#publications.

he places the first red flag with your initials on the scene. the scream of horror your mother let's out at the sight of you is something he'll never be able to shake. it takes another two weeks to carefully bring your body back together. he’s left to watch the world slow as they place your remains into that fateful black bag. it feels like the strings keeping his heart together tighten even further to keep him from falling apart again.

it’s against doctor’s orders for him to be there in the first place. the sight too rough and crippling for his recovering body, especially his heart, to be under such stress. (katsuki would argue he doesn’t have a heart left now that you’re gone.) but in his stubbornness and despair, katsuki's there for all of it. he practically barks at the workers when he deems they handle your body too roughly. his anger is volcanic, always active, simmering, waiting for anything to piss him off. he doesn't eat. he barely sleeps. on the rare occasion he does, mitsuki and masaru find him whispering your name in the heat of his brief rest. they know not to stare too long or he'll awaken to the reality of your death.

your body wasn’t fit for an open casket. katsuki doesn’t remember the exact reason why. (he knows the reason why, but he can't shake the finality of being unable to see you again). everyone remembers how he yelled and cursed at the mortician for failing to do his job before breaking down into sobs he didn’t even know he had left. it was the first time in a long time mitsuki held him in her arms.

when he stands over your closed casket, katsuki still can’t accept how he’ll never see you again. how the last image of your face in his mind isn’t of peaceful surrender, but brokenness and dismemberment. the image so vivid, katsuki can see it nestled into your casket’s confining walls. he stands in horror. teary crimson eyes only shifting away when your mother carefully pulls him into her arms, allowing for his tears and pain to stain her funeral dress.

kaminari denki.

the air hums around denki and your son, reflections in the mirror blurry from the steam. denki's on his knees while checking the bathtub's temperature with a hesitancy reserved for open heart surgery. his sleeves are rolled up, away from the water and he can feel the electricity rolling against his skin.

this is the first bath time your son daiki has had with denki since you passed a few days ago. there's grief buried beneath the crevices of his eye bags and he's sure the fogginess of the room hides his pinkish, tear-ridden eyes. denki's nervous, baths and electricity are never a good mix. but daiki refuses to be bathed by anyone else any longer, not even tolerating bath time with either set of his grandparents.

denki finds it endearing, but the anxiety of accidentally sparking your son looms over him as a thundercloud would an unassuming village. daiki's patiently quiet, holding the towel wrapped around him as he watches denki carefully pour two and a half teaspoons of soap into the bath just as you always did. it makes the room smell of cinnamon and vanilla, one of the only scents daiki enjoys.

he copies the way you would stir the mixture: twice left, once right. the gesture makes daiki rest his head against his father's backside. denki tenses, the electricity flowing through his veins swirls.

"hey, little man," he says, voice soft with adoration and caution. "bath's almost ready, promise."

daiki huffs, not out of annoyance, but acceptance. it's a trait denki's always said he got from you. denki continues, tossing in the toys daiki loves the most before reaching to turn off the water once it reaches the max amount of bubbles daiki tolerates. the water from the faucet comes to a smooth finish, heat fogging the bathroom mirror.

"okay, c'mon, buddy," a sound dancing between a huff and a laugh escapes daiki as denki lifts him in the air. he's a tad rough when lowering daiki into the warm water, something he can tell by the slight tilt of his son's head. "'m so sorry, man."

you have the softer hands between the two of them, always lowering daiki into the tub with the care of a cloud carrying a star in the night sky. denki wonders if daiki already misses you more than he does.

but now that he's in the water, patiently waiting for denki to wash him, his electric father can't help but freeze. a part of him blames his anxiety on electrified nerves, but the main half knows the simmering fear of hurting daiki in some way while washing him. oh, how badly he wants to talk to you for advice, bask in the sunshine of your words once more. as if on cue, daiki splashes him, warm water soaking his shirt and jolting him back to reality.

you're not there, not physically anyway. there's the ghost of you in the room. your hair strands still wrapped around the hair tie keeping denki's hair from his face. daiki has your eyes, denki can feel your eyes bore into him with trust and guidance. (he can also feel how in some way, you're jokingly calling him dramatic for his antics). this is nothing new for him but the thought doing it without you causes an unnatural unease to seep into his bloodstream. daiki tilts his head further, as if awaiting the warm water to cascade down his back. denki chuckles, following his boy's soft command with ease, grabbing the nearby cup you always reserved for bath time, filling it with water, and carefully, oh so carefully, pouring the liquid over daiki's body.

some of the water escapes the makeshift barrier denki's hand makes but daiki only hums in content, accepting the impromptu face wash of warmth and love. daiki's hair moves, almost as if you're there wiping it from his face. the following motions fall into a rhythm you set while you were still alive. denki washes daiki, making sure to be swift but caring as the boy always deserves. there's an accidental splash of bubbles every once in a while but it pulls the first giggles from daiki's lips since your passing. the sound cools his buzzing nerves, easing the heat of the room against his skin. he rinses the way you always did, pulls the plug on the bath, and remembers to make sure daiki's toy sea leopard doesn't come anywhere near the drain.

"okay, are you ready?" denki asks, and daiki raises his arms without hesitation. tears gloss over denki's eyes. before the routine was simple, you would rinse, the now lukewarm towel brushing the excess soap from daiki's skin, and denki comes with the big towel to keep your son from the jolting at the shift in temperature once he's out the bath. daiki notices your absence, arms in the air faltering for a split moment as denki reaches for his favorite towel.

there's a breath of air stuck in his lungs as he takes daiki in his arms. the water always makes him heavier but it seems to cling to his grief instead of his skin this time. denki hums, pressing kisses against the boy's head, swaying from side to side. "i got you, it's okay i promise,"

the dam breaks as denki rubs circles into his backside, "aw, baby boy, you can cry all you want it's okay."

"you're not alone. i miss them too," denki finds himself sniffling as he sways, his tears mistaken for the leftover drips of water from the bath.

the bathroom exists in its own spacetime, full of grief, love, and the cinnamon vanilla scented soap clinging to their skin. the mirror blurs the image of them. suddenly, there's three instead of two. you're there, somewhere in the warmth of the foggy room.

kirishima eijirou.

he doesn't fully understand why he's doing this. your camera is in front of him, the red light flashing to indicate it's recording. his therapist suggested recording himself talking to a camera as if he's talking to you. eijirou remembers laughing, waving off his therapist's suggestion. but here he is now, listening as the old camera whirls on with the sound of reminiscence. a familiar sound bringing eijirou back to your earth.

before he even press the record button, eijirou scrolls through the old pictures and videos of your life. you've had the camera since your first year at u.a. he remembers hearing you talk about your passion to mina once, sharing that you had a fear of forgetting the good times before you got older. tears stain his cheeks as he watches you grow older with each passing piece of media.

the day blew through him like a tornado through a childhood home. he couldn't tell if it was the onslaught of rain on patrol or his horrific luck. a couple months ago, eijirou wouldn't hesitant to kick off his shoes in the walkway of your home and situate himself on the plushness of your front side to recover. you'd welcome him with a look of concern but a sweet smile on your face nonetheless, fingers carding through his hair to soothe the pain of recounting his day. he misses the way you'd tell him a joke to get a laugh coursing through his system.

it's the first time the camera catches his laugh in a while. it's airy and lacks base but it comes from the thought of you and that's progress.

"i had a real shitty day today, baby," the breath caught in his lungs finally releases. "a real shitty day."

crimson eyes drift toward the picture of you on your shared dresser and suddenly it's easier to divulge everything. a late night of paperwork led to sleeping through his five am alarm. in his haste of running around the house to get ready, eijirou accidentally cut his own skin a few times with his quirk, his hair wouldn't cooperate, and then it's pouring outside. the rain amplifies his misery and even the villains on patrol seem harsher than usual.

"i really wish you here with me," he confesses, resting his head on the tops of his knees. he's on the floor, always remembering to keep his outside clothes off the bed. another sound mirroring a chuckle escapes his lips. "i miss you, baby."

he reaches towards the camera, shutting off the electronic with a sigh. the days after improve, albeit slowly. he still struggles to give a smile whenever he's finished a shift or laugh without it feeling stiff. when his therapist asks if the method is helping, eijirou only shrugs but it's more than what he's responded with in the past so it's improvement. the vlogs he records as the weeks pass are longer and he's visibly more expressive within them.

"baby, i saved this cute puppy the other day, and boy, was he adorable," eijirou cheeses into the camera. the lenses struggle to focus because of how happily he reiterates the story.

there's more happiness in his recollections than there is sadness. he starts writing letters to you too. pages upon pages of memories. the good and bad, the beautiful and ugly. he seals them away in envelopes only meant for you. denki, sero, and mina notice his shoulders are more relaxed and the scowls on his face only come from jokes or his quirk. the memory of your loss fades as he writes and speaks to the happy memories of you.

midoriya izuku.

when the sun sets earlier and the afternoon ceases to exist, izuku finds himself drifting through the streets of tokyo late into the night. the city still bustles with all sorts of life and ever since you died, it feels like it flows straight through him. he passes by the shop where he'd bought your wedding rings. tears simmering in his eyes as he recalls the look of pure joy on your face as he asked to spend eternity with you. an ache seeps in his chest as he watches a couple pick out their eternity. izuku knows there's jealously swimming in the darker parts of his eyes.

a feeling he tries to shake off as he continues his descent deeper into the crowd. he takes the path he always does, subconsciously visiting all the places where you existed the most. the closed down gas station where you two stopped after a hero's gala. izuku remembers the press photos blasting on the internet the next day, even in the chaos and flash he could feel the warmth radiating from the pictures of you two sharing a cherry berry slushie. he passes by the lego store too. you'd mentioned being allergic to flowers, so he bought various types of lego flowers to build a bouquet for you. it sits on the untouched side of your office, never wilting.

the cat cafe you favor over all the the other ones in japan still has a light on, a child's night light displaying makeshift stars (and a collection of them suspiciously looking like your favorite constellation) on the ceiling.

"it's to keep the cats from being scared in the dark," he remembers you saying, eyes still on the last cat stubbornly refusing to sleep. it was after you two finished your date there. you two were able to stay longer than the other customers, a courtesy granted after the owner recognized the two of you from the figurines he'd bought for his granddaughter.

there's a small ramen diner tucked away up the street. usually only off duty heroes and the occasional tired college student inside. they come for a warm meal to uplift their spirits. he remembers you telling him about how you found the place while trying to escape the paparazzi who'd been following you for a few blocks. you'd brought him to the place on your third date. izuku remembers everything about it.

he'd been running late, caught up helping a student of his prepare for their upcoming history midterm. he recalls the fond look in your eyes as he recanted how the student was confusing all might's bronze and silver eras. how you listened attentively, scent overwhelming his senses when you leaned closer and pressed your thigh further into his when he'd said something particularly funny. you shared a large bowl of ramen with him, giggling as he struggled to take all the spices you'd added to the noodles without crying. everything about the moment told him you were forever, forever and always.

izuku will miss you forever, but especially now, standing in front of the glass window of your favorite ramen spot. he's eyeing the "gone, but never forgotten" poster of you in your hero suit. at the time of your death, you'd been the number one hero in japan, soaring through the skies and uplifting the world in your wake. the photo was a testament to that. you're holding a small child in your arms, beaming as you high five her. the smile on your face feels almost palpable, as if you're still there shining at him.

the bell chimes and it pulls him from the daydream where you're still alive. the owner watches him from inside the window, nodding her head toward one of the open seats. izuku sighs, shaking his head while pointing at the time on the wall. it's tuesday, a school night. the woman shrugs, offhanded to someone else but izuku knows it's her way of welcoming him back anytime.

he turns to leave, only stopping when he hears your voice floating through the speakers of a nearby television. it's you. you're there, even if it's an old video, even if it's just the memory of you. it's still you. and oh, how he misses you.

todoroki shoto.

"do they still get to dream too?" your daughter koharu asks while lying against the plush cushion of her bed's comforter. she's reaching to fiddle with her bonnet as she questions her father, a habit she gained from you. shoto already knows that it'll be off her head come morning.

her blankets swallow her small frame whole, providing her the warmth she lost when shoto moved his hand away from her forehead. his head turns slowly toward your daughter, eyes slightly widening at her sudden question.

"and where did this small, little inquiry come from, honey?" he questions, shifting to face her once more.

"well, uhm…ev'rybody talks about how they watch ov'r me all the time," a nervous pause follows after koharu's sigh, "…but then i started wondering if they ever get to sleep and dream like me,"

it's true. when you passed away a few years ago, days removed from koharu's fifth birthday, through tears, you promised to always watch over them, even at night when the stars were the only light left in the sky. every notion of good luck is seen as a sign of your watchful eye, carefully looking after them. from every round up to get her an a-plus to the extra scoops given to her at the local ice cream shop, it's all been you.

shoto's seen your daughter whisper a 'thank you' to you under her breath on multiple occasions after experiencing something good. the last time came after she'd nearly tripped and fell down the stairs but caught herself at the last moment. he can't help the smile that comes from watching your endearing goodness live through her in a way.

of course, in all your looking out for others throughout your life and even in your death, your trait was passed on to your daughter. a certain fondness only reserved for the two of you wraps around his heart at the sight of koharu playing with the lonely child on the playground or ensuring everyone has a gift at the end of the academic year, even her teachers.

shoto blinks, a small smile coming across his face. "they get to dream of you too, my love,"

"…really?" she's hesitant to believe it, head tilting in the way her father's does when he's confused.

"yeah, well, they're not up all the time," he begins, hand moving to poke at her cheeks to pull out a smile. "you know how much they love their naps."

the statement pulls a giggle from koharu's lips, a sound as familiar to him as the sun's rays. she whines a whine of joy at her father's antics, and shoto can feel his heart burst with a love reserved for her and only her.

"…d'you dream of them too?" her eyes are wide, waiting to capture the feeling shoto gives at the mention of his dreams of you.

he smiles, the same one he wore when he saw you walk down the aisle, "all the time, honey,"

"they're always nice dreams," he continues, tracing the flowers on her comforter. "sometimes you're in them too."

"did i look pretty?"

"yes, of course, my gorgeous girl," he chuckles, pressing kisses against the tips of her fingers. she carries more warmth than he does. you'd always said it was a mixture of her quirk and the love you two had for her.

she hums, one of her tired ones, and shoto's quick to begin tucking her in. he only stops when her small hands reach out to grab his, "can i sleep with you tonight?"

he pauses before a smile takes over, moving to lift her up into his arms. he carries her and her stuffed bear in his left arm with the type of ease that always made you swoon. koharu's already asleep by the time he makes it to the master bedroom. he's careful when dimming the lights and laying her beside him.

"good night and sweet dreams, my love," he whispers, not only to her but to you too.

uraraka ochako.

“uraraka?” the voice of her government-assigned therapist is still fuzzy after refocusing her eyes on the woman in front of her. “uraraka?”

“uhm…yes…yes, i’m sorry, i lost my…uhm train of thought,” ochako finally responds, “what were you asking?”

“do you still have nightmares about them?” the question comes again, still stinging as much as the first time.

next week marks ten years since you died. the loss of blood was too much for your body to handle after taking a fatal stab by toga. you took your last breath while lying in her arms, and ochako feels like she's been guarding it in her chest ever since.

“uhm, no…no i don’t," a lie, one that stings too. like your ghost pokes at her insides for the lack of transparency.

the doctor presses her lips into a straight line, eyes drifting from ochako’s lengthy file to eye her in the current state she’s in. a black void takes the place of her joyous brown eyes from photos taken before the war, and the eye bags under them only heighten the despair swimming in them.

“…we’ve been doing this for so long that i know when you’re lying,” the rebuttal is swift, along with the disappointed sigh. it makes ochako’s left eye twitch in a cringe. there's an underlying feeling of embarrassment at being caught too.

"so, uraraka…i'll ask again," her therapist sighs, an empathic one. "do you still have nightmares of them?"

"…yes," ochako confesses, hands running down her face, wiping away at the light makeup she used to cover the dark circles under her eyes. "they're haunting."

"can you describe them to me?" the woman asks, the sharpness of her words replaced with concern. it's taken years to get to this point.

on most nights, ochako's mind leads her into a false sense of security. you're always there, smiling and laughing at something, anything really. the last time it was a rushed joke from denki that had you clutching your stomach. everyone's gathered around to soak in the goodness spilling from your laughter. ochako would relax, accepting her reality as nothing more than a sick nightmare. your laughter grows into groaning, and suddenly, the clutching of your stomach doesn't come from how overwhelmed you are at the silliness of denki's joking, but from the sharp incision taking the light from your eyes.

ochako nearly chokes on the air in her lungs while calling out your name in hopes of bringing you back somehow. the air's tainted with an iron smell eerily similar to your blood-stained suit. even the cleaned garment, deeply tucked into the back of her closet, pulls her senses back to the haunting moment. you're still lying there, bleeding to death with the blade meant for her stuck in your chest. sometimes she can hear your voice telling her it was her fault. a side effect of the immense grief and stress, as her therapist says, but it feels like more. as if you're punishing her in a way.

"are your nightmares of them always violent?"

on the more calmer nights, it's the two of you, blood still seeping your clothes and dirt still under her fingernails. sometimes you talk to each other. ochako asks you about your day, and you shrug as if to say same old, same old. your words come out muffled at times, as if ochako's forgetting the way you sound. the fear fades when you smile. the look of love and adoration on your face gives your mouth its voice instead. yes, it is a nightmare because you're gone, but when the nightmare isn't so harsh, you're soft, sweet, and ochako wants nothing more than to be with you again. to make up for how you left, to bask in your existence just one more time, even if she knows she'll greedily ask the sky for more of you.

"forget conflict of interest! how did you even get them to come out their shells? let alone date them?" jimmy jumps in, swiveling his chair over to join the interrogation.

he only finds himself in this situation because you'd dropped by the illustrious daily planet to give clark some articles he'd forgotten in his rushing haze to get to work on time. you remember watching him in a flurry of panic and heartache at the sight of you crawling out of bed to help him pack his things. there's a part of him that wishes he stayed in bed just a tad bit longer as he was still late despite his rush.

it was greatly uncommon to see you anywhere outside gotham's hold for anything other than business purposes. a few months ago, you'd taken a trip to metropolis for a political conference and the daily planet was lucky enough to catch you before you'd gone back into your gothic manor of a shell.

but this visit wasn't inspired by a political conference or any other wayne-related business dealing. metropolis wasn't due for another event until next month. the shock you sent through the floor once you took your first step off the elevator rivaled the electric feeling leftover after watching the flash zoom past. there you stood, in all black attire, brown skin soaking in the sun peeking through the windows, hovering above most of the buzzing journalists in metropolis' finest newsroom.

an intern is the first to meet you out the elevator. she accidentally runs into you while trying to catch up with their supervisor's quick movements.

"oh! i'm so terribly sorry," her words tumble out of her, increasing in pitch as she realizes whose attention she's caught. "oh my goodness, i'm so sorry! please don't tell my supervisor about this!"

"it's no worries, please don't be so nervous," your reply comes with a soft smile that seems to ease her nerves enough for her to walk away with less shame and embarrassment.

your heels against the marble floors don't cause as much distraction as your face weaving through the crowd of reporters does. clark hears you coming before he sees you. he always does. and yet, he's nice enough to allow you to come to him first. it's a surprise he welcomes.

"baby, you left your drafts at home," you hum, pulling the manila folder out from your purse.

a sigh of relief comes spilling out of him as he watches you place the folder on his desk. he'd been looking for this specific stack for at least an hour and a half, even asking jimmy if he'd seen it. a flash of worry dances across his face as he remembers all the important things you had to accomplish today and how he's taken up your time by forgetting his drafts at home.

"clark," you warn, taking the chance to place yourself on top of his desk, "it is no hassle for me to come up here. my meetings can wait,"

"and i do love to see you," he huffs at your comment, welcoming the kiss you press to his cheek that's sure to leave a dark cherry stain on his skin. "and bruce told me to say hello,"

at that, lois and jimmy pause to fully take in everything they're watching. gotham's finest and most-sought after couple are in the very hands of their dorky and oddly buff coworker. the same coworker who's known for saying 'what the hay' and 'good golly' while pushing up his comically large glasses. you're calling clark kent 'baby.' bruce wayne is asking him what color he wants his new office in the wayne manor to be painted. you're asking him what he wants for dinner. it's truly baffling.

they watch as the two of you giggle and chat for a few more minutes before you bid him a goodbye with a kiss. everyone watches as clark makes sure you get to the elevator safely, a giddy smile on his face as you wave goodbye one final time before the doors close. he turns, feeling the stares on his back, and cheeses.

it brings everything back to now. lois' heavily over-sweetened coffee, jimmy's swiveling chair, and clark's sheepish smile illuminating the remains of your dark cherry lip gloss on his dimples.

"so…are we not going to talk about what just happened?" lois is, of course, the first to cut through the silence.

clark's fingers drum on his desk as he replies, "we can if you want. i don't really mind,"

lois and jimmy share a look of confusion, watching as he types away at his computer. their eyes communicate a struggle of where and how to start interrogating clark about what they just witnessed.

"do you not think it’s a conflict of interest that your boyfriend and girlfriend are the prince and heiress of gotham city?" lois starts, the best way she knows how: through questioning.

"forget conflict of interest! how did you even get them to come out their shells? let alone date them?" jimmy exclaims, waving his hands above his head in disbelief.

clark hums, turning to face the two. before he can even speak, a smile dances on his face at the feeling of your leftover gloss sticking to his skin. lois' fake heave brings him back to his senses. as a well-rounded storyteller, clark tells them everything, except for his extraterrestrial origins and the red and blue suit hidden in his briefcase.

from the gala wayne interprises had thrown, which most reporters were invited to, including jimmy and lois, to the moment it suddenly turned into the prince and heiress of gotham taking clark kent on a date gliding through gotham's nighttime.

"so the lady gotham approached you?" lois questions, eyebrow raised in suspicion. "at their gala?"

"are you surprised she did?" the hint of sass in clark's tone makes lois chuckle.

"clark, it's the lady gotham, let's not kid ourselves here," jimmy buts in, "even if she's seen more than bruce wayne, she talks even less than he does about anything personal-related and that's surprising in and of itself."

"exactly, so she just approached you?" she repeats her question, and clark sighs.

"yes? it wasn't really complicated," he admits, shifting his eyes away from the moving sun. "she asked me about a recent article i'd written and wanted to talk more about it over tea."

"tea?…at seven o'clock at night?"

"she doesn't drink alcohol."

"and bruce wayne just went with you two too?" jimmy chimes in, twirling a pen between his fingers.

"yep."

"and you don't think it's a conflict of interest?"

"i don't report on gotham city so i don't see that much of a problem here," clark replies, leaning toward his computer screen to reread a sentence he just can't seem to get right.

"even if there is a conflict, you're the first to let anyone know, lois," jimmy adds, leaning back into his chair.

lois only hums, somewhat content with jimmy's addition before rolling back to her cubicle. soon, jimmy follows suit, and clark's left marking the article on his screen with sentences he'll read over with you and bruce later tonight. he looks forward to going home and seeing you wait for him with your own set of papers to sort through, bonnet and one of their shirts on, and a cup of white tea in hand. bruce comes later in the night, possibly battered and bruised but it's nothing you or clark can't heal. it's nothing the three of you can't do together.

it’s truly unfair how pretty he looks with the blue light illuminating his crimson eyes, giving them an orangish ring around his pupils. his hair’s pulled back with the teddy bear-themed headband you’d gotten him a few months ago.

but most importantly, his forehead is out. a once in a blue moon opportunity to give his forehead all the kisses you want and he knows it. katsuki thinks it’s stupid the way you have an odd fascination with “pressin’ a few smooches” on his forehead as you call it.

“kats,” you drawl, batting your pretty eyelashes at the left side of his face.

he doesn’t verbally reply, opting to place a hand between his face and yours, and pulling a few mischievous giggles from your lips at his antics.

“oh, baby, you’re so dramatic,” you hum, throwing your arms around him, “lemme kiss your big forehead.”

your laughs become ridiculous as you watch his eyebrow twitch at your description. he truly looks offended, turning to face you with a soft scowl on his face.

“you’re not kissin’ shit after that,” his closed-eye retort gives you enough time to pull him down by his collar to press a few to his neck and jawline.

“aww, katsuki, i love you and your chrome dome, baby,” you giggle.

katsuki’s quick to hold your face in his hands, smooshing your face together to keep you from speaking and kissing him any further. there’s a dust of coral pink across his face at the shine of pure love and adoration in your eyes.

“you get two,” his voice is hushed, dripping with a routine type of tired because he knows he’s about to get mauled.

as soon as he lets your face go, your lips connect with his forehead almost instantaneously.

katsuki doesn’t stop you after the first two kisses, or even after the next three or four. he relishes in the affection and relaxes into you for the first time in who knows how long. it’s one of the small ways he apologizes for being away from you for long periods of time.

you know he’s been busy in the hero world as dynamight, but he’s still your katsuki, your baby. you’ll press your kisses to his forehead and anywhere else to let him know he’s safe, he’s home. and despite his dramatic protests, katsuki’s forever thankful you still welcome him with open arms and kisses to his forehead, even if you point out how big his is from time to time.

an embrace he welcomes you with every morning and every night as he lays beside you. in the evening, he’ll listen to you relay your day as his chestnut eyes bore into your own. listening intently when you tell him about the gossip at your workplace. a soft tap on your thigh comes when you’ve stopped talking believing he’s asleep. he’s always there listening.

lost in thought, you don’t notice his eyes opening to meet the cause of the warm feeling on his face.

“good morning, you,” he hums, low with the gruff of the best nights rest he’s had in a while.

“mornin’ ken, did you sleep well,” you question, watching as he kisses the palms of your hands while sighing.

“always when i’m sleeping beside you,” he answers, lost in the feeling of your smooth hands against his.

they’re covered with some scratches of your days work and you have a hello kitty bandaid wrapped around your right ring finger, but he still thinks they’re delicate. soft as they hold his face and tangle with his own hands.

“what’re you thinkin’ of?” you inquire, an eyebrow raised at his eyes fixated on your hands. “i got the bandaid from a kid visiting the office with their dad.”

“oh, i think the bandaid is cute.” he comments, voice infused with adoration as he makes eye contact with you, “i just think your hands are gorgeous.”

“really?” you tilt your head away from the pillow.

“yes,” he nods, actions reflecting yours. “i think they’re lovely,”

you sit up beside him, fingers tracing the creased lines of his arms’ muscles. “don’t tell me you have a hand kink, nanami,”

he lets out a laugh from his chest. his face turning to hide the blush scattering across his cheeks like the explosion of a star. it’s now your turn to admire in adoration as the man you love dearly, vulnerably laughs like a child in front of you.

“i think your laugh is gorgeous,” you mimic, watching as he lifts himself to press a smiley kiss into your left cheek.

“thank you, darling,” he replies, wrapping you in an embrace. golden eyelashes coming into view when you turn your head away from the smiling sun.

whether odd or not, waking up with nanami kento is a pleasure both you and the sun enjoy.

uninvited, but always welcomed, hachikan yūshin brightens even the darkest parts of his mind and entangles herself with his soul. everyone likes to joke its because of her techniques. she’s one of the only people he allowed to barge into his heart and take up all the space. so, he spends every moment, both awake and not, wondering if she’s alright. when he lays next to her at night, he wonders if she dreams of him the way he does her.

(suguru knew he was absolutely crazy for her when he started teaching himself the words she mumbled out in english or yoruba during the night. desperately asking her younger sisters if they would help him understand. decoding parts of her to feel closer to her, to know more about how her soul glided through the days.)

on the rare occasion she’s not up late into the night working, she lays beside him, resting quietly while his fingers faintly trace the deepened parts of her skin gifted to her through her bra. he counts the beauty marks on her back, pressing his lips to the ones he can see, and even to the ones he can’t. his heart absorbs the whispers of gratitude she shares with him through her kisses to the parts of his face he doesn’t love as much as she thinks he should.

her skin is always cold and he hopes his lips provide the warmth she misses when he’s gone. while she sleeps, him and the moon share the same look of adoration for the woman who lays beside him.

recently, in those moments, he wishes all of his thoughts and fears would fade away as the stars do when the sun awakens. i want you to have me forever, he presses against her skin. instead, he’s stuck sitting in the bedroom of the love of life’s apartment, bittersweetly having a staring contest with the stuffed blue jellyfish he’d gotten her for her birthday last year as it’s sitting on the banister of her dresser.

he hopes she comes home and isn’t aware of what he’s done, and if she is, suguru hopes she can hold down her grief for one more night.

it’s strange seeing himself in the photos hanging on the wall next to her television. who even is he? who is getou suguru? what is he like when he’s not performing for others? what makes up his dreams and heartaches? what does he do with all of the love inside of him? all of the pain? why does his heart belong to a person he can never be with in this lifetime?

why can’t he let go?

the answer never comes. it sits in the shadows of her apartment, whispering wants of him to move closer and understand his selfish desires. but suguru can’t, not when the jiggle of her doorknob makes his eyes dart to the sound.

he sits in silence, attentively listening to yūshin make her way around. has he ever noticed how his wants and desires burn against his chest?

it takes her a while to reach her bedroom. he listens as she sings whatever the last song playing from her cd was on the drive back, cleaning up the leftover treats from caring for her sisters the previous few nights.

“baby, how long have you been waiting here?” there’s fire is in his lungs. the wood burning type of fire.

a fire that’s subdued by her burst of excited laughter accompanying her arms wrapping around his neck. it burns less, but the guilt grows. the bed dips under their shared weight as it’s done many times before.

suguru thinks she’s lying about naturally running cold because her kisses against his skin are from the sun herself. he hums, trying to push away his heartache in favor of loving her while he still can.

“not long, i just got here a minute ago,” he softly replies, taking her hands in his. it’s an apology for his lie. the first subtle of many.

her brain whirls, and he knows that she knows he’s lying. but the call out never comes, instead he’s met with a prolonged hum as her eyes gaze out the window of her bedroom.

“would’ve still come home earlier if i’d known i’d get to see you, honey,” something like a chuckle escapes him throat. it’s chalky and raw. his heart squeezes, guilt taking a hold, reminding him of the warmth he’s selfishly taking advantage of.

he can feel himself stiffen as her hands travel downward and envelope his torso. he prays to the gods he still believes in that she doesn’t notice his drop in weight. but she does, expressing her concern by pressing her lips against his forehead.

“lay with me, okay?” how could he say no to her?

so they fall against her covers as they usually do. her tuscan red eyes enveloping his violet ones, pulling him into her intricate web as she always does. they blink at each other a few more times, drawing a few airless chuckles from their lips. the first of few that have come from him in months. it’s calm, serene, almost entirely different from the world they inhabit outside.

yūshin, in her ever-caring nature, breaks through the silence, “are you okay?”

a beat of silence. “yeah, ‘m fine,” he’s not. “just happy to see you,”

only half a lie this time, but his slow reply makes her nervous. they haven’t seen each other in a while. they’ve passed by each other in the halls, given each other quick kisses goodbye, but they haven’t seen each other. too busy with missions and meetings with higher ups on her part, but he’s still her suguru. yūshin knows her suguru.

suguru doesn’t make eye contact. his heart will shatter if he does, so he settles on fiddling with the promise ring on her left hand. she lets him, watching a flurry of emotions swim in his eyes.

“we don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to,” she quietly offers, pressing a kiss to his hand.

a shiver crawls down his spine at the flash of watching her kiss the sins his hands have committed in the past few days. please don’t notice them, i’m not ready to lose you.

“you’re cold, sugu,” she comments, brushing her thumb across the side of his face, “we’ve swapped places,”

his eyes widen faintly, “what’re you hiding, baby?”

everything, he wants to say, but he doesn’t, instead his lips find hers. the gesture makes her smile and suguru feels the air refill his lungs. from up close his nose becomes enveloped with her scent reminiscent of the tropical summer you could only dream about in post cards.

in his intense haze as he hovers above her, suguru’s lips seek to pull everything he can from her. the kiss is deep, a sense altering-type of deep. her soul buzzes with the warmth and hunger he so desperately wants to mold into her. the feeling causes a gasp to escape her lips and the entry his tongue was looking for. the sensation of his hips grinding against hers are stuttered almost as if he’s struggling to contain all his want.

when he does let go, with mixed saliva coating their mouths and faint bite marks left on her lips, suguru is nearly breathless when he breaks down, hiding his face in the curve of her neck. the aforementioned answer to her question sits in the corners of her room, taunting him with a flicker of the outside lights. his nightmares creep into the comforts of her home and he can’t bring himself to warn her of the dangers

“i love you,” he whispers against her skin, “i love you. i love you. i love you,”

he hopes his chants let her know he wants to knit his bones into hers. he wants to melt into her ice and stay there for evermore. with every chant of i love you, he presses a kiss against the skin of her neck, intent on searing his touch into her.

his movements are calculated and swift, not giving yūshin any amount of time to even think that his kisses could allude to his leave. he’s sure his kisses are more so bite marks than they are kisses by now. suguru feels like a rabid dog, clashing and gripping its teeth against its favorite toy out of fear someone would take it away.

it’s easy for him to pull off her clothes, leaving them pooled on the floor with his once he’s done. she can see it in his eyes, his near frantic hands across her body, the strained bulge in his boxers. suguru wants to claim every part of her, and yūshin will let him. she wants him. it’s all he could ever want.

“can i have you?” he questions, lips ghosting above hers, eyes near tears as he awaits her answer. “pretty, pretty, pretty…please?”

it’s the most serious she’s ever seen him. the desperate desire to be closer to her than anyone ever has, and in a way no one else ever will.

when she nods, he tsks, “c’mon baby, use your words. be loud f’me,”

with one hand firmly holding her face in check to keep eye contact with him, the other inching its way towards the heat pooling between her thighs. he’s slick, allowing his index finger to circle around her clit. his movements are antagonizing slow on purpose, eyes watching as the mischievous glint in her eyes evaporate into pleasure.

her back begins to arch and his ministrations speed up, “yūshin, baby, can i have you?”

“y-yeah,” her response comes out as a feathery-light moan. “you …you can h-have me.”

her whine as he stops his circles gets swallowed by the air he breathes into her when they kiss. the air’s hot and thick with desire but it’s suguru’s, so it’s all she wants. he’s careful, kisses trailing from her lips to her neck, stomach, and eventually her thighs.

had it been any other night, suguru would’ve taken his time, but he can’t, not when she’s letting him mold himself into her body and soul deeper than he ever has before. there’s a beat before he pushes inside, stilling as he watches her face for any sign to stop.

when he finds none, his hips guide him deeper until he bottoms out, “holy shit…fuck me,”

“suguru, please,” yūshin whines, reaching out to grasp his shoulders, soaking in the hunger in his eyes as he presses against the small bulge in her stomach.

she’s never once gotten high, but as she lays there underneath him, she wonders if the feeling is similar to the bliss she’s experiencing right now.

“it’s okay, baby, i’ve got you,” he hums, barely keeping it together himself, “i’ve got all of you,”

his hips are slow as he rocks into her, carefully stretching her insides to take all of him. he needs her to take all of him. but he finds himself losing his battle against the pull of her cunt. it’s overwhelming, her lips against his, her nails pressing crescent moons into his back. she tightens, back arching as he rubs two of his fingers against her clit.

the precision of each thrust becomes harsher, more obscene, more carnal. as though each time he filled her to the tilt, suguru was somehow merging into her. she relishes in the praise he gives her though, “you’re so gorgeous,”

“say it back. tell me you’re gorgeous,” he groans into her mouth, tilting his hips to split her open in ways she’s never felt before.

“oh-sugu!” she huffs, eyes blurring from the pleasure.

“you’re…fuck me, taking me so well,” he moans into her ear, “‘m gonna be the only one who could ever make you feel like this,”

suguru’s erratic with the speed at which he moves his hips. bed creaking and soul-tying as he tries to pull everything from her. all the frustration and tension he’s been feeling these past couple months matches every snap of his hips into her.

“s-sugu—shit—i’m gonna—“

“it’s okay, yū,” he hums against her skin, feeling his cock twitch as her walls seem to suck him in deeper than before, “come undone, baby, i’ve got you.”

her release comes in a tidal wave, knocking the air out of her lungs. he follows not long after, hips stuttering as he fills her to the brim. sweat sticks to his forehead while his lungs scramble to replenish the air he’d willingly given up to please her. she’s still reeling, drunk off the smell of his cologne and how pretty he looks under the moonlight.

suguru would be lying if he said viewing her in her most vulnerable state didn’t swell his heart with a pride that was immediately dashed by the sudden realization of his situation once again.

he finds himself breaking down into wretched sobs while on top of her. yūshin quietly takes his face in her hands, finally able to look at him clearly. she’s envious of how the celestial bodies have seen more of her lover than she has.

“oh, sugu,” her voice breaks the silence and suguru’s tear ducts empty themselves at the intensity of his grief and sorrow.

“i love you too,” her arms wrap around his neck, pulling him down to press gentle kisses on the parts of his face he hates the most.

his tears are salty, but are still fresh with a hint of admiration and never ending love for the woman who lays beneath him. “i love you so much, suguru,”

their naked bodies melted into one another on her bed, serving as an indication of their souls’ tightening the knot that’s kept them alive for so long.

“please don’t leave me,” he sobs, hiding in the crook of her neck. “you can’t let me leave you either,”

he’s feared her silence for so long, but now that he’s face-to-face with it, he wants the nearest black hole to cast him away to internal darkness. suguru hears nothing but his hiccups against her skin and the ticking clock hanging on her wall.

suddenly, her grip on him tightens and he feels the fire in his lungs ignite once again. “i love you, suguru,”

“i’m so hopelessly in love with you,” she whispers, naturally tracing the flattened moles on his back. “i will never let you go, not even when we pass on,”

“i hope when your soul drinks mine, it can ignore the bitterness of the after taste and cherish the intensity of which it loves you,” she continues, ignoring the tears welling up in her eyes.

in the darkness of her their bedroom, their souls confess to one another, “even if you devastate me, i’m never going to stop choosing to love you wholeheartedly.”

despite all odds, you two still make the best of your late night escapades for frozen yogurt. sure, you two might have tripped in a puddle on the way back to your shared home, but no one else noticed. civilians around the corner only hear the child-like giggles of two lovebirds as they recollected themselves and headed on their merry way.

by the time the two of you arrive home, the moon has greeted you two through the curtains of your shared home, and the warmth of the freshly ran dishwasher radiates through the kitchen. he hurriedly helps you to a warm bath to keep you from getting a cold.

“c’mon soso, you can’t get sick either,” you comment, amidst him helping you remove the wet shirt sticking to your sides.

“who said i wasn’t gonna bathe with you, baby?” he raises an eyebrow with a grin as he unties his ponytail.

the excitement of a few moments earlier dies down when you lay against him in the bubbles of your bath. he’s quiet as you wash his hair for him, relishing in the feeling of your fingers scratching the right parts of his scalp. he hums softly, washing off the day’s pain with a towel covered in ducks you’d insisted on buying a couple weeks ago.

“your skin’s so soft soso,” you comment, rubbing a hand against his cheek. he chuckles, leaning into the softness of your hand.

“even the black mark across my face?” he questions, right as you trace the rectangular shape on his nose.

“yeah, it’s like a birthmark,” he snorts at your response, a smile gliding across his face when you press kisses along the mark. “it’s a cooler birthmark than mine.”

he only glances at you in reply, helping you get out of the tub after the water begins to drain. you dry off first, uncomfortable with the humidity built up in the bathroom, and he chuckles as you almost run into the door trying to get out of the heat.

it’s three past midnight when you both step out, happy to be clean from the puddle of earlier. you laugh when he jokingly pokes your sides before sitting in front of you with a towel wrapped around his neck.

he pokes you again, sleepy eyes boring into yours as you take the hint and begin to try his hair off. his heart doing cartwheels as your fingers weave his towel through his drying hair. if he could pur, he would. instead he presses kisses against your face and neck happily eliciting smiles and giggles from your lips.

hands tracing circles into your sides as he continues his affectionate assault, relishing in the happiness you radiate. he cherishes your love as much as he can, unknowing of a feeling like it. he’s starved and to be ravished by your love is all he asks for.