#this is again the last ask I’ll be answering

[luveline]

omg post prison Spencer and concussed!shy girl….I would go feral I fear

“I’m gonna be sick again,” you whine, covering your eyes with both of your hands. The nausea roils and the pain in your head reaches a new crescendo. You moan without thinking about it, worse when someone grabs a hold of you from behind. 

“Don’t bend!” he says, not shouting but not happy with you either. “You aren’t going to be sick again if you stay sat up. I know it hurts, but you’re making it worse.” 

Spencer’s strict voice isn’t one you’re used to. An embarrassed flush rushes over you, quick to cry ‘cos you’ve wanted to for hours. 

“Sorry,” you mumble tearily, slouching back into your seat with a wince. 

“Oh, angel, please don’t cry again.” 

“I’m not.”

“I’m not angry with you, I just need you to listen, because being sick like this isn’t good for you, and you’re gonna feel sick again if you bend over. It’s your head, angel. It’s the inertia.” 

You shuffle across the couch to flop against his chest. It’s a desperate move; if he doesn’t hug you, you’re going to start crying for sure, so you’re begging him to hold you without having the courage to say it out loud. “Sorry,” you say. 

“It’s okay.” Hands wrap around you immediately. “Don’t be sorry. Just stay like this for a bit, until the nausea stops. Please.” 

You’d love to stay there. You can smell the black coconut soap he uses on his skin, rubbing your nose into his neck and taking obvious breaths. 

Spencer pats your back, saying, “Good, take a breather.” He sounds surprised, but when you glance up at him he isn’t panicking or moving. He’s closed his eyes. His hand is on the small of your back.  

You hit your head so hard the very first thing that happened was the wave of vomiting. It just… didn’t end. And for a while all you could think about was nothing, just being sick and crying and a hand on your back, eventually traded for colder ones, bright white lights and strangers asking how you were feeling. You couldn’t not defer to Spencer, not really sure if he was Spencer in a permanent sense but aware intrinsically that he was to be trusted to answer for you. 

Your brain is shaken, then stirred. 

“If I give you a pill, do you think you can keep it down? It’s okay if you can’t. Honest answer,” Spencer murmurs. 

“I don’t know.” 

“An anti nausea pill you need to swallow isn’t exactly mankind’s best invention.” He cradles the nape of your neck, then, sounding more on your side than anyone ever has. “I wish I could fix it.” 

“You should’ve put your brain to work for science,” you say agreeably, “you can fix anything. Big pharma are lucky you chose to catch the bad guys instead.” 

“I meant your concussion.” You can barely hear him, and at the same time, it’s like he’s speaking into your marrow. 

“You did fix that,” you say, tipping your head back to see him. “You took me to the doctor.” 

He smiles. “Yeah, I did, but you’re still sick and hurting.” 

It’s not that bad in Spencer’s arms. You had dreams like this, daydreams and sleeping, where he’d wrap you up and comfort you after some hurt, but you’re struggling to remember what made it feel as painful as it did at the time. Spencer felt far away. Now he’s right here. You curl your arm behind his neck to be squished together, tight tight tight. Spencer actually groans. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“No, m’not in pain. I can’t remember the last time I got to hold you like this for so long.” 

“I don’t know why.” 

“I do, and it’s okay. I know why you get freaked out. I’ll never rush you. I don’t mind. But I feel guilty ‘cos I’m enjoying this and you’re in pain.”

It’s a dull throb in the skull. You can barely feel it. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“I’m confused.” 

“That’s a common theme tonight.” 

“You feel guilty ‘cos I’m hugging you?” 

He covers your eyes with his hand. You laugh at first, but it’s oddly nice. Warm, dark. The throbbing pain ebbs a bit. 

Spencer can feel you relaxing against him. He’s all warmth and smell and sound under your ear. Exhaling, humming, the sound imbued with a fondness you don’t understand. His chest is solid under you, his hair begging to be touched where it flirts with his shoulders, the slopes and lines of him a tactile wonderland for your greedy hands: you want to feel everything. You haven’t the faintest clue as to why you weren’t allowing yourself the privilege before. 

“I just need you to get better fast,” he says, breathless. “That’s all.” 

“I am trying my best.” 

Spencer rubs a thumb over one of your eyebrows, start to end. “And you’re so, so good at it,” he says. 

You aren’t concussed enough to miss the lightly mocking coo of it. But you don’t care. Your nose drags up the line of his neck clumsily, in what you hope says tease me more, but more likely says concussive brain injury, second degree. 

[00valentina-writes00]

I live for vi shirtless drabbles, can we get another?

♡♥︎Pierced Perfection♥︎♡

Warnings: nipple play, teasing, use of piercings for stimulation, desperate gay panic.

Vi is walking around shirtless again.

Like it’s nothing. Like she’s not standing in the middle of your shared kitchen, completely braless, abs flexing as she absentmindedly taps at the microwave, waiting for her cheap instant ramen to finish heating up. The dim glow of the microwave light catches on the silver barbells piercing through her nipples, the metal glinting every time she shifts her weight.

And you—well, you’re fucking suffering.

You swear she does it on purpose, parading around like that, knowing damn well the effect it has on you. Your mouth is dry, but somehow, you’re practically drooling at the sight, your fingers twitching against your thighs with the urge to touch. Vi, oblivious (or pretending to be), scratches at her stomach, fingers skating just under the band of her sweats, and you have to bite your lip to keep from making a noise.

The microwave beeps. Vi hums, turning away from you to grab a bowl, and just like that, your last bit of restraint snaps.

You’re behind her in an instant, pressing your chest into her broad back, hands sliding up from her toned stomach to her bare tits. Vi barely has a second to react before you squeeze—firm, deliberate—rolling the sensitive flesh between your fingers, thumbs flicking over the cool metal of her piercings.

Vi curses, her whole body jerking at the sudden stimulation. “F-fuck—baby, what the hell?”

“You wanna walk around with these out,” you murmur against her neck, nipping at the skin as you tweak her nipples again, “then you deal with the consequences.”

She sucks in a breath, muscles tensing, hands gripping the edge of the counter like she’s debating between throwing you off or letting you ruin her. Judging by the shaky exhale and the way her hips press back into you, she’s leaning toward the latter.

“Jesus,” Vi breathes, head tipping forward as you roll her nipples between your fingers, tugging just enough to send sharp pleasure shooting through her. The little gasp she lets out is addictive, makes you press yourself harder against her ass, grinding slow.

“You’re sensitive,” you tease, licking at the side of her neck. “Guess that’s what happens when you keep these pretty little things pierced, huh?”

“Y-you—” Vi tries to sound tough, but her voice wavers, betraying her. She’s panting now, body flexing under your touch, her nipples stiff against your palms. The microwave beeps again, but neither of you give a fuck anymore.

“You want me to stop?” you ask, knowing damn well what the answer is.

Vi groans, pushing back against you, muscles coiling tight. “If you stop, I’ll fucking kill you.”

You grin, sinking your teeth into her shoulder as your fingers tighten, promising her exactly what she needs.

[aleskie]

JUST DRINK THE DAMN WATER | Quinn Hughes x Reader

Summary: You've always tried to not be a nepo-partner. But when you're sick? Quinn throws all that out of the window. After all, you deserve only the best for your stay at the hospital!

Warnings: None!! Just Quinn being a lil (a lot) over protective when you get sick. Author's Note: Requested by my sweet @sweetestcaptainhughes MWAH MWAH

Oh Captain, My Captain Coming home late tonight.

Have you eaten?

Did you drink water at all today? 

Just so we're clear, Coffee is a liquid but it is NOT water. Same thing with tea. 

Also, get some rest. I know you barely slept last night trying to finish up work.

Take care of yourself.

I love you :)

Heart ♥️ I will drink water :D

And get some rest ;p

Thank you :>>

I love you too!

Let's be honest here.

You did not drink water. No rest either, too focused on finishing deadlines.

And that's how you ended up in Quinn's car enroute to the hospital.

You were pretty sure he broke every traffic rule trying to get you there, but you were too delirious to make sense of anything.

There were flashes—headlights streaking past, the sharp sound of honking, Quinn muttering curses under his breath. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel, gripping it so tightly it looked like he was trying to keep the entire world from falling apart. Everything blurred together, a mess of fragmented memories you couldn’t quite piece together. Then—hospital lights, the sterile chill of the emergency room, the sharp sting of antiseptic in the air. Unfamiliar hands everywhere, pressing, prodding, asking you questions you couldn’t answer to, trying to assess you. 

But through it all, there was Quinn.

You could hear him above everyone else, snapping at nurses, demanding someone check your vitals. You see a brief scene of him hovering so close they had to physically push him back. He only relented—barely—when they hooked you up to an IV, but even then, his eyes stayed locked on the bag, on the heart rate monitor, almost as if he didn’t trust them to do their job fast enough.

You see him pacing, checking your chart, running a hand through his already messy hair before he all but rips open the curtain to leave the small station they’d set up for you in the emergency room. You hear faint voices coming from outside as he pries them for updates. You hear muffled sounds of him pulling rank when they enter the room. Leveraging whatever he could to get information out of them until someone actually listened. Until they moved quicker, until you got better faster.

“C’mon, I’ll get you guys good tickets to the next Canucks game—just get them in a room.”

“Sir, we’re doing the best we can, but the combination of dehydration and exhaustion isn’t something to overlook. Especially with a fever starting to set in.”

Quinn groaned, a sound of pure impatience. “Then at least get them out of this damn hallway. Somewhere quiet where they can actually rest.”

“I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

More muffled voices. A heated back-and-forth. You couldn’t focus on it, the exhaustion pulling you under.

The next thing you knew, you were moving. Or maybe the bed was.

Where? You didn’t know. But sleep was already dragging you down before you could figure it out.

Finally, finally, your eyes flutter open. The room is hazy, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above you, but you're awake. Awake enough to function.

“Quinny,” your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it’s enough. He’s at your side instantly, like he was just waiting for a sign, any sign, that you were still with him.

His touch is gentle, the back of his hand brushing your forehead, checking for any lingering fever before his fingers find yours. He links them together like he’s afraid to let go, pressing a firm kiss to your knuckles. Like he needs the contact to ground himself.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, his voice low and strained. “Don’t do that again.”

You blink up at him, still dazed, but the sheer worry in his expression makes your chest ache. His jaw is tight, shoulders tense like he’s still running on the adrenaline of getting you here. Like he hasn’t let himself breathe properly until now.

“Come here,” you murmur, barely able to lift your hand, but reaching for him anyway. “Please.”

He exhales sharply, like he wants to argue, but one look at you, and it’s over. He doesn’t hesitate, just climbs into the impossibly small hospital bed without a second thought.

It wasn’t meant for two people, but he makes it work, shifting until you’re tucked against his chest, his arms caging you in, careful of the IV in your arm. You feel the weight of his body, the warmth of him, and suddenly, everything feels a little less cold.

“They didn’t even want to give you a proper bed,” he huffs against your hair, his grip tightening like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again. “Had to make a fucking scene.”

You smile weakly, pressing your cheek against his hoodie. “Of course you did.”

Quinn lets out a breath, finally, finally relaxing for the first time since you collapsed. His fingers trace absentminded circles on your back, soothing, grounding. “Next time, just drink the damn water,” he mutters, and you can almost hear the pout in his voice.

“And get some sleep,” he adds, softer this time, like he knows you’re already slipping under again.

You hum, your body melting into his, exhaustion pulling you under. But as long as his arms are around you, you figure you’ll be okay.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (50/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Reunited.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of fingering and cunnilingus), alcohol consumption, fluff and angst and everything in between

Word Count: 4.7k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: this is part one of the dream I had over two years ago. I'm so proud of what the story has turned into. I love you so much. feedback is appreciated!

Charles: I can’t wait to have you back in my arms tomorrow evening. 

You smile at your phone, fuzzy blanket tucked underneath your chin and feet resting comfortably in Kikas lap. 

You: Next time you go to training camp, I’ll come with you. Take some professional pictures for your Instagram like my job description says. 

Charles: And here I thought you liked the picture I sent you. It‘s not really professional, but I gave my absolute best. 

He gave his absolute best, indeed. Even though the both of you didn’t text that much in the last few days, he made sure to send you a picture of him in case you miss his face. Even though his face wasn’t visible at all in the photo that showed his abs, boxer briefs and thighs.  

Not that you’d ever complain about that. 

You: I loved the photo. 

Charles: Next time I’ll let you take those pictures of me. But maybe with you in them as well. 

You: Is that an offer to sit in your lap again?

You press the send button and put your phone back next to you on the couch, gaze now fixed on the TV. It’s a re-run from Vampire Daries, the episode where it shows that Damon met Elena first. It’s one of your best friends favorites. 

When your phone lights up again, you take a look at the message that popped up on your lockscreen. 

Charles: As long as you’re naked.

You raise your eyebrows at the blunt text, blood rushing to your ears as you stare at your phone. The last few days consisted of quick good mornings, tired good nights and longing I miss yous but this – this makes you hot and bothered. 

A promise of what he’ll do to you once the both of you are back home. 

Charles: I really can’t wait to start the new year with you by my side. 

How can he go from a text that makes you wet to one that makes your heart skip a beat? You purse your lips and smile at your phone. 

„What are you smiling at?“, the Portugese woman asks, hand in a bowl of popcorn. With one inelegant move she grabs as much popcorn as possible and shoves it into her waiting mouth. 

„I’m not smiling“, you lie, grabbing your wine glass from the coffee table and taking a sip. You’re hit with a few popcorn pieces. „Hey! What –„

„Don’t lie to me, querida“, Kika grins. „I may have already had three glasses of wine, but I’m not stupid.“ She raises her eyebrow, waiting for you to answer, even though she already knows the answer to her question. 

You toss her your phone and, like the best friend she is, she unlocks your phone with your pin. Your chat with Charles pops up immediately. “The last message,” you say, and Kika reads the chat carefully. When you remind her that you only want her to see the last message, she sighs. 

“You two are even worse than Pierre and I when we're apart,” she jokes, slowly scrolling up. "It almost hurts how sappy it is." At one message, she throws her head back and laughs before looking at you with a pout. “'I miss you so much it hurts,'” she reads Charles' message from last night. 

You roll your eyes in mock annoyance. ‘I know what it says.’ You lean forward and try to get your phone back, but Kika is faster than you and turns away. 

“'Just one more sleepless night and then I'll finally have you back again.' My goodness.” Kika breathes out heavily. "I should show your chat to Pierre. He could definitely learn something from your sentimental messages.”

“Kika,’ you warn her, putting your glass back on the table and watching her scroll on.

“'The bed is so empty without you,'“ the brunette continues. ‘’When I'm with you again, I'll keep you in bed and taste your body until –”'”

“Okay, that's enough.” You grab your phone in a flash and sit on it so Kika doesn't get the temptation to take it from you. Blood rushes to your cheeks – and the warmth in your face is definitely not coming from the alcohol. 

“Spicy texts,” she grins, raising her wine glass in a toast to you. "I wouldn't have thought of you as the kind of people who sext each other."

You take the bowl of popcorn and pop a piece into your mouth. ”We don't sext.”

Kika purses her lips into a narrow line and raises her eyebrows. “That didn't sound at all like it. I was scared I was going to come across a nude photo of one of you two.”

You throw a piece of popcorn at her. "There are no nudes, Kika." At least none where either of you is really naked. 

“Phew. Thank God,” she grins and takes a sip of wine. She draws it through her teeth once before swallowing. Her gaze is curious when you look at her. ”I thought you two hadn't had sex yet. At least that was the case a few days ago. Did I miss something?”

You shake your head. “We haven't had sex.”

“But you've already kissed.” When your gaze wanders from her to the TV, she sits up a little straighter. She puts her glass down with a cool expression on her face to place her hands on your ankles. Her eyebrows raised, she looks at you in surprise. “Don't tell me –”

“We haven't kissed yet,” you quietly confirm her thought, as if you didn't dare to say the fact that you both have done a lot together, but haven't kissed yet. 

Somehow the sentence leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

Kika reaches for the remote and pauses the episode before turning back to you. “Why not, if I may ask? I mean...” She pauses to think about how to phrase her sentence without offending you. “Your texts are not exactly G-rated.”

You roll a piece of popcorn between your thumb and index finger. “If I knew, I would tell you,” you reply, examining the snack in your fingers as if it contained all the answers you need to define your relationship – or whatever it is between Charles and you. 

The Portuguese woman purses her lips. “But – you want to kiss him, don't you? Or don't you want tiramisu anymore?”

You shrug. "Nothing has changed." You exhale quietly. "Absolutely nothing.”

Kika tilts her head and looks at you. "That's the problem, isn't it?”

You sit up straight, too, placing the bowl of popcorn between your crossed legs. “It's weird. It is weird, isn't it? We – after the party, when Charles practically dragged me out of the club, he –” You take a deep breath and try to sort out your thoughts so as not to jump from topic to topic. You run your fingers through your hair. “We didn't kiss. He fingered and ate me out, but when I tried to get close to him and touch him, he blocked me. Which is fine in itself – but I –”

Kika, noticing your frustration, grabs your hand and squeezes it gently. “You don't know exactly where you stand,” she finishes your sentence. 

You breathe out and nod slightly. “I mean – isn't it strange that he wants my body but doesn't kiss me? Or doesn't let me touch him? Kissing is actually something you normally do before – before all the other things.”

Your best friend licks her lips. ”Actually, yes.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I didn't sleep with Raphael back then because I didn't feel safe in the relationship – and my gut feeling definitely didn't deceive me.” You shake your head slightly. “And now, with Charles, I feel safe. But he –”

Annoyed by the situation, you close your eyes and lean back against the armrest, putting your forearm over your face. You feel bad that you want to rip Charles' clothes off and kiss him until you can't breathe anymore when he obviously doesn't want it. 

Or rather – wants something else. Unfortunately, you don't know what exactly. 

“Hey.” Kika's voice is gentle as she strokes the back of your hand with her thumb. ”You two have only known each other for – what – two weeks? You were forced to be roommates before you were even friends. It's only natural that your dynamic would change.” She slides a little closer to you on the couch. “From the beginning, you were destined to be more than just people sharing an apartment. I saw that the very first night we met.”

You remember the dinner very clearly. When Charles was so rude to you because he had spoken to Annika, but you two had made up again. When you shared the tiramisu – the tiramisu that became synonymous with the attraction between you and the Monegasque between you and Kika. When you touched for the first time – only through your clothes, but you could still feel the warmth of his skin. 

She purses her lips into a narrow line. “It was obvious from the start that there was more between you. Even if you couldn't admit it to each other back then.” She tilts her head. “Why do you think Charles wasn't so thrilled that you got along so well with Lando right away?”

You mumble through your arm. “When he came back from Maranello, he explained that he was jealous of our friendship and worried that we – Lando and I – might become a couple and we – Charles and I – would no longer be friends.”

“Bullshit.” Kika's voice sounds cutting. 

Confused, you sit up and look at her, your arm falling into your lap. “Excuse me?”

“Bullshit,” the Portuguese woman repeats. “You're right that Charles was jealous, definitely. Even the people on the other side of the table could see that. But not about your friendship with Lando. But because you got along so fabulously within a few hours that Lando knew exactly what you definitely wouldn't eat off the menu.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “We talked about it when we ran into each other at the supermarket and he helped me find the groceries,” you explain to her, as if you had to justify yourself. 

Kika gently pats your hand. “It doesn't matter where or when you talked about it,” she says at some point. “Someone you only knew for a few hours knew something about you that your roommate should have known. And you'd only known Charles for a few days, had argued twice, and then there was someone else who got along with you so well from the start and made you laugh?” She shakes her head slightly. "Charles was never jealous of your relationship with Lando and the possibility that he might lose you as a friend because of it.”

You're at a loss. "Then what?”

Your best friend takes a deep breath. “He was jealous that Lando took his chance before he did. His chance to be closer to you than mere friendship would allow.” She squeezes your hand again. “Charles definitely feels more for you than friendship, querida. And everyone except you can see it.”

You look at her, raising your eyebrow. “Did he tell you that? Or Pierre?”

Kika presses her tongue into her cheek. “No, but –”

“You see?” you reply and pull your hand away from her, propping your elbows on your knees. “I don't know what's going on in his head. And he's not telling me either. Which is perfectly fine. But how am I supposed to feel when he – when he apparently only wants my body but not me?”

She opens her mouth to say something, but closes it again. 

“I know that the breakup with Annika really affected him,” you continue. "And that's totally understandable. I mean, who wants to catch their girlfriend in bed with another man?" You run your fingers through your hair in frustration. ”I can understand it, really. But – I don't know – if you're really right, then I don't understand why he only wants my body and not me. He would kiss me otherwise, wouldn't he?”

You have the feeling that your thoughts definitely made more sense in your head. But now they are spilling out of you like a shaken bottle of coke. 

“I – I don't know if I can take this. Raphael – when he didn't get my body, he looked for another one, or rather several others. He didn't want me, just my body. I'm afraid it's the same now.” You look away. "I don't think I can get over something like that again. It was already difficult with Raphael, but Charles – Charles means so much more to me than Raphael ever did. Charles is my home. My one and only.”

“Maybe he's also worried that you don't feel the same way about him,” she interjects. "Have you told him?”

“That I love him? No, I haven't.”

Kika blinks at you silently. ’You — you love him?”

You stare at her as if pink elephants were floating around her head. It's the first time you've said it out loud. And contrary to your expectations, your worries and fears, which you brought with you as a legacy from your relationship with Raphael, it feels right. 

Tears well up in your eyes. “I love him.”

Kika can't stop the smile that spreads across her beautiful face. Like a little girl, she throws herself in your direction and wraps her arms around you, pressing herself against you. “I'm so proud of you, querida.” She kisses your cheeks. “So unbelievably proud.” She pulls away from you and wipes the tears from your cheeks with her thumb. 

You look at her, confused. “Proud?” Your voice trembles with excitement. You actually said it. You can hardly believe it. 

“Incredibly proud. You let your walls come down even though you were hurt so badly.” Now tears are welling up in her eyes as well. ”You let love into your heart. Passion. You're ready to be loved, sweetheart. The greatest adventure in the world. I'm so incredibly proud of you.”

The two of you embrace for another moment before your friend pulls away from you and jumps up from the couch. She grabs her laptop and googles shops that sell dresses suitable for tomorrow's occasion. 

“We'll go shopping tomorrow morning and get you a dress that will take Charles's breath away,” she grins, cuddling up next to you under the covers. "We'll buy you a dress that he can't wait to rip off you." She smiles at you. ”And he'll kiss you. I'd bet money on that, too.” Before she clicks through the internet any further, she grabs the remote and presses play. 

You wipe a tear from your eye before leaning your cheek on her shoulder to watch her browse. In the background, you hear Damon speaking in the series:

“You want a love that consumes you. You want passion and adventure and even a little danger.”

It's as if he's speaking from your soul. 

-

You carefully get out of the cab, trying not to wrinkle your dress. With your purse on your shoulder, you walk up the few steps to the house where Kika's New Year's party is taking place. Your dress is baby blue, with a slit that reaches to the middle of your thigh and a back neckline that definitely doesn't allow for a bra. 

Kika did an amazing job dragging you through the various shops this morning, forcing you to try on countless dresses. 

And indeed, you found the perfect dress. 

“You look fabulous,” she smiles as she opens the door for you. There are already a lot of people in the background and music can be heard outside on the street. She kisses you on both cheeks. ”That dress was definitely the right decision. If Charles doesn't give you at least a New Year's kiss on the lips, I'll be happy to do it for him.”

Your girlfriend is wearing a black, sparkly dress with a cutout at the waist that accentuates her figure beautifully. She grabs your arm and pulls you through the crowd of people, all of whom are also wearing chic evening wear. 

You look her up and down and whistle. “You look hot, Kika,” you compliment her as she stops in the kitchen. “Maybe I'll take you up on that offer. Where's Pierre?”

“I have no idea. He's probably lurking around somewhere.”

While she mixes you a drink, you look around before taking your cell phone out of your handbag to see if Charles has sent you a text. 

But there is nothing. Since this afternoon, when he texted you that he was on his way back to Monaco. 

Kika notices your searching look. “He's not here yet.” She waits until you have put your cell phone back in its case before she hands you the almost full glass. “But don't worry. He'll definitely come. After all, he promised you.” She points to the large clock hanging next to the double-door refrigerator. “And he still has two hours before the new year begins.”

The next hour and a half feels like an eternity – no, two eternities. 

You chat with Kika and her friends, even Elena is there, and you win a round of beer pong with her, which looks pretty funny considering that all the guests are dressed as if they could go to the prom in a minute. 

The music is loudest in the huge living room, and the bass vibrates right through to your bones as the three of you dance and drink and enjoy the evening as if it were the last day. Which, in theory, it is. 

But no matter what you do, your thoughts are always with Charles. Is he already in Monaco? Or even on his way here to you? 

You have to actively stop yourself from checking your phone every five minutes in the hope that he has sent you his location or a message. These last few days you have missed him so much that you would like to call him to ask him where he is. 

And the more minutes pass, the closer midnight and the new year come – the more your stomach becomes queasy. 

With your jaw clenched, you stand in the bathroom and wash your hands, holding your wrists under cool water to get rid of the heat, but somehow it doesn't quite work. Your thoughts revolve around Charles. 

Charles, who you haven't seen in days. Charles, who you miss terribly. Charles, who you love. 

Charles, who apparently isn't going to show up at this party. 

When there's a knock at the door, you turn off the tap. “Occupied!”

The door opens and just as you're about to complain, Kika and Elena poke their heads into the bathroom. Their cheeks are red from alcohol as they join you and close the door again. 

Kika puts her arm around your shoulder while Elena leans against the wall. “He'll be here,” the Portuguese woman tries to cheer you up, as if she can read your mind. Apparently, it's written all over your forehead. 

You look at her, raising your eyebrows. “And what if he doesn't? There are only twenty minutes left until New Year.” You try to sound as neutral as possible, but you can still hear the tension in your voice.

“Who'll be here?” Elena asks, looking at both of you and taking a paper towel to moisten it a little at the sink. 

“Charles,“ Kika answers for you. When you give her a dirty look, she just shrugs. 

“Don't worry,” Elena smiles, stepping in front of you and taking your chin in your hand to wipe away the mascara under your eyes. “He's probably already outside looking for you.”

Kika nods eagerly. “Elena's right,” the model agrees. "Come on. You've been in here for far too long. We're going out there now and celebrating the New Year together," she says, leaving no room for discussion. She grabs your hands and pulls you both outside, where Pierre is leaning against the wall. The music is quieter here, more subdued, so you can even have a proper conversation.

“Where the heck have you been?” Kika pouts at him and puts her arms around his neck. "I haven't seen you in ages." She gently pulls him down to her and kisses him briefly before nestling against his side. "Doesn't she look great in that dress?" she asks, pointing at you and your gown.

Pierre smiles at you and kisses you on the cheek in greeting. “You look beautiful,” he says before kissing his girlfriend on the forehead. “But I still have the hottest date tonight.”

“And I don't think that's true,” you hear someone say behind you. The voice is warm and gentle and oh so familiar. When you turn around, he's standing there in dress pants and a shirt and absolutely perfect. ”Good evening, mon amour.”

You don't even try to hide your joy at seeing him again, which is why you immediately throw yourself at him. His muscular arms wrap around you and he lifts you up, before spinning you around briefly. 

When he sets you down, his warm hands remain on your hips, while yours rest on his cheeks. “Hi,“ you smile at him, trying to blink away the tears of joy gathering in the corners of your eyes. 

“Well, did you miss me?” he grins, his fingers spreading apart and now resting on your lower back, on your bare skin. 

Goosebumps spread out at the place where he touches you. As if it is the first time. As if you can't get enough of him. You smile. “Well,” you try to play down your emotions. “I finally had a whole bed to myself,” you joke. 

The Monegasque rolls his eyes playfully before pressing you closer to him. “In your messages, it sounded like you couldn't wait for me to lie next to you again,” he whispers, his warm breath caressing your face. 

You look up at him. “Maybe I was lying.”

“I doubt that very much,” he smiles at you. "I'm so glad to be with you again." He leans down to you and gently kisses your cheek as your hands slide down to his chest. ”Next time I'll really take you back to camp. I never want to be separated from you for so long again.”

You purse your lips. “It wasn't that bad.” Cheeky lie. 

He raises his hand and places his curved index finger under your chin to lift it up so that you look at him. His eyes sparkle in that beautiful green that you love so much. 

“It was absolute hell.”

“Maybe you two should just get married,” Kika interjects. You both turn your heads in her direction and stare at her in puzzlement. Pierre nudges her in the side. ”What? Sooner or later it'll happen anyway.”

“Okay, my darling. How much have you had to drink?” Pierre asks her, as he throws you an apologetic smile and then wraps his arm around his girlfriend's waist to lead her away from you both. Elena gives you a quick wink and follows the couple. 

Charles leans against the wall, but pulls you with him so that his hands are back on your hips and you are standing between his legs. “You look beautiful in that dress,” he smiles, letting his fingers slowly travel over the fabric on your butt before sliding up over your bare back. “Did you know that it's my favorite color?”

The smile on your face grows wider. “Maybe.” Your arms wrap around his middle. “I missed you so much,” you answer his question from earlier. 

His hand gently caresses your shoulder blades before his fingers carefully find their way to the back of your neck, holding you there. “Never again without each other,” he whispers, as if it were a promise meant only for your ears. 

You nod slightly. “Never again without each other.”

In the background, you can hear the other party guests beginning to count down the minutes to midnight. You both glance towards the door. 

“We should get back to the party,” you say, pushing away from him, just a little, because you can't get any further with his hand on the back of your neck. “So we can start the new year together with the others.”

“I'm not interested in the others,” he says, but follows you back to the party. ”As long as I have you, I don't care about the others.”

His words make your blood rush to your cheeks. 

It’s like his presence makes you see everything more vibrant. The air in the apartment seems to shimmer in golden light, a haze of champagne bubbles and glow of string lights wrapped around the ceiling beams. Things you haven’t noticed before, because you were so focused on Charles��� absence. The both of you come to a halt next to Kika and Pierre, the first one handing the both of you champagne glasses. 

„You ready?“, she smiles at you, raising one eyebrow. 

Now is the time. The breaking point. The start of it all - or the end before it even really started.

You nod slightly. „I’m ready.“

You stand beside Charles, his free hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you so close against him that not even a sheet of paper would fit between the both of you. But even though his hand is on your bare skin, he doesn’t seem close enough. You can smell his cologne – something crisp and familiar, laced with memories of late-night drives and inside jokes and pillow talks. You steal a glance at him, your heart stumbling over itself. 

He laughs about something Pierre shouts at him, dimples flashing, his green eyes catching the chandelier light in a way that makes your breath hitch. You’ve known him for two weeks – two fucking weeks – but it seems like you’ve known him since forever. The way his voice sounds all raspy and deep when he wakes up. The way his eyes light up when he talks about something he’s passionate about. The way he makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room who truly matters to him. 

And yet, he has no idea. 

All around you, the energy shifted. The crowd tightened, turning towards the big TV screen mounted on the wall, where the countdown was shown. 

Ten. Nine. Eight. 

Your pulse quickens. Your heart beats so fast, that you fear it’ll break through your ribcage. You inch even closer, pressing yourself against his side. You can feel his body heat through your dress, something you missed the last few days. It’s been two weeks of skirting around the truth, of stolen glances and unsaid words and hesitant touches, and you don’t know if you can bear another second o fit. 

Charles shifts beside you. You can feel it – the way his body stiffens, the way his breath falters. 

Seven. Six. Five. 

Then, just as you lift your head, he leans down. It would take nothing to close the space between your lips. Just an inch. Maybe less. You can feel his breath on your face. 

He says your name, whispers it in a room full of people who shout numbers, but all you can hear is him. His voice is raw. A plea. A warning somehow. 

Four. Three. Two. 

He closes his eyes, his forehead brushes against yours and the closeness makes your pulse stutter. Every little detail of him is magnified – the different shades of green, the tension in his jaw, the fingers tightening around your hip, curling into your flesh like he’s afraid of letting you go. Like you’d slip out of his reach if he loosens his grip.  

One.

His eyes snap open, dark and conflicted. 

You push yourself up, not even an inch, and Charles – 

Charles pulls away. 

Happy. Fucking. New Year. 

[fluentmoviequoter]

Last Day to Live

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: You take a shot meant for someone else, and your boyfriend Tim Bradford has conflicting thoughts about your actions.

Warnings: brief angst, r is shot, Tim yells a lot, fluff at the end, canon typical warnings (suicide by cop attempt, domestic violence call)

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

A/N: I chose to make r a member of 20-David Squad (29-David) and envisioned this being the same reader/Tim dynamic as People Like Us, but it can be read alone!

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“There is absolutely no way that’s true,” Street states, shaking his head. “Tell the truth or I’m telling Deacon.”

“Telling Deacon what?” you question with a smile. “That I hurt your feelings?”

“Don’t make me separate you two again,” Deacon says as he enters the situation room.

“She started it,” Street grumbles. 

“Sure she did,” Deacon replies, glancing at you.

“29-David!” Hondo calls. “Mid-Wilshire is requesting assistance in your neighborhood. Domestic call went sideways and the husband barricaded himself and his wife in the house. Want to go?”

“Yes, sir,” you answer. “All hands?”

Hondo shakes his head, and Deacon offers, “I’ll go with.”

“Wait- if I go, will you buy me lunch?” Street interjects. 

You stop at the door, then say, “Thanks, Deac. I’ll drive.”

“What’s going on?” you ask as you approach a patrol car. 

“Neighbor called to report a domestic dispute,” Officer John Nolan explains. “Couple was in the yard when we arrived. Husband opened fire on us, then led his wife back into the house and barricaded the door.”

“Anybody made contact?” Deacon inquires. 

“No, sir.”

“Where’s your backup?” you ask. 

“Chen and Bradford are trying to find a way in,” Nolan’s rookie Celina answers. “The neighbor said one of their windows was broken and accessible from the ground.”

You look over the top of the patrol car to survey the house. Deacon nods beside you, then tells you to stay with him as he approaches the door. With your helmets on, you move carefully along the fence to reach the front porch. 

“Psst,” someone hisses. 

Deacon raises his fist over his shoulder, then gestures forward twice. You step to the side and see two familiar LAPD officers ducked beneath a window. 

“The wife’s in this room,” Tim whispers. “Interior door’s closed.”

“Eyes on the husband?” Deacon asks. 

Lucy shakes her head, and Deacon points you toward the window. You circle Deacon and kneel beside Tim before sending Deacon a thumbs up. He nods, then moves toward the door. 

“Can I get a hand up?” you ask Tim. 

He moves onto one knee before lowering his hands. You lift your foot onto his thigh and secure your gun on your back before reaching for the windowsill. 

Deacon knocks loudly and calls, “LAPD SWAT! Come to the door and open it slowly with both hands visible!”

With his cue, you push off Tim’s leg and pull yourself up as he lifts your leg to help you inside. 

“Shh,” you direct when the injured woman looks up. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

“He’s coming back,” she warns you. 

Looking between her and the door, you raise your hand to your radio to communicate, “Three.”

If her husband is at the door by Deacon, he shouldn’t know what your alert means: that you're taking his wife out the three-side of the house. You help the woman up and move her to the window quietly. She stops when she sees Tim outside, so you say, “He’s going to help you. I promise. I trust him, and you can too.”

She nods, then lets you lift her up into the opening before taking Tim’s hands and holding onto him as he lowers her gently to the ground. You turn away from the window after you're sure she's okay and move toward the bedroom door. 

“Rabbit! He’s heading toward the back door,” Deacon radios. 

You attempt to calculate his steps, then kick the door open and step into the hallway with your gun raised. Your timing is good enough that the suspect nearly runs into you. 

“LAPD SWAT,” you introduce. “Drop your weapon. You don’t want to piss me off any more, I guarantee that.”

Deacon enters the hallway from the other end, and the man tenses his jaw in a silent admission of defeat before dropping his gun and lifting his hands above his head.

“Not bad,” you muse as you approach Tim’s shop. 

“Say thanks, Tim,” Lucy urges. 

“Thanks for the assist,” Tim says. 

“If you think you can handle it from here, I’ll see you tonight.”

Tim nods, and you smile at him before you return to Deacon’s side. Lucy watches you get in the grey Charger before she asks Tim, “Why weren’t you nicer? Showing affection isn’t a bad thing, you know.”

“This is work, Chen,” Tim reminds her. “When it’s not, I’ll act like it’s not.”

A week later, you sit in Black Betty as Luca rushes toward a Code 99 call from Mid-Wilshire. You know an officer is in grave danger, but you don’t know who. Taking deep, measured breaths, you focus on doing your job. 

“Hicks texted,” Hondo says. You open your eyes to see he’s looking directly at you before he says, “It’s not Bradford.”

“Who is it?” you ask. 

“He didn’t say. Just that half their division is there and they haven’t had any communication with the officer since he sent out the call for help. Can you do this?”

“Yes,” you reply. “It’s a police officer in danger. Regardless of who it is, I’m here, Hondo.”

“I’m here too,” Street interjects. “If you were curious.”

"We weren't," Tan assures him.

“15 seconds,” Luca alerts.

“Sergeant Grey’s waiting for us at mobile command,” Deacon says. “A cop’s life is at stake. Let’s do this right.”

You feel Street’s hand against your shoulder before you tap Deacon. He moves around the corner and leads you into the backyard of the suspect’s home. The homeowner called 911 and begged for help, then, when the responding officer arrived, he lured him inside and shot an innumerable amount of AR-15 rounds into his shop. The officer radioed a Code 99 nearly twenty minutes ago but hasn’t been heard from since, Wade explained before you moved onto the property.

“Any sign of our caller or brother in blue?” Hondo asks in your earpiece. 

“Back door is wide open,” Deacon replies lowly. “No sound or movement from the three side.”

“Limited penetration entry?” you ask. 

“Back door is open,” Deacon repeats. “Hondo, should we flash bang and move in?”

“Negative,” Hondo replies. “He’s heavily armed and has an officer hostage. Let’s not scare him.”

“We have to do something,” Street interjects. 

“Who’s out there?” someone yells from inside. 

You look at Deacon and raise your brows. Street moves to your side and holds his gun on the door. 

“LAPD SWAT!” Deacon replies. “C’mon out and we can end this before it gets worse.”

“Worse?” the man repeats before laughing. “This is worse.”

“Keep him talking,” Luca requests. “We’ve got a way in.”

Deacon takes a measured step forward, but before he continues speaking, the police officer stumbles out of the door and sprawls out in the grass, unmoving. You jerk your hand forward to stop Street as the shooter exits the door with an AR-15 in one hand and a .357 Magnum on his hip. 

“Go ahead,” he says, spreading his arms as he moves toward you. “Shoot me.”

“Sir, drop the weapon,” Deacon demands. 

He smiles and drops the AR as he takes another step. Deacon moves his elbow toward the injured officer, and you cover Street as he prepares to render first aid. 

“I said shoot me,” the man repeats. “You know you want to.”

“I want you to drop the gun and put your hands up,” Deacon says. “This doesn’t have to end with you in a body bag.”

The man clicks his tongue, then raises the .357, flipping it in his hand as he looks at it. “Everybody dies.”

“20 squad,” Wade radios. “Bradford, Chen, and Nolan are heading toward you.”

“Drop the gun!” Luca demands as he enters the backyard from the other side of the house. 

You watch the armed suspect closely, keeping an eye on which direction his shoulders are moving. Street whispers behind you, urging the officer to hold on, and you're going to make sure he gets a chance to do just that.

“What do you want me to do?” the man asks. “Let you get this officer some help? The way you helped my brother, when you put him in prison and he was killed?”

“Sir, you don’t have to go out like he did,” Hondo points out. “There’s a better way to make a difference.”

“There sure is.”

The man glances toward the injured officer, and he moves slightly, twisting his shoulders in your direction - in Street's direction. You don’t hesitate to drop your gun and shove Street flat onto the grass. A single, crisp firing sound fills your ears as you fall toward him. 

You hear Tim yell as a scuffle ensues behind you. Handcuffs clip less than twenty seconds later, and you groan in response. 

Two sets of hands land on you, one on your legs and the other on your shoulders. A familiar palm presses against the side of your neck in a desperate search for your pulse. 

You cough as your eyes open, your chest tight and burning. Above you, Tim’s shoulders drop in relief, and he shifts to sit flat beside you. 

“Don’t ever shove me out of the way like that again,” Street demands, pushing your legs and then looking at your face to ensure you’re okay. 

Tim’s expression shifts from concern to something like disappointment. He removes his hand from you as Deacon calls for a medic. 

“I’m okay,” you assure as you fail to sit up. 

Your team smiles in collective relief, but you can’t crack a joke before Tim’s mood shifts again. This time to anger. 

“What is it about this job that makes you so willing to treat each day like it’s the last day to live?” he demands, standing as his chest heaves. 

“Tim, I-“

“No!” he snaps. “You put yourself in danger constantly. I understand that this job isn’t easy, that there are risks, but you don’t care. You rush toward moments like this, move into the line of fire on purpose knowing that people care about you! I need you to come home!”

“I’m trying to get everyone home,” you defend weakly, looking up at him as you clutch your side.

“By sacrificing yourself?” he yells. 

You look at Street, who is still sitting beside you, then at the rest of your team. They neither argue nor agree with him. 

“I didn’t think I’d have to spell this out for you,” Tim continues loudly. “But I hate when you do this. I’m sick of expecting a call telling me you aren’t coming back.”

“It scares me too,” you point out. “Of course I want to come home to you.”

“You don’t act like it!” 

Tim looks away from you, his mind racing. “You could have died not knowing how much you mean to me - how much I love you! I can’t go home alone and see my sock drawer, why can’t you understand that?” He doesn’t mean to mention the drawer where the velvet ring box is hidden, but he’s scared and angry and wishes you understood why it kills him to see you rush into danger as you do. 

“Tim,” you call softly. 

He looks at you, slumped in the grass with your hand pressed to your side and your teammate unharmed beside you. 

“I’m sorry,” you begin, pushing your hands against the ground as you fold one leg beneath yourself. 

“Stop,” he murmurs, moving to kneel beside you. “The medic’s here. Just- just wait.”

You nod and apologize again as he lays his hand over yours. 

“I’m really sorry,” you apologize, resting on Tim’s couch with Kojo’s head in your lap. “I get where you were coming from earlier. I want to come back to you, always. But they’re my family, and I want to keep them safe, too. Losing them scares me.”

“I get it,” Tim assures, rubbing circles on your shoulder where his hand rests, far from the painful, darkening bruise against your ribs. “Could you - maybe, from now on - try to think a little more about the outcome before you act?”

“I promise,” you agree before you kiss Tim’s hand. “I guess I could have just body slammed Street into the dirt and we both would’ve been okay.”

“See? Much better plan.”

“You just want me to mess with Street.”

“Maybe.”

Tim smiles and pulls you closer carefully, glad to have you home and on the mend. You weren’t gravely injured, but he didn’t know, and that was worse, he thinks. 

“Hey, why’d you mention your sock drawer earlier?” you ask. “Afraid you’ll have to do your own laundry again if I’m gone?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

You purse your lips and wait for his attention to ask, “What does that mean?”

Tim kisses you rather than answering, knowing your promise is meant. You’ll always return to him, even if you have to crawl. 

[mashtatosworld]

uhhhh can i ask you to write a fanfic about g-dragon x reader? about g-dragon immediately looking for the reader to cuddle with after leaving the spotlight😭🙌🏻 LMAO, so cool. soft,

:3 it would be great if you could write them hehe

city lights

summary: in which he's looking for home

The concert had been electric. The crowd had screamed his name, the stage lights had bathed him in neon purple, and the energy had been enough to make the stadium shake.

But Jiyong felt nothing.

Because you weren’t there.

You had warned him beforehand - I have a late night at work. I’ll try to catch the livestream, though. You said it so casually, not realising how deep it cut.

And now, standing in his dressing room, sweat drying against his skin, he ignored the celebrations, the cameras, the congratulations from staff. He stripped off his mic pack, shrugged on his jacket, and walked straight past everyone, heading for the car waiting outside.

His manager called after him. The afterparty was expecting him. The industry elite would be waiting, but he didn’t care.

Because you weren’t there.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

It’s almost midnight when your phone buzzes.

Ji 🦖: You done yet? xxx

Jagi 🦕: just wrapping up! why? 💗

You don’t get an answer. Instead, twenty minutes later, a shiny black car pulls up outside your office. The tinted window rolls down just enough for you to see him still in his concert outfit - messy dark hair, stage makeup smudged, silver jewellery glinting under the streetlights.

Your eyebrows lift. “...Jiyong?”

“Get in,” he says, voice rough with exhaustion.

You hesitate for only a second before slipping inside. The moment the door shuts, he exhales sharply, pulling the car away swiftly, his hand immediately finding your thigh. You can feel the cold from his rings through your tights.

“What are you doing here? You should be celebrating,” you murmur, tossing your bag onto the back seat. "Its your first show in Seoul."

He hums. “Didn’t feel like it.”

His tension was visible in the tight hold he had on the wheel. You watch him for a moment, one of your shared playlists filled the silence of the car ride.

"I watched the concert from my phone," You say gently as he turns a corner without indicating, his fingers already occupied with gripping your leg firmly. "You were amazing - as always."

"I forgot the lyrics to 'A Boy'," He sighed, shaking his head. "I was distracted."

He sped the car up, exceeding the speed limit to make the lights before they changed. He glanced at you briefly.

You nodded slowly. "Oh. Well it's ok to make mistakes."

"I have ten more shows to go." Jiyong tutted, annoyance dripping in his voice.

He was on the last leg of the tour, ending in your own city of Seoul, yet you could only attend a couple of the shows since work had rejected all of your holiday.

You had to hide your phone from Jiyong when you told him - the superstar fully prepared to ring your boss and speak to him personally.

The constant performing over the last couple of months had taken a toll on him. Not just physically, but mentally. The long nights, the constant travel, the loneliness that lingered even in crowded arenas. And you weren’t there tonight, again, and it had shaken him more than he dared to admit.

“Ji,” you say softly. “Pull over.”

His brows furrow. “Why?”

“Just - pull over.”

He listens. The car slows to a stop on a quiet street, streetlights washing over the sleek black paint. The city hums in the background, but inside the car, it’s just the two of you.

You turn to him, taking in the dark circles beneath his eyes, the way his fingers tremble slightly as he rubs them together.

“You’re exhausted,” you murmur, reaching up to brush a damp strand of hair from his forehead.

His lips press into a thin line. “I just… I hate this.”

“Hate what?”

“This.” He gestures vaguely, his voice dropping. “Being away. Not seeing you. Going back to an empty hotel room when all I want is to come home to you.”

Your heart clenches. “Jiyong…”

“I don’t get why you won’t come.” His voice isn’t accusatory - just tired. Defeated. “I have the money, you know that. I’ll take care of everything, you wouldn’t have to worry about -”

“Ji,” you cut in, firm but gentle. “It’s not about that.”

His jaw clenches. “If we were married, you wouldn’t even think twice.”

You freeze.

There it is. The thing he keeps hinting at, the thing that makes your stomach twist because you know he’s serious.

“Jiyong,” you say slowly. “We’ve only been dating less than a year.”

“So?” His eyes search yours. “I know what I want.”

Your breath catches, but you don’t look away.

For a moment, there’s only silence. The weight of his words hangs between you, thick and unspoken. He’s not asking - not yet. But he’s laying it out, clear as day.

You exhale softly and unbuckle your seatbelt.

He blinks, and you barely give him time to react before you’re climbing over the centre console and straddling his lap, pulling him into your embrace. He lets out a breath, melting against you. His arms wrap around your waist, and you feel the tension leave his body as he breathes you in, his head dropping to your shoulder.

You run your fingers through his hair, slow and soothing, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

“I know this is hard,” you murmur. “And I know you want more. But let’s just… be here for a second, okay?”

His grip tightens. “Okay.”

For now, that’s enough.

The city moves around you, but inside this car, in this moment, nothing else exists.

And as Jiyong buries his face in your neck, breathing you in like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, you realise -

He isn’t just looking for comfort.

He’s looking for home.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

as requested! i hope this is ok

taglist: @petersasteria , @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull

[half-of-a-gay]

i’ve never done this before clearly but : rugby player sevika x teams manager reader , PLEASE AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!!!!

my first request 🤭🤩🤗

Rugby player!Sevika x Team manager!Reader

Sevika was a force on the field—unstoppable, relentless, a powerhouse in every sense of the word. She was the kind of player who made opponents hesitate before getting in her way, and the kind of teammate who turned a losing game into a victory with sheer determination. She had the scars to prove it, the muscle to back it up, and the confidence that made her damn near impossible to ignore.

Except when it came to you.

You, the team manager who kept things running smoothly—ordering equipment, organizing travel schedules, making sure their bruised and battered bodies had ice packs and painkillers ready after every brutal game. The one person Sevika, the unshakable, unbreakable rugby star, could barely string two sentences together around.

It was ridiculous, really. She could trash-talk a 200-pound forward without flinching, could carry half the team on her back if needed, but the second you looked at her with that easy smile, clipboard in hand, asking how her shoulder was doing after last week’s game, Sevika forgot how to function.

She wasn’t the kind of person who talked about things.

Not about her injuries. Not about how exhausted she was. And definitely not about the way she felt whenever you so much as looked at her.

So she kept quiet. It was easier that way.

You, on the other hand, were everywhere—on the sidelines, running the team like a well-oiled machine. But Sevika noticed the small things, too. How you hooked your pen on the collar of your shirt when you weren’t taking notes. The way you chewed your lip when you were deep in thought. The fact that, no matter how chaotic things got, you always checked in on her first.

And that terrified Sevika. Because if she let herself believe you cared more about her than just another player on the team, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from wanting more. So she buried it.

Or at least, she tried.

She had survived another week of avoiding you at all costs. But the universe clearly had other plans.

"Sevika."

Your voice cut through the noise of the locker room, sharp and unrelenting, and she froze mid-step. She considered pretending not to hear you, but based on the look on your face when she turned around, that probably would’ve gotten her killed.

Shit. Caught.

Slowly, she faced you, schooling her expression into something bored, as if you weren’t standing there, arms crossed, looking at her like she was one wrong answer away from getting her ass handed to her.

"Yeah?" she drawled, leaning against the row of lockers with the kind of forced, lazy confidence that was supposed to hide the fact that you scared the shit out of her—and that she was, in fact, internally panicking.

"You’ve been ignoring my messages about your rehab schedule."

Damn. She knew she should’ve responded to those.

"I’ve been busy."

You arched a brow, unimpressed. "Too busy to let me know if your shoulder is still wrecked? That’s funny, because I saw you benching twice your weight in the gym yesterday."

Sevika exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of her neck. "It’s fine."

"It won’t be if you keep being stupid," you shot back, stepping closer.

Sevika tensed.

You were too close—close enough that she could smell your perfume, something soft, completely at odds with the sweat and adrenaline that clung to her skin.

Her brain short-circuited. She was not built for this.

"I—I’ll do the rehab, alright?" she muttered, suddenly very interested in the scuff marks on the floor. "I’ll text you back."

"You better."

You held her gaze for a second longer before stepping back, giving her just enough room to breathe again. But then—

"You do realize we have an away game next week, right?" you said, arms still crossed.

Sevika blinked. "Yeah?"

"And that you’re a starter."

"…Yeah?"

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose like she was the biggest headache of your entire existence.

"Sevika, we need you at full strength. We're all counting on you." Your voice softened, just barely.

Oh.

Sevika swallowed, her pulse skipping in her throat. You didn’t say it like the coach. Didn’t say it like she was just another player.

You said it like it meant something more, like she meant something.

Fuck.

Her chest tightened, words sticking to the roof of her mouth. "…I’ll take it easy," she finally muttered. "No promises, but—I’ll try."

You tilted your head, considering. Then, after a beat— "That’s the best I’m gonna get, huh?"

"Pretty much."

You sighed, shaking your head, but you were smiling—just a little.

"Fine," you said, turning to leave. But just as you reached the door, you glanced over your shoulder, smirking.

"Also, if you're gonna keep staring at me during practice, at least try to be subtle about it."

Sevika felt her heart stop.

You were already walking away, leaving her standing there like a complete idiot, blood roaring in her ears.

She was so screwed.

---

Sevika couldn’t stop replaying that moment in her head.

You knew she’d been staring. Had you known for a while? Were you just messing with her? Or— worst case scenario—were you dropping a hint because you wanted her to do something about it?

That thought lingered in her head all week, crawling under her skin in a way that no brutal tackle or grueling practice could. She spent every spare second convincing herself she should just make a move already.

And with the away game coming up—two nights out of town, stuck in a hotel together. Perfect opportunity. She could finally say something. Maybe ask you to grab coffee. Or a drink. Or hell, just talk to you like a normal person.

Yeah. She could do this.

Probably...

---

The away game was brutal. Hard hits. Fast plays. The kind of match that left blood on jerseys and bruises on ribs. Sevika played like she had something to prove—not to the opposing team, not to her coach, but to you.

She tackled harder. Ran faster. Every time she did something impressive, she flicked her gaze toward you, trying to catch a reaction.

And she did.

She saw the way you leaned forward when she broke through the defensive line. Saw how your fingers tightened around your clipboard when she slammed an opponent into the ground. You didn’t cheer, but you didn’t have to. Sevika wasn’t an idiot—she knew you were paying attention.

By the time the whistle blew, declaring their victory, she was covered in sweat and aching all over. But she barely felt it.

Because when she looked up, she caught the smallest smile on your lips.

And that? That made it all worth it.

The players were cheering, laughing, slinging arms over each other’s shoulders as they trudged off the field. You were waiting by the locker room entrance, already running through logistics in your head.

"Bus leaves at ten sharp," you reminded them. "Anyone late buys breakfast for the whole team."

Groans and grumbles followed, but Sevika barely registered them. She was already working through her next move.

This was it. Now or never.

---

Sevika liked to take the edge off with a drink after games. But she could handle her alcohol. She always kept her control—anything to keep the world from getting too close.

But tonight? Tonight, she let go.

Because the opportunities had been there. Moments to make a move, to say something, to do something. The bus ride, when you sat next to her, your knee brushing against hers. The hotel check-in, when you nudged her playfully after handing her room key. The post-game celebration, when you stood right there, close enough that she could've just—

But she hadn't.

Every single time, she hesitated, choking on the words before they could leave her mouth.

So, instead of dealing with that fact, she drowned it.

One drink turned into two. Two turned into five and more.

Which was how she found herself outside your hotel room door at 1 a.m., one hand braced against the frame, the other knocking—too soft at first, then a little more insistent when you didn’t answer right away.

When the door finally swung open, you were standing there, sleepy and so unfairly cute, wearing an oversized sleep shirt that hit mid-thigh. Your hair was messy, your voice groggy when you muttered:

"Sevika?"

She swallowed hard. Was she always this warm, or was that the alcohol?

"You gotta help me," she said, blinking slowly.

You sighed, already rubbing your temples. "Are you drunk?"

"My shoulder hurts," she said instead, leaning against the doorframe a little more, tilting her head at you.

"Sevika—"

"Can I come in?" She blinked up at you, purposefully softening her expression, just a little. "Please?"

You exhaled through your nose, stepping aside. "Five minutes."

That was a mistake.

Because the second she was inside, Sevika collapsed onto your bed, rolling onto her side with a dramatic groan.

You sighed, closing the door behind you. "I swear to God, Sevika—"

"Bed’s nice," she muttered into your pillow, voice way too soft for someone usually so gruff. She rolled onto her back, blinking up at you. "You’re nice."

You crossed your arms. "You said your shoulder hurt."

"It does," she whined, stretching her arms over her head, shamelessly putting her toned stomach on display beneath her hoodie. She peered up at you, smirking. "You gonna fix me up or what?"

You shot her a dry look. "You’re so full of shit."

"But you like me," she countered, her grin lazy, lopsided. "Don’t deny it."

You crossed your arms, raising an unimpressed brow. "Are you flirting with me right now?"

She smirked, slow and lazy. "Depends. Is it working?"

"Not even a little."

She pouted—actually pouted—before shifting to one side and patting the empty space next to her.

"Come here."

You scoffed. "Not happening."

"But my shoulder hurts," she whined, drawing out the last word like a sulky child. "And you’re all warm."

"You are not cuddling me, Sevika."

She huffed, rolling onto her stomach, muffling her next words into your blanket. "You’re cruel."

She peeked up at you, her hair falling over her face, her lips set in a dramatic little pout. "Please?"

"No."

She groaned again, rolling onto her back and throwing an arm over her face. "Ugh, fine. I’ll just die from shoulder pain. Right here. In your bed. Tragic, really."

You snorted. "You’ll be fine."

"You don’t know that," she grumbled, dropping her arm just enough to peek at you. "What if I wake up and it’s worse?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Sevika—"

"Just let me hold you for, like, five minutes," she bargained, voice pitiful. "It’s for medical reasons."

"Oh my God."

"Please?" she tried again, giving you the best puppy-dog eyes she could muster.

Not even you can resist those big gray eyes. So you fold. Of course you do. You pointed a finger at her. "You get one minute."

Before you could even finish sitting down, Sevika grabbed your wrist and pulled—not hard, just enough to throw you slightly off balance.

"Sevika—"

But before you could protest, she was already maneuvering you, shifting so that when you finally settled, her head was resting firmly against your chest, arms draped lazily around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She let out a content sigh, her breath warm against your collarbone.

You stiffened, praying she doesn't notice now hard your heart is pounding against your chest. "This is not happening. Get off."

"Shh." She nuzzled in closer, completely unbothered. "Shoulder hurts. This helps."

"I should’ve just let you suffer. You are so lucky you’re drunk," you muttered, glaring down at her.

She just sighed happily, tucking her face into the crook of your neck. Her grip tightening ever so slightly. "You smell so good," she murmured. "Like…flowers or something."

Your face heated. "Sevika—"

"Soft," she mumbled.

"I swear—"

"Mm." She hummed, already half-asleep.

You should’ve pushed her away. Should’ve made her move to her own bed.

But as her breathing slowed, as her body relaxed against yours, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to.

You just shook your head, turning off the lamp, very aware of the fact that Sevika—stoic, untouchable, intimidating Sevika—was currently curled up on your chest, sighing like she’d never been more comfortable in her life.

[defmaybe]

Sprint

PURPLE KISS’ Na Goeun x Male Reader

2.6k words

A/N: Very messy lmfao, thanks for reading as always! Part of @mintwithchoco's prompt exercise!

—

“You’re arriving at the halfway point of our cycle. I’m still perplexed why they don’t let you come in after this sprint ends!” Goeun says, clearly annoyed by the fact that you were accepted into the department in the middle of this mess. Still, you have to be a professional and accept this hardship, no matter how difficult it will be.

“Don’t worry, Miss Na. I can work with that,” you answer, trying to sound firm as you walk along with her through the floor, passing countless tables and your soon-to-be co-workers. The scent of lavender wafts into your nose. It’s different from what you’ve expected the office to smell, especially a tech-related office. Sounds of clicking keyboards ring through the floor. These people are clearly working hard, and you have a lot to catch up to them.

Goeun chuckles, clearly amused by your enthusiasm. “Well, if you need anything, just tell me or the other guys, alright? We won’t bite.”

“Yes, Miss Na.”

You two advance through the floor until you arrive at an unoccupied table. The table is empty, like empty-empty. There’s nothing on it, only a plug socket on the right of the partition.

“Here’s your desk!” Goeun says, palming her hands towards the table with a small smile. “Again, if there’s any problem, just ask us!”

“Sure, Miss Na.”

“Just call me Goeun. No need for formalities, really.”

—

Two weeks go by quickly. You find yourself caught in the web of the ever-growing project your team is working on. The sprint is harsh on you, punishing in its sheer complexity and size, but you fight through it. You double your efforts on the works, so determined to earn acceptance from your co-workers. You stay for the overtime (the money’s great). You polish your work. You try to be nothing short of resolute.

And it works.

Your first sprint is a success, and your contribution finds its place in the project. The stakeholders give you a few praises during the meeting, and ecstasy couldn’t even begin to describe the emotion you feel after that.

You aced it.

—

“Well, it seems that your first sprint went well. Congratulations!” Goeun cheers, raising her bubble tea for a toast, to which you shyly reciprocate along with your other co-workers.

“You did great! Especially considering you came in during the middle of it,” Jiwoong adds, giving you a thumbs up.

“I couldn’t do half as good as you did when I joined here. Good job!” says Sumin.

“I’m here because of you guys, so–thank you!” you say, smiling. They sure have helped you a lot. You were afraid at some point that they’d be annoyed with how frequently you’ve asked them for help, but it’s apparent that these guys are genuinely kind. You’re falling in love with this company, well, at least the department.

“To the new guy!” and Goeun leads another toast.

—

The rest of the day goes by quickly as you get absorbed into the whirlwind of work. More Python, more Pandas, and without knowing, it’s starting to get dark outside.

“Hey.” Goeun greets, peeking out from the partition with a small smile. “We’re not paying more after six, remember?”

You look at the clock, suddenly reminded of how much time has passed since your last bathroom break at three. “Oh, fuck, shit,” you mumble, quickly scrambling through the tabs you’ve opened through the day on your overworked laptop. “Let me–uh–”

“I’ll wait in front of the building.”

“Sure.”

—

The chilly night air blows through your body. White puffs of air leave your lungs as you walk along the street with Goeun. Your hands occasionally rub against each other in an attempt to retain some heat. A car passes by.

“So–why did you decide to become a programmer?” Goeun asks. The sounds of dry leaves crunching under your feet can be heard. Another car passes by.

“Oh, my mom, she works in tech, and I kinda didn’t know what to do when I had to go to college, so–yeah.” You let out a huff, looking downwards as you take strides after strides along the asphalt road. Another car passes by. “How about you? Why did you become a programmer?”

“I was also like you—don’t know what to do, and I did well in Python, so I kinda just–roll with that.”

Another car passes by.

She muses, looking up at the stars, “You know, I did wanna be a singer once when I was young.”

An image of Goeun, lost in the symphony, pops up in your head. You find it cute. 

You chuckle softly, out of endearment more than anything. 

“But I was afraid that I’d fail, so I kinda just, well, stick to programming instead, more reliable.”

“You seem like you’d make a brilliant singer, though.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Just a hunch.”

You continue walking along the street. You take a glance at her to find her eyes, and you feel something. It’s short-lived, but it’s definitely something. You don’t consider it much more than just an eye contact, though.

“What?” Goeun asks. You aren’t going to deny that she looks good tonight. The pairing of a black leather jacket and a white t-shirt fit her like a glove. She looks much better than your average programmer.

“Nothing,” you reply, before breaking eye contact and continuing to walk into the nocturne.

After a short while, you reach her apartment, very likely one of the rooms inside this 40-floor tower (unless she’s otherworldly rich). You’ve walked past it quite a fair few times. It’s not so far from your apartment, after all.

“See you on Monday, I guess?” you say, smiling. It’s almost your bedtime now.

“Wanna have something from my room before you go? I have a few beers,” Goeun invites you, her thumb pointing towards the building.

Your eyebrows arch slightly, hands shifting inside your pockets. You’re uncertain.

“I mean, a bottle can make you go a bit drowsy and stuff,” she continues, cocking her head towards the tower. “Should help you sleep better.”

—

“Nice room,” you say as you take a look around her place.

Goeun’s room is neat, spine-chillingly neat. It’s a small studio room meant for single-living. Everything is kept in its place. No stray strands of hair on the floor, no clothes lying around. She’s good at this.

“Can’t live in a dirty room, you know?”

“I get it.”

You settle yourself on her couch nervously. It’s your first time at her place, after all, gotta be a good visitor.

“Kirin or Hoegaarden?”

“Kirin, please.”

Goeun picks up a Kirin from her fridge before walking towards you. Her legs look longer than usual from this angle.

“To our next sprint,” she says, handing you the beer can, smiling. You take it.

Cold.

“Thanks.” You open the beer can with a loud pop. A fizzling sound can be heard. You take a swig of beer. The familiar bitterness and a hint of malt runs down your throat, and you’re sure your face contorts a little as you put the can down.

Tastes good as always. Well, for a beer.

Goeun takes a seat beside you. She reaches forward to pick up the tv remote on the table, before turning it on.

“What do you wanna watch?”

—

You forget what time it is, but after Crazy, Stupid, Love ends, the last Merseyside Derby at Goodison Park starts, and you two are glued to the screen.

“I’m going to miss this stadium a lot, been there once, and it was fucking awesome,” Goeun says, taking a sip of beer. There’s a pool of aluminium cans sitting on the table in front of you now. You’re feeling a little woozy as you open your fourth beer tonight.

“Lucky.”

The word brings out a chuckle out of Goeun. You can see from the corner of your eyes that she moves in closer towards you, but that’s the least of your concern right now.

She takes a glance at you. You can see in the corner of your eyes, and this time, you give her a reply, shooting a look back at her. She laughs softly. The soft glow of the television casts onto her face. It’s mostly dark blue from Everton’s kit. You can feel the effect of the alcohol dawning on you—dizzy, disoriented—and you realize that she looks good under any light. You look into her gorgeous eyes, and there’s something in them.

Want.

Need.

Lust.

You kiss her.

You get a taste of her lipstick flavor—intense, fruity. Your body shudders as she has her hand wander around your body, feeling every curve and contour of your body—touching, sliding down your frame with haste—and she stops right on your belt.

“Can I?”

“Sure.”

Your hands aren’t doing any better in straying away from this filth, pulling her towards you by her ass. She gasps into your mouth. It’s affecting her, and you go a little further, giving her butt a light squeeze. “God,” she gasps again. Her lips softly quiver against yours. Her tongue trembles. She’s nervous.

The tug on your belt pulls you closer into her tremored body. “Shit.” Her hands begin to undo the leather belt around your pants. It makes a slight scuffle with her, but it comes off, eventually.

“Lie down,” you say. Goeun’s flushing, all red, all anxious. She grabs onto the back of your head with her hand, pulling you down with her as she falls onto the couch, and you’re on top of her.

You draw your hands forward to her jeans' button, undoing it with haste. It makes a slight scuffle with you, but it comes off, eventually. You’re so, so close to her heat right now, and you couldn’t have asked for more for tonight.

“Fuck,” Goeun utters, writhing under you as your hand run along the hem of her panties. Her hips buck up to you—so wanton, so full of need. “Stop with the teasing already.”

You chuckle before pulling her garments down in a single swoop. Her glistening pussy is sitting just right there—below you, waiting to be filled with your throbbing cock inside your boxers. “Already wet?”

“I’m horny, that’s normal,” Goeun says, giggling. “You’re hard too, you know?”

“Thanks.”

With no more words, Goeun pulls your boxer down your legs. Your cock springs free from its fabric cage. You lower yourself closer to her wanton cunt, making a slight touch as you run your cockhead along her wet slit.

“Fuck,” she says, breathy. “What did I say about teasing, huh?”

You chortle before you push yourself into her pussy. Her breath comes out in a stuttering rhythm. Her eyes roll up in pleasure. She’s loving this.

“Fuck, goddamn,” Goeun rasps as you push yourself into her wet cunt. Her fingers dig into the back of your head, forcefully pulling you into a sloppy, drunken kiss.

Your hands slide under her white t-shirt for her chest as you thrust into her pussy while kissing her vigorously. You give her bra-clad tits a squeeze, eliciting a soft moan out of her lips.

“Fuck, this feels good,” Goeun huffs between the kisses, hand moving with your hips to push you into her warmth. Your bodies move in sync as if it’s a habit between the two of you. She feels so good. Her pussy feels so good.

The sound of kissing rings inside your ear as you try to take in how her body feels. You drag your lips down her jaw. She smells like spring. Her skin is so smooth, so soft. The notes she makes are chaotic, but you find it angelic. Her body writhes and spasms under you as you fuck her brains out. God, she’s perfect.

You double your efforts, pushing in deeper and faster with each stroke. She cries. She whimpers. She moans. Her body responds to you so well, pussy gripping your cock like a goddamn vice.

“Ugh–fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Goeun rasps, her face flushing with red as your hand wanders under her white tee, giving her firm breasts squeezes after squeezes. “You cock, god!”

You reply to Goeun with harsher thrusts; her notes grow higher and higher as you hit the sensitive spot deep inside her cunt. She’s lighting your synapses aflame, making you see stars around her gorgeous face. Your moans and hers are filling up the bluish room.

Goeun’s breathing grows shorter and shorter. Her moans climb higher and higher as she’s at the brink of her orgasm. “Shit, shit, I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” Goeun rasps, and you thrust into her with even more intensity. Your cock vigorously pumps into her wet cunt, so determined to bring her to her peak.

And she breaks. 

Her body spasms under you as the wave crashes into her. Goeun mewls, moans, cries under the sheer force of her orgasm. Her hips buck. Her eyes roll up. And suddenly, she grabs you by the collar again, pulling you into a deep kiss as you keep ravaging her spent cunt. The sound of flesh smacking echoes through the room, along with her filthy cries.

She slowly comes down from her orgasm as you keep fucking her through her peak. Goeun’s chest heaves up and down as she tries to recollect herself back up again.

Pulling back, she utters, “Fuck.”

“I know.”

And you are, again, dragged back by the collar to kiss her pouty lips.

“Cum in me,” Goeun says into the kiss, breathy, tired. “I want to feel that cock twitching inside my pussy. I want to feel your cum hitting my womb.”

The ever-so-used-to feeling is boiling inside your loins as your cock finds its rhythm in and out of Goeun’s cunt. Your hand is still playing with her bra-clad tits. Your fingers slide under the garment for her stiff nipple. She moans, struggling to keep up with the pleasure coursing through her body. It’s getting difficult for her to kiss you now.

“Gonna cum,” you whine, your tongue interlocking with hers messily. Her hand grabs onto the back of your head harsher, pulling you deeper into the kiss. The sound of it is obscene, but you’re too happy to care right now. The burning feeling is so strong right now. You need a release. You need a release.

“Do it, baby. Cum in my pussy.”

And you break.

Your cock shoots ropes and ropes of cum into Goeun’s wanting cunt. Your entire body shakes and spasms above her. You moan, whine, whimper, and cry into the kiss. Her pussy wraps your cock so fucking well, and you just fail to find any word to describe the feeling you’re feeling right now.

Fuck.

You connect your lips with her messily again. Your fingers latch onto her face as your tongues are busy exploring each other’s mouth. She finds a good grip on your ass and pulls your hips closer to hers, pushing your softening cock deeper into her cunt.

You pull back. Her bangs are a mess.

“We can’t tell anybody about this,” Goeun huffs, her chest still heaving from the sheer force of her orgasm. Her whole body flushes with red, but most importantly, she’s beaming, so full of joy.

“Sure, sure, Miss Na.”

Goeun chuckles, getting up from the couch as you get off her flushed body. “We should get cleaned up.”

“Round two in the shower?”

She shoots you a smile, before saying, “Definitely, maybe.”

—

[lulublack90]

Prompt 15 - Propose

@wolfstarmicrofic February 15, word count 527

Sirius checked and rechecked everything. He called the waiter over, and he reassured Sirius that he had it in hand. Sirius took a breath and threw his glass of whisky down his throat as he waited for Remus to arrive. 

The dinner went perfectly. Sirius was dressed in his favourite blue shirt, and Remus was in his favourite wool jumper, much to Sirius’s dismay. This was a nice place; he was honestly shocked they’d let him in. 

It was time for pudding, and Sirius knew exactly what Remus would pick. 

“I’ll have the chocolate cake, please,” Remus said to the waiter. The waiter winked at Sirius as he went to put their orders in. Sirius had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. Their puddings came out, and Sirius poked at his cheesecake as he watched with bated breath as Remus began digging into his chocolate cake. 

He was about halfway through the frankly enormous piece of cake when he coughed a bit and clutched his throat before swallowing hard. “Sorry, big chunk of chocolate in that bite.” Remus told him as he took another bite of his cake. Sirius winced and let out a defeated sigh. “Something wrong?” Remus looked up, worry creasing his face. 

“Little bit. Erm, darling, was that previous bite a bit hard to chew?”

“Yeah, nearly broke a tooth on it,” Sirius’s head fell into his hands. “Sirius, what’s going on?” Remus asked, shaking Sirius’s hands, trying to pull them away from his face. Sirius took a deep breath, in through his mouth, out through his nose. 

“That er, chocolate chunk was the engagement ring I had put in your chocolate cake. I was going to propose,” Remus dropped his fork and then burst into laughter. “Yeah, alright, worst place ever to put a ring. I should have known your hunger for all things chocolate would make this a disaster.” He waved the waiter over to get the check. 

“And how did everything go this evening, gentlemen?” The waiter asked, his excitement barely contained. 

“He swallowed it. Could we have the check, please? We have another date with A&E.” The smile dropped from the waiter's face, and he scurried off to get their bill. 

“The answer is yes, by the way,” Remus said as he finished his last bite of cake. “Yes, I will marry you.” They looked at each other and burst into fits of laughter again. They were still laughing as they entered the hospital to hopefully get Remus’s ring back out of his stomach. If not, Sirius was already thinking about replacements. 

He took Remus’s hand when his name was called and sat beside him while the doctor asked them how he could help today. 

“Well,” He started. “My fiancé here accidentally swallowed his engagement ring, and we were hoping you could get it back for us.” They all had a good laugh about it, and a little while later, Sirius and Remus were walking out of the hospital. Remus had his engagement ring on, and now they had the best engagement story out of all of their friends. It couldn’t have gone any better in Sirius’s opinion.

[punksyeet]

- Lovesick ❥

Plot: When a sickness bug ruins his Valentine’s Day plans, Jimmy makes it his mission to help his lady feel special regardless.

Warning: Mature language & fluff! <3

A/N: happy belated v-day friends! please excuse how late i am to the party, as the flu has been kicking my ass for over a week now. also, don’t mind any errors or lack of attention to detail in some parts. this sickness took away any attention span i had left in me. 🥲

anywho, i hope you all enjoy this one. she’s a tiny one compared to my others, but we love her regardless! 💌

—————————————————————————————————

“Well Miss Gianna,” my doctor begins, walking back into the room after leaving to run a few tests. Covid, strep, and flu to be exact. “It turns out your instincts were correct. Your flu test came back positive.”

My heart drops at those last six words.

Positive? For the flu? On Valentine’s Day?

I let out a deep sigh, running a hand through my hair.

“I know the timing isn’t ideal,” he continues, intertwining his fingers in front of him. “But please understand that your health comes first.”

I nod slightly, my eyes fluttering closed. “I understand, Doc. Would you be able to send some medication over?”

“Absolutely,” he responds. “It’ll be ready at your pharmacy as soon as tomorrow morning.”

I nod again. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he replies sweetly. “Take care, alright?”

And with that, he’s out the door.

I sit there for a minute in disbelief of my bad luck, before climbing off of the examination chair and putting my jacket back on.

When I reach my car, I immediately FaceTime Jon.

When he answers and pops up on the screen, he’s sat at a table taping something, a gorgeous smile on his face.

J: Hey, beautiful.

I smile at the compliment, pulling out of my parking spot.

G: Hi, my love. What are you up to?

J: Not much, just helping twin decorate his place for T before she gets home. Where you headed?

G: Aw, that’s sweet. She’s gonna love it. I’m headed home now.

J: Gotchu. Where you coming from?

My smile fades and I take a deep breath.

Get a grip, Gi. It’s not your fault. He’ll understand.

G: Urgent care.

He raises an eyebrow and a concerned look comes over his face.

J: Urgent care? What you was there for? Baby, you alright?

I shake my head, biting my lower lip.

G: Relax, Jon. It’s nothing too serious. I tested positive for the flu.

He just kind of sits there for a second, disbelief written all over his face.

J: You’re fuckin’ joking, right? You messin’ with me?

G: I wish. I felt like shit when I got up this morning and ran right to the doctor, knowing how much shit is going around. I called you as soon as I left.

J: Fuck, man.

He throws his head back and runs a hand over his face.

G: I know, babe. I’m sorry.

J: Nah, baby, don’t apologize. You ain’t get sick on purpose. The timing is just…

His voice trails off and I nod in agreement, resting my head back on the headrest when I reach a red light.

G: I know. That’s what I said.

He sighs and strokes his beard.

J: Aight. I guess we’re gonna have to work with what we got.

I pop my neck back, giving him a mean mug.

G: Boy, are you insane? You’re not coming anywhere near me.

J: Like hell I ain’t. Bae, you’re sick. I gotta take care of you. Do right by the woman I love.

G: Jonathan-

J: Nah, I don’t wanna hear allat. Lemme finish up here and I’ll be home in a bit, okay?

I sigh, running a hand through my curls, knowing that as hard as I try, I’m not winning this argument.

G: Okay. Fine.

J: Aight. Love you, mama. I’ll see you soon.

G: Okay. Love you too.

And with that, he hangs up.

I let out a deep sigh as the streetlight turns green, allowing me to turn onto the highway.

** Jimmy’s POV **

“Was that sis?” Josh asks, walking back to the island from the bathroom and taking a seat. “Everything good?”

I nod, licking my lower lip. “Yeah, man. She’s got the flu.”

His jaw drops in shock. “Fuck, man. You serious?”

I sigh, nodding. “Yup. She’s driving home from the doctor now.”

“Damn uce,” he replies, his attention turning to a banner. “Whatchu gonna do about tonight now?”

I shrug, shaking my head. “No idea. I had dinner reservations set and everything.”

He sucks his teeth. “I’m sorry, bro. Maybe you can rain check?”

I narrow my eyes, shaking my head. “Nah, I still gotta do right by her. I’ll come up with something.”

He nods, nudging my arm. “Whatever you need uce, I gotchu. Just let me know.”

I smile, nodding slightly. “Preciate you, man.”

Suddenly, a lightbulb goes off in my head and I turn back to my twin with a smirk.

He looks up at me and his expression immediately fades. “The hell you lookin’ at me like that for?”

“Big Jim has an ideaaa!” I sing, hopping out of my chair at the island.

Josh groans in response, placing his head in his hands. “Five words the world fears most.”

** Gianna’s POV **

“Guess he’s not home yet,” I mutter to myself, pulling up to Jon and I’s place and seeing an empty driveway.

After pulling in, I shut off my car, grab my things from the passenger side, and head up the pathway to our home.

With one swift motion, the front door flies open and so do my eyes.

There’s balloons and flowers everywhere.

Soft music echoing throughout the house.

The deep and warm scent of vanilla takes over whatever’s left of my sense of smell.

“J-Jon?” I call out, closing the door behind me and stepping further into the house.

“Welcome home m’lady,” he replies in an awful French accent, suddenly appearing in the doorway to the kitchen.

I chuckle in reaction to his goofiness and look around. “Babe, what is all this?”

He walks over and taking my stuff. “I refuse to let some stupid ass sickness ruin our night, baby. Today is all about love. Lemme show you how much I love you.”

I dramatically stick out my bottom lip as he pulls me into an embrace, rocking us back and forth and kissing my hair.

“Jon please,” I plead, stepping back. “I don’t want you to get si-“

“Shh,” he interrupts, pulling me back in. “You’re ruining the moment.”

I playfully roll my eyes and he chuckles, cupping my face and kissing me.

I wrap my arms around his waist and kiss back, my worries fading away the second we make contact.

“Cmon mama,” he orders, taking my hand and placing my stuff down on the couch. “Dinner will be ready soon.

“You go ahead,” I assure him, letting go of his hand and heading upstairs. “I’ll be right back.”

He nods and heads into the kitchen.

The dress I bought while shopping with T last week is too pretty to go to waste.

And if I can’t leave the house, it’s time to play dress up I guess.

I freshen up with a quick shower and slip into the silk, followed by a little makeup and hair action.

“Goddamn,” Jon coos when he sees me, after looking up from what looks like pasta sauce cooking on the stove. “Look at my girl.”

He lifts my hand and twirls me, a gorgeous smile on his face as he admires my body.

“This dress was originally for our date but,” I reply, soothing out the torso part. “I figured why let it go to waste when you’ve worked so hard on this too?”

He smiles and takes me into his arms, pulling me in by my waist.

“I love you so much, you know that?” he asks in between kisses to my jaw.

I giggle and lift my head, his beard tickling my skin. “I know, I know. And I love you too, baby. So much.”

I hold either side of his dreamy face and pull his lips to mine, softly smiling in the kiss.

He pulls away with a “mwuah” sound and takes my hand, leading me over to the dining table.

The rest of the night includes a candle light homemade dinner featuring our favorite wine, a steaming hot bath with rose petals, and gift giving on both sides.

Me to him, a silver chain to go with his favorite bracelet.

Him to me, a Cartier love ring that I’ve been eye-ing for months.

—————————————————————————————————

The next morning, I wake up to a bright ray of sunshine peeking in through our curtains.

With a groan, I turn over and nuzzle my face into Jon’s neck.

He responds with a pair of big muscular arms wrapped around me extra tight and a kiss on my temple.

“Mmm morning,” I greet him as best I can, before placing a light kiss on his jaw.

“Mornin’ ba-“ he’s interrupted by a fit of coughs.

Flemmy, raspy coughs.

My eyes fly open and I sit up, an amused expression on my face.

He glares up at me, shaking his head. “Don’t say it.”

I pucker my lips to the side with a smirk before laying back down to whisper in his ear. “I told you so.”

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[voxslays]

CLOSE TO YOU — THE SALESMAN

PART SIX — MORE QUESTIONS THAN ANSWERSPAIRINGS: The Salesman (Gong Yoo) x Reader. WARNINGS: Mentions of kidnapping (sort of), Reader is mentioned to be a foreigner (not stated from where), not proofread.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“Gong Yoo, huh?”

You pause, unsure what to say. Had he really just told you the truth—or was he still bluffing? “That’s a…” You hesitate, chiding your next words very wisely. “That’s a name.” Well no shit. You scan his face, automatically grimacing as the words come out of your mouth. “So why’d you finally speak?”

“You won the game.” He answers simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Hmph.” You say, rubbing your slightly bruised face as you open the sliding door and step out onto the small balcony. Outside, there was a view of the city—which during this time of day, was filled with nothing but the sound of honking cars and gossip on the streets below.

“I have a proposition for you miss.” Gong Yoo says, startling you. “Jesus.” You mutter under your breath, turning around to face the tall man. “Yes?” You ask, gripping the railing behind you as the salesman slowly cages you in. It was a stress tactic, you knew that. So why was it strangely hot? “You’re looking for a friend aren’t you?” He asks, his breath hot on your ear. “A Kang No-eul?”

How the hell did he know about No-eul?

…

It was a dark evening, one you so rarely experienced living in such a bright city like Seoul. There was a light drizzle as you stepped outside into the rain to be met by No-eul. How long had you known her? God, it must’ve been seven or eight years by now—yet, her loyal devotion to your friendship never wavered.

“No-eul!” You wave at her, stepping into the pouring rain, no umbrella in sight. “What are you doing here so late?” You ask, standing under the ravenette’s umbrella. “Look…” No-eul paused, looking at her feet. “I’m going to be out of town for a few days, can you watch over my place?”

“Of course! And I’ll feed mitski too!” You smile brightly. Mitski was her small tuxedo cat, whom she had named after one of her favorite singers. “I’ll see you when you get back, okay?” You say, quickly walking back up the stairs to your apartment. “Okay.” She muttered.

That was the last time you’d ever seen her.

…

“What did you do to her!?” You ask, grabbing him roughly by his collar and pulling him back inside. “Did you put her in the game?” You nearly scream, holding your fist up as a warning. “Kang No-duo.” He pauses. “Number 011.” You gasped. This couldn’t be true. She wouldn’t go somewhere like that without telling you, right?

“She was a participant in the last year’s games.” He says smoothly, unblinking. “It’s been a while since she’s seen you.” You feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “You fucker.” You choke out. He gently places his hand on your shoulder, as if offering condolences. His hand was too soft for the fist of a killer. He smirks.

Then without another word, he heads for the door. He pulls out his revolver and shoots the lock, opening the door with ease. You look up, wiping the tears from your eyes. “Hey, where the hell are you going!?” You yell, rubbing out the door, prepared to chase him down the long, pink hallway.

You couldn’t just let this man get away. How would you explain this to Gi-hun? And what would he think of you afterwards? The worst part of it all—you were struggling to control your blush. Earlier, when he had pushed you up against the balcony, you could’ve sworn your cheeks exploded from the way the blood ran down to your face.

You push those worries to the back of your befuddled mind. This was all his plan—to confuse you before making his getaway. It was smart though, you must admit. Seeing his tall figure walk did something to your twisted mind. Something definitely not PG-13.

You quickly catch up to him, but then again, he wasn’t running. Gong Yoo simply strolled down the dark hallway, not a care in the world. “Where are you going?” You ask as you follow him into the concrete staircases. Silence. The tension floats through the air as you reach the bottom floor. As you follow him through the small foyer you see a sterile white Van outside. That’s odd.

Gong Yoo swings open the glass paneled entrance door, trudging towards the white van. The second you can get close enough, you see a man (you can only assume) in a pink suit. His face covered with a black mask. There was a circle painted on it, just like Gi-hun described.

Gong Yoo steps into the back, briefcase in hand. When had he picked that up. “Hey!” You yell. Was he really getting away that easily? Not on your watch. You banged your fist against the side of the sterile van, as if willing it to open. Yet it was no use. It wouldn’t even budge.

As you step away from the Van, you feel a hand against your mouth. As you cock your head backwards, you can see another figure with the same black mask as before. Oh shit, you think. You struggle in his grasp, kicking, elbowing, and event attempting to bite his hand. Anything to get him away from you.

The last thing you feel is a sharp pain in your deck before the world fades to black.

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[strawberry-nugget]

Pairing: Kirishima Eijiro x Reader

~You swore you were done with Eijiro Kirishima when he shattered your heart and left you to pick up the pieces. At Mina’s birthday party, her and Ochaco are desperately trying to get you to avoid him. This is what happens when both of you you let your feelings linger though; you find each other no matter what. And, not surprisingly, you both give in.

Tags // Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering, kitchen sex, shower sex, dr*g use (reader and Kirishima smoke together), alcohol, slight angst througout, Ex!Kirishima, dacryphilia

All CHARACTERS ARE 20+

Word Count: 25.5k

One last look at the screen of your phone is all it takes before you decide to tap that dreadful post button. 

It’s an itch you can't scratch, the nervousness you feel now that you’re posting on your story with only one person in mind, but you tell yourself it's only partially because of him.

Kirishima is the type of person that needs to be punched into next year and certainly not to have someone post a hot story for him on instagram. You indulge, first and foremost, only because the thrill of being able to tell your friends you got him back is exciting.

Definitely not for any other reason.

There's incoherent screaming from the girls all over their apartment and the sound of blow dryer eventually comes to a halt when Mina marches in the bathroom, angry about the time her phone screen displays.

“Just tell me you'll be ready soon”

“I’ll be ready in five” 

Mina curses under her breath at Ochako’s response. 

Tonight is her party, after all, and she's at least an hour late so by now it really doesn't matter that she's having it at Sero’s place; it's much bigger than the apartment she shares with Ochako, much bigger than yours and it has a rooftop. Who wouldn't want to host their or any party there? 

“Ugh whatever, what. Ever.” She shakes her head, bopping her pink ponytail from left to right. “How much time ‘till you're ready?”

You eye her, lip gloss in hand, frenzied about the lipliner you're sure you did not just lose in this mess of a sink you've created, searching left and right, bumping into everything in your way.

“Girl, how can you post a fucking story on instagram when you’re not ready?”

“Uhm”

“No okay,” she shakes her head again, silently rejecting her nerves, truthfully promising herself that she's trying to stay positive “uhm, what shoes are you wearing?”

You glance at her, before Ochako manages to slip once more into the bathroom as well, crowding the space just enough so that you feel pressured to answer both her questions. Chest heaving and breasts almost slipping out of the front of your dress, you open your mouth, words ready to bubble out, when Ochako asks you to move enough so that she can put on her own lipstick.

“Uhm.. heels?” you gulp. “And I'm ready, I just.. I can't go there without that lipliner and you know that.”

Mina stares at your feet and you're so sure she's going to make a comment any second now. Yet ever so sweetly, she opens her lips with a response so peculiar that she doesn’t ever let out. She presses them together instead like she never flapped them open to speak, eyes fluttering close for a second that's enough to make your heart want to jump out of your chest.

Is she on to you? What does she know that you don't want her to know?

“Sero has been calling nonstop. That's all.” she sighs. “We’re supposed to be throwing my party and I'm late. I hate to be late.”

“I know,” You mouth it quietly. Carefully. Even if it's Ochako’s fault for running late to show up, you feel guilty. Even more so that your secret goal of the night is to get back at -or with- Kirishima. 

“So please just get ready, you can post to your heart's content when we’re there. ‘Chako, you too baby girl.”

“Nah, I don't need to post anything tonight, Izuku will be the first to see me either way since he’s picking us up!”

Damn you’d actually be happy too if you could say that so casually. But Ochako and Izuku have been dating since high school, so they’re not flaunting anything—other than the fact that she’s crazy and head over heels in love with her man since her teens. Mina has been perfectly adjusted to her beloved city girl life. Wanted by everyone, touched by none. She doesn’t need to be in love to have a good time, unlike you. And in a way, you're too jealous of both. 

In a nice way nonetheless. 

“I did like your story. I'm sorry I keep mentioning it like that. You look hot.” Your friend smiles at you as she's fixing her ponytail in the mirror next to Ochako. 

You go to thank her, as you see her feel just a bit of guilt, past Ochako and the perfume that she’s spraying, when your phone goes off and your screen lights up with the first notification of the night since you posted. Both your eyes and hers land on the notification, as your phone lay in front of her on the sink. 

You feel amber orbs are on you, horrified, perfectly overdrawn lips pursing in agony. You try to mouth something like ‘sorry’ to her, but your excitement is too hard to hide.

How do you explain to your best friend that the man who dumped you over someone else, asked you for space and had you bedridden for like a month with all your crying, the man you blocked on all socials and whose phone number you deleted—the man you swore on your life you wouldn't take back even if he came crawling, whom you were supposed to avoid at all costs tonight, just reacted a fire emoji to your story? 

“Oh my god.” She speaks, too quietly for your own sanity. She's fuming. “You don’t actually want to come to my party. You want to meet the founding father.”

Ochako turns her head and cocks an eyebrow.

That horrible, heavy feeling is back in your chest again. They're so going to kill you. Your friends are actually going to murder you. 

Over still being head over heels and absolutely down for Kirishima that is.

“Oh you mean this lipliner, i just found it,” Ochako shoves the lipliner in your face and Mina instantly gets the chance to snatch your phone. You latch onto her immediately “What founding father are we meeting… When did we decide to go to church?”

Both you and Mina look at Ochako and shake your heads, still fighting over your phone.

“Please, Mina listen,” you cry out, trying to get a grip at your phone. “He's the one. I'm telling you–”

“Kirishima?” Mina scoffs, "Are you insanely delusional? After all that’s happened?”

“Wait, who's the one? God’s the one?”

“Chako what the actual fuck! Lock in please. Kirishima just messaged her!”

Ochako yelps your name. “Oh my god. No!” Mina shakes her head, simply to agree with her and you pout, almost -almost- embarrassed that they found out. They've done their absolute best to keep you away from Kirishima, from hangouts to parties, they've been splitting the group for months to keep the two of you away and up until now they've been very successful. 

But definitely not successful enough so that you don't find out Kirishima has broken up with his girlfriend. They've tried to be slick. They've tried to keep it a secret kept away, so very well and so far away from you, but you inevitably overhear it—Mina doesn't know how to work on her apartment's new intercom yet, and you have good ears, when you want to. 

All their efforts to keep any information about Kirishima’s break up go to the deepest level of hell, on vacation, and they take you with them because when you hear it slip out their mouths your heart skips so many beats that you think you're actually dying. 

You unblock him on Instagram. You make your profile public. You manage to post a story the next time you meet with your shared friends and tag them and they all repost it. And Kirishima adds you again. 

You haven't thought of even mentioning it to your friends because you're supposed to never, ever take him back, but it ultimately comes down to tonight. Your phone in Mina's palms. 

She's probably going to shove it down your throat. 

Instead of actually fleeting to the most brutal and criminal action one can come up with though, Mina hands you your phone, sighing. Her fingers linger on the back of your hand. 

“We'll keep you away from him. Promise. ‘Chako we have a mission”

“You have no actual mission. I'm a big girl. I can take responsibility.” you say, and Mina almost holds back her laughter. 

“Honey the responsibility shouldn't be having to apologize for sleeping with him, but rather it should be avoiding him. You won't do that. So me and Ochako are going to do it for you.”

As. If

You pucker your lips when Ochako nods, happily. The next ten minutes are spent on wearing shoes and running down the stairs from the third floor in heels. Mina forgets to lock and curses under her breath as she reaches for her keys and runs back up. 

Ochako settles in the passenger’s seat of Izuku’s car and you settle right behind her, strapping yourself with the safety belt while greeting an Izuku who already has a mouth stuffed with his girlfriend's tongue. He greets back, politely, slightly flushed; his hands haven’t even left the steering wheel but Ochako’s are palming his cheeks.

Mind you, she practically lives with him. 

Before you even have the chance to cringe, or have a whole back arching shiver run through your whole body, Mina slams herself right next to you and her door follows asuit. Izuku complains with a muffled “Please, slower.”

“Oops, im sorry”

Sero’s house is a 15 minute drive from Mina’s and for the first 5 minutes of it, the atmosphere in the car is unbearable. Mina is frantically typing on her phone and thanks to her privacy screen you can't peek -not that you’re not sure what's going on- and Ochako is fixed on holding Izuku’s thigh while his muscles flex everytime he presses the gas to his car. You’re too scared of Mina’s murderous face, so you keep staring at her, back and forth, while trying to get your mind off how nervous you are.

Your thoughts of being salvaged are cut short at the next red light. Izuku’s hands on the steering wheel flex, thumbs only holding onto the leather cover for a second and he eyes you through the mirror.

Uh, oh.

“So.. Kirishima, huh? You haven't seen him in a whil-”

Mina is quicker than his mouth, his words, even his feet when he steps on the gas again and the light that turns green. You simply flinch when you somehow find yourself with muffled ears, eyes wide, hearing almost impaled apart from the fact that you can hear her screech. 

“Oh my god! NO! Kirishima does not exist to her. Absolutely not, she's not seeing him!”

“Mina calm the fuck down!” you yell, ripping her hands off your ears while Ochako purses her lips together awkwardly to stare at Izuku.

“Izuku baby, he messaged her”

He stares and stares and stares, with wide eyes and mouth open wide enough or a fly to crawl in. And then he blinks like he’s never blinked again. Rapidly.

“Girl you invited him.” you say, mimicking Ochako’s awkward smile, lips pressed together in a thin line. 

Your friend doesn't respond, she too blinks like it's her first time blinking and you feel that awful feeling that Kirishima is to you and your close friend group as it creeps up to your chest. It bubbles and boils like tea in an electric kettle, it messes up your stomach so much that the one shot that you and Ochako had before leaving is about to leap up your throat like it needs to jump off a cliff. 

But it’s not like you said something out of lane. What you said was more than justified, because you don’t understand why everyone still hangs out with Kirishima after how he treated you —you do; he’s an amazing friend, truly— but you've long come to accept that you would eventually have to show up to parties you were both invited to.

There’s not a second in which you think that Mina didn’t actually want you to come to her party and only invited you out of sheer pity, just so you wouldn't get mad at her for leaving you out of it.

She loves all her friends and wouldn't discriminate, you tell yourself, but in this case had she really been serious about you avoiding him, she could have skipped inviting Kirishima.

Nonetheless, by the time Izuku parks his car outside of Sero’s house, Mina is looking at you only with kindness. Izuku mentions something about Bakugo cooking to the three of you and Mina assures him she’s going to thank him first things first.

You hesitate as you step out of the car; the hot night air brushing against your skin raises peculiar goosebumps and your nervousness is through the roof. Mina loops an arm around your shoulders, her grip firm. Just enough to remind you she’s not letting you out of her sight. Ochako bounds ahead with Izuku, hand-in-hand and all bubbly, and you're sure they're off for her boyfriend to manage to greet Bakugou first, leaving you alone with Mina’s quiet resolve.

“This is going to be fine,” she murmurs. It’s almost convincing. “you’ll ignore each other and it’ll pass in no time”

You just wish you had her certainty. Instead, your phone burns in your hand like a live wire, and despite yourself, you unlock it and open Instagram for the upteenth time tonight. Kirishima’s notification still oozes in anger, like he’s mocking your very own resolve to momentarily act indifferent towards it. You lock your phone as fast as you open it and Mina has never been happier about an action of yours tonight so far.

“Do not let him ruin this for you,” she says firmly “Tonight is about me, not you thirsting over bad decisions.” and then she laughs, like it's the only thing she could actually do after such a sentence. 

“Thirsting is a strong word,” you mutter, but it’s too late. Mina’s already dragging you toward the front door, where the bass from the party’s music thuds so loudly you can feel it in your chest. “It's more like, i really, really love him”

She laughs again, not wide eyed, but out of sheer embarrassment for you. She shall not get angry at you just yet. Perhaps it's just your pregame speaking. For the annoyance and disgust for those feelings you just uttered for the world to hear and hold are too much, too unnecessary.

The moment you step outside, the energy of the party hits you like a wave —music blasting, bodies moving, laughter ringing out from every corner. Sero’s place is lit up in string lights and cheap party decorations, a mix of chaotic vibes and casual elegance that only he could pull off. You wonder if he decorated the place with only his own personal preferences or if Mina actually had anything to do with it, since it’s her birthday party after all.

It seems like everyone is immediately stuck on her like glue, pushing different sizes of bags into her hands while hugging her. You greet everyone you can lay an eye on, politely, like your typical best friend at a birthday party. It's just too fortunate you know most people in here, it’d be an awkward pain in the ass if you didn’t, especially with how everyone is trying to get as much of Mina as they can.

It’s soothing to see that she’s so loved.

“Hey, you made it!” Sero Screams over the music, a red solo cup in hand and a broad grin on his face, grabbing both you and Mina by the waist—god, that mustache he grew has him thinking he’s smoother than water. “Looking sharp as always.”

Mina kisses both his cheeks while he plays with her ponytail and you notice a strange tension in the air that you don’t want to admit. She looks like she was just swept by his waterfall.

In turn, you muster a smile as you hurriedly look for Ochako in the crowd, hoping it’s enough to mask your nerves. “Thanks”

Mina asks him where Bakugo is by whispering it in his ear and covering her mouth with her hand, yet Sero is neither smart nor sober or subtle enough to do such a thing as she does, so he points at the blond with his finger.

“Thats rude, don’t point at him”

“Huh?”

“Ugh whatever” She sighs and fortunately the tension between her and the ravenette spreads thin, slowly. “You! Stay put with Sero”

You swallow hard as your sweaty hand is momentarily left to your own premises, empty of hers, as she’s off to find Bakugo too, just like she announces and you're left alone with Sero, scared to even look at the direction that she’s heading towards. But only while she turns to look back to check you. 

He who shall not be named, is right next to his blond friend. Your stomach flips. He looks good —extraordinary good, with his red hair, that white fitted t-shirt and that stupidly charming grin that’s burned into your memory. He’s looking like you couldn't get enough of him even if you had a mouthful. These thoughts are, though, forbidden. So you avoid even batting an eye at him. It’s infuriating how easy he makes it look, existing in the corner of a rooftop that you are also on, at your best friend’s party, so casually. 

Sero, who’s obviously noticed the trail of drool running down your mouth at the red head's sight, leans in conspiratorially, lowering his voice to speak to your ear. “Heads up. He was asking about you.”

Note to self. Avoid Sero for the rest of the night! 

Before you can spiral further, Mina reappears, slipping a drink into your hand. You smell it subtly, recognizing the scent as cognac. “Sero, leave her alone. She doesn’t need your running commentary.”

Nonetheless the topic of conversation is changed faster than light, and you share a laugh or two with Sero, you grab another drink, then Mina wants you to help her with putting away her gifts, then you're off to grab another drink.

Bad idea?

No, not really.

Not when your third drink is going to be just beer. You absolutely will not get drunk this way because in your case, beer should be considered a chaser for the two drinks of cognac you had. 

So, you don't even trip on your way to the makeshift bar. 

On the other edge of the table that serves as a bar, Kirishima and Bakugo are hot on a conversation and you edge closer when you notice the redhead looking at you, ever so aware of your presence. 

Bakugo greets you, Kirishima doesn’t, so you greet Bakugo back before he somehow, immediately disappears into the bunch of the people that are at Sero’s rooftop. Typical. The two of them have this uncanny, wordless way of communicating, and it’s more than likely that this sudden departure is part of some unspoken plan. 

You try not to care, shake it off, try to focus on your drink, but your head buzzes too loud, whether it's because you're so close to Kirishima for the first time tonight or the cognac, you don't even know. 

When you turn to look at Kirishima again, he's not at the spot he was seconds ago and assuming he's gone like his friend, you sigh in relief, for that was so close. So narrowly avoided.

Just when you feel like you can get your drink and run towards Ochako, life slips away from your poor body. It's him, closing in, muttering something. To you? Yes, to you and god you can’t hear him over the music or the sound of your heart palpitating and spilling all your stress to block your eardrums. 

You're sure you look like an absolute clown —this isn't even a Halloween party thus it's so not justified, your clownery is woefully out of place— with your wide eyes and pursed lips. Hadn’t you baked your lip liner you're sure with all the pursing you’re doing you could actually be able to look worse. Oh great. Now he's towering over you, he’s just so close that you can't ignore him anymore even if you want to. 

You’ll have to be forced to speak to him. And you shouldn’t have worn these heels because your knees are wobbly -jello even- and your breath is short. On top of that your head is ringing and that really sharp pain under your left breast is trying to poke right through your dress like a blade. Perhaps this is what a stroke feels like. Or, or, a heart attack. 

You shouldn't be feeling like this. You should be thinking of all the times you’ve cried over him, the times you’ve laid on the floor of your bathroom asking yourself what you did so wrong in telling him you love him that he never said it back. You just shouldn’t be thinking that he looks fucking good, while he’s looking at you like you’re his pray.

Maybe Mina should have killed you in her bathroom, or in the car. So you wouldn’t be anticipating every step that led Kirishima to you in this very instant.

“Bakugo made the canapes so you should-”

Kirishima’s hands are almost hovering above your naked waist, you’re almost a puddle and the world is seconds away from disappearing underneath your feet when Mina stomps in between you. She hip bumps him away with a gracious sway and a devious smile.

“Excuuuuuse me” She laughs, you giggle too, while being dragged away from him. 

One breath in and one out eventually make your heartbeat normal. Even while stalling soundly after your friend, your feet are dragging like dead weight.

You will be just fine; Mina will not leave your side, even when you try to slip away. For how dare he approach you without a warning on casual intentions. How could he not even inform you that you're at the basis where you ignore the last few events that have occurred between you? 

At least Mina has some common sense when looking out for you. 

You look at her and she looks back at you and she’s got that disappointed motherly facade that's painted on her features that you can’t bring yourself to like. 

Come to think of it, whether you had or hadn’t wished she could come to your saving there’s a coil spinning ever so slightly in the pit of your stomach about it— it’s fixed by her expression right now. You can't even begin to describe the feeling inside you, can’t still place it in the rage of emotions you recognise. But you're willing to let it simmer to a simple boil in the pits of your stomach for now. Tuck it away until you find a word to title it with. 

A chit-chat with someone else, a smoke with Sero and a swirl on the side of the rooftop that everyone uses to dance and Mina corners you on the edge of the railing between Izuku and Ochako before disappearing into the crowd. Beer in one hand and Ochako clasped in the other you dance awkwardly to a pop song that she knows all the lyrics to. Mina still looks sour, maybe a little less than before though. 

She whispers something to Ochako and you know who it is about, without even having to guess. A thoughtless, drunk mind such as yours right now can only be occupied by facts such as the one before your eyes. The one being whispered about you amongst your friends and another fact that is standing a few feet away from you. 

Desperate eyes fall on desperate ones and you share a look with Kirishima -all you can do apparently- that Ochako doesn’t notice, though she's turned in your direction, as she closes her eyelids and shoots her hands in the air to dance, draggin your poor hand with her. 

This is a plea to dance, but you stand motionless like a wooden pencil. Balanced. You’re not going to dance when Kirishima watches you, because you don’t quite enjoy looking ridiculous in front of him. 

Your stomach takes another twist when you sip some more of your beer. 

He shoots you a silly expression, one you’re accustomed to, one you’ve seen so many times. Averting your eyes, refusing to ruin your mood further, you’re back to your setting; Ochako, Izuku and a Mina that’s back with shots that she obviously shouldn’t have carried on her own, because they’re spilling everywhere. You don't know when she left to go get them, but a glass is shoved in your hands hurriedly. 

You down it and your hands are sticky. 

It’s so hot outside that your skin feels heavy, your dress is sticking to you in the most overstimulating places on your skin.

You find Kirishima watching you when you comply with the itch in your chest to just check on him again and your stomach is doing flips about it—coils that were previously burning in it be damned and all. He’s. Watching. You.

You wonder if it’s just the alcohol, the summer weather, or if you’re genuinely burning alive under Kirishima’s gaze. 

It's almost unbearable, really, that he’s close enough to breathe the same air as you, and yet here you are, locked in this tug-of-war with your own impulses. Fight or flight, or just stand there, paralyzed, pretending you have better things to do with your friends than simply admire the way his stupidly perfect jawline catches the light. It has to look like you’re having fun.

If only you could manage to slip away from your friends, bent on this newly found desire within you to properly greet him. 

You want to play in the scenario of ignoring everything that's happened so far just to fake being kind to him. The shot you had isn't helping at having any clear thoughts at all. 

A good excuse to leave on your own would be to ask for more shots, but you doubt that three people would go fetch them, they'd either take you with them or they would just send the less drunk right now to do so. In this case, Izuku. Which leaves you with two people sworn to keep you away from your red headed target. 

It seems like every plan you come up with sounds absolutely useless before this cerberus that your friends have formed into, transforming your gaze into a deeper level of despair with every thought you throw away from your brain. 

Mina will absolutely not let you leave on your own, unless, if it's to see someone else. You try to think fast, past the buzz inside your head. 

Maybe Jirou, since she's the DJ for tonight. Why wouldn't you want to request a song at your best friend's party? 

Seeing that your new idea is so brilliant you're off without announcing it, slipping through people, shot glasses that clank against each other and a yelling Bakugo who serves as a beacon for Kirishima’s location. Can't lose your favorite man if his best friend is so loud. 

They're so close to where Jirou is, right next to her booth and they're chatting with Kaminari, so until they notice you charging to their direction you straighten your pose and run your hands up and down your dress, in case you need to smooth any wrinkle. It’s not like your walk is as proud as you're hoping it is, given the fact that you have a buzz and there's a ton of people that you have to slip in between, but at least every step gets you closer to your target's location. You'll keep the hot girl facade on as long as you can, though. 

The first sign of your arrival -even if you yourself consider the distance between you too big, still- is that Jirou smiles when she sees you and instantly yells your name. Kirishima, Kaminari and Bakugo look at you at the same time, but it's only Kaminari that smiles along with his girlfriend. 

Jirou hits him softly with her elbow, signing to him to step in the booth so she can come to you and he immediately plugs his headphones in the aux the same time Jirou pounces on you. 

“I haven't seen you all night! How are you?”

“I'm okay” You say, opting to glare at Kirishima for only a second. “I'm on Minachako arrest!” He stares back. 

“Ohh,” She pauses to think, and her thoughts land her just behind her back “Eiji?”

All your friends know you. Too well for your own good. It's almost making your skin crawl. 

“Yeah”

Jirou looks at you like she actually understands you. With lips pressed in a thin line on the side of her face and eyebrows furrowed in what resembles pity; she places her glance back and forth between you and the redhead. 

“You could talk to him”

“Oh absolutely not, it's okay, we did greet each other”

There it is; your million dollar, Oscar worthy performance. You pretend to be so nice about it, yet, you speak loud enough so that Kirishima cocks an eyebrow in your direction, smacking his lips. You need to smile in triumph now that your plan has worked.

“But” She pauses, unsure if what she wants to tell you is correct “he's right there. Come on”

“It’s complicated,” you mutter, turning back to Jirou and taking a long, burning sip of your drink.

“Complicated,” she repeats, deadpan. “Yeah, no kidding.”

“Right,” she drawls, rolling her eyes. “like it's totally normal behavior to stare at someone like you want to eat them alive but not actually say anything. Y'all need to grow up. Both of you”

Your eyes dart to Kirishima before you can stop yourself. He’s still there, still looking, and it feels like the moment freezes when your gazes collide. The playful smile that tugs at the corners of his lips is like a match to a gasoline-drenched nerve.

You look away first.

‘Grow up.’ That's such bullshit. You're both all grown up. Grown ups make humiliating choices all the time. 

You deadpan Jirou, pouting your lower lip. She raises her hands in mock surrender, but there’s a knowing glint in her eyes that you hate.

“I just wanted to request a song though”

“Kay! Denki! Song request!”

You don't dare tell her you only used her as an excuse to get to Kirishima and you definitely can't tell her you're so glad you found him there. So you turn to Kaminari, looking somewhat like a wet dog, as if he would ever let you leave this down had he not been drunk and tell him the first song that comes to your mind. 

Your request is a transition away and your body is pressed next to Kirishima's faster than you can process. Should it actually feel so awkward to be a winner? 

Despite the eternally painful awkwardness of your body language, you could kiss Jirou on the mouth for playing devil's advocate right now. She simply smiles in a way only she thinks is subtle, because truthfully everyone sees, but you're so past the embarrassment of your intentions being known. 

In a way that's smoother than water, she grabs Bakugo and pulls him to her, for a hug, and both you and Kirishima chuckle when he whines and tries to throw her hands away from him, to no avail. 

Had you been Kaminari, you'd cry your eyes out daily at how good a relationship she's got with Bakugo. 

“He's still acting like this?” You ask, for no one but Kirishima to answer. He's the only one who listens to you nonetheless. 

“Well you do hang out with him, you know him.”

Ouch. 

You've expected a remark like this from him, coated in irony so it's not like he catches you off guard with his tone. It's the context in which he speaks his words that's infuriating. Your face grows sour, in realization of his complaint, lips pouting when you think you also hate it that the two of you share most of your friends. 

And yet, instead of actually barking back like you'd always do, you roll your eyes at him, completely consumed by that well known feeling that is him making you mad. The shaking, the weak knees, the empty feeling in your stomach; you've not felt that in so long that it seems like you're able to experience emotions again. 

Εven if that's not something you want to dwell on, given that there are a thousand negative emotions and a lot of crushed healing journeys hidden behind it, you choose to only look at him again - since that’s the only thing you can both physically do for the night, back turned against Jirou and Bakugo, finally, so you can inspect the people dancing on the rooftop, once you decide Kirishima is not a sight for sore eyes.

He meets your eyes with a tilt of his head even if his body is turned facefront and towards his friends. None of you notice how quiet Jirou, Denki and Bakugo are, and even if you did, you both would consider that it’s only because you can’t listen to them over the loudness of the music.

There's a peculiar shift in the air between you, something that screams for salvation like a prey, trapped in a beast's sharp mouth. It's just the nuisance of the two of you, the tenderness of a moment that shouldn't exist outside of shared memories. 

Yet here you are, same as him, totally engulfed and engrossed in the twilight of it. 

The nature of the pull that's still evident between the two of you blooms and spurts seeds of painful flowers in your lungs. 

You lick some of your lipgloss, longing for a taste that's sweeter than the bitter feeling in your chest and it's no use; the poison that’s dripping within your insides is contributing to the ignition of a fire that no cherry flavored lip gloss can put out.

You put so much effort to just say “I won't do it anymore then” just for his voice to overlap yours. 

“Dance a little”

Your dislike for what he spurt out is too evident in your face, but your expression softens when he wiggles a hand underneath the railing your chest has weighted on, to pull you closer to him.

Does his hand have to feel so warm?

You’re stuck side to side with Kirishima and your small audience is left speechless; Bakugo averts his eyes, mouth all wide before he shoots Jirou’s hands off him, ready to walk away again, but you don’t notice, you wouldn’t even if you could, not when Eijiro’s palm wraps so smoothly around your waist. There’s nothing to see, not even for Jirou, in your small corner. Your lack of interest in your surroundings confirms that.

He gives you a shake, the smallest one, to just introduce some movement to your body and you follow his lead blindly as he handles you in front of him, back pressed against his chest. It’s so smooth that you let yourself go, ignoring that silly voice in the back of your head that tells you you’re going to embarrass yourself if you dance with him.

Big hands rest on where your hips start, at the curve of your waist but they don’t apply pressure. He sways with you, bobs his head when you do and you don't seem to remember that he never dances either, hell you don’t even remember you don’t.

It feels so good to just link your body like this with his, with his breath cooling your neck. If it wasn’t the middle of the summer and you weren't dripping in sweat you would dare to move even more. For a few more moments, you let him move your body the way he pleases as the music moves him.

Your buzz is delicious right now, so much that you can’t even decide if what's going on is actually true. Your hips work, finally, beyond his hands and you’re grinding against him, before you even realise it.

The monster that resides deep within your thoughts awakens your lust and eats away every possible thought that could lead you to rejecting his touch.

The tips of Kirishima’s fingers dig into your hip bone, snatching a handful of satin clothed skin and he presses you impossibly onto him. You whine your hips to his, eyes closed, ignoring the twitch between your legs when he rests his forehead to the crook of your neck just so he can muster up the courage to move his hands in exploring a body that’s so well known to him.

In a big effort to try and show him that you want him too, you wrap one arm around his head, touching his face, the back of his neck, the dimple on top of his shoulder through his shirt. 

From that moment on it's like you’ve unleashed a beast.

The thin, elastic band of your underwear softly snaps against your skin -is this too fast?- and you can't think of anything other than how firm the pads or his fingers are -were? always have been?- over your dress. Your stomach sinks inside your skin and bones.

This is you slowly giving in to him again. Empty headed. Teary eyed. Pressed onto him for dear life.

You barely feel the vibration of your phone, too engulfed in this moment of finally getting what you want and for a while it’s easy to ignore it, like it doesn't happen. It never even rang. But your eyes shoot open when you come to your senses, a few more rings in.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Mina.

You split yourself from Kirishima so fast, it could actually sound like ripping paper in half. Like velcro on shoes. 

“What?” He asks, brows furrowed. He looks like a child whose christmas gift has been ripped away from his hands by his sibling. His hands even maintain their hold on you. 

“Fuck i gotta go! Mina will kill me”

“You could—wait! I wanna talk!”

You look at him exactly how he deserves with the nonsense he’s speaking, in disbelief and confusion. Talk? Even if you did stay to talk, Mina would find you, anywhere. You’re still contemplating whether this girl has made you eat an airtag without you realising and the fact that you’ve even managed to slip away from her for this long is remarkable.

It's as simple as this; Ochaco may not get mad at you if she catches you with Kirishima, she might just give you ‘a talk’, but Mina will absolutely murder you.

Rightfully so. You're hidden away from the friends that want nothing but you to be well, with the only person that is able to send you to psychosis in the case he decides it's so funny to break your heart again. And you danced with him, in front of your friends.

Everyone must think you’re an idiot. And Kirishima, he just might know it for sure. Talking is nothing but an excuse to get you to hook up with him.

You shake your head instead of responding ‘no’ to him and wiggle yourself away from him, ready to run to Mina.

_________

As you weave your way through the crowd, you’re hyper aware of everything—your pounding heart, the lingering warmth of Kirishima's touch on your skin, and the faint scent of his cologne that still clings to your dress. The guilt gnaws at you with every step, but it’s drowned out by the electric buzz in your veins. Mina is going to tear you apart, but somehow, the bigger fear isn’t her wrath; it’s the thought of looking back and seeing Kirishima standing there, watching you leave again.

When you finally spot Mina across the rooftop, she’s mid-laugh with Ochaco, drink in hand, her head thrown back as though she hasn’t a care in the world. Relief surges through you.

When you think of it, there's no possible way in the whole known and unknown universe that Mina and Ochacko don’t know where you had been for all the while you were gone. No matter how much you fix your dress, your hair, no matter how much lipgloss you reapply, you reek of Kirishima's heavy cologne, or so you believe, and your heart has ceased to exist. 

Their eyes look nothing but innocent, deprived of any mean thoughts concerning you and the redhead, hell you're not even sure they could imagine you would find ways to facilitate a plan to just get some time alone with him. 

It's so splitting, they're not stupid enough to believe this. The issue is they probably trust you enough to not do such a thing. 

You steel yourself, pulling your best ‘everything’s fine’ expression onto your face and saunter over as casually as you can muster. But Mina’s sharp eyes catch yours almost immediately, and her smile falters just slightly. 

“Where have you been?” she asks, her tone deceptively light but laced with the edge of suspicion. You are not surprised.

“Just… talking to Jirou,” you reply, keeping your voice steady as you point in the vague direction of the DJ booth. It’s technically true. At least for a moment.

Mina smiles at you, warmly this time, Ochako smiles at you again but your head is buzzing. You're too nervous, almost blurting everything in a tone of denial. I definitely didn't dance with Kirishima while I was at it.

“Thank god, I thought you were with him again. I started to get so worried”

Your stomach drops, and the heat rushes to your face. Did she see you?. Mina always sees and it's nerve wracking to wait for confirmation on her part.

“I wasn’t-" You try to deflect, but her raised eyebrow silences you. Lying would only dig you deeper into the hole you’re already in, but you do it anyway “I'm a big girl, Mina, I told you.  Just went to request a song from Jirou.” Technically, that is true.

You glance at Ochako, whose gaze softens when she meets yours. She offers you a small smile, and you feel a twinge of guilt. If anyone is going to see through your facade, it’s her.

“Did Jirou play it yet?” Ochaco asks, sipping from her cup and you nod in response.

“Did you see Kirishima over there? Bakugo’s being his usual loud self, so I bet they’re hanging out by the booth. He’s hard to miss.”

Your stomach twists at the mention of his name, but you keep your face neutral, shrugging casually. Mina raises an eyebrow at you, her grin turning sly. “You sure you didn’t go over there just to sneak a peek?”

Ochaco gives her a light nudge. “Mina, leave her alone. She’s probably just trying to enjoy the party.”

“I am enjoying the party,” you say, forcing a lightness into your tone, bopping your head to the side like it's the most natural thing in the world.

There's anxiety running in your bloodstream with every spoken word, making your hands shake. Even when you want them to believe you, you're not entirely sure they do and your tummy is churning. 

“Great, just don’t stroll off on your own!”

Ochako smiles and places her hand on your shoulder “Mmh, Mina relax, the night is young”

“OCHAKO!” Mina screams “m'not leaving her outta my sight” 

She's warmer than the hot summer air when she wraps her arms around you from behind, excited to place a lipstick stained kiss over your hair, right where your ear is. 

In any other scenario you wouldn't feel so suffocated. But you lied to her, slipped away from her and grinded against him for no other reason than giving in to your carnal desires when she just wants to desperately keep you away from someone who’s been cruel to you. Secretly, dizzy in your buzzed out state, you hate the remembrance that it's fine when she goes back to her exes. 

Whatever it is you feel, you don't speak on it once you realize that the churning pit in your stomach is your need to pee -such a relief- and you inform your friends you are going to the bathroom, in case you can escape the back and forth movement of Mina's sway while she's got you in her arms. 

“Kay i’m coming with you” Mina says and lingers her fingers in between yours.

You roll your eyes, laughing along even though the tension in your chest refuses to ease. “You don’t have to, I'm not going to see him there too.” 

But she comes, nonetheless, almost skipping the steps downstairs and through the hall of Sero’s house. It’s too hot inside, it’s too humid outside and yours and Mina’s sticky hands merged together are almost giving you a sensory hell; Perhaps it was a good idea to let her come with you to the bathroom, so both of you can wash your hands from spilled booze and gathered sweat. 

Every step you take is frenzied, and she notices, being the better alcohol handler that she is in comparison to you. Your mind is a warzone, flashing images of Kirishima's hands on your waist, reminding you of the way his forehead pressed against the curve of your neck, the heat of his body against yours. You shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it. Mina doesn’t know. She can’t know. If you act normal, everything will be fine.

The bathroom is your personal oasis, a sole chance of salvation, to tuck yourself away from everyone for even a few moments. 

You go in first and in seconds you’re done, allowing Mina to go inside after you. You don’t look at yourself in the mirror, scared to see anything in your makeup that isn’t perfect. You’d rather not be aware of something you ultimately can't fix. 

With your back against the wall, you find some of the coolness of it almost soothing. For a moment, you almost feel normal, safe, like you can forget the whirlwind of emotions threatening to pull you under.

Almost, because concrete drinks up the heat worse than a sponge does water, almost, because that red haired devil announces himself to you all of a sudden again. It'd be silly to think you can actually escape him when you've infiltrated his mind. Assuming you've managed to rile him up. 

He wouldn't have followed your tail to the bathroom had you not done so. Right? 

Nonetheless, your heart stops as Kirishima’s voice cuts through the muffled music in the distance.  He’s closer than you expected, leaning casually against the doorframe at the far end of the hall. His eyes meet yours, warm and intense, and you feel your throat tighten.

This time he greets you casually again, with “Mina’s in?” 

Oh dear god how you wish to escape him. 

You shoot him what you can only hope to be one of your most murderous looks and reply. “Yeah” 

“Cool. I’ll wait”

Panic flashes through you. Mina is just a few feet away, the bathroom door closed but the lock undone. She could walk out any second and catch the two of you like this. Your brain screams at you to do something -anything- to put distance between you and him. But your body betrays you, frozen in place.

There’s so much effort put into being silent or not looking at him that you think you’re going to burst. Whatever cool girl persona you’re trying and failing to put on is just… so, so bad. You wonder if there’s anything you can do, or say, to just ease this. Ask him how he’s been? Anything? No? You did grind the entirety of your ass against his groin just a little while ago. So you're not sure it's really appropriate to casually ask anything like that. 

“Listen i-” He speaks first, like he can read your mind but this time you are the one to overlap your voices.

“What are you doing here?” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper but still authoritative.

Kirishima tilts his head, studying you for a moment before answering. “Looking for you.” He clears his throat before he continues “I wanted to say.. I hope you’ve been okay”

You huff in response.

“Don’t want to talk to me? That’s fine” he pouts. And you suddenly think you can forget that time you thought you could die from how much you had been crying about the heartbreaker that he is. “You did dance with me though”

“You shouldn’t be here,” you hiss, glancing toward the bathroom door.

“I know,” he interrupts, stepping closer. Not enough to breach your space entirely, but enough that you feel the heat of his presence. 

You want to tell him a drunken dance isn't enough to have the two of you on casual terms again. But while studying his face, you come across realities you just need to ignore. 

His lips are so plum, his nose is so delicate, the strands of hair that fall from his low bun are so magical. It’s really no wonder what you've ever liked in him. You’ve liked everything. It's so infuriating. He shouldn’t really be doing this to you. Because every minute MIna takes in the bathroom is a minute that you forget the past. And you look at his chest so you don’t look him in the face but he looks so soft. It could actually kill you—but It just makes you mad instead.

“Why do you care how I've been?” you ask.

He leans on his bicep, right onto the wall, right next to you. 

His hair is so wild. The carmine of his eyes is too piercing for that expression that’s adorning his face. And oh dear god his arms are huge. You're so ruined by him and it kills you to realize that you already knew that and you're still choosing to engage with him. 

Eijiro Kirishima looks soft— he’s so far from it. Alas, for some reason you mimic him so much that you’re standing face to face. There’s not an answer to your question, not a direct one at least and you tell yourself it's because he does care about you. Just not in the way you care about him. 

The two of you stare at each other for what seems like an eternity, lips tucked tightly under teeth and crossed armed. One is determined to break a wall, the other trying to crawl up that wall with blood, sweat and tears.

“You know i-”

“No i don’t” You cut him off and he leans in impossibly closer. “Don't say it”

You’re suddenly aware of how long his eyelashes are and this party isn’t fun anymore. 

The tension between you could snap the air in two. Kirishima’s gaze locks onto yours, heavy and unyielding, and your heart is pounding so hard you swear he can hear it. Every nerve in your body screams at you to push him away, to step back, to run—but you don’t. You can’t. His presence is magnetic, pulling you into his orbit against all reason.

The bathroom door creaks slightly, and both your heads snap toward the sound. It’s still closed. Mina’s still inside. But the reminder of her so close, the precariousness of this situation, sends a wave of panic crashing over you.

“Go,” you hiss, your voice trembling with the effort to keep it steady. “Before she comes out.”

You move your hands as in to go and push against his chest when ultimately, you decide not to— and so you awkwardly stand with your hands hanging mid air. You’re unsure of what to do with them.

Kirishima, however, doesn’t budge. He stays exactly where he is, his arm braced against the wall beside you, his body a shield between you and the rest of the world. His lips part, and you think he’s going to argue, but instead, he says something that takes your breath away.

“I miss you.”

You try to hold on to your anger, your hurt, but it slips through your fingers like specs of sand. It doesn’t matter that you can’t fall for this again. His bluntness, the way he speaks it like it’s a given fact that you should absolutely know on your own, kills you.

“Kirishima,” you start, your voice sharp but still wavering. The bathroom door clicks open before you can have a chance to reply, to even weave a coherent sequence of words with your weakened thoughts, and Mina steps out, immediately clocking the two of you. Her eyes narrow, suspicion flaring to life as she takes in the scene. You push yourself off the wall, putting some much needed space between you and Kirishima.

You look at her with your mouth agape and your hands still dance awkwardly before your chest.

Mina swoops her hand and locks her elbow into yours in the right -or rather wrong- time and you’re dragged away from Kirishima again. He, in return, chuckles in amusement like he knows better and as the music starts to become loud and clear in your hearing and you’re drifting away from him, watching him as he turns smaller and smaller with your every step you realise— this party can be fun again. 

Your friend is furious this time, though, muttering something like “you cannot be left alone for a second”. That horrible coil in your stomach is back “You’ll just stay by me the whole night”

You’re tossed on cushion and if your heart trying to jump out of your chest wasn’t enough to make your whole body shake, Mina plops right next to you, imprisoning you to your seat. 

Thus, you find yourself trapped, like a highschooler on detention, with half your heart up your sleeve, on one of the couches that are on the rooftop, squeezed between Tetsutetsu and Mina, blinking at their conversation about a recent paper they had to finish for one of their shared classes. You’re so naturally bored out of your mind and drunk and all you can think about is the way Kirishima looked at you outside of the bathroom.

The words he spoke. 

Your first instinct to make this wave of boredom -and these poisonous thoughts- wash away from your mind and body, is to open your phone and scroll through Instagram, refusing so profoundly to even acknowledge the only conversation you get to hear at a party in the middle of the summer is about university.

Quick and as instinctively as it gets, you glance at the pink and yellow gradient of Instagram story icons, and you tap at the screen fast, pretending you haven’t seen Kirishima's icon lined up at the top of your homepage, bright green adorning it. 

Mina sees. 

Strike one.

You tap out, faking a small scroll on your homepage as you swipe the screen, carefully, eyeing the conversation with Kirishima that screams unread. You're sure, if this notification could speak, i’d be screaming at you to open it like a caged and hurt tiger cub. 

Naughty fingers linger just above it and you wish you too had a privacy screen right now, like Mina, because all you can do is sink into the soft pillow of the couch, elbows close to your waist. You almost think you have shielded yourself away from her.

Eyes scanning the area, you manage to spot Kirishima. And he spots you instantly. You don’t smile at each other, you don't wave, there’s nothing you can do to cover for what he said to you a few minutes before because Mina made it awkward. 

You just blink at him, slowly and he eyes you up and down. Legs, hair, face, shoulders, the phone in your hands and then your eyes again.

Both Tetsutetsu and Mina see. 

Strike two.

He reaches for his pocket, frantically searching for his phone—perhaps he's not as clueless as they get, after all. With a quick lock of gazes that speak in the same, delinquent language of lust, you open the chat while he unlocks his phone. 

Strike three. 

Mina snatches your phone. 

Tetsutsetu looks at you apologetically but your furrowed brows and your perked ears shoo him away from even steering a word. You're angry, mad, furious, that your best friend is treating you like you're her property. Like you should hereby follow her orders like they're vital. 

“This is so not funny. Give me my phone” You yell, even if the music is louder than your voice and extend your open palm to her, expecting your device to be handed to you.

“Absolutely not. You’re gonna text him.”

“And what’s it to you? Why do you care so much?”

Your friend widens her eyes in confusion, anger, sadness. You know you shouldn’t have said that, with how much she’s been by your side all this time but her behavior tonight is crippling you. It's suffocating you. If you want Kirishima and he wants you, then there’s absolutely nothing that your friends can do to stop the two of you. You wanna have your heart ripped out again and have the pieces fed to you by force? Fine—not fine, really, that heartbreak almost killed you, but it should be your choice!

You want to scream. You want to yell at her, at Tetsutetsu, at the universe for orchestrating this whole damn night against you. Instead, you grit your teeth so hard you can feel your jaw tighten and pull at your temples.

Mina’s holding your phone like it’s the nuclear launch codes, her lips pursed into a line that’s both furious and disappointed and her ponytail bops. It’s not a look you’re unfamiliar with tonight, but that doesn't make it sting any less. And there’s Kirishima, somewhere in the periphery, probably wondering why you haven’t texted him yet, silently demanding a response from you- probably thinking about that goddamn dance and how easy it is for him to pull you back in and make you nervous with his confession.

Your chest heaves as you force yourself to take a breath.

“I’m not a child, Mina,” you say, your voice barely above the music, but it’s sharper than glass, intended to be mean. 

Mina crosses her arms, holding your phone to her chest like she’s guarding your entire future. “No, you’re just acting like one. What’s your plan here, huh? Just let him screw you over again?”

Tetsutetsu shifts awkwardly beside you, eyes flicking between the two of you like he’s waiting for someone to call timeout. It gets worse when you think that he’s friends with the person you're fighting with Mina about.

“This isn’t about you!”

Mina yells something incoherent back and you decide you can't just ruin her party because you want that red devil to eat your heart out. You are not a bad friend. But the frustration and heat of the night makes your blood boil. “Why do you care so much if I want to talk to him?”

“Because you’re my friend!” Mina snaps, stepping closer, her voice trembling just enough to let you know she’s holding back from bursting to tears. “Because I saw what he did to you last time. Because I care about you more than that asshole ever will!”

It feels like she’s just punched you in the chest. It pains you more than the notion that you’re the terrible friend that’s making her cry on her birthday. And maybe she has a point—maybe she’s entirely right- but you’re so tired of everyone else deciding what’s best for you, like you’re some fragile thing that’ll shatter if you make one wrong move, just because they’ve all watched you break once doesn't mean they can stop it from happening again. It’s your own heart that’s to decide if the need to shatter again is or isn’t vital.

“But you’re friends with him!”

“Uh, maybe we should all just, you know, calm down?” Tetsutetsu interferes awkwardly, glancing between you and Mina.

Her face twists into something unreadable because you’re right, and for a second you think she’s going to throw your phone off the rooftop just so you can avoid him. But she sighs, loud and sharp and shoves the device into your hand. There's no real winning when he's in the same space as you. Whether you have your phone or not, it's pointless. 

“Fine. Whatever.” She turns away, her arms folded tight across her chest “Do what you want.” She yells, finally, and your eyes are too watery to notice hers are a mirror of yours.

You don’t move at first, your heart still pounding, the weight of the phone in your hand feeling like it might just crush you. Tetsutetsu mutters something about grabbing another drink and slips far away, leaving you and Mina in silence, the distant bass of the party the only thing keeping the moment from completely unraveling.

“Go ahead. Text him. Meet him. Fuck him all you want. Let him stomp on your heart all over again. But don’t say I didn’t warn you and don’t come crying to me afterwards either.”

Her words sting more than you want to admit, it’s evident in your face when you mutter that you want to go home.

Mina softens her eyes immediately at that. Maybe you both took it too far, but there’s no satisfaction in the kindness she tries to show you when she goes to hug you. She’s not the one who looks like she’s going to burst into tears anymore. You are. And you avoid her open arms, choosing to back away.

You take a step back, avoiding her touch like it burns. The lump in your throat feels like it might choke you, and the tears threaten to spill over. “I can’t do this right now,” you say, your voice trembling. “I need space.”

Her hands drop to her sides, and her face falls, stricken. “I didn’t mean-” she begins, but you shake your head, cutting her off.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, though you’re not sure if you believe it. “I just need some air.” backing away further. The music, the party, the noise; it all fades into the background as you turn and weave through the crowd, desperate to escape. Desperate to breathe.

You don’t know what makes you look up, but when you do, before you storm off the party and leave Mina to have her fun without having to look out for your excuse of an ass,  your eyes find Kirishima again, like they always do tonight. He’s still standing there, leaning against the edge of the rooftop with one hand in his pocket, his head tilted just slightly as he watches you.

You wish this was one of the times you could confide in him about the problems that you’re facing, as you’ve done so a lot of past times, but it’s so hard to want him when he’s not even willing to do that anymore. You’re not sure you can trust him with your heart again. Part of you just wants to behave to Mina’s advice. You just want to be a good friend.

You fall victim to the ghost of stomping off at parties every time you’re invited to one and to think that this would be different would be a false hope. The worst is that this time everyone is here to witness it. You’re gone, slipping past the crowd and toward the stairs, your heart pounding louder than the music.

______

If you could physically cool down in the middle of the summer, from that nasty attitude of yours to your best friend and that need for a douchebag that will chew you and spit you again, you would. The trick of sticking your open back to any concrete wall is so banal by now. Your legs are shaking. The cigarette you’re smoking is almost out -halfway- and you feel so emotionally tired that you don’t even want to light it up again.

You want to go home, somehow, even considering getting yourself an Uber so you can get out as fast as you can. Mina is everywhere watching over like a tyrant and so is Kirishima. They've been hot on your every step.

But Kirishima's too good at finding you when you're not even trying to hide. 

He finds you -hidden this time- on the outside of that small kitchen door that leads to the backyard of Sero’s house. Although he doesn’t ask you if you’re alright, your lips are pouted, your eyebrows scrunched into a line in the middle of your forehead. He knows that you're mad since he's inflicted anger on you a thousand times before. 

“Shoo. I'm not supposed to talk to you” You almost bark, not even looking at him, yet, he simply ignores it. He wants to talk to you and there's nothing you can do to stop him. 

“Mina doesn’t allow you to? huh”

You cringe at his chuckle and he giggles again. It's almost hard to believe they were such good friends all these years ago. But you do confirm what he asks when you don't reply. You're so tired of wishing it was different and you really want to go home. Avoid all this trouble, avoid him, avoid getting swooned by him. 

“Ahh, you know-”

It's just a few syllables and you're locked in his eyes, heart palpitating as red fills everything in your vision. Whether it's him or the hotness of your feelings.

The coil in your stomach is back—finally, as if it ever left- revealing itself as dread and anger for everyone. Anger for Mina trying to force you to act a certain way, anger at Kirishima for not leaving you alone, anger at yourself for giving him a chance to make you fold again. You choose to bark when you can't bite. There's no universe in which you win a fight over Kirishima. 

“You look like you want to say something,” he says softly, stepping closer, his tone both curious and coaxing.

Your hands ball into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms as you try to steady yourself. The ache in your chest sharpens as the weight of everything presses down on you. You can’t hold it in any longer. You’re so angry and confused.

“No, fuck you. Go back to the girlfriend that you love so much”

For a moment, his expression flickers. Surprise, then hurt, flashing so quickly you almost miss it. Then his lips curl into a smirk, the sharp edge of it cutting through the tension like a blade.

“Awww..Thought you knew we broke up, when you unblocked me and all”

Oh so he’s playing you. Great. 

Your stomach churns. The way he says it, so casual, so smug, choking on a little laugh while he’s at it, makes your blood boil. You cross your arms, leaning against the cool brick wall as if it could shield you from his presence.

“You think this is funny?” you snap, glaring at him.

“Not at all,” he says, his smirk softening into something more genuine, something more infuriatingly earnest. “I just think it’s interesting.”

“Interesting?”

He shrugs, his broad shoulders moving effortlessly, the motion somehow both casual and loaded. “You’re still this angry. Still... passionate.”

“Passionate?” you echo, the word sour on your tongue. Had you been passionate about it he still wouldn’t be seeing the end of it. You thought he knew you like that. “I’m pissed. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.” His voice is calm, maddeningly so, as he leans a little closer. “But I think you’re pissed because you still care.”

His words hit like a slap, the kind that stings and lingers long after. The kind that leaves an angrily red handprint after. You want to deny it, to tell him he’s wrong, but the words won’t come. Instead, you press your palms against the wall behind you, your nails scraping against the rough surface.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter. It lacks the venom you wish it carried, because you hope he does the opposite of what you’re saying.

He doesn’t back off. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, studying you like he’s trying to read a book that’s just out of reach. “You ever think maybe I’m still bothering because I care too?”

That shuts you up. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. The weight of his words hangs heavy between you, thickening the already charged air.

Is it more embarrassing that he knows what exact action lies behind your thoughts or that he’s calling you on it? He could have stayed silent and spared you of this uncomfortable notion that finally answers to his name and you could have tried not to speak any venom at him with your words. You’ve always found yourself unable to, alas, even when you told him you love him, it was meant to hurt him, more than it meant to take that weight off your chest. So why hold back now of all times? 

“I meant what i said before. And I know that you meant that you loved me when you said it.”

Standing face to face with him is inevitable at this point. He’s not so keen on pushing his back against the wall anymore, seeing that you don’t turn to face him again, not even once, and he’s determined to face you. You look at him tired, by blinking into his eyes and you’re so thankful for the safety distance he puts in between the two of you. 

For the first time tonight he’s looking at you apologetically and he even waits until you put out your cigarette to open his arms in front of your very eyes.

It’s a welcoming invite which you receive with disbelief, but he doesn’t ask if he can hug you. He just does. Two fucking seconds is all it takes until you’re burying yourself into him. The crook of his neck. That soft spot that emits his scent the strongest. It’s too tender against your nose. Perhaps he's tender too. 

You’re melting; Whether it's sweat or a tear that you’ve tried so hard to contain in your lower eyelids, there's something about him that’s turning you into a puddle. Right here, right now. Perhaps, your soft spot for Kirishima is really so physical. That devil of a man moans into the crook of your neck and you know he’s smiling without having to witness it to make sure. 

It’s refreshing in such a twisted way to know you can’t get away from each other.

An eternity later, when you pull back, with empty arms, he reaches for his pocket, sweetness emitting from the expression on his face. Thick fingers idle on a bent roll of a cigarette that's too big to just be filled with normal tobacco. 

“Wanna smoke with me?” He asks and plops right next to you on the wall -his and yours original spot- to which you shrug in response. What’s the worst that could happen? 

You had a drag or even two a little while ago, in the presence of Sero and there’s not enough alcohol in your system -you think- to make you spiral. Even if the blunt that Kirishima is holding is fatter than the ones you would normally smoke with a whole bunch of people, there’s really no harm in just a little. It'll help you unwind, just so you don't choke him with your bare hands at the cost of your heartbreaks. 

Your lighter is used to light the blunt in between his lips and everything around you suddenly smells like sativa. Kirishima takes a long drag, his eyes slipping shut “Ahh, that’s the stuff” He says and moves his hand accordingly to pass it to you.

So generous. You could cry.  For a moment, you forget how much you hate him. It’s in the way his lips curl around the blunt, casually unbothered, like he has all the time in the world to figure you out. “What?” he asks, tilting his head like he doesn’t already know the answer. 

You glance at the lit end as he offers it to you. The unspoken invitation hangs in the humid summer air. You take a drag and pass it to him again, careful to let the smoke linger in your lungs as you count the seconds before you exhale. 

Fingers touch and stay there. It’s enough to send a jolt through your already frayed nerves and you try not to ponder over the question on whether his hands are hot because of you or the hot summer weather. Closing your eyes for a second, you decide to open them in his direction just to find him already staring at you.

“Shut up,” you mutter. 

“You gonna let me smoke this whole thing by myself?”

The smoke burns going down, but the buzz hits almost instantly, and you let out a shaky breath. “I’m not doing this because of you.” You snatch it from him. He laughs, low and quiet, like he’s savoring some private joke you’ll never be in on.

“Sure you’re not.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. That idiot thinks he knows all about you, even the unspoken. That's so far from your own truth. 

Everything around you is so muffled and peaceful. The party is an eon away and Kirishima doesn’t utter a word. Heaven. But it lasts so little, now that your thoughts are dizzy again, every minor word you could jab at him is woven and hidden under your tongue. Your heads are itching to get closer and closer.

You turn to look at him again but you can’t hold a laugh in. The situation is hilarious on its very own when you think about it. You’re hidden away with the only person you’re never supposed to acknowledge ever again and he’s laughing back at you for laughing in his face. You danced with him, tried to message him, you stared at each other too much, like you're both insane. 

There's no normal, or humane way to approach anything that has to do with the two of you together and it would be a lie if you said you hadn't missed this. 

The more smoke enters your lungs the more you feel like you're loosening up, stiff shoulders finally relaxed.

This new point of view is fun; foreheads almost clashing, crossed staring. You'll try to keep away from him as much as you can, but he breaks that uncomfortable silence that's otherwise only broken by the occasional sound of inhaling. It’s the way he leans his head back against the wall, exposing the line of his throat, the way his hair falls just right even when it’s sweaty and unkempt. You hate it. You hate him. He’s so unexpected.

The silence between you stretches again, heavy and loaded, but not suffocating this time. You let yourself look at him—really look at him-and for a moment, you see the Kirishima you used to know. The one who made you laugh until your sides ached, who held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I hate you,” you mutter, though there’s no venom in your voice. It’s a feeble attempt to guard yourself, to keep him at arm’s length.

He chuckles softly, and the sound is warm, familiar. “I know.”

You shake your head, your lips twitching into a reluctant smile despite yourself. “You’re insufferable.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, a playful glint returning to his eyes. “But you still haven’t walked away.” The sound of exhaling echoes before he speaks again “Why’d you unblock me?”

You freeze, the blunt paused halfway to your lips. It’s not like you hadn’t expected this question, but you thought you’d have more time to come up with an answer. “I don’t know,” you say. Big lie for a topic you don’t want to actually talk about. 

Kirishima shifts, turning his body toward you just enough to make you squirm, his forehead still on yours even if the laughter has died  “Bullshit.”

You glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it anymore. “Maybe I was bored. Maybe I wanted to see if you’d embarrass yourself trying to message me.”

He smirks, but it’s softer than usual, like he’s trying not to scare you off. “And? Did I?”

You roll your eyes. “You were predictable.”

“To think I almost didn't come because I didn't want to see you.” In any other instance this phrase would hurt like a bitch. “Bakugo said I shouldn't act like a dick tonight.”

You're not sure if he's referring to you or the party, but you choose to test him, pretending to be oblivious to his advance. 

“Mina won't forgive you if you're a shitty friend to her again”

“Mm I know” He giggles “never meant to be like that”

You don't reply out of nothing but embarrassment. It was you who would kept in contact with Kirishima when Mina had a fight with him, and you acted like a fool, telling her everything about him when he messed up. Something she just didn't do for you when she was friends with him and the two of you were a casual thing. 

Hell, you didn't even know they were this close again before she announced that he'll be at the party. 

Perhaps right now you don't find it in you to give a damn about their friendship. Whenever she's in the middle of you there's only disaster. You'd rather only count on yourself to ruin things with him. 

“I just… I don't care. Treat Mina however she allows you to.” This would usually make him bite, just enough so you could feel sharp canines, but now that he's intoxicated he just smiles softly. How long has it been since you've seen that expression on him? 

“Damn you're so harsh again”

Closed eyes, smile from one ear to another; you have to show him and his stupidly beautiful face that you're not the person he once knew. Your forehead sticks to his with a muffled sound. “Then what'll you do to make me soft?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Suddenly you come to realize, that getting Kirishima back is the easiest thing in the universe. Which just isn't a very good sign, at all. 

Α curious hand travels to your cheek, pushing back a loose strand of hair away from your face and you convince yourself you wouldn’t have accepted this touch if it wasn’t for another reason -no- but he cups the left side of your face so smoothly, your faces still stuck together, that the world is reduced to this hidden part of Sero’s backyard. To just the two of you. 

He’s so not good for you, damaged goods, been with other people that aren't you, you tell yourself in a last frail attempt to pull away, yet your body does not comply with any negative comment about him your mind has to offer to restrain you.

He chuckles for another time and it’s downright annoying how much you want him “I think i'm getting the munchies” 

You’re sold on every single word.

______

Under any other circumstance you’d avoid anything edible in Sero’s fridge given the fact that he owns a snake as a pet. There’s a plateau filled with canapes, there’s soda and there’s beer neatly placed in the vegetable drawer and that’s about all you can see from behind Kirishima’s back. He’s searching frantically for something while you hate how loud the music sounds now, your stomach growls much like his and he obviously hears it. It’s so loud even that he gives one of his searching hands a break and extends it to you, to pull you next to him. Tucked underneath his bicep you’re now met with the heavenly chill of the fridge.

You look up at him while he roams through the fridge, tongue out and lips pressed into a line. This isn’t a hidden place anymore; anyone can walk in and see you hugging. Yet and ever so fortunately your friends seem to have forgotten about the menace of the two of you being together apparently.

Kirishima pulls back from the fridge and closes it, taking the needed chilly air away with the stainless steel door. There’s victory in his hands. An unopened pack of prosciutto and a squeeze bottle of honey. Seeing that you don’t really get a chance to wiggle yourself from his arm, he swings you so that your back is facing the cabinets, your ass hitting the wooden countertop as your dress hitches slightly upwards. 

Big breath in. Slow exhale. His naked knee is in contact with your thigh.

He struggles with the packaging for a second but it doesn’t put up a long fight. With a stomach so viciously hungry his hands win for the second time this evening. With every movement you’re pressed further onto the countertop, but still not on it yet.

A small bite of prosciutto goes onto the tip of his finger and he finally sets his eyes on you. “Mouth” he orders and you open almost instinctively, taking the finger into your mouth. You whine at how salty it is but he’s got the solution for you, trapped in that golden squeeze bottle.

When he has his own share of the delicatessen he drops just a golden bit on the same finger and puts it in your mouth. Finally past your surprised lips, you suckle the honey, gaze fixated on him while his thumb brushes against your upper lip.

So long lip combo. You will not be missed.

“Great idea” You tell him ever so content. Everything is so balanced in your little bubble right now. Even the way he sucks the same finger into his mouth.

One more round of prosciutto means one more round of honey and you almost wonder if he came up with this on the spot, or if he’s ever done this before. You’ve never seen him with such menace in his red eyes. He’s just so evil.

Even more so, when he squeezes more honey on his finger and smears it against your lips. For a sinister moment everything goes completely silent and static. Your tongue dances on the tip of his finger as he pushes it further and further into your mouth, stroking your chin and your cheek when his hand moves in a circular motion.

“Fuck” He hisses, licking his lips and pulling his finger way from your mouth. The popping sound it makes is enough to get him riled up just enough, so that he grabs your face with his hands. He takes the smallest leap towards you, given the fact that you’re not that far away from each other, smacking his lips on yours.

With a heart that’s heavy as a rainy cloud, you moan at how rough his are. There’s nothing but neediness in his movements, from how he bites your lower lip between his teeth to how his hands just won’t let the sides of your face. You couldn’t even get yourself out of this situation with a written petition.

And when he feels and tastes like everything you remember, you can’t find it in you to kiss him back with the same burning fever. You want to be mean.

You push him away, whispering “Kirishima. Don’t kiss me” but your own hands are on his face too.

“Eijiro” He corrects you, like he hasn’t heard the second part of your words. “Now's not the time for my last name” His thumbs stroke your cheeks, so gentle it makes your chest ache. You hate how good his touch feels, how much you want to lean into it even as you tell yourself you shouldn’t.

He simply doesn't understand your inner turbulence.

“Don’t call me by my last name when I’m about to fuck you”

You’d hate to call him that; Kirishima is nothing but himself and he’s definitely not ‘your Eijiro’ even if you might as well have always been his. There’s just no way of showing him how much you want him while you absolutely hate him. Tonight was never meant to end up like this. you weren't supposed to land on Sero’s kitchen counter, trapped by him, kissing him. You were supposed to be having fun.

So long is the distance between fun and the notion of you doubting everything that’s happening to you at the moment. So short is the route in your brain that combines Kirishima’s behavior that is lust driven to the one you assume is him getting what he wants and chewing you and spitting you out for anyone to have his leftovers.

You count on him to put the invisible block between these two thoughts, to put an end at your turbulence. In the way his nose nuzzles to yours, in the warmth of his body against your own.

The tension is thick in the air between the two of you, and for a moment, his hands linger on your face like he’s memorizing the shape of it. His red eyes are half-lidded, drunk on the moment or the haze of the evening-or maybe just on you.

“Don’t kiss me,” you repeat, but this time it’s weaker, softer, almost like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t push forward, but he doesn’t let go either. His thumbs brush over your cheeks, so gentle it’s maddening. Your own lips are barely brushing his and despite what's coming out of your mouth you almost kiss him yourself. 

“You keep saying that,” he murmurs, voice low and raspy. “But you’re not pulling away.”

Your hands are still on his face, and it’s infuriating how good his skin feels under your palms. Warm, alive, familiar in a way that makes you want to scream.

There's so much nuisance in your bloodstream that you kiss him, ignoring whether he can respond or not. It’s not gentle, not sweet—just messy, desperate, and filled with all the things you can’t bring yourself to say. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, and the world narrows until it’s just him. Just you.

There’s no logic anymore, no reason, just the heat of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, the roughness of his hands as they grip your thighs and push the hem of your dress higher.

Its decided then, by both of you, when your nails scrape against the nape of his neck desperately, that it's no use in denying each other. The feeling that use to dying both of you to pull away is faint now, reduced to something that resembles burnt out charcoal, ashes of a hateful fire. 

It's a whirlpool of emotions that's pulling you both in after that. It was a mistake to ever think it'd be okay you smoke with him or let him feed you, because your hands move on their own accord, pulling him as close to you as possible, chest heaving and eyes so heavy with teardrops that never dare fall. Your hands grip on everywhere and anywhere on his neck, face and hair that you can land them on. 

Every breath you take through your nose is hitched, like the sniffle of a crying session, but you refuse to part with lips that move in sync with agony. You forgot how good his lips feel on yours, you'll forget once again. Soon enough. 

For now, you block the angst of him and you away and instead, you feel dizzy like you're drowning. In an ocean so vast and dark that it's impossible to try and reach the surface for air. 

There's no word spoken, no other sound, no warning when his hands hitch under the skirt of your dress, angry and desperate to finish what he started when the two of you were dancing all this while ago. The pads of his fingers examine the band of your panties, as if they can tell the color just through that and for a second he stops kissing you, to hiss, breathe and whimper at how soft your skin feels against him. 

You run your fingers through his hair. A disheveled ponytail that finally comes to ruins is the outcome and his revenge is pulling your hips towards him, fingers laced between your panties, barely touching the skin of your ass. 

This time, you hiss. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You should. You know you should. This is dangerous, reckless, teetering on the edge of something you can’t take back. But instead of pulling away, you find yourself leaning in, your breath hitching in your throat.

“I’m not stopping you”  you admit, your voice soft and uneven. 

You kiss him.

That’s all the encouragement he honestly needs.

He pulls away from your lips with a smacking sound that's louder than the actual music and he tries, he tries to link his forehead against yours when smoking hot hands press against your tummy, just so his thumb can rub a painfully firm swipe across your throbbing clit and you don't let him have this moment in silence. 

You squirm at how delicious his touch is, and you're embarrassed that you feel this way about him still. Since it's just this time, you'll manage. 

You buck your hips into his thumb and squirm, your knees shaking like you’ve been hit by thunder. Embarrassment surges through you.

“Don't look at me” You whisper and throw your legs off the counter to stand on your feet. 

A hand on your waist and a furrowed brow is all that you get in response. After that, you're spun around the counter, released of any control in your own movements. Your right knee is thrown onto the counter, your neck is interlocked in his left hand, your back is stuck to his chest. 

He's smarter than you are, sometimes. 

You can feel how hard his heart is beating against your back, through tons of muscle. He's shaking, but you're not one to judge when you’re in the same position.

The fingers that held your knee against the counter top have already ordered your bones not to move and they're running up the side of your thigh. Grabby and needy as he is, he places a kiss at the crook of your neck when he feels the skin of your cheeks spill through his fingers. 

The departure of his hand upsets you only in the seconds before he gives you a small slap. 

You try to adjust yourself better against him so you don't feel your back hurting as you're stuck on him but it's no use, he applies pressure to your neck in response and hooks his pointer finger under your panties to pull them to the side. Your chest hitches a breath like he stole it from you. 

He's steady with his ministrations, catching some of your slick with his thumb from your entrance and drags it across your slit, landing to your clit, just to rub a few slow circles there. His lips find your shoulder and even though the stubble he has as a goatee hurts when it's poking you, the kiss he plants on your skin is hot- too sensual. 

He keeps rubbing circles against you, gradually introducing a few pinches to your clit when he traps it between his fingers. 

You groan and you yelp; it's unprovoked when his ring finger enters you, too sudden as he keeps rubbing you with his middle one. He's moving freely, in courtesy of how long and thick his fingers are and you're all but at his mercy. A whimpering mess that refuses to plead with him to move faster, or show him any ministration on how to please you most. 

He is aware of how to do exactly that. 

He is aware of every single detail; from how fast he can make you cum, to how much time he needs to prep you for simply the size of him, and you'd be insane to stop him now. One, because you'll die from your own lust if he leaves you empty even for a second and two-

“Fuuuck, don't stop” You whine, only because your head isn't working anymore, your thoughts are gone as he pulls out his finger for only a second. 

You don't see it, with your field of vision being a dark lit image of Sero's toaster on the counter you're on, but you listen to the sound of a finger getting sucked in Kirishima’s mouth. Albeit, you almost moan at the notion that he can't get enough of you. 

He works a second finger inside of you, introduces it with a few circles around your entrance and the sound of a hiss falls from his lips when he does so. He scissors his movements and everything applies pressure to that spot inside of you that has your knees shaking. 

That devious coil in your tummy is back, but now it's much lower, just under the spot where your skin is pressed on the edge of the counter. You're reduced to being a moaning mess of an orgasm that's building up, high off the feeling of Kirishima's fingers pistoning inside of you feverishly. 

He bites his lips hard enough to draw blood at the mere sight; but the faster he works to prep you, the worse it gets for him. His cock is twitching so hard between his legs, tugging uncomfortable at how it's tucked inside his underwear and cargo shorts. Every little moan of yours when he lazily flicks at your clit with the top of his pointer finger,  gets him impossibly harder, to the point he can't just ignore it anymore. 

“What are you-” You almost turn around to eat his heart out when he pulls his fingers out of you, so he can work on his button, his zipper, on the waistband of his underwear. Begrudgingly, your eyes rush to his side and you're too cocky with the anger of a ruined orgasm. 

Despite that, the sounds of his undressing, you respect. Until his palm grasps at the nape of your neck, to force your head to land next to the toaster again. 

“You said you don't wanna look at me, didn't you?”

His cock springs free, just as big and thick as you remember and not a single whine of yours is enough to make him get him to come closer. 

“I said,” You pant “I don't want you to look at me”

With one hand grabbing at his base, jerking himself slowly in a hammer motion, he lets the weight of him slap on your naked ass as he moves to completely bunch up your skirts around your waist. He ignores what you said as it's deemed impossible; there's no way in the whole world he will tear his eyes off of you right now. It's laced in his confession. 

“Fuck, I'm missed this view, so, don’t care. Don't look at. Me.”

You whine as his palms kneed softly at the soft skin of your ass, through layers of your muscle, thumbs so firm they're almost digging in holes on the two spots they've landed so he can spread you open even further. 

His cock moves like it has a brain of its own, leaving trails of precum against your ass and he thrusts his head across your slit a few and agonizingly slow times. You should speak up, tell him how much you love it, tell him you can just cum on the spot from just his cockchead rubbing against your clit like that but you don't want him to have that satisfaction. You don't need him to know he’s making you feel this good when he's barely done anything to you.He's cocky enough already, engrossed in his actions as his tip lines up exactly to your entrance. 

He teases you with his tip again, like he’s gonna torture you until you beg—which you’re not gonna do. Though your eyes roll to the back of your head at the sound of him slapping his dick against your folds. He slides against you again, hips stuttering out with a simple, muffled, motion of a hold back and just like that, when he’s spent on the feeling of squeezing his base so he gets even harder he lines up with your soppy entrance.

He slips right in. No warning, no effort. Your pussy pulls him in.

A guttural moan escapes you, coming from the depths of your chest as he thrusts his head in. The pain of being split open hits you like a wave. It hurts, like every single time you reconcile with him. You always forget that the girth and length of him are too much to not take in gradually. 

But he knows that too. 

“Babe,” he whimpers “Can I move?”

You wince at the desperation in his voice, the use of the nickname paired with it, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. ‘Babe’ how can such a simple word make your stomach twist into a knot? 

“Please-” It's nothing but a whisper, but it comes out of your mouth without much thought. It's needy and silent and full of guilt. 

“Oh fuck I like the sound of that. Say it again”

You hesitate for a moment, hips bucking towards him to take a little more in but he pushes your head down again. 

“Please Eijiro”

“Please what,” He pressures “say it”

“What? No!” 

“Then I could just pull out”

The sound of your mumbling is almost choked by his palm on your cheek, he's not letting go- he's not hurting you either- the pressure is just enough to get his point across because, frankly, the stuttering of his hips doesn't match his words. Had you not been pressed on the counter, you would have bucked away from him to teach him not to play boss with you. For now, you just whine as he pulls completely out of you.

“Eijiro- fuck, please”

“Fuck what?”

“Shit. Fuuuuck”

Eijiro presses his hand on your waist and pins you down, getting a hold of your hair in his hands—fuck, fuck, fuck, the word’s a mantra right now. Fuck it’s so hot, you’ve never even thought you could get this wet over a few motions. 

He growls when he yanks your head just a little upwards and your walls pulsate around nothing.

“Want me to turn you over and fuck your mouth? Huh?”

“N-no” you shake your head.

“Then speak”

You take a mental note; you’re going to chew his head off for this later on. When did Eijiro even learn how to dirty talk like that?

“Me! Fuck me, dammit” You hiss, cheeks are once again trapped between his palm and the cold counter. 

He places another kiss on your shoulder at that, giving your ass an encouraging slap as he chuckles. “There you go”

You feel the head of his cock press against your entrance once again, and despite yourself, you whimper. His hands squeeze your hips tightly as he begins to push inside of you, inch by slow inch. The burn of pain mixed with the heat of desire, making it almost impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. You grit your teeth against the sensation, trying to ignore the way his cock stretches you open.

You’re so full if him that you could explode.

His voice is so low in his throat, so needy when he says "That's it, baby.”

Then be, once more again before he starts going at a steady pace, bucks his hips time after time, ever so slowly. Had you not been unadjusted to the shape of his cock by now you'd be screaming at him to go faster, but for now, this tortuous pace is as helpful as it's driving you insane. 

It's just the beginning, but the weight in your chest and your heart are starting to be felt. 

“Eiji” You say, eyes closing as you try to hold on to the counter top to no avail. He moans in response, rubbing his palm along the length of the leg that you've bunched up on the surface. 

You've no mind to consider the soreness you'll be feeling tomorrow, really. 

He tries to hook his other hand on your steady knee and you yelp, scared that you're going to fall, that your strength isn't enough to hold your weight in the strange position that you're in right now. 

“Let go of your leg” He pants giving the back of your thigh a few encouraging slaps “give it to me”

You slowly let go of your leg, exhaling shakily in fear of not feeling the ground under your foot anymore. Eijiro takes this as an invitation, his grip on your hips tightening as he helps you wrap your leg awkwardly around him just so he thrusts deeper into you. The sensation is almost overwhelming, too mouthwatering; you can't help but want to arch your back in response, despite being almost unable to.

Hick dick kisses your cervix with every movement, every roll of his hips.

Your breath, despite having been knocked out of your chest, with each of his thrusts, is loud, always conveyed into a moan or a yelp and that’s about all the encouragement Kirishima needs for his thrusts to source more force, more speed. 

His hips slam against yours in a rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. You cry out in that delicious mixture that’s pleasure and the pain of him splitting you open, your body arching to meet his.

You are evil, sinister, malevolent for both you and him when you plead “Go faster”

He pants, half sober, half drunk as he digs his fingernails into your love handles and bottoms out again. Eijiro's thrusts quicken, his body shaking with the effort to keep up the pace. You can feel his cock pulsing inside you, head hitting every wall inside you as he drives deeper. Your breath comes in short gasps, and your body feels like it's on fire. This is new territory for both of you.

You've never had sex raw before, not even at the start of any session. So every time you squeeze around him, you can feel his veins and he can feel you get wet—wetter. It’s so sloppy, so messy, like it should have been happening all the time, like you two are made just for this.

Both of you whimper. Whether it’s the angle, the pace or the way he slips his hand, ever so subtly to rub lazy circles on your puffy clit, you absolutely cannot control your noises just as much as you cannot find it in you to care about whether you’re louder than the actual music on the party that's happening above.

You try and buck your hips towards him some more, yielding a moaned out version of his name in the process. Everything is just too much and you’ve never been this desperate to cum.

“Fuck babe, you feel so good” Kirishima hisses and your legs tremble 

“Yo-you too” 

“‘Pussy feels s’good, fffuck yeah work those hips for me”

You stretch your hand, in an effort to try to reach him, touch him. Anything to ground yourself to stop the shaking in your legs, but you ultimately cry out in disdain when he grabs your wrist to stop you, pining it on the small of your back. He holds it there for a moment, when his thrusts become slower, rougher, just enough to elicit louder moans from you before he finally lets go, running his hot palm on your back.

“Making me want to fuck you raw forever”

“Ei-” 

The only response you get is a whimper. Half lid eyes that look at your back with so much lust that it should be considered a sin.

You wish you could see his face, to land your eyes on that whiny expression that adorns his face when he’s inside you, but his hand is quick, too hot on the skin of the ape of your neck; he grabs your hair, lifts your head in the process.

“Take it” He whispers and you realize you haven't, in your dizzy state, even sensed him leaning on you to bite on your shoulder. The action alone makes you wince but Eijiro, ever so tender, immediately suckles the spot between his lips, hoping to soothe you, but your legs start shaking even more. “I'll give it to you slow then? ‘kay?”

“Ei” You’re so spent, so unable to call out anything other than his name, gooey walls clenching around him as his thrusts slow down even more. 

You’re so impossibly wet and tight, fluttering and squeezing and tightening around him. Mere seconds away from letting the beast that's gnawing inside you burst into existence. Like a flaming hot explosion. “'M gonna come” You manage to whisper and your stomach twists in an impossible way when Kirishima replies

“Can you wait for me baby, I want us to— fuck— come together”

And as much as you love the sound of that being whispered in your ear, you're not sure you can obey him. He feels that too, suddenly starting to quicken his thrusts while letting go of your hair, pushing it off your face. It's only now that he's so desperately chasing his own release, as you’re clamping impossibly around him, hips working faster than ever. 

“Can I cum in you? Fill you up?” The sound of skin clapping and your squelching with each buck of Kirishima's hips filling the kitchen. Hes’s frantic when you’re deprived of a reply, circling your clit, slapping it, gathering all of your mixed juices and rubbing at you again.

You yell out his name again like a mantra, your orgasm starting to blur out your vision as the top of his cock kisses all the right spots inside you. 

“Please say yes”

You moan.

“Say yes, wanna fill your pussy up.”

You moan again.

It feels so good— his hand on the small of your back, his scent, the notion that this is the worst thing that could happen tonight it all adds up to you finally coming to release all that's pent up tonight. 

—Clank!

From the corner of the kitchen, you hear a loud, unmistakable clatter, followed by the sound of rapid footsteps. Both yours and Kirishima's heads snap to the direction, his name being cut short from falling from your mouth as terror washes through both of you. 

White. 

Hot. 

A voice, too familiar, yells out in a burst of laughter and shock. 

“No fucking way!” Sero’s voice rings out, too high-pitched, way too obvious. “what the fuuuuuuck”

Kirishima locks eyes with him first, taking the first pinch of realisation in his gut, hands doing nothing of sort to shield any of you. There's no initial reaction that can be performed. He's just as deep in mud over this as you are. 

“Dude!” Sero paces his eyes between you and Kirishima as if to point out the profanity. Helaughs again, holding his stomach, never prying his gaze from the scenery in front of him “you guys are impossible. Get a room ‘cuz I want some more beer.”

Your eyes land on him, turn just in time to see his figure disappearing around the corner

heading straight to the direction he just came from, and you whine— both for your ruined orgasm, more so for the fact that you've been caught.

The wave of shame that should be washing over you is nowhere to be seen or felt. 

“No.” You don’t even realize you’ve said it until the words slip past your lips, but the panic that flares in your chest feels real. “No, no, no—he’s not— He's gonna tell— fuck!”

Kirishima swears under his breath, a hand running through his messy hair as he looks at you, his face caught between guilt and desperate frustration. “Shit—”

The two of you stand there, his cock still inside you, despite it starting to go limp, your leg still bunched around his back. Both of you too unsure of what to think, or do, in such situation. 

Seeing that the moment is ruined, that none of you have had enough self control to stop earlier or restrain yourselves, you lower your lifted leg to the ground. 

Kirishima takes the hint immediately. Patting your ass with both his palms for just a little leverage— like he needs it anyway and actually pushes out of you with a loud pop. He tucks his cock in his pants and zips them up in fast movements and actually makes an effort to make you look somewhat presentable too. 

Panties drawn to their initial position, even if they feel ruined and wet behind salvation, and dress smoothed nicely over your ass before he signs you to lift your head up. He guides you still, hand on your head, so you don't manage to land a hit at the cabinets over your head. 

For the first time in a while, you look at him again. He’s disheveled; red hair tousled and messy, lips burning a red as fiery as his eyes. There's a tiny remembrance of his quirk on the left side of his eyebrow. 

In an unfair and very beyond and out of character reaction for you, you reach to smooth it over with the tips of your fingers, pushing the red strands of hair away from the spot. He mumbles something that's beyond the realm of speech and you don't make an effort to understand as your hand slips to the side of his face, cupping his sharp jawline. 

You don't speak just yet, whether it's out of panic or because you're really not in a mental position to take in what just happened. Thus, you too, don't say a word when he brings both hands to your face. One to mimic your own hold, the other, to wipe some of the sticky residue of honey and some drool that has gathered in the corner of your lips. 

When your legs wobble on top of the heels that you just remembered you're wearing, the warmth of his hands on your face travels to your waist. It's only then that he talks. 

“Easy there, babe”

You let out a laugh “You did this to me, by the way”

“Well, I don't think I can hold myself when I'm around you. That's why I've been avoiding it.”

And that's exactly when it hits you. The party, Mina, every memoir of your past with him. You hate to be fucked silly to the point of no thought by him, never have an orgasm in his presence and then live in regret. You have to put an end to this. Mina was right. No one's gonna pick up your pieces ever again. 

You're looking dazzled, confused and out of your mind. The room starts to blur. 

You’re so out of words, it’s painful.

The tension hangs in the air as Kirishima grabs your hand, his grip firm but careful, and whispers hurriedly, “This way.” 

He leads you out of the kitchen, his eyes darting around the room like a predator looking for an escape route. You barely have time to register the shift in pace before he’s guiding you down the hall.

Your heart races—not just from the rush of adrenaline, but from the lingering haze of your interrupted moment. You’re still reeling from the intensity of it, your mind a chaotic blur of heat, panic, and something dangerously close to longing. Your hand, clasped inside his burns, like the very core of your being.

“Where are we going?” you hiss, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one is following.

“Bathroom,” he mutters under his breath, his jaw tight. “We need a second of privacy”

Before you can protest, he’s already nudging open a door, ushering you inside with a quick glance down the hallway. The bathroom is as small and dimly lit as it was a while ago and the hum of the party muffles the moment the door clicks shut behind you.

The lock makes a noise of pure solace; Eijiro twists the key hurriedly but doesn’t pull it out of the lock. He opts to rush to you, even if you’re just a few literal feet away from him. 

Your poor heart is thudding. You’ve been cataclysmed with emotions of all kinds. The betrayal to your friends, to yourself even, the guilt of how a part of you feels joy, the panic of experiencing being found out. The embarrassment. Tears well in your eyes like silky beads. Head in your hands, you land on the semi wall of the bathtub and sit down. 

Eijiro follows, much dizzy and still high like you, and plops on the marble right next to you. 

He turns his head in your direction despite knowing full well you’re trying not to let the faucet in your eyes flood your face, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to stand there and watch you like this. He only does what he knows better. 

Huge arms are wrapped around you and he’s pulling you close. Part of you wants to beg him to let go, too afraid of what happens each time you’re in this position with him and your heartstrings are being pulled— despite your sniffles and in between your thoughts and your guilt you can’t find any strength to push him away.

You melt into his chest, the very second his palm presses your head against him. 

“Shhh” the redhead finally speaks “Sero’s going to forget this in seconds, even faster”

First and foremost and most foul of all, Eijiro thinks you’re only crying because you’ve been caught. That’s as much as you gather from his demeanor. 

“No, I-” Another wave of tears hits you before you get a chance to respond.

“Please tell me how can I help”

You loathe the fact that he sounds so willing. It’s the twist of the knife to your wound, why is he only willing when something’s in for…

“…you?”

Oh, oh no! You spoke that aloud. Cursing under your breath you decide you would rather swallow your tongue and die forever. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re still high, but had you realised sooner you wouldn’t have spoken this. It’s prone to cause turbulence.

“What? You really believe that?” 

There. There he is looking as confused as ever and he’s peeling you away from his chest just to lock eyes with you. 

“I just…” he pauses “I don’t know how to act, I’m sorry”

It’s… excruciating that he apologises over something he knows can’t be helped. Even when not intended to excuse him you just know he’s a person that reeks of insecurities, inner turmoil be damned and all, but so are you. Apologising for himself does absolutely nothing to you— he probably knows so as well.

But you breathe in his scent and his apology stops being one of manipulation. The man before you is nothing but himself. With roots such a deep shade of brown that just isn’t black, lashes that are full but not too long… he lacks in things that he’s so full of; Maybe if you had been more kind and understanding you and him would have worked. You wouldn’t have to cry in his arms after a catastrophic night. You wouldn’t get carried away by each other, rather, you’d get carried away together.

You don’t answer to him, but tears well in your eyes and they’re for him. So you cling onto his shirt and avert your eyes, not being able to bear another glance at him.

A few, new sobs in and he manhandles you onto him. You never protest —His lap is more comfortable than the marble, much warmer too. And you don’t need to be cool anymore.

“Baby” he whines and a hand is wrapped around your head, engulfing you in that huge bicep of his. His fingers linger on your face again but this time he holds you; one thumb brushes lightly against your wet cheek and the other wipes the teardrops that run down one of your eyes “Did I— Am I making you cry?”

You nod.

In response he kisses your forehead. A secret part of you wishes he’d never done that despite the fact that you find solace in the comfort.

“I’m sorry, I’ve made you cry a lot, haven’t I?”

You nod again.

This time he doesn’t continue on with words. He kisses your forehead again, then your wet cheeks, your nose, your eyes lids and your chin. You’re so lost in the moment, dizzy still. You lean into him, edging closer and closer to his face. Your body moves on its own against your better judgement.

“It’s not fair” you say as your lips hover right under his.

“I know”

Thus, this time, when you kiss, it’s not needy or desperate; it’s comforting. Your lips move in sync against each other and its numbing; his mouth feels just perfect against yours. He pecks your lower lip and you suck on his softly. 

Of course, you know that he knows. But neither of you pull away.

Kirishima's hands tremble slightly where they rest on your waist, like he's unsure if he should pull you closer or let you go before it’s too late. The way his lips move against yours—slow, deliberate, reverent—makes your stomach twist. This isn't rushed or reckless like before. It isn't an act of desperation or lust. It's something else. Something worse.

It’s a plea. A question. A confession.

And the moment you realize that, you break the kiss.

Your breath comes in shallow gasps as you stare at him, his forehead still resting against yours. His eyes—soft, carmine and burning all at once—search yours, waiting for an answer you don’t have.

His fingers flex against your hips, but he nods. “I know….” He pauses “I never got to tell you that I love you too”

Even if this confession is the end for him, he doesn’t let go. Neither do you.

You sit there, tangled together in the dim light of the bathroom, the party outside a distant echo compared to the roaring silence between you. His chest rises and falls beneath your hands, warm and steady, and for a fleeting second, you let yourself imagine a world where this could be simple. Where you could have him without all the chaos, the guilt, the inevitable heartbreak.

Αll you’ve ever wanted was for this to be your world.

“Then why do you punish me for it?”

Reality settles between you like an unspoken truth, thick and suffocating, making it hard to breathe, hard to think—hard to do anything but exist in this moment that shouldn’t have happened.

You’re nothing but truthful and honest. He’s punishing you because he loves you but you’re just no better —you’ve been doing nothing but the same.

Kirishima’s grip tightens just slightly, like he’s afraid that if he loosens it even a little, you’ll slip away completely. And maybe he’s right. Maybe you will. Maybe you don’t love him anymore and you have every right to. After everything he’s pulled, why on earth would you reciprocate his feelings?

Just take his heart and tip in two already. It’s either that or it’s just going to burst.

Your fingers twitch where they rest against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath them. It’s fast. Just as fast as yours.

You force yourself to pull back, just enough to see his face fully, to take in the way his brows pinch together in something like frustration. Or sadness. Or both.

You don’t trust yourself to speak. If you do, you’re not sure what will come out—anger, regret, longing. Maybe all three. Your words hurt more than a villain's attack.

But he speaks first.

“I don’t wanna let go,” he admits, voice low, barely above a whisper. “Not yet.”

The confession cracks something inside you.

You inhale sharply, closing your eyes for a moment before forcing yourself to move. You reach for his hands, prying them gently from your waist despite the way your entire body protests. He lets you, but his fingers linger, brushing against yours until you finally pull away completely.

The warmth of him is gone too soon, and you hate how cold you feel without it.

“Eijiro…” His name feels heavy on your tongue, like it’s not meant to be spoken in this way, not meant to carry this weight.

He shakes his head before you can say anything else. “I know” he repeats, but this time it sounds different. Defeated. And some stinky, dreadful part of you hates to see him this way.

You must be out of your head tonight—in a different dimension, this is another you from another reality. 

Kirishima is as surprised as you are, really. But your lips are on him when his eyes envisioned you leaving him cold, completely. 

After that, it’s clothes being thrown into bathroom tiles and the heavy sounds of kissing. It’s different from the one in the kitchen; there’s no fight for dominance, no physical rattling in battle. It’s just him and you, in the most uncomfortable spot in the world, naked, working together to walk on that tight rope that the love of you is.

This is the first time you’re making love. In sero’s bathroom. At Mina’s party. 

And you could die from how delicious it all feels.

It’s either that fact or something very guttural that’s gotten you feeling this way because the more Eijiro rams into you, the more you tighten around him.

Soft, gummy walls flutter around him, drenched in desire. It’s like you’re moulding the shape of him, every vein, every slope, every inch of him is moulded into you. And at the ache you whine your hips up and down, desperately, like you’re picking up where you left it off in the kitchen.

You’re finally aware that it’s summer again, when you realise your sweat is hot against your skin.

Kirishima holds you like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re real. That this is really happening. His hands wrap around you completely, like he’s got you in a headlock and you’re chest to chest.

You can feel his heartbeat once again, against the skin of your chest and it feels so animalistically intimate. Everything burns and you could just die. You could die like this, right here and right now!

The way your clit rubs on his navel eagerly, makes your whole body numb and in need of release. You set on screaming— his name becomes a mantra for every second passing.

Both of your hips work slow, in sync and he curses against the nape of your neck. You never make out what he says as you’re so drunk on him the second he starts placing open mouth kisses all over your neck.

You hiss in pleasure and your body jolts back—it causes Kirishima to twitch and tighten his grip around you, even now that your chest has departed from his. He looks at you like you’re a prey again; it’s one, two, three kisses on your neck before he travels lower, trapping the skin of your chest between his lips and teeth.

For better leverage, one of his hands grabs on your ass and guides you on your previously steady pace on him. You’re reduced to moaning, like a pornstar on set, when he hits it from this angle. His tip kisses the right spot inside you, repeatedly with an agonising pace and when you turn to look at him he’s kissing down your breast- right above your nipple.

The moment you lock eyes, he takes the hardened bud into his mouth and sucks. You can’t even rip your eyes away from him and oh my god you’ve never had your eyes open during sex like this. Not being able to shake the embarrassment of the action, you wrap your arms around his neck, his eyes still following your every movement, you plant a kiss to the top of his head.

The hand on your back turns as soft as good. And you hold, hold onto his neck like he’s any steady at all. Like the distance between you that closed the second you parted.

It’s all too much and not enough at all— his kisses on your neck and chest, the aching up and down and the sound of skin clapping. A coil forms at the lowest, deepest part of your stomach and you set on chasing it.

In a dazed state, you grab at Eijiro’s hair, right at the nape of his neck, just so he looks up at you and right when he does you kiss him, full force.

The movement makes both of you tilt to the back, but his dick slams inside you in such tremorous manner that you yelp into Eijiro’s mouth.

He moans too, feverishly, but moves his lips on yours. You dare to be the first to pull away, to lock his forehead with yours before you lean in for another kiss.

Again you depart with a smacking sound.

And then you kiss him again.

Through heavy breaths, you fail to acknowledge how long the two of you spend kissing like that, but your eyes wet again at the feeling of him.

He kisses your tears, like he’s trying to make them disappear, like if he presses his lips to your skin enough times, he can rewrite the stinging pain woven into this moment.

You feel him trembling beneath you, his hands gripping your hips like he’s trying to brand the feeling of you into his memory. And maybe he is. Maybe you are too.

Because no matter how much you try to pretend, no matter how much you tell yourself this is wrong, that this can’t be anything more than what it is—it doesn’t stop you from wanting it to be.

The tension in your stomach coils tighter, electric and overwhelming, your body moving on instinct, chasing the high you’ve been denied one too many times tonight. Every thrust, every kiss, every desperate gasp that falls from Kirishima’s lips sends you spiraling deeper into something neither of you can name.

You whisper his name, not as a warning or a plea, but as a confession to match his.

And he hears it.

Because his arms wrap around you tighter, because his forehead presses to yours like he’s holding onto you for dear life, because his breath hitches when he murmurs back, “I got you, baby.”

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

“I love it when you cry for -huh- me” he says between jagged breaths, while he kisses the tears that are running down your cheeks— why is he getting unbelievably hard at them?

It feels like he’s kissing away every mess that you’ve both made, like he loves seeing you this broken for him and vulnerable.

Your body tenses, nails digging into his shoulders as you come undone around him, a shuddering, whimpering mess in his arms. And when he follows, burying himself deep inside you with a groan that sends shivers down your spine, you swear you feel something break.

Not your heart—not yet.

But something close.

You’re only ever aware of the digging of your nails on his soft skin, like you’re aiming to draw blood as that white hot pleasure bundles in you again.

It’s a few more thrusts too long when you come, a few more that are absolutely pushing it before Eijiro comes too. 

He comes inside you; hot, spurting cun paitining your insides and slipping down any gap that’s between him and you —impossible— and overflows with gravity, right onto his lap.

He twitches inside you. Once. Twice. 

Your breath is knocked out of you relentlessly as he fucks both of you through your orgasms, slowly.

You flutter around him, sore and even more right from the overstimulation. Eijiro plants a few more kisses to your numb jaw before he attacks both your lips with a smack. He hopes to soothe you, let you know that you can breathe now, that he can breathe, but instead you hyperventilate. His mouth has engulfed yours wholly.

You’re kissing like there’s no tomorrow, no next time and your hands run around each other’s body, roaming, grabbing, digging in skin until your skin is itchy and irritated. He bites your lower lip so hard that you think he’s trying to draw blood. And in response you try to part away from him. 

Your mouth is still linked to his teeth but when it slips away it remains that way, through a string of saliva— he falls apart on you shortly after, pulls you impossibly closer to him.

Eijiro’s breathing is heavy against your skin, warm and steady, grounding you in a way that feels more dangerous than comforting. His arms are still wrapped around you, holding you like he doesn’t want to let go, like maybe if he keeps you here long enough, the rest of the world won’t come crashing in.

Slowly, reality starts to settle around you like an unwelcome guest. The muffled bass from the party outside, the distant chatter, the fact that anyone could be looking for either of you right now—Mina, Sero, anyone.

You swallow hard and finally, finally, force yourself to pull back just enough to look at him.

His face is flushed, red eyes lidded, hair a mess from where your fingers had been tangled in it. He looks beautiful in a way that makes your stomach twist, makes your chest ache with something dangerously close to regret.

But when you move, he follows.

His hands slide down your waist, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. Like he knows you will.

“Eiji” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes snap to yours, something raw and unreadable flickering in them. He knows what you’re about to say. 

“I wanna go home. I want you to come with me.”

“I know,” he says first, just like before. “Wanna hold you in my arms tonight”

But this time, it’s not enough.

Because knowing doesn’t make this any easier. It doesn’t change the fact that this—whatever this is—is bound to hurt you both in the end.

You take a shaky breath and move to get off his lap, but his grip tightens just slightly, like he’s debating stopping you.

Like he wants to.

“Don’t fucking lie to me” 

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lets you go, lets you shift off of him even though it feels like something inside him is breaking as you do. And maybe something inside you is breaking too.

The silence is thick, suffocating, as you fix yourself—pulling your dress down your body, smoothing over the fabric even though it feels wrong now. You just want to be naked in his presence. 

Kirishima tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand through his hair, but doesn’t stand up.

He watches you. Just watches.

You open your mouth, but no words come out. What could you even say? That this was a mistake? That it wasn’t? That it didn’t mean anything, or worse—that it did?

Kirishima exhales through his nose and rubs the back of his neck before finally speaking.

“I really want to. I don’t want to sleep alo— I wanna hold you.” His voice is rough, hoarse from all the things he isn’t saying. He’s chewing the words like anything could be taken wrongly “Say yes, just for tonight. Babe, you can hate me all you want tomorrow”

You nod, because that’s all you can do. You don’t want to hate him tomorrow.

“Kay then, imma drive, I think I’m good. You okay with that?”

You nod again.

Kirishima lingers for a second longer, like he’s waiting for you to take it back—to say you’ve changed your mind, that this is stupid, reckless, wrong. But you don’t.

When he finally moves, pushing himself up from the bathtub’s edge, you follow.

The party outside is still alive, voices rising and falling over the heavy bass of the music, laughter spilling through the cracks beneath the door. It feels too loud, too real compared to the quiet that had settled between you both.

Kirishima hesitates before unlocking the door, turning to look at you one last time, searching your face for something—permission, reassurance, maybe even regret. But whatever he finds, it’s enough. 

You just want to grope on him again, kiss him, squish his face with yours.

He opens the door, and the world comes rushing back in.

No one is standing outside waiting for you, no god of fury Mina, no traitorous Sero, no one watching with knowing eyes. But the paranoia still lingers in your chest, coiled tight as Kirishima takes your hand again, intertwining your fingers like it’s second nature.

When you step outside, the hot air hits you hard. You inhale deeply, trying to shake the tension that’s clinging to your skin.

Kirishima’s truck is parked a little way down the street, away from the cluster of other cars. His grip on your hand is steady as he walks you there, thumb rubbing small circles against your skin absentmindedly. It makes your chest tighten.

Once you’re at the passenger door, he lets go just long enough to open it for you, waiting until you climb inside before shutting it gently. You shoot him a glance that falls apart in seconds. You don’t need him to open the door for you, but the fact that he did because he wanted to.

Perhaps he cares for you as you care for him.

The driver’s seat creaks when he settles in, and for a second, neither of you speak. The air feels different now, heavy with something unspoken.

“You remember where my house is?” You ask, voice barely anything but a whisper.

“Yeah” Kirishima exhales slowly, his hands gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His jaw is tight, eyes fixed on the road ahead even though he hasn’t started driving yet.

You steal a glance at him, at the way his brows furrow just slightly, at the way his chest rises and falls in measured breaths. He’s thinking. Hard. And so are you.

The weight of what just happened—what’s still happening—sits between you like a living, breathing thing. It presses into your ribs, wraps around your throat, makes it impossible to speak.

But the silence that follows once again is unbearable.

So you say the only thing that comes to mind.

“Kiri.”

His grip on the wheel tightens for a second before he forces himself to relax. He finally turns his head, meeting your eyes with something unreadable. “Yeah?”

You don’t even know what you want to say. Do you ask him if this is a mistake? If it means anything? If it means too much?

Instead, all that comes -ever so raggedy- out is, “Drive.”

He nods once, turning the key in the ignition. The truck rumbles to life, headlights cutting through the darkness as he pulls onto the road.

Soon, the city stretches out before you, neon lights casting strange reflections on the windshield. The hum of the engine fills the space between you, but it doesn’t drown out the thoughts racing through your mind.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. You’re not sure. Wasn’t your house a 20 minute drive from Sero’s?

You’re not sure, not quite sure until you arrive, when the lack of Eijiro’s hand on your thigh is unbearable.

The moment he locks his car, both of you move in a rush.

Practically running up the stairs to your apartment, tripping over each other in a frantic, heated blur. Lips, tongues, hands pulling, pressing, taking.

You barely make it to the shower before you’re both tangled up in each other again.

The second the door swings shut behind you, Kirishima’s hands are on you again—steady, grounding, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

Neither of you speak as you move toward the shower, exhaustion finally settling in now that the night is behind you. The rush, the panic, the guilt—it’s all faded into something quieter, something heavier. You barely fight for the space, stepping inside together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The hot water soothes your skin, washing away the remnants of the night, but not the tension clinging to your chest. Kirishima stands behind you, arms wrapped loosely around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. His breathing is slow, deep, and for the first time in months, you feel yourself start to relax.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion.

You nod, leaning back against him. “Yeah. Just a little sore”

“Mmm, I can fix that”

He presses a lazy kiss to your damp shoulder, his grip tightening just slightly before he exhales, long and heavy. Neither of you move to leave, letting the water rinse away the weight of everything; said and unsaid.

Fix what? The sound of your beating heart, or the ache in it for more of him? Both?

His hands wander, slow and deliberate, fingers tracing the curve of your waist before sliding lower, pressing warm and firm against your stomach. A quiet, needy sound escapes you when he reaches your thighs, his touch featherlight. His lips find your neck, dragging lazy, open-mouthed kisses across your skin, like he’s memorizing the taste of you, like he can’t get enough.

And then, just when your body melts completely into his, his fingers slip between your thighs.

The first touch is teasing, the softest graze of his fingertips against your clit and folds, but it sends a shiver straight down your spine and your lower stomach. You gasp, your head tilting back against his shoulder as he circles, presses, works you open with patience, practiced ease.

“Want your pussy on my mouth, right now”

The moan that spills from your lips in response is inevitable, breathy and wanting, and Eijiro smiles against your skin, his voice a quiet rumble against your ear before he presses another kiss to the spot that's closer to your lips.

He shifts you just so he can kneel before you and place a kiss to your aching clit. Your breath hitches as his fingers trace up the plush skin of your leg, slowly, just barely grazing where you need him most.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against you. He retaliates by pressing his tongue to your aching heat, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

“Eijiro—” His name slips from your lips in a breathless plea, but he only responds by dragging his tongue up again, his fingers sinking into your skin like he wants to claw your skin off. You hiss at the pain, but get high of the roughness of it.

One of his hands slides higher, palm pressing hard against your stomach before trailing lower again. He curls his tongue against you, circling it on your clit. He absolutely looks and sounds as if he’s devouring you. And you just can’t get enough.

Then, when he has you completely pressed against the wall, his fingers join the torturous rhythm of his mouth, slipping between your folds, teasing, pressing, pushing until your head falls back. Guttural noises swallowed between your thighs, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he enters you with two fingers.

Dazed by how good it feels, you stop caring about the temperature of the water anymore, you buck your hips against his mouth. Chasing a release.

His licks get sloppy, his rhythm too and he opens his eyes to look at you. 

“Want you to come on my fucking tongue” he says between smacking sounds, like he’s drunk on you. 

He sucks your clit, licking at it again as he twists his fingers inside you. Your legs start shaking like earlier, but you don’t get embarrassed about it this time. Eijiro, as if he doesn’t want you to pressure yourself even a bit, shrugs his shoulder on your leg, signing at you to hook it over his shoulder. You do it, wordlessly.

This new angle has him feral on you. He nibbles and licks, either with the flat of his tongue or with the tip of it. 

You’re lost in the sensation, every nerve alight. You can feel the rawness in the way he moves, while he’s completely focused on you, as if the world has disappeared and it’s only the two of you left.

You jerk under his ministrations; it’s a warning. A telltale sign that you’re going to come soon.

And when you finally do—when your body tenses, then shudders with release—he doesn’t stop. He rides it out, dragging every last wave of pleasure from you until you’re left breathless, completely at his mercy.

Only then does he pull away, his lips slick, his eyes dark with something unreadable as he looks up at you. For a moment, neither of you speaks—just a silent understanding that passes through the air.

By the time you dry off and slip into bed, the exhaustion is impossible to ignore and he hasn’t fixed any soreness, if anything he’s made it worse, but you don’t dare to point it out to him. He plops onto your bed and pulls you close without hesitation, tucking you against his chest like it’s instinct, like it’s where you’ve always belonged. You coo into the touch, set on using the air conditioner for tonight, just so you can let him warm you up.

You kiss the middle of his chest, and he almost flinches at how soft the action is.

Eijiro’s fingers trace slow, absentminded patterns on your back, the warmth of his body lulling you into something dangerously soft, dangerously safe. You’re not sure you’re ever going to fall asleep without being in his arms ever again, but your kisses on his chest, his collarbones and neck, don't stop.

“You’re not leaving, right?” you murmur, barely awake by now. Desperate for anything that’ll let you be at ease to fall asleep.

His arms tighten around you. “Not tonight.” He says and he kisses the top of your head.

It’s the last thing you hear—or feel, before sleep pulls you under, his steady heartbeat the only thing keeping the rest of the world where he’s in, at bay. Just for tonight.

You’ll deal with Mina and Heartbreak Co. Tomorrow.

_______

When the morning comes you realise, you want to be domestic. Casual. Just like this.  

When you wake up curled under his enormous bicep, long red hair sprawled messily all over his chest, mingling with yours, with you, there's a false notion as to why he's here still. Though you can't dive into it right now, with your eyes begging you to shut them close again and the bigger part of your brain begging you to fall back asleep. But you can't..

That itchy corner in the back of your mind won't let you.

Because Eijiro is here. Holly fucking hell, Eijiro is sleeping right under you.

You've never seen him asleep -the time you slept on each other for a good 30 minutes doesn't really count- and you're itching to lay your eyes on him. To steal a glance, to imprint the image in your brain. To create a memory because you're not so sure youre gonna see him again after this, utterly convinced last night was a petty fuck to the result of being high and drunk at Mina's party. 

Then again that's Kirishima for you. 

But, despite the fact that you feel angst in your soul, looking at the way the sun reflects on his skin makes you think that anything he did last night is just so sweet of him. To give you a dose of something so addicting, just when you were getting over him. something to grab onto so you dont forget him, so you remember him. 

You're not sure you've slept this well in ages. You already know you'll spend endless sleepless nights staring at your ceiling wishing you could rest like this again, or maybe wishing you hadn't slept at all, so you could savor every single second with him.

You’re gonna miss this moment terribly and you know it. But then again, you'll miss something that doesn't exist. You crave days like this, their non-existence. It's what makes them more desirable. you want what you cant have and it's killing you. 

Your throbbing head and the heavy blanket that sleep is, condemn you unconscious again, the second you feel warm and safe once more. A heaving chest that won't stop hurting is nothing compared to how tiring the previous night has been—it's nothing before the continuation of that dream that you were watching. In desperation to continue it, you melt in the only embrace that makes you ignore the sunlight so you can fall asleep again. 

When Kirishima opens his eyes it's like reality comes crashing in. He pays little attention to you, such as to lift you off of him and stand on his butt, in search of his phone, nervously and just so keen on not waking you up still. 

‘Good morning’ you utter, so lightly that you're not really sure he can hear it, he's not sure you understand what you're uttering either. 

‘Good morning babe’ he smiles, lightly. 

There's a kiss planted at the top of your head and had you been awake you'd either coo at its healing properties or chew him out. Both of these outcomes are too scary for him though, but perhaps, one is more slightly manageable than the other. 

A quick ramming of your fridge for anything edible follows; He’s rushing to the kitchen after he kisses you, the rustling sounds dragging you from the edge of sleep. You groan softly, stretching beneath the warm sheets, but you don’t open your eyes. Not yet. You want to savor this—just a few more seconds of pretending. Pretending that this is normal, that this is real. That mornings like this aren’t borrowed time.

Kirishima hums under his breath as he moves around your kitchen, the sound of cabinets opening and closing filling the quiet space. You should probably get up, but instead, you burrow deeper into your pillow, inhaling the faint scent of him still lingering on your sheets.

Maybe you’ll just never wash them again, right? So they’ll smell like him forever…

You don't know how long you lay there, stuck in that limbo between wanting to hold onto this moment forever and knowing you can't. Eventually, though, curiosity wins. You shuffle out of bed, padding barefoot toward the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

He's standing by the counter, shirtless, hair messy, flipping through his phone with a piece of toast hanging from his mouth. The sight of him in your home, in your space, like this, makes your stomach twist. Because this… this is just what you want.

Domestic. Casual. Just. Like. This. 

He glances up when he hears you, grinning around the toast. “Mornin’ again, babe.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring the way your chest tightens at the nickname. “You found food?”

Kirishima shrugs, handing you the second piece of toast from his plate. “You don’t have much, but I made do.”

You take it wordlessly, biting into it as you lean against the counter next to him. Like he counts your bites for his own personal enjoyment, when you swallow your last bite, he’s suddenly leaning into you. Perhaps, for a kiss, if you would have it.

His movements are slow, deliberate—like he’s testing the waters, waiting to see if you’ll pull away. His eyes flicker to yours, searching, but you don’t move. You don’t stop him. You don’t stop him when he traps your chin between his fingers.

Instead, you hold your breath as he leans in, the warmth of him so close, the scent of soap and something uniquely him filling the space between you.

It’s not hurried or desperate, not like last night. This isn’t a kiss born from impulse or alcohol or the reckless heat of a party. This is something softer, something that lingers. Like those ones in Sero’s bathroom.

His lips brush against yours, featherlight, hesitant—giving you the chance to change your mind. But you don’t. You tilt your chin up, closing the distance, and the second your lips fully meet his, something inside you melts.

Kirishima exhales against your mouth, a sound almost like relief, like he’d been hoping for this, waiting for this. His fingers brush against your hip, not holding, just resting there, as if grounding himself in the moment.

The kiss is slow, unhurried, like he wants to savor every second. You let yourself do the same.

When you finally pull back, he’s still close enough that his breath ghosts over your lips. His eyes flicker open, warm, red as rubies and full of something you can’t quite detect.

You swallow. “What was that for?”

Kirishima grins, small and easy, like this is the most natural thing in the world. “Felt like the right thing to do babee.”

And when he leans in again, you don’t stop him.

“Don't call me that”

When he cocks his head to the side to look at you and he looks so cute at that, like a puppy, confused and with glimmering eyes, that’s when he laughs too, perfectly and and oh—you hate him by the way.

“Kay then” he kisses you and takes another bite of his toast before he chews his nexts words out “check your phone, Mina has been calling you non stop”

You groan, dropping your head against his chest for just a second before sighing and peeling yourself away. His warmth lingers, but the real world is creeping back in, persistent and unwelcome.

Your phone is face down on the counter, screen lighting up with yet another call from Mina. Just in time. You hesitate, glancing at Kirishima, who watches you with a strangely adorning expression, leaning against the counter like he has all the time in the world.

“You gonna answer?” he teases, nudging your hip with his, almost mocking the way Mina hip bumped him away from you last night.

Secretly, he wishes you don’t pick up. Just let him have a moment of comfortable silence with you.

You sigh dramatically, pouting, your shoulders almost drawn to your ankles, looking like a wet cat, before swiping to accept the call. “Mina, before you start yelling—”

‘Put her on speaker’ he mouths, but you ignore him.

“Oh, hell no!” Mina’s voice nearly bursts through the speaker, loud and full of chaotic energy. “Don’t you dare act like I wasn’t gonna start yelling! Where the hell are you? You left!—no text, no nothing! And guess who else was missing? Kirishima! Sero said he saw you and I didn't believe him and oh my gooood, girl, no!”

Kirishima snorts, completely unbothered. He steals the toast from your hand and takes a bite, cheeky as ever. You shoot him a glare, but he just grins and mouths busted over and over again.

“Relax, Mina,” you sigh. “I’m fine. I’m home. I just woke up.”

“Oh, I know you’re fine.” She gasps dramatically. “Wait, are you with him right now?”

You pause for half a second too long.

“You totally are!” Mina shrieks, and you have to hold the phone away from your ear. Kirishima just laughs, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He towers beside you, tilting his head toward the phone. “Morning, Mina.” His voice is all lazy amusement, like he’s enjoying this way too much. Like he won.

“Oh, hell no, don’t ‘morning, Mina’ me! What the hell happened? Wait, don’t answer that—I don’t wanna know. Or maybe I do? Ugh! I’m having an existential crisis about your love life, what is this?”

You groan, covering your face with your hand. “Mina, I swear, it’s not a big deal—”

Mina’s voice explodes through the speaker, sharp and furious. “Are you kidding me right now?!  I was worried! What was I supposed to think when you just vanished with him?! I’ve been losing my damn mind trying to figure out if you were dead in a ditch somewhere?!”

Kirishima snickers, leaning in slightly.

“Ughhhhhh, I’ll see you later, Mina, Byeeeeee” you say quickly before hanging up, not giving her a chance to interrogate you further.

The moment you set your phone down, Kirishima is already grinning at you. “Busted,” he repeats playfully.

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms and pout. “I hate you.”

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

[cherryblossomcowgirl]

The Bodyguard part 3

WC: 1.4k

Warnings: Age gap; mentions of smut; light smut; FLUFF; ANGST; unrequited love

TAGS: @skyehuntress

.

.

I stand there frozen, shocked by the words that just came out of Jake’s mouth. Part of me wonders if he is messing with me, but he looks serious as a heart attack. I muster up all of my courage, “So take me.” Jake pauses. One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. He murmurs, “Fuck it.” His lips crash into mine. One hand is on my lower back, while the other is tangled in my hair. My body feels like fireworks are going off inside of it. Warmth spreads from my head to my toes. The kiss is intoxicating. All consuming. His hand moves down, grabbing my ass and I moan, “Jake.” He freezes and pulls back, “You said my name.” A blush spreads across my cheeks, “I’m sorry…” I am cut off by his lips meeting mine. He bites my lower lip and I whisper his name again. Something inside of him lights up. He picks me up by my thighs and I wrap my legs around his waist. My hands explore him, moving from his chiseled abs to his muscular arms. In a moment of boldness, my hand travels down to his belt. Jake puts his hand on mine, “Sweetheart, you’re killing me.” I pout, “I want you.” He smirks, “Not like this, okay?” I run my hand over his chest, “Please?” Jake sighs, “One step at a time. Come here.” He pulls me back in. His lips are soft and taste like the coffee he was drinking when I walked in. My phone ringing brings me back down to Earth. Jake picks it up off the desk, chuckling when he sees who it is. I hide my face in my hands, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He holds back his laugh as I answer. “Hey Glen! … I am sorry, something came up. … Oh, he did? …. Oh wow. … yeah, uh, my dress is, uh, navy blue. I can send a photo. … Okay, well I will see you then! … Oh, yeah, just some security things with Mr. Seresin. … You too, bye.” Jake’s eyes search mine as my phone rings again, this time it is my Father. “Hi! … Yes sir. … Mhmm. … I’ll see you then. … Love you too.” I untangle myself from Jake and sigh. Worry spreads across his face, “What’s wrong?” My eyes water, “The Presidential ball is in two days and my Father invited Glen to be my date.”

.

Jake’s body stiffens and he nods, “Okay Ms. Y/l/n. I’ll finish writing up the plans for the trip to DC and I will have them for you in the morning.” My brow furrows, “So that’s it?” His jaw tightens, “I shouldn’t have crossed that line. I apologize.” A tear rolls down my cheek, “Goodnight, Mr. Seresin.”

.

.

*2 days later*

The ride to D.C. is silent. All I can think about is Jake’s mouth and hands being on me. There’s a tightness in my chest. Jake clears his throat, “10 minutes out, Ms. Y/l/n. The stylists are set up and ready for you when we arrive.” I stare out the window, fighting the tears back. When we pull up to the White House, I rush to my room. My best friend is standing there, looking through the rack of dresses. I scream, “Pen?!” She smiles, “Couldn’t miss the ball, even though the flight from London felt like eternity.” I wrap her in a hug. Jake wheels in my bags and she glances over, “Who is that?” “Bodyguard.” Penelope giggles, “He could guard me anytime. De-lic-ious.” I roll my eyes and Jake walks over, checking his watch, “You have 2 hours. Your Father has asked you and Glen to walk in the processional.” He does a horrible job of hiding his distaste for Glen when saying his name. My heart is hopeful, praying it was jealousy and he would admit last night wasn’t a mistake. I keep my face neutral, “Thank you, Mr. Seresin. I will let you know when I am ready.” He nods and heads into the hallway. Pen leans over and whispers, “Something must’ve happened because that tension is otherworldly.” I sigh, “You have no idea, Pen.”

.

After being poked and prodded by 4 stylists, I am finally ready. Pen kisses my cheek, “You’re stunning. See you down there?” I nod, “Love you. Thank you for coming.” She smiles, heading out the door. I take a moment in the quiet of my room. There’s a knock, “Ms. Y/l/n? Are you ready?” “I have 5 more minutes!” Jake walks in, “Are you okay?” My face is buried in my hands, “Don’t ask me that like you care, Mr. Seresin. I would just like 4 more minutes of peace before I am surrounded by cameras and people.” He clears his throat, “I do care, Ms. Y/l/n.” I laugh, “Mr. Seresin, you made your feelings very clear the other night.” I stand up, straightening out my dress. Jake’s gaze rakes over me. “We should talk about that.” The heat returns to my body and I take a deep breath. A staffer knocks on my door, “Mr. Powell is here, ma’am.” I push down whatever it is I am feeling for Jake and I walk past him, “Excuse me, my date is here.”

.

The night is filled with dancing and drinking and political schmoozing. Glen is wearing a tuxedo and he looks very handsome, but I keep glancing over at Jake. Glen pulls me out for a dance, smiling as the strings play. “Are you having fun, darling?” I smile, “Yes! And I was not expecting Pen to be here.” “She seems like a very good friend.” “She is. What do you think of all of this?” He looks around the room and leans in, “It’s a lot, but you do such a great job with all of this. And I know I’ve already said it a million times, but you look beautiful.” His hand moves down my back just a touch and I look over at Jake, he isn’t happy. The fluttering feeling in my stomach isn’t from Glen, it’s from Jake’s jealous glare. The song ends and we head back to our table. Pen is running around; a single, flirty girl in a sea of eligible bachelors. The rest of the night is a blur. Speeches. Toasts. More dancing. More political questions. I hit my limit, turning to Jake for a way out. He starts to walk over, but Glen beats him. “You okay, darling?” I nod, “Yeah, I think I am ready to call it a night.” He leans in and kisses my cheek, “Okay, darling. Get some rest. See you soon.” Jake clears his throat, “Ms. Y/l/n, if you’d follow me.” I loop my arm in his, waving goodbye as I leave the ballroom. We make it to my room and Jake turns to leave. I grab his arm, “Wait! I need help with my dress. It’s a corset.” He sighs, following me inside. Jake starts to undo my corset, careful to not touch me. “Did you have fun tonight?” I shrug, “Maybe.” His voice lowers, “His hands were all over you.” The corset falls, leaving me in my slip. I turn to look at Jake’s eyes, “And?” His green eyes darken, “I wanted to rip his head off.” I giggle and he raises an eyebrow, “What’s so funny?” I start taking Bobby pins out of my hair, “You. One second you want me and then the next I am a mistake.” He shakes his head, “I never said that.” “You didn’t have to.” His eyes wander down my body, barely covered by the delicate silk of the slip. He runs his hand along my arm, leaving goosebumps in his trail. I try to control my breathing, but I can’t. I want him. I need him. He leans in, “I warned you. I won’t be able to let you go.” Our lips are almost touching when I whisper, “Jake, please.”

.

Jake groans as he closes the space between us. His kiss is hungry. He runs his rough hands over the silk. I melt into his touch. I kiss down his neck and he moans, “What were you thinking when you were with him?” I look at Jake, tracing his jawline, “I was thinking about your hands on me. Your lips on mine.” He kisses my neck, “Good girl.”

[pinkteethmarks]

omg.. wait for your valentines event could you please to like frat/playboy! katsuki x soft/nerd! reader (who could also look so fucking hot and gorgeous omggg😫)

so basically they’re just at a party and katsuki finds the reader hot but doesn’t know it’s actually the reader so he goes up to them asking them their name and stuff and then he realizes he knows the reader from their classes together and also realizes he’s in love /w her 😫😫

playboy…frat boy,,,katsuki…. i’m… ugh melting. i love this man so much IM MELTINGGGG. also… aha… sorry for taking this long.. SCHOOL OS ACTUALLY KICK MY BUM BUM SIXTH FORM IS GETTING SERIOUS GUYSS!!! but i’ll put my whole attention into tasks again guys.. sorry if this is really bad lowkey think i’ve lost my sparkle for writing but dw it will come back soon!! suggestive, references to corruption kink, gender neutral reader, use of pretty, sexy, succubus (lmao). 1.1k words!

stephanie; katsuki bakugou

katsuki should be at the library with you right now, you both had agreed to go to continue doing research for the project you were assigned to do together, but katsuki had other plans.

one that involved a hell of a lot of alcohol, cheap valentines decorations and someone to… relax him for the night.

in all honesty, he was avoiding you. something weird was happening, where everytime you grazed him with your soft skin, every look you gave him with those sparkling eyes, all of it, all of you, were starting to make him feel off. as though he wanted to protect you, but also ruin you.

you’re just so delicate, everything about you is the complete opposite of him, kind, loving, gentle, sweet, something about it made him so… possessive of you.

he didn’t know when this actually started to appear, he just knew that the last time you spoke to him in class got him sweating buckets to the point where even fucking shoto (the most socially inept) realised something was off with him.

so, here he was, blowing you off and ignoring your texts to come here. alone. how fucking fun.

katsuki’s carmine eyes whisked through the crowd, trying to find someone who will help him forget all of his woe’s about you and whatever this weird feeling that was bubbling inside of him, until they landed on…you.

well, yes you, but it wasn’t like he knew it was you since you looked completely different.

you were perfect, outfit way too tight and body way too perfect. you looked down right sexy, practically like a succubus waiting to suck his soul but one that had some form of gentleness to you.

regardless, he wasn’t exactly waiting to figure you out, he just needed a quick fuck for the night to get his stress out.

and so, he began to do his signature party trick, the bump and surprise.

he began walking straight towards you, making sure that his gaze was not fixated on you but directly past you until he bumped into you from behind, causing a cute little gasp to leave your lips.

‘reminds me of yn.’ he thought to himself for a split second, quickly trying to rid himself of that thought, of you.

“huh, you bumped into me.” katsuki scoffed, pretending not to be completely flustered as you faced him because damn you looked sexier up close.

those eyes though, felt familiar, they seem to sparkle innocently as he looked at you.

“no, you bumped into me?” you responded softly despite the loud bass of the music almost drowning you out, yet his ear was trained to listen to you.

“guess i need your number so that we can sort this out later.” katsuki smirked, fishing his phone out of his pocket and handing it to you.

“you already have my number, remember? especially since you’re kinda blowing me off right now.” you pouted slightly as you sighed.

“wait, have we fucked before?” katsuki’s answered back confusingly, glancing between all the people he was blowing off right now on his phone and your face.

“what, no?! bakugou, do you not recognise me?” you scoffed.

“um, no?” katsuki gruffed out, tired of all these games. he just wanted to take you to his bed, set you down on the bed and ravage you.

“it’s me, y/n l/n?” you responded sassily, your hands on your hip as you rolled your eyes.

katsuki’s eyes widened, how, in any single universe did he approach you out of every single girl at this fucking function?

you didn’t look anything like you did in school, you were all dolled up, wore something that showed your figure and something that made you look so… fuckable.

not to say that you in school isn’t already a pretty little thing in katsuki’s eyes, but this party-look painted you in a whole different light that was intoxicating to him, dangerous even.

“there’s no way in hell, out of every girl i could’ve approached, it was.. you.” he spoke slowly.

“don’t make it sound like it’s such a terrible thing.” you cutely looked to the side, your face slightly falling.

fuck, even when you were upset you were cute as hell.

‘what the fuck is wrong with me?’ katsuki thought frustratingly.

you kept invading his mind, etched into his soul and locked into his heart. nothing ever overshadowed his constant thoughts of you and no matter how much he tried to look at other people, flirt with others and get into bed with them, he truly couldn’t because every single time, his heart would come back to you.

he fucking hated it.

but, more so, he was scared of it and thus, scared of you.

not like he would ever admit that, he’s katsuki fucking bakugou for crying out loud.

“are you ok?” you asked him.

“i.. don’t fucking know. why are you everywhere, yn? i keep.. seeing you and thinking of you.” katsuki responded, his blush intensifying.

“what.. are you trying to say bakugou?” you looked confused.

“call me katsuki.” katsuki looked to the side, his face almost completely red now.

“ok, katsuki, what are you trying to say?” you asked once more.

ok, that was a mistake, if katsuki was flustered before, now he was completely ruined hearing his first name leave your pretty lips.

“i.. don’t know. it’s valentine’s day or whatever and for some reason the universe brought us together right now so, take a fucking guess.” katsuki scoffed.

“you want me?” you said excitedly, smiling widely as your once unattainable crush seemed to finally feel within your reach.

“depends on what your answer, damn it, katsuki bakugou does not get rejected.” his confidence was now increasing as he saw how elated you were at the prospect of being with him.

“only if you ask me properly.” you teased.

“fucks sake, ok, yn l/n, these past few project meetings had me feeling a type of way i never knew i could feel. you’re gorgeous, and i think now i realise that you aren’t only cute but sexy as fuck. not just that though, you’re kind, you’re smart, you have a hell of a lot of resilience and will power, all in all, you are the dream person for me. so, will you like, be my fucking valetines or something?” katsuki smirked

“yes!” you squealed, running to wrap your arms around his extremely toned torso.

katsuki was slightly surprised, of course he had been touched before - a hell of a lot of times actually - but, this hug you gave him just felt different. a lot more personal and intimate, oddly enough, he loved it all the same.

“you smell so good.” you sighed, immediately pausing as embarrassment flushes your entire being.

“is that so? wanna see how good i smell without these clothes on?” katsuki smirked.

“we just got together! also, i need you to promise me something.” you rolled your eyes yet your tone changed to something more sincere.

“yeah?”

“that you’ll stop with kissing all these other girls.” you sighed.

“kissing- honey, i do a lot more than kiss-“

“don’t wanna hear it! just want you to promise me you’ll stop.” you put your palm up to signify that you wanted him to stop.

“i promise.” katsuki replied, looking straight into your eyes, all that the present was warmth, kindness and love.

katsuki was new to this but he would definitely try, anything for you.

[lilgarbitch]

The Voice of an Angel - Two

Pairing: Matt Dierkes x PornBlog!Reader

CW: nothing much, stress with tour, sugar daddy!Matt

Word Count: 3k

Author’s Note: Sorry this took a minute to come out and isn’t longer. I don’t want to jump around time too much or add any unnecessary scenes and overwhelm myself. The next part will be more fun, I promise🖤

Tags: @theanarchymuse95 @dontwantthemoney @badomensgoodomens @enemiestolovershoe @xmads-omensx @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @thatchickwiththecamera @tosoundlessdarkistare @lacy1986 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland

Part One

Y/N | Sunday 10:32 AM

I wake myself up with a snore, groaning and rolling over. I grimace when I feel droll on my cheek, quickly lifting my head and wiping it away. Sitting up, I rub my eyes and stretch out my legs before I realize something. My eyes shoot open and stare out my window, seeing that the sun was high in the sky. 

“Fuck,” I quickly reach for my phone, repeatedly hitting the button as I try to turn it on. I never put it on the goddamn charger last night. 

I reach over the side of my bed and almost fall over as I swipe at the charger, finally grabbing it and plugging my phone in before stumbling out of bed. Running to the kitchen, I see the time on the stove and huff as I grab a glass, fill it up and chug it, needing to fix the dryness in my mouth before getting ready. 

After rushing through a shower and throwing on whatever semi- matching clothes I could find, I grab my keys, phone, and bag before high-tailing it out of my apartment, almost forgetting shoes. 

I burst through the library’s doors, giving a patron who just happened to be standing nearby an apologetic look for startling them, before speed walking to the back room. Surprisingly, the library was quite empty for a Sunday morning. Not that there was ever a rush, but weekends were usually when people had time to come in to get what they needed, usually needing assistance, and when there’s only one person in, it can get overwhelming. 

I was pinning my name tag to my shirt when I felt a presence behind me, making me hunch as I slowly turned towards them, ready to get an earful for being late to a morning weekend shift, but as my eyes reached Alex’s face, I don’t think I’ve ever let out a bigger sigh of relief.

”Where have you been?” She asked, hands on her hips like scourning mother. I gave her an apologetic pout, trying to gain sympathy. 

“My phone died so my alarms never went off. I’m so sorry. I hope it hasn’t been busy,” I explain. She gives me a deadpan look.

”Stay up late reading again?” She asks with a smirk, already knowing my obsession with fanfiction.

”Surprisingly, no. I’ve just been so exhausted lately from not getting enough sleep that I guess my body recovered by making me sleep almost 12 hours.” I answer, shocked by my own body. 

“Well, thankfully it’s been a slow morning, and I already put away most of the returns, so if you want to do the rest, I can take any customers and you can take it slow today. But you owe me.” I pout and walk over, reaching to give her a hug, that she continuously tries to dodge.

”You’re the best. And don’t worry. I have just the thing to pay you back, but it’s a surprise.”

”Uh huh, sure you do. Well, get your ass out there, because I’ve been on my feet all morning and being able to sit down is all the payment I’ll take right now.” She says as we make our way out of the back room and she heads towards the front desk, sighing as she sits down behind it. 

I hold back a laugh as I make my way to the cart full of books and start scanning the rest of them. I wasn’t going to tell her that the reason the exhaustion took over so bad was because I came so hard last night that I could barely edit and post the audio before completely crashing. 

After scanning and putting away the rest of the books, I checked with Alex to make sure there wasn't anything else I had to do before sitting down at a nearby empty table and pulling out my phone, still needing to check the responses from my other job. 

Without checking my notifications, I scrolled through the comments of everyone, liking a few sweet ones. I had to hide the smile on my face when I saw that ThotxPleaser had actually left one, helping my consistent racing thoughts the past week. I was about to tell myself that I was worrying over nothing when I finally checked my Cashapp. 

I gasped so fast that Alex sent me a wild look after I choked on my own spit. I did my best to wave her off and catch my breath as I read his message. 

ThotxPleaser- $1,000

All I want is to hear your voice more. Talk about your day, how the weather is treating you, or rant about a TV show you’re watching. I’d listen to you forever. All I ask is if you’d be willing to send me voice memos here and there to get me through my days. Name your price, sunshine. 

So I was right. He has been using my audios as some type of escape. And just sent me a thousand fucking dollars to get private ones. And from the sounds of it, he didn’t even want them to be erotic, he just wanted to hear me talk. This couldn’t be that easy, right? My mind was racing as I took this all in. 

I loved the library, and it was a job that truly made me happy, but it wasn’t great pay, especially for a girl who liked to spoil herself from time to time, so I’ve been using my donations for most of my living expenses, most coming from ThotxPleaser. Having this big of a donation, with the promise of more, meant that a weight had just been lifted off my shoulder. 

Ever since it was announced, I’ve been saving up small chunks of the donations to hopefully get a good set of tickets for Alex and I to see Bad Omens. It was one of the things we had bonded over when she started working here, and she has saved my ass so many times that I had been planning on surprising her for a while now. And now, I can actually make it happen. 

Without even responding, I immediately head to the ticket page, praying that there were any left for the date they were playing in our city. Praise the fucking gods above, there were. And there were even meet and greet passes that I added on without care, knowing I was about to make more money that I even knew what to do with. 

I sneakily slip past Alex as I made my way towards the back room again, heading straight for my bag. I pull out my wallet and input all the necessary details before clicking buy. The second that the ‘You’re Going!’ message popped up, I almost squealed as I jumped up and down with excitement. 

I hurriedly put all my things back into my bag before heading back out towards the front desk. Seeing that there were only a few patrons in the library, none near the desk, I might as well use this chance to tell her.

I slip behind her and bend down as she stares at her phone, spooking her as I gave a small “psst.”

“What?!” she asks as she turns to me with an almost angry startled look, making me bite back laughter. 

“Would you like to know your surprise?” I ask in a sing-songy voice. She raises an eyebrow, acting unimpressed already.

“You were serious about that? I thought you were just going to show up with coffee and donuts tomorrow or something.”

“Pfft. I’d never do that…” I trail off, completely lying as I have done exactly that before, which she reminds me with the look on her face, “No, I have something I think you’ll enjoy a little more than coffee and donuts.”

As she stares at me expectantly, still seeming unimpressed, I turn my phone around and show her the screen. It takes a few seconds for the image to process in her brain, but once it does, a silent shock takes over her as she repeatedly glances back and forth between my cocky smile and the proof of purchase in my hands. 

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, but I did. And…” I trail off, bringing my phone back to me to zoom in on the extra special part of said purchase before turning the phone back to her, “I got us meet and greet passes.”

She had to cover her mouth with her hands to keep quiet as she started kicking her feet, spinning the desk chair in the process, making me laugh. We instantly start discussing our plans for making sure we take off work that day and the day after, and obsessing over the boys and how insane it was that we were actually doing this.

Y/N | Sunday 5:03 PM

As I head towards my car, still riding the high of knowing I’m going to meet the boys of my favorite band in less than 3 weeks from now, I remember why all of this was even possible. Sliding into the driver's seat, I pull my phone out of my bag and look over the donation again. 

I mean, I could send him a message, discussing the details, or I could send him a recording, giving him something worth the money he already sent. Pulling up my recording app, I turn on the car and set my phone in my lap, pressing record before pulling out of the parking spot.

“I know you said that you’d listen to me talk about whatever, so I figured the best way to start these off would be talking about how you want this to go. I’ve honestly never done anything like this, so I have no clue if I should charge per minute or something, or just- Oh, fuck you!… Oops sorry. I’m driving home from work and some asshole just cut me off. Anywho, maybe we can discuss this over DM or something. I’ve honestly never talked to a follower privately so I’m not even sure how to do that. Shit, do I just send this to your DMs? I don’t know how any of this shit works.”

I pause, and sigh. I’m definitely making a complete fool of myself already, but men have bought used panties, so I doubt he’s going to care if I send him an audio of me sounding like a complete idiot. 

“I think I’ll just send this to you through DMs and then research a more formal way of doing this later, especially once we discuss more about how you’d like me to make these. Oh fuck, I can literally send these over Patreon. No, I’ll just stick to DMs for now. God, this is gonna take some getting used to. I also have no idea how to charge you for listening to me ramble, so truthfully, I trust you to just send me whatever you feel fits, since you spoil me so nicely already.”

I look down real quick and see I’ve only been talking for a little over a minute, and with $1,000, I feel he deserves a little more yapping, so I continue.

“What else? Uhhh I guess I could talk about my day. Kinda started off shit, to be honest. I crashed so hard last night after posting that audio that I never plugged in my phone, resulting in it dying and none of my alarms going off. Thankfully, my best friend was the one working with me today, so I didn’t get my ass chewed out for being late. And I did use your money to spoil the both of us to a concert as an apology gift. I would tell you who, but you’re a complete stranger and could try showing up to every show, searching for me. So let’s just say they’re a band of really hot guys who make really good music and I’m so fucking excited to see them.”

I turn down the road that leads to my apartment building, so I decide that I should probably wrap this up.

“I do want to mention that I’m extremely thankful for your support. Like, more than you think. Especially with a request like this. I always expected my first request being some freak begging me to say some weird shit or talk in a yoda voice as I play with myself. And you know what? This was actually really nice just talking about my day out loud. I don’t have anyone to do that with, so the fact you’re letting me, and paying me, is honestly a fucking wish I didn’t even know I had, come true. I’m gonna enjoy yapping to you, mysterious Thot Pleaser. Anywho, I gotta go. Message me back when you get the chance and hopefully I didn’t annoy you just yet. Byeee.”

I stop the recording as I turn off the car, instantly hoping my shitty car wasn’t making too much noise in the background of the audio, before grabbing my things and heading up towards my apartment. 

Once inside, I beeline towards my bedroom and flop down on my bed before pulling up Twitter and clicking on ThotxPleaser’s account. I click on the little message icon then send the audio file with ‘- Angel💋’ 

Matt | Monday 7:34 PM 

I’m fucking stressed. Folio lost his ID and Noah spent all day freaking out because we put his mask on the bus with his other shit and no matter how many times we told him it was there, he just kept saying ‘What if it’s not?’ or asking people, mid packing, if they would ride with him to the depot to check, despite us all seeing it there. I’ve been routinely checking over our equipment time and time again, making sure we have everything because last time, Jolly didn’t tell us he messed with it and we didn’t realize until the first show, having to borrow another band’s guitar last second because he just needed to test out his one last time. And I knew he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice, but with everyone running around like headless chickens, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the guys moved something, thinking they were helping.

And to top it all off, Angel sent me a fucking recording that I haven’t been able to look at. My stomach absolutely dropped to my ass when I saw the notification and I feel like shit leaving her waiting for a response but the timing couldn’t have been worse. I could easily listen as we finish getting everything together, but I didn’t know how I was going to react to it and I didn’t have the mental capacity to handle the emotions listening to her would bring me. And I knew I couldn’t listen tonight because the second I get off my feet, I’m going to crash, and we’re going to have to leave early in the morning so the last thing I need is to stay up replaying it on repeat. 

But I truly needed nothing more than to hear her right now. I knew her voice could ease most of the stress and overwhelming thoughts. I just couldn’t handle a single distraction at the moment.

Matt | Tuesday 6:47 AM

I draped an arm over my eyes as I felt the bus shake beneath me as I sprawled out on the couch. I managed to get maybe four hours of sleep last night, and I was fucking exhausted, but I couldn’t fall back asleep, even though everyone else passed out within 30 minutes of the bus hitting the road.

We weren’t getting to the first venue until around 3, and I definitely had the time for a small nap, but my nerves felt like they were on fire. The beginning of tour always felt like this, especially with how fast moving it had to be, so I knew the anxiety could calm down within the next week, but right now, my mind wasn’t going to let me feel a single moment of peace. 

As I scrolled on my phone, switching between apps to occupy my time, I realized this was the perfect time to finally listen to Angel’s audio. I glance around at the closed curtains of the boy’s bunks before switching over to my alternative account on twitter and opening my DMs. I really hope she got the memo of me not needing anything sexual. I just wanted to hear her voice. 

I hit play and instantly it fills my ears like a beautiful melody. I have to hide my chuckle as I hear her stressing over rambling too much. She sounded so adorable. And something about how…domestic…this felt was just melting my brain. If I ignored the fact that she was talking about payment and how to get this to work, the sound of her car driving over suburban roads and the way she’d get distracted by the things around her almost felt like I was on a call with her as she told me about her day.

I let the audio replay one more time, actually taking in her words instead of just listening to her voice, before typing out a reply. 

ThotxPleaser - Sorry it took me so long to respond. I’m fine with whatever you want to do. I promise I’ll spoil you no matter what you decide to send. And I’m happy that you can use this as a way to talk about your day. I’ll always be here to listen to you ramble about whatever you need to get off your chest. And I’m glad you’re spoiling yourself, you deserve it. I hope when the concert comes, you’ll tell me about how much fun you had. 

ThotxPleaser - Oh that reminds me

I switch over to my Cash App and send off a little gift for her with a smirk on my face.

ThotxPleaser - $1,500

Use this to buy yourself a nice outfit and for you and your friend to get yourselves some merch and food at your show

I want to send more, the need to have a conversation with her overwhelming me, but I don't want to push too far. With a content smile, I finally relax in my seat, sleep taking over almost instantly as my mind plays on how happy I was to come to this agreement with her and how much it’s going to help me, especially knowing it’s going to make her happy.

TO BE CONTINUED

[berrychar]

Love’s Luxury - 양정원

genre: romance

pairing: female lead: jeo wanseo || male lead: yang jungwon

char’s notes: hiiii!! I had taken I while for me to finish this ‘project’ but not really haha, but still, I hope you do enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it

Wanseo was a university student that has to juggle classes assignments part time work and jobs so she wasn’t the type to believe in faith nor did you have time for a fairytale romances.

But fate, or if not— something annoyingly close to it had other plans the day she accidently spilt her latte on a strangers lavish looking suit.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Her eyes widened in horror, as the drink stained the luxurious looking fabric.

(more under the cut)!!

The gentleman in front of her glanced down at his ruined blazer, then looked back up at her. He was young, seemed a few years older than her, sharp eyes, and a strikingly handsome face.

Instead of anger, he let out a small laugh.

“Well that’s definitely a first”

All she did was blink, “Are you not mad?”

Jungwon shook his head, taking off his now stained blazer, resting it in his arms. “ it’s just a suit, It’s alright. But you on the other hand, look like you might pass out from guilt.”

“I-I’ll pay for the dry cleaning” She insisted, pulling money from her wallet.

He gave a smile, “That won’t be necessary.”

“Please- I feel so bad about-”

Jungwon, looked back down at her, seemingly thought of something. Then gave a smirk.

“Alright, if you really want to make it up to me, then come get coffee with me sometime.”

Wanseo, wasn’t to happy, a frown was displayed on her face. “ that’s not exactly compensation”

“Well, to me it is. So if you do want to make it up to me, then that’s what it’ll be” Jungwon heaved a laugh.

“And plus, I’ve met the most interesting lady in Seoul.”

But all she did was stare, dumbfounded by is confidence. Was this guy flirting with her?

“ do you always ask out girls who ruin your clothes?” She asked still with the mildly bewildered face.

Jungwon just grinned, “only the cute ones” He said before leaving. In the corner of the eye she watched him getting into a car and driving off.

Wanseo didn’t expect to be infront of the fancy guy again, which she knew the last name of due to the fact that the handkerchief on his blazer had his, last name embroidered onto it. But the first name was a mystery.

But true to his word he called her up just a few hours before, and now they’re sitting across from each other at a fancy café, that just screamed the vibes luxurious.

“So…uhm, sorry what was your name again?” She said stirring her latte.

“Jungwon, Yang Jungwon” He leaned back in his seat, with a smile.”You?”

“Wanseo, But I’m assuming you’re rich? Or are you wealthy?” She tilted her head to the side.

Jungwon quirked a brow, “Wealthy, Does that bother you?”

“No don’t worry, it just explains most of the questions I have” sequenced at his designer watch in the sleek black car that sat outside.

Jungwon chuckled, “ don’t worry just because I grew up with money that doesn’t mean I’m an entitled asshat of a person, I don’t let money define me.”

She just hummed, just skeptical because rich guys always in trouble, but something about Jungwon felt off, not the type of bad energy off but it was different, He wasn’t arrogant he was playful confident but not entitled.

And the worst part he was insanely charming.

One coffee date turned into two then three, and continued until, Jungwon became a regular part of her life showing up at her university to walk her home, and taking her to hidden restaurants just to treat her, as well as sending her small gifts “just because”.

Then when they were strolling through the streets of soul one evening he took her hand into his, “Wanseo, I like you, not as a friend, but more” His voice was steady and warm. “Can I Be your boyfriend?”

Wanseo, knew her answer before he even finishedspeaking, “Yes.”

Dating jungwon, was basically getting spoiled against your will.

“Jungwon…” She groaned, as she saw the shopping bags that were piled onto her bed. “This is way too much.”

He sat up on her couch looking way too pleased with himself, “It’s just a few things, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“ a few things, really?“ she held up the receipt that looked like a grocery list, unamused. “ who needs five pairs the same shoes Wonnie?”

“I do,” He said in the most innocent voice. “and you do too”

Wanseo just huffed, but couldn’t hold back the smile on her face. It wasn’t just the gifts- But it was because Jungwon loved taking care of her in every possible way.

When she gets sick he would bring her medicine and took her in like she was a princess. (She IS his princess)

When she was stressed he would whisk her away for nighttime drives and play her favorite songs on repeat.

And when she doubted herself he wouldn’t waste a second to remind her of how amazing and important she is.

“You know most girls would be thrilled to have a rich boyfriend,” Jungwon teased, as he sat on her couch.

Wanseo, shot him a glare, l most girls don’t have to deal with a boyfriend who buys them five pairs of the same shoes.”

Jungwon just smirked, “ it’s called variety, sweetheart”

“it’s called excessive, rich boy”

He just smiled pulling her into his lap, “ and yet you still hold my hand and you wouldn’t trade me for the world”

She sighed, her cheeks heating up, “Be quiet..”

Jungwon laugh was soft, and teasing. “Admit it, you’re absolutely in love with me.”

“I admit that I tolerate you.”

“Tolerate me all you want, but you’re still mine”