#ficswap

The battle began with a ferocious exchange of blows from both parties at play. Bakugo charged forward, using his explosions to close the distance between him and the villain. Y/N, always one step ahead, flanked the enemy with precision. Using their wits and agility to dodge the villain’s attack. 

Bakugo and Y/N always moved with almost telepathic coordination during their joint missions. They knew and anticipated each other’s moves, covering for one another effortlessly. Their effectiveness as a team always caught the attention of their peers and superiors, leading to more frequent assignments together. During this particular mission fraught with danger, the pair were hesitant to acknowledge their evergrowing feelings for one another. It wasn't until a split-second decision on Bakugo's part, stepping in as a shield for Y/n from a deadly attack that put them in this predicament and was captured by the villain and his team

In a dimly lit, desolate underground cell, Bakugo and Y/N found themselves shackled together. They were both heroes, each possessing unique abilities and strong wills to help. But now, stripped of their powers and freedom, they faced an unimaginable challenge. Their captor, a sinister figure hiding in the shadows, had a twisted plan for them. 

Bakugo’s fiery temper ignited immediately as he attempted to break free from the chains that bound him to Y/N. “Let me GO, damn it! We’ll tear this place apart!” he snarled, his red eyes blazing with fury. 

Y/n on the other hand, remained surprisingly calm, trying to reason with their captor. “There’s no need for this. We won’t give in to your sick demands,” they declared, their voice steady despite the fear bubbling beneath the surface. Their captor’s voice echoed through the chamber, chilling them both to the bond. “Oh, but you will my little bunnies. I’ve laced the air with hormones designed to incite desire, and unless you want to be permanently trapped together, you both will have to cooperate.” 

Bakugo growled in frustration, not wanting to give their captor the satisfaction of seeing them weaken, “Like hell we will! I’m not falling for your tricks!” Y/n on the other hand, felt a sudden warmth spreading through the air, affecting their thoughts and emotions, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the proximity of Bakugo, the scent of his sweat, and the intensity of his gaze. 

As time passed, their willpower began to waver. Their captor kept the pressure on, taunting them with veiled threats and vague incentives that played on their deepest desires. “Come on Katsuki, don't you wanna feel how good Y/N feels? I know for a fact that she’s absolutely dripping right now.” Whispered the villain. 

Bakugo grunts, and shifts a little, he can see how slowly Y/n is becoming more and more desperate, moaning a bit here and there and shifting her legs to gain some sort of release for themselves. “F-Fuck Bakugo, please. I don't know how much longer I can take it.” Y/n Groaned. “It’s the hormones talking Y/N, dont let them win.” Bakugo huffed. 

“Tsk, tsk,” The villain said. “They’re practically asking to be used at this point Katsuki, how on earth can you deny them the pleasure.” 

“Shit” Bakugo thought. This was not good for the both of them, but all he could imagine is Y/N whimpering underneath him as he- 

No

Stop

Don’t give in. 

Is what he kept on telling himself before he realized that he was over the top of Y/n, both of his hands freed and placed lightly on their skin-tight hero costume, playing gently with their breasts. Y/n purred softly, grinding on his thigh at the slight touches. “Please Katsuki-” Y/N spoke softly, before being immediately interrupted by a forceful kiss from their partner in crime. “Shh baby, let me take care of you properly” Katsuki growled, placing kissing and nips along Y/N's neck.

  Feeling the heat rise between the both of them. Katsuki gets off slightly, admiring the work of light bruises along their neck. Bakugo rips the bottom half of Y/n’s costume, revealing their wet pussy. He chuckles “Wow, what a little slut you are, getting off just at my leg alone. Tell me, what do you want.” 

Y/N huffs and doesn't say anything. 

Smack. A sting to their ass before he repeats. “Tell me, what, you want.”  

Smack

Y/N whimpers “Make me cum please Kat, please.” before gasping for air as Bakugo uses his thick, rough fingers to make quick work of spreading their legs the rest of the way, and his tongue is suddenly everywhere. Eating them out like his life depended on it. Lapping everything up like it was the last thing he was ever going to drink. 

Y/n writhed underneath him, grabbing and pulling at the blonde’s hair. He sucks on your clit and rubs his cock against the hard mattress when you moan. Tongue sliding between your folds like he’s been starving for you. Bakugo then moves his face so it’s closer to your neck, so his lips are beside your ear and he can say things just as breathily as you. and places bites and hickeys along their breasts while inserting two fingers. “fuck Y/N,” he moaned. “You’re already so tight for me and I haven't even done anything yet.” Y/n nods, chatting out agreements “Just fucking get it over with already Bakugo-” 

He reaches up and places two fingers into their mouth, while you suck and gasp as he removes his pants, showing his cock covered with his own pre-cum, slowly teasing Y/N’s wet folds. He removes his fingers and smirks, slamming his dick inside. Y/n jolts suddenly, toes curling at the sheer size and thickness of Bakugo’s cock. 

“You’re being so obedient for me Y/n, you’re so good for me..” He purrs, slamming into you over and over again. Losing a bit more sanity and more as Y/n gets tighter and tighter around him. “Fuck, that's it, baby, let me hear you.” He says, grabbing Y/N’s hair and pulling the both of them as close as possible. Slamming into Y/n's G-spot as they moaned and were almost screaming with pleasure. It makes both of their heads a little foggy. 

“Shit- fuck- Y/N I'm gonna-” Katsuki moans, pushing in as hard as he can, hitting the cervix before cumming. “M-me too-” Y/n moans. Slow and controlled, lifting up a bit to kiss them deep and make you feel every little bit of him. He allows himself to fuck the cum into you, reveling in the quiet gasps you make. Both are so sensitive, but it feels so good. 

“You’re mine now, Y/n,” He huffs, before kissing Y/n’s lips, and then to their forehead. Y/N smiles, “I would love that but now, let's figure out how to get the hell out of here.”

“In today’s news, we explore recent happenings within the City…”

The quiet voice of the newscaster from the television speakers held your attention. The drone of the air conditioning mimicked the quiet mean-spirited voice in the back of your mind, ever present, but not a focal point until you thought about it for too long. It had been a terrible week, and somehow an even more terrible day. You had lost your job at the start of the week and things just went downhill from there. So, in an attempt to make yourself feel better, you sat on the couch, cross-legged and clutching onto a pillow, a blanket draped over your shoulders, and a half-finished bowl of soup on the coffee table in front of you, hoping to cheer yourself up with a girl power movie. It hadn’t really worked so you were just flipping through channels mindlessly until the news popped up. 

“Another villain was successfully captured this afternoon. Pro-Heros Red Riot and Dynamight apprehended the tornado villain…”

The newscaster’s voice died away, blending in with the sounds of the air conditioning in the background. A film clip from that afternoon started playing on screen, the camera panning from building destruction to two burly young men high-fiving. You recognized them immediately, not just because they were famous heroes, but because you knew them personally. The young man with the spiky red hair and toothy grin, Eijirou Kirishima, better known as Red Riot, was your boyfriend. You stared as the camera zoomed in on his face, a couple fresh scratches on his right cheek from the battle, grinning ear to ear. It made you happy to see him doing so well as a pro-hero; to see his success. And yet, you couldn’t help the familiar, growing pit of jealousy that sank in your stomach. 

You didn’t want to resent him for his success. He was so kind and caring with you; really, he was the perfect boyfriend. It wasn’t him you hated. It was yourself. 

You continued watching the clip that played on the television. One of the reporters on scene asked the heroes to show off their quirks. Kirishima did it so effortlessly, smashing his fists together to emphasize his hardening quirk. You clutched the pillow you were holding just a bit tighter when the crowd on tv started to cheer for him, chanting over and over Red Riot. Your jaw tightened, your teeth gnashing against each other out of frustration. 

“Stupid quirks…,” you muttered to yourself. “I’d be way better than any of them if I had my own…”

You trailed off just as the latch of the front door clicked open. Instinctively, you turned off the TV and tossed the remote beside you, burrowing further into your blanket, pulling it over your head and leaning onto the pillow. 

“I’m home!” Kirishima shouted as he entered the house you shared, sounding more cheerful than he ever had before, or so it seemed to you, anyway. 

“Hey,” you mumbled just loudly enough for him to hear from the entryway. You heard him kick off his boots and shuffle quickly down the hallway. He slid into the room heroically, striking a pose with his hands on his hips and grinning down on you. 

“Guess who saved the city again?” he proclaimed loudly, following up with a boisterous laugh. You just rolled your eyes and sunk further into the pillow, letting out a long sigh. 

“You?” you guessed monotonically, just to amuse him. Kirishima’s smile started to disappear as he got a closer look at how you were sitting. He knew that hunched posture meant something had happened; usually it meant he had done something, but he couldn’t think of anything he had done wrong this time. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice soft and gentle as he scooted onto the couch beside you. He leaned forward, placing his elbow on his knees to peer into the blanket, clasping his hands together. You turned your gaze to meet his only briefly, darting it away after just a few seconds of contact. You couldn’t look at him for too long, didn’t dare stare into his comforting eyes for fear of breaking right there. Your insecurity wasn’t his fault. 

“Nothing, you wouldn’t get it,” you denied, turning your head away from him and staring at the wall instead. Kirishima frowned, scooting over a little bit closer to you and wrapping his arm across your shoulders, giving you a squeeze. The warmth radiating off of his body onto yours was comforting, as always, but his proximity at that moment was not helping as much as you had wanted it to. 

“Is this about losing your job on Monday?” he mused, noticing the way you tensed up under him as soon as he mentioned it. “I know that position meant a lot to you. Are you worried that you’re not contributing enough or something, angel?” 

You just sighed and shook your head, refusing to acknowledge him any further than that for now. Kirishima continued to ask a couple questions, trying to pry the information he was looking for out of you. He knew how stubborn you could get, how you’d refuse to admit anything was wrong until it was too late and your emotions boiled over. He didn’t want you to get to that point again, he had been so worried for you the last time it had happened. He was trying to get better at noticing when you were struggling, but he had been away so much this week with missions and patrols that he couldn’t gauge how close you were to falling apart.  

“I can take care of you, Y/N.”

Those were the words that made you snap. You gripped the pillow in your lap and shoved it into Kirishima’s stomach, throwing the blanket off of you when you stood up off of the couch, whipping around to face him. 

“I’m not some stupid civilian that needs saving, Eijirou!” you shouted angrily at him. Kirishima simply held the pillow against himself, staring up at you in surprise while you paced in front of him. “I don’t want you to take care of me like I’m some helpless housewife, okay? I want to take care of myself. I want to be like you!”

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to be like me in this world? To be without a quirk? You don’t know the unrelenting bullying I dealt with in school. You have no idea how many jobs I dreamt about wanting that I can’t have cause I don’t meet the quirk requirement. You don’t understand how I felt, waiting, praying that my quirk was going to show up one day; that I was just a late bloomer and eventually I’d get to be the hero I had always wanted to be. You will never understand the humiliation and ridicule I face in my life every single day. I’m not enough; how I am, how I exist is not enough to live peacefully in this world.

“You’re praised to high heaven because of your quirk while I’m just- just,” you paused, searching for the words to express precisely how you felt. “I’m worthless.”

You huffed, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks, finally having said everything you needed to in that moment. Before Kirishima could say anything, you turned quickly on your heel, rushing up the stairs and heading towards your shared bedroom. The slam of the door behind you made Kirishima jump a bit. He sat there in silence for a while, processing, ruminating, trying desperately to understand what had just happened. He had never seen you so angry, so... Hurt. He sighed, tilting his head back to rest on the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He really didn’t understand how you felt. He tried to imagine how he would be without his quirk, how it would feel to be in your shoes, but it always came up blank. He couldn’t think of what he would do besides being a hero; it was just so natural for him. He had never wanted to be anything else. And maybe, he thought, that was the problem.

Kirishima sighed again, shaking his head and tossing the pillow to the side, pulling himself off the couch and shuffling around the living room. He mindlessly found himself at the bottom of the stairs, his gaze climbing to the top landing and staring at your bedroom door. Without second thought, he went upstairs. He waited a bit longer at the door, not entirely sure if it was right for him to knock and be with you right then. Did you need more space? Did you want space to begin with? He took a deep breath in and made a decision.

Kirishima knocked quietly on the bedroom door, his gaze focused on the silver door handle. 

“Go away…,” you muttered, just wanting to be left alone. And yet, you craved his presence, his comfort. You wanted his arms wrapped around you, whispering that everything would be okay, that you were his everything, that you were perfect to him. 

Kirishima sighed, ignoring your dismissal and turning the doorknob to let himself in. His heart sank when he saw you curled up on the bed, back turned away from him so you faced the wall in the soft light of the setting sun. He didn’t say anything, just shuffled over to the bed and crawled in beside you. He scooted in behind you, pulling you over from your side of the bed to meet him in the middle, wrapping his arm across your stomach to keep you from pulling away. You lay there together in silence for what felt like an eternity, with only the ticking alarm clock on Kirishima’s bedside stand filling the quiet air. 

“I’m sorry for being so insensitive earlier,” Kirishima began to say, speaking softly against your ear. It sent a small shiver up your spine, feeling his breath against your neck as he spoke. “I didn’t mean to make things worse. I promise to try and be more understanding of your situation, angel. But I promise, promise, you are more than enough. You are so intelligent, and so patient and compassionate. You’ve got no clue how many people you make smile when you walk into a room. I could go on and on and on about how amazing you are, angel.” 

He nuzzled his nose into your shoulder, taking in a deep breath, enjoying the sweet smell of vanilla on your skin. His grip tightened around you, his knees curling underneath yours in an attempt to get even closer to you than he had been before. 

“You are enough,” he repeated, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Repeat it to me, angel.”

You could feel your face growing flush, nervous knots tying together in your stomach. You didn’t want to repeat the words back. You felt you didn’t deserve to repeat them. But you would, for him. 

“I…,” you began, voice quivering with uncertainty. “I’m enough.”

“Again,” he asked of you gently, pressing a kiss to your neck. 

“I’m enough,” you repeated, this time with more determination in your voice. You could feel Kirishima smile against your skin. 

“One more time. Third time’s the charm, y’know,” he joked with a slight chuckle. You couldn’t help but let a small smile slip across your lips. 

“I’m enough,” you whispered, mostly to yourself, confirming to yourself the sincerity of your own words. Kirishima gave you a gentle squeeze. He shifted behind you, propping himself onto one arm and leaning around you to press a kiss to your cheek. 

“That’s my girl,” he praised with a smile. Kirishima’s hand traced small, slow, comforting circles along your stomach with his fingers. You took in a deep breath, enjoying his proximity, his warmth, the feeling of his breathing against your back. You turned yourself back to face him, warmth gleaming in your eyes when you looked up at him. Kirishima met your gaze immediately, looking down at you with a proud smile. His hand trailed further over your hip, resting on your thigh. “Can I show you how much you mean to me?” 

His hushed request made your cheeks burn and butterflies flutter in your stomach. You knew exactly what that question meant; and you were craving it. You were craving him. You didn’t say anything, just brought your hand up to pull him down into a sweet kiss. A quiet, satisfied hum left Kirishima’s lips while he kissed you. He never really was good with words; he found he somehow always messed something up when trying to say something sincere. He knew he’d be able to get his message across through his actions. 

Kirishima pulled away from the kiss only briefly, giving himself enough time to shift backwards and roll you onto your back. He climbed overtop of you, his arms resting on either side of your head. He took a minute just to survey you, to watch your lips as they parted with a slight hush of air, to meet your eyes, still a bit irritated from the tears you shed. He smiled softly.

“You’re so perfect, angel,” he complimented you with a sweet whisper before leaning forward to resume kissing you. You leaned upwards into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, greedily drinking in his careful attention to you. It made you feel wanted, needed. Kirishima’s kisses were filled with warmth and comfort, speaking words to you he could never say out loud. His tongue trailed against your bottom lip, silently begging for permission to deepen his kiss. 

You closed your eyes and allowed him the moment, leaning into him and pulling him closer. Your lips met in the most tender and passionate moment yet. Your hearts beat in sync, your breaths heavy with desire. He pulled you closer still, kissing deeply and softly, his tongue slowly exploring yours. Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers curling into the red spikes, refusing to let him pull away as you basked in the moment, holding close to the person you loved most; to the person you felt safest with.

Kirishima hummed into the kiss, signalling to you to pull away for a minute. He didn’t waste any time when you eased your grip in his hair, leaning forward and leaving a trail of soft kissing along your neck. You could feel your face getting warmer with each kiss, starting at the underside of your jaw, crawling down your neck, flitting against your collarbone. Kirishima pulled aside a strap from the tank top you wore, continuing his mission, kissing along the curve of your breast until his lips captured your nipple. A soft moan escaped your lips as he tongued and toyed with you. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, building in anticipation of what was to follow. Kirishima’s hand trailed down the side of your body, fingers following the curve of your waist, curling into the waistband of your shorts. He pulled them away, discarding them to the foot of the bed, leaving you partially exposed. He sat back a bit, mouth leaving your breast and his eyes met yours. He toyed with the edge of your tank top. 

“Take this off for me, angel,” he commanded gently. “Let me see how beautiful you are under this shirt.”

You flushed bright red at his request, but obliged, sitting up slightly to pull your top off, discarding it to the floor. Kirishima hummed pleasantly, taking in every inch of you. 

"My god..." Kirishima muttered, his eyes drinking you in. Your body was truly a work of art. His gaze trails up your frame, from your breasts to your shoulders and back down to your stomach. His hands swept against your sides, his whispering touch sending shivers down your spine. You leaned back to give him room to continue, your pussy dripping with anticipation at what was to come. 

Kirishima wiggled back towards the edge of the bed, stationing himself between your legs. Gently, he pushed them apart, crouching forward and pressing kisses to your inner thigh, teeth catching skin with every other kiss. You squirm slightly, a soft groan encouraging Kirishima to continue. Instead of giving you what you so desperately craved, however, he moved to your other thigh, repeating the same ritual he began, kissing and nipping at your sensitive skin. You whined in protest. 

“Eijirou, please,” you begged, making him chuckle. Finally, he relinquished your request, adjusting his position before pressing a kiss to your sensitive clit. You moaned when his tongue began to trace slow circles around it, heat pooling into your core and making you even wetter. Kirishima continued to tease, you running his tongue up your velvety slit, licking up any slick he could and relishing in the taste of you. You were perfect to him in every possible way. He leaned deeper into you, pushing his tongue into your pussy, running it along your walls, coaxing a louder moan from you, before turning his attention back to your swelling clit. Your hands gripped the sheets, toes curling as you got closer to your release. Your back arched, alerting Kirishima to the proximity of your orgasm, and he immediately pulled away. You groaned, whining and squirming with want, annoyed at him for denying you when you were so close. 

“I want to get you built up a bit more, angel,” Kirishima began, hands trailing up your legs. “You just look so gorgeous when you cum for me. I want to make sure I can see it. I want to see you writhing for me, begging for me. I need to see you enjoying my touch.”

Kirishima leaned forward, his right hand moving back down towards your leaking pussy, coating his fingers in your slick. He slowly ran it up and down your slit, briefly rubbing circles along your clit. 

“Look at me,” he whispered, watching to catch your gaze. As soon as your eyes met, Kirishima slowly pushed two fingers into your pussy. He watched as your lips parted, watched as your chest heaved with sweet gasp, and enjoyed the satisfied moan that followed. He gave you a minute to adjust to him before moving his fingers inside of you, curling them in just the right way so that they hit your g-spot with every stroke. 

“Eijirou,” you whimpered. Kirishima leaned forward, pressing kisses against your neck as he continued to fingerfuck you, increasing his pace. 

“I make you feel good, don’t I, angel?” he mused, trailing kisses along the column of your neck until he got to your ear. He nibbled gently at the lobe. “It feels good when I fuck you like this doesn’t it?” 

You nodded your head, agreeing wholeheartedly. It felt good, so good. You wished it would never stop. You wished to feel the heat of his touch, to feel the whisper of his breath as he spoke in your ear, to feel his comfort, for as long as you possibly could. 

“My pretty girl…” Kirishima continued, his thumb finding its way to your clit while his fingers continued to pump inside of you. He could feel you getting closer; he could feel how you tightened against his fingers, enjoyed the sounds of your breathing getting heavier, your moans getting louder. He leaned up, watching your brows furrow in pleasure. “Is my pretty girl ready to cum for me?” 

You huffed, an amused chuckle leaving your lips as you turned your gaze to meet his. 

“I’ve been ready,” you whined through a moan. “Please, please can I cum? Please, I want to cum for you, Eijirou.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek, signalling his permission. In a matter of seconds, you were cumming against his fingers, legs shaking, tears pricking in your eyes with the intensity of the pleasure you felt. He slowed the pace of his fingers, letting you enjoy the feeling of him for just a while longer as you finished your release. 

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, kissing your temple as you rode out your orgasm. He pulled his fingers out of your sopping cunt, making you whine. You missed him already. “Don’t worry, angel, I’m not going far.”

Kirishima lifted his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a smirk as he pushed himself off the bed. He quickly discarded his shirt, pants following suit. You watched as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them off of his hips. You followed his fingers, watching as his cock sprang free from its containment, precum already dripping from the tip. A dark stain flushed your cheeks bright red. Kirishima went to rummage for a condom in his bedside drawer, but you rolled over to take his hand, stopping him. He looked over at you, a bit surprised. 

“You don’t want one?” he asked, making sure. You shook your head.

“I need all of you, Eijirou, please…” you trailed off, hoping he got your hint. Kirishima’s gaze hazed over with lust. He slammed the drawer back shut and shooed you back further on the bed to give him some more space. 

“Lay back, angel,” he directed you and you obliged, resting your head on the pillows in the middle of the bed and spreading your legs for Kirishima. He took in a deep shaky breath, practically vibrating in anticipation. He had been waiting for this all week; in between your job loss and his job demands, there hadn’t been time to properly connect. He couldn't wait to ravish you. 

Kirishima ran his cock up and down your slit, lubricating it with your slick before he maneuvered your legs over onto his shoulders, crossing your ankles around his neck. He lined himself up at your entrance, holding your legs steady with his other hand. He looked down at you, pausing just briefly to meet your gaze. Finally, he slid his cock into your entrance, a shaky groan leaving his lips as he pushed deeper inside of you. The warmth of your pussy alone was almost enough to send him over the edge, but he greedily wanted to make you cum for him again. He could hold on, but he needed to make it so you couldn’t anymore. 

Kirishima began rocking his hips, keeping a slower pace, moaning at how tight your wet cunt was. You moaned along with him, eyes rolling back at the pleasant stretch of his thick cock in your pussy. He fit so perfectly inside you, fucked you so wonderfully. He kept an even pace, fucking into you so deeply the tip of his cock kissed your cervix with every other thrust, making you wraith beneath him and edge closer to release with every movement. His pace quickened, making you moan louder. 

“Come on, angel, I know you want to cum,” he teased you, giving your ass a quick slap. “I know how good I make you feel. I know how much you want me to cum inside your cute little pussy. You want that, don’t you?” 

You whined at that, nodding your head feverishly, getting closer and closer to release with each and every one of his words. You gazed up at him, watching as his lips curled into a pleased smirk. 

“Good girls cum, don’t they?” he continued to muse. “You're gonna be a good girl for me, right, angel? You’re gonna cum all over my cock? Go ahead, sweetheart, cum for me.”

With those words, you found your release, gripping at the sheets, legs tightening around Kirishima’s neck, the walls of your cunt clenching on his cock. Kirishima groaned, enjoying the intense rush he felt while you milked his cock. He listened to your continued moans, thrusting faster, until finally he reached his own release. He thrust into you twice more, punctuating each twitch of his cock as he came inside of you. Finally, he stilled, matching your laboured breathing as he brought himself out of the adrenaline high. He chuckled breathlessly, his hand gently tapping your leg, wordlessly asking for you to loosen your grip around his neck. You obliged, removing your legs from his shoulders and resting them back onto the bed. Kirishima leaned forward, crawling on top of you for a passionate kiss. You reached up as he pulled back, wrapping your arms across his neck and your legs around his hips to hold him close. You didn’t want to let him go just yet. Kirishima took the hint and snaked his arm around your back, holding you close while he turned the pair of you over so he could lay down for a minute and catch his breath. 

With you on top, and his cock still deep inside of you, Kirishima took in a deep breath, exhaling heavily as he got used to the new position. You squirmed around a bit in an attempt to get more comfortable, which only caused the both of you to shudder from the sensitivity the movement caused. You giggled a bit, finally settling down and resting your head on his shoulder, burying your nose into his neck and taking in a deep breath. You loved the way he smelled after sex, a sharp musk mixing together with his sweat. Kirishima’s hand trailed slow circles on your back, just enjoying your proximity as you both recovered. 

“Are you feeling a little bit better?” he asked. You hummed pleasantly. You did, in fact, feel a little bit better. Still not completely healed from the events of the week, but better than you had been.

“I’m sorry for blowing up at you earlier…” you mumbled into his neck, wanting to say more, but Kirishima just gently shushed you. 

“It’s okay, angel. I know I won’t ever totally understand your experience, but please be open with me about it when you’re struggling, okay?” he replied. You nodded a bit, feeling a bit ashamed at your reaction. The pair of you lay there in silence for a bit longer, just enjoying each other’s company. The sound of Kirishima’s heartbeat was incredibly comforting to you.  Kirishima was the one to finally break the silence.

“How about a movie and some takeout? You can choose what we watch,” he suggested, combing his fingers through your hair. You smiled. 

“I’d like that,” you agreed. Kirishima grinned and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You sounded more relaxed now, and happier too. He knew there would be times where your insecurity got the best of you in the future, too, but that was a bridge the two of you could cross when it arrived; hopefully, with more understanding the next time it happened.

“Good. And what did we learn today?” he asked, gazing down at you. You giggled a bit, feeling more sure about what you were about to say than you ever had before. 

The Charmed Captain knew her job.

Sell tickets at a stiff price, and ferry those that could afford the tickets (and the occasional stowaway) from London to the exotic land of Polythreme, and back again if they so paid, on the most reliable ship the Unterzee ever knew. Few took travelers this way, and fewer still continued the charter business after the first trip ‘round, if they even survived that first go. The private ships fared better on the whole; Pleasure-Yacht horns rang loud in the skulls of her crew as they zailed back, complimenting the spray of zee-foam soaking every cloak from the Swift Clippers.

Worst of all were the Zubmarines. For how expensive the bloody things were, and how their owner’s bragged, one would think they’d learn to stop dinging into the hull of honest ships at some point, but the Captain knew better than to expect a change. Just grit her teeth, and order the latest stowaway to – and yes, she means you in the back, the Longshanks with a guilty look in his eyes – to make himself useful, and go hammer out the dent, and maybe they’ll be rations enough for him after all.

The Captain knew better than to be jealous, however.

Her Tramp Steamer, simple as it was, was as charmed as she was. Far more than those she shared the zee with, at the very least. Oh, sure, the technician within the Zubmarine could dive beneath the Wax Wind with ease, but she always held back the tug of a smile as they zailed past the floating wreckage, the shattered remains of hull-collapse, the ship lost with all hands. And no jealously lived within her heart as the Steamer roared past the Swift-Zee Clipper, her ship churning up the mirror-smooth water their captain had just slipped into moments before. Her austere almost always failed with the Yacht, though. That paragon of opulence, luxury, and wealth, impaled by a chunk of flint-sharp glim? It was almost too good to be real.

They saw the Fathom King, in the end. The Charmed Captain never had. They’d come and go, and come again, through whatever deal they’d struck with His Complexity, but she needed no deal. No machinery, no finery, no speed. Just luck. Just favor, though she didn’t consider herself plenty faithful. Just a charmed fate, it seemed.

Her Tramp Steamer zailed from London to Polythreme, and little ever changed. No feral crocodiles ever threatened her crew in the relative quiet of Home Waters, unless there was a revered Monster-Hunter coincidentally on board to spear the beast with bone-notched harpoon moments before disaster. The Northern Wind never howled, lest everyone onboard had remembered to pack for false-winter, with Neathproof jackets and gloves and books to don and endure with.

The Wax-Wind of the South only blew on them when the deck was empty, and died out with the first head that popped up from the hull, or out from Captain’s Quarters – and, she’d noticed, it wouldn’t blow at all unless some daft Archaeologist or Baronet had decided to treat her ship a brothel, in which case the wax was more than welcome come one’s turn to sleep, to plug ears and block out the sound. And, luckiest of all, the talking ships of the Sea of Voices had yet to successfully engage her own Steamer in their desperate, lonely conversations, no matter how they moaned and whistled.

Well, aside from the one time, but her Charmed little Steamer hadn’t spoken a word since. A fluke, of course. Nothing to concern herself with. Even if her whistle sounded almost like a song, every time the whistle blew. Even if the whistle had begun to blow by itself, each one crying out in a melody all too familiar to the Captain’s memory.

For unrelated reasons, it wasn’t long after that when the Captain chose to branch out her offerings. Charter somewhere else, perhaps. Apis Meet was becoming a popular destination, after all, or so she heard.

The old girl was getting complacent, traveling the same current, week after week. Seeing the same dark patches of zee, the same floating lifeboats, the same zailing and suken ships drifting by on the dark lapping waves. It would do the Tramp Steamer some good, to try something new. Something to distract such a fine vessel from her whistling and singing and life-becoming. Keep her simple, and charmed, and keep them both safe.

And, for the Captain, the pay was more than worth it. She’d even given up her own cabin, to the poor overpaying sap.

It wasn’t a regular route, but it was often enough to keep the whistling at bay. And it was charmed, just the same. Off to Port was the scattered remnants of some doomed vessel, a hull just like the Steamer’s own, coated in still-hot wax, kept afloat by the very thing that destroyed it. And yet, her passengers pestered one another into improvised games of quoits, while another pair spoke of the Fathomking as if he paid homage to the Presbyterate. There was no recreation of Hyacinthus, no splash of wax or wave of cold zee-water to punish their insolence, not even when boredom gave way to chess and cards, and strings of profanities from the loser that would make the Admiral blush.

No punishment. And no whistling from the Tramp Steamer, either.

Just tall tales, and idle reading, when they docked at Apis Meet.

The Charmed Captain never doubted it for a moment, of course. Hundreds of trips ‘round the Unterzee in her career, by this point, and nothing had ever gone wrong. Why would it start now? It would never start, no matter what route she took. No matter where her charter took her.

She left the Meet as evening came to a close, ferrying her passengers away, back to the London they so knew, fighting the waves with well-traveled experience. She never arrived late, after all. Every leg of the journey always arrived on time, just in time. Sometimes, even early, if a particularly fated passenger happened to be aboard.

All the same. Always the same, no matter how routine this route had become. The screams of Polythreme, and the Light of the Elder Continent, were both just facts of life, now. Nothing to jump at. Nothing to worry over.

Just like the whistling that began overhead. Not melodious – a harsh sound, like a sneeze held in for far too long, finally let loose, finally freed from the light that held the life at bay. For her part, the Captain smiled as she shook her head.

To Hell with it. A Singing Steamer was probably just as charmed as the rusty old thing had been before, after all. She’d likely be just as fine a zeefaring vessel, all things considered. Still safe, reliable, and secure, from London to Polythreme, and back again.

Emery hadn’t meant to be at the gambling dens this late. But Amelia was out at Zee, and Brett was busy with a case he insisted Emery would have no part of. Brett had been at the end of his rope, lately, and even when he’d asked to help the detective had snapped at him. It made Emery scared. So, he found himself at some gambling dens, standing by the cash out counter, surveying the room. He certainly wasn’t going to the table with rubbery men- the guilt still ate at him. He found himself looking for another table or an uproar to distract him.

He found one.

“You’ve gotta be palming cards!” A man shouted, and some of the heads in the den jerked to look at him. He was standing at a table of four and the dealer, and was pointing at a red-haired gambler lounging back in their chair. They seemed relatively unphased by it all, and pointed to their sleeves.

“My sleeves, as you can see, are rolled up,” the stranger said, “and the cards certainly aren’t in my pants.” The dealer chuckled, but the man struck the table with his fist. That stopped the laughing.

“Six consecutive games, all won!” the man goes on. The stranger sighed, and sat up.

“Mister Berkeley, perhaps draw poker isn’t your game.”

“Well, you don't own it either!”

“Baxter, sit down!” a woman next to him hissed, but he didn’t listen. She dragged him down instead, even as he struggled against her grip. She rolled her eyes, and the other gamblers went back to their business. Emery though, kept watching.

“I suppose we should finish the game?”

“Why you-”

It was a flurry of movement from there. Baxter sprung up, practically jumping across the table while the woman held him back. The stranger stayed still, holding their cards a bit closer to their chest as if to protect them. Emery couldn’t help but frown. He thought to a few months ago, where he would have pulled out his knife and-

No. He wasn’t that person anymore. Once the man was pulled back to his side of the table, the stranger set their cards down. 

“Gee,” they dryly smiled, “a straight flush!” The rest of the table threw down their cards, and groaned. Baxter was still being held, and he practically snarled. The stranger stood, collected their chips, and grabbed their hat. They practically bowed, before dumping a few of the chips back onto the table.

“Consider it my bid to you, my friends. Adieu!” They walked over to the counter to collect their earnings, and the table went back to chatter. If it had been a few months ago, Emery knew exactly who he was going after in some dilapidated alley. But not anymore. He was a changed man. No more of that. He was becoming better. He would sit down at a table and-

“Here,” a voice said from beside them. Emery turned, and there was the stranger themselves, pushing a few echoes across the counter. 

“Er- excuse me?”

“Here. I noticed you watching that little debacle, and you seemed like you wanted to join. Here’s a bit of starting money,” they smiled. “What’s your name?”

“Hyde, and you?” he hesitantly answered.

“The Partial Performer, if you please. So- what were you thinking of playing tonight? I can get you started at a table.” Emery only stared, trying to remember where they’d heard the name before. The performer had an easy air about them, waiting. Emery hummed, and casually leaned against the counter.

“Just looking for a distraction,” he replied. The performer chuckled.

“Then I suggest table seven,” they pointed, “if you’re looking for a short one. How long does this distraction of yours need to be?” Emery sighed, and silently counted the days until Amelia would be back.

“Longer than short,” he joked, and the performer chuckled. Emery smiled, and leaned in.

“How’d you do it?” he whispered. The performer shrugged.

“I’m just lucky.”

“And not mucking cards?” Emery gave a smile of his own. The performer stayed silent, and Emery’s smile dropped. Perhaps he’d responded a little too quickly. Perhaps the performer was not as friendly as they seemed. But then, he heard a snort. The performer, it seemed, was trying not to laugh.

“My dear sir! You can’t possibly be accusing me of cheating!” They finally gave in and began to giggle, and Emery couldn’t help but listen- their laugh was like windchimes.

“I don’t think I’d ever prove it,” Emery laughed along, and the performer gave them a soft smile. They watched as Emery picked up the offered echoes, and pat him on the back.

“About that distraction… I have a show this weekend, at eleven o’clock. Are you fond of the theatre, Mr. Hyde?”

The camera blurred for a moment before coming into focus on the dark hair woman who stood in front of it. Behind Diana Allers was the mess hall of the Normandy. And behind her could be seen the small kitchen area where James and Javik were standing behind the counter, appearing to tussle over an apron James was attempting to put over Javik’s head.

“C’mon, Buggy. See, I’ve got one?” He pointed to the apron that barely managed to cover half of his expansive chest. On it was written ‘80% Stud 20% Muffin’.

Javik crossed his arms over his chest and leaned away from James. “I do not understand the purpose of that flimsy costume. It is not protection of any sort. My armor is sufficient for this impractical endeavor.”

“But it’s not just about protection, amigo. It’s a cultural thing. And it’s gonna help protect your armor from grease stains and things like that-”

“My armor provides a kinetic barrier that is far superior to anything that flimsy piece of fabric could provide.”

“Alright, guys,” Diana interrupted. “We’re going live in thirty seconds. Javik, please put the apron on.”

“But-”

“Now.”

Only James saw the brief flash of green biotic energy swirl around the Prothean’s fingertips. He took a step back, having had the pleasure of encountering that particular look on Javik’s face. Right before he ripped a banshee to shreds. “Woah, dude-” But then something about the stance of the formidable reporter-and the look on Shepard’s face as she stood right behind her-must have made Javik think twice about his reluctance and the energy dissipated just as quickly as it had formed. He bent his head slightly in both the women’s direction in silent affirmation. Then inclined his head further towards James and the apron was over his head-with just a little bit of tugging to get around the pointed back-and tied neatly with a bow.

“Thank you, Javik. Ten seconds! Javik, please face towards the camera. No, it looks fine, stop fiddling with it! Yes, just right there. Don’t move.” Diana took a deep breath and muttered under her breath, “Sweet baby jesus. Save me from Protheans.”

The camera light increased in intensity as Diana took her place in front of it. She smoothed her features and plastered on her reporter’s half-smile while a small red light blipped down the seconds, then turned green. “Good evening and welcome to a new special series of ANN’s Battlespace called Normal Normandy, where we showcase a day in the lives of the people who are helping to save the galaxy from the Reapers. Tonight we have Lieutenant James Vega and the last living Prothean, Javik, who will together be cooking up a couple of pretty special dishes for us.” Diana stepped closer to the kitchen counter as the camera panned over James, who grinned and waved, and Javik, who stared sourly at the reporter as if imagining all the ways he meant to gut her later. The look on his face contrasted greatly with the image of Jean-Luc Picard on his apron with the words ‘Bake it So’ written below the pointing Enterprise captain.

“So tell us, Lieutenant Vega-”

“Call me James.”

“Oh, uh. James. So tell us what you have planned for tonight’s menu.”

“Well! I’m gonna make you my tia’s famous Huevos Rancheros.” He exaggerated the roll of the r’s as he talked, winking at Diana. “She taught this to me when I was just yay high. Told me I'd never starve as long as I knew how to make this one dish. Buggy here has never-"

"I'm sorry, Buggy?"

"Oh, I mean Javik. I like to give people nicknames. Kinda my thing. Anyway, we’re gonna make the pico first. That’s like a fresh salsa. My tia always put some avocado in it, but I couldn’t find any when we were docked, so I’m just gonna make it without. Let’s get this pan on the heat and then I’ll cut up the tomatoes.”

As James talked, the camera panned from him to Javik. The Prothean had picked up one of the hot house tomatoes that sat on the counter, examining it closely, turning it in his hand and sniffing it. He then pressed his thumb into it slightly before crushing the tomato in his grip, tomato juice and seeds splattering the counter and landing on James’ arm.

“Woah! Hey, Javik! Dude! What the hell?”

“Such inferior food would not have provided sustenance for my people.” Javik sniffed again at the remaining pulp on his hand, his mouth turned down in a sour look. He shook his hand to removed the unworthy fruit, then smeared the remains over the apron to leave Jean-Luc with an undignified tomato peel on his cheek.

“Aw, man! I only had two tomatoes! You know how expensive those things-” Javik turned his scowl on James, who took a half step away, eyes wide. “Okay. So, we can just use the one.” He picked up the remaining tomato and began to chop it up fine. “You want to be sure-” His attention was caught by Javik, who had picked up the onion. “Please don’t smash that too, Buggy.”

Javik didn’t answer. He did sniff at the onion as well, his face opening up in surprise. He sniffed it again, then proceeded to take a large bite of the unpeeled onion in its entirety. James stared in horror as Javik chomped away happily on the onion, devouring it all in the span of a minute.

“Now that is a food worthy of my people.” He gave a small, fumy burp and surveyed the rest of the ingredients on the counter. He picked up one of the two eggs that lay delicately in a small bowl. “What is this?”

“Uh...that’s an egg, but-”

“The creature that produced this was kept in a small cage, it’s only purpose in life to produce more of these ‘eggs’. In my time, we called this a noble endeavor.” And with that, he popped the egg in his mouth, crunching down on the shell.

James’ mouth had slowly fallen open as he watched in fascinated disgust as Javik ate the egg, a small amount of yellow yoke escaping from the corner of his mouth. He pointed to the small dribble. “You’ve got a little...uh…”

A tongue came out of the mouth and licked the yoke away.

James blinked. He looked down at the remaining ingredients on the counter-a single egg, a bunch of cilantro, a few tortillas. He shook his head and leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. The movement tipped a bottle of olive oil, sending some into the heated frying pan and over onto the heating element where it erupted in a burst of flames and smoke. “Mierda!” He jumped back, pushing Diana away from the flames. “Someone get the-”

He couldn’t be heard further as the Normandy’s klaxon alarms rang, a red warning light flashing overhead. Fire suppression foam burst from the sprinkler system, coating everything below: James waving his arms, Javik watching the scene unfold before him with stoic surprise, Shepard with a very sour look on her face that rivaled any of Javik's on his worst day, Diana as she waved her hand over her throat indicating the news editor should cut the feed.

Shepard wiped the foam from her face and pushed her hair back, smearing the foam further. She leaned back on one of the mess tables, then scooted over to make room for a dripping Diana. The two of them leaned on the table, watching the scene as James tried to wipe foam off and Javik tugged the apron over his head, turning in circles as it got caught on his pointed skull. Several crew members had appeared from their various hideouts and were taking in the fire suppression foam and the chaos of the mess. Garrus seemed to be especially amused and Shepard would bet a hundred creds he had started filming the scene with his visor.

“So,” Shepard said, “maybe next time we can have Kaidan show off the orchids he's been growing in the lounge. If we're lucky, he'll tear a hole in the side of the ship. Or Garrus can do a knitting demonstration. Blow up the engine while he's at it. That could be fun.”

Diana knocked her hip against the commander’s. “Maybe next time we could just show you shooting at stuff. You know. Give people confidence that someone on this ship knows what they’re doing?”