#muscle memory when drawing them I swear i picked my pen and it all came flooding back to me

[eggsdrawings]

shuffles in… hiiii klance!!!

[cuppalevi]

Blue Guitar | Chapter 3: Twilight Time

Series Summary: Leone Abbacchio’s trying his best to get his shit together for Narancia. But when Narancia ends up inviting him to a concert he’s playing for, Leone ends up under the sheets of the popstar, Bruno Buccellati. It turns out dating a popstar has complications. Especially when a certain someone named Diavolo has tricks up his sleeves.

Chapter 3 Summary: Leone's dinner (date?) with Bruno goes well, maybe too well. But sometimes rushing things result to a mountain of problems.

Fandom: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure

Pairing: Leone Abbacchio x Bruno Buccellati

AO3 |  Previously | Masterlist

NSFW WARNING

Leone leans into the palm of Bruno’s hand from where it cups his cheek, savoring the touch of the other. His eyes that were shut, opened to stare at Bruno. His heart races, feeling small under the other’s intense gaze on him.

The events of the night slowly drifted away from his mind, solely focused on what’s in front of him right now. It’s funny, really, how dinner at the restaurant and a peaceful walk at the beach would lead to this.

“This is so not fair!” Narancia groaned agonizingly on the couch, eyeing where his game console used to be at the television stand. The television stand was dusty, marking the game console’s clean spot on where it used to be. Narancia’s close to crying his heart out over his lost console. There were times Leone had threatened to take away his console if Narancia did anything stupid. Usually, he would get away with the punishment because of his childish charm and compromisation. But tonight, Leone wasn’t having any of it.

“Abbacchio!” He wailed, drawing out the last syllable of Leone’s name, crossing his arms as he looked over to where the tall adult was. His legs uselessly flailed from where it hung off the armrest of the sofa. Leone was sitting on the ottoman, hunched down as he slipped on his shoes.

In a few minutes, Bruno Buccellati would be arriving at the front door to pick up Leone for their dinner tonight. Two hours ago- hastily, Leone had rummaged through his closet, in hopes to find something decent to wear. His bedroom was a mess, but he couldn't bother to clean it up until he got home. Different articles of clothing tossed around the room, and his dresser looks like Moody Blues had pawed and played through his cosmetics- but really it was just Leone frantically rummaging and looking at various bottles and palettes, trying to pull a good make-up look that went along with his outfit.

He's decided to tie his hair up in a ponytail that danced across his back, with bangs let loose in front that framed the shape of his face. The dark purple button-down that adorned his torso had a couple of buttons undone along the top- showing a peek of his muscled chest. It was tucked in some black, high-waisted bottoms and a belt with a round, gold buckle that had a letter A.

“You act like such a child sometimes, I swear to god,” Leone huffs, sitting back up straight. His feet clad in suede, black Yves Saint Laurant boots completed his attire. He looked back at the pouting teenager with an unfazed face and a raised eyebrow. “You’ll get it back soon.”

Another groan came from Narancia, “It wasn’t my fault anyway, why am I getting punished for something I didn’t do?!”

“You broke a fucking table,” Leone sighed, pulling himself to stand up, “And not to mention, you got hurt.”

Narancia squinted his eyes, a huff escaping his lips as he sat up. The teen rubbed delicately at the sore spot on his lower back. A nasty bruise decorated his tanned skin from the impact of his fall earlier on. Narancia wholly blames Mista. If it wasn’t for Mista losing his balance on the sofa and dragging Narancia down along with him (And breaking the coffee table in the process), then he wouldn’t have gotten hurt and wouldn’t have gotten his console taken away.

“Abbacchio-!”

“Don’t, Narancia. You aren’t getting it back. At least not now. It’s not like you’re gonna die from not playing F-Mega or something,” He rolled his eyes, walking over to the kitchen where a pad of yellow post-it notes laid. With a pen, he wrote a note for Narancia to see later.

“Ugh, if I do die from boredom, I will haunt you in your sleep and thrash this apartment.” Scowled Narancia.

“Not if I die first, kid.”

The telltale ding of the doorbell was hard to miss as it caused Leone’s heart to race from the anticipation. With every footstep he makes to the door, it’s like gravity is pulling his weight down- making his steps feel heavier. Was it anxiety he was feeling? Maybe. Leone doesn’t get invited to dinner like this, especially by a well-known singer. He fears that at some point in the night, he may most likely mess things up. It’s like a curse, weighing down his shoulders and making his heart carry the heavy burden it bestowed upon him. It seems that at some point in his life, he tends to screw things up. The incident of his partner when he was in the police force was clear evidence.

So he hopes, by some miracle, that the night would go well.

Maybe he should have gotten Narancia open the door for Bruno instead. Because as soon as he whips the door open, he has his breath taken away. Bruno Buccellati, in all his glory, stands before him handsomely dolled up for tonight.

“ Buonasera , Leone,” Bruno flashes a dazzling smile at Leone, looking back past the man to shoot a wave to Narancia who called his name. “You ready to go?”

Leone nods, patting down his pockets to make sure that he hasn’t forgotten anything important. Before he walks past the threshold, he turns his head to look back at Narancia. “Don’t wait up. I’ve got my keys with me and there’s money on the dining table. Go buy yourself a pizza or something for dinner.”

Narancia still wears a frown on his face, but it beams when he hears Leone mention pizza. “Okay, okay, I got it. Just- go already, Abba. Wouldn’t want to keep your date waiting.” The teenager replied with a snicker.

“H-hey!” Leone stutters, about to tell the teen off but Bruno rests a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Let it go, bello ,” Bruno chuckles, nodding his head towards the elevator. “ Arrivederci , Narancia!” The singer bids the teen a farewell with his hands mocking a salute- Narancia replying with an enthusiastic “ Addio , Buccellati!”

“Shall we, bello?” Bruno smirks at Leone, beckoning him towards the elevator to start their night together.

“It’s peaceful, isn’t it?” Bruno says to Leone as he looks out the horizon.

It’s dark at the beach, the only source of light they have is the bright moonlight above them and the twinkling stars. There is a soft breeze wafting in the air, making their hair dance with it. It’s quiet, save for the waves crashing along the shore.

The dinner (date?) seemed to fly by fast. Once they have arrived at the restaurant, they were greeted with a cheery waiter who led them to their tables. Theirs was outside on the patio, overlooking the beach. The sun was still setting then, coloring the sky with an orange hue. As they passed, a couple of people have greeted Bruno- praising him for his recent album release. Of course, Bruno thanked them back with a grateful smile. As soon as they were seated, they were both given menus.

“These all look and sound delicious,” Leone had commented as he read every type of meal on the menu. His mouth watered when pictures of the said meal were on display, his stomach had grumbled- a reminder that he was indeed hungry.

Bruno had nodded at him, “Yes, they do. But that’s not what you’re here for, aren’t you?” He quirked a playful brow at the man across him.

Squinting his eyes, Leone tilted his head, curious as to what Bruno was implying. It was then when Bruno had shown him a page full of various selections of Italian wine, which made Leone chuckle in realization- remembering that he had agreed to this dinner if the restaurant had good wine.

During the course of dinner, Leone had learned a number of things about Bruno, and his band. One of those things- which he found hilarious- was Mista’s fear of the number four. Bruno had told him that time when Mista freaked out when he was brought a strawberry cake with four slices- demanding that they should be brought another one. Another was he found out from Bruno that Narancia and Fugo both attended the same school, which is how Narancia learned that Bruno was looking for a new guitarist from Fugo.

He felt as though walls have been broken down and he has gotten the chance to learn more about the singer he’s eating with. But during the meal, he noticed that Bruno was flirtatious with his words and actions. At one point during dinner, Bruno “casually” slithered the tip of his shoe up Leone’s leg, resulting in Leone choking on the wine he was drinking. Of course, the other plays it off that he was just trying to cross his legs underneath the table, but Leone knew better.

They both found themselves at the beach when they finished up the meal. Bruno didn’t want the night to end just yet, so he suggested to Leone that they should take a walk on the beach.

Leone turns to look at Bruno, staring at his side profile. A relaxed look is on Bruno’s face, and his eyes are shut- just savoring his surroundings. He wishes he could be this relaxed like him. If only his haunting past doesn’t thread over the crevices of his mind, then maybe he could be at peace. The peace he wanted.

“It is,” Leone agreed, tilting his head up to look at the heavens, “If only life was as peaceful like this.”

Bruno hummed- opening his eyes, a wave of memories crashing within him. He remembers when his father would teach him how to fish while his mother would be at the house, whipping up one of her special, delicious meals. The sand sticks to his toes, but he’s used to it. It almost feels nostalgic. Leone refused to get rid of his shoes, complaining that the sand would be a pain to wash off, but Bruno- with his impeccable charm- was able to persuade the man.

The singer sets his gaze on Leone, who’s in a daze looking at the stars to hardly notice Bruno’s stare at him. He sees the slight frown on the other’s face and furrowed brows, which makes him wonder as to what Leone’s thinking. Oh, Leone. Leone Abbacchio. Bruno almost laughs at himself for how easily he’s taken a liking to Leone, especially since his wounds from his ex-boyfriend were still open- waiting for a remedy. Bruno misses the affection, the intimacy. It’s something that kept him down to earth when he’s overwhelmed by his career. He thought that the comfort he found with his ex-boyfriend was something he could never have again.

But he deems himself wrong. The very comfort he’s been yearning for again is here. Right here , with Leone.

“Leone,” He speaks softly, taking a step closer to the tall man.

“Yes?” Leone asks but he doesn’t turn to look at Bruno, still concentrated on the shining, bright stars above him. He clicks his tongue as he’s suddenly flashed by images of a person- falling to the ground and a gunshot ringing in his ear. “Dammit,” He hisses, shaking his head and squeezed his eyes shut- as if to stop himself from seeing the memory over and over.

Bruno lifts a hand slowly and rests it on Leone’s shoulder. The other doesn’t make a move to shove his hand away. “Can you look at me?”

Leone hesitates, inhaling sharply at the request. The stress from remembering the memories he underwent was still simmering in his bones. He shakes his head, scrunching his face up in torment. He doesn’t want Bruno to see him like this. He doesn’t want Bruno to see what a mess he is and what mess he could stir up.

“Please,” Bruno pleaded, the concern is etched on his face. He feels as if he needs to remedy Leone of his fleeting agony. This time, Bruno moves his hands to cup the other’s cheek. Thankfully, Leone doesn’t pull away, he just lets Bruno. But still, he refuses to look at him.

“You know,” Bruno starts, “What’s important isn’t the end result.” With his thumbs, he caresses Leone’s cheeks.

Leone gulps down a lump on his throat, finding himself leaning to the touch of Bruno’s hands. He feels vulnerable. It’s dangerous how quick he can fall into the spiral of darkness, reminding him of his cowardly mistake. He doesn’t know how he manages to keep his composure, he wants to cry- sob his misery- but it looks as though Bruno, alone, is keeping him grounded.

“It’s how you get there,” Said Bruno, looking over the features of Leone’s face, occasionally drifting to his lips- colored with black lipstick that contrasted beautifully against his fair skin.

“How do you get over it? The pain?” Leone asks hoarsely, bowing his head down still with closed eyes.

“The pain’s always there. No matter what we do. As much as it hurts, it’s become a part of us. The way we cope and handle it is what makes us stronger.”

The wind is suddenly knocked out of Bruno when Leone suddenly pulls his close- embracing him. Bruno hugs him back, rubbing his back. After a few moments, Leone- reluctantly- lifts his had from where it rested on Bruno’s shoulder and finally looked back at him. He’s clueless as to what compels him to lean forward and rest his forehead on Bruno’s. It’s like his body is moving on its own accord, without Leone on its reins.

“What the fuck are you doing to me, Bruno?” He asks breathily, gazing at the pools of blue in front of him.

Licking his lips, Bruno inclined forward- inching his mouth closer to Leone’s that he feels his breath span across his lips. “Hopefully something good.”

The pad of Bruno’s thumb gently runs over Leone’s bottom lip, careless of the stain it’s painting on his skin.

“We- we shouldn’t…”

Bruno knows Leone is right. They just met today, and here they are inches apart with the need to kiss the life out of each other. He knows that when Giorno finds out, he’ll be scolded of his recklessness. But god does he want this. Bruno wants to hold Leone close and do more than kissing. He’s too pent up from his last relationship that at this point, Giorno be damned. He wants this, needs this. And it seems that Leone needs it too. The only thing he fears at this moment is the prying eyes of paparazzi watching the two of them.

Bruno tests the waters first (Briefly scanning their surroundings for any other presence but he sees nobody), slowly pressing his lips against Leone’s awaiting ones before Leone could even withdraw from the depths of his mind. A soft moan rips out from Leone’s throat but it comes out muffled when their lips touched. He wants to stay in this bubble they’ve created. Bruno pulls away a bit too quickly much to Leone’s dismay.

However, the brief moment they pulled away from each other, it’s like a magnet drew them back together. This time, their movements are frantic. Their lips are devouring each other, like two blushing pilgrims, intensely molding as one. At his lips’ touch, the other blossomed like a flower and the incarnation was complete. Bruno’s hands fist the fabric of Leone’s shirt, tilting his head sideways to get a deeper angle. Leone’s brows are furrowed, throwing his all into the kiss. He feels his knees pathetically buckle, threatening to surrender him to the pull of gravity beneath his toes.  His grip on Bruno’s hips is tight, tugging him closer that their bodies are pressed together securely.

Bruno’s insisting mouth was parting Leone’s shaking lips, slipping the warmth of his tongue to explore the other. Tremors arise from the action, making Leone having to exhale through his nose. The crashing waves are nothing but white noise. Though the sea breeze is still present, it makes them shudder from the cold, finding warmth in each other’s lips.  

“Bruno-” Leone speaks against the other’s lips, his lungs burning for a breath of air.

“ Lascia che mi prenda cura di te, Leone,” Whispered Bruno, indulging Leone to come up from the surface and heave a deep breath. ( Let me take care of you)

It’s a blur of events. One moment they’re at the beach making out like teenagers, the next their walking through the doors of Bruno’s house. Hands grabbing at each other with heated kisses, nulling their senses and all they could feel is nothing but each other. They end up bumping into furniture as they venture towards Bruno’s bedroom, breaking kisses to share giggles at their ministrations.

Finally, they enter the space of Bruno’s bedroom. The back of Leone’s knees hit the edge of the bed from how Bruno’s consistently leaning against him. Moaning, Leone sits down at the plush bed, pulling Bruno over to straddle him.

Leone leans into the palm of Bruno’s hand from where it cups his cheek, savoring the touch of the other. His eyes that were shut, opened to stare at Bruno. His heart races, feeling small under the other’s intense gaze on him. He feels an exhilarating heat from the pit of his stomach and travels down to the apex of his legs. The way Bruno’s staring at him is salacious, it’s like opening his soul. Seeing, tasting and savoring every feeling. Bruno’s eyes gleamed from the rays of the moonlight peeking through the gaps of his curtains.

It’s dark in Bruno’s bedroom. Save for the natural light coming outside to illuminate the darkness. The moonlight cascades perfectly on the shape of Bruno’s face. It brightens the shine of his blue eyes, descending towards the plump of his lips- begging for a touch. A lump forms in Leone’s throat as he’s taken refuge in the lustful gaze of Bruno. Once Bruno’s hand starts to pull away from his cheek, Leone whines for a short moment- not wanting the caress of Bruno’s hand from his cheek to disappear. Bruno hushes Leone softly, his hand traveling up to Leone’s hair.

“Can I take it out?” He asks gently, tugging the elastic band that held Leone’s hair in place.

Leone nods, hands finding purchase in gripping Bruno’s hips. Bruno is leaning toward him, knees perched among the mattress as he straddles Leone. Slowly, he starts to pull the hair tie from Leone’s hair. Carefully doing so to avoid any strikes of pain from his tugging. The tie comes out smoothly, releasing the lengths of Leone’s hair against his back. Bruno is enamored by the way Leone’s hair falls against his face, Bruno’s hand brush brushes the strands between his fingers. Reveling in the way it slides and feels like silk.

“You’re so beautiful, Leone,” Bruno hums softly, using both hands to cup Leone’s blushing cheeks.

Leone’s mouth doesn’t have enough strength to form the words he wanted to say. Bruno completely rendered him speechless. He eyes the man in front of him, truly beguiled by the singer’s beauty. Slowly, both of them start to lean in. Their breaths fanning against each other’s skin as their heads get nearer. Bruno glances at Leone’s lips then back at his eyes- purple-golden irises like rings because of how dilated his pupils were, silently asking for permission. Leone nods, mouthing a “Please” at Bruno. Their lips brush against each other’s before Bruno leans inward and kisses him earnestly. They’re both hazy, lost in the small bubble that consists of each other. As their lips lock, Leone pulls Bruno closer to him by the hips, relishing in the heat that radiates from Bruno’s body. Their chests are pressed together, skin tingling from the contact.

Briefly, Bruno pulls away to take a short breath. Leone rushes back to chase after his lips but Bruno is faster. His lips kissing Leone’s deeper and more passionate. Leone feels the brush of Bruno’s tongue against his and it makes his insides swirl.

“ Bruno, ” Leone sighs wistfully as their lips pull away with a wet smack.

“What is it, bello ?” Bruno tilts his head in question, subtly grinding against Leone’s growing erection which earns him a soft moan from the other. Leone’s lipstick smeared against the tan of Bruno’s skin and Leone thought that Bruno looked so pretty with it.

Leone’s lips begin to move to utter a word but as Bruno begins to smother his neck with kisses and nips, his mind goes blank. His head leans backward and eyes shutting in bliss, granting Bruno access. “Tell me, bello, what do you want?”

His breath hitches when Bruno latches on to a patch of skin and sucks, marking his territory. “I-” Leone starts, but it’s cut off when Bruno’s kisses trail down his collarbone. Leone feels like he could lose his balance from sitting up and end up falling on the bedsheets. Damn Bruno for making him so dazed that he can’t even spit out a word from his mouth.

Bruno grinned at the lack of words from Leone, pride filling his chest because he’s got Leone wrapped around his finger, totally under his mercy.

The goth suddenly lets out a growl, “I fucking want you, Bruno,” Satisfaction floods through his body. He wraps his arms around Bruno’s torso and grinds up against him to emphasize his need.

Moaning happily, Bruno lifts Leone’s chin with his index finger and kisses him again. His hands work the buttons of Leone’s top- tempted to just rip it open but he decides against it. Arousal surges through both of them, their moves become frantic and their kisses are heated and desperate. When Bruno gets Leone’s shirt open, his hands caress the muscles pectorals gracing Leone’s body. A muffled moan comes from the long-haired man when Bruno rubs his thumbs against his peaked nipples.

It’s been too long since Leone’s been this intimate with someone. He wants Bruno, badly . He wants Bruno to fill him up to the brim and bring him to ecstasy. He’s also aware of the pace their night was going. Really he should be back home with a whining Narancia and Moody Blues right now but he finds himself completely submitting to Bruno’s will instead.

Desperately, Leone pulls at Bruno’s top- telling him in a silent voice to get rid of the offending garment. Bruno pulls his lips from Leone with a devious smirk on his lips. Before Leone is able to question him about his intentions, the singer stands before him. Tilting his head playfully, Bruno pulls the zip of his top down at an excruciatingly slow pace, teasing Leone. Leone almost wants to laugh at his antics but he snickers instead, leaning back on the bed on his forearms to watch. He bits his lip, hands itching to palm his aching cock but Bruno gives him a look as if to say “Don’t you dare,” so he doesn’t.  

When Bruno bares his torso, Leone’s throat tightens at the black lace lingerie that looks sinfully elegant on Bruno’s tanned body. There’s a lustful look on Bruno’s face that sends a wave of want through Leone’s veins. The singer’s fingers fiddle with the waistline of his bottoms, shooting Leone an amorous smirk.

“What do you think, Leone?” His hands run down his body, presenting himself in front of Leone.

A pant comes out of Leone’s mouth, his eyes hungrily admiring this alluring man in front of him. “You look ravishing, mio caro. ”

Bruno hums, satisfied with Leone’s answer. He turns around, briefly looking back at Leone before he shimmies his bottoms down his legs. Leone puffs a breath when the round of Bruno’s ass comes to his view. The singer chuckles, moving to walk toward Leone- excitement bursting through the other’s veins- but instead of returning to his lap, he falls to his knees between Leone’s legs.

“Bruno-” Leone starts but Bruno just shushes him.

“Let me,” Bruno looked up at Leone with big blue doe eyes, slithering his hand up the fabric of Leone’s pants. The other shudders at the contact and gulps as Bruno’s hand steers closer to the apex of his legs. Leone can’t help but raise a hand and brush it through the bob of Bruno’s hair, cherishing the way it smoothly passed through his fingers.

When Bruno reaches the zip of Leone’s pants, he looks at Leone for a short moment- marveling at the deep blush coating Leone’s cheeks- before pulling the zipper down. A puff of breath exits Leone’s mouth, feeling relieved that his cock was released from its tight constriction. Bruno puckers his lips and kisses at the head of Leone’s cock that is bulging from the underwear he’s wearing. Leone’s forearms shake at the sensation, threatening to lose his balance. Bruno hooks his fingers at both of Leone’s pants and underwear. Leone lifts his hips to aid the other in getting rid of the garment. Once Bruno has discarded the clothing, strewed in the bedroom.

Leone’s cock twitches from the cold breeze that hits his member, goosebumps rising on his skin as he anticipates Bruno’s next action.

“Can I?” Asked Bruno, tentatively inching a hand closer to Leone’s shaft.

“ God yes ,” The goth replied, which earned a grin from Bruno.

Bruno wraps his hand on Leone’s length, feeling its girth on the palm of his hand. Leone hisses, eyes rolling back and his hips arched towards the touch. The warmth of Bruno’s hand doesn’t compare to his when he jacks off, no. It’s a completely different and foreign feeling, one he’s about to get addicted to. The singer starts at a slow pace, twisting his hand with every pump. Leone groans, fingers clenching the sheets beneath him. A bead of precome leaks out of Leone’s head which Bruno swipes with his thumb, spreading the slick around his length.

“ Your cock is so hard, mio caro, ” Bruno sighs blissfully.

Leone moans, “Bruno…” falling back against the bed as his hands cradled Bruno’s head.

Poking his tongue out, Bruno licks the slick head of Leone’s cock. The salty taste of precome dribbles on his tongue, making him enthralled by the way the other male tastes. His eyes flicker to see Leone’s reaction- neck stretched out with eyes shut in the sheer pleasure, and his cock twitches in Bruno’s hold. It was truly a sight to behold, and it urges Bruno’s primal needs. He takes Leone’s cock in his mouth, salivating the organ, making it slicker than it was. Bruno licks the underside of it, dragging his tongue upwards toward the peak of its head. Consequently, Leone whines- a sound that the man didn’t even expect to come out from himself.

“Bruno…!” Gasped Leone, lifting his head to look at the man between his knees- only to fall back on the bed when Bruno looks back at him with a lustful gaze.

What Bruno’s mouth doesn’t reach, he pumps it with his hand, all the while bobbing his head on Leone’s cock. Leone feels out of this world as if his soul has left his body and brought him to a world full of immense euphoria only brought by Bruno Buccellati. Narancia would definitely nag his ear off when he comes back home, if he comes back home tonight, that is.

“You close, mio caro ?” Bruno’s mouth pulls away from the other’s cock, for a moment to speak.

Leone doesn’t trust himself to speak with words, afraid that even if he tries to open his mouth to utter, no word would come out of it. So he nods his head, frantically. A heat bubbling up in his stomach that begins to arise.

With new profound fervor, Bruno’s pace begins to increase. An exhilarating need for Leone to fill his mouth up. Going deeper, he takes the length of Leone’s cock- feeling him hit the back of his throat. Using one hand to brace himself on Leone’s hip, and the other to toy with the globes of his testicles, bringing Leone closer to the edge.

Leone writhes against the sheets, hips thrusting towards Bruno’s mouth. Sweat forms on his forehead, heat radiating around the room from the actions of the two males. When he feels Bruno’s throat encase his cock, mixed with the prodding fingers at his perineum, he feels shudders wracking up his whole body, reaching his high. Hot, white ropes paint Bruno’s tongue, filling up his mouth. His eyes shut pleasantly and he swallows, flushing the load that Leone spurted in his mouth. Pulling off his mouth with a pop, he climbs towards Leone, hovering over him as he stares at the other’s fucked out bliss.

“Good?” Bruno asks with a rasp.

Leone’s eyes remain shut, heart beating rapidly from the result of his high and chest heaving in pants. “Yes,” He breathes, gulping. “You’re amazing.”

Bruno chuckles, dropping his head down to plant a kiss on Leone’s cheek. “There’s more where that came from, mio caro ,”

< To Be Continued I \ I |

[roger1na]

careful ch7 - john deacon x reader

summary: you are a ballet student at the royal ballet academy. To pay for your tuition, you work part-time at the celebrity gossip magazine, Seven. One fateful day you’re sent to interview a band on the rise, Queen, post-concert and fall in love with the sweetest man on the planet.

word count: 2.4k+

warnings: swearing, some angst(tm)

author’s note: back at it again! honestly again, if you do dance ballet, sorry! my experience is minimal and taken mostly from my friends. as far as i understand, it can go overboard v fast but *shrug emoji*. also i’m p sure queen did not play on john’s birthday but y’know. it’s for the drama. (19.8.1974 really was on a monday thgh 👀)

chapter seven

Morning dawned with a cranky mood, a sweet dream of slightly crooked smiles and barky laughs dissipating as you got up.

Saturday was forecasted to be rainy and grey, as were your spirits as you opted for a cup of black coffee instead of your usual morning tea. The paper was filled with disappointing news and everything seemed bleak. The studio wasn't open on saturdays and you didn't want to work overtime. You finally had a free day.

You opened your leatherbound diary and took out your favourite pen, an expensive looking fountain pen, painted a lovely maroon with gold lettering on the side, pointing to the brand.

August 10th 1974

I finally kissed him yesterday. It feels like something was broken? A pact? A deal? Is there something happening here? What happens next?

There was a weird moment, last night. We were making out and he was there and we were against the apartment building door and it was already opening but I just couldn't have him inside. I'd break my poor little sixteen-year-old-self's heart. To have him stand there would just break the bubble. Don't know what I'm going to do now.

But… I do have feelings for him. I know I've been agonizing over it for the past few weeks but really, he's fantastic. I'm just silly for not being able to Use My Goddamn Mouth And Say It.

You stomped the last period to your sentence rather aggressively and the ink bled through the page. "Fuck," you muttered under your breath, dabbing at the ink with your pinkie, though you weren't quite sure how that would help.

You blew on the page gently to make sure the ink was dry before closing the notebook. It had a button on the front and a leather string on the back, which you could wrap around the button to keep the book closed. When buying it, you had scoffed slightly, but eventually, as you filled it with pictures and articles, the notebook became so thick it wouldn't stay shut without you pulling it close tightly.

You had filled it with so many memories. Polaroids of you in your costumes for your recitals, lunches with Rose and Pamela, cute flowers, poetry, lonesome calls for love you clipped out from the morning paper. Around mid-July, it started filling with heart stickers and lyrics from Queen, a flyer from their London show, pictures from the show you had developed with spare cash. You were fondly reminded of that saturday afternoon when you looked at the polaroid of John, grinning stupidly, staring into the camera lenses, but of course it felt like he was staring at you.

Look at you, your thoughts echoed, all sappy on a Saturday morning. But it didn't feel so bad anymore.

The radio filled the house with chatter as you cleaned thoroughly. Saturday was a day for organisation. Setting your calendar straight, doing your meal plans. Y/N Y/L/N was not a woman to be meddled with, not a woman to be messed with, you reminded yourself.

As you were setting up your vacuum cleaner the phone rang. You were huffing, trying to get the damn thing out of the closet, when it pierced the radio sound. But you were so tangled up in vacuum chords that you let it ring, hoping that if it was urgent, the caller would leave a message.

"This is Y/N Y/L/N. I'm probably out and about right now, so leave a message!" Your answering machine beeped.

"Hey, Y/N."

Your breath caught in your throat. It was John.

"Just calling to say, I had a nice time yesterday." Muddled voices in the background made him shush them. "Freddie, I know what to say, you can shut up," you heard him grumble.

"Your dance was… Fuck, I have no cool words to describe it. But it was, y'know, enchanting. Fantastic. I've never seen a recital before but I'm sure that's how it's done." There was a dramatic gasp in the background. "Oh Freddie, shut the fuck up you know I've never seen a ballet show."

"Anyway," he continued. "I hope we can see each other soon. We have a show, in like, uh, a week. Monday 19th. It'd be really great if you could come. Bye then."

The line clicked, and left you in silence. You were standing around, a bit lost in your apartment, until your grip loosened from the vacuum and it cluttered to the floor. You winced at the sound, before dusting yourself off. I'll call him back when I have an answer, you told yourself, although you knew well enough that Monday 19th was empty on your calendar, save for rehearsals until five.

And then, being the foolish girl in love, filled with nerves and sappy thoughts, you didn't call him back.

When your chores were done, the phone just loomed at you ominously. What were you supposed to say? 'Oh yes I heard your message I just didn't pick up, because I'm a big idiot?' 'Oh no, it's not you, it's me and my fear to commit?' You felt like a total mess.

Sunday rolled around, bringing work and training, exhausting hours in the studio. And you still couldn't call him back.

Monday came with a screeching of your alarm and sore muscles. You made the effort to pick up the phone but set it down fast afterward, as if forgetting his number, nerves tingling every where.

Tuesday was filled with appointments and meetings and lunches with friends and training which left you dizzy in the head, slightly insecure about your dance abilities. But anxiety coiled in your stomach as soon as you even looked at the bright red phone.

Wednesday was a nightmare.

It started off with a wake up at 4am, when not even the birds had begun their obnoxious singing. Trudging through the grey streets of London when the morning was chilly made you question a lot of the choices you'd taken to get yourself into this position.

The biggest question on your mind was that you had only been picked as an understudy, so what was wrong with your way of dancing the program? Frances, you didn't see her as inherently better than you. She wasn't chosen because of her skill, to you, she was chosen because of your lack of skill. And it made you sick. You were the second choice. Something was off.

Wednesday was a free training day. Coaches didn't come and fix postures, you were supposed to practice your own routine independently. With exhausting precision, you danced through all your individual parts in the dance. And with every misstep, you felt worse about it, accrediting your failures to your lack of talent, not your lack of sleep or the other million thoughts that swirled in your head.

Lunchtime was drawing near and the other girls tapped out with their obligations, wiping glistening faces on ratty towels they all kept lying around.

"Y/N! D'you want to grab lunch with me or can I go with Pam?" Rose called out to you, and then took a swig from her water bottle, waiting for you to answer.

You straightened your back and stretched, afraid you were losing time and then shook your head. "It's okay, I'll still be here for a bit, no point in waiting on me." A brief expression of concern passed in Rose's eyes but she said nothing.

"Mmkay. See you tomorrow, I guess," she waved before setting off behind Pam, glancing behind her shoulder before the dooor swung closed.

You went back to the beginning of the set and started again. And again. And again. You were losing all sense of time and direction as you jumped and pranced and posed and twirled and it wasn't until you saw the darkening of the sky outside that you realised you were in too deep.

Out of breath, you stopped to take a sip of your water. Your stomach felt empty and the water tasted bad in your mouth. Too metallic, and no longer cold after sitting around all day.

You took a deep breath and shrugged off the slightly increasing nausea and tiredness. "One more time, Y/N," you whispered to an empty studio. And Tchaikovsky's notes filled the room and you set off.

If anybody had been there to see, they would've been entranced with the way you moved, letting the rhythm carry you. But if they'd looked closer, they'd also see the tiredness in your eyes and the barely noticeable sluggishness of your steps.

You leapt gracefully and suddenly your focus was broken. Your head changed positions and you had to look down at your feet, flying in the air and as you saw your feet hit the ground, you knew you had made a mistake.

The shock wave wasn't instant, but the pain came as soon as you were aware that you were on the floor, after figuratively eating dirt. Your ankle throbbed and you felt miserable and alone on the hard floor of a cold dance studio on a sad wednesday night.

The tears came softly and silently, spilling over your cheeks and dripping to the ground. You still couldn't call John back, you still couldn't dance well enough and after five years of control you still couldn't balance your life. So there you sat, feeling sorry for yourself. That you could do very well.

The studio door creaked open softly.

"Y/N?" A soft voice broke the air.

What was he doing here? You quickly wiped your face and straightened your legs, wincing at the pain of your twisted ankle.

"Shit, are you okay?" He rushed to you and skidded on the floor slightly as he sat down, not graceful at all, eyes trying to analyse the damage.

"'M fine," you snapped, angrier than intended.

John flinched back in shock and you instantly regretted your sharp choice of words. He looked at his hands timidly.

"You don't look fine to me," he mumbled.

"I am. Really. It's just been a long day, and-" a sudden sob gurgled to your throat as you tried talking and you had to stop talking to let it pass, involuntary tears falling down your cheeks once again, leaving your face a red mess.

"Oh you daft thing," he muttered and pulled you into a hug. His cologne filled your nose and you breathed in and let the sadness and the frustration wash over you.

You felt stupid, because now, although you had ignored his calls and acted like a total prick, he was there comforting you again. "Stop being so nice to me," you mumbled into his tear stained shirt. It was a red checkered button up that was maybe two sizes too small. Sometimes you wondered about the last time he'd visited a clothes shop.

He pulled away slightly, to tilt your chin up to look into his eyes. "Why? You're acting so silly," he smiled gently and wiped your face slightly, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ears.

"Because I'm so stupid! I can't call you back, I say stupid things and I get nervous about kissing and I'm just so fucking…" you trailed off looking for the right word. "Not enough."

John snorted a little bit, trying to hide his giggling. You frowned at him. "'M serious! How're you getting anything but frustrated when you spend time with me!" This resulted in John laughing more.

"Stop, stop, I'll explode," his eyes were crinkling and his smile was wide. You had crossed your arms and were pouting now. He looked at you and his expression softened a little. "You think I don't enjoy spending time with you? Seeing you caught up in dance and loving it? Y/N it's part of all in. Dance is part of all in."

More tears came and you just couldn't stop them. "You're making me cry," you sniffled and wiped your eyes.

"Y/N…" He pursed his lips and smiled gently.

"I'm just not good enough in anything. Second best in dancing. Second best in working. Second best in a relationship."

"Shh," he hushed you gently. "It's not a competition. I know I'm lovely," he teased slightly.

"John!" You grumbled.

"I know, I know." He took hold of your hands. "Y/N, listen." He paused and then kissed your forehead.

"You're enough right here," and then he kissed your nose, "and here," and he continued kissing your face, your cheekbones, the corners of your mouth, your dimples, before landing in the center of your lips. "And everywhere. Just enough for me."

You blinked, the tears finally deciding to stop flowing. "But, I'm really useless at answering calls. I get nervous. And I haven't been in a relationship. Ever. And-"

"Listen," John grabbed your hands and pressed them to his face, his cheeks burning slightly. "That's life. Be careful with all that talk about not being enough. Nobody but you believes it."

"You don't know that."

"Well I don't believe it."

"Oh," you paused. "Thanks."

John burst into fits of giggles. "Hey!" You scolded him.

"I'm sorry, I'll stop, I promise," he grinned mischievously. "But who says thanks to like, a confession of affection?"

"I do." You pinched his cheeks. "Shut up, old man. When are you turning twenty-three again?"

John's eyes lit up. "Of course! That's the special show we're performing on monday 19th. My twenty-third birthday!"

"John that's so great! Of course I'll come."

"Thought so," he smiled.

"Old man," you teased. He booped your nose and pretended to be offended.

"Not all of us can be spry and young anymore," he whined.

"Oh sorry, Mr. Old Man."

John rolled his eyes. "Okay, time to take a look at that ankle. Are you going to be okay?"

He inspected carefully, but the pain had already begun to subside. "It was just a misstep. I'll be fine with a little ice and a tight gauge."

"Mm, if you say so."

"I'm serious! This happens to dancers all the time."

"Okay…" He trailed off then started trying to get up along with you, letting you lean onto him for support, though you didn't really need it. "Have you eaten today?"

"Mm, not really," you replied nonchalantly.

"Jesus, Y/N."

"What? It's been a busy day."

He shook his head, brown hair bouncing about slightly. ”I wish you’d take better care of yourself.”

”Usually I do!”

"I hope so. I like you in one piece.”

”How’d you know to come here?”

”Where else would you be, after going practically MIA for five days?”

”Oh,” you laughed slightly. ”Of course. You're kind of great, John.”

"Thanks." He replied, grinning.

You shoved his shoulder slightly, but felt your heartbeat slow down as you relaxed, wondering how you got to be so lucky.

***

taglist: @fourmisfits @deakysgirl @im-happy-at-home @obsessedwithrogertaylor @itsametaphorbriansblog @rhapso-kei @deacontaylormaymercury @queenmylovely @imgonnabeyourslave @weirdestmentalityphilosopher @thefatbottomedmay @heyyyyyyyleykiyoko @brujademente

[lockandk3yfiction]

Title: Wolf in Sheeps Clothing

Date: November 4, 2018

My piece for @bnha-halloween-bb ! I collaborated with @mixspixs and you can find their artwork here!

Rated: T

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Kirishima Eijirou

Word Count: 5,280

Part One of ???

(Read on AO3)

A huff blew throughout the air, ruffling the chemistry notes that sat upon the dining room table before two agitated students. Kirishima tapped his pencil onto the paper, his knee bouncing and bumping against Bakugou’s own. Groaning, Kirishima fell back against the seat rest, his head bumping against Bakugou's arm. Chancing a glance, he peered under his hair, in awe of Bakugou's sharp brows and set jaw. The blonde picked up the pen Kirishima had dropped, trailing it along the sheet of paper discarded earlier. Eyes trained on the problem at hand, Bakugou didn't notice the admiring stare directed his way.

Red orbs studied the small wrinkles no one else would ever have gotten close enough to see, the way Bakugou's skin creased in thought. A smile flitting his lips, Kirishima bit back a sigh, letting his eyelids flutter. The quiet of his home broke eventually, Bakugou's lips parting as he kept his gaze locked on Kirishima's homework.

"You're drawing the wrong chemical element."

"Wait? Am I?!"

Mouth gaping open, Kirishima scrambled to pick up his notes. He flipped through their textbook, counted down the periodic table and flipped back to their assignment page multiple times. Muttering and scratching his brain for any sign of his saving grace, a choked cry escaped him.

"That can't be!? I swear this is Barium!”

“You’re supposed to be drawing the physical properties of Boron.”

“Agh!”

Slumping down on the tabletop with his hands clutching and mushing his red hair, Kirishima groaned. He had truly put all of his efforts into the wrong diagram. What a fool. “...is that at least how you draw Barium..?”

“Yeah.” Bakugou let out an exasperated sigh, tugging Kirishima’s paper out from under his head. “Here, moron.”

With a little pout, Kirishima’s arms fell from their resting place on, opening up his eyes to what Bakugou had started to do. He watched as the blonde erased what he had drawn earlier, turning the pencil over to write. Encased in a scribbled circle, Bakugou wrote the letter b in capitalization. The correct symbol for Boron. Finding the back of the book, Bakugou followed each row and column up until he found the square that matched said letter, pointing idly at the atomic number of five.

“See. You’re doing too much work. Digging your brain out to figure out what makes up Barium when it’s atomic number is higher than-”

Bakugou’s words drawled on deaf ears, Kirishima’s focus changing from the inked on pages to the blemished skin of Bakugou’s neck. All he could hear was the buzz of a voice, stifled into static under the thoughts in his mind. None of which had to do with science anymore. Hidden behind Bakugou’s ear, a grey-ish shade compared to his complexion, Kirishima could see the shape of a wolves head imprinted just out of Bakugou’s hairline. It wasn’t a tattoo, Kirishima had learned that years ago. No, it was more of a birthmark.

The lines were fine, curves following the descent of the wolves snout. Its ears perked, pointed forward at attention, it's fur bunching at the neck where the wolf began to blend into Bakugou's own skin. The texture seemed just as smooth and supple as Bakugou's own skin. An urge to feel it, to see whether or not they were the same overtook Kirishima.

His fingers rose, tentatively touching the skin on Bakugou's neck, noticing as the other boy flinched. He'd always done that, always acted a little scared at the first touch of someone else. Kirishima chuckled, his lips curving upward, causing the dimples in his cheeks to rise.  Index finger petting under Bakugou's hair, it crawled up toward the mark behind his ear. Tracing the outline of the image, eyes half-lidded and mouth agape, Kirishima lost fell into a trance.

As his hand busied itself, Bakugou exhaled a sigh. He closed his eyes, folding his arms as he let Kirishima do as he pleased. Let him into his personal space, wiggling his way closer to Bakugou in more ways than one. There was no way to fight it, no reason to attempt so. Ever since they were young, Kirishima had always found a way to lower Bakugou's guard. Like any other moment, he was at the redhead's mercy til Kirishima would get bored. Knowing him that wouldn't be anytime soon.

Feeling knuckles nudge his earlobe, Bakugou arched his neck away. He provided more canvas, a better look at the mark on his neck. The mythical creature would almost whine in satisfaction, lower its head to receive more grace. This was only a mark though. Not a true beast in its full glory. An image that lingered on Bakugou forever, that carved its way onto his body since his days in the womb.

Still Bakugou's cheeks burned, his brows tensing and untensing. His breathing would come out shallower, a song of the night. Much like he would sleep soon. Fall asleep in the gentleness of Kirishima's touch. A shiver ran up his spine, a small gasp escaping Bakugou when Kirishima had prodded a little too roughly at his tendons. Growling, Bakugou bared his gritted teeth.

"Hey... You like wolves, yeah?"

"You're stating the obvious, dumb ass." Bakugou hissed, slowly opening his eyes. Pouting with his bottom lip jut out, Bakugou stares at Kirishima.

“Than you’ll know about werewolves?”

“What are you going on about?”

“Well…” Kirishima straightened his back, removing his hands to place them on his knees. “Since you know so much about wolves than what do you think werewolves would look like in real life! Would they be furry burly ol’ men like in those retro horror films?! Or would they walk around Twilight style!?”

“Are you really comparing shit to some sappy fuck of a movie.” Bakugou narrowed his eyes at Kirishima.

“Don’t bust a movie about forbidden love between human and beast!”

“Never say it like that ever again. I guess they’d look more like a normal wolf.”

“So it is Twilight style!”

“Stop calling it that!”

A guess wasn’t quite the truth if Kirishima knew any better. There was only so much as a normal human being like himself could understand or comprehend.

He wasn’t marked like Bakugou.

Grabbing his trenchcoat, Bakugou walked through the halls with Kirishima following his tail. The redhead was smiling like an idiot with big doe eyes and a hint of pink on his cheek. As they’d stalked closer to the doorway, they would pass frames of old memories. Photographs of the two throughout the years, of Kirishima’s family and his other friends hung upon the walls. Glimpse into the past, of a time simpler to Bakugou where they’d go chasing butterflies and come home with scraped knees. Now he was chasing deer alone. Hiding secrets from his closest friend.

“Be careful walking home. I don’t want Auntie and Uncle calling us because you won’t answer your phone.”

“I’ll be fine, Kirishima.”

Kirishima stood behind Bakugou, towering over him as he tied his shoes. His eyes would roam Bakugou’s hunched over frame but like most times that he sees the blonde off, Kirishima’s eyes would linger on one of Bakugou’s garments. His murky green trench coat, a favorite of Bakugou’s to wear. He could tell not only by the many times Bakugou had worn it but from the many rips and tears it had. The hemline of Bakugou’s sleeves were missing completely; the fabric had torn just before his wrist. The bottom that hung just above his knees looked as if it may have been stepped on, dragged from and bitten off. It had Kirishima frowning.

“Be safe, not fine.” Kirishima grumbled, poking the crown of Bakugou’s head before standing back up.

Scoffing, Bakugou tilted his head up, cheeks brushing the fur of his collar as he looked up at Kirishima. Shaking his head, Bakugou’s boots clicked as he stood up as well. Hand holding the door handle, Bakugou ruffled Kirishima’s hair before stating one more sentence before leaving.

“I’ll be safe.”

Door shutting behind him, Bakugou bounded down the porch steps, feet meeting the cement floor. He didn’t stay long on the sidewalk though, turning his head every which way before jogging across the road. The clock read twelve past nine before he left Kirishima’s home. Running off from the warmth of a fireplace into the brisk fall winds, a tremor ran up Bakugou’s spine.

Looking over his shoulder one last time, Bakugou gave a half-baked smile at the slow to blur the vision of Kirishima’s home. He’d be going too far away to even smell its lingering scent soon. A hand covering the mark on his neck, Bakugou breathed in deeply, shuttering an exhale at the dull pain forming in his head. Hunching his back, hands pulling his hood over his head, Bakugou walked align with the forest opposite of the neighboring homes.

A keen whine echoed in the dead of night. Twigs cracking under feet, muscles and joints popping.

Tugging on the hood of his coat tighter, Bakugou ducked under the trees and ferns of the forest. Pointed ears covered in fur protruded from his hair, the thumping of a tail hitting the backs of his thighs. The mark on his neck glowed under the moonlight.

Kirishima had always told Bakugou stories and myths, ever so interested in the paranormal that he was sad to think didn’t exist. There were tales of bloodsucking monsters and invisible men. Legends about sea creatures larger than ships and humans that could shift into beast. Lengthy claws and treacherous fangs, pale skin and peeling corpse. Halloween tricks that weren’t only costumes and could happen year round.

He’d babble miles upon miles to Bakugou about the shows he’d watched and the books he’d read. He’d pester Bakugou with questions, coaxing out his thoughts on the matter about whether they’d exist and Bakugou would lie.

He’d lie and say that such things were impossible. Impossible to the naked eye.

Yet Bakugou knew full well of the truths.

He bared the mark of such mythical creatures.

The mark that came in many shapes and forms with a different transformation associated with the person that bares it. With colors like white blotches or deep burgundy dots parallel of one another. It was unexplainable, like witches magic. Perhaps the first to bare a witches hat were the ones to curse themselves, to bestow upon the unwilling a style of life that must be hidden.

Though that would be impossible to confirm for not even the eldest of vampires could remember. This was simply the way of life in which two beings can be born on the opposite side of the same coin. Humans lived out their days along well-kept beast that only showed their true forms in the dead of night.

Bakugou sniffed at the air, the back of his hand rubbing mindlessly under his nose. The rising moon had cast light overhead, illuminating the patched ground in its glow. Shadows of the trees, danced as Bakugou neared the center of the forest. The growing winds blew at his coat, his hood slipping off from his head. Ears standing perked, they twitched with his nostrils. Many scents mixed with the night air, noises crinkling at fallen twigs. One with his senses, Bakugou’s eyes peered out into the distance where those just like him had stood to meet.

Wolves taller than they should be crouched beside men with attributes like Bakugou’s own. Daring eyes, pointed ears, each with fangs short and long. Tails that curved and swayed, jagged claws. Much of them were older, a few that could possibly be his grandfather but most were those in their mid-years. Bakugou’s seen them all before - at the hunting grounds, in stores, in his classroom. The one sure fire way that he sees all of their true forms though is in this secluded area.

No normal human would dare to enter the woods after nightfall and none have ever seen one creature in any form other than the mask they hid behind. Not even Kirishima. Bakugou’s chest rose as he breathed in deeply, entering the crowded circle of bodies.

They were all family, not by blood but by trait. A bond that could only be broken by betrayal and lies - Bakugou shut his eyes. Secrets were only kept between members of the pack, not apart. Tales were tales. Legends are legends. The truths, however, would always carry alongside each and every wolf that stood here today.

Bakugou opened his eyes, nodding along with the other pack members in greeting. This was their ritual, meeting multiple times a week for discussions. Bonding - that’s what they call it - is what makes the pack strong. It’s what holds all its members together in an intense grip. This was stronger than family ties.

Bakugou knew that well, for his father had left the pack years before he was born. The stories told were always so contradicting, however. Bakugou’s father didn’t tell it the same as their pack leader and Aizawa’s version was so much different in comparison to both. If there was one story he ever believed in, it would be the one that Aizawa tells. He trusts the man much deeper than he does any other pack member.

Lifting his head, Bakugou angled his chin until his eyes met Aizawa’s gaze. This was his teacher, after all, an expert in both normal day history and the timeline of mythical creatures. Aizawa tugs his wool scarf above his lips, silencing himself as he turned back to their pack leader. Doing the same, Bakugou watched as the burning campfire flickered, its flames dancing in the night.

It seemed as though hours had drawled on with talk of upcoming events and the hunting feast they would soon partake in. It had driven the youngest member to boredom, his gaze half-lidded and lips curved downward into a frown. There was nothing exhilarating in meetings like these as if they were only to count upon previous affairs. The night dragged on without interruption, wolf howls signaling the end of their gathering. Some bodies began to stalk off while others stayed, mingling about with the pack. At one point, the campfire had been covered with dirt, suffocating the heat of the flames.

 Bakugou had ambled his way toward an all too familiar face, Aizawa’s hair left in a tangled mess. Untamed like his wolf, Bakugou supposed.

 “Sensei.”

 Aizawa turned from the member he had previously chastised, for what reason, Bakugou did not know nor care.

 “What is it, Bakugou? If this has anything to do with worlds history, then could it not wait until class tomorrow.”

 “I’m not like Kirishima.”

 Bakugou’s exclamation caused the air to still with a chill, ears that were of neither their twitching in the direction of the two. Baited eyes of a silver-haired man watched with intent as the two spoke, a sour expression plastered on himself.

Bakugou had arrived home near midnight after the packs meeting had ended. All but one light had been turned off in the house, a rattling in the kitchen signaling that one of his parents must be awake. Shutting the front door as softly as Bakugou could, he took his trenchcoat off to place onto a hook by the wall. His tail and ears had long rescinded, his fangs dulled back down to their typical bluntness and hands declawed.

Shuffling into the kitchen, Bakugou had tilted his head to the side. His father stood before him, back facing the entryway with his hands washing dishes in the sink. It seemed all too late to Bakugou for him to do so, dinner usually over by seven. When Bakugou normally comes home from meetings with the pack, his father would already be tucked away in bed, his mother beside him with a book in hand.

 This time, it seemed Masaru was the only one awake. Bakugou did not hear his mothers yells about coming home late so she must have been sound asleep. So why was it that his father had stood with his back rigged.

 “Welcome back, Katsuki…”

 “Hey?” He didn't mean for it to seem questioning. Curiosity was a wondrous thing, however, sneaking up in the voice and stance of its beholder.

 Masaru shut the faucet water off, his shoulders rising and falling as he took a deep breath. “Don’t say ‘hey’ like that. Just because I’m old does not mean I can’t stay awake this late.” His chuckle didn’t quite meet his eyes, baritone and lacking jester.

 “Dad?”

 “Your mother and I are worried… I’m worried, Katsuki.”

 Bakugou’s brows pinched together, his hands resting on the countertop as he waited for his father to continue. Masaru wouldn’t look at him, the two standing side by side only inches apart and he wouldn’t look at his own son. Bakugou bit the inside of his cheek, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. Whatever it was Masaru had to say must have… it must have taken a lot out of him to muster the words to say.

 Bakugou knew his father well, he knew each little quirk of his. He understood what certain actions meant, understood when he was at ease and when he was not. Now, watching as Masaru stared down at the sink, his mouth set in a thin line, Bakugou knew he was not comfortable with a situation of some sort.

“You don’t have to be a part of the pack, Katsuki…”

 “But I haven’t done wrong. I can’t leave.”

 “You don’t need to be kicked out to leave the pack, Katsuki!”

 “Yes, you do! Isn’t that what happened with you!?”

 “I left because your mother was pregnant!”

 “You were kicked out because the pack leader didn’t like my mother! You were kicked out because he doesn’t approve of your mate!”

 “Katsuki!”

 “It’s true! Sensei told me all of the truth!”

 Another secret unraveled and unfolded. The pack once had another Alpha, one with old morals and stingy thoughts. Those he did not approve of, those that challenged him or did not bow down were banned from ever being members of the pack. Bakugou’s mother, Mitsuki, was banned from being a part of the park. She was a ferocious one that had spoken her mind in every circumstance, that had been detested by the leader at the time.

 Masaru was never like that, had always been one to follow his alpha. He followed their leader up until the day he met Mitsuki, had listened to each of the leaders words until he had fallen in love Mitsuki.

 “I… I wanted to leave.” Masaru balled his fist, gritting his teeth and lowering his head.

 “Aizawa-sensei said the Alpha wouldn’t let you…” Bakugou felt he may have spoken out of term.

 Bakugou had always gon into these kinds of fights with his mother but not ever with his father. He had a softer tone, some would call him timid. It had developed after years of fighting with the pack, of trying defend himself up to the point that he didn’t know how to fight anymore. It hurt, Bakugou frowned, his eyes welling with tears.

 Bakugou couldn’t stop the urge to cry, tugging on Masaru’s sleeve as he rested his head on his father's shoulder.

 Would he suffer the same fate?

 Bakugou stayed quiet for most of the next day. Not once did he raise his hand when he knew an answer in class, he hadn’t bother grinding a curse out at ghost boy Deku. He didn’t talk to friends as they passed him by in the halls, didn’t even yell after being smacked on the back by Sero.

 All he could think about was his conversation with his father and Kirishima’s smile. The same smile that appeared a foot away from his face, shocking red hair obstructing his site.

 “There you are, Bakugou! Man, I’ve been looking all over for you.”

 The sun's rays blinded Bakugou as Kirishima leaned away from him. He no longer provided shade to the blonde whose back was against a tree, hiding far into the back of the school.

 “Maybe I didn’t want to be found.” Bakugou scoffed.

“Nonsense.” Kirishima pouted, crossing his legs as he sat in front of Bakugou, putting a tray piled with food between them. “Here. I brought extra cause I had an itch you didn’t go to the cafeteria.”

“That’s none of your business,” Bakugou grumbled. Still reached out for half of the sub sandwich on Kirishima’s plate, the redhead grinning widely at him. “Come on! Don’t you miss me?” Kirishima bit down on his sandwich, mayo spilling from between the bread and down his cheeks. “We haven’t seen each other all day Kaminari said you looked down?” “Do I look down to you?” He growled.

“Yeah.” Bakugou glared, certain that if he could bare his fangs at the other, Kirishima would cower in fear. Instead, the redhead poked him on the forehead, laughing as Bakugou batted his hand away. “Come on, Blasty! You can tell me anything. What’s wrong?” Bakugou jut his bottom lip outward, eyebrows set in a frown. Anything was a lie. There were things Bakugou could never say to Kirishima, all secrets that could only be kept between his family and the pack. Shaking his head made Kirishima’s face falter, the hand outstretched between dropping. “Bakugou..?” “Wolves mate for life, you know that.” Bakugou rushed to get the words out, any sort of distraction a dire need. He pointed at the mark on his neck, the wolfs head a proud proof of what Bakugou truly was. A beast hiding in sheep's clothing. Kirishima arched his brow at the sudden change of topic, uncertain what Bakugou was trying to get at. “Yeah, so?” “Imagine if people were the same. They only find a lover once and that’s it. The two of them being together for all eternity just like a wolf and his mate.” Kirishima opened his mouth to speak, closing it when he found no words. Bakugou was being romantic… Talking about love and mates and how they could only fall in love once. Kirishima smiled timidly, his shoulders shrugging upward as he looked away with a flush on his cheeks. “I wouldn’t mind having a mate like that, Bakugou. It sounds… nice.”

Somehow, the topic ended there. Kirishima sat a little closer, Bakugou stopped being quiet. They talked, they joked, they basked in each others company. Kirishima started to pet at the mark on Bakugou’s neck again, smiling fondly at him as Bakugou told him more about wolves. Behavior had come into the conversation and while listening to Bakugou talk about territory and head alphas vs. normal alphas, Kirishima couldn’t help but think that Bakugou could act similar to a wolf at times.

Night had fallen quicker than Kirishima had thought it would, leaving him walking alone in the dark. He had planned to be home earlier but Aizawa had asked that he stay after school to aid in cleaning duty. His stomach grumbled as he walked, a pout on his lips. He didn’t even have Bakugou by his side and they always walked home together. “Stupid cleaning duty!”   Kirishima kicked a pebble onto the road, his body swaying with the motion. Stumbling to catch his balance, Kirishima squealed, nearly dropping the bag of beef buns in his arms. “Phew…” He sighed in relief, looking up. Then he was standing straighter, eyes focused on the road ahead. His attention was captured by the familiar trenchcoat Bakugou had always worn. With the coat in rags and an ugly green, not in a million years could Kirishima mistake it. “Bakugou!” Kirishima yelled as he watched the hooded figure enter into the woods and his breath caught. “Bakugou! Wait!” His legs sprinted into action, arms wound tightly around his market bag. Eyes blown wide, Kirishima couldn’t stop, not after witnessing his best friend going off into the forest by himself. No one in their right mind should do that. The woods were full of wildlife creatures, some as small as a bunny and others as large as bears.

“Bakugou!” Worry filled Kirishima’s lungs, a cold shiver running down his spine. “Bakugou!”

Why would Bakugou go off into the woods at this time of night? He couldn’t possibly where he’s going or what creatures lurk inside. Feet bouncing off the last gleam of a street light, Kirishima dove off the way Bakugou had gone. He didn’t look both ways before crossing the road, hyper focused on the trail ahead of him. Bursting into the forest, Kirishima yelled out for Bakugou once again. Adrenaline filtered through his veins, the grassy floor crinkling underneath his feet. His heart beat like a drum, eyes stinging from the wind that blew against his face. Faster, he needed to be faster. He needed to be by Bakugou’s side, to know he’s safe, to figure out why. Gaze trained above, Kirishima didn’t notice the uplifted root beneath him. His foot had got caught on it, his breath hitching as his body lunged forward. Kirishima cried out, hitting the ground with a resounding thump. Groaning, Kirishima tasted dirt on his tongue, could feel where his cheek had been scratched. His beef bun laid discarded and crumbled beside him, stomach growling at the site. Body quivering, Kirishima shut his eyes. He closed himself off from his surroundings, trapped by twisted tree roots and hooting owls. Leaves rustled nearby - Kirishima clenched his fingers - the sound of a twig breaking underfoot not that far away. He laid still, afraid of what was to come, afraid of how his life would end. He had already lost Bakugou with no way of finding him in the woods. His ankle ached, sympathizing with the shallow pain in his heart. How Kirishima let all of this happen? How could he watch as Bakugou entered the woods and then get himself injured by chasing after? Kirishima whimpered, biting down on his lip. Footsteps crackled at the ground, the sound growing closer. Torturously slow, dragging on Kirishima’s fated demise. With uneven breaths, Kirishima shut his eyes. A shadow stood over him, the muzzle of a beast sniffing the air and nudging at his hair. Entertaining the thought that it might be a deer, Kirishima willed himself to open his eyes until a rigid growl entered his ear. Kirishima stiffened, eyes wide as he stared up at a rather large wolf. Covered in a golden mane, its crimson red eyes bored into Kirishima’s own. Its muzzle pulled back in a snarl, dripping slobber over the human's cheek. Kirishima whimpered, shutting his eyes as he tried not to wail. This would be his final resting place, where his bones would decay after the wolf would have him for dinner. Snarling again, the wolf pulled back. It turned high tail, scurrying off into the brush but for how long would it be gone. Kirishima shuttered a gasp of fresh air, tempting himself to move. Cautiously, he rolled over onto his hands and knees, wincing at the burn of his ankle. With no telling of when or if the wolf would come back, Kirishima knew his situation was unfavorable.

If only he hadn’t saw Bakugou walking into the woods alone.

If only Kirishima hadn’t rushed in to chase after him.

Knitting his brows, Kirishima strained to keep his eyelids open. His ankle thorbed, shoes suddenly tight, no doubt from swelling. Whining, Kirishima rubbed at his ankle, the beating of his chest loud in his ear. The song of the forest fell into dead silence. A stillness took over the air, choking the heavy breaths of Kirishima lungs. Leaves stopped swaying, the night owls off in other places.

Kirishima’s eyes flickered, turning and twisting where he sat in attempt to find the golden mane wolf once again. The image of those bloody red eyes and bright white fangs pestered at Kirishima’s memory. The way its maw had been arched in a snarl, how its growl resonated in the forest as if it bounced off of invisible walls. He shivered, curling in on himself with his head resting on a bent knee.

There’s no way he could of gotten up. No way he could save himself. Murmuring the phrases, embedding them in his mind, Kirishima bit his lip.

“You goddamn idiot!”

A roar like a bellow echoed in the dark, surrounding Kirishima in a wave of nostalgia. Eyes widening, his fingers trembled, head shortly rising. Footsteps thudded against the ground, the bushes rustling behind his back. Kirishima’s eyes began to well, his breaths slowing down, shoulders slacking. The chirping of crickets came alive as if signaling that Kirishima still had time. Stifling a hiccup, Kirishima wiped at his cheeks and nose.

“What the fuck are you doing here!?”

“Bakugou…”

His injured legs still stretched out, Kirishima turned his torso to the side, craning his neck in the direction of the voice he’s known for years. Yet… the figure that met him wasn’t quite the same as his best friends.

Standing with his hands holding his pants, shirt and coat hanging off of one arm, was Bakugou Katsuki. His chest was bare to the world, only half dressed as if he hadn’t had clothes on moments before. What a curious sight for a man in the woods at night though that’s not what had caught Kirishima’s attention. His best friend wasn’t afraid to show off and they’d shared swims in the pool many times. There were differences to his body.

A tail swayed in jerky movements behind him, the base having started from the blondes lower back and fur curling at the ends. Ears a darker shade protruded from Bakugou’s hair, twitching as he glared down at the redhead. Swallowing his saliva, all Kirishima could do was watch as Bakugou towered over him, inched closer to where his body lay still on the ground.

“Bakugou..?”

Bakugou’s coat dropped into his lap, the boy eerily quiet as he knelt down before Kirishima. Their eyes did not meet, one gaze directed towards an injured leg and the others bewildered at animalistic ears. Lips agaped, Kirishima could not tear himself away from the pointed tips. Even Bakugou’s feet lacked any shoes and it had Kirishima itching for answers.

“I saw you go into the forest…”

Hands rested above Kirishima’s ankle, what felt like claws digging into his pant legs. Long jagged nails would not be far off from the rest of Bakugou’s attributes. Resting his hands in Bakugou’s coat, Kirishima bundled the fabric up to his chest. His shoe was unknotted, removed from his foot whilst a warm palm lifted his bruised muscle. That same warmth radiated in the pit of Kirishima’s stomach, clutching Bakugou’s clothing closer to himself.

“I got worried…”

“So you thought tripping on your feet was gonna help.” Bakugou scoffed.

“It wasn’t like that!” Yelling out in denial, Kirishima’s voice cracked. “I thought you would get lost or hurt or even eaten by that- that wolf I saw!”

The ears upon Bakugou’s head lowered, tilted forward as his eyelids drooped. At first, Bakugou didn’t speak. He preoccupied himself with his hands on the others ankle, unrolling Kirishima’s sock to disperse any restraint on his swelling. The cold night air battered at Kirishima’s skin, his arms holding on tighter to Bakugou’s coat.

“I thought I was going to die...”

“I wouldn’t kill you…”

Voice softer than Kirishima has ever heard before, he looked across the short distance between them. Brows kneaded inward, lips formed into a frown, Kirishima waited for Bakugou to say something else. Waited to listen to Bakugou’s end of the story.

“Kirishima… Don’t be afraid of my wolf… Don’t be afraid of me...”