN!Reader "Sleuth"

You had been wondering why Price had asked you when your birthday was. You didn’t think it was particularly relevant in this line of work, but according to Price it was for “team bonding.” Honestly, it seemed a bit redundant. You and the rest of the team had done plenty of… “team bonding” activities. Certainly more than anyone would deem professional.

You scratch the back of your head and sit in one of the chairs in the rec room. It was late; the sun had long since gone down and all of the dinner in the mess hall had been cleared off. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought that you were the only person awake on base. You were asked—no, told—to be here at this time, though, so you knew your team was on their way.

You sit there for another ten minutes before you finally hear someone’s footsteps approaching and a familiar face slips through the door. “Punctual as always, Sleuth.” Price has a small gift bag in hand and a smile on his face when he steps over to the table you’re seated at. You laugh, trying to hide your anxiousness. “I do my best, sir.”

“That’s what I like about you, love.” He wraps an arm around your shoulder and runs his hand up your forearm. Your face warms up, your embarrassed little smile bringing a chuckle out of Price. “The others should be here soon. Are you excited?” He rubs the nape of your neck when you nod. “Mhm. Good.” He squeezes down gently, the muscles under your skin loosening a smidge.

“We interrupting something?” You look up at the sound of Ghost’s voice. You smile and watch Ghost, Soap and Gaz join the party. They have a box of something with them. “Not interrupting anything, boys.” Price keeps massaging your neck and watches the rest of them walk toward the table, setting the box down.

Your nervous demeanor starts to melt away under the warm touch and gazes of your teammates. You take notice of Ghost’s gloveless hands, a rare sight to be sure. Now you know they have some kind of ulterior plans for tonight. In the fleeting moment you make the connection, Ghost’s hand was on top of yours, his fingers gently brushing over your knuckles. You smile and turn your hand over to hold Ghost’s, your fingers intertwined.

You let out a soft, calm sigh and reopen your eyes to see the box now placed in front of you, Soap sitting across the table from you with a grin on his face. “Go on, open it up!” He takes both of your hands in his and puts them on top of the box. “Okay, okay!” You laugh, slipping his fingers under the box’s lid and lifting it off. Inside was a cake of your favorite flavor with strawberries lining the edges and ‘Happy Birthday!’ written in icing on the top. There were hearts surrounding the jovial birthday wish in the center. All in all, it was quite the pretty display.

Your heart swells at the sight, a big bright smile dancing on your lips. After a few seconds more of processing, you eke out a strained, “Jeez guys, you didn’t have to go all out!” You half-laugh half-sniffle and wipe your eyes. “Thank you…” You feel Gaz’s arms wrap around you from behind and squeeze you tight. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

After you manage to calm yourself down and everyone has finished their cake and mini-conversations around the table, Price clears his throat. Everyone hushes and once he has everyone’s full attention—except for Soap and Gaz, who were still playing footsies under the table—he pulls the gift bag he came in with back onto the table and sets it in front of you. “We spent a month or so deciding what to get you. I hope you enjoy it.”

You nod and pull the bag closer, taking out the tissue paper covering whatever the gift was and bite your lip in anticipation. When you reach the bottom of the bag, your fingers graze along leather. Your eyes widen a touch. Was that what you thought it was? You pulled it out and you stared in awe at the shiny new present: a black leather collar with a silver plate on the back. Engraved in the metal was ‘TF-141.’

You turn the collar side to side, your cheeks warming the longer you look. You were speechless. You were mesmerized for a few more moments before your fingers fumble to undo the buckle on the back and bashfully look at the others. “Can…” You bite your lip. “Can one of you put it on for me?” Your voice was tiny and squeaked a bit.

Price chuckled and took it from you, moving behind you and wrapping it around the front of your neck. He pulled it snug against your throat, your breath hitching at the perfect fit; it wasn’t too tight and it wasn’t too loose. The padding on the inside of the collar was soft against the column of your neck. You revel in the feeling for a moment before clearing your throat. “Thank you guys, really. It’s wonderful…” You look down timidly.

After the collar is latched shut, Price’s hands move to massage your shoulders. “I’m glad. But, we’re not done celebrating yet, right boys?” He looked at the others and nodded, satisfied with the assortment of ‘yes, sir’s and returned nods.

You bite down on your bottom lip. You were bent over your captain’s knees, with your bottoms pushed down your legs to hang loosely around your thighs. You shiver at the feeling of Price’s hand running up and down your back soothingly. “You alright, lovely?” Price asks after he meets your eyes. You nod and press your thighs together, a needy pressure building up between your legs already. “Yes, sir. I’m okay.”

You squeak when you feel someone else’s hand grab at your ass, their calloused fingers rubbing against the softer skin there. “Christ, I love your ass, dove.” Soap’s voice meets your ears and you wiggle in his ever-tightening hold. Ghost scoffs somewhere to your side. “Hands off, Soap. Wait your turn.” He taps his foot and the hand on your ass left. You laugh quietly at the displeased grumbles that come from Soap. “Be patient, Sergeant.” There was a playful lilt to Price’s tone; you can tell he has a smile on his face. “Ghost, c’mere. You’re up first.”

Ghost doesn’t even try to hide his heavy footsteps as he circles around and ends up behind you. You shuffle, a muted excitement in his movements. You feel his large hands on the globes of your ass, spreading them apart to get a better view of your hole. Your breath hitches when his thumb draws a loose circle around the rim and you chance a quick look behind you to see what Ghost was up to; you were stopped in your tracks by Price’s fingers tugging on your collar gently to pull your gaze forward again. You whimper, the feeling sending a wave of heat into the pit of your stomach.

Your toes curl when Ghost’s hot breath grazes along your tight hole. Before you get a chance to say or do anything, Ghost’s tongue is sliding over it, the warm, slick muscle pressed flat against it. A shocked moan is pulled from your lips at the sudden sensation. Ghost hums against you, his tongue slipping inside for a moment before pulling out, just to thrust it in again. “G-Ghost!” You whimpered.

After another minute of Ghost preparing you with his tongue, he slips a finger inside, then a second. You moan at the feeling of his thick fingers stretching you out, and you grind back onto them needily. You jump when Ghost’s finger grazes your sweet spot, a jolt of pleasure shooting through you. You whine under the influence of Ghost’s ministrations, his fingers spreading and scissoring apart, pulling you open ever so gently.

You glance over to your side, your face heating up at the sight of Soap and Gaz with their eyes locked on you and both of their cocks rutting into Gaz’s hand. It’s Soap who notices your stare first and he throws a wink your way, chuckling at the way you lower your head back down out of embarrassment. You get brought back to reality when Ghost starts to lick into your hole again, his tongue trailing along your gummy walls.

He pulls away after a couple more minutes of your moaning and wiggling and takes in the sight of you instinctively trying to clench down on his digits. “All ready to go.” Ghost smirks, licking his lips and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Your stuttering breaths slowly go back to normal and you perk up when you notice Soap’s feet come into your line of sight. “My turn.” His voice sounds almost feral, predatory. Ghost pulls his fingers out, making your legs shiver.

His thick fingers are quickly replaced by the thick tip of Soap’s cock pressing up against your rim. “Relax for me, sweet thing.” You bite your lip and breathe in deep through your nose, releasing it as he pressed into you. You whimper, the drag of his cock along your walls punching the air out of you. You look back and in response, Soap snatches the back of your collar and yanks, making you look up.

In front of you, Gaz had managed to sneak his way over, his leaking dick in hand. Your mouth immediately starts to water at the sight, your tongue darting out to lick your lips. “Open wide, darling.” You don’t have to be told twice; your mouth opens and your tongue lolls out of your mouth, your pupils dilated. You couldn’t help but moan as Gaz seats himself down your throat, a little gag escaping your throat. Price starts to rub circles into the skin between your shoulder blades and the small of your back. “That’s a good pet.” He smiles at the way you squirm under his touch and his praise.

You let out a cry of pleasure—muted by Gaz’s cock—when Soap starts to move, his pace fast and firm right from the get-go. The force of his thrusts pushes you forward into Gaz, the tip of his cock prodding the back of your throat. Your eyes water and you choke, drool dripping down your chin. Gaz groans when Soap tugs on your collar again, the taut leather band squeezing his dick in your throat. “Fuck—do that again.” He tips his head back in pleasure when the sensation comes again, this time mixed with the vibrations of your moans traveling through his cock.

You feel a deep sense of relief and pleasure when your teammates start to fill your holes up in unison, thrusting in and out in perfect rhythm. Your groans and high-pitched cries had both Ghost and Price palming at their cocks. Their soft grunts feed back into your ears, your sex throbbing and painfully swollen. You glance over and see Ghost shuffle close again, stroking his thick erection. Your eyes widened in surprise when Ghost grabs and replaces his own hand with yours; you get the message quickly and start to shakily twist your hand up and down, making Ghost groan, long and deep.

“You’re so good for us, Sleuth,” Price reaches down to grind his calloused palm along your sex, and his own dick twitches under his fatigues at the wanton moan you let out. “Takes us so well, huh?” He muses absentmindedly, looking at the rest of his boys and nodding when they all babbled out agreements.

Soap groans, his pace picking up. “Fuck, y’feel so good, dove—” He grunts. The sound of skin on skin and your wet gags echo around the room. Gaz had taken a handful of your hair and his thrusts had fallen out of rhythm. His thighs tensed when a small dribble of your saliva slid down his shaft to his balls. “Gonna cum down your throat, pet. You’re gonna swallow every drop, yeah?” You nod quickly, meeting his eyes desperately and using your free hand to shakily grab onto the back of Gaz’s thigh, trying to pull him deeper. Ghost chuckled at the sight. “Dirty slag.”

Price cups your sex tight for a few seconds before quickly palming it harder, two of his fingers sliding inside of you beside Soap’s dick. Your legs kick out and your voice gets caught behind Gaz’s shaft. Your back arches as you cum and you let out a string of moans. Gaz gasps at the feeling of your voice on his dick, his own climax coming alongside yours. You gag, swallowing around him to milk him dry and drink down his release.

The softening length in your mouth is pulled free abruptly and you didn’t get much recourse before the tip of Ghost’s cock was pressing between your lips. You keep up your stroking obediently and await the second load you would swallow tonight. You look up with tear filled eyes, your gaze begging for more.

You cry out, a few tears falling down your cheeks when Soap’s tip presses against your soft spot, another orgasm rocketing through you like a speeding train. Your hole tightens like a vice grip around Soap’s shaft and he lets out a strangled groan before burying himself to the hilt. His cock twitches as he fills you up with a thick load, spurting out deep inside you.

You nearly sob at the feeling, your hand freezing on Ghost’s dick before picking up the pace tenfold, the desire to get all of your lovers off truly overwhelming you. The desperate, fucked-out look on your face had Ghost letting out a growl and pulling himself out of your grip to stroke himself to completion. His cum coated your face, some getting up into your hairline. He took his cock and smeared some of his seed over your lips and tongue, smiling at how gratefully you accepted it.

 You heave, trying to catch your breath. You barely register getting gently pulled up off Price’s lap, your brain cloudy. Price jiggles your collar a bit to get you to zone back in. “Hey, love. You want to let your captain have a turn?” He smiles when he gets a tired nod from you. He leans down and kisses you, tasting his men on your lips, eliciting a soft moan from the depths of his chest.

Price lines himself up with your hole, already thoroughly lubed up with Soap’s cum, which was still lazily dripping out of you. You throw your head back and let out a sonorous cry at the feeling of his thick cock spearing open your already sensitive entrance, the rim wet and puffy. Price wipes your tears away, placing a sympathetic kiss on your lips.

His guiding hands bounce you up and down quickly, his cock bullying all of the most sensitive places along your tight, tender walls. Another orgasm started building up inside you, the wetness collecting around your hole and sliding down Price’s cock pooling around his happy trail. “S-Sir—” You whine, grasping at anything you could reach; your fingers dig into the meat of Price’s shoulders and drag down his chest, trying to ground yourself any way you could.

Your voice was hoarse by the time Price’s cock was finally throbbing, suddenly approaching his orgasm at a breakneck pace. A few more shaky thrusts was all it took for him to grunt and groan as the tightness below his stomach bursts, filling you with yet another load of cum. You moan weakly as your own climax comes once again, for the third time that night.

Your eyes blur and you collapse on top of Price, burying your face in his neck and sniffling a bit. “Did so well for us, Sleuth.” Price mutters, out of breath himself. He carefully pulls himself out of your slicked up heat and picks him up to lay him back on the rec room loveseat. He places a kiss on your forehead, smiling softly down at you. He stands up and readjusts his pants, turning to the others, “Let’s get cleaned up, boys.”

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[lemonandlime22]

Adventure into the enchanted forest

Warning(s): [none]

Summary: Rook takes you on an enchanting adventure with a glowing surprise

A/N: This is a bday present for @lorkai , I hope you are having/had an amazing birthday and got everything you wanted!! i hope you enjoy this, HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVEY!!!

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Gentle gloved fingers ran through your hair as you slowly opened your eyes to see the French blonde above you, staring so lovingly into your eyes. His hair was pulled back into a small bun with his bangs hanging in front of his face, and his signature hat was nowhere to be seen. His face, looking down so softly at yours, was covered in shadow but the bright sunlight from above gave him a peaceful halo of the yellow light. 

With a voice as soft and smooth as silk, he whispered, “Well good morning, ma lumière” his smile grew “You are as beautiful at the morning sun, and dare I say you shine twice as bright just as you wake,,,” he trails off with a dreamy sigh and continues to stare

You can’t help but burst into giggles at the cheesiness of his words but you know he was telling the truth, he is never one to say what he doesn’t mean. “You are such a dork,” you say through giggles as you reach up and pinch his nose. He laughs as well and lifts you to scatter kisses all over your face.

It was your birthday and Rook wasted no time planning a special day with you. Rook took you deep into the forest with nothing but the promise of a beautifully adventurous day, a promise to which he did not disappoint. The day was spent exploring the forest, picnicking, watching animals, and him telling you all about the plants and wildlife that surrounded you.

But Rook had a certain place, in particular, he wanted to show you. He gestured for the two of you to stand up and, taking your hand, led you as you covered your eyes at his request. The closer you got the scent of blooming flowers surrounded and engulfed you with a calming sensation along with the sound of rushing water. Rook stopped and helped you out of your shoes, still telling you to keep your eyes covered. Once your shoes were off he softly took your free hand in his and pulled you close with water engulfing your feet to your ankles. 

He slowly took your hand for your eyes and walked backward with both your hands in his, staring lovingly at you walked backward at the edge of the small lake towards the waterfall, never once taking his eyes off of you. You didn’t have the strength to look away for a moment, even as you were both enveloped in shadow. 

Rook had taken you behind the small waterfall into a grotto that looked to be filled with millions of luminescent pebbles. The glow illuminated his face as he softly smiled to himself and turned to the mystical cave, still holding your hand, he calmly sighed before speaking,

“This is a secret place” he looked back into your eyes, his filled with pure affection “I relax here when I go hunting. I wanted to show this to you so if you ever need a safe place to breathe, you can always come here” 

You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face at his words and gesture. You let go of his hand and enclose your arms around him in a tight hug, which he happily reciprocates.

“Ah! I nearly forgot!” Rook exclaimed before pulling away and reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small emerald green box,

 “Your gift!” He exclaimed proudly as he presented the box in his hand to you. 

Rook opened the velvet box to reveal a ring with what seemed to be one of the many glowing rocks, it was a simple style with the magical pebble being the main focus but there was an Intricate design with the band that seemed to be vines. You were taken aback and speechless, your breath hitched in your throat, but Rook happily explained,

“A promise ring, ma lumière, so that you know, no matter what, you’ll always have someone you can go to, someone that’s always proud of you, someone that loves you.” A soft caring smile filled his face as he looked longingly at you. You couldn’t form a word, but your smile that grew with every moment and eyes that held nothing but joy were all he needed as confirmation, and he gently slid the ring onto your finger.

You both embraced in a tight comforting hug, neither one of you ever wanting to let go of the other. 

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