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#light up your wildest dreams. memories.
dollfacefantasy · 28 days
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I love your writing sm, it's just what I needed μ_μ Do you think you could write Leon being the father of reader's idiot ex who just broke up with her? Leon just wants to console her and the reader only thinks about all the sexual tension they had for a while and now they have nothing to stop them.
(sorry if my english is bad, luv ya)
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pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader
summary: your ex boyfriend's dad comforts you after you and his son breakup
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, age gap
word count: 5.3k
a/n: dilf leon you KNOW i love that. thank you so much for your request. i hope you like it! i used death island for the picture, but imagine leon in his late forties for this. as always, reblogs and comments are appreciated <3
tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus @luniaxi
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Leon lets out a deep sigh as he yanks the keys out of the ignition and his car's engine fizzles out. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he looks down at his lap. He takes another deep breath and shakes his head before looking out the window at your apartment building. He’d been told you lived on the fourth floor.
He opens the door next, stepping out into the cold air. The sun was nowhere to be found today, the sky completely masked by a collection of gray clouds. He walks around to the back of the car and pops the trunk open to collect the box of memories he’d been tasked with returning to you.
He didn’t understand how he’d ended up with this job. Despite his numerous daydreams he wished he could forget, you weren’t ever his girlfriend. He hadn’t been the one you’d come over to visit. You didn’t fall asleep in his room or wear his t-shirts or kiss him goodbye when you left. He hadn’t been the one to cheat on you or make you cry for days on end either. No. That’d been his son.
So why was he the one going out of his way to bring you this stuff? That was what he couldn’t comprehend.
Well that’s not exactly true. He comprehended just fine. His son planned on throwing out your stuff that’d been left at his house, remnants of your eight months together. Leon didn’t want that. He’d told his son to pack it up and take it to you like a man should. He had been the one in the wrong after all. But no, his son argued up and down, coming up with every reason under the sun as to why it was better to just throw it away. So Leon just gave up. He knew if he commanded it, his son would just shove your shit in a box and drive down the street to throw it from the window of his moving car. The car Leon paid for.
Truth be told, he always had a soft spot for you. A chamber of his heart that was coated in guilt, surrounded by denial, but internally the sweetest part of him. The one piece of his soul that saw some light in the world that had gone dark for him years ago. So just for you, Leon drove the thirty minutes to your complex to deliver your belongings.
He picks up the cardboard box and tucks it under his arm. The trunk slams with a loud thump, and he’s thinking of what he’s even going to say to you when you open the door. Come to think of it, he didn’t even know if you were home. He had a pretty good idea of your schedule from the time you’d spend on the phone with his son or at his house, but he didn’t even check to be sure.
In the midst of mentally scolding himself, the bottom of the box bursts, and your items go tumbling out onto the pavement. He tries to catch them, but his fingers just miss. Another sigh seeps from his lungs as he crouches down to scoop them up. He picks up a pink hoodie that’d been crumpled up at the foot of his son’s bed, a stuffed bear he saw him pull from the crack between the mattress and the wall, and a bracelet that laid abandoned on the nightstand. He collects other little pieces of you scattered across the damp concrete before managing to situate them in his arms and resume walking to you.
He tosses the broken box into the nearby trash before entering the building and going down the hall and to the elevator. From what he saw, the place was alright. You didn’t live in luxury, but he was relieved he wouldn’t be left worrying about your safety after he left.
The elevator glides up to your floor in total silence with him being the only one in the small space. The little ding that marks his arrival releases a burst of anxiety within him. He felt so dumb. He was nervous like he was your and his son’s age. He pushes those feelings away and gets himself to be normal, to act his age. All he had to do was knock, shove this shit in your arms, and leave.
On the way down the hall to your unit, he realizes this plan means this will probably be the last time he ever sees you. Spare some chance encounter at the grocery store, this would be the final time he’d feel your sweet eyes on him or see that timid smile when he complimented you. That made him sad to think about. He never thought you’d be a permanent fixture in his life. You and his son were young, and being the type of guy his son was, he doubted your relationship was destined to succeed. In honesty, he was shocked it lasted as long as it did. But now, the ending was real. Knowing the time with you in his life was coming to a close felt how the sky outside looked.
Once he reaches the door with your number on it, his fist taps the wood twice. He hears soft shuffling inside, followed by the sound of locks being undone a couple moments later. You crack the door open, standing there in your pajamas. Both your top and bottoms were plain gray. You looked worn down. He could tell you’d been crying. Poor baby.
Your tired eyes flicker with curiosity when they glance up at his face. 
“Mr. Kennedy?” you ask with confusion.
His mouth breaks into a charming grin upon hearing that. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Leon before it sticks?” he teases.
“Sorry…” you say. You didn’t smile at his teasing like normal. Given the circumstances, he supposed that made sense. “What are you doing here?”
“I have some of your stuff you left at my house. Can I come in?” he asks.
Now your eyes flash with a brief spout of anger, but you still open the door wider for him to enter.
“He couldn’t bring it to me?” you ask with clear bitterness in your tone.
He cringes at the sound. What was he supposed to say? In reality, he was on your side, but wouldn’t it be wrong to tell you that? He loved his son. He really did. Even with all the mistakes he made and the flaws he’d caused the boy, he loved him. He probably shouldn’t talk shit about him with his ex-girlfriend.
But at the same time, it was you. You weren’t just some random ex-girlfriend. He’d known you for the better half of a year. You were sweet, actually polite enough to say hello when you came over. You could hold a conversation. And sure, it didn’t hurt any that you were cute too. He felt something strong for you. He just struggled to articulate exactly what that something was. He was tempted to say you’d become part of the family. That’s probably what plenty of others in his situation would say. But the shameful thoughts that plagued his mind when he was alone late at night begged to differ with that assessment
Right now, it didn’t look like you were doing well. He sees the setup you have for yourself on the couch. A heap of blankets, pushed and twisted up around the spot you’d clearly been laying before he interrupted. The curtains were drawn, it was dark in here. You didn’t need him to run defense for the guy who cheated on you, relations aside.
“Guess not,” is how he finally answers your question to which he’s met with a roll of your eyes.
“Of course,” you mutter while walking over to meet him at the counter so you can inspect your items after he puts them down.
You rifle through the different things, scanning them haphazardly before returning your disinterested gaze to him. Your arms cross over your chest, and you shrug.
“Thanks, I guess.”
You’re clearly expecting him to leave now. And he knows that’s what he should do. Awkwardly shuffle out the door with a small wave goodbye. He can’t though. Something inside him won’t let him pull away just yet.
“How have you been?” he starts tentatively, “Haven’t seen you in a few weeks.” 
“Fine… I guess,” you answer.
You guess. Again. A nervous tick. An indicator of deflection. You clearly didn’t want to delve into the inner workings of your broken heart with the father of the man responsible. He should back off. But he doesn’t.
“Are you sure? I know you two are broken up now or whatever you want to call it, but I still care about you, you know? You’re a sweet girl,” he starts, hating how this was coming out, “I just… I know how it is to feel alone. I don’t want that for you. If you need someone to talk to…”
“I should come to you? Is that it?” you say, a bit harsher than he would like.
“Well… yeah?” he responds.
You turn away, cutting him off from seeing your reactions. “That’s nice, Leon. But… I don’t think you’re the one I should talk to about any of this,” you say.
He takes a step closer, laying a cautious hand on your shoulder. “I think I’m the perfect one for you to talk to about this,” he says.
His reasoning is brief, but he doesn’t feel the need for more. Despite your resistance, the gears in your head are turning, deciding whether or not to take the offer. “There’s nothing to even talk about. It is what it is,” you reply. He can hear that characteristic softness returning to your voice.
“I don’t think that’s true. You don’t have to lie to me,” he says, getting even closer. He gently guides you back to the couch and clears some space for the two of you to sit. He directs your eyes back to him before he finishes speaking. “It’ll stay between us.”
You look up at him, sweet glossy eyes threatening to spill your emotions down your cheeks. He can see your apprehension, but in the end, you still decide to go for it.
“I just… I feel so dumb,” you start, biting your lip.
“You shouldn’t,” he tells you.
“But I do,” you say, voice becoming strained, “People told me he would do something like this, and I actually defended him. I’m so stupid, and everyone knows it now.”
While he wasn’t too pleased to learn of his son’s reputation, his sympathy for you overwhelms that. His hand rubs up and down your back as your head falls to your hands.
“Sweetheart…” he sighs, the term rolling out before he can stop himself, “It’s not your fault. It’s not a bad thing to be trusting.”
He sees your face tense as you lose the battle to hold your tears in. His heart aches seeing you look so defeated.
“Yes it is,” you cry, “I hate it.”
“Hey, c’mere,” he says and pulls you closer. He drapes his arm over your shoulder and holds you to his side. “Don’t talk like that about yourself, ok? Being cheated on doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you.”
He felt slightly awkward considering the cheater in question is his own flesh and blood. The feeling of your soft body against him overrides that thought though. You’re still weeping into his chest, so he continues.
“Look, baby,” he says. Another pet name. His mind screams for him to get a grip. “I love my son, but… I know him too. He can be insensitive, and that’s not what a girl like you needs.”
You look up at him, interested in his potential point. In your eyes, he feels he can see his reflection glaring back at him with disapproval.
“You’re such a precious thing. Someone to be handled with care,” he whispers, stroking your jaw, “I don’t want this to take that from you.”
More tears roll down your cheeks while you take in his words. He swipes a couple away with his thumb as he talks to you.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes. With my ex-wife, with my son, with my work. Christ, just with my life in general.” Why was he telling you this? “I look at you, and you remind me of who I was before those mistakes. I know stuff like this can make you bitter, and I just don’t want that to happen to you. You don’t need to blame yourself for what he did or try to keep how you feel inside. Once you get past this, you’re gonna move onto something better for you. I just don’t want you to forget that.”
He watches your lip quiver harder before the floodgates finally burst. Now that he’d given you permission, you don’t hold back. A sob tumbles from your lips. He immediately goes to pull you closer again, but this time you take it upon yourself. His eyes widen as you scoot into his lap.
It’s as if he acts on instinct though. As soon as you have your face buried against his throat, his arms loop around you in return. One hand rubs the expanse between your shoulder blades while the other simply supports the small of your back.
“Sweet baby…” he whispers.
“He told me he loved me,” you weep. He can feel your warm tears dripping down his skin now.
“I’m sure he did, honey,” he says and rocks back and forth with you a bit.
Now you really unload. You cry against him about basically every wrongdoing his son had committed in your time together. He compared you to other girls, told you that you were too needy, forgot your birthday. And Leon listens to it all, not playing devil’s advocate even once.
Guilt burns hot in his chest though. Nevertheless, he tries to convince himself that he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was just helping a poor, hurting girl in need. But that excuse crumbles when he simply thinks about what his son would say to the sight of his ex-girlfriend curled up on his father’s lap, clinging to him like he was her new man.
His mind continued trying to justify this anyways, putting forth the idea that this was out of his control. He was powerless when it came to situations like this. The life he led so far had wired a savior complex into his brain. He couldn’t resist you, another princess he could restore to her pedestal.
That was definitely part of why he didn’t put you back on the couch and slowly begin to make an exit. The other part was less honorable. Despite his mind’s ideas of noble motivations, deep down he knew part of this was selfishness. Being human, he wasn’t gonna complain about a pretty young girl warming his lap. And being himself, he certainly wasn’t going to complain because that girl happened to be you. The guilt he felt faded instantly with one look at your doe face or one word from your tender voice.
“None of that is your fault,” he comforts you once you finish your list and breaks away from his thoughts, “You didn’t deserve any of it.”
“I know…” you whimper before another sob comes from you, “I hate him so much. But it’s even worse cause I still miss him.”
That shoots a sharp pang of jealousy through his heart to which he mentally slaps himself. God, you made him feel pathetic, but in a way he didn’t want to admit, that was part of the appeal. He holds you tighter and nuzzles the top of your head, breathing in the scent of your shampoo.
“That’s ok. It’s only natural,” he coos and continues soothing you.
“Why do I miss him? How do I make it stop?” you cry, your voice cracking.
Fuck. You really did remind him of himself which only made this more twisted. He knew what you were feeling so well. That longing ache that festers inside until you feel like clawing your skin off and prying your ribs apart to purge yourself of the infection. He sighs and shifts you on his thigh, pulling you closer to him.
“You can’t make it go away. You know that. It’s a time-heals-all-wounds situation, sweetheart. Just gotta wait it out, but it’ll get better,” he says.
Then he must have truly gone over the edge because he leans in and presses a faint kiss to your hairline. Luckily for him, you don’t protest. Instead, it draws more tears from you. Your arms lock around him and pull the rest of your body closer
“I just feel empty, and I don’t know why. He wasn’t that great… no offense,” you sniffle.
“None taken,” he says softly, a small smile rising on his lips. He keeps rubbing your back, resting his head on top of yours. “Most breakups hurt, even when you’ve run the course of the relationship. It’s not fun losing someone.”
It wouldn’t be fun losing you. That was for fucking sure. He was only making it worse for himself by doing all this. At this point, he wasn’t sure how he’d manage to tear himself away once you stopped crying.
“I guess,” you whimper, lip puffing out into a sweet pout he’d only ever seen as a joke before.
“You’re such a sensitive girl, honey. So delicate,” he murmurs against your hair. He knows he should stop. He’s toeing the borderline, but it’s all he can do to keep himself from hurdling over it at full force.
“I’m overdramatic,” you correct.
He scoffs, dismissing your claim. “Did someone tell you that? Because they don’t know what they’re talking about. You’re precious,” he whispers with another kiss to your head.
That word seems to strike something in you. Your crying that had been dwindling seems to soften down to an occasional ragged breath. You look up at him with your watery eyes. He continues to push away remaining tears on your cheeks before running his knuckles down your jaw.
As he looks into your eyes, the temptation becomes irresistible. He needs you.
“Sweet thing like you… you need someone who can understand you, protect those feelings of yours, not make you feel bad about ‘em,” he says, his thumb dragging over your chin.
“You think so?” you ask.
“Oh yeah. There’s nothing wrong with wearing your heart on your sleeve,” he says teasingly, “All it means is that you care. Plus, this may be just me, but I think it’s pretty cute.”
Your teary eyes widen just the slightest amount, and your hips squirm a bit on his lap. You look down at your fingers fidgeting with one another.
“I don’t know,” you say quietly.
“I do. You’re so pretty when you cry, baby,” he mutters and lifts your chin to get you to look at him again, “You have puppy eyes, just begging for some love.”
A shy smile starts spreading on your face. Your eyes cast down, and he knows he’s got you hooked. Now he just has to reel you in.
“Yeah, you know it’s true,” he whispers and leans in to kiss your cheeks, “Bet you have a lot of fun using ‘em on people.”
“No,” you say timidly, eyes glancing back up at him.
“Oh, of course not. A little angel like you would never take advantage,” he teases. He kisses across your cheek bone to your temple, and then moves his lips down to where your jaw meets your neck. He can hear your breath hitching. His hands pull you closer to his body, feeling your warmth up against him. One slides to your side, rubbing up and down slowly.
“That’s why you need to be taken care of,” he breathes against your skin, “Let me take care of you, baby.”
You nod with no hesitation on your part. He can tell from the breath you let out that you're giving into some temptations of your own. Your head leans in and he ducks down to connect your lips, nearly groaning as he feels the plush flesh press against him. The kisses start off tender, just little pecks as you explore the feeling of each other. But they soon grow in passion. Your mouths open against each other. Your tongues meet, and spit coats one another's lips. You’re both breathing heavier.
He pulls back to look at you, those eyes he had been going on about now clouded with lust. Moving in for a few more, he cups your face. “You like that?” he murmurs.
“Mhm,” you hum, reciprocating the affection. 
He chuckles as you move in even closer, the swell of your breasts pushing up against his chest. His hands squeeze your waist and turn you around so your back is to his front, your head tilted on his shoulder.
“Pretty baby, so eager for me,” he coos as his hands smooth up your stomach to your chest. He fondles your tits through your top, feeling their entirety since you weren’t wearing a bra.
The softest noise of satisfaction leaves you, and you nip at his lips. He deepens the kiss in response, groping you a bit harder. Your hands travel South to his belt, attempting to undo behind your back, but his hand drops and grabs your wrists.
“Not yet,” he corrects with a kiss to your temple, “There’s no rush. I want to take my time with you. Warm you up like you deserve.”
His mouth envelopes yours again while his hand releases your wrists and returns to your breast. He can feel your nipples perking up in anticipation. His cock starts to do the same beneath you. As you feel it, you roll your ass back against him, providing some friction. He smiles against your lips, the prior reservations he had about this leaving his mind one by one.
Maneuvering his palms between your thighs, his fingers coast up and down the sensitive skin. His mouth trails down to your neck to kiss you there, sucking soft love bites onto your throat. You’re single now. It’s not like you’d have to hide them.
He parts your legs a bit more before cupping them underneath and pulling you down so that you’re at an angle where he can remove the fluffy pajama pants that kept him from his target. You watch the soft fabric fall away and crumple up on the floor. You’re a little jittery as he exposes your skin now. This is real, no longer a far-fetched fantasy.
His hand is on your pussy in seconds, stroking you through the thin cotton that covers it. The kisses to your throat don’t stop, and his free hand keeps you in place on his lap.
“Those college boys you’ve been running around with are too busy thinking with their dicks. They don’t know what to do with a prize like you,” he murmurs and drags his nose up the curve of your face.
He chooses to forget the fact that the boy you had been running around with was his son. That didn’t need to matter right now. All that mattered was the whimper that fell from you, the way your hair felt against the crook of his neck. His fingers play with you a little more before sliding into your panties.
“Aw, you’re already getting wet, hm?” he purrs, “Precious girl. Probably so pent up. Never been properly fucked the way you shoulda been.”
You nod and turn your head to look into his eyes. He takes the chance to kiss you again, working his mouth with yours while his fingers coasted through your folds.
“Need you to make it better,” you mumble against his lips.
You feel his smirk and how he kisses with increased fervor. The pads of his fingers swirl around your clit, eliciting a tiny gasp from you.
“Not a problem, baby. You’re not leaving my lap till you can’t remember why you were crying in the first place,” he whispers.
You sigh with content and resume languidly making out. His fingertips are rough on the smooth skin of your center, dragging over your sweet spots with the best friction you’d ever felt. Your body arches into his touch. You actually want more. A refreshing feeling for you.
He continues focusing on your sensitive bundle of nerves, flicking over it, pressing small circles into it, swiping down across it. Occasionally, he’d massage lower, teasing your entrance and feeling the arousal pooling from his actions.
“You like how I’m playing with you? Feel good having that clit touched? It’s so sensitive, just like the rest of you,” he breathes.
You nod again,  a desperate whine unraveling out of you. He chuckles and speeds up his fingers.
“I knew you would. You’re beyond the little boys who thrust a few times and leave you wanting for more. Think it’s pretty obvious you need a real man,” he says.
He didn’t even know where half this stuff was coming from, but he wasn’t gonna launch an investigation into it. It worked for you, so it was working for him.
Your hips buck as he maintains a steady pace and even amount of pressure. He rubbed you just the way you liked, as if he knew your body on an instinctual level.
“You’re gonna cum just from my fingers. You can do it. Have you gushing already before I slip my cock in you,” he murmurs against your skin.
His fingers have started making wet noises as they slide up and down on your cunt. You mewl and tense up, relishing the pleasure he brought you. You whimper out his name quietly, over and over. Leon. Specifically him.
“That’s right, sweetheart. Who’s the one making you feel so good? Who’s the one you’ve needed all along?”
You gasp it again for him. Leon.
“Good girl,” he growls.
He moves his fingers with more precision and dedication, taking you right to the blissful edge and letting you crash over it. Watching how your body writhes on his lap, he holds you through it. He makes sure to keep you up right.
You feel lightning strike within you, the storm of euphoria swirling in the pit of your stomach. You let go all over his fingers, and thoroughly coat his hand with your release. He goes in for more, sliding his fingers down as if they’re going to dip inside you, but you whine in protest.
“Leon… don’t wanna wait anymore,” you whimper.
He chuckles at your impatience and shakes his head.
“You talk about it like you’ve been waiting forever when it’s only been a couple minutes,” he teases.
“Feels like forever,” you pout.
He kisses your frown and pulls your underwear off completely. He then turns you around on his lap to face him.
“You ready for the real thing then?” he breathes, smirking at your quick confirmation.
He boosts his hips off the couch and shoves his pants down enough so that his cock can spring free. It bobs up in anticipation. His hand grasps it, sliding it against your entrance. 
After a few teasing swipes, he sinks you down on it, savoring every small change in your expression. Your eyes flutter, your mouth lolls open slightly, your brows furrow.
“Oh, I can tell that’s what you’ve been needing,” he whispers, guiding your hips into a rhythm.
You bounce up and down on him, breathy moans escaping you with each rise and fall.
“Mhm, wanted it for so long,” you whine.
His eyebrow raises at that. “Yeah?” he grunts, sharply inhaling as you squeeze around him, “How long? How bad did you want it?”
“So bad. Wanted it for months,” you confess as your head falls back, “Wanted to be yours instead.”
He knows he’s going to hell for the rush of satisfaction that floods his veins. He doesn’t falter though, just pulls you closer and starts thrusting up into you.
“Oh, did you? Dirty secret, baby, but I can’t say I didn’t feel the same way,” he moans before reconnecting his mouth with yours, “Sweet baby like you, wanted you to be all mine.”
A quick moan leaves you, and you keep riding. Your hips roll up and down, working him as deep into you as he can go. Your arousal drips down his heavy balls, making a mess where the two of you connect.
“Dreamed about you sometimes,” you gasp, letting it all out.
His eyes droop with more desire. They shouldn’t, but your revelations only spurred him on. He thrusts up harder and digs his fingers into the flesh of your hips.
“Yeah? Bet you felt so guilty waking up soaked between your legs for someone you couldn’t have,” he says, vision trained on you, “I felt the same way. Hard as a rock for you and no relief.”
“Now there is,” you whimper as you lean down and nuzzle your face against his.
With hot breaths in each other's face, you both feel the cords of release being pulled taut. You bite your lip, and he cages you in against his body, keeping you flush against him.
“Even with that dirty little secret, you’re still such a good girl. Need you to be my good girl,” he mumbles in your ear before moaning, hips tensing as he feels the sweeping sense of euphoria.
You nod dumbly as your own high creeps up on you. “Oh fuck I’m gonna cum,” you whine before burying your face into his shoulder. Your hands clutch at his biceps, digging little crescents into the muscle.
He fucks you through it, making you see stars and keeping them suspended in your sights. You cling to him and clamp around him. His thrusts get sloppy, but he won’t stop until you’re coming down. That’s when he finally pulls out and gives himself a few strokes to completion, finishing on your ass. He figured you were on the pill, but he wasn’t going to make a riskier chance an even bigger risk.
You feel the warm liquid dripping down the curve of your ass. You’re too fucked out to be concerned with clean up right now though. He smiles down at you and gives you some kisses as a way to cool you off.
Reaching over to the end table, he grabs a few tissues and swipes away the small mess on your backside. After some more soothing affection, the two of you briefly readjust your clothing and get comfy with each other again. He figured this probably wasn’t the best thing he could be doing in this situation. He just fucked his son’s ex and now he was going to cuddle her too? But he does it anyway because it was what you needed, and that was his mind’s priority at the moment.
He thinks about leaving though, reverting to the original plan. He could let you doze off and just slip away. But he doesn’t. You’re too sweet, and you’re hurting. He didn’t want to pile on, but the idea that this shouldn’t develop into more than a passionate fuck still lingers in his mind..
That is until he hears your voice.
“Are you gonna leave?” you ask softly.
He looks down, heart aching at the sight of you.
“Not yet,” he answers.
“Ok good,” you say and sink into him again, “I might need you again later. In case I get sad again.”
He rolls his eyes at your attempt to play innocent. “Guess I’m stuck here then. Can’t have you crying all alone,” he says.
“Mhm,” you hum, leaning up to give him a kiss. One of the sweetest kisses he’d ever had. And just like that, you’re luring him back in.
“You know… maybe I should be proactive, make sure you don’t get the chance to be sad again today…” he murmurs, shifting to lay down on the couch and give you some kisses of his own. “Think you need some more distracting.”
He was done for.
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samkerrworshipper · 1 month
Text
initiation pt.3 | barca femeni x reader
warnings: smut 18+ minors dni.
pt.1 -> pt.2
it’s not valentines here anymore but for yall who are/are not celebrating i hope this makes ur day a little bit cheekier ;)
I promise u the freaky stuff is coming but this is the buffer for that lol
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Instead of waking up to a warm embrace of Keira and Lucy, you wake up to an empty bed. It takes you a few seconds to take in your surroundings, your body is tangled up in sheets and a duvet. The room is mostly dark besides some light coming in from under the door. You allow yourself to take a deep breath, breathing in the cool air around you and slowly waking yourself up. The ache between your legs is the first thing you feel, it wraps your thighs up like a warm hug and it reignites the previous desire in you as the memories of what you’d experienced only a few hours ago flash through your mind.
If it wasn’t for the bed you were in and the faint sound of moans through the walls of the house you’d probably be a little bit more concerned about your surroundings, but instead the environment you are in only brightens your mood.
It’s definitely not an unpleasant way to wake up, you absorb your surroundings and listen with a light head and fuzzy thoughts as you stretch out across the extremely comfortable mattress, bathing in the absolute serenity that you can feel across your whole body and soul. You’ve been thinking about this night since Lucy had told you about it days ago, stressing about all the different possibilities and things that could happen.
You never, not even in your craziest and wildest dream could have ever concocted some kind of idea that would come anything close to what you’d experienced in the last few hours. From the sounds of it, something was still happening and you’d be damned if you missed out on any of it, so even though it pained you to leave the bed that probably had a thread count higher than the amount of money in your bank account, it was with the hopes that you would get to experience something that was far better than any bed.
You are still as naked as ever, your whole body completely bare as you pushed yourself off the mattress and with unsteady legs onto the floor boards. The combination of the post-orgasm bliss and few hours of rest maKe you feel better than ever and without any struggle you made it to the closed door of the bedroom.
Your skin pricked up, little dots forming against your skin as your exposed body began to feel the effects of being in a room with a fan and aircon on.
You could have taken a sheet or blanket with you as coverage, but you figured that by the noises being produced your companions would be in a similar state of undress and even if they weren’t it wasn’t like they would see anything they already hadn’t.
The hallway you stepped into was empty. Although there were little thready moans coming out from some of the rooms beside your one. Because Lucy had practically carried you into the room you struggled to remember what way to go but you managed to trail your way back to the main room by following the noise that was being emitted.
The sight this time was completely different from beforehand and it took your eyes a little bit to adjust.
There were some people missing, although your brain was still too fogged up to really take account of people, just what was happening around you.
The first sight that catches your eyes is Keira, who has so many hands on her that it’s hard to tell who is who.
Ingrid is the first person you spot, mainly because she’s the least entwined in Keira’s body. She’s got the same strap on that she wore earlier when she was pounding into you, except this time it's being brutally thrusted into Keira’s throat. It’s a pretty sight, Keira’s drool and slobber all over her chin as she repeatedly gags on the strap. Frido is the second person you spot, mainly because her and Ingrid are pretty much next to eachother, the two bestfriends connected by their lips, although it’s not what captures your attention, instead you’re eyes are glued to the suctioned dildo that Frido is riding, her knees bent against the floor, pushing up and down. Your eyes don’t focus on her long, instead searching around Keira. It’s harder to figure out who is behind her, but it’s a process of elimination and spotting different heads of hair and hands. Keira is on all fours with Aitana’s mouth slurping at her from below and Marta’s fingers soundly fucking her from behind. Keira looks so blissed out, like she’s floating on a cloud of dopamine so strong that it could rival drugs.
On the couch is Alexia and Mapi, the two best friends lazily making out whilst their bodies grind down against each other in perfect synchronisation.
Before this, you were fairly sure that scissoring was a social construct, but watching Mapi and Alexia’s hips jolt out again and again is making you reconsider your beliefs.
Lucy, Ona, Jenni and Caro are on the bed, and it’s a sight that you can’t even begin to comprehend.
Ona is laid down on her back on the bed, Jenni grinding down on top of her face whilst Lucy and Caro are down the other end of Ona. At first, you think the two older players are taking both of Ona’s holes, but after a few seconds, and an angle change when Ona’s hips buck, your jaw drops in realisation that the Norwegian and English player are both fucking in and out of the same hole.
Your eyes almost bulge out of your head, you can feel the arousal re building inside you as you watch Caro and Lucy brutally fuck into Ona, pretty much using her to get themselves off. Ona’s body is boneless and unmoving beside her hips which every few thrusts cant up to buck upwards.
You can’t take your eyes off of the sight, it might be rude to stare but in your opinion it would be rude not to admire the complete erotic beauty that is unfolding before your eyes.
“Hola chica.”
The words are directed at you, forcing your eyes away from Ona and to Mapi, whose head has craned backwards to look at you from her spot on top of Alexia’s lap.
There is a thin sheen of sweat across her forrid, her eyes are full of lust and she looks positively feral.
You smile at her, too terrified that if you open up your mouth you’ll say something wrong or let out one of the moans that have built up in your gut from watching Ona.
Your eyes drifted back to Keira on the floor, all three of her holes being used, quite literally having her brains fucked out.
It’s not something that you’ve ever directly desired, but right now it’s all that’s in your mind, you aren’t quite sure if you could handle it, you’ve never taken more then two fingers in your asshole and too be fucked in both fo your other holes at the same time seems like over kill, but watching Keira suddenly makes you so intrigued and suddenly attracted to what she’s enduring.
You don’t know where to go or look, but Mapi ushers you over with her hand and your brain can’t ignore her, so you put one foot in front of the other until you are standing directly in front of the two women.
Alexia smiles at you, her hands are resting on Mapi’s hips, gently helping her to grind against Ale, there isn’t much fervour or energy to it, from what you can tell, it can’t possibly be stimulating enough to put either of them anywhere near the edge, your either wrong or they just don’t mind. There are red splotches up and down Alexia’s chest, little dots and tiny teeth marks that are splattered out across Alexia’s chest and neck.
Mapi has some darker, purple marks across her neck, less than Alexia but far more noticeable.
“How’d you sleep bebita? You feeling rested and up for some more fun?”
It’s bewildering to you how level headed Mapi is considering the situation she’s in. You think about how you would behave if you were in her situation and you are fairly certain it wouldn’t be anywhere near as composed.
“Hoping I didn’t miss out on much.”
Mapi smirks, her lips parting and letting out a breathy moan as Alexia pulls her hips down harder, trying to get her own friction against her clit.
“I��m sure we can find some ways for you to make up for lost time. Come sit down next to Ale, I’m sure she’ll be able to wake you up.”
You drop your body down beside Alexia on the couch, unsure what to do but much happier with the closer proximity.
“Look at Kei, look at how good she’s being, would you like to be used like that?”
Alexia leans down to whisper the words into your ear, her voice low and drawn out.
You bite your lip, happy to let your eyes stray back to Keira, Ingrid is no longer in her mouth and Marta is no longer in her ass, instead Keira is now bouncing up and down on Ingrid’s strap, Ingrid jack-hammering into her with absolutely no mercy.
Keira looks pretty fucked out, you’ve got a better view of her face and body now that it’s not so occupied with so many hands and people.
Her mouth is permanently open, deep moans leaving her mouth every time Ingrid thrusts up into her, the other thing that catches your eye is the way that Keira’s tits bounce up and down with every single movement, her nipples are risen and hard and her right breast has a big red mark on the side of it.
Keira’s eyes are glazed over, but there’s still some form of cheekiness behind them, just from the sight of her you can tell that she’s having the most fun that you’ve seen her have in months, that she’s so incredibly at peace with Ingrid all over her.
One of Alexia’s hands fall from Mapi’s hip, down to you knee first, gently coaxing your legs apart before trailing her hand up.
You look down for a few seconds, before Alexia’s mouth is back pressed against your ears.
“Look at Oni, she’s been such a brat tonight, look how’s she’s getting fucked, look at all those bruises on her, you don’t want that do you? Don’t want to be filled up but on the edge all night, right? Little Oni thought it would be smart co cum without permission so now she has to deal with Lucia and Caro stretching her out with no relief. You don’t want that do you? You’ll be our good girl, sí?”
Your eyes lift up to Ona, her body being brutally used by Lucy, Jenni and Caro. Her pussy is still being stretched by the two women, and to think that she’s going through it without any finish is eye opening to you and also terrifying.
“Yes, Ale.”
Alexia smirks against your earlobe, her lips opening to suck down on the skin whilst her hand trailed up and down the bottom of your stomach.
“Such a good girl, so perfect, so well behaved.”
Alexia’s hand creeps down further, her lips tugging on your earlobe whilst she cups your mound, her ring and middle finger dipping between your folds for half a second to collect some of the wetness.
Alexia pulls it up to your face and after a particularly harsh nip to your ear that has your lips falling open, and Alexia’s fingers in your mouth.
Without any prompting, you suck your taste off of her, the salty and slightly sweet flavour welcome on your tongue.
“Suck.”
Alexia’s fingers are too big for your mouth, something you begin to realise as she slowly attempts to push her fingers in deeper.
By the time they’re at the back of your mouth you’re struggling to breathe, having to switch to your nasal passage to take in oxygen. By the time they’ve hit the back of your throat you are trying your hardest not to gag and to suck on them. Alexia’s lips are a distraction, her mouth has worked its way down from your earlobe and to the sensitive spot on your neck. Your moans are muffled by Alexia’s fingers, two thirds of her fingers as deep in your mouth as they can get.
It’s when your jaw relaxes for the two first knuckles that she decides it's the perfect time to force the final third in.
You gag almost immediately, your throat tightening and struggling to accommodate the extra length that your throat didn’t have the room for.
You tried to slacken your jaw, tried to relax your throat, it was obvious though that Alexia’s fingers were too long.
You are so desperate to please her, to prove that you are her good girl, that you will do anything that she wants or asks you to do, so you don’t end up with a fate similar to Ona’s, so even though you are gagging and struggling to breathe properly you push through, sucking on Alexia’s fingers just as she’d ordered.
Your own drool is dripping down your jaw, you’re certain of it, it’s something that you can’t afford to care or think about though, your focus is solely on Alexia’s fingers and mouth.
Just as you’ve begun to feel slightly lightheaded from the shallow bits of oxygen that you are managing to intake Alexia’s fingers are pulled from your mouth, and whilst you are occupied with gasping for air and Alexia’s fingers shoot right down to inbetween your legs.
Your body lurches at the sudden contact, hips chasing Alexia’s hand desperately.
Alexia allows the movement, her fingers trace the outside of your lips, never even coming close to touching you where you need her most.
“Look at Mapi, look at how desperate she is, using me for her own pleasure. All because of you bebita, all because of how worked up you got her earlier, she’s such a filthy whore for you, isn’t that right Maria?”
Mapi’s head rocks forward to look at you, a big smirk on her face, telling you that what Alexia is saying is true, that some part of whatever she’s experiencing is due to you.
“Are you going to make her come before you hand her off or are you going to make her wait.”
Mapi’s eyes stay locked to your own, even though it’s clear the question isn’t meant for you.
Alexia removes her mouth from your neck, just to stare at you in deliberation out of her peripherals.
“What do you think? Should we reward our good girl, or make her wait? You’d look so pretty coming all over my fingers bebita, but maybe I should make you wait for Lucia? Just so I can watch you get fucked out by her.”
You aren’t sure what you want, with Alexia putting both offers out on the table and making them both sound good, you’re too focused on Alexia’s hand dipping in and out of your pussy to truly comprehend what’s being said.
When Alexia’s fingertips finally make contact with your clit everything you’d begun to process is completely erased from your brain, every single one of your brain cells is completely captured by the sensation of Alexia’s slicked fingers finally touching you where you’ve been so desperately needing her.
“How does she feel bebita, she touching you where you need it?”
You nod your head at Mapi, more than happy to deal with a little bit of teasing if it means that you continue getting what you want.
When Alexia’s fingers migrate further down, her roughened palm moving down with her fingers to grind down against your clit as her fingers tease your hole you moan, louder than you think you ever have.
Alexia’s palm is wonderful, but her fingers slowly slipping into your hole, inch by inch similar to how they did your mouth, is indescribable.
You’re still tight and oversensitive from your previous orgasms, so every single move, every twitch of Alexia’s hand sends shocks through you.
Her pace is similar to the pace that Mapi has set on top of her, fast but thorough, Mapi’s hips gyrating against down against Alexia haphazardly, but with obvious amounts of detail, she’s searching for the friction against her clit, and she knows where she has to angle herself to find it.
Alexia pushes her palm down against your clit, forcing your legs as wide as she can from her spot beside you, her head cocked to the side so she has a good angle of both Mapi and you.
“Watch Oni bebita, that’ll be you soon enough, once she’s had the brat fucked out of her it’ll be your turn. That’s what happens to little sluts who think they know better, who think that they will get away with being disobedient. You’re a good girl though, and if you keep acting like one I’m sure Jenni and Lucia will be happy to reward you, in fact, if you keep being good for me I’m sure that we can sort out any kind of reward you’d like, how does that sound?”
Your eyes lift up to Ona, it’s a struggle to keep them open with Alexia’s constant pace in and out of you but for the sake of obeying Alexia, you do as she’s asked and watch Ona.
Jenni’s no longer balanced on top of her face, now she’s lying to the side of Ona, her hands pinching down on her nipples so hard that there are tears in Ona’s eyes over the torture she’s being subjected to.
Lucy and Caro are no longer pounding into Ona, instead they’ve both pulled out and Lucy’s strap has been thrown to the side, she’s currently being fucked by Caro, right in front of Ona’s eyes, just another form of teasing thrown her way you assume.
“Tell me what you want as a reward, bebita, anything you want you can have.”
It feels like Alexia is offering you the whole world, and yet you can’t even begin to formulate what it is that you want, because there are infinite possibilities and different scenarios that you want to try, but there is one thing that springs to the forefront of your mind, something that’s been buried deep in your mind ever since Keira’s lips had touched yours for the first time just a couple of hours ago.
“Wanna sit on Kei’s face.”
Alexia’s eyebrows raise in intrigue.
“Do you now? Well you prove to me that you can be good and I certainly think that can be arranged, now how about you focus a little bit harder on my fingers so I can focus a little bit more on Maria here, aprobado?”
You nod your head furiously, grinding your hips down onto Alexia’s fingers with motivation.
“No cumming without permission bebita, let me know when you’re close.”
You nod at Alexia, honestly too consumed with the feeling of Alexia’s finger tips repetitively hitting the walls of your insides. When she angles them just right, the pads of her two fingers brushing against your sweet spot, your spine shudders, all the wonderful sensations spreading out across your body.
Alexia’s fingers, whilst they may have struggled to fit in your mouth, they have absolutely zero problems fucking in and out of your pussy, your hole is practically sucking them in with every thrust, trying it’s very hardest to cling onto the feeling of Alexia.
With her palm pushing down against your clit, and your eyes on Keira, it doesn’t take you long to get close to the edge. Keira’s body is limp, her back pressed to Ingrid’s front whilst Ingrid fucks her brutally in reverse cowgirl.
When Keira screams, her own orgasm taking over, you are completely enthralled by the sight, everyone in the rooms seems to be. The noises leaving Keira’s mouth are so loud and so erotic, if you tried you could probably orgasm purely off of them.
Ingrid’s pace slows, but doesn’t come to a full stop, the Norwegian bouncing Keira up and down slowly, holding onto her hips and helping her to ride out her high.
Mapi apparently, isn’t far behind her, the Zaragozan’s moans suddenly becoming a lot quicker and louder, before you miss anything you pull your eyes from Keira, receiving immediate gratification in the form of Mapi, whose hips are stalled, her clit pressed down against Alexia’s as her body and coil in her stomach shatter.
It’s a rare moment where you see Alexia’s confident and composed facade fall. Alexia is beaming, pressing soft kisses to Mapi’s collar bone well before her orgasm hits, murmuring soft spanish words into her skin, very subtly thrusting her own hips up into Mapi, giving her a longer orgasm and something more to rut down against.
“Alexia-I’m close.”
With all the noises and people around you, it’s hard for you not to be on the edge. Alexia’s hand stops immediately, her palm lifting from your clit and fingers slowly withdrawing. It’s sad, being in a room full of people experiencing pleasure and having yours revoked, although you thank the lords that you aren’t Ona, that you aren’t being subjected to the pure pain and hell that she’s being put through.
You also suppose that if Ona wasn’t somewhat okay with it then it wouldn’t be happening, and if she was truly in pain she would safe word. That thought only seems to make you more aroused, the realisation that Ona, to some extent, is getting off on what she’s experiencing.
“Such a good job, bebita, letting me know when you're close. Once Keira has come down I’m sure she’ll have no problems fulfilling that little reward of yours.”
———————————————————————
lol i’m not one to normally leave things at a cliff hanger buttttttt yk gotta keep yall coming back somehow lol xoxo
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brisquad-unit-4402 · 1 month
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Hello can I request Luxiem reacting to you taking off their engagement ring (assuming them and reader are engaged)? The situation can differ per member. Also if you’re not comfortable doing all members then at least Vox, Shu and Ike will be okay. Thank you!
oooo i saw “the situation can differ” and i took the fattest sip out of my coffee. i love drama. if you’re looking for something specifically fluff or angst with your oshi i hope the rng works in your favor
tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship, engagement and marriage, fluff, angst, breakups, arranged marriage, misunderstandings, unrequited love alternate universe, reader gets sold to one direction, i popped off a little too hard on some of these so sorry if you can detect a bias 😔
⚠️ forced marriage, implied dubcon (non-explicit), yandere(?) in vox’s entry
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
🖋 Ike Eveland
Ike spent all the time in the world examining every last ring at the jeweler's with the eye of a detective, whittling down each choice until he found the perfect ring to propose to you with.
Now he looks back at the white gold and how it reflects his face as he holds it up close, glasses up on his forehead while his nearsighted eyes take it in. The diamond in the center divides his reflection up in facets that gleam even as his shadow covers the overhead light, while the two sapphires on either side make the blue in his eyes all the more prominent.
He thought he had it all planned out, and he wasn't so presumptuous that he knew everything would go like how his wildest dreams unfolded, but he thought he had done at least something right. The moment he got on one knee was the number-one proof there was magic in the world.
So why, then, isn't the engagement ring in its rightful place on your hand?
He turns it over, inspecting the band as if there would be a clue engraved on the metal. Nothing, and it makes the growing panic in his head all the louder. You've already left the home much earlier that day, and he hasn't gotten a single text from you since. That's not surprising—he's clingy but not so much that he needs updates from you 24/7—but it's gnawing at him. You were so happy when he proposed that you cried with him, and your eyes rarely left the band around your finger. You swore you'd never leave it behind with wet eyes and the biggest smile in the world.
The memory just makes Ike all the more confused. He found it in the bathroom, on the sink counter like just any old piece of jewelry, even though you always keep it on your nightstand in the same place every day. It's a ritual to slip it on every morning and take it off every night, and there's been more than a few times Ike placed it on your finger before anyone's left the bed, as if the magic of the proposal still lingers with every day he's your fiancé.
At least, he thought it did. Something about plans and not being presumptuous, and doing something right. Or God forbid, doing something wrong.
He clutches the ring closer in his hand as he kneels on the bathroom tile, the cool metal turning warm with how long he's been holding it, while he puts the last few days on replay. Did he ruin something without noticing? He dreads the thought, and when he can't think of any recent transgressions, he tries to recall every day since the proposal.
Anxiety dyes the memories over. He always treasured every moment, even the imperfect ones where he's made a fool of himself (because what else is he supposed to do when he's in love like nothing else), but now he's starting to realize that he could've done better. He should've done better.
He's so lost in his thoughts and the labyrinth of deceit they invite that he doesn't recognize the world around him, even as the home comes to life while he sits still. He ignores the latching of keys and doors opening and closing. The only thing that snaps him out if it is footfalls along the flooring, slowly growing in volume as they approach the bathroom, until they're interrupted by the door creaking open and—
"Holy—Ike! You scared me!" Your hands are raised, startled, but lower to your side. "I just got home, and I was wondering where you went and... Why are you on the floor?"
Count another moment of foolishness. Ike returns to the waking world, where he sits on his legs over the tile of the master bathroom of the house, hands cupped around the engagement ring and the one he cares for above all else behind him, and yet still he can barely muster the strength to raise his head, much less speak out loud.
"Reader," he says. "I, uh, I have a question."
The words end there, and too ashamed to look up, he brings his hands out instead. Diamond and sapphires shine through his palms.
He hears a sharp intake of air. A gasp. Of shock, certainly, but whatever fuels it is lost to him.
"No way, you found it! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You plop down on the floor right next to your fiancé, leaning along his shoulder in disbelief. "It wasn't in any of my pockets, and I was just about to turn the house upside-down. Where was it?"
"I'm not sure how to approach this," Ike mumbles, before fixing his glasses and raising his quiet voice a bit louder. "It was in the bathroom."
"Ohh, that explains it. I probably took it off to wash my hands, then."
Ike falters. "Wh-what?"
"I usually take it off before getting my hands wet," you explain, as if it's the most mundane thing in the world. It is. "I know gold is waterproof, but I don't want it to lose its shine or anything."
"Right. The shine."
Ike Eveland, certified idiot, at your service.
The ring sits pretty in one hand while the other runs through his hair. Another foolish moment, but with your head up on his shoulder, his anxieties calm.
Fingertips rest along his palm, and when he looks at its source, you return the gaze. Your eyes sparkle nearly as bright as the gemstones, but your lids are lowered, trying to discern something. "Ike, you look like you have something on your mind."
"I do, don't I." At that, he muffles a laugh, fingers still tangled in his ashy hair. "No, I'm just glad that the ring reunited with its owner."
"Thanks again." You nod, the elated smile on your face fading into a dopey one. "Can you...?"
The exchange is wordless, and in his palm, warm. Ike takes the ring and turns it upright, while the hand it rested on takes yours instead.
Every morning when the both of you are too sleepy to even speak, he manages to treat your hands like fine crystal glass, and still he does now, with your palm resting under his grasp and fingers dangling out. The metal's temperature doesn't shock you at all. It's an extension of you, even when it was under Ike's watch.
Ike affixes the band with care, lashes and disheveled hair covering his eyes as he focuses, but you can discern the small, struck curve in his lips as he twists the band into place, certain it won't budge for the rest of the day.
You start to raise your hand, but before you do he gently tugs it back down, still focused on the way the engagement ring gleams. Then up at your knuckles, and higher on your arm until you can see a hint of green through the lashes. That green blinks back under his eyelashes as he lifts your knuckles to his lips.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
🦁 Luca Kaneshiro
It's late. You haven't checked the time in hours, but it's dark, and the false daylight from the old floor lamp in your living room cuts through the night in the window.
You should be asleep by now. You haven't gotten a good rest in what feels like forever. You've always been too worried, and when worry eased it turned into hollowness, even when the other side of the bed sinks with added weight.
You sit along the couch in the corner you always occupy on late nights when Luca is out. Whenever he comes back, he always wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. A metallic scent follows him.
The door opens. Warm arms envelop you. Squeeze. Lips against your hair.
You don't have it in you to smile.
He can tell. His grin falls as he peels back his gloves. They're tinted darker on the knuckles. "Reader. You've been so distant lately."
"I will be. It'll be better for me to stop seeing you. It's not safe." The dredges of all your past arguments curl into your throat.
It breaks your heart to see Luca so stunned. Months upon months cleaning and dressing his wounds, and you've never seen him so taken aback.
That's one of the reasons you can't go on like you used to.
"I've spent so much of my time telling you to watch yourself, and so much time just asking you to come home," you explain. "You know as well as I do you can take a break. But you don't.
"And I can't control you, but do you know how many times I've had to stay up just to know you'll be safe? To know I'll be safe?" Your fingers tense. "The gunfire outside, the spyware, I stopped ordering packages because ever since that threat last year I've been paranoid one of your enemies might actually leave a bomb at my doorstep. I don't know how you can do it, but I can't.
"And I've spent so much time alone."
Your eyes fall to the engagement ring on your hand. It's glamorous and gold, with tiny diamonds that line the band and frame the large diamond in the center like pawns to a king. Is that what you are to him?
You raise the back of your palm up, and the lamp makes the diamonds shimmer. "What does this even mean? You tell me you love me but you never give me your time anymore. You can't just do that, Luca. Not when I stay up night after night worrying what if you got shot, or stabbed, or kidnapped, and every night you don't come home or even send me a text I can't help myself from thinking that."
"I wouldn't." Luca's big purple eyes make contact with yours. The way his voice wavers and his face is set into a grimace, you know he's serious, and those purple eyes are honest. "I wouldn't get hurt and leave you by yourself like that."
"But you did! There are days in a row where I don't see a trace of you and consider calling in a missing persons case! Weeks, even, and so many times I have to patch you up after a fight!"
"I can take care of myself."
"And I want to take care of you! We're engaged, that means we're in it together, but I can't do this! I'm not some superhero mafioso like you. I'm just-"
Your throat tightens. You were doing such a good job at keeping yourself together, but the diamonds are your chain.
You rip the ring off yourself, and Luca watches in horror.
"I'm just normal."
The ring lands on the table, next to the water stains from the previous tenant. Your fiancé is motionless.
"I'll help you collect your things tomorrow when it's a decent hour," you snap, patience lost. "But you're not staying here. God knows you've found places to spend the night without me."
"We're not over," he says, utterly in disbelief.
"Yes, we are! You can't get it through your head that you're dangerous, and you can't even make up for it by being there when it matters. I'm not safe. How could I ever feel safe when the man that proposed to me is never around to actually protect me? You said you would when you got down on one knee, and ever since it's only been more danger! That's the opposite of what you promised me!"
You snatch the ring with one hand and his own in the other. He winces, and you can see a newly formed bruise where his own band glints up at you. Another late fight tonight, when he could've rested.
You push the engagement ring into his palm and force the fingers closed around it. He doesn't even protest. "Go home. Let me be alone like I know you're so good at doing."
"I'll be back for you. I'll make it right. I swear."
"You had your chance and you blew it. You're lucky I'm not changing the lock before you get your things." You leer, scorned and scarred. "We're done."
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
👟 Shu Yamino
Your hand shakes, and the engagement ring between your fingers glints in the lighting. The gold is stark against your skin even in the glow, with a pear-shaped stone in the center of the ring that catches the glow in little reflections off the surface of the fabric of your attire and your skin. They start purple, then gleam in subtle rainbows of fire.
It’s an elegant piece with slanted filigree wrapped all around like Shu's flames around your finger. The stone smiles, and when the light bounces off the facets, it giggles speckles of glitter against you.
Shu is so beautiful in white. His eyes are a brilliant royal purple just like the stone, especially as he blinks back tears, and even though his hair is braided back, a strand of hair strays by his right side. He spent the last twenty minutes blowing it out of his face nervously.
Your fingers graze over the gold. The fiery stone lets out a laugh as it slides off your finger.
Shu's hand meets yours. "Let me help you," he whispers, so quiet that no one could ever hear it but you. He shakes too, but he is together with you, and as you present him your right hand, the engagement ring finds its place on your right hand.
He produces another, one that the both of you picked out together. It, too, is gold, but simply bent upward in a point like a chevron. Two stones, one diamond and one deep purple, are placed on the side. One to represent each of you, set together in metal.
"I've been dreaming about this for so long," he admits. His voice is wet. You know your eyes are too, and even though you gingerly wipe them, you focus on how much care he puts into placing the band around your left ring finger, both hands trembling at the excitement.
It takes you time to find your words. Even as you bring out his ring, you're still speechless, and the weight of the gold is both air and boulder. "I love you," you say, because that's all you can think. His band matches the angle shape of yours, but the metal is thicker to fit his hands, and flat enough to reflect your ring alongside his. As you place it on his finger, you brush against his knuckles.
"Reader. Do you take Shu as your lawfully wedded husband, to live in matrimony, to have and to hold, in both sickness and in health, dedicated to him for as long as you live?"
"I love you, I do, I do, I do."
"Shu. Do you take Reader as your lawfully wedded spouse, to live in matrimony, to have and to hold, in both sickness and in health, dedicated to them for as long as you live?"
"I do. God, I love you." You don't retract your hand, and he wraps around yours. The gold weaves between your fingers. "I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."
"You have pledged before these witnesses to be joined in marriage, and you have now sealed this pledge by exchanging these wedding rings. By the power vested in me, I pronounce you officially married!"
You barely hear the officiator before Shu leans in. You meet him where your wedding ring presses against his skin and the engagement ring spreads royal freckles across his face.
You're set alight, gold on gold, lip against lip. You take his first kiss of many as a newly married man.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
👹 Vox Akuma
The Lord Akuma may be self-assured, but he knows when his intuition is trying to signal something, and so he approaches you with what you can already tell is hesitation. "My love."
"Lord."
"It has come to my attention—"
"There's a first for everything," you mock.
You know your attitude more than justifies the trepidation. Good. You'll admit that talking back to a noble is a death sentence, and anyone that dared to disrespect Lord Akuma’s name would be strung up for their rudeness.
However, you are not simply ‘anyone.’ You are the royal heir to a kingdom of your own, and your death would bring upon a far worse fate to the Lord than any public execution.
Lord Akuma’s harsh red makeup squints together as he leers—then sighs and tries again, shoulders still square as if that would intimidate you. “It has come to my attention that you reject our engagement.”
Years of etiquette has taught you otherwise, but now, you understand the commonfolk’s urge to spit on the shoes of another. “Of course I reject it. I would never marry someone like you.”
“As you’ve made it abundantly clear. You have my apologies if your time in my castle has been lackluster. Please, if the accommodations have been subpar, or the staff neglectful, just say the word. It will be handled accordingly.”
“I don’t give a damn about your castle. I’m not marrying you!” You snap. “You’re a disgusting pig of a warlord. My kingdom will never accept this.”
“Is that truly what you think?”
You nod, hair in your face and teeth gnashed together. “They’ll come for me. They’ll stand up against the empire we’ve been at war with for the abduction of their royal heir.”
“I’m afraid that’s not how it works, my love.”
“And quit calling me that!”
“Look at me.”
In an instant Lord Akuma lifts your chin with a finger, forcing you to face him even as you try to turn away. “But that is who you are.” Vox’s eyes, a pallid yellow most days, turn darker than sunsets. “Despite your kingdom’s political climate, you are no ruler. A heir, yes, but no ruler. Making your own choice in marriage was never an option.”
He produces the ring, a gold band in a traditional style practiced in his empire alone. You’re no jeweler, but it’s clear it’s a heirloom passed down from blood to blood until it fell into Lord Akuma’s hands. You don’t need a artisan’s knowledge to know those rubies feel much heavier than they look, either.
“I was heartbroken to see you left this behind in your room,” Lord Akuma said, coolly and evenly, and certainly not heartbroken at all. Ice slides down your spine as you realize that hesitance wasn’t out of fear at all. No, you’ve underestimated him entirely. “Especially after the true rulers of your kingdom, your parents, accepted the terms and gave me their blessing.
“If you see me as simply a political figure, then I’m sure you can recognize you aren’t half of the politician you claim to be.” His grin grows wider. “Perhaps a bargaining chip is a better title.”
Your vision flares red, then white as you thrash. “You—“
“Hold still.”
Lord Akuma’s grip is startlingly strong. His nails dig into the sides of your cheeks as he shoves you against the wall.
As much as you try to slip away, the Lord Akuma is the general of his army as well as a noble, and has dealt with much more cunning minds than yours. He pins you down, hot weight pressing your arm away while he catches your left hand.
“It would be wise not to resist me,” he commands.
Still you writhe, even though Lord Akuma shifts his weight to disable you further. Your knuckles are turning white under his grip.
Your strength is on the verge of giving out, now that the adrenaline is wearing off, and Lord Akuma is no longer shocked. You grunt and force every last bit of energy into your fist, but his fingers weave around yours, pulling your fist apart until he wrests the ruby ring onto your finger.
“You bastard,” you hiss. You must be a wreck right now, in improper dress and sweltering under Lord Akuma, and with every last courtesy abandoned in your hatred. The exhaustion from the fight fuels both anger and humiliation, especially now that Lord Akuma is so close. “You’re sick, Lord Akuma.”
He looks down at you, and has the gall to look disappointed. “My love, your fiancé’s name is Vox.”
You growl. “I hate you, more than anything.”
Vox is barely an inch away, and grins as he closes the distance. His teeth point daggers. “Then kiss me like you hate me.”
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi
199 notes · View notes
tteokdoroki · 1 year
Text
*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— the mystery of misery + katsuki bakugou, eijirou kirishima.
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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 ✩
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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. 
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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. 
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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.” 
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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. 
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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. 
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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.” 
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“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. 
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‘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.
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“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!” 
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“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.
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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…’
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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.
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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.
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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.” 
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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.” 
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“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.
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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.
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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.
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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. 
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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.’
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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.
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1K notes · View notes
likeahorribledream · 2 months
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new guy
» CHAPTER NINE: STORM IS COMING
CHAPTER EIGHT
SUMMARY: Turns out you and Ransom don't necessarily have the same goal for your relationship.
PAIRING: Ransom x Reader
WORD COUNT: 2.9k
WARNINGS: Fluff, angst. New Girl AU.
REQUEST: Librarian!Reader, she’s shy and insecure about her appearance.
18+. Minors DNI.
ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ
𝚂𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃
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All his life Ransom has heard people around him complain about how quickly the weekends go by and that they all hate Monday mornings but he never understood why. He thought that by getting a job he'd finally understand but he doesn't. He loves the weekend because he can sleep in with his girl but he also loves week days. 
His alarm doesn't bother him because he's usually already awake to gently wake you up instead of the very annoying sound coming from the alarm clock on your phone. Your alarm goes off at 7, but he wakes you up at 6:59 every morning.
Neither of you talk aside from mumbling a quick "good morning". You aren't morning people and you both love your peace and quiet after waking up. 
Ransom loves mornings just because you're a little grumpy and cuddly. It's not unusual for you to stop in the middle of a task just to get a hug from him before going back to getting ready. 
Then, he gets to spend the entire day with you at work and watching you share your love of books with other people. Watching you recommend books is one of his favorite things. The way your eyes light up when you're talking and how you can't stop smiling make him melt. 
Going to work is never a chore because he gets to do it with you. 
Never in his wildest dreams did he think he'd ever be the kind of guy to one, be in a relationship and two, be obsessed with a girl and yet here he is. 
Harlan cutting him off changed him but meeting you transformed him. He's glad he met you after losing everything because otherwise he probably wouldn't have looked at you twice, he would have been too busy chasing other girls to notice you. He wasn't good enough for you back then, he still doesn't think that he is now but he works at himself every day to change that. 
Some may say that Ransom isn't Ransom anymore but he'd argue that he's never been more himself than he is now. 
Going to work is never a chore but he still looks forward to the weekend. 
You promised to teach him how to cook on Saturday morning and it's something new that he's looking forward to. 
If his family could see him now. Selfish, trust-fund asshole Ransom Drysdale learning to cook from a girl, from his girl. They would hate every second of it and for the first time in his life Ransom could say that he genuinely doesn't care what they think. 
Every day that he wakes up this week means it's a day closer to Saturday morning and he's excited, which you think is adorable. 
Sometimes he reminds you of a child. In the sense that he gets excited for the most basic things and you find it endearing. It makes your heart ache that no one ever took the time to show him those things but you're glad that you get to be the one to teach him. They make fond little memories that you will look back to in years and smile as you think of them. 
You feel bad for not spending as much time with Chase and Theo as you used to but they don't mind. You're happy, happier than they have ever seen you before and that's all that matters to them. 
With the week finally over and work out of the way, you can finally relax and have fun with the guys. It's been a while since you've done a Friday game night and that's exactly what you're doing tonight. Take outs and board games. Ransom didn't really feel like playing so instead he's sitting on the couch, scrolling through breakfast recipes on his phone while the three of you are sitting on the floor around the coffee table. 
"Theo." You laugh. "Stop showing me your cards! I'm cheating and it's not even on purpose." You shake your head.
You've been playing for an hour and it's the fourth time you've had to tell Theo to hide his cards. He's too busy bickering with Chase to even notice what he's doing. 
Ransom gets off the couch and stands next to you, looking down at you. "Can we go to bed?"
You look up at him. "You don't want to play with us?" 
"Not really, no." He shrugs. 
"I'm having fun, I don't want to go to bed yet." You sigh and put down your cards. 
"Alright. Can I snuggle while you play?"
You smile. "Best of both worlds." 
Ransom sits on the floor between you and the couch, resting his back against it as you lean back into him. 
"Never in a million year did I ever think I'd see Ransom ask to snuggle." Theo says after watching your exchange with Ransom. 
"Why not?" Ransom asks as he wraps his arms around your waist. 
Theo shrugs and shakes his head. "You don't strike me as the cuddling type." 
"Guys usually tend to hide their soft side." Chase adds.
Ransom snorts and shakes his head disapprovingly. "I've never cared about what other people think of me and I've never let their opinions stop me from doing what I want. Am I supposed to keep my hands to myself or pretend like I don't care about my girl because otherwise people are going to be uncomfortable? Fuck that, that's dumb." 
You bite back a smile and turn your head to the side to kiss his cheek. 
"That's good." Chase nods, approving of Ransom's way of thinking. "The guys before you thought the opposite, it's nice to see that you actually care." 
You clear your throat, suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. "Can we not talk about that?" You ask quietly, picking at your cards and avoiding eye contact. 
"That's because she needed a man." He peppers your neck with kisses and grins at the sound of your laughter. 
"I need one of those too." Theo mumbles under his breath. 
"Not this one." You warn him. 
"Your brother then?" Theo smirks playfully.
"There are so many men out there, does it really have to be my brother?" You whine.
"Yes! He's sweet and funny." 
"And hot." Chase adds.
"So hot." Theo sighs dreamily. 
You point a finger at Chase. "Don't encourage him." 
"Looks like Theo's going to be your brother-in-law." Ransom teases you. 
You turn to the side to look at him. "You do know that means you and Theo will technically be family." You ask, raising a brow. 
He stops laughing and looks at Theo. "Stay the fuck away from her brother."
Theo gasps. "That's no way to talk to your future brother-in-law, Ranny." 
"Don't call me that." 
You and Chase exchange a look before rolling your eyes. Ransom can pretend all he wants but everyone knows he adores Theo just like Theo adores him. For some reason they like to bicker. Constantly. It's like they are making up for all those years they were brother less.
You collect everyone's cards while they keep fighting and put them back in the box, clearly you're done playing for tonight. Ransom sees that you're moving to get up and helps you stand. 
"Where are you going, kitten?" 
"To bed, are you coming?" You hold out your hand.
He takes it right away and hurries to his feet. 
"Good night." You say to your friends before leading Ransom out of the living room to his room. 
You lie down under his covers together, he's holding you close to his chest as he spoons you. He lovingly kisses the skin of your shoulder and of the side of your neck. 
"Are you tired?" 
You nod and turn your head to the side to try and catch a glimpse of him. "You?"
"I'm beat." He moves his hand to your cheek to hold your head to the side. He brushes his nose against yours and smiles softly before leaning down to kiss you. "Good night my love." He whispers between two kisses, making you smile.
You cover his hand on your cheek with yours, not hesitating to press your lips to his. "Good night baby." You whisper back once he gives you a chance to breathe again. 
He moves his hand down from your cheek and instead lays it flat on your chest, right above your heart. He waits for you to turn back your head to bury his in your neck. It doesn't take long at all for sleep to find you both once you're comfortable and all wrapped up around each other.
Surprisingly enough, you manage to stay in that exact position all through the night. It doesn't look like either of you moved even an inch. 
You wake up first but you don't move or open your eyes, enjoying every second of being in Ransom's warmth and arms.
Ransom lets out a small content sigh as he wakes up. He doesn't need to open his eyes or look at you to know that you're already awake and he smiles.
"Good morning." He whispers against your neck, his voice low and dripping with sleep. 
You smile and move your hand to his hair, gently scratching his head as you run your fingers through his hair. It's longer than when he first moved in and he uses a lot less products to keep it perfectly styled all the time, which you love because they are fluffier and softer. Especially in the morning. "Good morning." You say softly. 
You stay like this for a few more minutes before speaking again. "I'm sorry Ran but I need to move. The leg that's under me is cramping up." You laugh quietly. 
He chuckles and moves to give you enough space to lie on your back instead. Ransom comes to lie on top of you, settling himself between your legs as he holds himself up on his elbows to make sure he doesn't crush you. 
"Better?" He leans down to give both of your cheeks a kiss. 
"Much." You giggle at his kisses. "You woke up into a cuddly mood this morning." 
"Too much?" He looks down at you, worried he might be overdoing it.
You quickly shake your head no. "I like it." You reassure him with a smile.
"Can we go make breakfast and come back to bed after eating? I don't want to move but I'm starving." He huffs, slightly annoyed that he needs to get up.
"It's Saturday, we can do whatever we want." You smile. 
"Kiss." He purses his lips, making you laugh.
You put your arms around his shoulders and lift yourself up, enough to reach his lips and kiss him softly. 
He grins and sits up, taking you with him. "I want more of this but after breakfast." 
"Don't ever say I like food more than you again, look who is choosing food over cuddling and kissing." You stick your tongue out before getting out of bed and stretching your arms above your head.
Ransom kneels on the bed behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back into his chest. "Want me to starve for you, kitten? You say the word and I will. I'll starve to death if I have to." He gently bites your neck. 
You laugh. "So dramatic." You tease him. "No need to starve." You slip out of his hold before he has time to stop you and make your way to the door. "But don't expect kisses later. You chose food over me, you are gonna have to deal with the consequences." 
"Alright, come back here." Ransom gets out of bed to stop you from leaving but you're too quick.
You hurry to the kitchen and give him a cheeky grin. "Too slow, old man."
"You're lucky you're so fucking cute." He kisses your cheek and helps you set up. 
"What do you want to make?" You ask him, standing in front of the fridge to take out what you need for the recipe he chose.
"Pancakes? It seems like a pretty easy thing to do." 
"Easy and delicious." You bring all the ingredients you're going to need and put them down on the kitchen island. "I'm going to let you make them, I'll just tell you the steps." 
Normally making pancake batter takes you about two minutes but Ransom is really taking his time and you're letting him go at his own pace. 
Chase and Theo join you in the kitchen, their stomachs already growling. 
"Mom and dad are making us pancakes." Theo says to Chase, teasing you. 
You and Ransom both laugh at the same time except in very different ways. You laugh genuinely but Ransom sounds more like he's heard something stupid.
"That's not gonna happen." He shakes his head and chuckles before flipping the first pancake.
"What's not gonna happen?" You're pretty sure you already know the answer but you need to hear him say it. 
Ransom shrugs. "I'm not having kids." 
He's so focused on not burning anything that he misses the moment you get crushed by his words.  
"You don't want kids?" You stare at his back, your heart pounding in your chest.
"Nope." He says, emphasizing on the "p" sound. 
Your eyes fall to the ground and you stare at the floor, not knowing what to say. 
Theo and Chase keep glancing at each other and silently decide to leave the kitchen to go into Chase's room. 
Ransom feels the weird shift in the air and turns around, surprised to see you standing behind him. 
"Kitten, are you ok? You look like you've seen a ghost." He smiles in the hope it'll make you smile but you give him nothing. He turns off the stove and walks over to you, gently putting his hands on your shoulders. "What's wrong?" 
"I want to have kids." You say quietly, avoiding looking into his eyes. 
"Oh." He clears his throat. 
"Yeah." You take a few steps back and he lets go of you, his hands dropping back to his side. "Are you sure?" You hesitate to ask but the pain in your chest is making you desperate.
"Are you?" He keeps looking directly at you while you do everything in your power to avoid eye contact.
"I'm more than sure." You finally look up and the pain in your eyes knocks the wind out of his lungs. 
"You know me, you know of my family… We're not good people. It's in our DNA. I'm not going to add another selfish asshole to our family tree. I can't." 
You understand why he doesn't want kids, you really do. You don't blame him for thinking this way. "You're not like them, Ran. You wouldn't be like your dad-"
"Look, maybe I'll change my mind in like 10 years. We have time, right?"
"No, you do. I don't. What happens if in 10 years you change your mind and it's too late? What if I get pregnant before then and you resent me for the next 18 years?" You shake your head. "I'm willing to compromise about a lot of things but not this. I'm sorry." You walk around the kitchen island and head to your room, swallowing with difficulty because of the lump in your throat, rapidly forming from your unshed tears and heartache. 
Ransom follows you. "Why can't I be enough for you?"
You sit on your bed and take in a few shaky breaths. "You are enough, more than enough." 
"Then we don't need kids." He nervously runs his fingers through his hair.
"I do." You quickly wipe off the tear that escapes at the corner of your eye. "I don't know how to explain it, I just know that I do. I've known since I was teenager. It's the one thing in my life I've always been sure of. It's not because you're not enough, it's just… different." 
"Aren't we happy just the two of us together?" He is getting desperate as he gets a bad feeling about where this conversation is headed.
"We are." You nod. 
"Then why risk messing it up?" He kneels on the floor in front of you, resting his hands on your thighs with a pleading look in his eyes.
You smile sadly down at him and stroke his cheek with your hand. "I don't see having kids as a risk of messing things up, for me having kids is adding to my happiness." 
Ransom wipes angrily at his cheeks, he doesn't even know when he started crying. He stands up and looks down at you, holding back more tears. "So that's it then? We're done?" 
"I don't know." You answer sincerely. "I don't want us to be done." 
He stares at you then leaves your room. He storms out of the loft and slams the door as he goes, taking the stairs two at a time to get to the first floor and outside. 
You slowly stand up and walk over to your door to close it quietly before heading back to bed. You jump at the sound of the front door being slammed shut and quickly crawl into bed, hiding under your covers. You finally let the tears come out, hoping it will help soothe the soul crushing pain in your heart. 
It doesn't. 
Ransom pulls out his phone from his pocket, not caring that he's only wearing sweats and a coat outside. He scrolls through his contacts until he finds the person he's looking for. He lifts his phone to his ear as it starts to ring and he's relieved when the other person picks up almost instantly.
"Can I come over to your place? I really need to see you."
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Lordy lord. It's been awhile.... This was written a long LONG time ago. I haven't edited anything I'm sorry. If you're one of the few that stuck around for this story, thank you and I promise there's more to come.
115 notes · View notes
mizuski-broken · 4 months
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Ok. You know how I said probably no worded posts until new year? Yeah well fuck that. Ramble time.
I saw a post earlier about cc!Missa and therefore his character having a fear of the sky (like being afraid of falling into infinite space or having celestial bodies falling on him etc. a very bad/angsty fear to have but that's besides the point. Ground dungeon skelly man afraid of the exposed open [don't have a link to post sorry -_-]) I honestly have no idea how accurate that is but I have not stopped fucking thinking about it since.
And then I saw this post based on HC Phil and I just. I need to explode real fast. (https://www.tumblr.com/crepusculum-rattus/675364500235567104/who-keeps-trinkets-of-old-memories-along-his)
Phil gets why Missa would be afraid of the sky. It's very understandable honestly, the sky's infinite and distant nature is almost terrifying at times. Sometimes, when he still had his wings, he flew and flew until he couldn't see the ground anymore and the air was so thin it got hard to breathe. Surrounded by infinite and blue like that, too high up for even the clouds, it felt like the sky was swallowing him whole. Like there was nothing in the world but you, the horizon, and your adrenaline keeping you from feeling the cold in your fingertips. Phil loved it.
Unlike Missa, he lives for that feeling of being so tiny compared to the immense expanse of something so much bigger than himself. For being so far from anything recognizable. So far above it all. When surrounded by such complete nothing in every direction, even despite (or maybe because of) the distance from the ground, there was nothing that made him feel more free. Without the presence of ceilings or gravity to restrain him and keep him down. Some days, he almost didn't feel alive if he didn't brush oblivion. (Queue that clip of o!Phil void surfing) He lives to feel the wind in his wings, ruffling through his feathers like cold, gentle, caressing hands, that turn aggressive and tearing when he goes fast enough to feel his skin being pulled against his body, and nothing feels better.
In his deepest, wildest, dreams he lives in a world with deities powerful enough to rival the sky and the celestial bodies Missa fears so much. They shape the very world he lives in and paint Phil as a simple ant in comparison. And he loves it (even if they simultaneously scare the shit out of him. Then again that is the whole point of this post).
Phil is, as Rose correctly stated, a "Child of the sky". He exists to be far above the world, against the void. On the border of utter nothing. He is both the opposite and the compliment of Missa. He is the sky to his ground. The light to his dark. The complete open to Missa's enclosed caves (and petting zoos). Phil isn't afraid of the things large enough to be incomprehensible. But he might get better than anyone else why Missa would be.
So if Missa ever finds himself swallowed by an unforgiving sky, then he has Phil to swoop in to save him on angels wings as vast as the void itself
Is this anything?
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ryomens-vixen · 4 months
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Snakebites
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Contains: Angst, NSFW, aftercare, hurt feelings, drug use, alcohol use. If I'm missing any lmk
Author's note: This is based on a dream I had of Gojo recently so don't hurt me in the comments ❤
Word count: it's a joke at this point pookie. 🤦🏾‍♀️
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"She made me want to plan out my last days on earth here with her.."
"And on that day..."
"Where I, Satoru Gojo—"
"I thought to myself man I screwed up big time..–"
"I was right, but I had someone waiting for me.. That was until I didn't."
"I knew Nanami would survive anything, I could survive anything."
"Yet even in what everyone thought would be my final moments, even after, you still chose him."
"Am I.. Not enough?”
“Ah— Na- nami…Daddy~”
“C'mon what the hell does he have that I don't?”
“Fuck.. So good to me”
“Goddamn it…”
Long after the Shibuya Incident, Everyone did their absolute best to go back to the way things used to be, some celebrated, some mourned over comrades, some even found their way back into the arms of another. Shoko and Meimei were reunited with their boys Nanami, Suguru, and Satoru who had given everyone the biggest heart attack of their lives, next to Nanami. It was long before the incident was forgotten about by the public. But for those that gave it their all, fought until their last breath… was more than just a memory. 
The air around both of you was thick and hit with desire accompanied by the sounds of skin slapping, hoarse groans followed by heavy moaning. 
Your bodies glistening with sweat— what round was it again? Three? Maybe four? You couldn't remember all you could think about was how Nanami was absolutely incredible in bed. 
Bullying your g spot for another tantalizing orgasm. You're sitting on top of him back against his chest, legs over his own, your left arm reaching behind Nanami’s neck as both of you watched his cock piston in and out of your warm wet hole at a pace you couldn't be bothered to match.
The way Nanami made such passionate love to your body was a sight to behold. 
Sometimes he wished he could just set up a few cameras at different angles to capture these moments together. Maybe he'd keep them to himself or maybe he'd show them off to someone whom he knows that craves your love and affection. 
But none of that matters right now, All he cares about is getting another orgasm out of you and burying his seed in that sweet pussy of yours. 
The way his hips moved uncontrollably you'd think he's trying to put a baby in you.. He would if you weren't on the pill that is. 
That way nobody would have you, not even Satoru or Suguru. Yeah Nanami knew you were playing the field, but he couldn't help himself. He couldn't help being a little selfish- he just wanted to keep you barefoot and pregnant. 
Pumping his thick Two toned cock in and out of your squelching pussy, mounting you with your knees pressed towards your chest, body folded in half. Sweat drips from his nose, feverishly pounding into you with the wildest expression you’ve ever seen on him, determined to make you cum. 
“Nan..ami.. T- Too Much—”  You were so overstimulated each time the head of his cock kissed your cervix sending a tingling sensation from your pussy up to the spine. 
“You can take it baby, You can take it~ Take it for Daddy, Good- fuckin- Girl-” he emphasized with each thrust. 
Meanwhile your phone on the other side of the room kept lighting up with message, after message from a certain someone. 
You'll have to answer later, too busy getting the best cock of your life. 
◦•●◉✿ 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜'𝑠 𝑃𝑜𝑣✿◉●•◦
[Future Wifey]
Hey, can we talk? - 3:47 pm. 
Are you free tonight, maybe tomorrow? - 4:15 pm. 
Look I just want to fuckin know what's going on between us I'm not getting any younger, y/n! - 4:30 pm. 
I'm sorry it's just.. I don't like sharing you with anyone. I just want what we used to have. - 5:00 pm. 
Hey, answer the phone. - 5:25 pm. 
Are you fucking him? Seriously?! - 5:26 pm. 
Y/N answer the goddamn phone.. -5:30 pm.
 The more your phone buzzed with Satoru's constant calls and text messages the more Nanami fucked into you. 
It was like a fun game to him, if he called, Nanami would keep fucking you into yet another orgasm, if he sends a text he'll switch positions either way you're getting taken straight to pound town and he doesn't plan on stopping until you're an incoherent mess in his arms. 
What orgasm were you on? Your 5th? 6th? Even Nanami lost count and was so addicted to your gushing wet pussy it's almost like his hips  wouldn't allow him to stop even if he wanted to.
TooMuchTooMuchTooM-much D-addy! Ah! The way you dug crescent moons into Nanami's back was so rewarding to him. Leaving scratch marks that drew blood was enough to make him cum. 
He was a mess himself bear hugging you as he fucked into you, thrusts becoming sloppy and more off beat by the minute. SoFuckinGood so fuckin- fuck fuck fuck- c'mon cum for daddy. Cum baby. Cum. With a few more thrusts the both of you were a moaning, groaning, quivering mess. Your pussy feels full and warm with Nanami's cum leaking out. 
While Nanami laid on top of you showing no signs of moving anytime soon. His cock still too sensitive to be pulled out, was still buried deep inside of you. Your breaths mixed together once your lips found each other in an embrace. 
Why don't you spend the night.. Just the two of us? Before Nanami could even get an answer out of you he heard snoring. With a smile on his face he proceeded to gently pull out of you after planting a small kiss on the nape of your neck. 
He's such a sweet man running a nice hot both for you after fucking you to sleep. Nanami was always the best at giving aftercare. 
◦•●◉✿ 𝑆𝑢𝑔𝑢𝑟𝑢’𝑠 𝑃𝑜v ✿◉●•◦
Suguru had finally come back to his shared apartment with his long time best friend Satoru. After opening the door his nose was met with the smell of weed. There's no way Satoru lit one up without him; they always smoked together especially after a long day of Sorcery. Well, actually that was before the incident , but now Suguru has retired along with nanami. 
Satoru on the other hand wasn't quite given the option to retire as the strongest the higher ups needed him and his power and so did his clan. But Suguru didn't expect to come home to a complete and utter mess. 
Satoru sprawled out on the couch an empty bottle of sake on the coffee table, half of a blunt in his mouth, his blindfold covering his puffy red eyes as he had been crying earlier after receiving not one call or text from you in the past hour or two. 
Suguru didn't say a word to him, just quietly sat next to him giving him a pat on the thigh. 
He hadn't a clue what could be going on with satoru today, but if it had him like this then he was too afraid to even ask. He just sat there with him in silence, but took the blunt from his lips to smoke it himself. He also had a rough day.. Satoru wasn't the only one trying to get in contact with you. 
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Tag list: @blkkizzat @honeeslust @biscuitsngravie @littlemochabunni @halosdiary @halobuns @gojos-thot-patrol-main @oreo-creampie @callm3senpaii
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ist4rgirlo · 7 months
Note
conrad x reader where the two of you go to the fair and share your first kiss on the ferris wheel?? could be like friends to lovers or you guys are already datingg, whichever one you prefer <3
─────── 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 - 𝐜.𝐟
ONESHOT !
summary: sharing you first kiss with your bestfriend Conrad in a ferris wheel.
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Conrad and you had been best friends since the moment you met in the second grade. You were inseparable, always going on adventures and sharing your deepest secrets. As you grew older, your connection only strengthened and it became clear that your bond was something more than just friendship.
One warm summer evening, you found yourselves wandering through a local carnival, the sounds of laughter and upbeat music filling the air. The vibrant lights and the delicious aroma of funnel cakes felt like pure magic, a perfect backdrop for what would become a moment we would never forget.
Conrad's eyes gleamed with excitement as he spotted the towering ferris wheel overlooking the entire carnival. "What do you say? Fancy a ride?" he asked, a playful grin spreading across his face.
You felt a tingling sensation in your stomach at the thought of being alone with Conrad, up high in the sky, amidst the twinkling lights. "I'd love to," you replied, your heart racing with anticipation.
As the both of yoh made your way to the line, you couldn't help but steal glances at Conrad. The way his tousled hair caught the light, his lively blue eyes sparkling with joy, your affection for him had grown into something more profound.
Finally, it was your turn to step into the gondola of the ferris wheel. You both settled into the comfortable seat, your shoulders touching, both feeling the electric energy buzzing between you. The ride began, slowly ascending into the night sky, revealing the captivating view below.
With the twinkling lights casting an enchanting glow, the ambiance felt magical. Time seemed to stand still as Conrad turned his attention towards you and reached for your hand, his touch warm and comforting.
"Remember when we used to dream about moments like this?" he whispered, his voice laced with nostalgia.
A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips as memories of both of your childhood dreams flooded your mind. "Yeah, it's almost like we created this moment for ourselves," you mused.
You guts continued to rise higher, your hearts beating in harmony. Suddenly, Conrad's eyes locked with yours, and in that split second, it was as if the carnival had gone silent, leaving only your eager breaths hanging in the air.
Without hesitation, Conrad gently cupped your face with his hand and leaned in. Both of your lips met in a tender, sweet kiss, the culmination of years spent supporting and understanding each other.
It was a beautiful collision of emotions, surpassing every expectation and surpassing your wildest dreams. As the ferris wheel continued its descent, you held each other, basking in the newfound warmth within our hearts. The exhilaration of the ride and the purity of your first kiss intertwined, etching this moment forever in your memories.
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lucybronzey · 8 months
Text
wildest dreams - lucy bronze
pairing: Lucy Bronze x fem!reader warnings: fluff word count: 1,897 author's note: Please note that my dyslexia still affects my writing and there can be lots of grammar/vocabulary/phrasing mistakes. Feedback is always welcome! Please do not translate, copy/paste or take credit/ownership of any of my stories! summary: Y/N attends a football conference with her friend Betty. An engaging event about women's football lets Y/N connect with Lucy Bronze, a football star. Their conversation deepens, forging an authentic bond that overshadows Betty's presence. Lucy's genuine interest and vulnerability make the encounter special. The melody of "Wildest Dreams" echoes the enchanting atmosphere. As they part ways, a shared journey seems possible. The memory becomes a reminder of unexpected connections turning into reality.
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The conference room buzzes with vibrant energy as attendees from different corners of the world gather to celebrate their shared passion for football. Your mate Betty had invited you as her plus one to the conference where a few ex and current Lionesses were discussing and introducing new courses on how to talk more openly and widely about women's football in England and how to address the current talk around menstruation. As a communication specialist, this was actually quite an important and interesting event to attend as it would give you extended knowledge to exceed and communicate better on certain topics from the point of view of your position. You take a seat at a table, surrounded by fellow specialists, scientists and enthusiasts, excitement coursing through your veins. Engaging in conversations with strangers has always been a bit nerve-wracking, but there's an air of possibility that hangs in the air, much like the refrain of a favourite song of yours - Wildest Dreams (Taylor's Version).
Just as you are about to take a sip from the champagne glass, your mate appears at your side again after taking a short trip to the loo, a warm smile playing on her lips.
"Hey again, duck," Betty says, the lassie who seems to have an uncanny knack for appearing just when you need her.
"Mind if I introduce you to someone?" Betty's eyes twinkle mischievously and you cannot help but feel intrigued.
You shake your head, eager to see who Betty has in mind. Your gaze shifts to the person standing beside her and time seems to momentarily halt. Lucy Bronze, the football sensation whose prowess and defensive moves on the field have made headlines and captured the hearts of many people around the world. Her eyes meet yours, greenish-grey galaxies that hold a universe of stories and emotions. It is as if the stars themselves have aligned to orchestrate this serendipitous encounter.
"Y/N, meet Lucy," Betty says, her voice carrying a hint of excitement. "Lucy, this is Y/N."
Lucy extends her hand and as your fingers touch in a brief handshake, a spark of electricity seems to pass between you. "Nice to meet you," you manage to say, your voice betraying a hint of awe.
"Likewise," Lucy responds with a smile that feels like a glimpse into the sun breaking through the clouds. "Betty's mentioned you before a bit as you probably know her more than me."
The conversation begins with a tentative question about each other's favourite football teams. Of course, you had to mention that you follow and watch FC Barcelona's female team games and cheer along behind the screen. Lucy's eyes light up as you share your allegiance and a playful back-and-forth ensues as she defends her own team with a grin. As the conversation flows, the initial awkwardness dissipates, replaced by a sense of camaraderie that feels like meeting an old friend.
You delve into discussions about memorable matches, reliving moments that had your heart racing and adrenaline pumping. Lucy's animated storytelling makes each anecdote come to life and you cannot help but feel captivated by the passion in her voice. Her eyes sparkle as she recalls a particularly intense match, her gestures mimicking the players' movements on the field. You find yourself hanging onto every word, your laughter mingling with the buzz of excitement around you.
Amidst the stories of victories and defeats, the conversation takes unexpected turns. Lucy asks about your personal connection to football and you share childhood memories of playing with friends in the park, the thrill of kicking the ball and the taste of victory even in the smallest of games. Her genuine curiosity makes you feel seen, as if your experiences matter.
"You know," Lucy begins with a smile, "sometimes it's the simplest moments that shape our love for the game."
You nod in agreement, feeling a shared understanding. "Definitely. It's the magic of those moments that keeps us coming back. It gives this kind of lovely feeling and you are able to share with the people around the pitch."
As the conversation between you and Lucy flowed like the gentle melodies of a familiar song, you couldn't help but wonder what had become of Betty, the friend who had introduced you. However, amidst the captivating exchange with Lucy, the presence of Betty seemed to fade into the background, eclipsed by the magnetic pull of your conversation.
Unbeknownst to you, Betty had discreetly slipped away to give you both space to connect. She had noticed the immediate chemistry between you and Lucy, the way your eyes locked and your laughter mingled effortlessly. With a knowing smile, she decided to step aside, recognising that sometimes the most magical connections require a touch of serendipity.
The topic shifts to tactics and strategies and you find yourself immersed in a discussion that balances technical insights with a love for the sport. Lucy's eyes light up as she explains a particularly clever play her team executed, her hands gesturing animatedly. The atmosphere feels charged with a feeling of mutual passion, as if you are both in the midst of a match, strategising and celebrating each brilliant move.
As the night deepens, the conversation seamlessly transitions to personal aspirations and dreams. Lucy opens up about her journey as a footballer, the challenges she's faced and the moments that have made it all worthwhile. Her vulnerability creates an intimate bond, and you find yourself sharing your own dreams – the ones that tug at your heart and keep you pushing forward.
"As I love to say," Lucy says softly, her gaze intense, "sometimes it's the struggles that define us and shape our paths. I find it especially unique when someone can describe their dreams as in much detail as possible - it is genuinely adoring."
Her words resonate deeply as you feel a sense of connection that goes beyond your shared passion for football. It is as if the conversation has become a journey of discovering each other's souls, revealing layers of your personalities that you had not anticipated sharing with someone you had just met.
With a quiet smile, you reply, "Absolutely. They make us who we are."
As the daylight outside softens into twilight, the conference room is bathed in a warm, inviting glow. The ambience mirrors the growing warmth between you and Lucy – a connection that seems to be deepening with every exchanged sentence. Amidst the buzz of conversations around you, Lucy's voice remains a steadfast beacon, narrating tales of her and her move to Barcelona. Her humility and fervour intertwine, painting a picture of a remarkable athlete who remains grounded despite her success. Betty found herself drawn to the sidelines of the event, watching from a distance as the two of you became engrossed in each other's stories. She saw the way Lucy's eyes lit up as she recounted her experiences on the field and how your laughter seemed to harmonise with the atmosphere around you. It was a scene that brought a warm smile to Betty's face, a silent celebration of the connection she had unwittingly facilitated.
In those moments, Betty became a silent spectator to a story that was unfolding before her eyes – a story of chance encounters shared passions and the blossoming of a connection that felt almost otherworldly. She knew that sometimes, the most beautiful moments do not require orchestration; they simply need the right environment to flourish.
"Have you ever felt like destiny has a hand in things?" Lucy's question is accompanied by a playful smile, her eyes reflecting the sparkle of stars.
You share a chuckle, a shared understanding forming between you. "Most definitely. It is the nerves that show how much you care. Furthermore, it is the notion of vulnerability that allows us to truly connect." Lucy's gaze is holding yours with a depth of understanding that leaves you both suspended in a moment of shared truth. The words hang in the air like a delicate promise, echoing the sentiment that this newfound connection is built on the foundation of authenticity and the willingness to open your hearts to each other.
When the event eventually draws to a close, you find yourselves standing under a canopy of stars, the world seemingly quieter, as if nature itself is holding its breath in anticipation. Betty found herself stepping back into the conference room, a soft smile still gracing her lips. Catching your eye, she gave you a subtle nod of approval, her eyes twinkling with a mixture of mischief and affection. It was a nod that conveyed a message: that the sparks of connection between you and Lucy were undeniable and had been meant to be, regardless of her initial introduction. Lucy stands beside you, her presence an anchor amidst the celestial expanse.
"I'm really glad we had this chance to connect, Y/N," Lucy's voice is a gentle breeze that stirs your emotions.
Meeting her gaze, you feel a mixture of gratitude and wonder. "Me too, Lucy. This evening has been nothing short of magical."
A soft breeze rustles through and Lucy's fingers brush against yours in a fleeting touch that sends a shiver down your spine. "Would you be open to continuing this over a cup of coffee?"
The words hang in the air like the opening chords of a favourite song, a promise of something more to come. Your heart flutters with excitement as you reply, "I would absolutely love that."
As contact information is exchanged, you are struck by the feeling that the universe might be orchestrating something beautiful. The melody of "Wildest Dreams" intertwines with your reality, creating a soundtrack for a story that is unfolding in ways that leave you breathless with anticipation. Each note seems to echo the sentiments of this encounter, a melody that captures the essence of new connections, unexpected sparks and the thrilling unknown.
Under the expanse of stars, you part ways, but the energy of the moment lingers like an enchanting spell in the air. The promise of future encounters hangs between you, a thread that connects your hearts despite the physical distance. It is as if the universe itself has conspired to bring the two of you together and now, it is working its magic to ensure that your paths cross once more.
The refrain of the song plays softly in your mind, weaving into the tapestry of your thoughts as you walk away. It is a reminder that dreams often manifest in the most surprising ways – that sometimes, the universe has plans that exceed our wildest imaginations. The sensation of connection and the prospect of a shared journey fill you with a sense of wonder and excitement, a feeling that dances in time with the rhythm of the song.
As you move through the night, the stars above seem to twinkle with an added brilliance, as if they too are celebrating the magic of this encounter. Each step you take is infused with a new sense of purpose, a reminder that life's most beautiful moments often come when we least expect them. And though you may be walking away for now, the memory of Lucy's smile, the resonance of her laughter and the promise of a future meeting linger in your heart like a cherished melody, ready to be replayed whenever you need a reminder of the serendipitous dreams that can turn into reality.
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areyoudoingthis · 5 months
Text
S2 coda fic series
Wanna be with you all my life
Edstede. Rated E
Ed gets an orgasm. As a treat. - "I almost expect you to start purring any second," he jokes. The collar still sits around Ed's delicate neck, jingling softly every time he moves. The thought won't leave his head. He runs a hand slowly through Ed's hair, then smooths it down his shoulder, his bicep, repeats the gesture on his other side. "Stede, are you fucking petting me?"
The art of fishing
Edstede. Rated T
It's been a few weeks of their newfound domestic intimacy when he feels the need to say the words. He's held safely in Stede's arms, warm in their own bed, in their own room, on this ship that is their home. "You were a mermaid when I almost died." - Ed tells Stede about his near death experience. Stede comforts him.
Put the collar on, Captain
Edstede. Rated E
The collar makes an encore. - He reaches tentatively for Ed's hair, delighted to be allowed to pull it aside to reveal the expanse of his neck. He opens the clasp on the collar and reaches around Ed to slide it in place and close it securely. He doesn't miss the full body shiver that runs through Edward when the collar is resting safely against his skin once again, bell tucked neatly into the hollow of his throat. Ed turns around to look at him. He looks ethereal in the bright afternoon light, hair a halo of silver around him. His next words are like molten lava poured over Stede's head. "What would you have me do, Captain?"
Port in a storm
Edstede. Rated E
Some days he feels like he never woke up from the dream where magic was real and Stede was a mermaid. Not because this -their relationship, their life together- doesn't feel real, because it does, it feels real like the breeze on his face and the ground beneath his boots and the immensity of the sky above him, but because he never knew any of what he's experienced with Stede over the past few weeks was possible. In his wildest fantasies, maybe, he dreamed of sweet tea and fine fabrics, the warmth of good brandy sliding down his throat while the fire kept his feet cozy and Stede's voice spread like wildfire through his chest. But his imagination failed him so completely when it comes to Stede Bonnet. - Stede takes Ed dancing.
Do you want to know a secret
Edstede. Rated G
"Do you want to know a secret?" Stede whispers in his hear. "I love you, you nut. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
Press me to your heart
Edstede. Rated E Stede draws the curtains shut, enclosing them in the dark, intimate space of the bed nook, anticipation running recklessly through his veins. He turns to Ed, looking up at him expectantly on the bed, the cascade of his hair loose around his shoulders and his eyes huge and vulnerable, bathed in the golden light of the fireworks the crew is setting off on deck. - Ed cries out, grips Stede's arm tight enough to bruise, and Stede will wear the lovely shades of purple on his skin proudly, a mark of their passion to match the ones he left on Ed's thighs earlier. "That's it, hold onto me. Let me give you what you need." He needs to take care of him so very desperately. - Picks up right after Stede closes the bed curtains. Tender, horny sex ensues.
Now I'm water
Edstede. Rated G
Ed makes his way back to Stede after watching the ships burn. - Something settles into place within him as he hacks and slashes his way back to Stede. He doesn't want to do this anymore, he's certain of that. But maybe he doesn't have to burn his bridges to get to where he's going. Maybe everything he's capable of can serve him well sometimes, maybe there's some middle ground between fisherman and pirate.
As we go hand in hand
Edstede. Rated G
The memory flashes through his mind of Ed gifting a couple of kids on the Republic a bag of gold and a pair of knives, and claiming they weren't pirates but inn owners afterwards. How long has he been thinking about this? How long has this been a dream of his?
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moonflowerdamie · 4 months
Text
the injury of finally knowing you
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Word Count: 7.9k
Title from 'Unknown/Nth' by Hozier
*****
You’re frozen. Sabine is skewered on the end of a guttering orange lightsaber, her eyes wide in shock and pain, immobilised, and you’re frozen.
You’d heard her distress call, you and Ahsoka both, and had come as quickly as you could. You’d both drawn your sabers—the blue of yours with the white of your master’s lighting up the interior of the rattling ship—before Huyang had even opened the drop-doors. Ready to fight, ready for action.
And then Sabine’s assailant had turned in the headlights and you’d turned to stone.
It’s been years—years­—and her hair is different, her frame taller and leaner, but you know those eyes. You’d know them anywhere.
“Shin.” You breathe, and you feel something you thought was dead reawaken in your chest.
She meets your eyes for a split-second, fear and anger and brief recognition flashing across her face, before she turns tail and runs.
She doesn’t look back.
*****
Once Sabine is stabilised in the medbay on Lothal, Ahsoka finds you.
“You knew her.” You look up from your hands. Your master leans against the door to Sabine’s room, staring at you with an unreadable expression. You hate it when she does that; it makes you feel scrutinised, like the Togruta is peeling back the layers of your skin, staring at your very essence.
“The mercenary.” She prompts after a moment of silence. You sigh. Though the conversation was almost certainly inevitable, you’d hoped it could wait until after Sabine was up and about again; she was a pain in the ass, but your best friend, and you’d always dealt with things better when she was around. Things, this time, being the sudden reappearance of a girl you’d thought was lost to you.
“I do. I used to, anyway.”
Ahsoka stays quiet but raises an eyebrow. Go on, she gestures.
“Back on Aris, my home planet—before I got out—Shin was…” you trail off. How do you even begin to describe what you and Shin were to each other? Barely teenagers, you’d found one another in the dusty underworld of your shithole of a planet. Both orphans, friendless, starving, you’d stuck together, first for convenience and necessity, and then, after trust was built and connection found, for companionship. She’d been your only light in the darkness of your life, and you the same for her.
My sunshine, that’s what she used to call you. With that achingly fond smile, the one that made your heart skip and your hands shake. She’d brush her hands against your cheek, brush lips against your temple, and then you’d share the food you’d both scavenged for the day, huddled together for warmth in some back alley or abandoned building.
What had you been to each other? Something undefined, something unable to be put into words. You’d sunk desperate teeth into one another, searching for survival, searching for a home neither of you had anymore. She stuck to the back of your teeth even now, over a decade later. How on earth could you compress what Shin had been to you into something understandable?
“Shin was my friend.” Is what you settle on, averting your eyes, swallowing harshly. “We hung around together when we were kids. Scavenged food, kept each other out of trouble.”
“What happened?” Your master asks and you wince at the memory of what came next.
“There was a man. Baylan, he said his name was. Came to us both one night saying he could…he could sense us. The Force, I mean.” You bring your hands together in your lap and take a breath, fighting to keep your voice steady. “He said he wanted to train us, to—to help us, and…”
You still remember the look on Shin’s face, how her eyes had glimmered as Baylan spoke of freedom, of power beyond your wildest dreams. You feel sick even now, just thinking of it.
“He offered to get us out. To take us with him, away from Aris. I…I didn’t trust him. He felt—dark. But Shin, she didn’t listen when I told her something was up with him.”
You had fought that night, your first and only fight. Shin was frustrated that you couldn’t see the opportunity Baylan was offering, and you were afraid. Afraid of what would become of you if you went with this stranger. Afraid of the girl you knew—the girl you loved—being changed into something she wasn’t. And so—
“Shin left. She went with Baylan, and I stayed on Aris for a few more years. Then, made my way to you. I never saw her again. Until last night.”
You’re trembling by the end of your story, and Ahsoka places a gentle hand on your shoulder. Heart clenching, you swallow back the lump in your throat. Pull it together.
“She had a padawan braid.” Sitting up, swiping a hand down your face, you focus up. Ahsoka nods.
“Which means she’s probably taking the map to her master—to Baylan.”
“We have to get it back, Master.”
“We do. We will.”
*****
The next time you see Shin, she tries to kill you.
Sabine and Ahsoka are occupied with the other one, with his full-face mask and spinning double-saber, leaving you to chase after her.
You call her name through the trees that seem to cover half the surface of Seatos, and when she stops running and turns to face you, there’s a wildness in her eyes that takes the breath from your lungs.
“Shin.” You say again, voice soft, panting from your race through the forest. Her jaw ticks at the sound of her name, hands clenched in fists by her sides. You take a step towards her, hoping for—you don’t even know what you were hoping for—and then her lightsaber ignites and comes swinging at you.
You manage to dodge her strike, heart cracking as you grab your own weapon and ignite the blue blade, not even getting a chance to decide if you really want to do this—if you really will fight her, the girl you once rested your head upon, who once called you sunshine with adoration in her eyes—before she’s attacking again, lightsaber arcing towards your head.
You catch the swing and hold it, grunting in effort as she bears down. Your faces are inches apart, lit by the glow of your weapons, and a warring plethora of emotions rage against your ribcage.
A part of you wants to step back, to sheath your blade and plead with her. You want to tell her you were wrong not to go with her, that she was wrong to leave—that no matter what, you should’ve stayed together, because she had been your only family for years and you had loved her and—fuck—you love her now, even still, after all this time.
But this is not the Shin you once knew. This girl, with snarling, snapping teeth and feral eyes, she is not the girl you once called home. She is changed, just as you feared she would be, and you sense that if you try to reason with her, she will simply run you through, just as she did Sabine.
So, you grit your teeth. Push back against her and send her stumbling back a step. And when you collide again, both of you have murder in your eyes.
The fighting is brutal and quick; Shin is clearly well-trained and you barely manage to parry her strikes, using all your energy to keep yourself in the battle. Your blades clash and hum angrily, lighting up the clearing as you charge each other.
You’re not sure you’d have survived if not for Ahsoka and Sabine taking out Shin’s accomplice. Your knees are close to buckling, arms shaking violently as Shin’s head whips around to see her masked partner dissolve in a burst of green smoke. Shock is evident on her face, lips parting and eyes widening, and she steps away from you. Your arms drop to your sides, breath escaping you in wheezes and coughs.
There’s a moment then, where you see the chance: her attention is drawn, she’s distracted; you could just kill her now, one clean slice, and be rid of her. But you know the way she haunts you—her memory has lingered for over a decade now, slicking your gums, nestling in your bones. Death would not keep her away.
Besides, some stupid part of you still has hope. Hope that, one day, she will smile at you again, call you sunshine in that lilting accent of hers, and you will finally come home to each other.
That day seems a long way off when she turns back to you, fury boiling over in her eyes, before throwing a smoke bomb at your feet and racing away.
*****
Ahsoka goes over the cliff, Sabine hands over the map to Baylan, and all in all, it could’ve gone better.
Now, you’re sitting in a holding cell—bare, apart from the solid metal ledge you suppose counts as a bed—with your hands bound and your head absolutely pounding, flying on a giant golden ring through hyperspace towards perhaps the one man with the power to restart the Empire. Outnumbered, outgunned, and fresh out of ideas. Fucking brilliant.
You’re leaning back with your eyes shut and your head on the cool metal of the cell, trying to alleviate your headache, when the door to your prison slides open with a hiss.
You don’t open your eyes. You can sense her now, feel her presence—both of you now being strong with the Force is probably to blame for that extra fun little sixth sense.
“What do you want?” You ask flatly. Defeated, exhausted and more than a little angry, you want to be left alone.
Shin doesn’t answer, but you hear her step into the room, the door sliding shut behind her.
You sigh and open your eyes, staring defiantly up at her as she lingers by the entrance. She’s watching you, eyes intense but also curious. Her lightsaber hangs from her belt, a visible threat, but you don’t feel anger coming from her like you did on Seatos. The air sizzles with unspoken words and thick tension.
“Y/N.” She finally speaks, and it feels like a relief to hear your name rounded by her voice after so many years. It seems to catch between her teeth though, uncertain, and you huff out a mirthless laugh.
“So you do remember me.”
“Of course I remember you.” She almost spits, that familiar fury bubbling under her tone, and you raise an eyebrow. You see her swallow, eyelids fluttering, reigning herself in.
“It’s been a while.” You remark, unsure of what to do. She has all the power here; you’re on her ship, shackled in her prison, weaponless, armourless, defenceless. Yet somehow you feel her wavering. She seems just as uncertain as you, just as…lost.
She inclines her head in agreement and takes a step forward, saying nothing. You keep quiet too, for no other reason than you simply do not know what to say. What can you say? To Shin, what can even be said? ‘You have changed and it scares me but somehow you still keep a piece of my heart’? ‘You left me and it damn near killed me, but god you’re so pretty it hurts’? No, you can say none of it, none of how you feel, so you stay silent.
“You’re a Jedi now.” She ventures after a while and you shrug.
“I guess. I’m not fully trained yet, plus Ahsoka isn’t technically a Jedi, so.”
Another stretch of silence.
“What’s it like?”
You cock your head in confusion. Shin looks smaller now, more vulnerable, and it baffles you. Angers you too. She has you locked up in here, comes to see you of her own free will after god knows how many years apart, just to..what? Make small talk? Fuck that.
“What’s it like? You left me, left me stranded on that hellhole without a second thought, tried to kill me and have taken me prisoner and you come here to ask what training to be a Jedi is like?” You say, venom in your tone, hands clenching into fists as rage climbs the ladder of your ribcage.
Shin starts towards you, eyebrows furrowing. Her mouth opens to reply but you cut her off, lost to the currents of your rising anger.
“We were supposed to stick together, Shin, that was how it worked. I needed you and you needed me and we survived together.” You rise from your seat, blood roaring in your ears, heart pounding as all the hurt, all the confusion and the pain and the anger comes flooding out of you.
“I told you not to go with him and you didn’t listen.” You take a step towards her. She is motionless, eyes stuck on you. “I told you not to leave me, and you did it anyway.” You’re getting louder, losing control. You’re barely a metre apart now, your chest heaving as she watches you.
You step into her personal space, inches apart.
“You told me we’d stay together no matter what and you fucking lied. You abandoned me.”
Shin, who has been silent throughout your little rant, finally reacts, mouth drawing into a thin line as you practically corner her against the wall.
“I didn’t abandon you.” She whispers, and her voice is hurt. It surprises you enough to suck in a quick breath, eyes darting about her face. “We were both supposed to go with Baylan. You were supposed to come too.”
It feels like your heart is crumbling to dust as you stare at her, realising the pain she’s in. You can see her clearly, can see the girl you knew hiding behind a hard mask of stoic indifference. She’s still there, just tucked away behind anger and hurt and suffering, and it feels like breathing for the first time to know it.
“Shin.” You breathe, wanting to reach for her but your hands are bound; wanting to run from her but the door is locked. All you can do is stare, try to convey everything you’re feeling with the weight you put on her name.
The moment is broken by the communications panel of her vambrace beeping loudly and insistently. You step back, dazed, blinking and trying to come back to yourself. Shin seems similarly disarmed, shaking her head and clearing her throat before looking down at the message. She furrows her brow. You want to ask her what’s wrong, want to ask her to stay. But you don’t get the chance. She taps a response out, the door to the cell opens, and she leaves without a word.
After she’s gone, the door closed behind her again, you slump back against the wall. Your mind is spinning, heart twisting itself into knots. You don’t know what you’re going to do now—Shin is technically the enemy, and her master killed your master, but she is also the girl you loved, the girl you love, and you feel light-headed with all the complications.
You slide to the ground, rest your head against your knees. You’re fucked and you know it.
*****
Peridea is beautiful, in its own deserted, haunting way. The Noti take you in, and Ezra is going home, Ahsoka is alive and Sabine seems to be making her own peace, and yet you remain restless.
It’s not just being stuck in an unreachable galaxy, far away from everything you’ve ever known, whilst a warlord capable of unspeakable evil speeds away to destroy all you worked to rebuild—though it’s certainly not helping.
Aside from that, you’re restless. And you know why.
You can still feel her.
After the fight, after Ahsoka offered her hand and Shin ran, you’d assumed that would be the last of it. She’d isolate herself on some remote corner of the planet and starve, and you’d finally find some measure of peace. But no.
She’s there—barely—but there all the same. At the edge of your awareness, tiptoeing on the borders of your consciousness. Her presence is hazy, cloudy, but undeniable. You don’t know if she’s a mile away or hundreds, but she’s there. Her confusion, her anger, her desperation…it’s all buzzing just out of reach, millimetres from your fingertips, and you’re not sure if you want to grasp for it or shove it away. You try both. Neither works.
The days roll on and you fall into a routine of sorts: you wake with the sun, spar with Sabine, help out with chores around camp; you meditate with Ahsoka, practice your lightsaber forms and sleep when the moon rises. All of it is permeated by that tickle in the back of your brain, that sense, her.
You know your friends notice the distance in your eyes—both Ahsoka and Sabine approach you separately to ask what’s bothering you, but you give them the same non-answer: ‘I’m just worried about home.’ You can tell neither of them believe you, but thankfully, neither of them push the issue.
You’re sure you’d have gone mildly insane with it, had she not shown up that night.
*****
The hand slapped over your mouth jolts you from a turbulent sleep, and your eyes widen in shock as you immediately begin to squirm, trying to throw your attacker off. It’s dark out, with only the stars lighting the sky, and your eyes haven’t adjusted yet, so you can’t see your assailant.
Panic rises in your chest, heart pounding as you try to yell, only for the sound to get muffled by the gloved fingers curling over your lips. You toss and turn, slapping at the arm of your attacker, trying to bite their fingers, kick them, claw them, anything.
“Shh, shh, stop it. It’s me, it’s me.” The person hisses, alarmed, and your body goes slack with a mixture of shock and relief.
“…Shin?” You whisper once the hand is removed from your mouth. You blink rapidly, and Shin’s face comes into focus above yours. Her eyes are wide and frantic, dirt smudged across her cheeks. She looks wild, looks skittish, and you can’t even begin to describe how you’re feeling.
“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Is what comes out of your mouth after you’ve composed yourself a little, sitting up quickly, narrowly avoiding headbutting her.
She shuffles backwards and her eyes dart to the ground, like she hadn’t expected the question. That pisses you off to no end—she fucking snuck into your camp in the dead of night, like some kind of predator, and now she has the audacity to look sheepish?!
“Seriously, Shin, start talking, or I swear to—”
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
Her voice is small, weak, and it’s just then that you notice the way her left arm is hanging, slack and limp, by her side. Blood covers her armour and sleeve, some dried and some still dripping, and immediately your brows furrow.
“What happened?” Your tone is low and concerned, and you reach for her hand without even thinking about it. She flinches away and you draw your hand back quick as lightning. You mutter an apology under your breath.
“Bandits. I tried to join them…to rule them, but they mutinied. I wasn’t quick enough. One of them got me with their sword.”
There’s pain in her voice now, and it’s clear to you that she’s struggling. She wouldn’t have come to you unless she really needed help.
Part of you wants to turn her away. Wants to tell her to get lost and to stay the hell away from you; there’s still a lot of unresolved tension between the two of you, with your history both old and recent. She’d abandoned you. She’d tried to kill you, for heaven’s sake.
But, looking into her eyes, you see that girl you knew on Aris. You see Shin, your Shin, and you know you can’t leave her like this. You sigh. Stand up and jut your chin towards the log settlement around the fire in the middle of camp.
“Come on, then.” You start walking, not waiting for her to follow. You start gathering the supplies you’ll need to clean and wrap her wound, and when you turn back around, you see Shin sat by the fire, warming her hands. It’s pitiful and endearing in equal amounts, and you shake your head to try and rid yourself of those soft-rounded thoughts.
Once you have everything you need, you take a seat next to her. Her eyes dart your way, a flicker of…something glimmering deep within them, but you can’t afford to overanalyse right now—not with how blood still drips from Shin’s fingers, how she has started to shiver.
“I need to touch you to help you.” You murmur, warning her, and she nods faintly in return, turning back to face the fire. The flames cast a warm glow over her cheeks, making her seem softer. That biting edge, that snarling fury you’ve come to know of her seems a distant memory as you begin to cut away her sleeve, being mindful not to nick her skin or graze the wound.
A quiet sigh of relief escapes your lips once you finally see the full extent of the wound; it’s a deep cut—you can see where the sword bit into her arm, swung likely with a fair amount of force—and it’s probably causing Shin a decent amount of pain, but it doesn’t look like it’ll cause lasting damage. It’ll almost definitely scar, but she’ll heal. She’ll be alright.
You’re not sure why that makes you feel so much quieter inside.
The process of cleaning her arm is methodical, relaxing. You lose yourself in it for a while. Silence settles over the two of you like a comfortable blanket, enveloping you in a world of your own, and you haven’t felt this peaceful since before Lothal.
Surprisingly, it’s Shin who speaks first. You’ve applied some bacta to the cut, wiped the blood and grime away, and you’re just waiting for her to bolt—the job finished, your services no longer required—when she opens her mouth.
“Baylan abandoned me.”
The words are measured, quiet, but you can hear the betrayal and the hurt seeping into her tone. You swallow, unsure of what to say, but she continues before you can start rambling.
“He said he could sense something here. A great power, greater than the witches. He told me to kill you, Sabine and Ezra, then join Thrawn. Then he was just…gone.”
Shin’s lower lip is trembling, eyes glazing over, and an ache of sympathy pangs in your chest. The bond between a Master and a Padawan is almost unbreakably strong—to have it shut off like that, cut so abruptly, must be agony. You felt a little of it when you thought Ahsoka was dead, and you know that if she actually were to perish, or, Makers forbid, abandon you, you would feel it like a knife through the heart.
“Shin, I—” You start, but she cuts you off, head turning to face you, and you see clearly the tear sliding down her cheek.
“He was like my father.” And there is rage now, undercutting her sorrow. “Why did he leave me?”
It’s a question you cannot answer. Yet she looks at you with such desperation, like you’re her anchor as she is tossed about by towering waves, that you wish so gravely that you could.
You don’t know what compels you then—she had flinched back when you tried before—but she looks so angry, so sad, so broken, that you reach for her. To your surprise, she meets you halfway, collapsing into your arms, burying her head in your shoulder. You wrap your arms around her, let her cry silent tears as your heart beats out of your chest.
Holding Shin, feeling her pressed up against you, is something you haven’t had in a very long time. It takes you back to a simpler time, to nights snuggled together for warmth; to blushing smiles and brushing hands and eyes that looked like home. It breaks open something you’d buried and tears of your own gather in the corners of your eyes.
She pulls away after what feels like seconds, like an eternity, and clears her throat, swiping harshly at her eyes. You feel cold almost immediately, the absence of her touch chilling your skin.
“Sorry.” She mutters gruffly and you shake your head, waving her off. The air between the two of you is changed now, somewhat awkward but still charged.
“What are you going to do now?” You venture to ask after a moment. It’s a valid question; after all, Thrawn and his ship are gone, Baylan is off on his mysterious quest and the bandits (whatever’s left of them) have made clear that Shin isn’t welcome with them. Her future seems highly uncertain.
“I don’t know.” She replies, shifting uncomfortably. Clearly she hadn’t thought about what came next after you’d patched her up. “I can’t go back to the bandits.”
“Yeah, no shit.” You murmur and she chuckles, a low sound from the back of her throat, and it brings a smile to your face. Quiet falls between the two of you again.
In the silence, in the gaps between your breaths, an idea starts to take root. It’s stupid and illogical and entirely driven by your nonsensical heart, but once it plants itself, it grows and grows and grows, until it covers every corner of your mind like ivy.
“You could…stay?” And it’s out of your mouth before you can catch it. Your own eyes widen in surprise at what you’ve just suggested; Shin is the enemy. She’s tried to kill you, had damn near killed Sabine, has hunted you and hurt you. There’s a darkness in her that almost scares you, and she is so far from the girl you once knew, but she isn’t at the same time. She’s Shin, feral and furious, but still Shin, all the same. You look in her eyes, and you still see home.
You lost her once. You won’t lose her again.
“With us, I mean.” You carry on, confidence seeping into your voice as you fall more in love with the idea. “Ahsoka already offered and the Noti would appreciate the extra help.”
Shin’s expression is unreadable. It almost throws you off, but you’ve convinced yourself of this now, and you won’t let her go unpersuaded.
“Stay? Why?” She asks, seeming genuinely curious, as if weighing her options.
“Because you have nowhere else to go. Because you’d have somewhere to sleep here, somewhere to feel safe. Because we have food and water.” You quiet your voice. “Because I’m asking you to.”
Her eyes meet yours at this last sentence, and you think you see something akin to hope blazing in their depths.
Your pulse is hammering as she looks at you. You’ve laid yourself bare, made yourself vulnerable, and your heart is in the palm of her hands. Should she so choose, she could crush it, turn it to bloody pulp between her fingers. The thought of it scares you. But not as much as the thought of her leaving again.
“You want me to stay?” She whispers, voice raw. Her body language is open, fully turned to face you, hands by her sides, eyes wide and searching. She looks, for a second, just as she did the night you first met: shaking, terrified but hopeful, wanting help, wanting a friend, wanting to put down the weight of the world and to just breathe.
The moment feels monumental; make or break. She has your heart in her hands, as you believe you might well have hers.
“I want you to stay.” You whisper back, and with her bashful nod, something inside you knits itself back together.
*****
Sabine is sceptical, to say the least.
Ok, she’s downright furious. Understandable, the rational part of you whispers as your friend draws her saber, she did try to kill her.
“Sabine, please, just listen.” You start, a hand out to placate your angry companion as she stares murderously at the woman standing behind you.
“What the fuck is she doing here.” She spits, eyes narrow and blazing. Ahsoka stands off to the side, arms crossed over her chest, expression unreadable. You sort of wish she’d intervene—after all, she had been the first to offer Shin a place with your group, surely this is what she wanted? But she remains impassive, watching on as you try to talk your best friend down from attacking the silver-haired mercenary.
“It’s ok, I promise. She won’t hurt any of us. Right, Shin?” You call over your shoulder, not taking your eyes off Sabine in case she tries to go for her.
“Right.” Her monotone voice decidedly does not fill you with confidence, and Sabine takes another step towards the two of you.
“Hey, hey, stop.” You raise your voice, panic seeping into your tone. “She’s alone. Baylan left her, the bandits attacked her. She has nowhere else to go.”
“So leave her to it then. Let her rot, what do you care?” Sabine snarls, and you feel Shin’s anger pulse. You try to project calmness into the air, trying to push it both ways between the two women on either side of you. You’re not sure it’s working. Ahsoka, for the love of everything that’s sacred, please step in.
“We have a history. You know this; I told you. Remember?”
It’s true. It had felt wrong to leave your friend out of the loop, so you’d sat her down on one of your first nights on Peridea and told her everything. Your past with Shin, how you’d survived together, and how she’d eventually left you. It doesn’t seemed to have changed anything about how Sabine feels about Shin, judging by the dangerous look in her eyes as she advances.
“I remember her stabbing me. I remember her trying to kill us all on multiple occasions. I remember that she’s the enemy, Y/N.”
“Sabine.” Ahsoka calls, stepping forward at last, and your shoulders lose a little of their tension. You heave a relieved breath, chancing a glance away from your friend towards Shin behind you. She meets your eyes, and behind the frantic gleam, you see her soften. She nods, almost imperceptibly, and you relax even further.
Sabine looks to her master, eyebrows furrowed.
“There is no such thing as enemy out here. On this planet, there can only be survival.” Ahsoka’s voice is level, easy. She speaks softly but firmly, and you nod along with her.
“But Master—”
“Sabine.” The Togruta arches an eyebrow, like a teacher admonishing a schoolchild, and Sabine falls silent. “Shin will have to gain our trust, this is true. But we will give her that opportunity.” She turns to you, and to Shin. “And should she fail—betray us or hurt us in any way—then, and only then, will we, as you say, ‘let her rot’. Is that clear?”
You wait with bated breath for Sabine’s response. Almost unconsciously, you take a step back, closer to Shin, ready to defend her should you need to.
After what feels like an eternity, Sabine sighs. Shakes her head.
“Crystal.” She murmurs, and a ghost of a smile dances on your lips.
*****
It takes a while, but eventually, Shin starts to settle in.
Ahsoka takes over from Baylan with her training—something that had taken a lot of convincing from both you and your master—and the Noti welcome her with open arms (they’re mostly just happy to have someone else to help with the constant moving, but it’s a win and you’ll take it). Sabine even stops trying to murder her with her eyes after a couple of days.
It’s actually pretty painless, the way she slots into your lives on Peridea. She spars with Ahsoka whilst you spar with Sabine, helps out with chores around camp with minimal complaining, goes hunting and returns with fresh kills for the Noti to cook and eat. She’s…calm. Calmer than you’ve ever seen her, come to think of it. Perhaps it’s something to do with community, or belonging, or any of that sentimental bullshit you think about when the stars come out.
Things between you and Shin are complicated, but also unbelievably simple. Simple, in the way that you trust each other (somehow, after everything). In the way that you go to each other when something is wrong, when you are happy, when you need peace. Gravity. Simple gravity, holding the two of you close, keeping you in each other’s orbit. She sleeps beside you at night, and you listen to her breath even out and fall asleep yourself.
She begins to open up more; about Baylan, about her time with him, her travels and fights and the life she’s lived apart from you. You sit around the fire in the evening, after everybody else has gone to bed, and watch the moon rise together. Sometimes, she rests her head on your shoulder, like she did when you were younger, and it makes your heart race every single time.
That’s why it’s complicated.
Complicated, because the more Shin grows comfortable, the more she softens and opens herself up, the more you start to realise just how deep your feelings for her go.
And it’s stupid. It’s absolutely idiotic, nonsensical and just downright dumb. You want to do silly things like hold her hand. You want to brush her hair out of her face after she spars, want to kiss her forehead and hold her at night, and it’s all so out of place. You’re on a graveyard planet, surviving day by day, uncertain whether your home has been destroyed by Thrawn and the Empire, and all you can think about is Shin. Her eyes. Her smile. Her stupid, kissable lips. Fuck, it’s disarming how much you want to kiss those lips.
You kick yourself for it internally, scold yourself every time you catch your thoughts wandering into dangerous territory, but what doesn’t help is the fact that you’re almost certain she feels the same.
It started small—you catching her staring just a little too long across the fire, her getting distracted when sparring with Ahsoka—and you almost hadn’t noticed it. But as the weeks pass and you all settle further into life on Peridea, it becomes more obvious.
A hand on your waist as she passes you. Toothy smiles you’re sure nobody else gets to see. Blushes when you compliment her fighting style or praise her for her contributions to the camp. All of it begins to add up, to the point where now you’re just dancing around each other, waiting for the other to make some kind of move.
It’s maddening. It’s exhilarating.
It is, apparently, glaringly obvious to those around you.
*****
“When are you two gonna stop eye-fucking and actually get together?”
You almost spit your mouthful of food out, eyes nearly bugging out of your head, as Sabine plops herself next to you by the fire. You cough, clearing your throat, before turning to her with incredulity written across your face.
“What?! What are you talking about?”
She gives you a look. A ‘come on, really?’ look. You don’t waver.
“Seriously? You and Shin. When are you gonna woman up and do something about the tension between the two of you?” You sputter and stammer, trying to string a sentence together to deny the truth. Sabine watches you with amusement.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Is what you finally manage to spit out, and she scoffs. You feel your cheeks turn pink and your mouth dries. Is it really that obvious?
“Bullshit. It’s impossible not to notice you two staring at each other, pining all the damn time. It’s annoying. Please do something about it, it’s making her testy. She almost cut my head off when I asked her to stop snoring the other day.”
So yeah, maybe Sabine and Shin have formed something of a friendship. Well, enough of a friendship where Sabine feels safe antagonising Shin without the fear of murder. It’s almost sweet.
You struggle for words, unable to fully explain just how much you want to do something about it, but also just how scared you are. Not just of rejection, but of ruining everything. You and Shin are just getting comfortable together again. She trusts you. Keeps you close again. You don’t wish to jeopardise that by acting on your feelings, no matter how much you want to. It could ruin things between you for good, could scare her away from the camp entirely. And then you’d be abandoned again, heartbroken, and you’re not sure you’d survive that a second time.
“I can’t, ‘bine. It’s just too complicated.”
Sabine snorts, and you’re offended for a full second before she explains herself.
“Is it though?” You tilt your head, confused. She sighs, shakes her head with a wry smile. Softens, a little. “She came back for you. She’s staying for you. We all know it’s not for me and my stellar company.” You chuckle a little at that, a fond smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “She feels the same way about you, you know. My advice? Don’t lose her again.”
Her words strike a chord, and you feel very, very stupid all of a sudden. You meet her eyes.
“Thanks, Sabine.”
“Anytime, Y/N. Now, please, for the love of the Makers, kiss her so I can sleep in safety once more.”
*****
The next day, you offer to spar with Shin.
It’s not something you’ve done since she joined the camp—Ahsoka had tried to make you, but you’d refused; unsure of whether it was a good idea, given your past. She had sparred with Ahsoka only, their skills in battle fairly evenly matched, whilst you had continued to work with Sabine.
But you know you need to do something, and you need to be alone with her, so when morning comes, you both ride out of camp to a little plateau you had found on a scouting trip.
The journey there is comfortably quiet. Even now, Shin is still a woman of few words, and you respect that. It’s nice, though. Being with her, not speaking. It’s comfortable. Peaceful.
When you arrive, you let your Howlers loose and begin to warm up. You feel nervous, jittery. You know it’s not from anticipation for the fight.
You watch Shin as she moves through some forms with her saber. It steals the breath from your lungs, so at one with her body is she. She is grace and savagery all in one, and you know right then that you’ll love her until your heart stops.
“Ready?” She eventually asks, rolling her shoulders into a fighting stance, and with your nod, you’re away.
Instantly, you see the improvements Ahsoka has made to her form. She fights just as fast she did when you’d clashed before Peridea, just as dangerous with a blade in her hand, but she is also more deliberate. More defensive. She’s precise and calculating and so, so beautiful.
Your lightsabers clash over and over, humming through the air and buzzing against one another, sizzling in the space between you. You’re panting, gritting your teeth, fighting with everything in you. You catch her swings and attack her back, but she’s just too fluid to pin down. You’re losing this, and you know it.
When she looks like this, though—eyes bright and cheeks flushed, teeth bared in a playful snarl—you can’t really find it in yourself to care.
Shin disarms you after nearly 5 minutes of sparring with a move you should’ve seen coming, and your lightsaber is sent flying out of your hands. Triumphant, she levels her blade under your chin, a Cheshire cat smile on her lips, and cocks her head to the side.
“I win.” She declares, smug and proud and blazing bright, and it’s all you can do not to fall to your knees in front of her.
“Yeah, you win.” You agree hoarsely, hands up to show your defeat, gazing at her from the other end of her orange blade with worship in your eyes.
Something shifts, then. On that plateau, with nobody else around for miles, you at the mercy of her blade, Shin seems to crumble. She shuts off her saber, throws it to the ground. Your eyes widen. Your heart races.
Shin throws herself into you and the both of you shatter.
The kiss is bruising, nearly painful in its intensity, and you grin into it like a madman. Shin’s hands are in your hair, on your face, your shoulders; pulling, scratching, digging in, touching you like she needs to prove you’re real. You reciprocate in kind, gripping her waist hard, pulling her so close there’s not an inch of space between you. It’s too much and not enough.
Heat floods your body when she bites down on your bottom lip, the iron taste of blood coating your mouth, and you groan, feeling like you could burst, like you could float away, like you could die in this moment and be forever immortalised by the moan she releases into your mouth, the way she scratches at your scalp, the blood smeared across both of your lips.
Her tongue breaches into your mouth, curling over the backs of your teeth, and the shiver that runs down your spine is involuntary, inevitable, indescribable. Your hands scrabble for purchase on her lower back as hers cup your face with antithetical tenderness. The stroke of her thumb over your cheek almost makes you want to cry—this is all you’ve wanted for months now, all you’ve wanted since you were teenagers on Aris, and it feels like finally coming home.
“Shin.” You breathe in between kisses, forehead resting against hers. She pulls back a little, just enough to look you in your eyes. She looks wild again, but in the best way: her hair is tousled, cheeks pink, eyes half-focused. You think you’d rather go blind than ever see anything other than her.
“Lie down.” You murmur, after having caught your breath. Her pupils, already blown, flash dangerously, and you can’t help but surge forward and press another heavy kiss to her lips.
You manage to manoeuvre yourselves down to the ground, Shin on her back, you hovering above her, one leg slotted between hers, arms holding you up beside her head.
She looks so pretty like this, you think, and screw it, you’re in this now, might as well tell her.
“You’re so pretty, Shin. So beautiful like this.” Your words elicit a low whimper from the woman below you, her hands reaching for you, tugging you down until she can connect your mouths again.
She kisses you hard, filthy; licking into your mouth like you’re her last meal, and you moan, wanting more, wanting everything. You disconnect your lips, and Shin’s whine of protest morphs into another whimper when you begin to trail open-mouthed kisses over her jaw and neck.
Red and purple marks rise in the wake of your tongue and teeth, sucking and biting hard enough for Shin to gasp and arch up into you, leaving bruises that will stay on her skin for days. Just the thought of it, of claiming her like this, is enough to have you nearly feral with need.
It’s not long before Shin’s moans turn desperate, the hands on your shoulders beginning to scrabble.
“Y/N.” She groans, tone pleading but frantic, like she’s not even sure what she’s asking for.
“Yeah?” You murmur, pulling away. The marks littering her throat make something dark inside of your roar proudly, and your mouth practically waters at the sight of her—needy, wanting, begging.
“Please.” She sighs, eyes wide and dark, and you couldn’t deny her even if you wanted to.
Between the two of you, you manage to tug her pants and underwear down her legs. If you’d been back at camp or on the ship, you’d have taken your time. Worked her up slowly, spent hours worshipping her body. But you’re out in the middle of nowhere, and Shin is practically halfway gone already, and you’d rather die than leave her hanging.
The first swipe of your fingers through her folds makes her gasp, makes you moan. She’s dripping, so riled up she’s soaked, and you feel a little light-headed, nearly overwhelmed.
“Fuck, Shin, you’re so wet.” You mutter, moving your fingers to her clit and starting to rub it in slow circles. She whines again, head falling back, mouth dropping open. You lower your mouth to her neck, biting another mark into her pulse point. She writhes underneath you, hips bucking, and you feel like you could come from this alone.
You keep your attention on her clit, not wanting to overwhelm her with anything too soon. You keep it relatively slow, occasionally pressing harder in order to draw out another of her pretty whimpers, or drawing back to hear her beg. Every so often, you press your lips to hers, kissing her softly, whispering praise and encouragement, telling her how beautiful she is, how well she’s doing.
It doesn’t take long for her thighs to start trembling around your hand—if she’s the same as you, she’s been worked up enough about this over the last few weeks to hold out much longer. Her moans take on a higher pitch, coming more frequently as her eyes clench shut. You keep your pace, circling her clit, pressing kisses to her neck.
“Let go, I’ve got you.” You murmur, when it’s evident she’s close, and she falls over the edge with a cry of your name. Her back arches off the ground, hands holding you tight as she shudders through it. You think stars would be jealous of her beauty in this moment.
She comes down slowly, breath evening out, and you pull your hand away once you’re sure it’s over. Her grey eyes open, hazy and soft, and you chuckle at the sight of her. Hair mussed, lips bitten-red, dazed look in her half-lidded eyes; she looks like the rest of your life.
“Hey.” You whisper, cupping her face. She grins lazily.
“Hey.” Shin murmurs back, reaching up to card through your hair with one hand. “You’re pretty good at that.”
You laugh, bury your face in her neck, blushing. She scratches gently at your scalp.
“I think I might love you.” You say quietly, waiting for the regret to hit you. It doesn’t.
“I think I might love you too.” She says back, easy as breathing, and you feel something loosen in your chest that had been wound tight for years. You smile. Press another kiss to her throat.
“Wanna show me?” You ask, cheesy and silly and lovesick. Shin laughs, and you hear eternity. She smiles down at you, presses a kiss to your forehead before rolling you onto your back. You look up at her, breath stolen by her beauty.
“I’ll show you.” She breathes, capturing your lips again, and you let yourself be lost in the wonder of her.
*****
A/N: Holy shit this took a long time to write, and I'm so sorry about that! But it's finally here, and I hope you guys enjoyed it :)
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dateko · 6 months
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EVERYTHING YOU LEFT BEHIND | GOJO SATORU
a/n: really rando redundant angst i wrote like a few wee hours before work... not much to say about this for i am Miserable.
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You jolt wake from your slumber with a sore gasp. The familiar dim light of the bedroom appears around you in a blur. You had been crying, again. Hastily wiping off the remainder of your tears, your heaving chest softens when you turn to see Megumi still beside you. 
His eyes remain closed, dark lashes long and unmoving. He looks so peaceful, as if he was back to being the little boy you first met all those years ago. Not a frown or crease lines his face. This was a boy you were proud to call your own and the one who unluckily lived through all of it.
Megumi’s been sleeping beside you ever since… Ever since Satoru went away. Every night, he slips under the covers to watch over and protect you. You feel guilty, an aching pang in your heart knowing he’s been there almost every night to catch you before you fall. 
His soft whisper steals you away from your thoughts. “Another bad dream?” 
“I’m okay. Just go back to sleep, ‘Gumi.”
“But you’re not,” Megumi shuffles closer to you, his eyebrows furrowing at how your bottom lip quivers. “Do you… Want to talk about it this time?”
The sigh that escapes your lips almost comes out as a bitter laugh, and you move yourself against the headboard. “It felt really real this time.”
Your mind likes to replay memories, falsities, and endless reeling illusions that make everything feel so alive. Sometimes, you never want to wake up, scared of the reality of the material world. The world that continuously takes and takes and takes. In your wildest dreams, both dark and light, Satoru is always there.
It’s always you and Satoru, Satoru and you. 
“What happened?” Megumi asks, moving to place his head in your lap. You smile you offer him is a melancholy one, your fingers threading between his raven locks to ease your pain.
“He asked me to marry him… Right after we all thought he’d won. And he looked so stupidly happy, too, like he could see me through the TV screen,” You sniffle before looking up at the ceiling, staring at nothing in particular. “It was such a Satoru thing to do. You know, with everyone there to watch the strongest sorcerer of our time. A winner, a smile full of pride, even til the end.”
Megumi hums in response, accepting your words and your feelings before gently moving to get off the bed. Your eyes follow him as he walks toward the closet. It had been full of boxes, ready to be moved into another home. One that wasn’t littered with every memory of a lost lover. 
Tall as he is, Megumi reaches his arm into the very back and pulls out a small, tattered shoebox. The boy brings it to your spot on the bed with a rather pensive look on his face. In your hold, the box is dusty and warm. The corners have faded and softened from how many times it’s been opened. 
“Megumi, what is this?”
“Something you need to see. It’s important.”
You flash him an uneasy look before he places himself back by your side and reassures you with a nod. Tentatively, you lift open the cover to find everything. 
Mementos and trinkets, old receipts and fading photos, letters upon letters. School report cards, grocery lists, a battered emblem pin from your high school. There’s so much in such a small box, so many memories. So much of him.
A neatly folded piece of parchment sits at the very top. It’s crisp and new, the ink that bleeds through still vivid. When you open it, a gasp squeezes itself in your throat, and you’re unsure of what to say or even think. You stare at all the lines and scribbles, especially the crossed-out phrases that you realize were meant to be parts of a wedding vow. 
Satoru’s thought process has always been clean and simple, straight to the point with hardly any shortcuts. But this thin sheet carried a heavy weight. For the first time in a very long time, Gojo Satoru was unable to articulate his thoughts. When it came to you, he was in disarray. Words were never enough to describe how much he loved you.
“How did you know about this?” You turn to Megumi.
“Gojo told me to show it to you if anything happened. He said it was the world in his eyes or something.” 
Nodding, you try to ignore the feeling of the tears welling up once more. The drumming beat of your weary heart and the headache that creeps along the side of your head as you continue to rummage in search. Trying to understand, trying to feel everything Satoru left behind. 
There’s so much more to the box—a string of ribbon you used to place around Tsumiki’s braids. Except it’s been shortened, and a number is written on it. You think about how Satoru even acquired this, the memory so distant in your mind. Feeling the short ribbon in your fingers, you hold your breath as you wrap it around your fourth finger. An unpleasant wail leaves your mouth.
It’s a perfect fit.
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aventurne · 5 months
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THIS LOVE - diluc
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❝ tossing, turning, struggled through the night with someone new. baby, i could go on and on, on and on. ❞
summary: the dark-knight hero has always been known to keep a distance but he always ends up right by your side
warnings: reader is gn, slightly angsty(?), diluc backstory spoilers
notes: day 11! i can’t write diluc for the life of me so i took a rather different approach to this and focused on making it more poetic than dialogue based. i hope you like it!
taglist (open): @staretes , @rynnlvrs , @sentifua , @i-probably-sleep-too-much , @reilly34 , @qqingque , @akutasoda , @mhiieee , @starryshinyskies , @rintosae , @kazemiya , @pix-stuff
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you remembered it like yesterday. the days like a blurred memory, gold tinted around its edges and the background noise like faded static.
loving diluc had been like clear blue waters of the ocean, the high tide of waves bringing the both of you together with such ferocity that you collided against one another. a love that was fragile but powerful at the same time, so pure that you found yourself emerging fresh and new every single time.
you had fallen for him when you were just kids, when he had picked up a dandelion by the gates of mondstadt’s heart during the windblume festival, embarrassed and whispering for you to make a wish. for he had been all you ever wished for, you realised as you clasped the flower in your hands, watching its seeds fly off into the breeze.
was that what love was supposed to feel like? restless and free, with ups and downs but something true that you’d know by heart? for this love had left a permanent mark on you, like his name had been tattooed on your skin for you to trace the words when you missed him. for this love glowed in the dark, never leaving the both of you in the darkness as you were each other’s light. or so you thought as time decided that this love would be put to the test.
he couldn’t have attachments, that was what diluc realised after his father had passed, the fear pushing his heart to beat faster. what if he had to lose you all because of him? he couldn’t live with your blood tainting his hands, embedded deep in his fingernails that he couldn’t scrub off. staining his hands forever and ever for he could never bear to wash away the last remaining mark you had left on him.
so, the skies grew darker and the currents swept him out like how they had brought him into your life. and he was gone, leaving you behind for your own protection. in silent screams, in wildest dreams, you never would have dreamed of this ever happening. that he would think that by breaking your heart, you would be safe, though you didn’t know how it killed him inside. your heart may have broken but his had shattered.
moving on had been hard, you both would be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t think of the other. he was in every dandelion your eyes landed on to the point you kept some on your window-still, so that you would always wake up to the sun shining down on him. you were in the ocean waves he would always make sure to patrol by at night, the moonlight illuminating the water just as bright as your grin.
you would see him in dreams disguised as nightmares, feel his lips graze your cheek ever so slightly before he vanished into thin air. his smile a ghost, a figment of your imagination you would soon come to terms with as you fell to your knees and awoke in a cold sweat. feel nothing but the cracking of your newly-healed heart and the tears rolling down your cheeks that he would have once wiped away.
it had driven you mad, for this love was like the lanterns in the candelabras back at dawn winery. its light flickered for him and only him but he was still gone. and just when your grip on the last thing you ever owned was faltering, moments away from sinking into the depths of the ocean like a ship, he showed up just in time. and when you both looked at each other in the eye after so long, it all came down crashing.
it was the sudden ache in diluc’s chest, the inner voice and sleepless nights that had called out to him. all he ever wanted was to hear his name roll of your tongue, wanted for you to be the rock in his stormy sea, wanted for you to always be by his side. he had loved you when you were kids, he had loved you when you were teens and he would love you even if you were oceans apart. when you’re young, you always run whether it be from your problems or for an escape, and he had run away from you. but he would always come back to what he needed. and he needed you like how you needed him.
it was like the ocean you had always been mesmerised by ever since you were young. no matter how hard the waves receded, he would always come back to you and you would do the same.
this love was good for it was the sun shining down on you after you braved through the storm. this love was bad for it was like being swept out to sea, the waves pushing you down repeatedly, begging for you to drown. but this love that you had both tried to forget, tried to move on from, was now alive back from the dead and had brought you back together.
his hands had to let you go free but this love would always come back to him.
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© AVENTURNE 2023. DO NOT COPY, REPOST, SHARE, TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD MY WORKS ONTO ANY OTHER SITE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION
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alohastyles-x · 10 months
Note
Hi! I had a request for your cruel summer event if you don’t mind :)
Kate Bishop x fem!Reader, Wildest Dreams (like, all of it?), fluff/smut
Totally fine if you don’t want to!
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“She said “let’s get out of this town, drive out from the city, away from the crowds” | “She’s so tall and handsome as hell, she’s so bad but she does it so well” | “You'll see me in hindsight Tangled up with you all night Burning it down Someday when you leave me I bet these memorie Follow you around | “Say you'll remember me Standing in a nice dress Staring at the sunset, babe Red lips and rosy cheeks Say you'll see me again Even if it's just pretend”
note: this is a part of my Cruel Summer (Marvel's Version) Project, running all summer long. "totally fine if you don't want to", nonnie how could i NOT?! I also was unaware how popular kate is for fics on here rn, so I will be hyperfixating hard thank youuuuu. Clearly I am using your ask nonnie to manifest tf out of some romance in my life that I am so lacking hahahah. anyways, I hope you enjoy bby! <3
wordcount: 1.7k
trope / pairing: kate bishop x Fem Reader , fluff&smut
warnings: smutty smut smut at the end, but like a sweet smut (still 18+ tho)
Materslist | Marvel Masterlist | Cruel Summer (Marvel's Version) Masterlist |
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The full moon hung low in the sky, cascading the entire highway in a bath of moonlight. The sight was breathtaking, and Kate couldn’t decide which view she liked more- you sitting in the passenger seat, or the illuminated landscape before you two. 
It had been her idea to leave the city in the dead of night and take a drive until you found a secluded spot for just the two of you. It had come to her when she saw you leaning on the balcony talking to Clint, overlooking the city. The sun was setting, casting a glow around you. You were so pretty, she knew she had to get you by yourself. 
You were still in your attire from the charity event earlier, Kate in her sleek black suit, and you in your matching black dress. It was Kate’s favorite dress on you, as it hugged your curves in all her favorite ways. The two of you were still thriving off the energy of the charity event, unable to sleep, which is how the two of you ended up in Kate's car. 
You instantly agreed, knowing damn well you’d follow her anywhere she wanted to go- especially in that suit. The way the dark material softened her pale skin made her look incredible. A sight before your eyes. 
“Where are we even going?” You asked, a giggle following. If you knew Kate at all, you knew she had a plan. It may have been a loose one, but a plan none-the-less.
“Okay, so I remember seeing this cute little dinner a few towns over on my way back from the last mission, and I just knew I had to take you. So that’s what we're doing, were finding the diner.” Kate responded, looking to you hopeful. You stared at her, before busting out in laughter. 
“Kate! It is the middle of the night!”
“It’s open 24 hours!” Kate defended herself, laughing with you. 
“Do you remember anything else besides it being a ‘couple towns over’?” 
“I remember it was pink and blue, like a ‘50’s themed diner, and that its open 24 hours. That is about it,” Kate responded. 
“Alright, mission received, Hawkeye.” You saluted her, and turned your attention to the deserted highway. 
There was nothing but trees in either direction, making it difficult to see far off in the distance. That didn’t stop you from trying though. The nearest exit was still five miles away, so you waited patiently for the signs showing local food spots off the exit, while trying to peer through the dark woods blanketing the highway. 
Finally, a sign appeared, illuminated under some lights. 
MCDONALDS 0.2 mi 
DANS DINER o.3 mi 
“Oh, look! There’s a dinner off this exit, should we try it?” You said, hopeful. 
“Yeah, yeah lets do it!” 
As the exit approached, Kate veered off, following the sign until the Diner appeared. It was decorated in browns and gold-  clearly decorated by a man without a single interior design bone in his body. Kate grimaced as she looked it over.  The parking lot was dark, with only a single, flickering street light on the property. The diner was empty, save for the cook who stared menacingly out the windows. You swallowed a gulp, afraid he’d hear it even through the glass. 
“Definitely not this one,” she said, turning the car around. 
“Oh, thank god,” you whispered. The diner did not look the friendliest, or the cleanest for that matter. 
“There’s definitely at least one family of roaches in there,” you said, earning a laugh from Kate. 
“Oh at least, but definitely more.”
The two of you drove for another hour, pulling off at any diner you spotted. None of them were even remotely close, all decorated horribly and didn’t look the least bit appealing. The search was becoming exhausting, and you were starving by this point. You were just about to ask Kate if you could turn back, maybe stop somewhere else, but she suddenly slammed on the breaks. 
“Kate! What are you doing, you’re in the middle of the road, you can’t just stop like this!” You yelled, frantically looking behind you to make sure no cars were coming.
“I found it!” She squealed, pointing. Just ahead stood a tall sign, lit with neon that read “Callie’s Diner”. Below, sat a quaint little dinner, brightly lit with multiple guests eating there. 
“Oh my god we found it!” You smiled. Your stomach rumbled just then, as if echoing your statement. With that, Kate began driving again, veering off at the exit. 
She parked the car in the lot, and the two of you got out. It was just how Kate described it, like a time capsule from the 50’s. The booths were light blue and pink, matching the painted walls. Bright green plants sat in the corners, giving the place a lively feel to it. There was one waitress, who moved around on roller skates between the kitchen and the booths. 
“Woah, this is so cool!” You said, as the two of you settled into an empty booth. 
“Isn’t it? I knew you’d love it.” Seeing Kate enthusiastic about something she wanted to show you warmed your heart. The simple fact that she saw a place and instantly thought of you was enough to reassure any fears you may have had. 
Kate was definitely the greatest thing to ever happen to you, and the feeling was mutual. She loved the way you could light up a room with just your smile, how contagious your laugh was. The way you drummed your fingers against any surface near you when you were bored. She loved every little thing about you, and couldn’t wait to spend the rest of her life with you. 
The two of you ordered food and some milkshakes, and scarfed everything down in what should have been a record time. Driving and searching really exasperated the two of you. But no matter how tired or starving the two of you were, you couldn’t help but have fun, just enjoying being in each others company. Kate had stuck her finger in the whip cream of the milkshake, before bopping you on the nose, leaving remnants of whip cream on it. You scoffed, mocking offense, before attempting to do the same thing back. It just ended with Kate getting whip cream in her hair and on her suit- which just led to her laughing even harder. 
Kate paid, and tipped the waitress, and the two of you walked back out to the car. It was still dark out, the kind of dark that is seemingly the darkest, just before the sun begins to rise. The parking lot was flooded in light from the street lamp, creating a perfect little haven out in the car. By now, the rest of the lot was empty, save for the employee cars on the side. 
“What now?” You asked Kate. 
“I have an idea,” Kate smiled sheepishly, before jumping in the backseat. You giggled, knowing exactly where her mind went. The two of you hadn’t had alone time in weeks, since Kate got sent on an extended mission across the country, 
Kate folded the seats down with some effort, as the left one always loves to get stuck, and brought you close in her arms. Her soft lips found yours with urgency as she let her hands run all over your body. Your hands made your way into her hair, tugging ever so slightly as she deepened the kiss. A moan reverberated through your body as her tongue danced with yours. 
Her hand slipped the straps of your dress off, moving to take it all the way off. A breath hitched in her throat at the lacy garments you wore underneath, anticipating this moment from the moment you got dressed earlier. 
“So beautiful,” she whispered, moving to kiss down your neck, and then your chest. Another moan escaped you as you rolled your head back, her teeth nipping gently at your skin. You moved to straddle her lap, while taking her jacket off. 
The two of you undressed each other fairly quickly,  not wanting to waste a single second. As she tugged your lacy silk underwear to the side, she slipped a finger in between the folds of you, your wet slick coating your fingers. 
“You’re so wet for me, baby,” Kate praised, as she began to rub you gently. The feeling was euphoric as she  worked around your clit, her fingers finding their way inside you. You shuddered out a gasp as she pushed another finger inside. 
“Oh god,” you moaned. 
“You feel so good,” Kate moaned back, her breath hot against your own. She pushed you down gently, moving slowly as she made her way down your chest, leaving a trail of soft kisses. Her mouth was soft against your skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. A blush crept up on your cheeks. No matter how many times she had seen you like this, you were always nervous. 
Sensing your nervousness, she gave your hand a squeeze, before dipping her head between your thighs. The sight itself was almost enough to send you over the edge, as she looked up at you. Her tongue worked its way around your heat, as she lapped you up- the taste of you exquisite against her tongue. 
“Oh, god Kate, that feels amazing,” you whispered, reaching out to try and grab anything to cling to. Of course, there was nothing in her car aside from supplies from past missions, so you reached down to grab her hair instead, pulling her even closer to you. She moaned against you, glancing up to see your reaction. 
“Fuck, Kate, I’m going to -” You couldn’t finish, as the familiar euphoric feeling rushed over you, your body spasming underneath the grip Ktae had on your waist. She held you down firmly, determined to let you ride your high all the way, until you were left panting and numb on her face. 
 She grinned as she moved to be above you, kissing you passionately. 
“Come back to me, baby,” she whispered, her palm resting softly on your cheek. You leaned into her touch, trying your hardest to smile. Exhaustion overcame you as you laid helplessly beneath her. She grinned, leaning down to kiss your lips once more before putting her shirt back on. 
“We will definitely be finishing this in the morning after a good night's sleep,” she said, finding your dress. She helped slip it over your shoulders, and down your body, the ghost of her fingertips sending shivers down your spine. 
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thefrogdalorian · 4 months
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Dincember Day 7: Star
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Word Count: 1020 Rating: General Summary: As you lie on Din's strong chest, looking at the stars and reflecting how grateful you are that your paths crossed, you discover once again, that the man with the fearsome reputation is incredibly soft underneath his hard Beskar shell. Content Warnings: None! Pure fluff. Author's note: Stargazing is so much fun!! I went out a couple of summers ago and watched a meteor shower with some friends and it's one of my favourite memories. I want to live in the Star Wars universe purely so I could look at the stars every night... and also cuddle Din Djarin but that's besides the point.
My Dincember masterlist
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Lying on a blanket outside the cabin you shared with Din on Nevarro allowed you to indulge in two of your favourite things: stargazing and cuddling with your favourite Mandalorian. It was no secret that you had always been fascinated by what was out there in the stars; it was part of your nature, you had a curious mind. From an early age, the cosmos fascinated you. You had always held a deep desire to travel and see what was out there for yourself. But your life circumstances on the planet that you were born on had meant that travelling away from it was an unlikely prospect. Your chance meeting with Din had changed your fortunes in so many ways, not least by finally giving you the chance to travel across the stars like you had once wished to do.
It was on that memory of meeting Din that you reflected on now, as you found yourself lying on the broad, firm chest of the man that had given you so many experiences and a life that you could never have imagined for yourself, even in your wildest dreams. Looking up at the stars was making you both a little sentimental, and Din sensed your emotion, as he asked you a seemingly simple question. Yet it was one that did not have an easy answer. 
“What’s on your mind, cyare?” Din asked thoughtfully. You could feel the vibrations of his deep voice against your cheek as he spoke.
“Just thinking about how much is out there, in this galaxy and beyond. How grateful I am to have met you, how unlikely it was considering the vastness of time and space that we actually met.” You admitted with a sigh, turning your head so your chin rested on Din’s chest so you could gaze at him. 
“Oh…” Din said, widening his eyes and raising his eyebrows in wonderment at your sentiment. “And here I was, just thinking how beautiful the stars are without the visor from my helmet to obscure them.”
“That’s still a nice thought,” You smiled at your somewhat oblivious favourite Mandalorian, admiring the way the lights caught his brown eyes in the darkness. 
“It is, cyare,” Din looked down at you, the corner of his lips turned upwards slightly, “But the stars still pale in comparison to the vision I’m looking at right now.”
“You big softie!” You giggled, “Who would ever think you could be so adorable underneath all of that armour?”
Din just shrugged with a slight smirk. He continued looking at you intensely, in such a way that it made you feel almost shy. Din looked at you as though you were the greatest sight in the entire galaxy. And you knew, to him, you probably were. 
“There’s something I never told you, by the way,” You told Din with a shy smile, the way he was looking at you made you want to bear your entire soul to him. “The night before I met you for the first time, I wished on a shooting star. I was outside, looking at the stars, wondering what was out there. I wished to get off the backwater planet you found me on. The next day, our paths crossed.”
“Really?” Din asked, clearly stunned by your revelation. 
“I did,” You nodded. You weren’t sure why you felt a little shy about sharing something like this with Din. It was a little cheesy, you were unsure whether he believed in fate in the same way that you did. But looking at the stars with him had reminded you of the time you had gazed at the heavens and wished for something that, at the time, you weren't even sure you had been missing, but knew with absolute certainty that you had found when you encountered Din. 
“What would you wish for if a shooting star passed us by, now?” Din asked thoughtfully. 
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” You sighed happily, nuzzling into Din’s strong, warm chest. “I have everything I need right here.”
Din hummed happily at that, bringing his hands under the thin shirt that you wore, rubbing your back and side with his fingers softly. Your body was set alight with such a simple touch from him. 
“What would you wish for, Din?” You finally asked.
“I’d wish for Grogu to listen to me every once in a while,” Din huffed. You giggled at that. He played the part of an exasperated father well, but deep down you knew that he never took anything Grogu did for granted. He loved every movement he spent with the little boy, especially after Grogu had almost been taken from him by the Jedi. 
“Din…” You said with a giggle, turning your head up to look at him fondly.
“Seriously…” Din sighed and swallowed deeply. “Just like you, I would wish for nothing. For so much of my life, I felt as though I was missing something. That I was incomplete somehow. I don't feel that anymore, not after I found Grogu and met you.” 
“Din…” You exhaled, saying his name once again, but this time with such a different emotion attached to it. His loving words brought tears to your eyes. You composed yourself, and expanded on his musings: “I don't know what force, if any, brought us together, Din. But whatever it was… there will never be enough gratitude in the galaxy for me to possibly express how grateful I am to have you. I love you.”
“I love you too, cyare,” Din breathed. 
You adjusted your position so you were snuggled into the warmth of his neck, your hand resting on his firm chest. You kissed the side of his cheek softly, Din hummed happily at the touch. The two of you continued looking at the billions of twinkling stars in the sky, admiring the view for a while. You lay there in complete silence and stillness, until a sight caused your mouths to open in awe as you gasped and met each other’s eyes, as if to confirm what you had just seen. 
It was another shooting star.
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vax-merstappen · 6 days
Text
f1 boys as 1989 songs
thought i could only follow up reputation with 1989 of course! i can only add 10 pics on the app, so i picked the 10 drivers i thought best fit my favorite songs on the album! lmk if you agree or any other albums you want to see! 🩵
Lando Norris
Wonderland
For this one, I’m picturing like a fling with Lando. Like you have an amazing time together in “wonderland” where you love so hard but in the end it doesn’t work out. With all the attention Lando gets, “there were strangers watching” would put pressure on the relationship and it would all fall apart. Also “you flashed your green eyes at me” would fit with his greenish blue eyes. Like I can just picture it all falling apart dramatically after a long relationship. “We both went mad,” like you both are torn up about it? Idk I just think it fits Lando.
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Max Verstappen
I Know Places
Max generally strikes me as a kind of private guy. He would want to hide away with you from the public eye, not dragging you into all the criticism that comes with being a wag. If you know places to hide, he would be totally happy to run away with you wherever you wanted to go. I feel like the “lights flash we’ll run for the fences” line really fits, like both of you trying to hide from the prying eyes of the media. Like everyone wants to be him and find him and you’ll keep him away for yourself.”
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Charles Leclerc
Style
Like you would definitely be the most stylish and the it couple of f1. “Can’t keep his wild eyes on the road,” like driving through Monaco with him in his Ferrari? And I definitely see the “daydream look in your eye” with Charles as well. His eyes are stunning. You would dominate the media together, never going out of style and always being the people everyone can’t help but look at as you walk down the street. Just a stunning couple with stunning style.
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Carlos Sainz
Bad Blood
Ok so I’m picturing a lovers to rivals situation with Carlos! Like you start out madly in love with him, but you break up and become rivals on track and off track. I could see him betraying you and having this sort of intense rivalry. And then maybe he tries to make up with you but “bandaids can’t fix bullet holes.” Like come on, I feel like it fits really well. Especially the way he basically started a one way rivalry with Oscar, like that but romantic? If you get it you get it.
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Lewis Hamilton
All You Had To Do Was Stay
So what if he had left you years ago when he was young but realized after dating other people that you were truly the one for him? Like he’s a changed man now, he realized that he had left the best person in his life behind? But you moved on too, “now you say you want it back now that it’s just too late.” Like trying to put the pieces of what you had back together. I just feel like it fits with the character development Lewis has had throughout the years.
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Daniel Ricciardo
Is it Over Now?
Ok hear me out, like I can just picture Danny Ric moving on and just being a playboy right? But you want him to come back to you because deep down you both still care about each other. In the end, you are meant for each other but you have to go through “300 takeout coffees later.” Like both of you trying to move on and wondering if your relationship ever truly ended or if you are still meant for each other. Also Daniel just screams “flashing lights.” Like I just picture him running back after going separate ways and I just picture him when I hear this song.
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Alex Albon
Wildest Dreams
I’m feeling Alex as the “so tall and handsome as hell,” man that you can’t stop longing for after you go separate ways. Like you and him waking separate ways as the sun sets? And you hoping he still thinks about you as he lives his life. Like he would hurt to leave behind and it would be a soft and passionate departure. You can’t help but see him in your “wildest dreams.” So many memories with Alex would be hard to leave behind.
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Logan Sargeant
New Romantics
Imagine like a crazy, wild relationship with Logan. He already gets so much hate, but imagine he just doesn’t care when he’s with you. Like you both build a “castle from all the bricks they threw at me.” You both just enjoy living life together and revel in all the hate that the fans and media throw at you. But when you’re together “every night is like a dream.” You just live your best life, entirely unbothered. Just an incredible life with Logan by your side
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Lance Stroll
Out of the Woods
I feel like this song fits with taking a chance on a relationship with Lance. I think it would take a while to really see his sweet side in a relationship, but once you did, you would be inseparable from him. Like that stage of taking a chance on a guy who is so in the spotlight and often talked down on would be hard, so getting “out of the woods” would be seeing the success of your mutual efforts finally come together and having the time of your life with him. When the “monsters turned out to be just trees,” it would be like all the hate isn’t true and he really is the perfect man for you.
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Fernando Alonso
Blank Space
I feel like if anyone has a crazy ex, it would be Fernando Alonso. Like imagine he dumps you, you would try to keep driving him crazy. I feel like the “boys only want love if it’s torture” fits well, like he would enjoy the game of both of you trying to make the other regret the breakup. He would definitely “love the game” of toying with you and you messing with him back. Like both of you just trying desperately to make the other jealous and ruin their lives. Lowkey I want to write a fic about this now.
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