#do you have any idea how much dai being nameless rotates in my brain

[ghostjellydraws]

a story about names.....

i cannot emphasize how many thoughts @camlannpod has been giving me about names and identity. is your name who you are? are you a name? where does your name end and you begin? and what does it mean if you don't have one?

[tamakiamajikistentacles]

Fucking Hormones {KiriBaku}

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! This is pretty much pure crack born from this post I made that kind of blew up? Hopefully this is a good crossover to sate your KiriBaku needs!

Bakugo had a vivid imagination. Growing up as an only child and travelling with his parents kind of necessitated it. When he was a kid he had spent long hours both in his parents’ office and on planes letting his imagination run wild. It was why he had the design of his hero costume six years before he had ever stepped foot onto UA’s campus for the entrance exam and how he already knew what color the walls would be painted when he opened his own agency (Pantone 360 C, thank you very much).

As he grew older though, that particular attribute had evolved from creating future plans to creating fantasy lovers once he hit puberty. Nameless, faceless, and oftentimes sexless, he imagined hands on him and his hands tracing over curves and dips of muscle depending on the night; sometimes they fucked him, sometimes he fucked them. Either way it played out, there was no name to shout or eye color he could manifest to look into.

Until one night in his dorm room when he came so hard with his best friend’s name on his tongue that he thought he’d blackout. He’d had the image of red hair and red eyes and sharp teeth in his head as he concentrated on the idea that his hand wasn’t his own but rather that of the classmate next door.

The initial bliss from release didn’t last long, panic flooding his system as he realized that he was fantasizing about Kirishima. There had never been a specific person in his thoughts before and the fact that he enjoyed it more when he was thinking of that stupid grin on his face? He was fucked. Absolutely fucking fucked.

He grabbed his discarded shirt and wiped himself clean, yanking his sweats back up his legs and trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do next because holy shit, this was not what he’d expected when he’d settled into his bed less than half an hour ago to jerk off. There was no doubt that Kirishima was his best friend and kind of the only person he could stand being around voluntarily for more than twenty minutes and that he was tan and muscled and—shit.

“This night can’t possibly get worse,” he murmured, pressing the heel of his hand against his temple.

Then his balcony doors flew open with a deafening crash, shuddering in the sudden wind that swept through his room under the moonlight. He jumped to his feet with his heart hammering in his chest, turning between the balcony and another loud bang from his bathroom door flying open and hitting the wall. Crackling lightening clouded his vision as thunder boomed.

He was under attack literally two minutes removed from cumming, what the fuck—

“Hello, my cheesy little rigatoni,” a sultry voice purred from the bathroom doorway.

“WHO IN THE FUCK ARE YOU?” he shouted, sweatpants slung low on his hips and his palms igniting for the fight that was sure to come.

A feminine chuckle filled his ears as a furry creature emerged from his bathroom, long auburn hair seeming to grow fuller as it shifted in the breeze and pink painted lips smirking devilishly as she grew closer. Cloven hooves clicked on the hardwood floor and yet somehow the one thing that registered to him as disturbing was the ample bust covered in brown fur.

“I’m your hormone monstress, sweetheart. You can call me Connie because you and me?”—she gestured between them— “We’re gonna have a lot of fun together.”

His eye twitched. “I ain’t the fun type and I sure as hell don’t need some…some… whatever the fuck you are giving me shit about jerking off!”

“Now that’s no way to speak to the one who’s going to guide you through these changes.”

“Guide me though…? Newflash, bitch: I’ve gone through puberty. Just listen to my voice, fuck! Do I sound like my balls haven’t dropped yet?”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and her blue eyes held indifference. “Honey it’s not my fault breaking into the Japanese market was hard and then caused a backlog. Even if assignments come in late I still gotta do ‘em.”

“Are you absolutely fucking kidding me? I DON’T NEED YOU!”

“If you want help getting in the pants of that boy who’s name you just shouted while shuckin’ corn then I think you do,” she tempted, watching his jaw set. “What’s his name, now? Kirishima?”

“Do not say his name,” he warned with a threatening point of his finger.

“C’mon now honey,” she said, hopping up to sit on his desk and crossing one leg over the other. “We’ve got to get planning because the five-finger shuffle isn’t gonna keep you happy for long when all you want is that boy’s hand down your pants.”

Bakugo stared at her for a long moment before looking down at his hands and then over his shoulder to his open balcony doors. Then, with a nod of conviction, he moved to close the balcony doors and slipped back under his blankets.

“I’ve gone fucking insane,” he murmured as he closed his eyes. He was having a weird as shit lucid dream after blacking out from that orgasm. All he had to do was fall asleep in this dream and he would wake up alone.  And when he woke up this walking pair of furry tits would be gone and cum would be flaking off of his skin.

She was not gone.

At least, not permanently. It was like she just materialized next to him when his dick even so much as twitched when he thought something inappropriate about Kirishima.

The first time it happened was in training the day after she’d first appeared. They had all been rotating sparring partners, and when he was paired with Kirishima and had him pressed against the ground for the five count the redhead smiled excitedly.

“Man, you’re the best even without your quirk! Seriously so manly!”

Bakugo scoffed, waving him off to where his water bottle sat. “And don’t you ever forget it, Shitty Hair.”

As the laughter of his friend faded he felt a soft brush at the base of his neck, whirling around ready to fight whatever classmate decided to touch him. Instead, though, he came face to face with what he thought had been another creation of his imagination.

The monstress who’d introduced herself as Connie the night prior stood before him in a UA training jacket unzipped to show off her cleavage and her hair pulled high in a ponytail atop her head.

“What the fuck—”

“Oh sugar, you may think that hair’s shitty but I bet it’s good enough to pull when he’s between your thighs and those teeth? Mmm, just imagine ‘em givin’ a nice little nibble to your—"

“SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU HORNED BITCH!”

A jolt of panic ran through him when he realized that his classmates might not be able to see her. They were going to think he was absolutely off his rocker screaming at nothing. But when he surveyed the training grounds he saw that no one was paying him any mind.

“Believe it or not I’m not big on audiences,” she cooed into his ear.

And that’s how he spent his days going forward—paranoid of her popping out of thin air to tease him about Kirishima unknowingly making his heart jump into his throat or making his pants feel tighter. It didn’t happen every time (she would’ve never left his side then, honestly) but it happened enough that he legitimately contemplated labeling her as a villain. She made his life hell just like one with all her antics.

It had been an exam day in Cementoss’ literature class, their task to complete twelve multiple choice questions and two open-ended prompts. He’d read the material and taken plenty of notes to breeze through it with only one multiple choice that he wasn’t entirely sure of. So with nothing better to do he surveyed his classmates, spying Kaminari nervous and breathing heavily with Kirishima sat behind him concentrating on the paper in front of him harder than Bakugo had ever seen. He’d helped him study so it was nice to see he was putting all his effort into doing well.

But when his tongue darted out to wet his lips time slowed to a crawl and suddenly he was feeling very, very warm as that tongue stayed poking out of the corner of his mouth.

“He looks like the type who just knows how to use his tongue, virgin or not,” the monstress whispered from his left, and when he whipped around to face her he saw that she was perched on the windowsill wearing reading glasses and skimming over the text they were being quizzed on. “Do you think he’s the type to be excited and quick or slow and enjoy bein’ a lil tease?”

Bakugo snapped his pen in half.

Then there was the evening in the common room when the entire class had gathered for an ice cream party because sure, a bunch of teenagers definitely needed all that sugar on a Wednesday night. Though it wasn’t terrible to be sat amongst Kirishima, Kaminari, Jiro, Ashido, and Sero as they talked about strategic costume alterations and he savored the cinnamon ice cream in his bowl. It was fairly calm until he heard the grating sound of Kirishima’s straw trying to get every last bit of his milkshake, and he looked up to tell him to knock it off but froze when he saw the redhead’s cheeks slightly puffed out from the treat and a trail of vanilla dripping from his lips and down his chin.

Pressing the cold bowl in his hands against the crotch of his pants didn’t do as much as he hoped, especially when Kirishima swallowed loudly and wiped the drip from his face with two fingers, promptly sucking it off a moment later and declaring with a laugh that he may have brain freeze.

“Hmm,” he heard from beside him, turning to find Connie with her own strawberry cone in hand, “I think we both know that what you’ve got for him wouldn’t give him brain freeze. He looks good with a little something on his face, don’t you think?”

Fuck yes he did but he wasn’t about to tell her that, instead choosing to shovel a spoonful of his own dessert into his mouth. The knock of the metal spoon against his teeth hurt just enough to distract him for all of three seconds from the raging boner he was sporting.

There was also movie night in Sero’s room when halfway through the second movie Kirishima needed a phone charger and crossed in front of his spot in the hammock to bend down and get the spare cord from Sero’s desk drawer. His tshirt lifted slightly as he did to expose the curve of his lower back and the dimples set at his hips which were subtle but defined enough that Bakugo idly wondered…

“…if you could feel ‘em when you wrapped your legs around those delicious hips?”

He hated that she could read him like a fucking book. But he also hated that he had apparently now developed a fetish for best friend’s back.

Even during training when he was watching Kirishima work on his Unbreakable form against Shoji from the sidelines, the class’ task to critique their peers’ moves and assess them for potential counters that villains could utilize, he stared at the hard lines of his back. When he activated his quirk the hardening deepened the definition of his muscles as they raised up in craggy patterns that drew hills and valleys down the length of his spine.

His strength and resilience was hot as shit. Bakugo could train with him until his arms trembled with overuse from his quirk and not a single scorch mark would be left on the redhead, just another wide smile. Even close-range explosions couldn’t crack him, and he could think of situations other than close combat where that would be useful.

“Shame that you can’t scratch those shoulders up, ain’t it?” Connie murmured over his shoulder.

Not quite, he mused to himself. He had great control of himself when it came to his quirk, but where Kirishima was concerned was rapidly becoming a different story.

Say he did try to scratch those shoulders—if his quirk went off because he was in a stupidly dizzy haze due to Kirishima being that close to him, he wouldn’t hurt him. A far bigger blessing in his opinion. Besides, scratches weren’t the only way he could mark him up.

“What’s that smirk for baby?”

“Eat shit and die.”

Bakugo wasn’t a rule breaker. He lived his life on the straight and narrow in every aspect except apparently for his sexuality. Which is how he ended up breaking locker room rule number one: don’t check out your bros when changing.

At least he wasn’t obvious about it though, he justified. A peek from the corner of his eye here, a half-lidded glance there. With a quirk like his he didn’t get the chance to be subtle often but he was damn good at it.

No one around him knew that from his peripheral he was tracing the outline of Kirishima’s body in just his boxer briefs, savoring it for every second he could before his uniform pants slid up his legs.

A soft tickle on his arm let him know that something had noticed and he grimaced at the sound of her voice.

“Ohhh you picked a good one, my tasty little cherry bomb,” she cooed from her position against the lockers, bottom lip bitten between her teeth as she gazed longingly over his shoulder. “I could bounce an American quarter off of that tight little ass.”

“Shut your damn mouth!” he hissed as a furious blush covered his cheeks. Another glance at his friend showed that he was finishing the top button on his shirt before tucking it into his pants. He could even make the uniform look good, it was entirely unfair.

“Even with clothes on that boy has you feeling tingly,” she teased as tendrils of her hair wrapped around his waist. “But honey we gotta get in them pants and find out if those red drapes have a matching carpet!”

Before he could stop it his traitorous mouth revealed, “They don’t.”

She gasped and pulled him closer with her hair, his bare chest pressed against her furry one. “Start talking, motherfucker.”

“Fuck, it’s not a big deal!” he defended, squirming in the tight grip of her hair. “You’ve seen his hero costume—he’s shirtless! His happy trail is pitch black, okay? It’s… just something I noticed. And then that pink bitch told me he started dying and spiking it for high school, in middle school it was still black and he always wore it down.”

Connie narrowed her eyes but unwound her hair to let him finish dressing, crossing her arms as she surveyed the remaining boys. The locker room was almost completely empty save for himself, Kirishima, and Kaminari.

“He doesn’t like her, does he?”

Bakugo paused as he pulled on his blazer. “Raccoon Eyes? No? I mean, shit, I don’t know? I just know they went to the same middle school or whatever.”

She hummed. “Middle school friends, high school sweethearts, hero power couple, lil pink babies with some sharp teeth…”

“Shut. the hell. up,” he warned. “I’d know if he liked her, I’m his best friend. He’d tell me shit like that.”

“When?” she asked sassily. “You haven’t spent a lick of time alone with that boy since my cute ass got here. You’ve only hung out together in your little group so when would he tell you?”

The fact that she had made a damn good point had him wanting to blow up the entire building.

“Fuck you,” he spat, slamming his locker shut. He shoved his bag under his arm and stomped over to his friends, Kirishima spotting him over Kaminari’s shoulder and giving him a grin that should not have been as hot as it was.

“Hey, man!” he greeted, Kaminari turning and doing the same.

Bakugo grabbed the sleeve of his blazer and tugged him towards the door. “Walk with me.”

He stumbled as he followed, a clumsy wave to Kaminari thrown over his shoulder as he gained his bearings enough to walk with his friend once they reached the hallway. He’d since let go of his sleeve, hands shoved into his pockets and a flush to his cheeks.

“Everything good bro?” Kirishima asked with a furrowed brow.

“I gotta go to the shopping district tomorrow.”

“Oh, what do you have to get?”

“Got a bunch of shit I need to grab,” he huffed as they exited the building and started down the path to the dorms. “You said there was a new album you wanted to get, yeah?”

He grinned, surprised but delighted that he’d remembered him mentioning it. “Yeah, it’s a rerelease of my favorite album on vinyl and when I looked at it online it was so cool! Like the actual record is dark blue and then it has—”

“Just come with me tomorrow and show me then, Hair for Brains.”

“O-oh? I mean, yeah. Yeah!” he said excitedly. “What time were you thinking of going?”

“Train leaves at nine.”

The sharp smile was blinding and dammit he wanted to blast the butterflies in his stomach straight to hell where the little beasts belonged. Half of him was desperate to keep the smile on his lips while the other half wondered how hard would be too hard if Kirishima ever bit his neck as he worked a red and purple bruise into his skin, and just imagining it had him quickening his pace to get the fuck to his dorm room and take care of the rapidly growing problem just below his belt.

Kirishima kept up with his longer strides and didn’t leave his side as they got into the elevator to go to their floor. For the time being, Bakugo hated that their rooms were right next door to one another. He was bound to hear him moan his name some night (what if it was that night? or in the next five minutes?) and he was wholly unprepared to try and talk his way out of that particular situation.

“Did you see the group chat?”

Bakugo blinked. “What?”

“Sero’s dad dropped off like eight boxes of dango from Tokyo and he said he was gonna share with us after dinner! Do you want me to get you when it’s time for dinner and then we can find them to eat? Wait, do you think he’s gonna share with the entire class? Because I’d feel bad if we were the only ones—”

“Just knock on my door when you’re ready to eat,” he grunted as he pulled his keycard out of his pocket, strategically angling his hips away from his friend. “I’m starting my essay.”

“Oh yeah, sure!” he agreed as Bakugo entered his room. “I probably should too, I mean the English translations take me forever and that essay’s supposed to be like two thousand words—”

He closed the door on his rambling and dropped his bag to the floor. Like fuck was he starting that essay when he could feel his heartbeat in his underwear.

“You know…”

Shit.

“…even if it takes him a while to translate I’ve got some nice English phrases you can drop on your date tomorrow, baby.”

“It’s not a date, shitty bitch!” he hissed as he threw open his closet door to find comfier clothes to change into. The sound of her voice was an instant boner killer so the great idea of jerking off before dinner was shot down as he’d gone softer with each word that rolled off of her tongue.

“But it could be!” she said, excitedly throwing her hands above her head.

“No.”

“But you heard how excited he was! You two can sit nice and close on the train and if your jacket’s over your laps? Honey!”

“You need to fucking get over the idea that tomorrow is a date because I only did it to hang out and see if he actually does like Pinky. He fucking doesn’t but now I wanna hear him say it,” he grumbled as he slipped his tshirt over his head.

Connie sighed as she slumped down to sit on his bed. “Katsuki, can you just let yourself be honest? You want it to be a date. Since we met I’ve always pegged you as a guy who gets what he wants. Why are you so against this?”

Bakugo paused for several reasons. The first was the use of his given name because really, had she ever even said his name? Given or surname? Not that he could remember; it was always too-sweet pet names with her. Second was the tone which held no sass or sex appeal or teasing. And the last one was the fact that shit, he did go after what he wanted, didn’t he? Except…

“I’ve got him as a friend and a bastard like me can’t wish for much more than that. ‘S already more than I deserve at this point.”

“Baby, punishing yourself ain’t helping anybody.”

“I’m not punishing myself!” he snapped. “I’m stating a fact! I won’t ask for more when it isn’t something that can happen!”

“You mean you can’t be brave enough to take a chance.”

His shoulders tensed and anger sparked both from his palms and throughout his entire being. Him? Not brave? HIM? Katsuki FUCKING Bakugo? Future Number One Pro Hero of Japan?

“Shitty woman I’m braver than half of the extras in this school—in this country!—and don’t you ever fucking question that again! I’ll fucking show you who’s not brave! Stupid fucking bitch with your goddamn furry ass tits coming into my room and calling me a fucking coward..!”

He continued his angry rambling as he stomped to his door and yanked it open as hard as he could.

Turning away from Bakugo, Kirishima entered his room and tossed his blazer aside, one hand raking through the gelled spikes of his hair. His smile dropped; he was ready to lay in his bed with Fleetwood Mac on shuffle and wallow like the sad, gay disaster in love with his best friend that he was.

“Hey there, big boy.”

He nearly jumped out of his hardened skin at the smooth greeting from the monster posed atop his sheets, one leg kicked up behind him with a hoof pointing to the ceiling and his head lazily held by a propped-up arm.

“Maury you scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry, sorry. Hey, listen, how’d everything go with your blonde boom stick? Did we see his boom stick yet? Tell me I didn’t miss it because I’ve gotta know if that kid’s pubes are as spiky as his hair.”

He frowned as he changed from his uniform into his lounge clothes. “You’re gross, dude. But anyway, Bakugo doesn’t like me like that. You gotta stop pushing it.”

“Kirishima, c’mon, you gotta have a little faith!”

“Faith in what? That he asked me to go to the shopping district with him tomorrow as a date? That’s not likely, man.”

The monster rolled his eyes as he stood up and approached him, arms crossed in front of his chest and an unimpressed look on his impish face. He hadn’t particularly wanted to pull this card but goddammit this kid had to get a fucking grip.

“Super unmanly of you not to act on your feelings, Red,” he goaded. “I thought no regrets meant you’d man up and shoot your shot with that walking stick of dynamite but I guess you’re not as strong in those beliefs as I thought.”

“C’mon man, that’s not fair!” Kirishima said with a pout.

He threw his hands up. “Am I wrong though? One day you’re gonna regret not saying anything and be upset when you realize that you two coulda been together.”

The redhead bit his lip. “I can’t just ruin our friendship like that.”

“Kid, listen. Do you think that Crimson guy you like would keep his feelings for someone a secret like this? Or would he sack up and figure out if those feelings are returned? I’m not sayin’ I’m great at the whole romance part of all this but damn, you gotta try!”

“I can’t!”

“Can’t or won’t? Trying doesn’t mean professing your love straight away! Just go ask him something about tomorrow like why he asked just you and not all your friends. Get a feel for it before you get a feel of him!”

Kirishima bit his lip. “I guess… I guess I could ask why the rest of our friends weren’t invited. Maybe say that Kaminari texted me…”

His voice trailed off as he turned to his door, brows furrowing as he considered the idea of going next door to Bakugo’s room. Without knowing or meaning to his feet carried him across the room and only once he had stepped out into the hallway did he realize what had happened, his lips parting in surprise and then even further when Bakugo’s door flung open and the blonde stepped out of his room. His face was flushed and his teeth were bared but when he realized Kirishima was in the hallway too the snarl dropped into a neutral frown.

They stared at one another for a long moment before Kirishima slowly approached his best friend. “Hey. I was just coming to see you.”

“Yeah? You ready for dinner now?”

“No,” he said. “I wanted to uh…”

He cocked an eyebrow at his friend, not used to the hesitation. It was… fuck, it was cute.

“Bakugo, tomorrow—”

“Is a date,” the blonde finished with conviction. He hoped the anxiety curled in his gut wasn’t visible on his face because shit, he may have just made the biggest mistake of his damn life if this went sideways.

Kirishima’s jaw dropped. “A-A date? We’re going on a date?”

Bakugo rolled his eyes and reached out to fist his hands in the horrendous orange shirt and yank him close, his body warming at the blush that rose on the redhead’s cheeks.

“We’re going on a fucking date,” he said before cupping the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss. The muffled noise of surprise quickly turned into kissing him back and holy fucking shit he was kissing Kirishima.

Behind them stood the two hormone monsters, smirks across both their faces at one more first kiss in the books. Maury held his hand out for a low five and without even looking Connie batted his hand away and gave a slap to his ass.

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! Crackfics aren’t my specialty and I know there were some OOC moments but I hope this at least made y’all laugh lmao 

[allollipoppins]

As promised before, I bring you my first contribution to the Yuuri Harem Villain AU, starting with a Yuuri/Eros one-shot :D As it is currently midnight here and I’m kinda beat, I’ll most probably edit this post later so to link it to my other websites and so on. This is dedicated to my muse @yuuriharemheadcanons and to you lovely people who were kind enough to accompany me through the process of writing this. This was non-betaed and largely written/edited in a hurry (cue the sucky ending - bear with me, I haven’t written or published since forever ^^’). Feel free to comment and send me feedback!

***

“I thought we’d agreed that you wouldn’t jump from the top of buildings.”

“And I thought we’d agreed that you wouldn’t do that either.”

Yuuri has enough strength left to snort at the man’s reply. Trust Eros to sass him half dead on his feet, soaked to the bone and blood gushing from wounds he couldn’t diagnose, hidden under wet leather and lace.

“How can you still have enough energy to sass me when you’re the one injured?”

Eros shrugged. “I’ve had worse before. That’s  fine by me.”

Yuuri repressed the need to scream, unsure whether to be more frustrated or angry at Eros’ carelessness.

How had they even come to this?

It had happened too fast for him to even register what was going on. One moment he was battling his opponent, edging closer to a side of the roof he couldn’t see, and the other Yuuri couldn’t feel the ground under his feet nor air in his lungs. He barely had time to register he was falling before a pair of arms wrapped around him, holding him in a tight grip, swiftly rotating him so he wasn’t facing the sky anymore.

The next second, they were colliding with the ground, Eros landing on his back and Yuuri somehow getting away with scratches on his side and possibly his face. He wondered briefly how he would explain those to Celestino on Monday morning.

And then he registered blood was oozing from under Eros’ head, and his mind went blank.

They stumbled inside the apartment, dragging each other’s weight until they both crashed in the living room, landing on the couch.

Yuuri raised himself with difficulty, leaning over Eros who had closed his eyes and looked a shade paler than usual. The bleeding had stopped, but Yuuri still worried given Eros’ complexion.

“Wait here, will you? I’ll go get us some towels and bandages”. Eros grunted affirmatively. Yuuri made his way to the bathroom – not without stealing a few glances back at Eros to make sure he was alright. He probably wouldn’t go anywhere given his state, but Yuuri wouldn’t start betting on that too soon. Months spent in his company didn’t make Eros any less unpredictable.

Yuuri groped blindly at the wall, reaching for the switch with only his knowledge of the apartment as a counterpart for his lack of contacts or glasses. The sudden light made him squint, its sharp glare almost made him trip backwards. Slowly coming back to his senses, he set out to find th necessary equipment.

In his quest to the bathroom to find towels for both of them and his medical kit, the mirror sent back his disfigured reflection. Despite his lack of contacts, the blurry patches of dirty white meddled with runny crimson and black lines were enough to guess he looked like a mess. Yuuri might as well have auditioned for Pennywise the clown in his current attire and gotten the part. Thankfully, no one had been around to witness the pair he and Eros made on their way back home. At least he hoped so.

“Christ” he swore, taking in his full appearance. If Georgi could see him now, he’d be getting a tongue lashing just for getting his makeup ruined, nevermind the costumes.

That could wait though. For the timebeing, Eros was his priority.

Eros waited for him slumped on the floor, visibly too tired to pull himself back up on the couch. At the sight of his rather miserable-looking companion half drowsing and wetting the carpet, Yuuri sighed. He debated whether he should leave the man on the floor right where he was or move him. Ultimately he settled on the latter, placed the towels on the low table in front of him and bent up to his companion’s level.

“Let’s move you, yeah? You’re wetting the living room”.

Eros finally opened his eyes, sluggishly batting his eyelashes and glancing up at the sound of Yuuri’s voice. Yuuri tried to smile at him, but only managed to grimace.

“Sorry. I must be a fright.”

“It’s no problem”, Eros muttered in a sleepy voice.

“Let me see your wounds.” Without further prompting, Yuuri proceeded to unzip his costume. Eros complied easily and left his master to work, sitting still. Out of context, Yuuri would probably have laughed out loud at the strangeness of their predicament. As a general rule – if “rule” was even the right term –,  Yuuri never laid his hands on Eros or made a move to remove his clothes. Eros always took the lead for him. To have the situation reversed usually brought unease; as bold as Yuuri could be at times, he’d found that he prefered it when Eros took initiatives by himself when they were alone, intimately speaking.

When he managed to completely peel the wet leather off Eros, taking time to remove it without inflicting further damage, he took in the extent of Eros’ wounds. He had scrapes running along his back, thankfully not profound enough to need stitches, but visible enough to tell he would need to be thoroughly bandaged. Eros would have scars, but like any previous injury he’d sustained, they wouldn’t last long.

Yuuri’s eyes drifted to his sides. While he had expected at least a few marks, the skin was bare and untainted. Turned out Eros had naturally started his healing process long ago, probably straight after they’d landed on the pavement. The rest of him was just fine, he assessed. Still, for a second he thought of reaching out and brushing his fingers against Eros’ skin, just in case. One could only be so superhuman for long. He’d find the sore spots to nurse, visible bruises and hidden places he would only need to press lightly in order to elicit a reaction from Eros.

Yuuri shook his head, mentally cursing himself for getting distracted in such a moment.

He started to clean Eros, lightly wiping away water and sweat with the towels, and then wrapping it around his shoulders. He then dropped some drops of disinfectant on the cotton balls, and proceeded to treat his back wounds. Upon feeling the sting against his back, Eros jumped forward, stepping as far away from Yuuri’s hand as he could.

“Behave,” Yuuri growled without much bite, too tired to properly chastise Eros.

Eros moaned a little, but made no further complaint, probably sensing his master’s weariness. He sat back down, and gritted his teeth against the renewed burn of alcohol on his open wounds. Yuuri tried to dab them as carefully as possible, noticing how hard Eros was fighting not to fidget under the cotton balls.

This is new, he mused silently as he put the cotton balls away and reached for the burn ointment inside his box, pouring some on the tip of his finger. Eros didn’t use to be so sensitive to touch. When he touched Eros again, this time making direct contact with his skin without fabric between their skins, he could physically sense the other man tensing under his fingers, but making an effort to  repress his discomfort. There was no heartbeat under his fingers.

How strange, really. Up to now, Yuuri had only thought of Eros as this otherwordly, superhuman being incapable of feeling even the smallest human emotion, whether it be physical or psychological. At least he’d thought as much the first time they officially met – the image of a reckless hunter, face devoid of expression haunted Yuuri during the last semester of his first year in Detroit. A nameless monster who wore his face and carried himself with enough grace to make a kill look like a work of art.

This first encounter left Yuuri beyond shaken. It later took a panicked call to Japan to get direct confirmation from his cheery, though confused mother to conclude that Yuuri was – and remained – to this day their only son and the sole sibling of Mari Katsuki. Not a single twin in the picture.

Besides, the odds of him encountering someone who shared his features were rather low. Hypothetically, six to seven people had a face similar to his somewhere on the planet. But still – finding such a person in Detroit, the very city where he had lived for the past months and struggled to find himself. The then freshman’s wild brain went overdrive, making him shudder at the idea that such a person could potentially be from an entirely different world.

The meetings that followed, official presentations and all did little to ease his mind. More often than not, Yuuri found himself unwillingly running into his doppelganger – or were these chance meetings purely coincidences? And further examination later, Yuuri decided that there was no way Eros and him were even remotely alike. While the similarity between their faces remained undeniable, Eros lacked Yuuri’s soft features and curves. His soft skin stretched on slender limbs, no hint of fat visible, highlighting the proeminent cheekbones and shapely figure that contrasted with Yuuri’s hourglass body and round cheeks.

Differences didn’t stop there. One could also point out the striking contrast between both of their personalities. Where Yuuri was shy and tended to be very expressive, Eros was the king of bitch faces. His stiffness and lack of response to any situation had initially frightened Yuuri. But somehow the sociopath’s cold demeanour peeled away whenever the other was present – or at least he tried. Having a non-existent social life made Eros less empathetic to people’s feelings (not that he actually met any), and yet he and Yuuri shared a connection that went beyond words.

He supposed it might have truly begun when he baptized Eros. And Lord, giving Eros a name before finally settling on his current one had proved to be tedious, if only because he sounded strangely adamant on being treated like a slave.

“Dog” sounded like an insult, and a personal offence towards Vicchan. “Puppet” gave Yuuri a guilty conscience. As his interactions with the doppelganger became more frequent, so did his hyperactivity. The tranquility he usually seeked in his apartment after a long day at work was quickly shattered by an excited Eros, who didn’t miss a chance to jump on him whenever he came back home. This, combined with the blinding smile he reserved for Yuuri, had instantly reminded him of a puppy. So he settled on”Pup”, or “Pet” whenever the mood was appropriate.

As for Eros, it took Yuuri some more reflection, and a college assignment on the theme of love. He’d found something exciting in the nameback then; and as such, it could only fit the man who now bore it. In his eyes, Eros mirrored his divine counterpart: he oozed sexuality from head to toe, and was a walking contradiction; a man capable of the best and the worst, both in life and in his bed, the offspring of Love and War that never quite leaned towards a side of the battlefield nor stood in the middle. Eros was an endless maze of grey closing onto Yuuri by the minute, as he tried to escape his clutches while knowing he’d get caught anyway.

Eros knew him well – too well in fact. It both unnerved and comforted him to know that someone out there was able to see past his half-hearted reassurances and cold facade. Yuuri couldn’t remember the last time he had opened up to someone like that. With Yuuko busy with her triplets and his own family taking care of the onsen back in Hasetsu, the only impression left was that if he tried to break through their tranquility he would shatter everything; bring back unwanted memories and unnecessarily worry them over matters that were truly obsolete and exagerrated. Thinking out loud, feigning to talk with Vicchan when his beloved companion probably didn’t get a word of what he said didn’t ease his troubles either. They opened old wounds that sent him back to his childhood home in Hasetsu, blindly staring back at the stranger whose poster he’d just disfigured in the darkness.

And yet…

Somewhere in time, at a moment he couldn’t exactly pinpoint, Eros has turned into a permanent fixture. Now that they had settled in a routine, life without Eros seemed unconceivable. Yuuri had given in to him reluctantly at first, attributing it to nerves and an unconscious need for closeness that he had repressed for so long since his arrival in Detroit.

Eros held many of Yuuri’s firsts. First real friend, first comfortable conversations, first kiss, first touches…only to name a few.

With Eros by his side, he somehow became more self-assured. In the beginning of their partnership of sorts, with Yuuri slowly making his own assertiveness as a vigilante, the “clone” complimented his appearance, deciding that his master’s chubby parts went well with his disguise. Put in that way, generally with lackluster words and a stoic expression, Yuuri was offended the first times. He was past his teenage self-consciousness, but being reminded that he wasn’t as thin as he desired remained a sensible point. Eros had only grown better with time, and Yuuri had become bolder.

“Good boy,” he cooed softly, caressing the other man’s cheek in reward for his good behaviour. This development had come as a surprise as well. While Eros had rapidly taken to Yuuri like a fish to water, Yuuri had needed more time to get used to the other man’s presence in his life.

Not that Eros had helped in any way. From their first official meeting, his shadow called him by other names than his own, generally “Master” or “My king” among many terms of… endearment.

Eros leaned into his touch, eyelids fluttering and drooping slightly. He often reminded the Japanese man of an animal, more of a feline nature than a canine one like his Vicchan; Yuuri wouldn’t be surprised if Eros suddenly decided to purr in response to his ministrations.

“Let’s move you to the bed, shall we? You must be tired after today.”

“’M not tired,” Eros muttered against his hand, but there was no mistaking the tiredness in his voice. Yuuri merely smiled tenderly at him as he placed one arm under his knees and the other under his arms, and lifted him. Eros laid his head on his shoulder, glancing up at him with a similar smile on his face, albeit strained from the hectic day. Yuuri held his eyes until they reached the master bedroom, and moved his arm slightly so to move the covers, and place Eros delicately on the mattress. The latter automatically latched onto the pillow under his head, burying himself under the duvet and rolling into fetal position. Yuuri chuckled lowly. Yep, definitely a feline.

He was on his way back to the living room to grab a towel to dry himself, but felt something tug at his sleeve.

Yuuri turned. Eros had grabbed him by the tip of his fingers, and was now looking up at him with an almst pleading way. “Will you hold me, Yuuri?” Eros whispered almost inaudibly to Yuuri in his sleepy state, but he was close enough to hear him.

Yuuri exhaled. He desperately needed to get out of his wet clothes, and into a warm shower, but he was practically too tired to function properly, and the sight of Eros in such a dishevelled state was too endearing to ignore. He must have been truly drained if he could only call him by his real name.

Yuuri sighed, defeated from a battle he wouldn’t have won anyway. He pulled himself out of his shirt and pants, only keeping his boxers on, and slipped under the warm covers.

“As if you needed to ask,” he whispered back, rolling towards the warmth of his bed partner who instantly wrapped his arms around him, head pressed where Yuuri’s heart was. He pressed a small kiss on the top of Eros’ head, inhaling the scent of rain and their shared shampoo, and let himself drift to sleep alongside his companion.