EVANESCENT MASTERLIST

itachi x reader x kisame

In which Itachi is barely alive, Kisame is barely polite, and you’re barely a medic. Featuring the bloody stain on your favorite armchair and the tension that comes with being outnumbered in your own home.

Canon divergent. Not a love triangle. Eventual smut. Warnings will be added to each chapter, minors dni. Status: active.

chapter 001: trust [07.03.22] chapter 002: karma [08.25.22]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 10

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, family issues, generational trauma, self-growth, personal issues (and dealing with it), hurt and comfort, hmmmm…. let’s leave it at that for now :) A/N: Final chapter, guys! Thanks so much for reading <3

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10

“Oh, what the hell—since when do you cook?”

“Bitch,” you laugh, nudging past them, the ceramic pot still steaming in your hands. “Do you want the risotto or not?”

The scent of garlic and pecorino permeates the air as you stand in front of the small foyer of the duplex where your friend—questionable, at the moment—lives. Your most recent culinary masterpiece, deemed safe (enough) for public consumption, rests between your hands in silent offering to the skeptic figure who’s barring you from crossing the threshold.

It’s still warm, and you’re not one to brag, but you think you’ve outdone yourself with this one. Not that it matters—everybody’s a fucking critic these days.

“Risotto?” Khol parrots in disbelief. “You don’t show up in forever, suddenly you’re all cuoca straordinario or some shit. Get out of here with your Mario ass–”

“Don’t mind them,” Anna interjects from behind your biggest hater, all cheer as she plucks the pot from your hands. “This smells amazing, actually. Come in!”

With that, she vanishes inside, leaving you and Khol alone in the doorway. You give them a knowing look.

“Oh wow,” you remark, all mock surprise. “You live together now?”

Khol rolls their eyes, already tired of you. “You missed the biggest arc of the last five months, but yeah.”

You step inside, and right away, something feels… different. It could partly be due to how much time has passed since you last visited, and it’s clearly still their place—the brooding industrial-emo aesthetic remains intact, still suspiciously close to resembling the lair of an angsty comic book antihero on acid—but it’s been overtaken by bits of boho-chic scattered all over the space.

Where there was once nothing but charcoal, vinyl, and concrete, there are now textures. Colorful woven throws drape artfully over the arm of the leather Eames sofa they won off a Craigslist bid. Tasseled pillows have multiplied across every seat surface like some kind of fabric-based contagion, while pothos vines dangle lazily from macramé hangers, stretching towards the moody Edison bulbs like they’re trying to escape the existential crisis of living here.

And then there’s the rug. Oh god, the rug.

A comically massive tufted ‘Flower Power’ rug sprawls across the center of the room, a swirling explosion of pinks and oranges—a final, cutesy fuck you to the apartment’s formerly depressing atmosphere before Khol’s new roommate staged her cheerful coup.

It should’ve been a hilarious sight, like a chaotic school art project where every kid picked a different medium to color and refused to compromise. But somehow… it works?

Against all odds, the goth cryptid and the hippie gremlin have found domestic equilibrium.

“Love what you did with the place, Anna,” you call out, toeing off your shoes at the door. “It doesn’t look like a twelve-year-old’s fantasy bedroom anymore.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Khol laughs, shaking their head. “As if you’re one to talk. Last time I visited, you still had that stupid-ass sofa. Is it still there?”

You sniff haughtily. “Excuse you, but that’s a custom piece. You wouldn’t get it.”

"Alright, you two," Anna says, leaning against the archway between the living room and kitchen, one hip propped against the frame. "Both of you have terrible taste in decor. Now, I have a fabulous Prosecco to pair with the risotto." She tilts her head, shooting her partner a pointed look. "Khol, darling, be a dear and grab the crystal from the cupboard?"

"Whipped," you sing as Khol, predictably, does exactly as told. They don’t even bother with a comeback, just flashes you a lazy middle finger over their shoulder as they disappear from view.

You grin, shaking your head. The moment stretches into something easy, comfortable. It’s nice—being here, bantering like no time has passed. You let yourself sink into it, tugging off your beanie as you cross the room.

The creaky couch welcomes you like an old friend, and you flop down unceremoniously, stretching your legs out, rubbing your feet against the oversized monstrosity of a rug that is... honestly, pretty fucking comfortable, actually.

Anna follows suit, settling beside you with far more grace, tucking one foot under the other.

She watches you for a moment, expression warm but slightly inquisitive. “We haven’t seen you in a while.”

You exhale, tipping your head back, staring up at the beams on the ceiling. "Yeah, sorry. Been a little out of it these past… couple of months, I guess."

Anna makes a quiet noise, something between understanding and acknowledgment. "You’re doing okay now?"

The easy answer sits on your tongue—yeah, of course. An automatic response, a reflex built from habit. Another front to put up, another lie to slip behind.

But you’ve been working on this. So instead, you take a breath and say,

"Not… really."

The words feel foreign, heavy, but oddly freeing as they leave your mouth.

Your gaze flickers to the side table—framed photos of Khol and Anna, smiling, sunlit. You don’t linger.

“I mean, better now compared to, maybe, a few weeks ago. I’m getting there.”

Anna’s brows lift slightly—not in surprise at the sentiment itself, but at the fact that you admitted it out loud. There’s something thoughtful in her expression, something softer around the edges. “Good. That’s good.”

You can tell she means it. Maybe even more than you expected.

"Yeah."

There’s a brief lull. You catch yourself tugging at the edge of your cardigan—a nervous habit you never quite broke. The warmth of the apartment is settling in you quite comfortably, but there’s something about sitting still under Anna’s gentle scrutiny that makes you restless.

From the kitchen, there’s the unmistakable clink of glass, followed by a muffled, “shit.”

Anna exhales, long-suffering. “I don’t know why I even bother buying nice things.”

“‘Oy,” Khol’s voice carries from the other room, “get in here and help. We have, like, seven things to carry.”

You take that as your cue, trailing after Anna into the kitchen. Between the three of you, it’s quick work—bowls of warm, brothy risotto in hand, glasses of white wine balanced carefully between fingers.

By the time you step back into the living room, Khol is already dropping onto the blue accent chair near the window with all the dramatics of someone who’s worked far too hard for far too little.

You settle into your usual spot, Anna beside you. You don’t touch your food. Your appetite’s still in remission, though it’s been steadily improving lately.

Khol notices. “Now, why the hell aren’t you eating?” They shoot you a side-eye like you’ve personally offended them. “I knew it. You put something in this, didn’t you?”

“Jesus, Khol,” Anna sighs, exasperated, already two spoonfuls in. “Your diet was literally gas station burritos and eight-pack Coors before I moved in. You’ll live.”

She pauses, though, casting you a look. “Don’t get me wrong—this is really good.”

“Ha,” you retort as Khol prods suspiciously at a floating mushroom. You glare. “Are you fucking kidding me—”

“Alright, alright.” With an exaggerated sigh, Khol finally takes a bite. They chew once, twice—eyes narrowed in concentration, acting like some hard-ass seasoned judge from Top Chef. You can practically see them digging for something snarky to say—until, begrudgingly, they nod.

“Shit. This is actually pretty good. Who are you?”

You preen at the praise.

For a while, there’s nothing but the quiet clinking of spoons against ceramic, the occasional satisfied hum. It’s… nice. Comfortable in a way you haven’t felt in what feels like forever.

You’ve missed this.

Missed being here. Missed being with people.

Somewhere between the second glass of wine and the last few bites of risotto, Khol angles their head toward you, their curiosity piqued. “How come you’re free today? You on leave or something?”

You swirl the drink in your hand, watching the light catch on the amber surface before answering. “Oh, I quit my job.”

There’s a beat of silence. You don’t know what reaction you were expecting, but Khol just blinks at you. "Huh. Finally."

Anna looks mildly more concerned. "You quit?"

You nod, stretching your legs out beneath the coffee table. “Yeah. The OT was getting ridiculous, and they had me working night shifts again. That was kind of the last straw for me.”

Khol grunts in agreement. “Good fucking riddance. That job was killing you.” They pause for a beat, turning serious, contemplative. “You’re not hung up about it, are you? You’ve been bitching about that job for ages.”

You exhale through your nose, staring at the rim of your glass. “Yeah, no. I’m glad I left.” The words come easily, and they’re mostly true. But still—there’s something about suddenly having all this space, this aimless in-between, that makes you antsy.

A thought strikes you, and you glance up. “Hey, you know if Marion's still looking for someone to work part-time at the bistro?”

Khol raises an eyebrow. "You looking to apply? It’s minimum wage, just telling you in advance."

"That’s fine," you assure them. "I just need something on the side. I’m doing freelance work right now, I just want something to fill in the gaps."

Anna perks up at that. "I think that’s a great idea. I can hit up Marion later, but I’m pretty sure they’re still looking."

Khol stares at you, and for once, they don’t have a quip lined up. No sharp-edged humor, no quick banter—just a quiet look of something almost foreign on their face. Pride. Maybe even relief. You’ve worried them. The realization jars you like a pebble dropped into a clear pond, sending ripples through the stillness of your self-imposed isolation. You hadn’t meant to, not really. It wasn’t like you deliberately wanted to disappear... But you did, didn’t you? You let the days blur into weeks, then months, telling yourself naively that no one would notice if you just—vanished for a while. Five months, to be exact.

You press your lips together, clearing your throat against the tightness creeping in. “Thanks,” you say, quiet but sincere. “Really.”

Khol snorts, and the moment shatters. “You can show your thanks by knocking ten percent off the cocktails when we visit.”

You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation. “Get me the job first, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Anna grins, raising her glass. “Now, that’s the spirit.”

––––

You get the job.

You stand in front of the fogged-up mirror, dragging your palm across the wet glass. The reflection that stares back is warped, smudged—half-formed, half-there—but unequivocally yours.

A month ago, you wouldn’t have been able to say that with certainty. Back then, the figure in the mirror had been more ghost than person—distant, spectral. Fractured. Someone you watched from the outside, not as a host of the flesh you inhabit.

Now, though, the pieces are starting to slot back into place. Some are still missing, and others don’t quite fit as they once did. You doubt it will ever return to how it was… But slowly, a familiar shape is coming back into focus. More than the shadow of a woman, but you. Time moves like water carving through rock—gradual, barely perceptible, but steady. Inevitable.

The shifts are diminutive. A morning where you wake up feeling less crushed by the weight of grief in your chest. An afternoon where you suddenly break into laughter, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve heard it in weeks. A quiet night where you go to bed without feeling like you’re stuck frozen in an endless loop of wishing, waiting for the impossible.

You’re here, alive. Present. And for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, you’re doing more than just holding on.

(You think he’d be proud of you.)

And the thought doesn’t leave you aching the way it used to.

––––

“You think I can handle taking care of another living thing? Like a plant?” You ask Maru, glancing at him lounging by the window, right where a sliver of afternoon sunlight spills across the floor. “I mean, I raised you well enough, I think. But you’re pretty self-sufficient anyway.” Maru looks unimpressed. His tail flicks once—dismissive, uninterested—before he returns to grooming himself, utterly indifferent to both your question and your sudden enthusiasm for gardening. “Well, if your dad can grow plants in that dungeon he calls a base, I’m sure I can manage,” you mutter unconvincingly. “How hard can it be?”

–

By the middle of the second week into your little project, you begrudgingly admit that your tiny repotted begonia isn’t exactly thriving. You don’t want to be a pessimist, but the (browning) margins seem to curl inward—more than they should, if the reference pics on that “Indoor Succulents” blog you’re subscribed to are anything to go by.

You eye it dubiously, trying to stay gung-ho about the whole thing, forcing yourself to look up care tips again. It’s just a plant. Not rocket science. So you do the research, gather more supplies, and give it another shot. You reposition it closer to where the sun lands—earning a disgruntled hiss from the sunbathing feline—and sprinkle a careful amount of water just beneath the leaves, closer to the root. Then you lean back, waiting, tapping your foot impatiently like it’s supposed to just... fix itself.

–

The next few days pass with you watching it more than you’d care to admit—checking, hoping, second-guessing yourself.

You narrow your eyes at the leaves, more russet than Inca Flame red, still hanging limp like a sad testament to your lack of skill.

But you keep at it, because you’re nothing if not stubborn.

–

A single flower has bloomed.

You stand there, spray bottle in hand, caught in quiet awe at the metallic pink sprout peeking through the foliage. It’s small, delicate, barely more than a bud, but unmistakably there—nestled among heart-shaped leaves that, for the first time in weeks, look alive. Brighter.

A faint smile tugs at your lips. It’s not groundbreaking, not by a long shot. But it’s something.

The fragile blossom clings onto dear life, stubbornly seeking the sun rays, inching toward the warmth it needs to grow—larger, stronger.

You can’t wait to bear witness to it.

––––

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up in this situation; all you could recall past the sweat blurring your vision is the memory of being in front of the reception desk, pen in hand, scrawling your name onto the sign-up sheet for beginner boxing lessons.

It’s not… something you planned on doing, really. You’d been showing up for the past week, trying to convince yourself that fitness was something you could get into. Something you could stick with. But this one’s more of an impulse decision, fueled by a mix of post-workout endorphins and the misplaced confidence that sometimes follows after an extra few—unpremeditated!—minutes on the elliptical.

It all started with a casual glance at a flyer taped to the wall beside the water dispenser.

GET TOUGHER, FASTER, STRONGER! SIGN UP NOW!

The cheesy tagline stared you down as you were in the middle of refilling your teal green AquaFlask. And for some dumb reason—sheer curiosity, definitely not because it reminded you of a certain someone—you thought: Why not?

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you’d marched straight up to the nearest staff at the counter, credit card in hand, and asked to sign up. Now, as you stare at the buff woman currently goading you to hit harder, reality sets in and you feel a little lightheaded. Even slightly delirious.

“Up, up–” your trainer urges, somehow not even remotely out of breath, despite being thirty grueling minutes into the session. Meanwhile, you’re standing there, red-faced and sweating like a fucking pig. “Keep your arms up at all times, alright?”

You pant, nodding weakly, fixing your posture. She gives you an approving nod in return.

It’s part of the whole self-improvement thing, anyway. Pushing yourself. Fitness, jazz, and all that. You’ve never had much inclination for sports or anything remotely physically taxing, as far as you can recall.

…Or maybe that decision was made for you the moment you tried out for volleyball in high school and took a spike straight to the face. A memory so humiliating, that your brain did you a favor and buried it deep in the recesses of your mind.

But things are different now! You’re trying new things. You’ve done wall climbing, aerobics, even pulled a hamstring attempting HIIT Tae Bo. And if getting punched in the face is the next step in this… wellness journey, then, well, so be it. You’ll take it with a brave face and, hopefully, minimal bruising to both body and ego.

You slog through two sets of combos and thirty jab-straight-hook-uppercuts, punching like your life depends on it. You’re wheezing like an asthmatic child, and you’re about one bad punch away from toppling over.

Then, mercifully—

“Okay, that’s enough for today.”

Oh, thank god.

“You did good,” she tacks on, flashing you an encouraging smile, like you didn’t just spend the last half hour flailing at the focus mitts with all the grace of a wrecking ball.

You stare at her, unconvinced. Did I? Because from where you’re standing—wobbling, really—you’re pretty sure you looked closer to an overstimulated toddler throwing hands with gravity, but sure. It must’ve been in the fine print, to segue in a little positive reinforcement. Probably to keep people from bolting after the first session.

Not that you’re planning to. No, of course not. You’re just... reevaluating some things. Like your life choices. And your capacity to lift your arms tomorrow. As you trudge your way out of the yoga-studio-turned-boxing-area, still gulping for air and very aware of the soreness settling into your limbs, someone calls out.

“Hey! Wait up!”

You turn your head, blinking in confusion. A guy—mid to late twenties, give or take—jogs up to you, looking offensively too fresh compared to how you feel. “Oh, hi. Sorry, do you mean me?”

He laughs as he slows to a stop, running a hand through his shaggy hair. “Yeah, you. I saw you training with Coach. Just wanted to say—you’re improving.”

You blink. Wait, what?

A wave of mortification rolls through you. Shit, you didn’t know you had an audience. “Uh—thanks, I guess?”

You shift your weight awkwardly, clutching your boxing gloves tightly against your chest.

His grin turns sheepish, as though he realizes how that might’ve come off. “Fuck, sorry. That came out weird, didn’t it? I swear, I wasn't, like, watching the whole thing or anything.” He makes a vague gesture to his left. “The studio’s right in my line of sight when I did my TRX reps. Hard not to notice.”

You force a smile. “Ah, yeah. Figures.”

“I’m Byron, by the way,” he offers, sticking out a hand.

Now that you get a proper look at him, you notice he’s got this kind of… geeky charm going for him. Curly hair, sleepy brown eyes behind round, rimless glasses, and shy boy-next-door vibes—except for the fact that he’s jacked.

(Honestly? Work.)

You give him your name, still smiling awkwardly. You’re about to wave goodbye and turn away when— “So, what are you doing later?”

Um.

You hesitate. “I’m, uh… heading straight home after this?” Your voice comes out a little more uncertain than you intended, mostly because you’re not really sure why he’s still talking to you.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he replies quickly, glancing down like he’s suddenly nervous. “I just… thought I’d ask if you’d wanna grab coffee sometime?”

Oh.

It takes a moment for the question to fully register. The first thought that pops in your head is: Wait, how does he know I’m a barista?

… The second thought is one of pure disbelief. Holy shit, did I just get asked out? At the gym? By the Temu version of Peter Parker?

Your face burns hotter than it did mid-workout, caught completely off guard.

“I—woah, um.” You stumble over your words, eyes quickly darting away from him. “Sorry, I already have… a boyfriend. If—if that’s what you’re leading up to.”

You say it like a question. He picks up on it.

“You don’t sound too convinced,” he comments with a light chuckle, shaking his head. “If you’re not interested, you can just say that, you know.”

A prickle of irritation flares up, followed by something sharper—something that stings. You push it down. “No, he’s just… not around.” “Ah.” He clicks his tongue sympathetically. “Long distance?” “…Yeah.” You have no idea.

He shrugs, undeterred. “Alright, no pressure. We could always just hang out as friends, if you want.”

I… don’t think I do. “Um, maybe?” you answer instead, forcing out a laugh.

“Oh, come on,” he says, his grin widening. “You can even introduce me to your boyfriend,” he emphasizes the word out, “when he gets back. Does he work out? We could all hit the gym together.”

Social anxiety is afraid of this man, you think belatedly. Unfortunately for him, you’re the very embodiment of what fears him.

You’re so out of your element that all you can manage is, “He boxes too, actually.”

“Yeah? He any good?”

That gets an involuntary snort out of you. Unthinkingly, you say, “Could probably beat you up.”

Byron laughs, startled but amused, shaking his head as he raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright—message received.” He flashes you a wide smile. “Well, if you change your mind about the coffee, I’ll be around.” He jerks his chin toward the pack fly by the corner. “There, usually.”

Okay, nerd. Despite yourself, you can’t help but find the whole thing slightly hilarious. Then again, you find humor in the dumbest things. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You offer him a quick, half-hearted wave, trying (and failing) to mask your embarrassment with an exaggerated, too-casual show of nonchalance. It’s so painfully awkward, you can feel yourself internally dying from the cringe of it all.

Without another word, you spin on your heel and start speed-walking away, practically running back to the safety of your personal space.

Smooth.

––––

It’s another relatively easy night at the bistro. You’re on the last two hours of your shift, and you’re carrying a single glass of roseberry mule to serve at table four. As you round the corner, you catch sight of a student, glasses perched low on her nose, completely absorbed in a thick coursebook on Programming Languages. Papers are scattered across the table, and she looks to be utterly engrossed in her readings, unaware of the world around her.

You don’t want to bother her more than necessary, about to set the drink down on the only clear space—by the iPad propped up on a tablet holder to her right—when something red catches your attention.

A familiar pair of crimson eyes stops you dead in your tracks.

For a moment, you feel like you’re suspended in time. The sharp memory of a similar instance where you’re in her place, and he’s there, keeping you company while he’s polishing a gun burns through your brain, and you don’t–you can’t think—

You stand there, rooted to the spot, wide-eyed and unmoving. Then, the girl’s gaze shifts to you, and a hot flush spreads across her cheeks, betraying her surprise.

With swift fingers, she locks the screen with a quick flick on the power button, pulling you away and breaking you from the echoes of the past.

“Oh, shit,” she giggles, a nervous edge to her voice. “That’s embarrassing.”

You shake your head, forcing yourself back to the present moment. “No—no, don’t worry about it,” you chuckle weakly, setting the drink down beside her with shaky hands. “Cute guy, honestly.”

That makes her giggle louder, her eyes bright with an almost conspiratorial glint. “Oh my god, you have no idea.”

Fuck—you can’t breathe.

––––

The night hangs thick with stifling heat, accompanied by the steady ticking of the clock as you catch your breath, your broken moans too loud in the heavy silence. The sheets cling to your feverish skin, damp and uncomfortable, as your body moves in a rhythm that feels unnatural now, but still—but always—familiar.

Your chest rises and falls in shallow, rapid breaths as you force the draconic toy deep inside you. The heat, the fire—it licks at your skin, making your whole body yearn for more. To chase more of the feeling, to chase more of the memory of him.

Errant strands of hair stick to your forehead, your chest flushed and burning, a quiet throb spreading through you with every friction, every desperate movement.

Your body aches, a relentless thrum urging you to push deeper, to find something—anything—to fill the gaping hole inside you, a wound you’ve tried to stitch shut over months, now threatening to tear its way open again, once more ripping from the seams.

A sharp pressure builds inside you. Your body stretches too far, too much, struggling to take in what it can’t quite handle. It burns in a way that hurts, but you need it. You need to feel more, to fill the emptiness, to grasp at something that feels real.

“Yours, yours–” you tremble, desperate. “Yours. Just yours. Please.”

You lie in the wake of it—pleasure fading into something heavier, regret creeping in like a shadow, waiting as always.

“I miss you,” you whisper in the dark. You always do.

You try to ignore the pull of it, the sharp descent that comes with the high.

You were doing so well.

But it’s fine. You’re fine.

Everything’s fine.

The words swirl and echo in your mind, until they’re swallowed by sounds that ring hollow. You let the moment wash over you, sinking beneath the weight of the tides, where sorrow and longing blur with the fleeting warmth of what you can’t keep.

Tomorrow will be another day. Another chance to try again.

For now, you let go of your grip on the fragile raft of sanity you’ve built, painstakingly, for months on end.

Tonight, you let yourself drown once more in the somber depths of loneliness and despair, confined within these four walls that feel—once more—like a penitentiary.

––––

The plane begins its slow descent, and through the window, the world comes into view—large swathes of land interrupted by winding roads that seem to follow no rhyme, nor pattern. A river glints faintly beneath the fading sun, while the sky turns a dull blue, a washed-out slate, streaked with the last embers of daylight.

Below, the small city stirs.

Tiny specks of color flicker to life, lanterns strung along the streets like beads on a thread, marking the season, an ending, and the inevitable turning of time. A chill hangs in the air, the wind whipping past you from the half-open window of the taxi, sharp and crisp in a way that you can only find in the province.

Your hometown.

It all rushes past in a blur of light and shadow, an eclectic mix of old and new—some buildings unchanged, others unfamiliar, as if they’d sprung up in the years you’ve been away. It’s been a while since you last came back, long enough for the roads to feel... foreign, almost. Though muscle memory stirs when the car takes a turn. One you could have easily navigated even with your eyes closed.

Only your sister lives here now, her and her family—a couple of hundred miles far. Far enough to feel like another world, yet close enough for the past to catch up the moment you lay eyes on the old two-story house tucked away on the quaint cul-de-sac of this suburban neighborhood.

The residential property was left to her, scrawled onto the title in an act of generosity, perhaps. Or maybe as a weight your mother never intended to carry, something meant to anchor her eldest child while she carved a different life for herself elsewhere. Free-spirited as she is, she left with the ease of someone shedding an old coat, slipping into the shoes of another, barely a glance over her shoulder.

But houses remember. And as you step out of the vehicle, your feet meeting the rough asphalt that once belonged to your childhood, you wonder if they remember you too.

"Maru, Maru!" Your five-year-old niece cries the moment she spots the grumpy feline peering through the mesh of his portable prison.

"What—no excitement for me too?" you tease, ruffling her hair. She giggles, scrunching up her nose.

"Auntie, hi! Hi!"

You snort at her enthusiasm, setting the carrier down. The second you pull at the zipper, Maru springs out, landing with a soft thud before stalking off with his usual air of disdain. Your niece shrieks with delight.

"Ah! Cat!"

"Well, there go the chances of her socializing with her brother," your sister remarks dryly from the doorway, sauntering closer. "Hey, stranger."

"Hey," you greet, hoisting a handful of paper bags. "Where do I dump these?"

She eyes the bags. "Any of those for me?"

"You have three kids, and one of them insisted on a Lego set. Do you know how much those cost?" You shoot her a flat look. "You’re getting socks."

"Wow, stingy." She huffs but takes some of the bags anyway, hitching one onto her hip as she grabs your other hand-carry.

You step inside, and the house greets you with a riot of lights and color. Plastic tinsel and bright string lights drape across every visible surface—along the bannister, around doorways—leaving no space untouched by the festive chaos. A Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner, nearly buried beneath an avalanche of baubles and sentimental ornaments collected over the years.

The room feels swallowed by the exuberance of it all, an almost overwhelming jamboree of holiday cheer.

It’s gaudy, excessive, and completely over-the-top, but beneath it all, the bones of your childhood home remain unchanged—familiar in a way that settles deep in your chest. The Narra wood floors are still scuffed with the marks of time, there’s still the distinct tang of turpentine mixed with waxy resin and citrus you’ve long since associated with home, and the odd decorative masks still line the far wall, their painted expressions frozen mid-celebration.

Your eyes land on the canvas floater above the mantel—a whimsical cross-stitch of three women flying kites, their stitched dresses rippling in imagined wind. You remember it well, though you never quite understood why your mother had chosen that particular scene to painstakingly sew into existence. Still, it belongs here, another piece of the house's patchwork history.

Your gaze shifts to the couch, where Andrew, your sister's husband, is sprawled out, one arm lazily draped over the backrest, the other holding his phone.

He flicks his gaze up at you, offering a half-hearted wave before turning back to whatever has him so absorbed on the screen. Beside him, your three-year-old nephew is perched on his knees, bouncing with energy as he mirrors Bluey's movements on the TV with exaggerated enthusiasm, his tiny arms flailing in childlike glee.

You sigh inwardly, rolling your eyes. Typical.

“There’s a few more hours before dinner. Want to hang out in the kitchen while I roast the ham?” She asks casually, setting down your bags by the foot of the stairs. “Actually, scratch that—you’re in charge of the punch.”

“You just want a head start on the drinks,” you tease, the banter flowing easily between you. “Hey, where’s the little squirt?”

She points toward the small crib, near the island counter. “She finally stopped crying, thank god. Don’t wake her up, or you’ll be the one in charge of putting her back to sleep.”

The two of you slip into the kitchen, where the air already carries the promise of dinner—cloves and brown sugar blending nicely with the lingering scent of citrus. A tray of ham sits on the counter, prepped and ready, the scored surface glistening under the fluorescent light.

Your sister pulls a bottle of Luisita Oro Rum and Agimat Gin from the second-to-last cupboard and places them on the counter in front of you.

"Go ham," she quips.

You give her a flat look. "You think you’re funny.”

She shrugs, unfazed, and turns her attention back to where she’d left off before your arrival.

The two of you fall into a natural rhythm, the kind that comes from years of cooking together. You work your way through cans of Del Monte, the metallic clinks filling the space as you drain the syrup and dump chunks of mixed fruit into the large punch bowl.

Your sister leans against the counter nearby, arms folded, her gaze fixed on the oven door, as if sheer willpower alone could make the meat cook faster.

In the background, the soft drone of the TV drifts in from the living room, punctuated by your nephew’s occasional giggles.

There’s no rush, no need to fill the silence with anything more than the occasional clang of utensils against glass and the low humming of kitchen appliances. The day is winding down to a close, and for now, everything is alright.

“So, Mom called,” she says casually, one arm braced on the counter as she leans in, glancing at you. “Kept calling, actually.”

“Mm.” You reply noncommittally, shaking the last can’s contents into the crystal bowl, watching as the fruit chunks bob lazily in the pool of alcohol.

“She’s worried about you.”

You don’t answer.

“She was. She is.” Her voice shifts, more serious now. She watches you closely, noting your lack of reaction. “You know that, right?”

Your fingers tighten around the can opener, but you pull your gaze away from the bowl. “I know.”

She sighs, resigned, already familiar with this song and dance. Familiar enough to know there’s no winning this one, not tonight. Not anytime soon. “I am too.”

You blink, before looking away. “Oh.”

And maybe she does worry—your mother. But any hope of truly knowing is swallowed by the chasm between you, the one that keeps your conversations at surface level, never breaching the depths beyond.

Your body, born from hers, perhaps more alike than you realize, might have been brought into this world with the same pains that she’s carried. The pains of separation. The unresolved hurt of being unwillingly removed from your person—her former husband, your father—and that if you and your mother were closer, you could have opened up about your own situation. Perhaps then, you wouldn’t feel like a ship that has lost its ballast, drifting endlessly in the same turbulent seas for the longest time.

But you are your mother’s daughter, and she is her mother’s daughter. There is the truth that the women in your family are not the best communicators, nor do they wear their hearts on their sleeves. So you were born mute and overly sensitive. Pain drips from you, unnoticed, like a purposeless leak in the heart. You’ll carry it with you until you die.

“But you look… okay,” she observes, cocking her head. “Are you okay?”

You swallow. For the same reason you compare your mother to a storm you can't outrun and your sister to an intermittent drizzle, you find it easier to admit, “I haven’t… been okay for a while.”

Not wanting to bring the mood down, especially on a day like today, you quickly add, “Things are better now, though.”

She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “Could be a little more specific there, but I’ll take it.” She gives you an exasperatedly fond look. “You let me know if that changes anytime soon, ‘kay?”

Your lips quirk in the faintest semblance of a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

–

It’s ten minutes before midnight.

You’re leaning against the island counter that separates the kitchen from the living room, nursing a glass of the fruit punch (though it’s mostly gin, with the teensiest amount of fruit), watching your sister’s family at a distance as they eagerly wait for the clock to strike twelve. The blinds of the large living room window have been pulled up, giving an unobstructed view of the sky, ready for the first firework to light up the dark.

For a moment, you feel like an outsider, watching through a lens, as if you’re not quite part of the scene. There’s a strange sense of detachment—voyeuristic, almost—as though you're peering in on a private, intimate moment.

Your sister cradles the infant in her arms, and that all-too-familiar pang stirs to life—the same one that always does when you look at her.

You can't quite place what you're feeling, exactly. It’s tumultuous, and it’s complex. Andrew’s practically dozing off in his seat, and you see your sister shake her head in mild annoyance. Your nephew, fighting to keep his eyes open, starts to fuss.

Something tightens inside your chest.

“Andrew,” she hisses, startling the man awake. He blinks, disoriented, before spotting their son and the early signs of an explosive tantrum.

He sighs, and pulls the boy closer to him. “Hey, hey, little guy. Look at the sky. In just a couple of minutes, the lights are gonna go boom-boom.”

Your nephew sniffs, his eyes blinking up at him as he processes the words. “Boom-boom?”

“Yeah! Just like the one we watched on TV!”

The kid’s face visibly perks up at that, bad mood quickly forgotten. “Boom-boom!”

You watch as your sister’s gaze softens, and a small smile replaces the earlier frown on her face.

And in that instant, you understand.

You look at your sister and, for a brief moment, all you see is a wretched mirror of yourself. She is all of your fears, all of your failures, and all of what you could’ve been rolled into one. Barely in her mid-thirties, and yet already carrying the weight of a family: three kids, a husband who feels like a faded echo of your father—a man who didn’t quite measure up, who never did, and just as unreliable.

You feel the suffocating weight of it all, of being tied to a place that’s meant to be a home but feels more like a tomb, marking the passing of dreams unrealized. She’ll grow old here, buried in the same soil you both sprang from, fading into the landscape of this town that swallows its own.

You look at her and you almost feel the repressed pain of missing the last semester of college to give birth, the lament of a missed opportunity that life has stolen from her.

You feel her pain as if it’s yours. You feel it in the marrow of your bones—her blood flowing through you. “3…” You look at her, and it feels like seeing someone bound, held down by an anchor around her foot, unable to break through the surface of freedom. You look at her and you see dreams once aglow, reduced to cinders. You look at her and see—

She glances up at you.

Oh. “2…” In the fleeting moment where your eyes meet—eyes you two share with your mother—you feel so small.

Just a kid. Shortsighted and unfairly dismissive. Too blind to see your sister’s quiet victories, too selfish to admit you’ve diminished them just so you could feel less alone about your own failures. A child grasping for meaning, unfair in the ways only children can be. “1…” And in the fraction of a second before midnight, it's as if you’ve been doused awake.

You see her anew—what seemed like monotony is really the bedrock of stability; tenacity in place of routine. An almost single-minded doggedness to make something out of this life. You see the steadfast strength she possesses, the kind that gets her up every morning, to face the world and all its demands without question. With purpose.

You see resilience. Compassion. Traits that you’ve always lacked, that you’ve long resented, the same traits your mother never learned to embody.

And now you see your niece in her arms, born from this, and you name the indescribable feeling that dwells in you—borne from the pure look of adoration in your sister’s eyes for her youngest daughter—as envy.

You know, with utmost certainty, that she will be okay, because she has your sister as her mother, and she is so, so loved.

As you watch them, something inside you shifts—a deep, aching realization.

You see… home. Something you've always longed for but never truly found. “Happy new year!” The spell breaks. The two of you startle at the sudden eruption of fireworks, the distant chorus of car horns blaring from the streets outside.

Your niece and nephew jump and shriek, their laughter ringing through the room, celebrating something they barely understand but find joy in anyway. The baby in your sister’s arms lets out a wail at the commotion, and she is soothed instantly with murmurs of soft assurances. Her father struggles upright—then, with no small amount of effort, leans forward to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

The image before you is far from perfect, but it’s theirs.

“Auntie, auntie!” The little rascals cry out in unison, their voices overlapping in excitement. “‘appy n’year!”

A breathless, almost pained laugh escapes you. Still, you smile as you respond with your own, “happy new year!”

You’re tired—tired of running, of measuring yourself against the ghosts of your past. Tired of carrying the weight of a childhood that’s left you with more questions than answers, of making excuses for wounds that should have healed long since. You've spent so much time mourning the growing pains, the irreparable, that you never stopped to see what’s in front of you.

This moment, this realization, feels like the final missing piece in the fractured puzzle of who you are.

The new year arrives, marked by the crackle of fireworks and the loud cheer from your family.

This time, you won’t hesitate. You’ll choose to embrace the change, both good and bad, with open arms. With the quiet resolve of someone finally ready to move forward.

You lift your gaze just as a brilliant burst of red explodes into the night sky, its iridescent glow bleeding into a softer silver before fading into the dark.

A warmth settles deep in your chest—bittersweet, but steady. A quiet peace.

Happy new year, my love. . . . . . . .

. . .

The air at the threshold of Vagrant’s land is restless. Volatile. A hazy distortion ripples through it, folding and unfolding, like a lost mirage—an area of transition between worlds. Porch collapse, he calls it.

Sylus has stood here countless times, watching the way this anomalous disturbance twists the very fabric of this reality, how it flickers in and out of form, erratic. Impossible to predict.

It had taken him longer than he likes to admit to understand the phenomena for what it’s truly worth. Not just an alternate space caused by some spartan energy field. Not just any other protofield. But a thread. A connection. A door.

A fault line between realities, an entryway that hums with the possibility of you.

Since the moment the idea took hold, he had thought of little else. It has consumed him in every waking moment; his entire being seeming to bend toward a singular purpose—getting to you. He had torn through endless streams of data, followed every unstable pulse of energy, mapped its fluctuations down to the smallest inconsistency.

Nights bled into days, and days bled into weeks, until he can no longer keep track. Not that the passage of time meant much to him at this point.

He’s worked tirelessly through the stillness, through the storms of uncertainty, through the aching silence left by your absence. Ever since you’ve exchanged your temporary goodbyes.

He had measured everything he could—the unstable frequency of radio signals streaming through the interstice. He had traced the influx in real time; recording the rate of deterioration, isolating the waveform, and filtering out outside interferences.

But for all the data he gathered, for all the precision in his calculations, the core of this phenomenon remained just out of reach. His knowledge on the matter is rudimentary at most. He could waste years observing for abnormalities, trying to decipher how its presence has disrupted the very threads of this universe, but the why and how of it all will still elude him.

Still, theory matters less than function. He doesn’t need to understand the full depth of it. He only needs to harness it.

It’s a gamble.

Contrary to whatever reputation he’s earned for himself, Sylus has never been one to play his cards recklessly. He deals in certainties, in probabilities stacked in his favor, in risks that—while dangerous—are still within his grasp to control. He has never been the type to leap without knowing where he’d land.

But this is different.

He has never needed to, before. Never had a reason to throw himself into the unknown with no assurance of survival, no way to predict the outcome.

He had no reason to—until you.

Now, it matters less whether or not the odds of his survival are abysmal, that he has no precedent to follow. That your world might reject him entirely. None of it matters. Because if the choice is between staying and never reaching you, or plunging into the great, endless unknown—

He’ll take the leap, every time. Without hesitation.

He’ll leave this world behind, step beyond the edges of everything that has ever defined him, and venture into lands unseen, uncharted. Unknown. He doesn’t know what awaits him on the other side. If he’ll make it there in one piece. If he will make it there at all.

Sylus has never really questioned why he’s the anomaly in this world. The curiosities of his existence are yours to ponder. After all, he finds that he doesn’t care much of the answer as much as he cares about being with you.

Because wherever you are—that is home.

He takes a step forward, and the universe dissolves into a blinding light.

Sylus wakes to the sensation of weight.

Something presses on him heavily, sinking into his limbs like gravity itself is wrapping around him for the first time.

The ground beneath him is unfamiliar, uneven—tangible in a way he’s never felt before. His fingertips press into the damp earth, leaving the faintest imprint, yielding beneath his touch. The scent of soil rises around him; a rich, bitter brown.

This world does not recognize him, yet it cradles him like its own all the same.

Above, the sky erupts.

Fireworks split open the night, streaks of color exploding and dissipating in an instant—too fleeting to hold, too bright to ignore. A flashbang of incandescent reds and fluorescent greens, followed by bursts of crackling gold and shimmering silver scatter into tiny pinpricks before fading into the darkness.

The air is heavier here, denser in a way that feels almost… alien. It clings to the contours of his new form, seeps into his lungs with every breath.

And oh, how it burns. Not in pain, but in its sheer presence. It rushes into him not as mere oxygen but as something real. Something palpable. He’s lost in the sensation.

He exhales. Then winces.

Immediately, he feels it—the weakness. The brittleness of this new body. Gone is the invulnerability he once wielded so effortlessly, the certainty that nothing could touch him unless he allowed it.

That certainty is gone now, stripped away the moment he crossed the threshold.

He is flesh and bone. Finite. Mortal.

A lesser man might have feared it.

But in the middle of this empty field, miles away from civilization, Sylus can only laugh.

He tips his head back, reeling from the sheer impossibility of it all, eyes tracing the brilliant display above—as if committing it to memory, a coronation of sorts. Of existence. Of arrival. Of a life finally his own.

Reborn. And for the first time in his existence, he is alive.

––––

It’s summer—the summer that marks two years since he left.

Two years. It’s enough time to feel the weight of it, but not enough to make the events feel like something that happened a lifetime ago.

The seasons cycle once more, as they always do, pushing time forward with a steady, indifferent rhythm. And with that change comes a familiar pang—a bittersweet ache, neither grief nor regret, just the weight of knowing that nothing stays the same. Mono no aware.

You’re closer to thirty now, and the thought doesn’t terrify you as much as it did before. Your hair’s in a pixie cut—short and sleek, although the edges are a little ragged from the half-assed trimming you gave it a few days ago.

It would have made you feel stupid, once upon a time, for trying out something drastic for a new look. Instead, you just take it for what it is—one more thing you did because you wanted to. Like the rest of the choices you’ve made over the past two years. It’s yours. Uneven, impulsive, maybe a little questionable. But yours.

It’s liberating. Even if it makes your head look like a pencil.

The voice—the one that picks at your face, your body, your thoughts, everything down to the last imperfection—never really shuts up. It’s quieter now, easier to ignore, but it still lurks in the background, waiting for an opening, a moment of weakness. Maybe it always will. Maybe that’s just the price of being human.

But you don’t fight it anymore. You don’t let it drag you down to a breaking point. You carry yourself differently now, you'd say. No pep in your step just yet, but you don’t feel the need to drag your heels either. Literally and figuratively.

The change has come in waves—sometimes gentle, sometimes harsh—but it’s there, marking you, marking the passage of time. Just like the earth, just like the seasons, you’ve shifted and grown. And perhaps that’s enough.

The sky is ablaze now, a deepening canvas of pinks and purples as the sun sinks lazily to the west. The fiery orange light spills through the large windows, bleeding into every corner of the room, and the world outside seems to slow, caught in the hour before dusk.

You’re behind the counter, wiping down plates with the kind of ease that comes from repetition, the motion so ingrained in you that it barely registers anymore. It’s all routine—the rhythm of it, the quiet hum of the bistro, the clinking of porcelain. The air is thick with the sticky smell of warm pastries, and it’s the sort of evening that feels almost liminal. A moment suspended in time.

You hear the soft tinkling of the door chimes, signaling the arrival of another customer.

It’s a soft, unassuming sound, barely noticeable against the evening lull. You swipe your hands across your apron, turning on instinct, your mouth already forming the usual greeting.

“Hi, welcome to—”

The words die in your throat.

It’s a slow unfolding—almost a gradual realization that stretches across the seconds like the last rays of sun dipping beneath the horizon. He stands in the doorway, a figure outlined in gold, and his presence fills the space between you, no barrier that separates, and it feels... impossible. Unimaginable. Inevitable.

His height is the first thing you notice. He’s taller than you expected, and you know he’ll tower over you, even at a distance. His hair is dark now, the color of midnight, almost—not the silver you once traced with your fingers in your mind. The cut is still similar to what you’ve always known it to be, though a little more unkempt, as if he’s lived in this body long enough for it to take on its own wear.

Then his eyes. The red is gone—no longer the shade of crimson that used to see right through you, those sanguine pools you once loved. In its place, a stormy grey, deep and impossibly expressive, pulling you in like an undertow. The color is striking, alien in its own way, yet there’s a warmth buried beneath it—and the familiarity of it tugs at you.

Even with the changes, even though you’ve never met the person standing in front of you, you’ll know him anywhere.

There’s a shift in the room, a subtle, yet unmistakable change in the air. It’s as if the whole bistro has drawn in a breath—and you with it. Time stretches thin, each passing second expanding into what feels like an eternity.

Your eyes lock—and for a moment, nothing else exists.

It’s as if the world has shifted off its axis. Or, perhaps more accurately, it’s as though a piece that’s always been missing has finally snapped into place.

Something settles in you, something foreign and indescribably familiar at the same time.

Sylus smiles.

“Hello, my love. Have I kept you waiting?”

It feels like home.

____

“Now I found myself this kind of love, I can't believe it I'll never leave it behind I thought I'd never get to feel another fucking feeling But I feel— This love, this love, this love Oh, I feel it.”

End A/N: So this is done! Wow! I'm kind of proud of myself for writing something this long in the span of, idk, three months? Basically, the entire duration of my "vacation" back home. Now with another term and a busier schedule coming up, I really wanted to finish this series before life catches up to me. *sobs* Anyway, I'm so, so happy about the reception of this fic, and you've all been so sweet :') Again, thank you for reading! I'll see you in the spin-off, or whatever shit I put out next haha <3 Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira

1K notes View Post

neogogori

3 months ago

“my wife” ft. nanami kento

in which the married man nanami kento cannot stop using every single excuse to call you his wife. he just can’t help it, it sounds really nice.

at the bakery, instead of looking for it he went to the counter to ask, “excuse me, do you have whole wheat bread? my wife prefers that over the plain one.” was there a reason for him to mention you? nope. is he going to to it again? absolutely.

he now brings home cooked lunch to work. the man who usually dreads the small talk from his coworkers now becomes quite eager when they notice the bento and asked him about it. “my lunch looks great? thank you. my wife cooked this for me.”

or when it’s after hours and there’s random talk amongst the workers such as places to visit on vacation. “these are really good recommendations, i’ll have to visit them with my wife if i have the chance.”

when he’s on grocery shop duty after work when you asked him to buy something from the market. kento tasted the one of the sample food and perked up, for two reasons. reason one is that he finds something you’d like, second reason, “where can i find more of this? my wife would love this.”

when a random stranger flirts with him and he didn’t miss a beat to say, “ah, you find me charming? thank you, my wife would agree.”

his phone would ring while he’s occupied in a work discussion and he had the slightest smile on his face as he stood up, “excuse me, my wife is calling.”

the way he always tried to insert you in every conversation even if the topic barely correlates to you. “i seriously almost drowned that day, the beach can be really dangerous,” one of his coworker said, finishing a story. and who would be able to know why kento felt the need to say, “my wife quite likes the beach.”

even in front of mutual friends such as gojo, as he knew the both of you back from high school days. “let me ask my wife first if she wants to come.” oh now it’s gojo’s turn to roll his eyes after so many years he has tormented the blond man with his antics. “you know that i know ‘your wife’ right? that she’s my friend too?” nanami looked at him, “what’s your point?” he deadpanned.

on the most random time of the day, his mind wandered to you as always. “i miss my wife.”

guys i think he has a wife

16K notes View Post

neogogori

9 months ago

~ Sweet Lavender Sunshine ~

This is for @scarlettriot and @silverhairsimp ‘s roommate collab! Make sure to check out the other collab pieces, as they’re all so good so far!

Beta’d by the incredible @kingdumkum

Rating: EXPLICIT - MINORS DNI

Pairing: Shinsou x fem!reader x Kaminari

Word Count: 10.6k

Content + Warnings: reader is a pro hero with an unspecified quirk who gets hit with a stimulation quirk and has to rely on her faithful roommates to get her through it. Use of nicknames (baby, babygirl, princess, sunshine), fingering, oral (m and f receiving), face fucking, light spanking, slight dacryphilia, very light degradation, squirting, threesome, unprotected sex, double penetration, creampie(s)

a/n: Yes, I KNOW i did the whole "overused sex-quirk trope" thing, but I promise this one’s not that cliché, hear me out!!

All characters are assumed to be 18+

Waking up to the smell of bacon and coffee will never get old.

It’s Sunday, which means it’s the beginning of Kaminari’s weekend and the end of your’s and Shinsou’s. House rules dictate that whoever has the day off gets to make breakfast for the other two, you and Shinsou trading responsibilities since your schedules usually line up.

This morning happens to be Denki’s turn, and bacon & scrambled eggs were always his go-to. A smile spreads across your face the instant you recognize the familiar scent and hear the light clanking of dishes accompanied by hushed voices in the kitchen.

The three of you started living together and working for the same agency right after graduation. At first, it just made sense: save money on rent and save the planet by carpooling to work. Plus, being best friends didn’t hurt either. The convenience of it all made the harrowing realization that you were no longer in school, but rather, entering a world full of villains, much less daunting.

But after a while, when you were all recognized as fairly capable pro’s, each making enough money to easily buy your own place, you chose to remain roommates. Convenience no longer a crutch, but rather, a choice. There was still something comforting about coming home to them that made the thought of moving out almost unbearable.

Luckily for you, they felt the same way.

Although you’ve been mistaken as romantic partners many times before, by just about every colleague and friend, the three of you have never crossed that line. The fear of ruining what you already had, which was so incredibly special, kept any…unwanted impulses at bay. Even if they weren’t necessarily unwelcome.

You’re only human, after all, and as a human, it’s perfectly normal to steal a wayward glance when your pro-hero best friends peel away their costumes after a long shift, unconsciously flexing their hard-earned muscles and proving the fruits of their intense labor were not for naught.

So what if they were your roommates? It’s only natural.

Just like it’s only natural how, after a particularly nasty breakup, Shinsou would have you curled into his chest while Denki rubs your calves. With ice cream melting on the table and sappy romances in the background as their low voices told you: he didn’t deserve you, and Want me to beat him up? and Don’t cry, princess, it’ll be okay. There’s someone better waiting for you, you just need to be patient…

It’s only natural when your mind starts to wonder if this might be what you’ve been waiting for. How they might be the ones who are waiting for you; for your commitment, your love, for you to cross that line–

But in the morning, even as you wake up in Shinsou’s arms with Denki passed out between your legs, you chalk it all up to fantasy. A delicious, beautiful, romantic fantasy that can’t exist, because why in the world would you risk your friendship on the odds that one–let alone both–could ever look at you as more than just that; a friend?

Pushing those feelings aside like always, you get ready for your patrol shift and bound into the kitchen with that bright smile on your face they so hopelessly love.

“G’morning, Sunshine!” Kaminari calls over his shoulder at you, half-hazardly wielding a hot frying pan and almost dripping burning oil on himself when he whirls around to greet you.

Shinsou’s at the kitchen counter, sipping on his third cup of coffee and shaking his head in mild amusement, “Careful, would’ya?” He looks your way with a small smile and an even smaller nod, “Morning, Y/N.”

“Mornin’ boys!” you walk past Kaminari, who leans towards you, neck craned for his usual morning kiss on the cheek, which he looks forward to every day. You eye the hot pan in his hand first and raise your brow. He sheepishly sets it down before turning back to you, his cheek even closer than before.

“Mwah!” you kiss him quickly, with a loud smack and a little chuckle as you head to the fridge, pulling out your coffee creamer and moving to sit with Shinsou. He leans over as well, passively sliding his elbow along the counter top until he’s in-range for his own kiss.

“Yes yes, you too ‘Toshi.” You kiss him just as enthusiastically, continuing on with your usual routine and noticing the sweet way he smiles into his coffee mug.

“Denks, did your team learn anything else about that pervy villain this week?” You pull the clean mug Denki had set out for you towards yourself, making your own cup of coffee and adding entirely too much cream and sugar to make it tolerable, “I bet my two weeks vacation they’re gonna give the case to Shin and I when we show up this morning.”

Shinsou scoffs a laugh beside you, tired eyes rolling in annoyance, “Yeah, really. ‘S all anyone’ll talk about on the news. It’s give’n us a bad rep that we haven't caught the guy yet.”

Kaminari shrugs and passes each of you a paper plate of food. You used to give him flack about using paper plates: what happened to saving the planet, huh Denks? But he’d always quip back with, It’s my day off! I’m not doing dishes on my day off. So either you eat off the counter, or accept my paper plate!

“Not much, honestly. Guy’s fuck’n slick. No pun intended…” You and Shinsou both roll your eyes with a pained groan, “That’s your worst one this week, man. Hands down.” You laugh in agreement, the whole thing all the more amusing from the mock offense on the blonde’s face.

“Fine, then. No more jokes for the Negative Nellie’s!” He takes his own plate and sits on the third stool with a huff, pretending to be straightforward and serious. “He got two more people last week. Female, of course. Both of ‘em with the same symptoms as the rest: ‘insatiable sexual arousal characterized by increased body temperature, heightened sensitivity to touch, and an increased sex drive. All of which gradually worsens until the victim no longer has the capacity to sensationalize. Effects do seem to be long-lasting, and may be permanent if early intervention is not achieved.’” He quotes directly from The Commission’s official statement on the matter, brandishing his [plastic] fork in the air as he does so.

You sigh, both in sympathy for the victims, and in exasperation at the thought of picking up where Kaminari’s team left off. Everyone knows that early intervention means having an orgasm, but it was discovered by accident and has only been tried once, when the victim happened to be on her way to meet her husband. However, while it did seem to help, she still has lasting stimulation deficits from the event since the symptoms didn’t fully subside after one session.

You slump forward, arms crossed on top of the counter, and bury your face in them. “Ugh, I don't wannaaa” you moan and complain, turning your face to look up at Shinsou who looks like he’s feeling the same way you are. He’s just much better at keeping it inside. He rubs your back, “I know, me either. But hey, at least we’re on the same route today, yeah?” He gives you a small smile, somewhere between consoling and encouraging, and you smile back. “Yeah I know. It’ll still be a good day.”

You and Shinsou were often given patrol shifts together: your quirks complementary to one another’s and your chemistry undeniable. He’s been your rock since your second year of highschool, given you were both late add-ons to the hero track. He tried to put up a tough facade, always saying he wasn’t there to make friends, but it took very little convincing for you to win him over.

And once you did, you were inseparable. Combat training after dark in front of the dorms, early morning runs, weekend study sessions - no matter where he was, there you were too.

Kaminari came along soon after, easily working his way into the mix with his natural charm and charisma, making it difficult not to befriend him. The two of you were fast friends, but honestly, the real reason he ended up wriggling his way into your lives was thanks to how quickly Shinsou took a liking to him.

It just makes sense that even after all this time, you three would wind up together. You’re so similar, so complementary, that being with them is as natural as breathing. No team works better than you and Shinsou—besides, maybe, you, Shinsou, and Denki combined—and it only adds to why you stuff your feelings away. You have a good thing going: a history that can only be forged through shared hardships, and a love that will last the ages. It doesn’t matter that your brain is now running through a hundred “what if?” scenarios as you and Shinsou prepare for work. Particularly, what’ll happen if you end up confronting the pervy villain? What if you got hit by his quirk? Who would you call for help? Would Shinsou, maybe…?

But as quickly as your thoughts wander that way, you push them back. You can’t afford distractions today, no matter how pleasant they may be.

The commute to your agency always goes by fast when Shinsou drives. His music is relaxing and doesn’t make you think too much, just puts you in a good headspace for work. He’s usually quiet, but by now you know it’s because he’s comfortable with you. It’s not often he’s able to share the same space as someone and not feel pressured to make conversation.

His favorite part of the drive is always letting you sing to the radio while he just hums along. He steals glances your way every so often, smiling to himself at how happy you look. He’s always thought you were beautiful, but knowing he’s the only one who gets to share in these moments with you makes you nothing less than radiant.

He has a tendency to park at the far end of your agency’s parking garage, wanting to drag out those precious last seconds before he has to turn the car off, thus ending your little karaoke session.

“Ready, partner?” You give him an expectant smile as you unbuckle and swing your legs out of his car, feeling much more prepared for the day ahead now that you’re caffeinated and energized from the drive.

“Ready.” He flashes you a quick smile, the two of you walking side by side into the building and heading straight for the locker rooms to change.

“Meet you upstairs?” You ask over your shoulder as you push the door open to the women’s locker room, pausing to see him nod before he disappears through his own door.

As soon as you make an appearance on the main floor, you spot Shinsou: standing in the center with the head of your agency and speaking with the Commissioner. You make your way to them, the look on Shinsou’s face giving you a damn good clue as to what the conversation’s about.

“—which means we’re relying on the two of you to pick up where they left off. This guy’s bad news and I want him off the streets - like yesterday.”

“Yes sir.” Your partner replies without missing a beat, giving off the same air of indifference he always wears in public. “We’ll handle it.”

They nod their approval of his acceptance, sparing you an extra glance as they leave it to Shinsou to explain what you missed.

“So,” you nudge him with your elbow before crossing your arms over your chest, “sounds like I’m keeping my two weeks vacation then, huh?”

He rolls his eyes with a smirk, “You nailed it. They were wait’n for one of us to show up by the time my foot hit the top step. ‘S exactly what you thought: we’re taking over. Apparently there’s been an anonymous tip about a potential location, so we’ve been told to go check it out.”

You sigh, “alrighty then. Might as well get going.”

If you had known what would happen after the two of you left the agency, you would’ve taken your two weeks right then and not felt the slightest bit guilty. Yeah, you and Shinsou make a great team—but even the best of teams can have an off day. Especially when they underestimate who they’re dealing with.

It had all been going so well; the tip was hot - the two of you tracking the villain down with relatively little resistance - and your fighting was immaculate. You and Shinsou were just as in-sync and fluid as always.

But then, in an instant, the villain turned the tables and had you cornered against the back wall of an alley, hands outstretched in your direction. You have a blinding moment of clarity before everything slows to a crawl, when you realize your intel was wrong:

His quirk isn’t activated by touch.

You’re not exactly sure what happens next. Wisps of shimmery mist shoot towards you from his fingertips before you can react. For you, everything’s moving in painfully slow motion. And just as you’re processing the fact that you’re directly in the line of fire, without hope of escape, Shinsou turns the corner to where you are and apprehends the villain with his capture scarf. He has him bound in seconds, and turns to you with a satisfied smirk, a congratulatory, “we really are a great team—“ falling dead when he realizes what’s happening.

The two of you make eye contact, Shinsou’s eyes going wide as he watches the shimmery mist settle over your stomach and sink into your core. “Y/N…” he mutters in quiet disbelief, worry deep-set in his face.

“I know, Shin.” You try to say matter-of-factly, but your voice breaks and you gulp, panic starting to set in as you feel a tiny ball of warmth forming in your tummy. “Let’s just get this asshole to the police and let them take over.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you stop him, pressing your palm to the center of his chest and making him step aside, “Don’t mention this to anyone, please. We’ll handle it when we’re done here.” You seem eerily serious, although he can already see the heat spreading across your cheeks and it makes him grab your wrist, “As soon as we’re done, I’m taking you home.”

You meet his intense gaze and realize that arguing would be futile, so you nod, your wrist slipping from his grasp and moving to start assessing the damage in the street as if nothing had happened.

But something did happen. You got hit, and you both know exactly what that means. Your mind is reeling, that ball in your core starting to nag, but right now your duty comes first.

Almost an hour has passed by the time the two of you have finished interviewing witnesses, checking for civilian injuries, assessing public property damage, and providing statements to the police.

Shinsou watches from afar as you stand before the chief of police: legs crossed and arms wrapped around your stomach, swaying a bit on the spot as you try to slow your breathing and focus on what he’s saying to you rather than that burning ball that’s only growing larger by the minute.

But your partner knows you’re just pretending to understand, mindlessly nodding at every other word while your face and neck continue to flush. He has to step in and find some way to whisk you away and take care of the issue at hand.

He crosses the road, still blocked off on either end, and comes to stand beside you. His hand rests on the small of your back, meaning to be a gesture of comfort but it only makes the burning sensation in your core intensify. Your head snaps up to him, tears welling in your eyes, and he drops his hand quickly. His own face starts to blush as he realizes what he just did, remembering Kaminari’s monologue at breakfast: heightened sensitivity to touch.

He wraps up your conversation for you, the chief of police bidding the two of you sincere thanks as he waves you off. Shinsou takes the lead down the road, neither one of you saying a word to each other as you briskly walk away from the scene of the incident.

As soon as the two of you make it around the corner and out of civilian eye-line, he scoops you up in his arms and races in the direction of headquarters, needing to get you home as soon as possible, no longer caring about your aversion to touch. “Just hang in there, Y/N. We’ll take care of you.”

You instantly know he’s referring to Kaminari, who’s probably vegging out on the couch watching bad sitcoms, completely unaware of what’s about to happen.

“T-Toshi..” you whimper, every step he takes jostling your body and making your latex suit rub painfully against your sensitive clit, “‘s too much.. it hurts!” Tears well in your eyes as you speak, spilling over and down your bright red cheeks, the embarrassment of the whole situation almost too much for you to bear.

“I know princess, ‘s alright. I got ya.” He cradles you closer to him, your face pressing into his chest and hiding away from anyone who could possibly be watching.

It feels like an eternity before he finally reaches his car, cursing himself for parking in the very back like always. He swings open the passenger door, narrowly avoiding dinging the car next to his, and sets you in the seat. He buckles you in and reclines the chair, allowing you to curl into yourself.

As soon as he slides behind the wheel he’s peeling out of the garage and barreling down the road back to your shared home. You’ve never seen him drive so fast. You appreciate the effort, but every time he has to hit his breaks it only makes things worse.

“Toshi—!” You cry out when he suddenly halts for a red light, gripping at your core with labored breaths as that heat starts to spread. “I-I can’t do this!” You gasp out, immediately unzipping your bodysuit and peeling it off your body.

His cool leather seats coupled with the lack of friction against your clit lets you take a deep breath, gaining a moment of relief. But Shinsou can’t tear his eyes away, gawking at the way you're laying in his passenger seat, completely bare and vulnerable.

“Y/N—“ he strains, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until he has to shake his hands out. You look over at him and notice the shock on his face, reality setting in at what you just did and how indecent you’re being in front of your partner and roommate.

“O-oh my god!” You reach for your suit again, wanting to cover back up, but Shinsou’s quick to throw it back on the floor of his car. “No. Stay like that. We need to start treating this anyways…” His eyes darken as he continues to stare at your body, cock twitching in his suit at the way your chest heaves. He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he misses the green light, the cars behind him honking in impatience.

“Shit–” he growls and guns it again, somewhat returning his focus to the road.

One hand leaves the steering wheel to grip your thigh, spreading your legs open with his firm hold, “Will you let me help you, princess?”

You’re too dumbfounded by this whole situation you’ve found yourself in, silently nodding to yourself and forgetting he can’t see you. He squeezes your thigh, prompting you again, “I need to hear ya say it, Y/N. I promise I’ll take care of you..”

You snap out of it, squeaking a small, “y-yes, ‘Toshi, please help…”

He simply nods, eyes glancing your way every few seconds to watch as his fingers near your desperate cunt. “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable with anything..” he mutters as his hand cups your heat, fighting off a groan deep within his chest.

He can’t recall how many times he’s dreamt of this moment. Of having you like this, so hot and bothered for him. Nevermind the cause of your current state of arousal - he wants you.

His two middle fingers start to drag through your folds, feeling just how wet you are and collecting slick immediately. “Fuck, Y/N… have you been like this the whole time??” Part of him feels bad that you’ve had to endure for the last hour, and he wishes it was a bigger part of him, because the rest of him, particularly his cock straining against his suit, can’t believe his luck at getting to see you like this.

He only wishes the situation wasn’t so dire.

You can only moan and whimper in response, his touch giving you equal parts relief and pain at how sensitive you already are. He can tell you’re close just from this minor foreplay, and while he wishes he could drag it on forever, he realizes he’s gotta make you cum in order to actually be helpful.

“‘S okay babygirl, just try to relax. I’ll make you feel good,” he slips both fingers inside, voice dropping to a low and breathy groan as he realizes how tight you are and starts to pump in and out of your cunt, “I’ll make you feel better.”

The penetration rips a wanton moan from you, back arching off his leather seat as you rock your hips against his hand, already feeling that cord in your belly close to snapping. “T-Toshi, ‘m close, p-please don’t stop!” You whine, desperate to finally feel some true relief, not even caring about who it’s coming from.

Shinsou can see the house at the end of the street, already pressing the garage door opener so he can pull right in. He barely watches the road, rubbing the palm of his hand against your clit as he fucks you with his fingers, trying to take in the moment as best he can.

As soon as he’s pulled in he throws the car in park and yanks the keys from the ignition, turning in his seat to better face you. “Cum f’me princess, come on, you gotta do it!” He uses his now free hand to rub at your clit, sending you over the edge almost instantly.

He would’ve known you were cumming by the vice grip your pussy held on his fingers, but the pornographic moan and squirt of shimmery fluid onto his seat was a nice touch.

His eyes widen at the color and consistency of your orgasm, realizing it’s similar to that villain’s quirk. It’s as if a lightbulb illuminates in his head, now understanding that to prevent the worst possible outcome you’ll have to excrete all of that fluid until it’s gone.

He fingers you through your climax, hoping to prolong it and work more of the quirk out of you. His eyes roam the rest of your body, wanting to truly pleasure all of you, but eventually they meet your gaze and notice how scared you look right now.

“Y/N..?” His fingers slow and come to a halt, slowly pulling out and making more tears streak down your face, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Shin..” your voice is shaky and not at all as relieved as he hoped it would be, “it-it isn't working! I s-still feel it inside me!”

You weren’t lying. While you felt some of that heat flow out of you when you came, there was definitely still a tight ball of arousal burning inside you.

“Fuck— okay, um..” he thinks for a quick second, “maybe once isn’t enough.” He flies to your side of the car, scooping your naked body up and holding you against his chest once more as he carries you into the house.

“Denks!” He’s calling out for your other roommate the second the door flies open, desperation lining his tone in a way neither you nor the blonde have ever heard before.

Kaminari was on the couch when he heard the door to the garage slam open, making him jump and drop his bowl of popcorn on the ground. “What the—!?“

But as soon as he hears the panic in Shinsou’s voice, he hops off the couch and runs to the pair of you. “What happened!? What—“ his eyes land on your naked body in Shinsou’s arms, his brain short circuiting for a moment as he tries to process this very confusing yet envious situation.

“She got hit.” Shinsou quickly tries to explain, pressing his way past Kaminari and down the hallway to your bedroom, “We got the fucker, but not before he got her.”

Kaminari’s mouth has run dry and he stands rooted to the spot, a flurry of emotions washing over him as he realizes what all of this is about.

“Denks!” Shinsou yells over his shoulder, “get in here! We have to help her.”

The blonde is yanked from his own thoughts, springing to action and quickly joining you and Shinsou in your room.

You’re now laid on your bed, all your extremities curled into you in embarrassment. Tears stream down your face at the overwhelming conflict of emotions wracking your body right now.

It hurts. Your core is burning, you’re sensitive from when Shinsou made you cum, yet you just want more despite the pain.

But you’re also mortified. Laying vulnerable and bare before your two best friends, this moment not at all going the way you had dreamt it would for so many years.

So all you can do is cry, unable to find the words to express all the things you’re feeling.

But your roommates can’t stand to see you like this, Shinsou climbing into bed and slotting himself behind you, while Kaminari kneels next to you at the edge of the mattress, both men looking at you with all the love and care in the world.

The blonde takes your hand while Shinsou shimmies you up his lap until your back is against his chest.

“Hey Sunshine…” Kaminari brings your hand, cold and clammy, up to his lips and tenderly kisses over each of your knuckles, watching with a broken heart as your lip trembles in fear. “Hitoshi caught me up on what’s goin’ on.” He continues to kiss your hand, each press of his warm lips helping you calm down just a little bit, “Will you let us take care of you? Help you feel better?” His words are so kind and genuine, echoing what Shinsou said in the car, and wanting your express permission even though he’s already incredibly hard and trying not to rut his hips against the edge of the bed.

“D-Denks..” you squeak, nodding the back of your head against Shinsou’s chest, “p-please help me.”

He takes a deep breath, nodding probably too enthusiastically as he climbs into bed with the two of you. He sits himself in front of you, hands on your knees, which are still curled into your chest. “You can trust us, Y/N. Let me help…” he slowly pulls your knees apart, splaying your legs open and revealing your pretty cunt to him.

“Fuck–“ he breathes, licking his lips hungrily, and Shinsou’s quick to jump in, “I know dude, but focus.” Kaminari nods, “right..” and gets onto his stomach between your legs.

He kisses your inner thighs first, getting you used to the feeling of him that close to your heat, since this is a first for all of you.

You whimper at his touch, every kiss making your core tighten even more, “Denki please–“ you whine, head falling side to side against Shinsou’s chest, “n-need to cum again.. please!”

“Alright, alright!” Under any other circumstance he’d tease you for being so desperate, make you wait as long as possible before he gave you any sort of relief. But now’s not the time for that..

He takes a steadying breath as he lets his fingers finally touch your warmth, wishing he could savor it more than he’s able to at the moment. His thumbs pull apart your folds, remnants of your shimmery orgasm dripping from your cute little hole as it flutters for attention.

Shinsou already explained how the quirk seems to be leaving your body through your fluids, but the sight is still strange. Despite how badly he wants to taste you, he tries to avoid ingesting your slick just in case it could affect him as well. Instead, his mouth finds your clit and his tongue immediately starts to roll around the sensitive bud, sending much needed waves of pleasure straight to your core.

Your back arches against Shinsou’s chest, arms flying above you to grasp at his hair and neck - anything you can reach to steady yourself. The stimulation makes him grab your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he refrains from doing too much too fast.

He leans down to kiss at your neck, “This okay, princess?” You weakly nod your head with a whimper, not able to say much else when Kaminari’s flooding you with so much pleasure.

Every press of Shinsou’s lips against your skin leaves a lingering tingling sensation, like little bits of the burning in your core are being left just below each area of contact. It makes your breathing shallow, lips parted just enough to allow breathy moans and needy whimpers to slip past. Your fingers curl in his hair, dragging his head even closer to the curve of your neck, not wanting him to stop anytime soon.

“Does that feel good, baby?” He asks so sweetly, lips curled into a smirk against your neck at the effect he’s clearly having on you, “You like it when I kiss you like this?”

Your moans get a little louder at his questions, hips rocking against Denki’s face below you, chasing after your second impending orgasm. “Y-yes, ‘Toshi, s-so good!” Your other hand reaches down to tangle in Denki’s hair as well, tugging on the roots to pull his face even harder against your cunt, wanting to feel every flick of his tongue across your clit. “K-Kami, p-please make me cum! ‘M so fucking close--”

Hearing you beg has the blonde practically creaming his pants right there. He moans against your clit, only sending you spiraling even more as the vibrations rock through your core.

Shinsou can feel your stomach tightening, each contraction beneath his fingers making him grip onto you even more. “Let go, princess. Let Denki see you cum, just like I did.” His kisses trail up your neck to your jaw, and before you know it his fingers are turning your face until his lips hover just above yours.

“Cum.”

He isn’t using his quirk on you—he would never do that without your permission. But just the same, you obey. The command instantly sending you over the edge as you feel yourself let go, just like he instructed you to.

His lips crash onto yours the moment he feels your body start to peel away from his, the force of your orgasm making your legs shake and muscles contract. Your eyes shoot open at the unexpected kiss, but within moments you’re closing them again and melting into it. Your lips fit so perfectly between his, moans of pleasure just barely slipping through the cracks and echoing around your room as Kaminari watches you fall apart.

He has the perfect view from between your legs. Fingers still spreading you wide as he watches your entrance contract with your climax, more of the shimmery liquid pouring out and dousing the comforter below you. “Goddamn you’re so perfect..” he mutters, desperately wishing he could be lapping up everything he makes pour out.

His thumb lightly presses to your clit, rubbing in messy circles as you start to come back down. Finally he looks up at you, watching as you and Shinsou continue to lock lips, catching brief glimpses of your tongues tangling together. He can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy at not being the first of the pair to kiss you, but at the same time he's glad for Shinsou.

“How’re you feeling, sunshine?” He tries to ignore how the sight of you two is making his cock that much harder, “Any better?”

You break away from your lavender friend, lips feeling a little swollen and tingly, and turn your half-lidded gaze down to the blonde. “‘S better.. but I can st-still feel it inside me..” You look between the two of them with the widest doe eyes they’ve ever seen, and suddenly both of them are putty in your hands.

“How much came out this time?” Shinsou asks, trying to treat the situation matter-of-factly rather than letting his emotions run wild.

“A fair amount. Looked just like you said it would.” Kaminari lets you close your legs again for now, but keeps his hand securely on your thigh, rubbing back and forth to try and soothe you as they talk. “Think we should.. uh- keep going until it's like.. normal?” He clears his throat, embarrassed at saying it so crudely, not daring to look at you right now.

Shinsou chews his cheek and nods, pulling you higher up into his lap until you’re practically straddling him, but still facing Kaminari. He tucks stray hairs behind your ear, wiping the sweat that’s clinging to your brow as Denki climbs even higher, sitting on his knees in front of you.

“Wha’d’ya say, Y/N?” Denki leans in and kisses your forehead, thumb caressing your cheek bone, and you can practically feel the tenderness in his touch. “Can ya keep going? We gotta get it all outta ya baby.”

You look into his golden eyes and see the same emotions that swirl behind Shinsou’s, your heart swooning just the same too. You press forward to kiss the blonde, feeling some of your mental fog lift and realizing the significance of what the three of you are doing right now.

Kissing Shinsou (not to mention the orgasms each man has already given you), has already drastically changed the dynamic between the three of you, so when would there ever be a better time to finally show them how you feel?

He wasn’t expecting you to kiss him though, freezing momentarily with a sharp inhale through his nose. But once his own daze clears, he deepens the kiss immediately. Holding your face in his hands, letting out the cutest little moans against your lips as he pours out years of pining into the kiss.

When you pull back, he’s got a dopey smile on his face and he’s breathing almost as heavy as you are. “Damn, I’ve wanted to do that for a long time…“ The two of you smile at each other, Shinsou rolling his eyes, but with his own content smile on his face.

You shift in Shinsou’s lap, feeling his hardened erection pressing against the small of your back. He groans under his breath, trying unsuccessfully to stifle it with a cough. You pull your gaze away from Kaminari‘s and look over your shoulder at your partner, voice quiet and breathy, “‘Toshi, do you wanna fuck me?“ You bat your lashes at him, biting your lower lip and feigning innocence as you stare into his eyes, just as lavender as his hair.

Without hesitation, he groans out, “God yes. I do.“

Kaminari chimes in, feeling left out, “Hey! What about me?“ He grabs your hand and places it over the crotch of his pants, clearly straining from the obvious hard-on beneath your palm.

You yelp in surprise, facing forward again with a giggle and starting to rub your hand over his hardened bulge. “I want both of you… Wanna cum on both your cocks.“ Your cheeks flush bright red at the lewd statement as you try not to avert your eyes in embarrassment. The boys just look at each other, an unspoken agreement passing between them as they both suddenly attach their lips to opposite sides of your neck, two sets of hands now roaming your body.

You can’t tell who’s doing what, senses completely overloaded as they take turns groping your tits and rubbing at your clit. One of them tugs at your nipples, making you squeak and arch your back into the touch, while the other drags his fingers through your soaked folds and coats your clit in your own slick. “F-fuck, yes..!” You mewl, eyes closing as you tip your head back against Shinsou’s shoulder, forcing Kaminari to move his lips down to your chest.

Now that you’ve cum twice, you’re with it enough to actually enjoy being touched by them. While that burning ball is still settled in your stomach, it’s much smaller than before, and comparatively, almost feels nice given your current situation.

The blonde sucks along your collarbones, littering your perfect skin in bites as he makes sure to leave his mark on you. But soon he pulls away, the hands on your tits leaving with him as he slides off the bed to remove his sweats.

“Shin, you want top or bottom?” He calls nonchalantly, now lazily fisting himself and making sure to catch your reaction when your eyes drop to his length.

He’s pretty – there’s really no other way to describe it. His cock looks long and smooth, not too thick so that it’d hurt, with the pinkest tip you’ve ever seen. The way it swells as he fists himself makes you want to wrap your lips around it and listen to all the equally pretty noises he’d make for you.

“Let's let her choose.” Always the gentleman, Shinsou spins you around in his lap so you’re finally facing him. Without hesitation, your arms wrap around his neck as his find purchase on your hips, fingers lightly tapping on the bones as he asks you directly, “whose cock do’ya want first, princess?”

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth in contemplation, thankful they’re letting you rest this long before continuing. “Gotta see your cock first, ‘Toshi. How else can I pick?” You jest, your tongue swiping out to lick your lips in anticipation. You shuffle down his lap until you can see the clear outline of his bulge in his hero suit, a little stain on the front from how worked up he’s secretly been.

Your fingers lightly brush across his crotch, cock twitching at the first sign of contact, making him groan. “Fuck.. take it out then, baby.” He goads right back, trying to maintain what little façade he has left.

Your fingers work to undo his uniform, Shinsou helping you along the way as he removes all his support items and takes off his shirt, everything tossed unceremoniously to the floor.

When you finally get his pants down, he bucks you forwards before you can even get a good look, pulling the fabric the rest of the way off. He sighs in relief as soon as he’s just as bare as you are, letting you sit back and enjoy the view.

Your mouth gapes open just enough to bring a smirk to Shinsou’s lips. “Like it baby?” He asks a little smugly, “‘s all yours. If you want it.” You watch as he languidly fists himself a few times, making it twitch when he lets it plop back against his abs.

“Mhm!” You hum enthusiastically, reaching forward to wrap your own hand around his shaft without even thinking to ask first — you’re just too excited.

Shinsou’s thick in comparison to Kaminari. Multiple veins snaking up from the base and branching off by the time they reach the tip, which is almost as purple as his hair - flushed and leaking with desperation. He feels heavy in your grasp, and you’d be lying if you said your pussy wasn’t already creaming for him.

His hand comes up to cup your neck, strong fingers pulling you in so his lips are right above yours again. His breath is hot and smells of the peppermint he likes to suck while on patrol, hitting your senses and making you feel even warmer than you already are.

He groans from your touch, “your little hand feels so fucking good on my cock, babygirl.” And then his lips are on yours, kissing you as you stroke his length between the two of you, Kaminari jacking off to the sight just a few feet away.

The blonde climbs back onto the bed, laying next to Shinsou and grabbing your free hand to wrap it around his own cock, which he’s already slicked up with his precum. Your palm easily glides up and down his shaft, the smooth, warm surface making you mewl against Shinsou’s lips.

“You like his cock too, baby?” Shinsou purrs, bucking into your hand and making you jostle in his lap. “Why don’t you put that pretty mouth of yours on it, then?”

You nod against his face, nuzzling your nose against his, “Will you help me feel good, ‘Toshi? Fill me with your cock?” He nods with you in return, smiling as he kisses you one more time and coolly replies, “‘Course, Princess” as if he’s doing you a favor and hasn’t been fucking his fist to the idea for years.

You climb off his lap, taking your place between Kaminari’s legs as Shinsou repositions himself behind you. The blonde can’t stay away from you for that long though, reaching down to grab your face and pull you up until his lips are on yours again. “Don’t leave me out, ‘kay? I want you just as bad as he does.”

He sounds as if he’s joking, but after all these years you can tell when he’s faking it. You cup his face just as tenderly, bringing your lips back down to his and letting your eyes close in content as you kiss him like you really mean it. Because, well, you do.

“I could never forget you, Denks.” You coo down at him, making his cheeks blush, “I want you just as badly. Promise.” You kiss his jaw, starting to trail your lips down his neck and to his collar bones, leaving marks similar to the ones he left on you. As you continue to kiss down his torso, your hand reaches beneath you to stroke his cock again, listening to his sweet groans of pleasure as he tries to maintain composure.

Finally your face is level with his cock, just as blushing as his cheeks and plenty slick with his precum. You keep your eyes on him as you press your lips to the base of his shaft, his breath hitching as he starts to brush the hair out of your face. You kiss your way up to the tip, now smiling to yourself at how sensitive he already is.

His hips jerk ever so slightly when your tongue swipes at his slit, finally getting to taste him and salivating even more once you do. You can see his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, gripping the sheets as you continue to tease his length, and it makes you giggle. “Kami,” you say sweetly, “You can touch me.” You grab one of his hands, kissing the palm before bringing it to the top of your head, “Help me take all of you.”

You wrap your lips around his pretty pink tip, cheeks hollowed out as you start to suck, and your tongue swirling around his leaking head. You give him a little encouraging nod and finally feel him start to apply pressure to the back of your head.

He adjusts, running his fingers through your roots until he’s got a firm hold, helping guide you down his cock. He watches with lidded eyes as more and more of him sinks into your mouth, but when he feels himself hit the back of your throat he can’t help it anymore, throwing his head back and closing his eyes as he moans, just enjoying the feeling of you sucking him off.

Shinsou’s been behind you, fisting himself to the erotic sight in front of him and groping your ass as it waves in the air. Once you’re in your rhythm with Kaminari, he spreads your ass, landing a harsh slap on one cheek and then the next, making you moan around Denki’s cock and wiggle your ass for more.

His lips curl into a smirk at how much you enjoyed that, doing it a second time and starting to see imprints of his hand left on your ass in bright red outlines. “Fuck you look pretty with my hands on you…” He groans, unable to help himself when he does it just once more, leaving his hands there this time so he can steady your ass and rut his cock between your cheeks.

You can feel the sheer weight of him behind you, making your pussy flutter in anticipation as he rocks his hips back and forth, dragging his shaft along your taint.

“Ready, babygirl? Gonna cum on my cock?” He taunts, lining up with your entrance and dropping a glob of spit onto his shaft, rubbing it in with two fingers. He hears you hum in response, earning a “fucking hell—!” from the blonde as he covers his face with his other hand, trying his hardest not to slam into your throat.

Shinsou takes that as a yes, pressing forward until he feels his swollen tip pop past your tight hole. He tries to stop, to let you accommodate the initial stretch, but it’s as if your cunt won’t let him. Your slick walls beckon him deeper, sucking him in farther than he initially meant to go until he was completely bottomed out and enveloped in your tight heat.

“Goddamn, princess—“ he practically gasps, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as he takes in how incredibly perfect you feel, “never knew you’d feel this good!”

He instantly fills you up, your eyes going wide at first and then fluttering closed as he bullies his way completely inside. You’ve never been filled from both ends before, the sinfulness of it all feeding into your burning core and making you want more.

You pull off of Denki’s cock, much to his dismay, to look back over your shoulder at Shinsou. Lavender eyes meet yours, and all he can see is lust.

“Fuck me, ‘Toshi. I need it, please!”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice, pulling out just to ram back inside, filling you up over and over again. The drag of his thick cock along your walls has you moaning like a whore, struggling to get your mouth back on Kaminari.

“S-Sunshine—“ he cards both hands through your hair this time, gripping tightly to your roots as he lines up with your lips, “be a good girl ‘n open wide.”

You do as he says, unable to protest even if you wanted to, and the instant your mouth is open it’s being filled again by his cock.

He doesn’t hold back this time, thrusting up into your throat almost as hard as Shinsou’s fucking you from behind. It burns - the ache in your jaw combined with the repeated force of his tip slipping down the curve of your throat has tears welling in your eyes.

“That’s it— that’s fucking it. Cry for me, pretty girl. Let me see those beautiful tears as you choke on my cock.”

You’ve never heard Kaminari speak like that before, and Shinsou can immediately tell you liked it, your pussy gripping him like a vice. “Fuck man, she loves it!” He pants, eyes even more lidded than usual as his hips repeatedly meet yours, balls slapping against your clit with each thrust.

“Yeah? Always knew she’d make the perfect little whore f’us.” The blonde chuckles, unable to help the filthy words spilling from his mouth. But you love it: this side of him you’ve never seen before and the way they talk about you as if you weren’t currently being fucked raw by both of them.

Kaminari watches, completely in awe, as fat tears stream down your cheeks for him. His mouth suddenly feels dry as you maintain eye contact, and he can feel himself getting close to orgasm.

He holds your head down a few times, unable to breathe with your nose tangled in blonde tufts of hair at the base of his cock, choking and sputtering as you massage his shaft with your collapsing walls. Every time he does you cry even more, and he’s almost positive it makes him fall more in love with you with every passing second.

“Shit–“ he suddenly curses, voice thick with desperation, “‘don’ wanna cum yet–“ he pulls you off his cock, the two of you gasping - him from lack of stimulation and you from lack of air. He lets go of your roots, instead letting you rest your head against his abs to catch your breath as his cock twitches and throbs pathetically in front of your face.

He wants to cum so bad, but he’d never forgive himself if he wasted this opportunity to feel your velvety walls around him first. He gently strokes the hair out of your face, fingers lightly trailing down your cheek and jaw, “You’re my good girl now, ya know it?” He coos down at you, unable to keep his eyes off the look of pleasure deep set in your face.

You weakly turn your head to look up at him with a dopey smile, “Promise, Kami?” And slowly press forward on your knees to be closer to the blonde. He stares at you in disbelief with those bright eyes of his, struggling to contain the wealth of emotion he feels towards you right now. You see him swallow as he cups your face so tenderly, bringing your swollen, drool covered lips to his in a gentle kiss. “Promise.” He whispers for only you to hear, “You’ll always be mine.”

The admittance has your heart suddenly skipping beats, already beating faster than you’ve ever felt before. You’re barely able to nod at this point though, simply kissing him again as Shinsou shifts behind you to adjust to your new position over Kaminari’s body.

He slowed down a bit to allow you to move, but he can feel his balls starting to ache, tightening a little more with every thrust. He groans in frustration, not wanting to cum either - this moment being too precious to waste.

“Princess,” he pulls out incredibly slowly, both of you practically whimpering from the loss, “why don’t you let Kaminari have a go, yeah?” He helps you shuffle up and straddle Denki’s hips, pressing himself into your back and panting against your neck. “Wanna feel you cum on both our cocks,” he drawls in your ear, voice low and gravelly as he slips a hand around your waist and slides it down to your core, fingers rubbing circles on your clit, “Wha’d’ya say?”

It’s all you can do to nod, swallowing the lump in your sore throat as your hips rock back and forth along Kaminari’s shaft due to Shinsou’s ministrations on your clit. “Y-yes!” You start to moan but it’s interrupted by a gasp when he hits your clit just right, “P-please make me cum again!”

You lift your hips to line your dripping hole up with Kaminari’s tip, the blonde’s hands securely on your hips to help guide you onto his cock. You sink down, slowly at first, but when you realize how much deeper he can reach than Shinsou, you quickly sit the rest of the way down.

His cock easily presses into your cervix, making you see stars for a moment. “Oh fuck–!” You exclaim, rolling your hips to feel him brush along your sweet spots again, “K-Kami you’re s-so deep!”

He’s certainly not as thick as Shinsou, and doesn’t have the hefty veins his lavender counterpart does, but he makes up for it in length. Although, he can’t enjoy the compliments as much as he’d like to due to the way his brain is short circuiting for the second time today.

Your cunt feels better than he could’ve ever imagined, “fucking hell, your pussy’s so fucking hot around my cock—!” And the way you’re clenching from Shinsou’s fingers on your clit, sucking him in even deeper, isn’t helping him hold out. “Hitoshi, fucking make her cum, would ya? It’s killin’ me!”

Shinsou just laughs behind you, his free hand snaking up to grip beneath your jaw, turning your head to the side to kiss him again. His kiss is rougher than Kaminari’s was, but it still has butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “‘T-Toshi…” you moan into his mouth, making him grin even more.

“Sound so pretty moaning my name like that, princess. You love me that much?” He says it as a taunt, but when he feels you nod in agreement he suddenly can't keep up the act any longer, whispering lowly in your ear, “good, ‘cause I love you too, Y/N.”

The wave of pleasure that wracks through your body at hearing those words is more than enough to send you over the edge. Back arching against Shinsou’s chest once more, his fingers furiously working your clit as you squirt on Kaminari’s cock.

Shimmery fluid thoroughly coats the blonde’s abs as he curses from the sheer sight, nevermind the intense pressure around his cock as your walls try to milk him. His hold on your hips tightens, fingers digging in enough to leave bruises as he fixes his eyes on your cunt.

Your third orgasm starts out shimmery like the others, but towards the end he swears he sees it run clear. “Good girl!” He praises through ragged breath, “I think that was it baby. How d’ya feel?” His thumbs rub circles into your hip bones, trying to resist the urge to fuck up into you and chase his own orgasm, essentially edging himself for the second time.

You look down at him through lidded eyes, pupils blown into the shape of hearts as you feel the last dredges of the villain’s quirk leave your body. “It- worked-” you breathe between pants, chest heaving beautifully above him, “Thank you…” You look back over your shoulder to kiss Shinsou, lingering only for a moment so you can lean down and kiss Kaminari as well, “Thank you both.” Your voice is soft and you sound tired, but when your lips press to his you feel his cock twitch inside you and realize neither of them have cum yet.

“Boys,” you breathe after taking a steadying breath, “your turn.” You start to roll your hips again, making Denki groan as you reach behind you to find Shinsou’s cock and stroke him as well. They try to protest, wanting to be sensitive to you and how spent you must be, but you’re not having any of it. “Mm-mm,” You shake your head, “isn’t fair if you don’t get to too…”

Denki’s the first to quit his complaining, giving in to himself and bucking his hips to feel the drag of his cock along your heavenly walls, moans spilling half-hazardly from his lips as he curses the way he's overstimulated himself.

You look over at Shinsou, chin resting on your shoulder with his lips parted as he lets out precious little gasps from the feeling of your hand on his throbbing cock, just as desperate for relief as his blonde counterpart. “Toshi,” you kiss his temple, “you can fuck me too…”

His eyes flick open, head turning to look at you critically, as if he’s trying to determine if you’re saying what he thinks you’re saying. “You mean.. at the same time..?” You bite your lip and nod slowly. You know how badly you want to feel both of them at once, but wonder if your body can handle it…

Kaminari catches Shinsou’s question, his eyes going wide as his thrusts stutter, simply staring, “What? Are you for real?” You can hear the excitement and disbelief underlining his tone. He meets Shinsou’s gaze, the two of them immediately sharing a look that suggests they’ve definitely talked about doing this with you before, but never thought it’d actually happen.

You feel Kaminari still beneath you, fingers tapping at your hips and eventually trailing up your waist in anticipation, while Shinsou lines himself up behind you. His broad hand splays between your shoulder blades, pushing you forward until your chest is flush against Denki’s, “Be good f’us and stay still, baby. I’ll be gentle.. Promise.” You feel his hand trail down your spine until he’s cupping your ass again, spreading you open so he can watch as his cock lines up with Kaminari’s.

“Tell me if it’s too much…” He mutters, having a hard time focusing on anything other than the pressure he feels as he s l o w l y sinks in above Denki. Your walls hug the two of them together so tightly, making them both groan from their chests from the immense pressure.

“Holy-”

“Shit-”

They curse together, the drag of Shinsou’s cock along Kaminari’s more incredible than either one ever thought it would be.

Meanwhile, your mind’s gone blank, your legs numb as you try to accommodate his fat cock. You won’t lie - it fucking hurts. But you’d be fooling yourself if you didn’t admit how much you love it. The stretch, the pressure, the sting of being split open… all of it has your mind reeling as wanton moans and cries so liberally spill from your lips.

Kaminari can tell how intense this is for you, cradling your head into the curve of his neck, trying to help you find some sense of comfort as Shinsou continues to bully his way inside.

As soon as he bottom’s out, the three of you let out a collective sigh. “Can I move, princess?” You can feel both their cock’s throbbing within you, making you clench despite trying your hardest to stay relaxed.

“Mhm..” you hum tentatively, breath hot against Kaminari’s neck, sending shivers down his spine. He starts to pant, breathing picking up as you shift, drawing groans from both men.

Shinsou draws back out, just a few inches, before shallowly thrusting into you again. It’s incredibly slick, the slide of his cock almost relieving as he stirs your arousal, making more and more trickle down and coat their balls.

“I-I don’t know how long I can last like this…” Kaminari regretfully admits, looking up at Shinsou, who nods in agreement, “Fuck, me either-! …Y/N,” you feel his nails rake along your lower back, soothing you with gentle touches, “Where do you want us finish?”

They hold their breaths and wait, listening to your little whimpers as you take both their cocks at once, trying to think about your answer. The thought of either of them pulling out now has you shaking your head, “I-Inside,” you pant, both of their eyes going wide, balls tensing just at the thought, “Want it all inside. Please…”

“Always knew you’d be such a good girl f’us.” Shinsou coos, Kaminari wholeheartedly agreeing as he starts to move in opposition to his lavender counterpart.

The drag of both their cocks at once, sliding against one another and stretching your poor, abused hole, has you mewling in pleasure. The sting wearing off just as you feel their hips start to stutter, their breathing just as labored as yours.

Kaminari’s the first to let go, feeling his climax finally reach it’s peak as he tumbles over the edge in a slew of moans and curses, “F-fuck-- oh fuck, Y/N! ‘M gonna fucking cum.. holy shit ‘m gonna cum!” He can’t stop the words from repeating on a loop, sweet moans of your name filling your ears as you feel warmth start to creep into your belly again. But this time it’s from ropes of cum painting your walls, the sensation infinitely better compared to the villain’s quirk.

You’re not the only one feeling newfound warmth. Shinsou practically whines as he feels his cock get enveloped by his best friend’s cum, watching as it even starts to leak past your entrance and coat his base in a white ring. The sight’s too much for him, his orgasm quickly following, although much less vocal than the blonde’s.

He let’s go with a pained groan, falling forward to drape himself over your back, pressing kisses between your shoulder blades as he spills himself inside you. You can feel every ounce of his cum mix with Kaminari’s, letting it send you over the edge one last time.

Your fourth orgasm is weak. The smallest trickle of perfectly normal fluid flowing out of you as you simply cry into the crook of Denki’s neck. Shinsou heaves a deep sigh of relief when he sees for himself that you’re back to normal - safe - regardless of how spent you are now.

He slowly pulls out, not wanting to shock your system by going too fast, fighting back his own groan of protest as his cock slips out and hangs between his legs completely coated in cum.

Kaminari’s next, kissing your temple so sweetly as he lifts you off his own cock, feeling a flood of mess pour from your pussy and onto his pelvis. He doesn’t cast you aside though, instead letting you cuddle right on top of him as he wraps his arms around you protectively. “I love you. You know that, right?” He utters softly, lips never leaving your flushed skin.

“Yeah.. I know.” He can hear the small smile in your voice, but you’re clearly exhausted, “I love you too. ‘Nd ‘Toshi.”

Kaminari smiles at that, looking over your shoulder just in time to see Shinsou return with a handful of towels and warm washrags. The three of you clean up, the boys doing most of the work as they take turns holding you close, not trusting your ability to hold yourself up right now.

Minutes pass in silence, feeling like hours as the clock slowly ticks away. None of you wanting to be the first to speak and risk popping the bubble of intimacy you’ve so loved being encased in. But eventually, you find the courage to break the silence:

"Thank you guys.. for saving me." You're laid between the two of them, legs entangled and arms crossing over each other.

Denki laughs, Shinsou chuckling with him, "Of course. How could we pass up an opportunity like that?" The blonde snickers as you smack his chest, pretending to scold him for being so crass.

"I'm serious!" You cry out, although your stern tone is interrupted by a giggle, giving away your true feelings.

"We know you are," Shinsou chimes in, turning on his side to wrap an arm over your waist, "I think we all needed this though.. so thank you, for trusting us."

Kaminari falls silent, nodding in genuine agreement as he turns towards you as well, pressing a kiss to your cheek, "Yeah, Y/N, thank you."

Pink dusts your cheeks as you look between your two roommates, knowing nothing's ever going to be the same from here on out. But not one part of you regrets that.

"Maybe we should downsize...?" You sheepishly remark, biting back the smile on your lips, "To a one-bedroom?"

They exchange looks, smirking together as they kiss your cheeks at the same time, giving you your answer.

---------------------------------------------------------

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neogogori

7 months ago

A final version of this piece! With Perona now.

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neogogori

2 years ago

a g r e e m e n t

“idiot girl, you belong to me.”

kakuzu x reader | supernatural AU (barely) | 18+ eventually

you were desperate, alone, and so so tired. you’d heard … heard of making deals. with demons. they could give you anything you wanted, solve any problem, and all you had to give up was your soul in 10 years time. what you didn’t know was that your demon was no demon at all. his agreement was very different and involved more than just your mortal soul.

✧ part one ❛ it’s the cruelest thing i could do. ❜ ✧ part two ❛ do you think i’d let anything happen to you? ❜ ✧ part three ❛ i broke my rules for you. ❜ ✧ part four ❛ it’s four am and you’re yelling at me. ❜

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neogogori

5 years ago