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50 Shades of Riot

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You huffed and growled at your reflection toying with your damn hair. It just wouldn’t behave and it was driving you insane. You cursed in your head, out of all the days in the year your friend Uraraka had to get the flu. Now normally you would have pushed it off to the side and have her find someone else but she begged a pleaded you for this and you couldn’t say no.
Uraraka was your roommate since you first moved out and you both attend the same college. With you studying classic literature and her studying some other thing you couldn’t quite remember. You sighed and placed your hand on your head; you really didn’t need to do this right now, you have finals coming up and a big paper to write which you haven’t even started yet. However you couldn’t get that stupid plead out of your head causing you to guilt trip into this whole mess.
Uraraka told you a little about the interview but you didn’t pay attention to all of the details so you only got a few things like; he is the CEO of Crimson Enterprises Inc. Oh and apparently a major benefactor of our university. Uraraka must have tried a shit load to get an interview with him; considering his time is oh so precious.
Uraraka was huddled on the couch with a warm fuzzy blanket wrapped around herself.
“Y/N I so owe you one. It took me months to get this interview and I couldn’t reschedule because then it would take me another six month. We’ll be graduated and gone by then.” Uraraka said, her voice raspy and sore. You looked over at her and smiled.
“It’s alright Uraraka I understand, you should get back to bed. Would you like some medicine before I go?”
“Please thank you so much again you’re a goddess from the heavens.” She coughed “Oh and my recorder is on the table along with my questions, make sure to take notes. Nothing to big but enough for me to transcribe.”
“That’s great considering I know nothing about him” you answered sarcastically try to cover the panic in your voice.
“You’ll do fine just read the question and seek your way through. Now go on it’s a long drive. I don’t want to make you late”
“Okay okay I’m going get back to bed and I’ll make you some soup when I get back.” You Stare at her fondly. Only for you, Uraraka, would I do this.
Gathering up your things you smile her wryly and then headed out the door to the car. You couldn’t believe you let Uraraka talk to you into this. But then again, Uraraka had the ability to talk anyone into doing what she wanted. She was clever she’ll make an exceptional journalists with her strong persuasive arguments and a beautiful and compassionate features— and she was your dearest friend.

The roads were clear as you said off heading towards Interstate 5. It was super early and you didn’t have to be at your destination until two this afternoon unfortunately Uraraka lended you her fancy Mercedes CLK. You couldn’t figure out why she lend you the car I mean your VW Beetle could do the drive for you too. . However you did admit her Mercedes was definitely fun drive, And it was Mile slip away as you hit the gas pedal.
Your destination was at the headquarters of Crimson Enterprises. It was a huge silver building with many windows on its sides. It was an an utilitarian fantasy, with Kirishima House written discreetly in steel over the crystal clear glass doors.
It was a quarter to two when you arrived and you let out a sigh, relieved that you weren’t late. You walked into the big—and frankly very intimidating—glass, steel and white eggshell lobby.
Behind the solid egg shell desk very attractive and well groomed young lady smiled pleasantly at you. She was wearing the sharpest charcoal suit you’ve ever seen. She looks immaculate.
“I’m here to see the CEO of Crimson Enterprises. Y/N L/N for Uraraka Ochako”
“Excuse me for a moment, Miss L/N” she arches her eyebrow as you stand there self-consciously before her. You were beginning to think that maybe you should’ve asked Uraraka for some better clothes. You did make an effort to where you’re only jeans skirt with your brown knee length boots and your blue sweater. You took a piece of your tendril colored hair behind your ear, pretending that she doesn’t intimidate you.
“Miss Uraraka is expected. Please sign here Miss L/N. You’ll want the elevator on the right and press the twentieth floor.” She smiled kindly, amused no doubt.
She handed you a security pass that has “visitor” firmly written on the front, you couldn’t help but smirked. Surely it was obvious you were just visiting you didn’t even fit there at all. Thanking her, you walked over to the bank of elevators pass the two security men who are both far more smartly dressed and then you were in their suits.
The elevator whisked you over to the twentieth floor. The doors slide open and you were in another large lobby—again all glass and white egg shell colored everything. In front of you you were confronted by another desk and yet another woman sat there just in a simply black and white suit. She rises to greet you.
“Miss L/N could you wait here, please?” She pointed to the maroon colored leather chairs.
Behind the leather chairs was a spacious glass walled meeting room with an equally spacious dark wooden table with at least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there was a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the city skyline. It was amazing to say the least and you were paralyzed by the view. Wow
You sat down and tried to fish out the questions from your backpack going through them briefly and inwardly cursing at Uraraka for not providing you with a brief biography. You didn’t know anything about this man and yet here you were about to do an interview at him. He could be in his nineties or maybe even his thirties to say the least. The uncertainty was killing you and your nerves started to resurface making you fidget. You’ve never been comfortable with one-to-one interviews. You preferred your own company reading a classic British novels and crawling up in a chair in the campus library. Not sitting twitching nervously in a colossal glass and stone office.
You rolled your eyes at yourself God get a grip Y/n. judging from the building which is to clinical and modern you guessed it may be that this CEO man was probably in his forties: fit, tanned, and fair-haired to match the rest of the personal.
Another elegant flawlessly dressed woman comes out of the large door to the right. Taking a deep breath you stood up.
“Miss L/N?” The lady asks
“Yes?” You cracked out then cleared your throat “Yes?” There, that sounded more confident.
“Mr. Kirishima would like to see you now. Would you like some coffee or water?” She asked
“Ah um water is fine thank you.” Another lady comes over to you with a glassed water on a silver steel plater.
“Here you go Miss L/n”
“Thank you.”
The lady smiles at you and march over to the large desk her heels clicking echoing the egg shell floor. She sat down and started to continue her work.
You couldn’t quite put your finger on it but you had an idea that this Kirishima fellow definitely had eye for pretty women in black and white wear. When the office doors opened a tall, elegantly dressed man exit the door. You definitely wore the wrong type of clothing for this interview.
He turned and says through the door “Golf this weekend, Kirishima ?”
You didn’t hear the reply. The man turns a looked at you, and smiled walking off back towards the elevator were one of the ladies at the desk helped escort him back.
“Mr. Kirishima will see you now, Miss L/n. Do go through,” the lady says. Gathering of your backpack you abandoned your glass of water and made you way to the partially open door.
“You don’t need to knock—just go in.” She smiles kindly.
You pushed open the door and stumble through tripping over your own two feet falling headfirst into the office.
Shit—you and your own two left feet! You were on your hands and knees in the doorway of Mr. Kirishima ’s office. Gentle hands surrounded you helping you up, you were so embarrassed, damn you and your clumsiness. You glanced up with a flushed face. Oh fuck —he’s so young.
“Miss Uraraka.” He extends a long finger hand to you once you were upright. “Kirishima Eijirou . Are you alright? Would you like to sit?”
So young— and attractive, very attractive. He’s tall, dressed in a find grace suit with a white shirt and black tie. His red colored hair, and his red eyes made it impossible for you to stay focused. He was absolutely beautiful. It took you a moment to find your voice.
“Um, Actually—“ you muttered. In a daze you place your hand in his and shaked. As your fingers touch you fill in our exhilarating shiver run through your spine. Withdrawing your hand from his hastily, embarrassed. It must’ve been the static. You blink rapidly your eyelid smashing your heart rate.
“Miss Uraraka is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Kirishima sir.”
“And you are?” Oh god his voice was dreamy. It was warm and held a slight amusement to it but it was difficult to tell the expression he had on his stoic face.
“Y/n L/n. I’m studying classic literature with Uraraka...um…Miss Uraraka at Crimson University.”
“I see.” He said simply. You weren’t quite sure but you thought you saw the ghost of a smile in his expression.
“Would you like to sit?” He waved you over towards the L-shaped white leather couch. His office is way too big for just one man. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there’s a modern dark wood desk that six people could come to eat around it matched the coffee table by the couch. Everything else was white: ceiling floors in the walls except for the walls by the door there was a small painting of a beautiful women with black hair. She was absolutely beautiful her eyes shone like red diamonds and her hair pure black as smoke she couldn’t have been alive or anything she’s way too beautiful.
“It’s a painting of my mother.” Kirishima said when he caught your gaze.
“She’s lovely she’s like an angel.” You murmured, distracted by both him and the painting. He cocks his head to one side and regards you intensely.
“I could agree more Miss L/n,” he replies, his voice soft and for some reason you find yourself blushing.
Apart from the painting the rest the office is cold, clean and clinical. You shook your head and started to retrieve the questions from your backpack. Next you set it up the digital recorder dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of you. Mr. Kirishima says nothing, waiting patiently—you hoped—as you were getting increasingly embarrassed and flustered. When you had the courage to look at him he was watching you with one hand relax on his lap for the other cupping his chin and trailing along index finger across his lips. You believe he was trying to suppress a smile.
“S-sorry,” You stuttered, “I’m not used to this.”
“Take all the time you need Miss L/n,” he says
“Do you mind if I record your answers?”
“After you’ve taken so much trouble to set up the recorder, you asked me now?”
You flushed, He’s teasing you? Pshh you hoped. Looking at him unsure what to say. Thinking he’s taking pity on you because he relents. “No, I don’t mind.” He finally answers.
“Did Uraraka. I-I mean Miss Uraraka explain what the interview was for?”
“Yes, it is to appear in the graduation issue of the students newspaper as a shell conferring the degrees at this year‘s graduation ceremony.”
Oh well that was definitely news to you. It’s hard to believe you’ll be accepting your diploma from a man that’s not much older than you. You swoon your head dragging your attention back to the task at hand.
“Good.” You swallowed nervously. “I have some questions for you, Mr. Kirishima .”
“I thought you might.” He says, deadpan. He was laughing at you. Your cheek started to heat up at the realization, sitting up straight you tried to attempt to look taller and more intimidating. Pressing the button on the recorder you try to look professional.
“You’re very young to have amassed such an empire to what do you owe your excess?” Glancing up at him his smile is rueful but he looks vaguely disappointed.
“To what do I owe my success? Well my succession come from many places but I would have to say my strong will to surpass my father.”
“You’re father?”
“Yes, to put it simply I desire to pass my father without his funding and help. I’m a man with a very independent mind set. However in the business world it’s all about people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish as what doesn’t. I know what inspires them and how to incentivize them. I work hard very hard to know every detail among the company and the others I work with. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot a good idea and good people. In the end it’s all about the good people.”
“Maybe you’re just lucky.” This wasn’t on the list from Uraraka—but he’s so arrogant. His eyes flare momentarily in surprise. To say a comment like that to a man like him? Well considered himself intrigued by you.
“I don’t believe in such things like luck Miss L/n.The harder I work the more ‘luck’ I seemed to have. It’s really about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think a man named Harvey Firestone said, “The growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.’ “
“You sound like a control freak.” The words were just flying out of your mouth at this point before you could even stop them.
“Oh I desire in control in all things, Miss L/n.” He says without a trace of humor in his smile. You looked at him and he held your gaze steadily. You could feel your heartbeat quickened and your face flushed again.
Why does he have a unnerving effect on me? You thought. His overwhelming good looks maybe? They way his eyes blaze at you? Maybe it’s the way he stroked his index finger against his lower lip. You really wished he stopped doing that.
“ Besides immense power is acquired by assuring yourself and your secret reveries that you were born to control things,” he continues, his voice soft.
“Do you feel the immense power?” Control freak
“I employ over 30 thousand people, Miss L/n. That gives me a lot of responsibility—power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in on department and sell it then twenty thousand people will struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month, maybe even less.”
Your mouth dropped open. You were staggered by his lack of humility.
“Don’t you have a board to answer to?” You asked disgusted
“I own my company. I don’t have to answer to any board.” He raised a eyebrow at you. Of course, if you would have don’t some research you would’ve known this. But holy crap he’s arrogant. You started to change your plan.
“Do you have any interest outside of work?”
“I have varied interests, Miss L/n.” A ghost smile touched his lips. “Very varied.” And for some reason you caved and became heated by his gaze. His eyes are alight with some wicked thought.
“But if you worked so hard what do you do to chill out?”
“Chill out?” He smiles, revealing his perfect white teeth. You stopped breathing, he really was beautiful. No one should be this good looking.
“Well, to ‘chill out’ as you put it— I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical activities.” He shifts in his chair, “I’m a very wealthy man, Miss L/n, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies.”
You glanced down at Uraraka’s questions wanting to get off the topic at hand.
“You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?” You asked, god why did he make you so uncomfortable?
I like to build things.” He simply said “I like to know how things work: what makes them tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I love ships. What can I say?”
“That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts.”
His mouth quirks up, and he stares appraisingly at you.
“Possibly. Though there are people who’d say I don’t have a heart.”
“Why would they say that?”
“Because they know me well.” He said, his lips curling in a wry smile.
“Would your friends say you’re easy to get to know?” And you immediately regretted asking that question as soon as you said it. It wasn’t even on Uraraka’s list.
“I’m a very private person, Miss L/n. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don’t often give interviews…”
“Why did you agree to this one?”
“Because I’m a benefactor of the university, and intents and purposes, I couldn’t get Miss Uraraka off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity.”
You know how tenacious Uraraka can be that’s why you were sitting here squirming uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze, when you should be studying for you exams.
You looked down at your questions again and you felt yourself go pale. Did she really fucking write this?”
“Are you gay Mr. Kirishima?”
He inhaled sharply and you cringe, mortified. Shit. Why didn’t you employ some type of filter before you even read it straight out? How could you tell him that you were just reading the question? Damn Uraraka and her curiosity
“No, Y/n, I’m not.” He raised his eyebrow, a cool gleam in his eyes. He does not look pleased.
“I apologize. It’s, um...written here.” It was the first time he said your name and boy did it make you heartbeat accelerate. You cheeks heated up again and you nervously tuck a loose piece of hair behind your ear.
He cocked his head to one side.
“These aren’t your questions?”
The blood drained from your head
“Er…no. Uraraka—Miss Uraraka— she compiled the questions.”
“Are you colleagues on the student paper?” Oh no. I have nothing to do with the student paper. It’s her extracurricular activity, not mine. Your face is aflame.
“No she’s my roommate.”
He rubbed his chin in quite deliberation, his grey eyes appraising you.
“Did you volunteer for this interview?” He asked his voice deadly quite.
Hang on, who’s supposed to be interviewing whom? His eyes burned into you, and you were compelled to answer with the truth.
“I was drafted, she’s not well.” You voice squeaked.
“That explains a great deal.”
There was a knock on the door and one of the ladies behind the desk came in.
“Mr. Kirishima forgive me for intruding, but your next meeting is in two minutes.”
“We’re not finished here Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting.”
Andrea hesitates, gaping at him. She appears lost. He slowly turns his head or face her and raised his eyebrows. She flushes bright pink. Oh , good it’s not just me.
“Very well Mr. Kirishima.” She mutters, then exits. He frowns then turns his attention back to you.
“Where were we Miss L/n?”
Oh we’re back to “miss L/n” now.
“Please don’t let me keep you from anything.”
“I want to know more about you. I think it’s only fair.” His eyes are aligned with curiosity. Oh fucking shit. Where’s he going with this? He placed his elbows in the arms of his chair and place his fingers on their rightful spot in front of his lips. His mouth was very… distracting. You swallow.
“There’s not much to know.”
“What are your plans after you graduate?”
You shrugged by his interest. Move to Seattle with Uraraka, find a job. You haven’t really thought about beyond your finals.
“I haven’t had any plans Mr. Kirishima . I just need to get through my final exams.” Which you should be studying right now, rather sitting in his palatial, swanky, sterile office, feeling uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze.
“We run an excellent internship program here,” he says quietly. You raised your eyebrows in surprised. Is he offering you a job?
“Oh, I’ll bear that in mind,” you murmur, confounded. “Though I’m not sure I’d fit here.” Oh no you’re musing out loud again.
“Why do you say that?” He tilted his head to one side, intrigued, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” I’m uncoordinated, scruffy, and I’m no where as pretty as those chicks out there.
“Not to me.” His gaze is intense, all humor gone, and strange muscles deep in you belly started to clench suddenly. You tear your eyes away from his face and stared down at out lap. What’s going on? You had to go—like right now. You leaned forward and retrieved the recorder.
“Would you like me to show you around?” He asked
“I’m sure you’re far too busy, Mr. Kirishima , and I do have a long drive.”
“You’re driving back to Vancouver?” He sounded surprised, anxious even. He glanced out of the window. It’s begun to rain. “Well, you better drive carefully.” His tone is stern, authoritative. Why should he care? “Did you get everything you need?” He adds.
“Yes sir,” you reply, packing the recorder into your backpack. His eyes narrow, speculatively.
“Thank you for the interview, Mr. Kirishima .”
“The pleasure’s been all mine,” he says, polite as ever.
As you rise, he stands and hold his hand.
“Until we meet again Miss L/n.” And it sounded like a challenge, or a threat, you weren’t sure which. You frowned. When will you two meet again? You shook his hand once more, astounded that that odd current between you two was still there. It must be your nerves.
“Mr. Kirishima .” You nod at him, moving with lithe athletic grace to the door, he opens it wide.
“Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss L/n.” He gives you a small smile. Obviously referring to your earlier less-than-elegant entry into his office. You blush.
“That’s very considerate of you, Mr. Kirishima .” You snap, and his smile widens. I’m glad you find me entertaining. You glower inwardly l, walking into the foyer. You were surprised when he followed you out. Andrea and the other girl both looked up equally surprised.
“Did you have a coat?” Kirishima asked
“A jacket”
Andrea leaped up and grabbed your jacket to which Kirishima grabbed it from her. You felt the pang of your consciousness self when he started to help you out on your jacket. He placed his hands on your shoulders and you let out a gasp from the contact. If he noticed your reaction he gives nothing away. His long index finger pressing the button to summon the elevator and to until stand waiting—awkwardly on your part, coolly self-possessed on his. The doors opened and to rushed inside desperately in need to escape. When you turned to look at him, he was gazing at you and he leaning against the doorway bedside the elevator with one hand on the wall. He really is very, very good-looking. It’s unnerving.
“Y/n” he says as a farewell.
“Eijirou.” You replied and mercifully, the doors close.

Chapter Text

Your heart is pounding. The elevator arrived to the first floor, and you scrambled out as soon as the doors opened, stumbling once but fortunately not landing flat on your face. You raced for the wide glass doors, and suddenly you felt free from that iron prison. You welcomed the Seattle damp air as it hit your face, drops of rain tickled your skin as you take a deep breath, purifying breath, trying to recover what left you had of your equilibrium.
No man has ever affect you the way Eijirou Kirishima has, and you couldn’t figure out why. Is it his looks? His civility? Wealth? Power? You didn’t understand. You breathed an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven’s name was that all about? Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, you valiantly attempted to calm yourself down. Gathering your thoughts you shook your head. What was that? You heart finally steadies to its regular rhythm, and once you figured out how to breathe normally you head for the car.

As you left the city limits behind, you begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as you replay the interview in your mind. Surely you were overreacting to something imaginary. Okay, so he’s very attractive, confident, commanding, at ease with himself—but on the flip side, he’s arrogant, and for all his impeccable manners, he’s autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface. A shiver ran down your spine. He may be arrogant, but then he has a right to be—he’s accomplished so much at such a young age. He doesn’t take anyone foolishness gladly, but why should he? Again, you were irritated that Uraraka didn’t give you a brief biography.
While cruising toward Interstate 5, your mind continued to wander. You were truly in awe as to what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so cryptic—as if he had a hidden agenda. And that last question—ugh! The constant outburst from you and asking him if he was gay! You shudder. You couldn’t believe you actually said that. ‘Ground swallow you up now!’ Every time you think about that question you constantly will be remembered of that embarrassing display. Damn you Uraraka!
You checked the speedometer. You were driving more cautiously than you would on any other occasion. And you knew it’s the memory of those penetrating duel color eyes staring at you and his stern voice telling you to drive carefully. Shaking your head, you realize that Kirishima’s more like a man twice his age.
Forget it, Y/n, you scolded yourself. You decided that all in all, it’s been very interesting experience, but you shouldn’t dwell on it. Put it behind you. You never have to see him again. You immediately cheered at the thought. You switched on the stereo and turn the volume up loud, sitting back and listening to the thumping of indie rock music and you pressed down on the accelerator. As you hit Interstate 5, you realized that you can drive as fast as you want.

You guys lived in a small community of duplex apartments close to the Campus of ESSU (Crimson Seattle State University). You got it lucky, Uraraka’s parents bought the place for her, and you payed peanuts for rent. It’s been your home for about four years now. As you pulled up outside, you knew Uraraka is going to want you have a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious. Well, at least she has the digital recorder. You hope you won’t have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview.
“Y/n! You’re back.” Uraraka sits in your guy’s living area, surrounded by books. She’s clearly been studying for finals—she’s still in her pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute little frogs, the ones she received as a Christmas from her best friend Sui. She bounds up to you and hugs you hard.
“I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner.”
“Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over.” You waved the digital recorder at her.
“Y/n, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was he like?” Oh no—here we go, the Uraraka Ochako Inquisition.
You struggle to answer her question. What could you say?
“I’m glad it’s over and I don’t have to see him again. He was rather intimidating, you know.” You shrugged. “He’s very focused, intense even—and young. Really young.”
Uraraka gazes at innocently at you. You frowned.
“Don’t you look innocent. Why didn’t you give me a biography? He made me feel like such an idiot for skimping on basic research.”
Uraraka clamps a hand to her mouth, “Jeez, Y/n, I’m sorry—I didn’t think.”
You huff
"Mostly he was courteous, formal, slightly stuffy—like he's old before his time. He doesnt talk like a man of twentysomething. How old is he, anyway?"
“Twenty-seven. Jeez, Y/n, I'm sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a panic. Let me have the recorder and I'll start transcribing the interview."
"You look better. Did you eat your soup?" You ask, keen to change the subject.
"Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I'm feeling much better." She smiles at you in gratitude. You checked your watch.
“I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton's."
“Y/n, you'll be exhausted.”
“'I'll be fine. I'll see you later."

You’ve worked at Clayton’s since you started at ESSU. It's the largest independent hardware store in the Portland area, and over the four years you’ve worked there, You’ve come to know a little bits about mostly everything you guys sell—although ironically, You were crap at any DIY. You leave all that to your dad.

You were glad that you made your shift on time, it’ll give you something to focus on that isn't Kirishima Eijirou. You guys were busy since it's the start of summer, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs. Clayton looks relieved to see you..
“Y/n! I thought you weren't going to make it today.”
“My appointment didn't take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours."
“I'm real pleased to see you."
She sends you to the storeroom to start restocking shelves, and you’re absorbed in the task.

When you arrived home later, Uraraka is wearing headphones and working on her laptop. Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she's concentrating and typing furiously. You were definitely drained and exhausted by the long drive, the grueling interview, and by being swamped at Claytons. You slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay you have to finish and all the studying you haven't done today because you were hold up with . . . him.
"You’ve got some good stuff here,Y/n. Well done. I can't believe you didn't take him up on his offer to show you around. He obviously wanted to spend more time with you." She gives you a quizzical look.
You flush, and your heart rate inexplicably increases. That wasn't the reason, surely. He just wanted to show me around so you could see that he was a lord of all he surveyed. You realize that you were biting your lip, and you hoped Uraraka didn’t notice. But she seems so absorbed in her transcription to look at you.
"I hear what you mean about formal. Did you take any notes?" she asks.
"Um ... no,I didn't."
“That's fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don't have some original pics. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn't he?"
"I suppose so.” You tried hard to sound disinterested, and you think that you succeeded
“Oh, come on, Y/n—even you can't be immune to his looks." She arches a perfect eyebrow at you.

Crap! You felt your cheeks heating so you distract her with flattery, always a good ploy.
"You probably would have got a lot more out of him.”
"I doubt that, Y/n. Come on—he practically offered you a job. Given that I forced this on you at the last minute, you did very well." She glances up at you speculatively. You gave a small smile and hastily retreated into the kitchen.
“So what did you really think of him?" Damn, she's inquisitive. Why can't she just let this go? Think of something—quick.
"He's very driven, controlling, arrogant—scary, but very charismatic. I can understand the fascination.” You added truthfully, hoping this will shut her up once and for all.
“You, fascinated by a man? That’s a first.”' she snorts.
You start gathering the makings of a sandwich so she can't see your face.
“Why did you want to know if he was gay? That was the most embarrassing question. I was mortified, and he was definitely pissed after I asked, too!” You scowl at the memory.
“Whenever he's in the society pages, he never has a date."
“It was embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing. I’m glad I'll never have to lay eyes on him again."
“Oh Y/n, it can’t have been that bad. I think he sounds quite taken with you."
Taken with you? Now Uraraka’s being ridiculous.
"Would you like a sandwich?"
"Please."

We stopped talking about Kirishima Eijirou the rest of the evening, much to your relief. Once you eaten, you were able to sit at the dining table with Uraraka and, while she works on her article, you worked on your essay on Tess of the d'Urbervilles. Damn, that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time you’d finish, it's midnight, and Uraraka as long since gone to bed. You made your way to your room, exhausted, but pleased that you’ve accomplished so much for a Monday.
You curled up in your white iron bed, wrapped your mother's quilt around yourself, once you closed your eyes you instantly fell asleep. That night you dreamt of dark places, bleak, cold white floors, and those red colored eyes.

For the rest of the week, You threw yourself into your studies and your job at Claytons. Uraraka was busy as well, compiling her last edition of the student newspaper before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she's much better, and you no longer have to endure the sight of her pinkflannel-with-too-many-rabbits PJs. You called your mom in Georgia to check on her, but also so she can wish you luck on your final exams. She proceeds to tell you about her latest venture into candle making—your mother is all about new business ventures. Fundamentally, she's bored and wants something to occupy her time, but she has the attention span of a goldfish. It'll be something new next week. She worries you. You hope she hasn't mortgaged the house to finance this latest scheme. And you hoped Bob—her relatively new but much older husband-is keeping an eye on her now considering you’re no longer there. He does seem a lot more grounded, than Husband Number Three.
"How are things with you, Y/n?"
For a moment, You hesitate, and have your Mom’s full attention.
“I'm fine."
“Y/n? Have you met someone?" Wow... how does she do it her voice is palpable.
“No, Mom, its nothing. You'll be the first to know if I do."
“Honestly honey you need to get out more. You worry me"
“Im fine on my own mom. How’s Toshinori?” As ever, distraction is the best.
Later that evening, You called Aizawa, your stepdad. Mom’s Husband Number Two, the man that you considered your actual father and the man whose name you bear. Its a brief conversation. In fact, it's not so much a conversation more like a one-sided series of grunts in response to your gentle coaxing. Aizawa is not a talker. But he's still alive, he’s still watching the latest news on TV (and being forced to go out buy his old colleagues.) He was a good teacher at one of Academies here in Seattle. What was the name? Ah, yes, UA Academy one of the most highest recommended school in the U.S. But from all the teaching a stuff aside, he is a good man and recently found a new interest in taking in foster cats and helping them before they get adopted again so in a sense. All seems well with him.
Friday night you and Uraraka are debating what to do with your evening—you both wanted some time off from your studies, from work, and from student newspapers—when the doorbell rings. Standing on the doorstep is your good friend Yosetsu clutching a bottle of champagne.
“Yosetsu! Great to see you!" You give him a quick hug. "Come in."
Yosetsu is the first person you met when you arrived at ESSU, looking as lost and lonely as any other freshman did. You both recognized a kindred spirit in each other that day, and you been friends ever since. Not only did you share a sense of humor, but you also discovered that one of your other friends and Yosetsu were in the same army unit together. As a result, your other friends became pals.
Yosetsu is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He's pretty damn bright, but his real passion is photography. Yosetsu has a great eye for a good picture.
"I have news." He grins, his dark eyes twinkling.
"Don't tell me—you've managed not to get kicked out for another week," You tease, and he scowls playfully at you.
"The Portland Place Gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month."
"That's amazing—congratulations!" Delighted for him, You hug him again. Uraraka beams at him, too.
"Way to go,Yosetsu! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last-minute editorial changes on a Friday evening." She feigns annoyance.
“Let's celebrate. I want you to come to the opening." Yosetsu looks intently at you and you flush. "Both of you, of course," he adds, glancing nervously at Uraraka.

Yosetsu and you are good friends, but you knew deep down inside he'd like to be more. He's cute and funny, but he's just not for you. He's more like the brother you never had. Uraraka often teases you that your that missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is you just haven't met anyone who . . . well, whom you were attracted to, even though part of you longs for the fabled trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly moments.

 

Sometimes you wondered if there's something wrong with you . Perhaps you’ve spent too long in the company of your literary romantic heroes, and consequently your ideals and expectations are far too high. But in reality, nobody's ever made you feel like that.

Until very recently, the unwelcome, still-small voice of your subconscious whispers. NO! You banish the thought immediately. You were definitely not going there, not after that painful interview. Are you gay, Mr. Kirishima? You wince at the memory. Your mind kept dreaming about him most nights since then, but that's just to purge the awful experience from your system, surely.
You watched Yosetsu open the bottle of champagne. He's tall, and in his jeans and T-shirt, he's all shoulders and muscles, tanned skin, dark hair, and burning dark eyes. Yes, Yosetsu's pretty hot, but you think he's finally getting the message: we’re just friends. The cork makes its loud pop, and Yosetsu looks up and smiles.

Saturday the store is an absolute nightmare. You were all assigned to do it yourself and help people spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton and Kaminari and Bakugo—the two other part-timers—and you are besieged by customers. But there's a lull around lunchtime, and Mrs. Clayton asks you to check on some orders while you were sitting behind the counter at the register discreetly eating a bagel. You engrossed in the task, checking catalog numbers against the items we need and the items we've ordered, eyes flicking from the order book to the computer screen and back as you made sure the entries match. Then, for some reason, you glanced up . . . and found yourself locked in the bold colored gaze of Kirishima Eijirou , who's standing at the counter, staring at you .

Heart failure.

“Miss L/n. What a pleasant surprise " His gaze is unwavering and intense.
Holy crap. What the hell is he doing here, looking all outdoorsy with his tousled hair and in his cream chunky-knit sweater, jeans, and walking boots? You think your mouth has popped open, and you couldn’t locate your brain or your voice.
“Mr. Kirishima," You whisper, because that's all you could manage. There's a ghost of a smile on his lips and his eyes are alight with humor, as if he's enjoying some private joke.
"I was in the area," he says by his way of explanation. "I need to stock up on a few things. It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss L/n." His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel . . . or something.

You shake you head to gather your wits. Your heart is pounding at a frantic tempo, and for some reason you are blushing furiously under his steady scrutiny. You’re utterly thrown by the sight of him standing before you. Memories of him did not do him justice. He's not merely good-looking—he's the epitome of male beauty, breathtaking, and he's here. Here in Clayton's Hardware Store. Go figure. Finally your cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of your body.
"Y/n. My name’s Y/n," You mutter. “What can I help you with, Mr. Kirishima?"
He smiles, and again it's like he's privy to some big secret. It is so disconcerting. Taking a deep breath, you put on a professional I’ve-worked-in-this-shop-for-years facade. You can do this.
"There are a few items I need. To start with, I'd like some cable ties," he murmurs, his expression both cool and amused. Cable ties?
"We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?" You mutter, your voice soft and wavering. Get a grip, L/n.
A slight frown marks Kirishima's rather lovely brow. "Please. Lead the way, Miss L/n," he says. You tried for nonchalance as you come out from behind the counter, but really you’re concentrating hard on not falling over your own feet—your legs are suddenly the consistency of Jell-0. You’re so glad that you decided to wear you best jeans this morning.
“They're with the electrical goods, aisle eight." Your said your voice too bright. You glance up at him and regret it almost immediately. Damn, he's handsome.
“After you," he murmurs, gesturing with his long-fingered, beautifully manicured hand.
With your heart almost strangling you—because it's in your throat trying to escape from your mouth—You headed down one of the aisles to the electrical section. Why is he in Portland? Why is he here at Claytons? And from a very tiny, underused part of your brain— probably located at the base of your medulla oblongata near where your subconscious dwells—comes the thought: He's here to see you.
No way! You dismissed the thought immediately. Why would this beautiful, powerful, urbane man want to see you? The idea is preposterous, and you kicked it out of your head.
"Are you in Portland on business?" You ask, and your voice was way too high, like you’ve got your finger trapped in a door or something.
Damn! Try to be cool, Y/n
"I was visiting the WSU farming division. It's based in Vancouver. I'm currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science," he says matter-of-factly. See? Not here to find you at all, your subconscious sneers at you, loud, proud, and pouty. You flush at your foolish, wayward thoughts.
“All part of your feed-the-world plan?" You tease.
"Something like that," he acknowledges, and his lips quirk up in a half smile. He gazes at the selection of cable ties you guys stock at Clayton's. What on Earth is he going to do with those? You couldn’t picture him as a do-it-yourselfer kinda guy at all. His fingers trail across the various ages displayed. He bends and selects a packet. “These will do," he says with his oh-so-secret smile.
"Is there anything else?"
"I'd like some masking tape."
Masking tape?
“Are you redecorating?" The words are out before you could stop them. Surely he hires laborers or has staff to help him.
"No, not redecorating," he says quickly, then smirks, and you have the uncanny feeling that he's laughing at you.
Are you that funny or something? Funny looking maybe?
“This way," you murmur, embarrassed. "Masking tape is in the decorating aisle."
You glance behind you as he follows.
"Have you worked here long?" His voice is low, and he's gazing at you, concentrating hard. You blush brightly. Why the hell does he have this effect on you? You felt like you were fourteen years old— gauche, as always, and out of place. Eyes front, L/n
"Four years," You mutter as you reach your goal. To distract yourself, You reached down and select the two widths of masking tape that you guys stock.
"I'll take that one," Kirishima says softly, pointing to the wider tape, which you pass to him. Your fingers brush very briefly, and the current is there again, zapping through you like you've touched an exposed wire. You gasp involuntarily as you feel it all the way down to somewhere dark and unexplored, deep in your belly. Desperately, you scrabble around for your equilibrium.
"Anything else?" Your voice is husky and breathy. His eyes widen slightly.
"Some rope, I think." His voice mirroring yours, husky.
“This way." You duck your head down to hide your recurring blush and move toward the aisle.
"What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament rope ... twine ... cable cord ..." You halt at his expression, his eyes darkening. Holy cow.
"I'll take five yards of the natural filament rope, please."

Quickly, with trembling fingers, You measure out five yards against the fixed ruler, aware that his hot colored gaze is on you. You dared not to look at him. Jeez, could you feel any more self-conscious? Taking your Stanley knife from the back pocket of your jeans, you cut it then coil it neatly before tying it in a slipknot. By some miracle, you manage not to remove a finger with your knife.

"Were you a Girl Scout?" he asks, sculptured, sensual lips curled in amusement. Don't look at his mouth L/n, just don’t fucking look.
“Organized group activities aren't really my thing, Mr. Kirishima." He arches a brow.
“What is your thing, Y/n?" he asks, his voice soft, and his secret smile is back. You gaze at him, unable to express yourself. You’re on a shifting tectonic plate. Try to be cool, Y/n, you tortured subconscious begs on a bended knee.
“Books," You whisper, but inside, your subconscious is screaming:
You! You are my thing, you slap it down instantly, mortified that your psyche is having ideas way out of its league.
"What kind of books?" He cocks his head to one side. Why is he so interested?
"Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly."
He rubs his chin with his long index finger and thumb as he contemplates your answer. Or perhaps he's just very bored and trying to hide it.
"Anything else you need? " you have to get off this subject—those fingers on that face are beguiling.
“I don't know. What else would you recommend?"
What would you recommend? You didn’t even know what he’s doing.
“For a do-it-yourselfer?"
He nods, his eyes alive with wicked humor. You flush, and your gaze strays to his snug jeans.
"Coveralls," You reply, and you know you’re no longer screening what's coming out of your mouth.
He raises an eyebrow, amused yet again.
“You wouldn't want to ruin your clothing." You gesture vaguely in the direction of his jeans.
“I could always take them off." He smirks.

“Um." You feel the color in your cheeks rising again.
“I’ll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any of my clothing," he says dryly.
You try to dismiss the unwelcome image of him without jeans.
"Do you need anything else?" You squeak as you hand him the blue coveralls.
He ignores your inquiry.
"How's the article coming along?"
He's finally asked you an easy question, away from all the innuendo and the confusing double-talk . . . a question you could answer. You grasp it tightly with two hands as if it were a life raft, and you go for honesty.

"I'm not writing it, Uraraka is. Miss Uraraka. My roommate, she's the writer. She's very happy with it. She's the editor of the newspaper, and she was devastated that she couldn't do the interview in person." You felt like you’ve came up for air—at last, a normal topic of conversation. "Her only concern is that she doesn't have any original photographs of you.”
"What sort of photographs does she want?'
Okay. You hadn't factored in this response. You shake your head, because you just don't know.
"Well, I'm around. Tomorrow, perhaps . .”
"You'd be willing to do a photo shoot?" Your voice is squeaky again. Uraraka will be in seventh heaven if you could pull this off. And you might see him again tomorrow, that dark place at the base of your brain whispers seductively at you. You dismiss the thought-of all the silly, ridiculous. . .
"Uraraka will be delighted—if we can find a photographer." You’re so pleased, You smile at him broadly. His Ups part, like he's taking a sharp intake of breath, and he blinks. For a fraction of a second, he looks lost somehow, and the Earth shifts slightly on its axis, the tectonic plates sliding into a new position.
Oh my. Eijirou Kirishima lost look.
"Let me know about tomorrow." Reaching into his back pocket he pulls out his wallet. "My card. It has my cell number on it. You'll need to call before ten in the morning.”
'"Okay.” You grin up at him. Uraraka is going to be thrilled.
"Y/n!”
Kaminari has materialized at the other end of the aisle. He's Mr. Clayton's youngest brother. I'd heard he was home from school, but you weren’t expecting to see him today.
“Er, excuse me for a moment, Mr.Todoroki." Kirishima frowns as you turn away from him.
Kaminari has always been a buddy, and in this strange moment that you’re having with the rich, powerful, awesomely off-the-charts attractive control freak, it's great to talk to someone who's normal. Kaminari hugs you hard, taking you by surprise.
"Y/n, hi, it's so good to see you!" he gushes.
"Hello, Kaminari, how are you? You home for your brothers birthday?"
"Yep. You're looking well, Y/n, really well." He grins as he examines you at arms length. Then he releases you but keeps a possessive arm draped over your shoulder. You shuffle from foot to foot, embarrassed. It's good to see Kaminari, but he's always been over familiar. When you glance up at Eijirou Kirishima, he's watching you guys like a hawk, his eyes hooded and speculative, his mouth a hard, impassive line. He's changed from the weirdly attentive customer to someone else—someone cold and distant.
"Kaminari, Im with a customer. Someone you should meet” You say, trying to defuse the antagonism you see in Kirishima's expression. You dragged Kirishima over to meet him, and they size each other up. The atmosphere is suddenly arctic.
"Er, Kaminari, this is Eijirou Kirishima. Mr. Kirishima, this is Kaminari Denki. His brother owns the place." And for some irrational reason, You feel that you have to explain a bit more.

"I've known kaminari ever since I've worked here, though we don't see each other that often. He's back from Princeton, where he's studying business administration." You’re babbling . .. Stop now.
"Mr. Kirishima." Kaminari holds his hand out, his look unreadable.

"Mr. Kaminari." Kirishima Returns his handshake. "Wait up-not the Eijirou Kirishima ? Of Crimson Enterprises Holdings?" Kaminari goes from surly to awestruck in less than a nanosecond. Kirishima gives him a polite smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
"Wow—is there anything I can get you?'
"Y/n has it covered, Mr. Kaminari. She's been very attentive." His expression is impassive, but his words . . . it's like he's saying something else entirely. It's baffling.
“Cool," Kaminari responds. "Catch you later. Y/n.”
"Sure, Kaminari." You watch him disappear toward the stockroom.
"Anything else, Mr. Kirishima?"
"Just these items." His tone is clipped and cool. Damn ...have you offended him? Taking a deep breath, you turn and head for the register. What is his problem?
You ring up the rope, coveralls, masking tape, and cable ties.

 

"That will be forty-three dollars, please." You glance up at Kirishima, and you wish you hadn't. He's watching you closely, intently. It's unnerving.
"Would you like a bag?" You ask as you take his credit card.

 

"Please, Y/n." His tongue caresses your name, and your heart once again is frantic. You could hardly breathe. Hurriedly, you place his purchases in a plastic bag.

 

"You'll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?" He's all business once more. You nod, rendered speechless yet again, and hand back his credit card.
"Good. Until tomorrow, perhaps." He turns to leave, then pauses. "Oh—and Y/n, I'm glad Miss Uraraka couldn't do the interview." He smiles, then strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder, leaving you a quivering mass of raging female hormones. You spend several minutes staring at the closed door through which he's just left before you returned to planet Earth.
Okay—you like him. There, you've admitted it to yourself. you couldn’t hide from your feelings anymore. You've never felt like this before. You find him attractive, very attractive. But it's a lost cause, you knew, and you sigh with bittersweet regret. It was just a coincidence, him coming here. But still, you could admire him from afar, surely. No harm can come of that. And if you find a photographer, you could do some serious admiring tomorrow. You bit your lip in anticipation and find yourself grinning like a schoolgirl. You need to phone Uraraka and organize a photoshoot.

Chapter Text

Uraraka was ecstatic.
"But what was he doing at Claytons?" Her curiosity
oozes through the phone. You were in depths of the stockroom, trying to keep your voice casual.
"He was in the area.”

"I think that is one huge coincidence, Y/n. You don't think he was there to see you?" Your heart lurches at the prospect, but it's short-lived joy. The dull, disappointing reality is that he was here on business.
"He was visiting the farming division of WSU. He s funding some research." You mutter.
"Oh yes. He's given the department a $2.5 million grant."
Wow.
“How do you know this?" You asked
"Y/n, I'm a journalist, and I've written a profile on the guy. It's my job to know this."
"Okay, Carla Bernstein, keep your hair on. So do you want these photos?"
“Course I do. The question is, who's going to do them and where."
“We could ask him where. He says he's staying in the area."
"You can contact him?"
“I have his cell phone number."
Uraraka gasps.

“The most, richest most elusive most enigmatic bachelor in Washington State just gave you his cell phone number?"
"Er... yes”
"Y/n! He likes you. No doubt about it." Her tone is emphatic
"Uraraka , he's just trying to be nice." But even as you said the words, you knew they're not true—Eijirou Kirishima Doesn't do nice. He does polite, and maybe a small, quiet voice whispers. Perhaps Uraraka is right. Your scalp prickles at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he might like you. After all, he did say he was glad Uraraka didn't do the interview. You hug yourself with quiet glee, rocking from side to side, entertaining the possibility that he might like you. Uraraka brings me back to the now.
"I don't know who we'll get to do the shoot. Tokoyami, our regular photographer, can't. He’s home in Idaho Falls for the weekend. He'll be pissed that he blew an opportunity to photograph one of America's leading entrepreneurs."
"Hmm . . . What about Yosetsu?"

"Great idea! You ask him—he'll do anything for you. Then call Kirishima And find out where he wants us." Uraraka is irritatingly cavalier about Yosetsu.
"I think you should call him."
"Who, Yosetsu?" Uraraka scoffs.
"No, Kirishima."
"Y/n, you're the one with the relationship!”
“Relationship?" You squeaked at her, your voice rising several octaves.
“I barely know the guy."

"At least you've met him," she says bitterly. "And it looks like he wants to know you better. Y/n, just call him!” she snaps and hangs up. She is so bossy sometimes. You frown at your cell, sticking your tongue out at it.
You were leaving a message to Yosetsu when Shinso enters the stockroom looking for sandpaper. "We're kinda busy out here Y/n." he says without acrimony.

"oh um, sorry.” You mutter, turning to leave.
"So how come you know Eijirou Kirishima?" Shinso voice is unconvincingly nonchalant.
“I had to interview him for our student paper for Uraraka" you shrug trying to sound casual and doing no better than him.
"Eijirou Kirishima at Claytons. Go figure.” Shinso snorts, amazed. He shakes his head as if to clear it. "Anyway, want to grab a drink or something this evening?”
Whenever he's home he always asks you on a date, and you always say no.

It's like a ritual. You've never considered it a good idea to date the boss's brother, and besides. Shinso is cute in a wholesome all-American boy-next-door kind of way, but he's no literary hero, not by any stretch of the imagination. So it’s just Kirishima? Your subconscious asks you, her eyebrow figuratively raised. You slap it down.
“Don't you have a family dinner or something for your brother?"
"That's tomorrow."
"Maybe some other time, Shinso. I need to study tonight. I have my finals next week."
“Y/n, one of these days you'll say yes." He smiles as you escape to the store floor.

 

"But I do places, Y/n, not people." Yosetsu groans.
"Yosetsu, please?" You beg. You pace the living room of your apartment, clutching your cell and staring out the window at the fading evening light.

"Give me that phone." Uraraka grabs the handset from you, tossing her silken brown hair over her shoulder "Yosetsu if you want our newspaper to cover the opening of your show, you'll have to do this photoshoot tomorrow.”
“Ugh, fine but don’t suspect me to be all joyful when I see him I never really liked him to begin with. Tell that Eijirou Kirishima Guy that if he can’t show then that’s it.” he snaps and hung up you turned your cell phone off.

"Well that was somewhat easy now we have to decide where and if Kirishima Can actually make it.”
Uraraka smirks at you and pushes you out “Well then Go call him we don’t have all day.” You blushed why you? Why did she have to ask you to call him why couldn’t she do it. You huffed and pulled out your phone again scrolling through your phone until you find your keypad dialing the number on the card Kirishima Gave you. It didn’t even take one ring for him to pick up.

"Kirishima."

"Er. . . Mr. Kirishima? It's Y/n L/n." You don't recognize your own voice, You’re so nervous. There's a brief pause. Inside you’re quaking.

"Miss L/n. How nice to hear from you." His voice has changed. He's surprised, you think, and he sounds so . . . warm— seductive even. Your breath hitches, and you flush. You’re suddenly conscious that Uraraka staring at you, her mouth open, and you dart into the kitchen to avoid her unwanted scrutiny.

"Urm—we'd like to go ahead with the photo shoot for the article." Breathe, Y/n, breathe. Your lungs drag in a hasty breath. "Tomorrow, if that's okay. Where would be convenient for you, sir?"
You could almost hear his stupid smile through the phone.
"I'm staying at the Heathman in Portland. Shall we say nine thirty tomorrow morning?"
"Okay, we'll see you there." You were all gushing and breathy—like a child, not a grown woman who can vote and drink legally in the state of Washington.

"I look forward to it, Miss L/n." You visualize the wicked gleam in his eyes. How can he make seven little words hold so much tantalizing, promise? You hang up. Uraraka is in the kitchen, and she's staring at you with a look of complete and utter consternation on her face.

"Y/n M/n L/n. You like him! I've never seen or heard you so.. .so. .. affected by anyone before. You're actually blushing."

"Oh, Uraraka, you know I blush all the time. Its an occupational hazard with me. Don't be ridiculous," You snap. She blinks at you with a surprised look very rarely you have hissy fits and you briefly relent. "I Just find him . . . intimidating, that's all."
"Heathman, that figures," mutters Uraraka. "I'll give the manager a call and negotiate a space for the shoot."
"I'll make supper. Then I need to study." You cannot hide your irritation with her as you open one of the cupboards to make supper.

You were restless that night, tossing and turning, dreaming of those beautiful eyes and him in coveralls, long legs, long fingers, and dark, dark unexplored places. You wake twice in the night, your heart pounding. Oh, You were going to look just great tomorrow with so little sleep, you scold yourself. You punch your pillow and try to settle.

The Heathman is nested in the heart of downtown Portland. Its impressive brown stone edifice was completed just in time for the crash of the late 1920s. Yosetsu, Shinso and you are traveling in your Beetle, and Uraraka is in her CLK, since you couldn’t all fit in your car. Shinso is Yosetsu's friend, here to help out with the lighting. Uraraka has managed to acquire the use of a room at the Heathman free of charge for the morning in exchange for a credit in the article. When she explains at reception that we’re here to photograph Eijirou Kirishima, CEO, you were instantly upgraded to a suite. Just a regular-sized suite, however, as apparently Mr. Kirishima Is already occupying the largest one in the building. An everkeen marketing executive shows us up to the suite—he's terribly young and very nervous for some reason. You suspect Uraraka's beauty and commanding manner to disarm him, because he’s putty in her hands. The rooms are elegant, understated, and opulently furnished. Its nine. You have half an hour to set up. Uraraka is in full flow.

“Yosetsu, I think we'll shoot against that wall, do you agree?" She doesn't wait for his reply. "Shinso, clear the chairs. Y/n, could you ask housekeeping to bring up some refreshments? And let Kirishima Know where we are."

Yes mistress. She is so domineering. You roll your eyes but do as your told.
Half an hour later, Eijirou Kirishima walks into your suite. Holy crap he's wearing a white shirt, open at the collar, and gray flannel pants that hang from his hips. His unruly hair is still damp from a shower. Your mouth goes dry looking at him. He’s so freaking hot. Kirishima Is followed into the suite by a man in his mid-thirties, all buzz cut and stubble in a sharp dark suit and tie who stands silently in the corner. His hazel eyes watch us impassively.

"Miss L/n, we meet again." Kirishima Extends his hand, and you shake it, blinking rapidly. Oh my... he really is quite. As you touch his hand, You’re aware of that delicious current running right through you, lighting yourself up, making you blush, and you’re sure your erratic breathing must be audible.

"Mr. Kirishima, this is Uraraka Ochako," you mutter, waving a hand toward Uraraka, who comes forward, looking him squarely in the eye.

"The tenacious Miss Uraraka. How do you do?" He gives her a small smile, looking genuinely amused. "I trust you're feeling better? Y/n said you were unwell last week."

“I'm fine, thank you, Mr. Kirishima." She shakes his hand firmly without batting an eyelid. You remind yourself that Uraraka has been to the best private schools in Washington. Her family has money, and she's grown up confident and sure of her place in the world. She doesn't take any crap. You were in awe.

"Thank you for taking the time to do this." She gives him a polite, professional smile.

“It's a pleasure," he answers, turning his gaze on you, and you flush again. Damn it.

This is Yosetsu Rodriguez, our photographer," You say, grinning at Yosetsu, who smiles with affection back at you. His eyes cool when he looks from you to Kirishima.
“Mr. Kirishima." He nods.
“Mr. Rodriguez." Kirishima’s expression changes, too, as he appraises Yosetsu.

“Where would you like me?" Kirishima Asks him. His tone sounds vaguely threatening. But Uraraka is not about to let Yosetsu run the show.

“Mr. Kirishima—if you could sit here, please? Be careful of the lighting cables. And then we'll do a few standing, too." She directs him to a chair set up against the wall.

Shinso switches on the lights, momentarily blinding Kirishima, and mutters an apology. Then Shinso and you stand back and watch as Yosetsu proceeds to snap away. He takes several photographs before hand
Yosetsu held his camera, asking Kirishima To turn this way, then that to move his arm, then put it down again. Moving to the tripod, Yosetsu takes several more, while Kirishima Sits and poses, patiently and naturally, for about twenty minutes. Your wish has come true: You can stand and admire Kirishima From not so afar. Twice your eyes lock, and you have to tear yourself away from his cloudy gaze.

"Enough sitting." Uraraka wades in again. "Standing, Mr. Kirishima?" she asks.

He stands, and Shinso scurries in to remove the chair. The shutter on Yosetsu's camera starts clicking again.
"I think we have enough” Yosetsu announces five minutes later.

“Great.” says Uraraka “Thank you again, Mr. Kirishima." She shakes his hand, as does Yosetsu.
“I look forward to reading the article, Miss Uraraka," murmurs Kirishima, and turns to you, standing by the door. "Will you walk with me. Miss L/n?" he asks.

“Sure," you say, completely thrown. You glance anxiously at Uraraka, who shrugs at you. You notice Yosetsu scowling behind her.
"Good day to you all," says Kirishima As he opens the door, standing aside to allow you out first.

Holy hell, what's this about? What does he want? You pause in the hotel corridor fidgeting nervously as Kirishima Merges from the room followed by Mr. Buzz Cut in his sharp suit.

“I'll call you, Taylor," he murmurs to Buzz Cut. Taylor wanders back down the corridor, and Kirishima Turns his burning gaze to you. Crap...have you done something wrong?

"Wondered if you would join me for coffee this morning."

Your heart slams into your mouth. A date? Eijirou Kirishima Is asking you on a date. He's asking if you want a coffee. Maybe he thinks you haven't woken up yet, your subconscious whines at you in a sneering mood again. You clear your throat, trying to control your nerves.

"I have to drive everyone home.” You murmur apologetically, twisting your hands and fingers in front of you.

“Taylor” he calls making you jump. Taylor, who had been retreating down the corridor, turns and heads back towards you both.

"Are they based at the university?" Kirishima asks, his voice soft and inquiring. You nod, too stunned to speak.

"Taylor can take them. He's my driver. We have a large 4x4 here, so he'll be able to take the equipment, too.”
"Mr. Kirishima?" Taylor asks when he reaches you both, giving nothing away.
"Please, can you drive the photographer, his assistant, and Miss Uraraka back home?"
"Certainly, sir," Taylor replies.
"There. Now can you join me for coffee?" Kirishima Smiles as if it's a done deal.
You frown.
"Um—Mr. Kirishima, er—this really . . . look, Taylor doesn't have to drive them home." You flash a brief look at Taylor, who remains stoically impassive. "I'll swap vehicles with Kate, if you give me a moment."

Kirishima Smiles a dazzling, unguarded, natural, all-teeth-showing, glorious smile. Oh my… you glance down at his pointy teeth. Fuck those are so hot and his smile, perfection. He opens the door of the suite so you can go in. You scoot around him to reenter the room, finding Uraraka in deep discussion with Yosetsu.

"Y/n, I think he definitely likes you," she says with no preamble whatsoever. Yosetsu glares at you with disapproval. "But I don't trust him," she adds. You raise your hand up in the hope that she'll stop talking. By some miracle, she does.

"Uraraka, if you take Wanda, can I take your car?"

"Why?"

"Eijirou Kirishima Has asked me to go for coffee with him.” Her mouth pops open. Speechless Uraraka! You savor the moment. She grabs you by the arm and drags you into the bedroom that's off the living area of the suite.
"Y/n, there's something about him." Her tone is full of warning. "He's gorgeous, I agree, but I think he's dangerous. Especially for someone like you."

"What do you mean, someone like me?" You demand, affronted.

"An innocent like you. Y/n. You know what I mean," she says a little irritated. You flush.
"Uraraka, it's just coffee. I'm starting my exams this week, and I need to study, so I won't be long."

She purses her lips as if considering your request. Finally, she fishes her car keys out of her pocket and hands them to me. You hand her yours.

"I'll see you later. Don't be long, or I'll send out search and rescue.”
"Thanks." You hug her.
You emerge from the suite to find Eijirou Kirishima Waiting, leaning up against the wall, looking like a male model in a pose for some glossy high-end magazine.

"Okay, let's do coffee," You murmur, flushing a beet red. He grins.

"After you, Miss Y/n." He stands up straight, holding his hand out for me to go first. You make your way down the corridor, your knees shaky, your stomach full of butterflies, and your heart in your mouth thumping a dramatic, uneven beat. You’re going to have coffee with Eijirou Kirishima. . and you hate coffee.

You walk together down the wide hotel corridor to the elevators. What should you say to him? Your mind is suddenly paralyzed with apprehension. What are you going to talk about? What on Earth do you have in common with him? His soft, warm voice starties me from your reverie.

 

“How long have you known Uraraka Ochako?"

Oh, an easy question for starters.
"Since our freshman year. She's a good friend."
“Hmm'" he replies noncommittally. What is he thinking?

As you guys elevators, he presses the call button, and immediately the doors slide open a calm passionate embrace leading you inside. Surprised and embarrassed, his hand fit perfectly on your back. You saw another group of people come in as well. The young couple says nothing, and you travel down to the first floor in embarrassed silence. You don't even have bland piped elevator music to distract you both just silence.

The doors open and, much to your surprise. Kirishima Takes your hand, clasping it with his long, cool fingers. You feel the current run through you, and your already rapid heartbeat accelerates. As he leads you out of the elevator, you can hear the suppressed giggles of the couple erupting behind you both. Kirishima Grins.

"What is it about elevators?" he mutters.

You cross the expansive, bustling lobby of the hotel toward the entrance, but Kirishima Avoids the revolving door, and you wonder if that's because he'd have to let go of your hand.

Outside, it's a mild May Sunday. The sun is shining and the traffic is light. Kirishima Turns left and strolls to the corner, where you both wait for the crosswalk to change. He's still holding your hand. You’re in the street, and Eijirou Kirishima Is holding your hand. No one has ever held your hand. You feel giddy, and you tingle all over. You attempt to smother the ridiculous grin that threatens to split your face in two. Try to be cool, And, your subconscious implores you. The green man appears, and you’re off again.

You both walk four blocks before you reach the Portland Coffee House, where Kirishima Releases you to hold the door open so you can step inside.

Why don't you choose a table while I get the drinks? What would you like?" he asks, polite as ever.
“I'll have . .. um—English Breakfast tea, bag out."
He raises his eyebrows.
“No coffee?"
“I'm not keen on coffee."
He smiles.
“kay, bag out tea. Sugar?"

For a moment, you’re stunned, thinking it's an endearment, but Fortunately your subconscious kicks in with pursed lips. No, stupid—do YOU take sugar?

“No thanks." You stare down at your knotted fingers.
"Anything to eat?”
"No thank you." You shake your head, and he heads to the counter.

You Surreptitiously gaze at him from beneath your lashes as he stands in line waiting to be served. You could watch him all day . . . he's tail broad shouldered, and slim, and the way those pants hang from his hips ...Oh my. Once or twice he runs his long, graceful fingers through his now dry but still disorderly hair. Hmm . . You’d definitely like to do that. The thought comes unbidden into your mind, and your face flames. You bite your lip and stare down at your hands again, not liking where your wayward thoughts are headed.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Kirishima Is back, startling you. You go crimson. You were just thinking about running your fingers through his hair and wondering, if it would feel soft to touch. You shake your head. He's carrying a tray, which he sets down on the small, round birch-veneer table. He hands you a cup and saucer, a small teapot, and a side plate bearing a lone tea bag labeled TWININGS ENGLISH BREAKFAST. Your favorite. He has a coffee that bears a wonderful leaf pattern imprinted in the milk. How do they do that? You wonder idly. He's also bought himself a blueberry muffin. Putting the tray aside, he sits opposite you and crosses his long legs. He looks so comfortable, so at ease with his body, You envy him. Here's you, all gawky and uncoordinated, barely able to get from A to B without falling flat on your face.

“Your thoughts?" he prompts me.
“This is my favorite tea." Your voice is quiet, breathy. You’re simply sitting opposite Eijirou Kirishima In a coffee shop. He Frowns He Knows You’re hiding something. You pop the tea bag in the hot water and almost immediately fish it out your teaspoon, as you place the used tea bag back on the side Plate, he cocks his head, gazing quizzically.
“ls he your boyfriend?"

Wait... What?

"Who?"
“The photographer. Yosetsu Rodriguez."

You laugh, nervous but curious. What gave him that impression?

"No. Yosetsu’s a good friend of mine, that's all. Why did you think he was my boyfriend?"

"The way you smiled at him, and he at you." His gaze holds yours. He's so unnerving. You want to look away but You’re caught— spellbound.

"He's more like family," you whisper.

Kirishima nods, seemingly satisfied with your response, and glances down at his blueberry muffin. His long fingers deftly peel back the paper, and You watch, fascinated.

"Do you want some?" he asks, and that amused, secret smile is back.

"No thanks." You frown and stare down at your hands again.
"And the boy I met yesterday, at the store. He's not your boyfriend?"
“No. Kirishima’s just a friend. I told you yesterday." Oh, this is getting silly. "Why do you ask?"

"You seem nervous around men.”
Holy crap, that's personal. You’re just nervous around Kirishima That's it.

"I find you intimidating." You flush scarlet, but mentally pat yourself on the back for your candor, and gaze at your hands again. You hear his sharp intake of breath.

"You should find me intimidating.” He nods. "You’re very honest. Please don't look down. I like to see your face."

Oh. You glance at him, and he gives you an encouraging but wry smile.

"It gives me some sort of clue what you might be thinking,” he breathes. "You’re a mystery. Miss L/n
Mysterious? You?

"There’s nothing mysterious about me.”
"I think you're very self-contained," he murmurs.

You are? Wow... how are you managing that? This is bewildering. You, self-contained? No way. . . . .

"Except when you blush, of course, which is often. I knew what you were blushing about." He pops a small piece muffin into his mouth and starts to chew it slowly, not taking his eyes off you. And as if on cue, You blush. Crap.
"Do you always make such personal observation?”
"If I Hadn't realized I was. Have I offended you?" He sounds surprised.
"No," You answer truthfully.
"Good."
"But you're very high-handed.”
He raises his eyebrows and, if you’re not mistaken, flushes slightly, too.

"I'm used to getting my own way, Y/n," he murmurs. "In all things."

"I don't doubt it. Why haven't you asked me to call you by your first name?" You’re surprised by your audacity. Why has this conversation become so serious? This isn't going the way you thought it was going to go. You can't believe you’re feeling so antagonistic toward him.

It's like he's trying to warn you off.

“The only people who use my given name are my family and a few close friends. That's the way I like it."

Oh. He still hasn't said, "Call me Eijirou." He is a control freak, there's no other explanation, and part of you is thinking maybe it would have been better if Uraraka had interviewed hirn. Two control freaks together. Plus, of course, she's almost foundwell, strawberry blond-like all the women in his office and dutiful, your subconscious remind yourself. You don't like the idea of Eijirou crushing on Uraraka like this instead of you. “Are you an only child?" he asks.

Ah, he keeps changing direction.
“I have many step brothers and sisters I don’t know how many.”
“So where’s your actual father?”
"My father died when I was a baby.?;

"I'm sorry," he mutters, and a fleeting, troubled look crosses his face.
"I don't remember him."
"And your mother remarried?"
You snort.
"You could say that.”
He frowns at you.
"You're not giving much away, are you?" he says dryly, rubbing his chin as if in deep thought.
"Neither are you."

"You’ve interviewed me once already, and I can recollect some quite probing questions then." He smirks at you. Holy shit. He's remembering the "gay" question. Once again,

You’re mortified. In years to come, You know You’ll need intensive therapy to not feel this embarrassed every time you recall the moment. You start babbling about your mother—anything to block that memory. “My mom is wonderful. She's an incurable romantic. She's currently on her fourth husband."

Eijirou raises his eyebrows in surprise.

You continue. "She has Bob now. I just hope he can keep an eye on her and pick up the pieces when her harebrained schemes don't go as planned." You smile fondly. You haven't seen your mom for so long. Eijirou is watching you intently, taking occasional sips of his coffee. You really shouldn't look at his mouth. It's unsettling.

“Do you get along with your stepfather?"
“Of course. I grew up with him. He's the only father I know.”
"And what's he like?"

“Aizawa? He's . . . taciturn."
“That's it?" Kirishima asks, surprised.

You shrug. What does this man expect? Your life story?
“Taciturn like his stepdaughter,” Kirishima Prompts.
You refrain from rolling your eyes at him.

“He likes cats—European shorthairs to be exact—and he’s a teacher at one of the most finest academies here in Seattle." You sigh.

"You lived with him?”
"Yes. My mom met Husband Number Three when I was fifteen. I stayed with Aizawa."

He frowns as if he doesn't understand.

"You didn't want to live with your mom?" he asks.

This really is none of his business.

"Husband Number Three lived in Texas. My home was in Montesano. And . . . you know, my mom was newly married." You stop. Your mom never talks about Husband Number Three. Where is Kirishima Going with this? This is none of his business. Two can play at this game.

“Tell me about your parents," you ask.
He shrugs'

"My dad's a lawyer, my mom is a pediatrician. They live in Seattle."

Oh . . . he's had an affluent upbringing. And You wonder about a successful couple who adopts three kids, and one of them turns into a beautiful man who takes on the business world and conquers it single-handed. What drove him to be that way? His folks must be proud.

"What do your siblings do?"

“Natsuo is in construction, and my little sister is in Paris, studying cookery under some renowned French chef." His eyes cloud with irritation He doesn't want to talk about his family or himself.

“I hear Paris is lovely," You murmur. Why doesn't he want to talk about his family? Is it because he's adopted?

“Its beautiful. Have you been?" he asks, his irritation forgotten.

"I've never left mainland USA." So now we re back to banalities What is he hiding?
“Would you like to go?"

"To Paris?" You squeak. This has thrown you who wouldn't want to go to Paris? "Of course," You concede. "But it's England that really like to visit."
He cocks his head to one side, running his index finger across his lower lip.

"Because?”
You blink rapidly. Concentrate, L/n.

'It's the home of Shakespeare, Austen, the Bronte sisters, Thomas Hardy. I'd like to see the places that inspired those people to write such wonderful books."

All this talk of literary greats reminds you that You should be studying. You glance at your watch. "I'd better go. I have to study."

“For your exams? “
"Yes. They start Tuesday."
"Where's Miss Uraraka’s car?"
"In the hotel parking lot."
"I'll walk you back.”
"Thank you for the tea, Mr. Kirishima."
He smiles his odd I've-got-a-whopping-big-secret smile.

"You're welcome, Y/n. It's my pleasure. Come," he commands. and holds his hand out to you. You take it, bemused, and follow him out of the coffee shop.
You stroll back to the hotel, and You’d like to say it's in companionable silence. He at least looks his usual calm, collected self. As for you, You’re desperately trying to gauge how your little coffee morning has gone. You feel like you’ve been interviewed for a job, but you’re not sure what for.

"Do you always wear jeans?" he asks out of the blue.
"Mostly."
He nods. You’re back at the intersection, across the road from the hotel. Your mind is reeling. What an odd question ... And you’re aware that your time together is limited. This is it. This was it, and you’ve completely blown It, You knew. Perhaps he has someone else?
"Do you have a girlfriend?" You blurt out. Holy crap the what did you just ask?
His lips quirk up in a half smile.

"No Y/n, I do not have a girlfriend nor arranged fiancé" you think he's going to follow up with some explanation, some due to this statement-but he doesn't. You have to go and try to reassemble your thoughts. You have to get away from him. You walk forward, and You trip, stumbling headlong into the road.

"Shit, Y/n!" Kirishima Cries. He tugs the hand that he's holding so hard that you fall back against him just as a cyclist whips past, narrowly missing you, heading the wrong way up this one-way street.

It all happens so fast—one minute You’re falling, the next you’re in his arms and he's holding you tightly against his chest. You inhale his clean, wholesome scent. He smells of freshly laundered linen and some expensive body wash. It's intoxicating. You inhale deeply.

“Are you okay?" he whispers. He has one arm around you, clasping you to him, while the fingers of his other hand softly trace your face, gently probing, examining you. His thumb brushes your lip and his breath hitches- He's staring into your eyes, and you hold his anxious, burning gaze for a moment, or maybe it's forever . . . but eventually, your attention is drawn to his beautiful mouth And for the first time in twenty-one years, You want to be kissed. You want to feel his mouth on yours.

Chapter Text

Kiss me damn it! You implore him, but you couldn’t move. You’re paralyzed with a strange, unfamiliar need, completely captivated by him. You’re staring at Eijirou Kirishima exquisitely sculpted mouth, mesmerized, and he’s looking down at you, his gaze hooded, his eyes darkening. He’s breathing harder than usual, and you’ve stopped breathing altogether. You’re in his arms. ‘Kiss me, please’. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and gives you a small shake of his head as if in answer to your silent question. When he opens his eyes again, it’s with some new purpose, a steely resolve.
“Y/n, you should steer clear of me. I’m not the man for you,” he whispers. What? Where is this coming from? Surely you should be the judge of that. You frown up at him, and your head swims with rejection.
“Breathe, Y/n , breathe. I’m going to stand you up and let you go,” he says quietly, and he gently pushes you away.
Adrenaline has spiked through your body, from the near miss with the cyclist or the heady proximity to Eijirou, leaving you wired and weak. NO! Your psyche screams as he pulls away, leaving you bereft. He has his hands on your shoulders, holding you at arm’s length, watching your reactions carefully. And the only thing you can think is that you wanted to be kissed, made it pretty damned obvious, and he didn’t do it. He doesn’t want you. He really doesn’t want you. You have royally screwed up the coffee morning.
“I’ve got this,” You breathe, finding your voice. “Thank you,” You mutter awash with humiliation. How could you have misread the situation between both of you so utterly? You need to get away from him.
“For what?” he frowns. He hasn’t taken his hands off you.
“For saving me,” You whisper.
“That idiot was riding the wrong way. I’m glad I was here. I shudder to think what could have happened to you. Do you want to come and sit down in the hotel for a moment?” He releases you, his hands by his sides, and you’re standing in front of him feeling like a fool.
With a shake, You clear your head. You just want to go. All your vague, unarticulated hopes have been dashed. He doesn’t want you. What were you thinking? You scold yourself. What would Eijirou Kirishima want with you? Your subconscious mocks you. You wrap your arms around yourself and turn to face the road and note with relief that the green man has appeared. You quickly make your way across, conscious that Kirishima is behind you. Outside the hotel, You turn briefly to face him but cannot look him in the eye.
“Thanks for the tea and doing the photo shoot,” You murmur.
“Y/n… I… ” He stops, and the anguish in his voice demands your attention, so you peer unwillingly up at him. His red eyes are bleak as he runs his hand through his hair. He looks torn, frustrated, his expression stark, all his careful control has evaporated.
“What, Eijirou?” You snap irritably after he says – nothing. You just want to go. You need to take your fragile, wounded pride away and somehow nurse it back to health.
“Good luck with your exams,” he murmurs.
Huh? This is why he looks so desolate? This is the big send off? Just to wish you luck in your exams?
“Thanks.” You can’t disguise the sarcasm in your voice. “Goodbye, Mr. Kirishima.” You turn on your heel, vaguely amazed that you didn’t trip, and without giving him a second glance, You disappear down the sidewalk toward the underground garage.
Once underneath the dark, cold concrete of the garage with its bleak fluorescent light, You lean against the wall and put your head in your hands. What were you thinking? Unbidden and unwelcome tears pool in your eyes. Why are you crying? You sink to the ground, angry at yourself for this senseless reaction. Drawing up your knees, You fold in on yourself. You want to make yourself as small as possible. Perhaps this nonsensical pain will be smaller the smaller you are. Placing your head on your knees, you let the irrational tears fall unrestrained. You’re crying over the loss of something you never had. How ridiculous. Mourning something that never was – your dashed hopes, dashed dreams, and your soured expectations.
You have never been on the receiving end of rejection. Okay… so you were always one of the last to be picked for basketball or volleyball – but you understood that – running and doing something else at the same time like bouncing or throwing a ball is not your thing. You are a serious liability in any sporting field.
Romantically, though, you’ve never put yourself out there, ever. A lifetime of insecurity – You’re too pale, too skinny, too scruffy, uncoordinated, your long list of faults goes on. So you have always been the one to rebuff any would be admirers. There was that guy in your chemistry class who liked you, but no one has ever sparked your interest – no one except Eijirou damn Kirishima. Maybe you should be kinder to the likes of Kirishima Eijirou and Yosetsu,
though you’re sure neither of them have been found sobbing alone in dark places. Perhaps you just need a good cry.
Stop! Stop Now! - Your subconscious is metaphorically screaming at you,arms folded, leaning on one leg and tapping her foot in frustration. Get in the car, go home, do your studying. Forget about him… Now! And stop all this self-pitying, wallowing crap.
you take a deep, steadying breath and stand up. Get it together L/n. You head for Uraraka’s car, wiping the tears off your face. You will not think of him again. You can just chalk this incident up to experience and concentrate on your exams.
Uraraka is sitting at the dining table at her laptop when you arrive. Her welcoming smile fades when she sees you.
“Y/n what’s wrong?”
Oh no… not the Uraraka Inquisition. You shake your head at her in a back-off now Uraraka way – but you might as well be dealing with a blind, deaf mute.
“You’ve been crying,” she has an exceptional gift for stating the damned obvious sometimes. “What did that bastard do to you?” she growls, and her face – jeez, she’s scary.
“Nothing Uraraka.” That’s actually the problem. The thought brings a wry smile to your face.
“Then why have you been crying? You never cry,” she says, her voice softening. She stands, her brown eyes brimming with concern. She puts her arms around you and hugs you. You need to say something just to get her to back off.
“I was nearly knocked over by a cyclist.” It’s the best that You could do, but it distracts her momentarily from… him.
“Jeez Y/n– are you okay? Were you hurt?” She holds you at arm’s length and does a quick visual check-up on you.
“No. Kirishima saved me,” You whisper. “But I was quite shaken.”
“I’m not surprised. How was coffee? I know you hate coffee.”
“I had tea. It was fine, nothing to report really. I don’t know why he asked me.”
“He likes you y/n.” She drops her arms.
“Not anymore. I won’t be seeing him again.” Yes, You manage to sound matter of fact.
“Oh?”
Crap. She’s intrigued. You head into the kitchen so that she can’t see your face.
“Yeah… he’s a little out of my league Uraraka,” You say as dryly as you could manage.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh Uraraka, it’s obvious.” You whirl round and face her as she stands in the kitchen doorway.
“Not to me,” she says. “Okay, he’s got more money than you, but then he has more money than most people in America!”
“Uraraka he’s– ” You shrug.
“Y/n! For heaven’s sake – how many times must I tell you? You’re a total babe,” she interrupts you. Oh no. She’s off on this tirade again.
“Uraraka, please. I need to study.” You cut her short. She frowns.
“Do you want to see the article? It’s finished. Yosetsu took some great pictures.”
Do I need a visual reminder of the beautiful Eijirou I-don’t-want-you Kirishima?
“Sure,” You magic a smile on to your face and stroll over to the laptop. And there he is, staring at you in black and white, staring at you and finding you lacking.
You pretend to read the article, all the time meeting his steady gaze, searching the photo for some clue as to why he’s not the man for you his own words to you. And it’s suddenly, blindingly obvious. He’s too gloriously good-looking. You are poles apart and from two very different worlds. You have a vision of yourself as Icarus flying too close to the sun and crashing and burning as a result. His words make sense. He’s not the man for you. This is what he meant, and it makes his rejection easier to accept… almost. You can live with this. You understand.
“Very good Ura,” I manage. “I’m going to study.” You’re not going to think about him again for now, you vow to yourself, and opening your revision notes, You start to read.
It’s only when your in bed, trying to sleep, that you allow your thoughts to drift through your strange morning.

You keep coming back to the ‘I don’t do the girlfriend thing’ quote, and you’re angry that you didn’t pounce on this information sooner, when you were in his arms mentally begging him with every fiber of my being to kiss you. He’d said it there and then. He didn’t want you as a girlfriend. You turn on to your side. Idly, wonder if perhaps he’s celibate? You close your eyes and begin to drift. Maybe he’s saving himself. Well not for you, your sleepy subconscious says and had final swipe, before unleashing itself into your dreams.
And that night, You dream of red eyes, leafy patterns in milk, and you’re running through dark places with eerie strip lighting, and you don’t know if you’re running toward something or away from it… it’s just not clear.
You put your pen down. Finished. Your final exam is over. You feel the Cheshire cat grin spread over your face. It’s probably the first time all week that you’ve smiled. It’s Friday, and you shall be celebrating tonight, really celebrating. You might even get drunk! You’ve never been drunk before. You glance across the sports hall at Ura, and she’s still scribbling furiously, five minutes to the end. This is it, the end of your academic career. You shall never have to sit in rows of anxious, isolated students again. Inside you’re doing graceful cartwheels around your head, knowing full well that’s the only place you can do graceful cartwheels. Uraraka stops writing and puts her pen down. She glances across at you, and you catch her Cheshire cat smile too.
You both head back to your apartment together in her Mercedes, refusing to discuss your final paper. Ura is more concerned about what she’s going to wear to the bar this evening. You’re busily fishing around in your purse for your keys.
“Y/n, there’s a package for you.” Uraraka is standing on the steps up to the front door holding a brown paper parcel. Odd. You haven’t ordered anything from Amazon recently. Uraraka gives you the parcel and takes your keys to open the front door. It’s addressed to Miss Y/n L/n. There’s no sender’s address or name. Perhaps it’s from your mom or Aizawa.
“It’s probably from my folks.”
“Open it!” Uraraka is excited as she heads into the kitchen for your ‘Exams are finished hurrah Champagne’.
You open the parcel, and inside you find a half leather box containing three seemingly identical old cloth-covered books in mint condition and a plain white card. Written on one side, in black ink in neat cursive handwriting, is:
Why didn't you tell me there was danger? Why didn't you warn me?
Ladies know what to guard against, because the read novels that tell them of these tricks...
You recognize the quote from Tess. You are stunned by the irony as you’ve just spent three hours writing about the novels of Thomas Hardy in your final examination. Perhaps there is no irony… perhaps it’s deliberate. You inspect the books closely, three volumes of Tess of the D’Urbervilles.
You open the front cover. Written in an old typeface on the front plate is:
‘London: Jack R. Osgood, McIlvaine and Co., 1891.’
Holy shit - they are first editions. They must be worth a fortune, and you know immediately who’s sent them. Uraraka is at your shoulder gazing at
the books. She picks up the card.
“First Editions,” You whisper.
“No.” Ura’s eyes are wide with disbelief. “Kirishima?”
You nod.
“Can’t think of anyone else.”
“What does this card mean?”
“I have no idea. I think it’s a warning – honestly he keeps warning me off. I have no idea why. It’s not like I’m beating his door down.” You frown.
“I know you don’t want to talk about him, Y/n, but he’s seriously into you. Warnings or no.”
You have not let yourself dwell on Eijirou Kirishima for the past week. Okay… so his eyes are still haunting your dreams, and you know it will take an eternity to expunge the feel of his arms around you and his wonderful fragrance from your brain. Why has he sent you this? He told you that you’re not for him.
“I’ve found one Tess first edition for sale in New York at $14,000. But yours looks in much better condition. They must have cost more.” Uraraka is consulting her good friend Google.
“This quote – Tess says it to her mother after Alec D’Urberville has had his wicked way with her.”
“I know,” muses Uraraka. “What is he trying to say?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I can’t accept these from him. I’ll send them back with an equally baffling quote from some obscure part of the book.”
“The bit where Angel Clare says fuck off?” Uraraka asks with a completely straight face.
“Yes, that bit.” You giggle. You love Uraraka, she’s so loyal and supportive. You repack the books and leave them on the dining table. Uraraka hands you a glass of champagne.
“To the end of exams and our new life in Seattle,” she grins.
“To the end of exams, our new life in Seattle, and excellent results.” You both clink glasses and drink.
The bar is loud and hectic, full of soon to be graduates out to get trashed. Tokoyami and Yosetsu joins you guys. Yosetsu won’t graduate for another year, but he’s in the mood to party and gets you guys into the spirit of your newfound freedom by buying a pitcher of margaritas for you all. As You down your fifth, You know this is not a good idea on top of the champagne.
“So what now Y/n?” Yosetsu shouts at you over the noise.
“Uraraka and I are moving to Seattle. Uraraka’s parents have bought a condo there for her.”
“That sounds awesome. But you’ll be back for my show.”
“Of course, Yosetsu, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You smile, and he puts his arm around your waist and pulls you close.
“It means a lot to me that you’ll be there y/n,” he whispers in your ear. “Another margarita?”
“Yosetsu Luis Rodriguez – are you trying to get me drunk? Because I think it’s working.” You giggle. “I think I’d better have a beer. I’ll go get us a pitcher.”
“More drink, Y/n!” Uraraka bellows.
Uraraka has the constitution of an ox. She’s got her arm draped over Idia, one of your fellow English students and her usual photographer on her student newspaper. He’s given up taking photos of the drunkenness that surrounds him. He only has eyes for Uraraka. She’s all tiny camisole, tight jeans, and high heels, hair piled high with tendrils hanging down softly around her face, her usual stunning self. You, are more of a Converse and t-shirt kind of girl, but you’re wearing your most flattering jeans. You move out of Yosetsu’s hold and get up from your table. Whoa. Head spin. You have to grab the back of the chair. Tequila based cocktails are not a good idea.
You make your way to the bar and decide that you should visit the powder room while you’re on your feet. Good thinking, y/n. You stagger off through the crowd. Of course, there’s a line, but at least it’s quiet and cool in the corridor. You reach for your cell phone to relieve the boredom of waiting in line. Hmm… Who did I last call? Was it Yosetsu? Before that a number you don’t recognize. Oh yes.Kirishima you think this is his number. You giggle. You have no idea what the time is, maybe You’ll wake him. Perhaps he can tell you why he sent you those books and the cryptic
message. If he wants you to stay away, he should leave you alone. You suppress a drunken grin and hit the automatic re-dial. He answers on the second ring.
“Y/n?” He’s surprised to hear from you. Well, frankly, You’re surprised to ring him. Then your befuddled brain registers… how does he know its you?
“Why did you send me the books?” You slur at him.
“Y/n, are you okay? You sound strange.” His voice is filled with concern.
“I’m not the strange one, you are,” You accuse. There - that told him, your courage fuelled by alcohol.
“Y/n, have you been drinking?”
“What’s it to you?”
“I’m curious. Where are you?”
“In a bar.”
“Which bar?” He sounds exasperated.
“A bar in Portland.”
“How are you getting home?”
“I’ll find a way.” This conversation is not going how you expected.
“Which bar are you in?”
“Why did you send me the books, Eijirou?”
“Y/n, where are you, tell me now.” His tone is so, so dictatorial, his usual control freak. You imagine him as an old time movie director wearing jodhpurs, holding an old fashioned megaphone and a riding crop. The image makes you laugh out loud.
“You’re so… domineering,” You giggle.
“Y/n, so help me, where the fuck are you?”
Eijirou Kirishima is swearing at you. You giggle again. “I’m in Portland… a long way from Seattle.”
“Where in Portland?”
“Goodnight, Eijirou.”
“Y/n!”
You hang up. Ha! Though he didn’t tell you about the books. You frown. Mission not accomplished. You are really quite drunk - your head swims uncomfortably as you shuffle with the line. Well, the object of the exercise was to get drunk. You have succeeded. This is what it’s like – probably not an experience to be repeated. The line has moved, and it’s now your turn. You stare blankly at the poster on the back of the toilet door that extols the virtues of safe sex. Holy crap, did You just call Eijirou Kirishima? Shit. Your phone rings and it makes you jump. You yelp in surprise.
“Hi,” You bleat timidly in to the phone. You hadn’t reckoned on this.
“I’m coming to get you,” he says and hangs up. Only Eijirou Kirishima could sound so calm and so threatening at the same time.
Holy crap. You pull your jeans up. Your heart is thumping. Coming to get you? Oh no. You’re going to be sick… no… You’re fine. Hang on. He’s just messing with your head. You didn’t tell him where you was. He can’t find you here. Besides, it will take him hours to get here from Seattle, and You’ll be long gone by then. You wash your hands and check your face in the mirror. You look flushed and slightly unfocused. Hmm… tequila.
You wait at the bar for what feels like an eternity for the pitcher of beer and eventually return to the table.
“You’ve been gone so long.” Uraraka scolds you. “Where were you?”
“I was in line for the restroom.”
Yosetsu and Tokoyami are having some heated debate about our local baseball team. Yosetsu pauses in his tirade to pour you all beers, and you take a long sip.
“Uraraka, I think I’d better step outside and get some fresh air.”
“Y/n, you are such a lightweight.”
“I’ll be five minutes.”
You make your way through the crowd again. You’re beginning to feel nauseous, your head is spinning uncomfortably, and You’re a little unsteady on your feet. More unsteady than usual.
Drinking in the cool evening air in the parking lot makes you realize how drunk you are. Your vision has been affected, and you’re really seeing double of everything like in old re-runs of Tom and Jerry Cartoons. You think You’re going to be sick. Why did you let yourself get this messed up?
“Y/n,” Yosetsu has joined you. “You okay?”
“I think I’ve just had a bit too much to drink.” You smile weakly at him.
“Me too,” he murmurs, and his dark eyes are watching you intently. “Do you need a hand?” he asks and steps closer, putting his arm around you.
“Yosetsu I’m okay. I’ve got this.” You try and push him away rather feebly.
“Y/n, please,” he whispers, and now he’s holding you in his arms, pulling you close.
“Yosetsu, what you doing?”
“You know I like you Y/n, please.” He has one hand at the small of your back holding you against him, the other at your chin tipping back your head. Holy fuck… he’s going to kiss you.
“No Yosetsu, stop – no.” You push him, but he’s a wall of hard muscle, and you cannot shift him. His hand has slipped into your hair, and he’s holding your head in place.
“Please, Y/n, cariña,” he whispers against your lips. His breath is soft and smells too sweet – of margarita and beer. He gently trails kisses along your jaw up to the side of your mouth. You feel panicky, drunk, and out of control. The feeling is suffocating.
“Yosetsu, no,” You plead. You Don't want this. You’re his friend, and you think You’re going to throw up.
“I think the lady said no.” A voice in the dark says quietly. Holy shit! Eijirou Kirishima, he’s here. How? Yosetsu releases you.
“Kirishima,” he says tersely. You glance anxiously up at Eijirou. He’s glowering at Yosetsu, and he’s furious. Crap. Your stomach heaves, and you double over, your body no longer able to tolerate the alcohol, and you vomit spectacularly on to the ground.
“Ugh – Dios mio, y/n!” Yosetsu jumps back in disgust. Kirishima grabs your hair and pulls it out of the firing line and gently leads you over to a raised flower bed on the edge of the parking lot. You note, with deep gratitude, that it’s in relative darkness.
“If you’re going to throw up again, do it here. I’ll hold you.” He has one arm around your shoulders – the other is holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail down your back so it’s off your face. You try awkwardly to push him away, but you vomit again… and again. Oh shit… how long is this going to last? Even when your stomach’s empty and nothing is coming up,
horrible dry heaves wrack your body. You vow silently that you’ll never ever drink again. This is just too appalling for words. Finally, it stops.
Your hands are resting on the brick wall of the flowerbed, barely holding you up - vomiting profusely is exhausting. Kirishima takes his hands off you and passes you a handkerchief. Only he would have a monogrammed, freshly laundered, linen handkerchief. STE. You didn’t know you could still buy these. Vaguely you wonder what the E stands for as You wipe your mouth. You cannot bring yourself to look at him. You’re swamped with shame, disgusted with yourself. You want to be swallowed up by the azaleas in the flowerbed and be anywhere but here.
Yosetsu is still hovering by the entrance to the bar, watching you. You groan and put your head in your hands. This has to be the single worst moment of your life. Your head is still swimming as you try to remember a worse one – and you can only come up with Eijirou’s rejection – and this is so, so many shades darker in terms of humiliation. You risk a peek at him. He’s staring down at You, his face composed, giving nothing away. Turning, you glance at Yosetsu who looks pretty shamefaced himself and, like you, intimidated by Kirishima. You glare at him. You have a few choice words for your so-called friend, none of which you can repeat in front of Eijirou Kirishima CEO. Y/n who are you kidding, he’s just seen you hurl all over the ground and into the local flora. There’s no disguising your lack of ladylike behavior.
“I’ll err… see you inside,” Yosetsu mutters, but you both ignore him, and he slinks off back into the building. You’re on your own with Kirishima. Double crap. What should you say to him? Apologize for the phone call.
“I’m sorry,” You mutter, staring at the handkerchief which You are furiously worrying with your fingers. It’s so soft.
“What are you sorry for Y/n?”
Oh crap, he wants his damned pound of flesh.
“The phone call mainly, being sick. Oh, the list is endless,” You murmur, feeling your skin coloring up. Please, please can you die now?
“We’ve all been here, perhaps not quite as dramatically as you,” he says dryly. “It’s about knowing your limits, Y/n. I mean, I’m all for pushing limits, but really this is beyond the pale. Do you make a habit of this kind of behavior?”
Your head buzzes with excess alcohol and irritation. What the hell has it got to do with him? You didn’t invite him here. He sounds like a middle-aged man scolding you like an errant child. Part of you wants to say, if You want to get drunk every night like this, then it’s your decision and nothing to do with him – but you’re not brave enough. Not now that you’ve thrown up in front of him. Why is he still standing there?
“No,” You say contritely. “I’ve never been drunk before and right now I have no desire to ever be again.”
You just don’t understand why he’s here. You begin to feel faint. He notices your dizziness and grabs you before you fall and hoists you into his arms, holding you close to his chest like a child.
“Come on, I’ll take you home,” he murmurs.
“I need to tell Uraraka.” Holy Moses, You’re in his arms again.
“My friend can tell her.”
“What?”
“My friend is talking to Miss Uraraka.”
“Oh?” You don’t understand.
“He was with me when you phoned.”
“In Seattle?” You’re confused.
“No, I’m staying at the Heathman.”
Still? Why?
“How did you find me?”
“I tracked your cell phone y/n.”
Oh, of course he did. How is that possible? Is it legal? Stalker, your subconscious whispers at you through the cloud of tequila that’s still floating in your brain, but somehow, because it’s him, you don’t mind.
“Do you have a jacket or a purse?”
“Err… yes, I came with both. Eijirou, please, I need to tell Uraraka. She’ll worry.” His mouth presses into a hard line, and he sighs heavily.
“If you must.”
He sets me down, and, taking your hand, leads you back into the bar. You feel weak, still drunk, embarrassed, exhausted, mortified, and on some strange level absolutely off the scale thrilled. He’s clutching your hand – such a confusing array of emotions. You’ll need at least a week to process them all.
It’s noisy, crowded, and the music has started so there is a large crowd on the dance floor. Uraraka is not at your table, and Yosetsu has disappeared. Tokoyami looks lost and forlorn on his own.
“Where’s Uraraka?” You shout at Tokoyami above the noise. You head is beginning to pound in time to the thumping bass line of the music.
“Dancing,” Tokoyami shouts, and You can tell he’s mad. He’s eyeing Eijirou suspiciously. You struggle into your black jacket and place your small shoulder bag over your head so it sits at your hip. You’re ready to go, once you seen Uraraka.
“She’s on the dance floor,” You touch Eijirou’s arm and lean up and shout in his ear, brushing his hair with your nose, smelling his clean, fresh smell. Oh my. All those forbidden, unfamiliar feelings that you have tried to deny surface and run amok through your drained body. You flush, and somewhere deep, deep down your muscles clench deliciously.
He rolls his eyes at you and takes your hand again and leads you to the bar. He’s served immediately, no waiting for Mr. Control-Freak Kirishima. Does everything come so easily to him? You can’t hear what he orders. He hands you a very large glass of iced water.
“Drink,” he shouts his order at you.
The moving lights are twisting and turning in time to the music casting strange red light and shadows all over the bar and the clientele. He’s alternately green, blue, white, and a demonic red. He’s watching you intently. You take a tentative sip.
“All of it,” he shouts.
He’s so overbearing. He runs his hand through his unruly hair. He looks frustrated, angry. What is his problem? Apart from a silly drunk girl ringing him in the middle of the night so he thinks she needs rescuing. And it turns out she does from her over amorous friend. Then seeing her being violently ill at his feet. Oh Y/n… are you ever going to live this down? Your subconscious is figuratively tutting and glaring at you over her half moon specs. You sway slightly, and he puts his hand on your shoulder to steady you. You do as You’re told
and drink the entire glass. It makes you feel queasy. Taking the glass from you, he places it on the bar. You notice through a blur what he’s wearing; a loose white linen shirt, snug jeans, black Converse sneakers, and a dark pinstriped jacket. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and You see a sprinkling of hair in the gap. In your groggy frame of mind, he looks yummy.
He takes your hand once more. Holy cow – he’s leading you to the dance floor. Shit. You do not dance. He can sense your reluctance, and under the red lights, You can see his amused, slightly sardonic smile. He gives your hand a sharp tug, and You’re in his arms again, and he starts to move, taking you with him. Boy, he can dance, and you can’t believe that you’re following him step for step. Maybe it’s because you’re drunk that you can keep up. He’s holding you tight against him, his body against yours … if he wasn’t clutching you so tightly, You’re sure you would swoon at his feet. In the back of your mind, your mother’s often-recited warning comes to: Never trust a man who can dance.
He moves you through the crowded throng of dancers to the other side of the dance floor, and you are beside Uraraka and Izuku. The music is pounding away, loud and leery, outside and inside your head. You gasp. Uraraka is making her moves. She’s dancing her ass off, and she only ever does that if she likes someone. Really likes someone. It means there’ll be three of you for breakfast tomorrow morning. Ura!
Eijirou leans over and shouts in Izuku’s ear. I cannot hear what he says. Izuku is tall with wide shoulders, curly green hair, and light, wickedly gleaming eyes. You can’t tell the color under the pulsating heat of the flashing lights. Izuku grins, and pulls Uraraka into his arms, where she is more than happy to be… Uraraka! Even in your inebriated state, you’re shocked. She’s only just met him. She nods at whatever Izuku says and grins at me and waves. Eijirou propels you off the dance floor in double quick time.
But you never got to talk to her. Is she okay? You can see where things are heading for her and him. You need to do the safe sex lecture. In the back of your mind, You hope she reads one of the posters on the back of the toilet doors. Your thoughts crash through your brain, fighting the drunk, fuzzy feeling. It’s so warm in here, so loud, so colorful – too bright. Your head begins to swim, oh no… and you can feel the floor coming up to meet your face or so it feels. The last thing you hear before you pass out in Eijirou Kirishima’s arms is his harsh epithet.
“Fuck!”

Chapter Text

It’s very quiet. The light is muted. You’re comfortable and warm, in a bed. Hmm… You open your eyes, and for a moment, You’re tranquil and serene, enjoying the strange unfamiliar surroundings. You have no idea where you are. The headboard behind you is in the shape of a massive sun. It’s oddly familiar. The room is large and airy and plushly furnished in browns and golds and beige. You have seen it before. Where? Your befuddled brain struggles through its recent visual memories. Holy crap. You’re in the Heathman hotel… in a suite. You have stood in a room similar to this with Uraraka. This looks bigger. Oh shit. You’re in Eijirou Kirishima’s suite. How did you get here?
Fractured memories of the previous night come slowly back to haunt you. The drinking, oh no the drinking, the phone call, oh no the phone call, the vomiting, oh no the vomiting. Yosetsu and then Kirishima. Oh no. You cringe inwardly. You don’t remember coming here. You’re wearing your t-shirt, bra, and panties. No socks. No jeans. Holy shit.
You glance at the bedside table. On it is a glass of orange juice and two tablets. Advil. Control freak that he is, he thinks of everything. You sit up and take the tablets. Actually, You don’t feel that bad, probably much better than you deserve. The orange juice tastes divine. It’s thirst quenching and refreshing. Nothing beats freshly squeezed orange juice for reviving an arid mouth.
There’s a knock on the door. Your heart leaps into your mouth, and you can’t seem to find your voice. He opens the door anyway and strolls in.
Holy hell, he’s been working out. He’s in gray sweat pants that hang, in that way, off his hips and a gray singlet, which is dark with sweat, like his hair. Eijirou Kirishima’s sweat, the notion does odd things to you. You take a deep breath and close your eyes. You feel like a two-year old, if you close your eyes then You’re not really here.
“Good morning Y/n. How are you feeling?”
Oh no.
“Better than I deserve,” you mumble.
You peek up at him. He places a large shopping bag on a chair and grasps each end of the towel that he has around his neck. He’s staring at you, red eyes dark, and as usual, you have no idea what he’s thinking. He hides his thoughts and feelings so well.
“How did I get here?” Your voice is small, contrite.
He comes and sits down on the edge of the bed. He’s close enough for you to touch, for you to smell. Oh my… sweat and body wash and Eijirou, it’s a heady cocktail - so much better than a margarita, and now you can speak from experience.
“After you passed out, I didn’t want to risk the leather upholstery in my car taking you all the way to your apartment. So I brought you here,” he says phlegmatically.
“Did you put me to bed?”
“Yes.” His face is impassive.
“Did I throw up again?” Your voice is quieter.
“No.”
“Did you undress me?” You whisper.
“Yes.” He quirks an eyebrow at you and you blush furiously.
“We didn’t,” You whisper, your mouth drying in mortified horror as you can’t complete the question. You stare at your hands.
“Y/n, you were comatose. Necrophilia is not my thing. I like my women sentient and receptive,” he says dryly.
“I’m so sorry.”
His mouth lifts slightly in a wry smile.
“It was a very diverting evening. Not one that I’ll forget in a while.”
Me neither you thought– oh he’s laughing at you, the bastard. You didn’t ask him to come and get you. Somehow you’ve been made to feel like the villain of the piece.
“You didn’t have to track me down with whatever James Bond stuff you’re developing for the highest bidder,” You snap at him. He stares at you, surprised, and if you’re not mistaken, a little wounded.
“Firstly, the technology to track cell phones is available over the Internet. Secondly, my company does not invest or manufacture any kind of surveillance devices, and thirdly, if I hadn’t come to get you, you’d probably be waking up in the photographer’s bed, and from what I can remember, you weren’t overly enthused about him pressing his suit,” he says acidly.
Pressing his suit! You glance up at Eijirou, he’s glaring at you, his eyes blazing, aggrieved. You try to bite your lip, but you fail to repress your laughter.
“Which medieval chronicle did you escape from?” You giggle. “You sound like a courtly knight.”
His mood visibly shifts. His eyes soften and his expression warms, and you see a trace of a smile on his beautifully chiseled lips.
“Y/n, I don’t think so. Dark knight maybe.” His smile is sardonic, and he shakes his head. “Did you eat last night?” His tone is accusatory. You shake your head. What major transgression have you committed now? His jaw clenches, but his face remains impassive.
“You need to eat. That’s why you were so ill. Honestly Y/n, it’s drinking rule number one.” He runs this hand through his hair, and you know it’s because he’s exasperated.
“Are you going to continue to scold me?”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“I think so.”
“You’re lucky I’m just scolding you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if you were mine, you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week after the stunt you pulled yesterday. You didn’t eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk.” He closes his eyes, dread etched on his lovely face, and he shudders slightly. When he opens his eyes, he glares at you. “I hate to think what could have happened to you.”
You scowl back at him. What is his problem? What’s it to him? If you was his… well you’re not. Though maybe, part of you would like to be. The thought pierces through the irritation you feel at his high-handed words. You flush at the waywardness of your subconscious - she’s doing her happy dance in a bright red hula skirt at the thought of being his.
“I would have been fine. I was with Uraraka.”
“And the photographer?” he snaps at you.
Hmm… young Yosetsu. You’ll need to face him at some point.
“Yosetsu just got out of line.” You shrug.
“Well the next time he gets out of line, maybe someone should teach him some manners.”
“You are quite the disciplinarian,” You hiss at him.
“Oh, Y/n, you have no idea.” His eyes narrow, and then he grins wickedly. It’s disarming. One minute, You’re confused and angry, the next you’re gazing at his gorgeous smile. Wow… you’re entranced, and it’s because his smile is so rare. You’re quite forgetting what he’s talking about.
“I’m going to have a shower. Unless you’d like to shower first?” He cocks his head to one side, still grinning. Your heartbeat has picked up, and your medulla oblongata has neglected to fire any synapses to make me breathe. His grin widens, and he reaches over and runs his thumb down your cheek and across your lower lip.
“Breathe, Y/n,” he whispers and rises. “Breakfast will be here in fifteen minutes. You must be famished.” He heads into the bathroom and closes the door.
You let out the breath that you’ve been holding. Why is he so damned attractive? Right now you want to go and join him in the shower. You have never felt this way about anyone. Your hormones are racing. Your skin tingles where his thumb traced over your face and lower lip. You feel like squirming with a needy, achy… discomfort. You don’t understand this reaction. Hmm… Desire. This is desire. This is what it feels like.
You lie back on the soft feather filled pillows. ‘If you were mine.’ Oh my – what would you do to be his? He’s the only man who has ever set your blood racing around your body. Yet,
he’s so antagonizing too; he’s difficult, complicated, and confusing. One minute he rebuffs you, the next he sends you fourteen-thousand-dollar books, then he tracks you like a stalker. And for all that, You have spent the night in his hotel suite, and you feel safe. Protected. He cares enough to come and rescue you from some mistakenly perceived danger. He’s not a dark knight at all, but a white knight in shining, dazzling armor – a classic romantic hero – Sir Gawain or Lancelot.
You scramble out of his bed frantically searching for your jeans. He emerges from the bathroom wet and glistening from the shower, still unshaven, with just a towel around his waist, and there you are– all bare legs and awkward gawkiness. He’s surprised to see you out of bed.
“If you’re looking for your jeans, I’ve sent them to the laundry.” His gaze is a dark obsidian. “They were spattered with your vomit.”
“Oh.” You flush scarlet. Why oh why does he always catch you on the back foot?
“I sent Taylor out for another pair and some shoes. They’re in the bag on the chair.”
Clean clothes. What an unexpected bonus.
“Um… I’ll have a shower,” You mutter. “Thanks.” What else can you say? You grab the bag and dart into the bathroom away from the unnerving proximity of naked Eijirou. Michelangelo’s David has nothing on him.
In the bathroom, it’s all hot and steamy from where he’s been showering. You strip off your clothes and quickly clamber into the shower anxious to be under the cleansing stream of water. It cascades over you, and you hold up your face into the welcoming torrent. You want Kirishima. You want him badly. Simple fact. For the first time in your life, You want to go to bed with a man. You want to feel his hands and his mouth on you.
He said he likes his women sentient. He’s probably not celibate then. But he’s not made a pass at you, unlike Kaminari or Yosetsu. You don’t understand. Does he want you? He wouldn’t kiss you last week. Are you repellent to him? And yet, You’re here and he brought you here. You just don’t know what his game is? What he’s thinking? You’ve slept in his bed all night, and he’s not touched you Y/n. You do the math. Your subconscious has reared her ugly, snide head. You ignore her.
The water is warm and soothing. Hmm… You could stay under this shower, in his bathroom, forever. You reach for the body-wash and it smells of him. It’s a delicious smell. You rub it all over yourself, fantasizing that it’s him - him rubbing this heavenly scented soap into your body, across your breasts, over your stomach, between your thighs with his long fingered hands. Oh my. Your heartbeat picks up again, this feels so… so good.
“Breakfast is here.” He knocks on the door, startling you.
“Okay,” you stutter as you yanked cruelly out of your erotic daydream.
You climb out of the shower and grab two towels. You put your hair in one and wrap it Carmen Miranda style on your head. Hastily, You dry yourself, ignoring the pleasurable feel of the towel rubbing against your over-sensitized skin.
You inspect the bag of jeans. Not only has Taylor brought you jeans and new Converse, but a pale blue shirt, socks, and underwear. Oh my. A clean bra and panties – actually to describe them in such a mundane, utilitarian way does not do them justice. They are an exquisite design of some fancy European lingerie. All pale blue lace and finery. Wow. You’re in awe and slightly daunted by this underwear. What’s more, they fit perfectly. But of course they do. You flush to think of the Buzz-Cut man in some lingerie store buying this for you. You wonder what else is in his job description.
You dress quickly. The rest of the clothing is a perfect fit. You brusquely towel-dry your hair and try desperately to bring it under control. But, as usual, it refuses to cooperate, and your only option is to restrain it with a hair tie. You shall search in your purse, when you find it. You take a deep breath. Time to face Mr. Confusing.
You’re relieved to find the bedroom empty. You hunt quickly for your purse – but it’s not in here. Taking another deep breath, You enter the living area of the suite. It’s huge. There’s an opulent, plush seating area, all overstuffed couches and soft cushions, an elaborate coffee table with a stack of large glossy books, a study area with a top-of-the-range Mac, an enormous plasma screen TV on the wall, and Eijirou is sitting at a dining table on the other side of the room reading a newspaper. It’s the size of a tennis court or something, not that you play tennis, though you have watched Uraraka a few times. Uraraka!
“Crap, Uraraka,” You croak. Eijirou peers up at you.
“She knows you’re here and still alive. I texted Izuku,” he says with just a trace of humor.
Oh no. You remember her fervent dancing of the night before. All her patented moves used with maximum effect to seduce Eijirou’s friend no less! What’s she going to think about you being here? You’ve never stayed out before. She’s still with Izuku. She’s only done this twice before, and both times you’ve had to endure the hideous pink PJs for a week from the fallout. She’s going to think you’ve had a one-night stand too.
Eijirou stares at you imperiously. He’s wearing a white linen shirt, collar and cuffs undone.
“Sit,” he commands, pointing to a place at the table. You make your way across the room and sit down opposite him as you been directed. The table is laden with food.
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered a selection from the breakfast menu.” He gives you a crooked, apologetic smile.
“That’s very profligate of you,” You murmur, bewildered by the choice, though you are hungry.
“Yes, it is.” He sounds guilty.
You opt for pancakes, maple syrup, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Eijirou tries to hide a smile as he returns to his egg white omelet. The food is delicious.
“Tea?” he asks.
“Yes, please.”
He passes you a small teapot of hot water and on the saucer is a Twining’s English Breakfast teabag. Jeez, he remembers how you like your tea.
“Your hair’s very damp,” he scolds.
“I couldn’t find the hairdryer,” You mutter, embarrassed. Not that you looked.
Eijirou’s mouth presses into a hard line, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Thank you for organizing the clothes.”
“It’s a pleasure, Y/n. That color suits you.”
You blush and stare down at your fingers.
“You know, you really should learn to take a compliment.” His tone is castigating.
“I should give you some money for these clothes.”
He glares at you as if you have offended him on some level. You hurry on.
“You’ve already given me the books, which, of course, I can’t accept. But these clothes, please let me pay you back.” You smile tentatively at him.
“Y/n, trust me, I can afford it.”
“That’s not the point. Why should you buy these for me?”
“Because I can,” his eyes flash with a wicked gleam.
“Just because you can doesn’t mean that you should,” You reply quietly as he arches an eyebrow at you, his eyes twinkling, and suddenly You feel that you were talking about something else, but You don’t know what it is. Which reminds you…
“Why did you send me the books, Eijirou?” Your voice is soft. He puts down his cutlery and regards you intently, his eyes burning with some unfathomable emotion. Holy crap – your mouth dries.
“Well, when you were nearly run over by the cyclist – and I was holding you and you were looking up at me – all kiss me, kiss me, Eijirou,” he pauses and shrugs slightly, “I felt I owed you an apology and a warning.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Y/n, I’m not a hearts and flowers kind of man, I don’t do romance. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear from me.” He closes his eyes as if in defeat. “There’s something about you, though, and I’m finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you’ve figured that out already.”
Your appetite vanishes. He can’t stay away!
“Then don’t,” You whisper.
He gasps, his eyes wide.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Enlighten me, then.”
You both sit gazing at each other, neither of you touching your food.
“You’re not celibate then?” You breathe.
Amusement lights up his eyes.
“No, Y/n, I’m not celibate.” He pauses for this information to sink in, and you flush scarlet. The mouth-to-brain filter is broken again. You can’t believe You’ve just said that out loud.
“What are your plans for the next few days?” he asks, his voice low.
“I’m working today, from midday. What is the time?” You panic suddenly.
“It’s just after ten, you’ve plenty of time. What about tomorrow?” He has his elbows on the table, and his chin is resting on his long steepled fingers.
“Uraraka and I are going to start packing. We’re moving to Seattle next weekend, and I’m working at Clayton’s all this week.”
“You have a place in Seattle already?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I can’t remember the address. It’s in the Pike Market District.”
“Not far from me,” his lips twitch up in a half smile. “So what are you going to do for work in Seattle?”
Where is he going with all these questions? The Eijirou Kirishima inquisition is almost as irritating as the Uraraka Ochako Inquisition.
“I’ve applied for some internships. I’m waiting to hear.”
“Have you applied to my company as I suggested?”
You flush… of course not.
“Um… no.”
“And what’s wrong with my company?”
“Your company or your Company?” You smirk.
He smiles slightly.
“Are you smirking at me, Miss L/n?” He cocks his head to one side, and you think he looks amused, but it’s hard to tell. You flush and glance down at your unfinished breakfast. You can’t look him in the eye when he uses that tone of voice.
“I’d like to bite that lip,” he whispers darkly.
Oh my. You’re completely unaware that you’re chewing your bottom lip. Your mouth pops open as you gasp and swallow at the same time. That has to be the sexiest thing anybody has ever said to you. Your heart beat spikes, and you think You’re panting. Jeez, you’re quivering, moist mess, and he hasn’t even touched you. You squirm in your seat and meet his dark glare.
“Why don’t you?” You challenge quietly.
“Because I’m not going to touch you Y/n - not until I have your written consent to do so.” His lips hint at a smile.
What?
“What does that mean?”
“Exactly what I say.” He sighs and shakes his head at you, amused, but exasperated too. “I need to show you, y/n. What time do you finish work this evening?”
“About eight.”
“Well, we could go to Seattle this evening or next Saturday for dinner at my place, and I’ll acquaint you with the facts then. The choice is yours.”
“Why can’t you tell me now?” You sound petulant.
“Because I’m enjoying my breakfast and your company. Once you’re enlightened, you probably won’t want to see me again.”
Holy shit. What does that mean? Does he white-slave small children to some God-forsaken part of the planet? Is he part of some underworld crime syndicate? It would explain why he’s so rich. Is he deeply religious? Is he impotent? Surely not, he could prove that to me right now. Oh my. You flush scarlet thinking about the possibilities. This is getting me nowhere. You’d like to solve the riddle that is Eijirou Kirishima sooner rather than later. If it means that whatever secret he has is so gross that you don’t want to know him any more then, quite frankly, it will be a relief. Don’t lie to yourself – your subconscious yells at you– it’ll have to be pretty bloody bad to have you running for the hills.
“Tonight.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Like Eve, you’re so quick to eat from the tree of knowledge,” he smirks.
“Are you smirking at me, Mr. Kirishima?” You ask sweetly. Pompous ass.
He narrows his eyes at you and picks up his BlackBerry. He presses one number.
“Taylor. I’m going to need Charlie Tango.”
Charlie Tango! Who’s he?
“From Portland at say twenty-thirty... No, standby at Escala… All night.”
All night!
“Yes. On call tomorrow morning. I’ll pilot from Portland to Seattle.”
Pilot?
“Standby pilot from twenty-two-thirty.” He puts the phone down. No please or thank you.
“Do people always do what you tell them?”
“Usually, if they want to keep their jobs,” he says, deadpan.
“And if they don’t work for you?”
“Oh, I can be very persuasive, Y/n. You should finish your breakfast. And then I’ll drop you home. I’ll pick you up at Clayton’s at eight when you finish. We’ll fly up to Seattle.”
I blink at him rapidly.
“Fly?”
“Yes. I have a helicopter.”
You gape at him. You have a second date with Eijirou oh-so-mysterious Kirishima. From coffee to helicopter rides. Wow.
“We’ll go by helicopter to Seattle?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He grins wickedly.
“Because I can. Finish your breakfast.”
How can you eat now? You’re going to Seattle by helicopter with Eijirou Kirishima. And he wants to bite your lip… You squirm at the thought
“Eat,” he says more sharply. “Y/n, I have an issue with wasted food… eat.”
“I can’t eat all this.” You gape at what’s left on the table.
“Eat what’s on your plate. If you’d eaten properly yesterday, you wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t be declaring my hand so soon.” His mouth sets in a grim line. He looks angry.
You frown and return to your now cold food. You’re too excited to eat, Eijirou. Don’t you understand? Your subconscious explains. But You’re too much of a coward to voice these thoughts aloud, especially when he looks so sullen. Hmm, like a small boy. You find the thought amusing.
“What’s so funny?” he asks. You shake your head, not daring tell him and keep your eyes on your food. Swallowing your last piece of pancake, you peek up at him. He’s eyeing you speculatively.
“Good girl,” he says. “I’ll take you home when you’ve dried your hair. I don’t want you getting ill.” There’s some kind of unspoken promise in his words. What does he mean? You leave the table, wondering for a moment if you should ask permission but dismissing the idea. Sounds like a dangerous precedent to set. You head back to his bedroom. A thought stops you.
“Where did you sleep last night?” You turn to gaze at him still sitting in the dining room chair. You can’t see any blankets or sheets out here – perhaps he’s had them tidied away.
“In my bed,” he says simply, his gaze impassive again.
“Oh.”
“Yes, it was quite a novelty for me too.” He smiles.
“Not having… sex.” There – You said the word. You blush – of course.
“No,” he shakes his head and frowns as if recalling something uncomfortable. “Sleeping with someone.” He picks up his newspaper and continues to read.
What in heaven’s name does that mean? He’s never slept with anyone? He’s a virgin? Somehow you doubt that. You stand staring at him in disbelief. He is the most mystifying person you’ve ever met. And it dawns on you that you have slept with Eijirou Kirishima, and you kick yourself what would you have given to be conscious to watch him sleep. See him vulnerable. Somehow, you find that hard to imagine. Well, allegedly all will be revealed tonight.
In his bedroom, you hunt through a chest of drawers and find the hair dryer. Using your fingers, you dry your hair the best as you can. When you’ve finished, you head into the bathroom. You want to clean your teeth. You eye Eijirou’s toothbrush. It would be like having him in your mouth. Hmm… Glancing guiltily over your shoulder at the door, you feel the bristles on the toothbrush. They are damp. He must have used it already. Grabbing it quickly, You squirt toothpaste on it and brush your teeth in double quick time. You feel so naughty. It’s such a thrill.
Grabbing your t-shirt, bra, and panties from yesterday, you put them in the shopping bag that Taylor brought and head back to the living area to hunt for your bag and jacket. Deep joy, there is a hair tie in my bag. Eijirou is watching you as you tie your hair into a ponytail, his expression unreadable. You feel his eyes follow you as you sit down and wait for him to finish. He’s on his BlackBerry talking to someone.
“They want two?… How much will that cost?... Okay, and what safety measures do we have in place?… And they’ll go via Suez?… How safe is Ben Sudan?... And when do they arrive in Darfur?... Okay, let’s do it. Keep me abreast of progress.” He hangs up.
“Ready to go?”
You nod. You wonder what his conversation was about. He slips on a navy pinstriped jacket, picks up his car keys, and heads for the door.
“After you, Miss L/n,” he murmurs, opening the door for me. He looks so casually elegant.
You pause, fractionally too long, drinking in the sight of him. And to think you slept with him last night and, after all the tequila and the throwing up, he’s still here. What’s more, he wants to take you to Seattle. Why you? You don’t understand it. You head out the door recalling his words – There’s something about you – Well the feeling is entirely mutual Mr. Kirishima, and you aim to find out what it is.
You both walk in silence down the corridor toward the elevator. As you wait, You peek up at him through your lashes, and he looks out of the corner of his eyes down at you. You smile, and his lips twitch.
The elevator arrives, and you step in. You’re alone. Suddenly, for some inexplicable reason, possibly your proximity in such an enclosed space, the atmosphere between you both changes, charging with an electric, exhilarating anticipation. Your breathing alters as your heart races. His head turns fractionally toward you, his eyes darkest slate. You bite your lip.
“Oh, fuck the paperwork,” he growls. He lunges at you, pushing you against the wall of the elevator. Before you knew it, he’s got both of your hands in one of his in a vice-like grip above your head, and he’s pinning you to the wall using his hips. Holy shit. His other hand grabs your ponytail and yanks down, bringing your face up, and his lips are on yours. It’s only just not painful. You moan into his mouth, giving his tongue an opening. He takes full
advantage, his tongue expertly exploring your mouth. You have never been kissed like this. Your tongue tentatively strokes his and joins his in a slow erotic dance that’s all about touch and sensation, all bump and grind. He brings his hand up to grasp your chin and holds you in place. You’re helpless, hands pinned, face held, and his hips restraining you. You feel his erection against your belly. Oh my… He wants you. Eijirou Kirishima, Greek god, wants you, and you want him, here… now, in the elevator.
“You. Are. So. Sweet,” he murmurs, each word a staccato.
The elevator stops, the doors open, and he pushes away from you in the blink of an eye, leaving you hanging. Three men in business suits look at both of you and smirk as they climb on board. Your heart rate is through the roof, You feel like you’ve run an uphill race. You want to lean over and grasp your knees… but that’s just too obvious.
You glance up at him. He looks so cool and calm, like he’s been doing the Seattle Times crossword. How unfair. Is he totally unaffected by your presence? He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, and he gently blows out a deep breath. Oh, he’s affected all right – and my very small inner goddess sways in a gentle victorious samba. The businessmen exit on the second floor. You have one more floor to travel.
“You’ve brushed your teeth,” he says, staring at me.
“I used your toothbrush,” You breathe.
His lips quirk up in a half smile.
“Oh, Y/n L/n, what am I going to do with you?”
The doors open at the first floor, and he takes your hand and pulls you out.
“What is it about elevators?” he mutters, more to himself than to you as he strides across the lobby. You struggle to keep pace with him because your wits have been thoroughly, royally, scattered all over the floor and walls of elevator three in the Heathman Hotel.

Chapter Text

Eijirou opens the passenger door to the black Audi SUV, and you clamber in. It’s a beast of a car. He hasn’t mentioned the outburst of passion that exploded in the elevator. Should you? Should you guys talk about it or pretend that it didn’t happen? It hardly seems real, your first proper no-holds-barred kiss. As time ticks on, you assign it mythical, Arthurian legend, Lost City of Atlantis status. It never happened, it never existed. Perhaps you imagined it all. No. You touch your lips, swollen from his kiss. It definitely happened. You’re a changed woman. You want this man, desperately, and he wanted you.
You glance at him. Eijirou is his usual polite, slightly distant self.
How confusing.
He starts the engine and reverses out of his space in the parking lot. He switches on the MP3 player. The car interior is filled with the sweetest, most magical music of two women singing. Oh wow… all your senses are in disarray, so this is doubly affecting. It sends delicious shivers up your spine. Eijirou pulls out on to SW Park Avenue, and he drives with easy, lazy confidence.
“What are we listening to?”
“It’s the Flower Duet by Delibes, from the opera Lakmé. Do you like it?”
“Eijirou, it’s wonderful.”
“It is, isn’t it?” he grins, glancing at you. And for a fleeting moment, he seems his age; young, carefree, and heart-stoppingly beautiful. Is this the key to him? Music? You sit and listen to the angelic voices, teasing and seducing you.
“Can I hear that again?”
“Of course.” Eijirou pushes a button, and the music is caressing me once more. It’s a gentle, slow, sweet, and sure assault on your aural senses.
“You like classical music?” You ask, hoping for a rare insight into his personal preferences.
“My taste is eclectic, y/n, everything from Thomas Tallis to the Kings of Leon. It depends on my mood. You?”
“Me too. Though I don’t know who Thomas Tallis is.”
He turns and gazes at you briefly before his eyes are back on the road.
“I’ll play it for you sometime. He’s a sixteenth century British composer. Tudor, church choral music.” Eijirou grins at you. “Sounds very esoteric, I know, but it’s also magical, Y/n.”
He presses a button, and the Kings of Leon start singing. Hmm… this you know. Sex on Fire. How appropriate. The music is interrupted by the sound of a cell phone ringing over the MP3 speakers. Eijirou hits a button on the steering wheel.
“Kirishima,” he snaps. He’s so brusque.
“Mr. Kirishima, it’s Steve here. I have the information you require.” A rasping, disembodied voice comes over the speakers.
“Good. Email it to me. Anything to add?”
“No sir.”
He presses the button, then the call ceases and the music is back. No goodbye or thanks. You’re so glad that you never seriously entertained the thought of working for him. You shudder at the very idea. He’s just too controlling and cold with his employees. The music cuts off again for the phone.
“Kirishima.”
“The NDA has been emailed to you, Mr. Kirishima.” A woman’s voice.
“Good. That’s all, Andrea.”
“Good day, sir.”
Eijirou hangs up by pressing a button on the steering wheel. The music is on very briefly when the phone rings again. Holy hell, is this his life, constant nagging phone calls?
“Kirishima,” he snaps.
“Hi, Eijirou, d’you get laid?”
“Hello, Midoriya– I’m on speaker phone, and I’m not alone in the car,” Eijirou sighs.
“Who’s with you?”
Eijirou rolls his eyes.
“Y/n L/n.”
“Hi, Y/n!”
Y/n!
“Hello, Midoriya.”
“Heard a lot about you,” Midoriya murmurs huskily. Eijirou frowns.
“Don’t believe a word Uraraka says.”
Midoriya laughs.
“I’m dropping Y/n off now.” Eijirou emphasizes your name. “Shall I pick you up?”
“Sure.”
“See you shortly.” Eijirou hangs up, and the music is back. You’re almost at your apartment. It’s not taken long.
“Y/n,” he muses. You scowl at him, but he ignores your expression. “What happened in the elevator - it won’t happen again, well, not unless it’s premeditated.”
He pulls up outside your duplex. You belatedly realize he’s not asked you where You live - yet he knows. But then he sent the books, of course he knows where you live. What able, cell-phone-tracking, helicopter owning, stalker wouldn’t.
Why won’t he kiss you again? You pout at the thought. You don’t understand. Honestly, his surname should be Cryptic, not Kirishima. He climbs out of the car, walking with easy, long-legged grace round to your side to open the door, ever the gentleman - except perhaps in rare, precious moments in elevators. You flush at the memory of his mouth on yours, and the thought that you’d been unable to touch him enters your mind. You wanted to run your fingers through his decadent, untidy hair, but you’d been unable to move your hands. You are retrospectively frustrated.
“I liked what happened in the elevator,” You murmur as you climb out of the car. You’re not sure if you hear an audible gasp, but You choose to ignore it and head up the steps to the front door.
Uraraka and Midoriya are sitting at our dining table. The fourteen-thousand-dollar books have disappeared. Thank heavens. You have plans for them. She has the most un-Uraraka ridiculous grin on her face, and she looks mussed up in a sexy kind of way. Eijirou follows you into the living area, and in spite of her I’ve-been-having-a-good-time-all-night grin, Uraraka eyes him suspiciously.
“Hi Y/n.” She leaps up to hug you, then holds you at arm’s length so she can examine you. She frowns and turns to Eijirou.
“Good morning, Eijirou,” she says, and her tone is a little hostile.
“Miss Uraraka,” he says in his stiff formal way.
“Eijirou, her name is Ochako” Midoriya grumbles.
“Ochako.” Eijirou gives her a polite nod and glares at Midoriya who grins and rises to hug you too.
“Hi, y/n,” he smiles, his green eyes twinkling, and you like him immediately. He’s obviously nothing like Eijirou, but then they’re like adopted brothers.
“Hi, Midoriya,” you smile at him, and you’re aware that You’re biting your lip.
“Midoriya, we’d better go.” Eijirou says mildly.
“Sure.” He turns to Uraraka and pulls her into his arms and gives her a long lingering kiss.
Jeez… get a room. You stare at your feet, embarrassed. You glance up at Eijirou, and he’s watching you intently. You narrow your eyes at him. Why can’t you kiss me like that? You thought Midoriya continues to kiss Uraraka, sweeping her off her feet and dipping her in a dramatic hold so that her hair touches the ground as he kisses her hard.
“Laters, baby,” he grins.
Uraraka just melts. You’ve never seen her melt before – the words comely and compliant come to mind. Compliant Uraraka, boy, Midoriya must be good. Eijirou rolls his eyes and stares down at you, his expression unreadable, although maybe he’s mildly amused. He tucks a stray strand of your hair that has worked its way free from your ponytail behind your ear. Your breath hitches at the contact, and you lean your head slightly into his fingers. His eyes soften, and he runs his thumb across your lower lip. Your blood sears in your veins. And all too quickly, his touch is gone.
“Laters, baby,” he murmurs, and you have to laugh because it’s so unlike him. But even though you know he’s being irreverent, the endearment tugs at something deep inside you.
“I’ll pick you up at eight.” He turns to leave, opening the front door and stepping out onto the porch. Midoriya follows him to the car but turns and blows Uraraka another kiss, and you feel an unwelcome pang of jealousy.
“So, did you?” Uraraka asks as you watch them climb into the car and drive off, the burning curiosity evident in her voice.
“No,” You snap irritably, hoping that will halt the questions. You both head back into the apartment. “You obviously did, though.” you can’t contain your envy. Uraraka always manages to ensnare men. She is irresistible, beautiful, sexy, funny, forward… all the things that you’re not. But her answering grin is infectious.
“And I’m seeing him again this evening.” She claps her hands and jumps up and down like a small child. She cannot contain her excitement and happiness, and you can’t help but feel happy for her. A happy Uraraka… this is going to be interesting.
“Eijirou is taking me to Seattle this evening.”
“Seattle?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you will then?”
“Oh, I hope so.”
“You like him then?”
“Yes.”
“Like him enough to… ?”
“Yes.”
She raises her eyebrows.
“Wow. Y/n L/n, finally falling for a man, and it’s Eijirou Kirishima – hot, sexy billionaire.”
“Oh yeah – it’s all about the money.” You smirk, and you both fall into a fit of giggles.
“Is that a new blouse?” she asks, and you let her have all the unexciting details about your night.
“Has he kissed you yet?” she asks as she makes coffee.
You blush.
“Once.”
“Once!” she scoffs.
You nod, rather shame faced.
“He’s very reserved.”
She frowns.
“That’s odd.”
“I don’t think odd covers it really,” You murmur.
“We need to make sure you’re simply irresistible for this evening,” she says with determination.
Oh no… this sounds like it will be time consuming, humiliating, and painful.
“I have to be at work in an hour.”
“I can work with that timeframe. Come on.” Uraraka grabs your hand and takes you into her bedroom.
The day drags at Clayton’s even though you’re busy. You’ve hit the summer season, so you have to spend two hours restocking the shelves once the shop is closed. It’s mindless work, and it gives you too much time to think. You’ve not really had a chance all day.
Under Uraraka’s tireless and frankly intrusive instruction, your legs and underarms are shaved to perfection, your eyebrows plucked, and you’re buffed all over. It has been a most unpleasant experience. But she assures you that this is what men expect these days. What else will he expect? you have to convince Uraraka that this is what you want to do. For some strange reason, she doesn’t trust him, maybe because he’s so stiff and formal. She says she can’t put her finger on it, but yoy have promised to text her when you arrive in Seattle. You haven’t told her about the helicopter, she’d freak.
You also have the Yosetsu issue. He’s left three messages and seven missed calls on your cell. He’s also called home twice. Uraraka has been very vague as to where you were. He knows she’s covering for you. Uraraka doesn’t do vague. But you have decided to let him stew. You’re still too angry with him.
Eijirou mentioned some kind of written paperwork, and you don’t know if he was joking or if you’re going to have to sign something. It’s so frustrating trying to guess. And on top of all the angst, you could barely contain your excitement or your nerves. Tonight’s the night! After all this time, are you ready for this? Your inner goddess glares at you, tapping her small foot impatiently. She’s been ready for this for years, and she’s ready for anything with Eijirou Kirishima, but you still don’t understand what he sees in you… mousey Y/n L/n- it makes no sense.
He is punctual, of course, and waiting for you when you leave Clayton’s. He climbs out of the back of the Audi to open the door and smiles warmly at you.
“Good evening, Miss L/n,” he says.
“Mr. Kirishima.” You nod politely to him as you climb into the backseat of the car. Taylor is sitting in the driver’s seat.
“Hello, Taylor,” You say.
“Good evening, Miss L/n,” his voice is polite and professional. Eijirou climbs in the other side and clasps your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze that you feel all the way through your body.
“How was work?” he asks.
“Very long,” You reply, and your voice is husky, too low, and full of need.
“Yes, it’s been a long day for me too.” His tone is serious.
“What did you do?” You manage.
“I went hiking with Midoriya.” His thumb strokes your knuckles, back and forth, your heart skips a beat and your breathing accelerates. How does he do this to Me? you thought. He’s only touching a very small area of your body, and the hormones are flying.
The drive to the heliport is short and, before you know it, you both arrive. You wonder where the fabled helicopter might be. You’re in a built-up area of the city and even you know helicopters need space to take off and land. Taylor parks, climbs out, and opens your car door. Eijirou is beside you in an instant and takes your hand again.
“Ready?” he asks. You nod and want to say for anything, but you can’t articulate the words as You’re too nervous, too excited.
“Taylor.” He nods curtly at his driver, and you both head into the building, straight to a set of elevators. Elevator! The memory of your kiss this morning comes back to haunt you. You have thought of nothing else all day. Daydreaming at the register at Clayton’s. Twice Kirishima had to shout your name to bring you back to Earth. To say you’ve been distracted would be the understatement of the year. Eijirou glances down at you, a slight smile on his lips. Ha! He’s thinking about it too.
“It’s only three floors,” he says dryly, his eyes dancing with amusement. He’s telepathic surely. It’s spooky.
You try to keep your face impassive as you enter the elevator. The doors close, and it’s there, the weird electrical attraction crackling between us, enslaving you. You close your eyes in a vain attempt to ignore it. He tightens his grip on your hand, and five seconds later the doors open on to the roof of the building. And there it is, a white helicopter with the name Kirishima Enterprises Holdings Inc. written in blue with the company logo on the side. Surely this is misuse of Company property.
He leads you to a small office where an old timer sits behind the desk.
“Here’s your flight plan, Mr. Kirishima. All external checks are done. It’s ready and waiting sir. You’re free to go.”
“Thank you.” Eijirou smiles warmly at him.
Oh. Someone deserving of the polite treatment from Eijirou, perhaps he’s not an employee. You stare at the old guy in awe.
“Let’s go,” Eijirou says, and you make your way toward the helicopter. When you’re up close, it’s much bigger than you thought. You expected it to be a roadster version for two, but it has at least seven seats. Eijirou opens the door and directs you to one of the seats at the very front.
“Sit – don’t touch anything,” he orders as he clambers in behind you.
He shuts the door with a slam. You’re glad that the area is floodlit, otherwise you’d find it difficult to see inside the small cockpit. You sit down in your allotted seat, and he crouches beside you to strap you into the harness. It’s a four-point harness with all the straps connecting to one central buckle. He tightens both of the upper straps, so you can hardly move. He’s so close and intent on what he’s doing. If you could only lean forward, your nose would be in his hair. He smells, clean, fresh, heavenly, but you’re fastened securely into your seat and effectively immobile. He glances up and smiles, like he’s enjoying his usual private joke,
his duel red eyes heated. He’s so tantalizingly close. You hold your breath as he pulls at one of the upper straps.
“You’re secure, no escaping,” he whispers, his eyes are scorching. “Breathe, Y/n,” he adds softly. Reaching up, he caresses your cheek, running his long fingers down to your chin which he grasps between his thumb and forefinger. He leans forward and plants a brief, chaste kiss on your lips, leaving you reeling, your insides clenching at the thrilling, unexpected touch of his lips.
“I like this harness,” he whispers.
What?
He sits down beside you and buckles himself into his seat, then begins a protracted procedure of checking gauges and flipping switches and buttons from the mind-boggling array of dials and lights and switches in front of me. Little lights wink and flash from various dials, and the whole of the instrument panel lights up.
“Put your cans on,” he says, pointing to a set of headphones in front of you. You pop them on, and the rotor blades start. They are deafening. He puts his headphones on and continues flipping various switches.
“I’m just going through all the pre-flight checks.” Eijirou’s disembodied voice is in your ears through the headphones. You turn and grin at him.
“Do you know what you are doing?” You ask. He turns and smiles at you.
“I’ve been a fully qualified pilot for four years, Y/n, you’re safe with me.” He gives you a wolfish grin. “Well, while we’re flying,” he adds and winks at me.
Winking….Eijirou!
“Are you ready?”
You nod wide eyed.
“Okay, tower. PDX this is Charlie Tango Golf – Golf Echo Hotel, cleared for take-off. Please confirm, over.”
“Charlie Tango - you are clear. PDX to call, proceed to one four thousand, heading zero one zero, over. ”
“Roger tower, Charlie Tango set, over and out. Here we go,” he adds to you, and the helicopter rises slowly and smoothly into the air.
Portland disappears in front us as you head into US airspace, though your stomach remains firmly in Oregon. Whoa! All the bright lights shrink until they are twinkling sweetly below you. It’s like looking out from inside a fish bowl. Once you’re higher, there really is nothing to see. It’s pitch black, not even the moon to shed any light on your journey. How can he see where you’re going?
“Eerie isn’t it?” Eijirou’s voice is in your ears.
“How do you know you’re going the right way?”
“Here.” He points his long index finger at one of the gauges, and it shows an electronic compass. “This is an EC135 Eurocopter. One of the safest in its class. It’s equipped for night flight.” He glances and grins at you.
“There’s a helipad on top of the building I live in. That’s where we’re heading.”
Of course there’s a helipad where he lives. You’re so out of your league here. His face is softly illuminated by the lights on the instrument panel. He’s concentrating hard, and he’s continually glancing at the various dials in front of him. You drink in his features from beneath your lashes. He has a beautiful profile. Straight nose, square jawed – You’d like to run your tongue along his jaw. He hasn’t shaved, and his stubble makes the prospect doubly tempting. Hmm… You’d like to feel how rough it is beneath your tongue, your fingers, against your face.
“When you fly at night, you fly blind. You have to trust the instrumentation,” he interrupts your erotic reverie.
“How long will the flight be?” You manage breathlessly. You weren’t thinking about sex at all, no, no way.
“Less than an hour, the wind is in our favor.”
Hmm, less than an hour to Seattle… that’s not bad going, no wonder you’re flying.
You have less than an hour before the big reveal. All the muscles clench deep in your belly. You have a serious case of butterflies. They are flourishing in your stomach. Holy shit, what has he got in store for you?
“You okay, Y/n?”
“Yes.” Your answer is short, clipped, squeezed out through your nerves.
You think he smiles, but it’s difficult to tell in the darkness. Eijirou flicks yet another switch.
“PDX this is Charlie Tango now at one four thousand, over.” He exchanges information with air traffic control. It all sounds very professional. You think you’re moving from Portland’s air space to Seattle International Airport’s.
“Understood Sea-Tac, standing by over and out.”
“Look, over there.” He points to a small pin-point of light in the far distance. “That’s Seattle.”
“Do you always impress women this way? Come and fly in my helicopter?” You ask, genuinely interested.
“I’ve never bought a girl up here, Y/n. It’s another first for me.” His voice is quiet, serious.
Oh, that was an unexpected answer. Another first? Oh the sleeping thing, perhaps?
“Are you impressed?”
“I’m awed, Eijirou.”
He smiles.
“Awed?” And for a brief moment, he’s his age again.
I nod.
“You’re just so… competent.”
“Why, thank you, Miss L/n,” he says politely. You think he’s pleased, but you’re not sure.
You ride into the dark night in silence for a while. The bright spot that is Seattle is slowly getting bigger.
“Sea-Tac tower to Charlie Tango. Flight plan to Escala in place. Please proceed. And standby. Over.”
“This is Charlie Tango, understood Sea-Tac. Standing by, over and out.”
“You obviously enjoy this,” You murmur.
“What?” He glances at me. He looks quizzical in the half-light of the instruments.
“Flying,” You reply.
“It requires control and concentration… how could I not love it? Though, my favorite is soaring.”
“Soaring?”
“Yes. Gliding to the layperson. Gliders and helicopters – I fly them both.”
“Oh.” Expensive hobbies. You remember him telling you during the interview. You like reading and occasionally going to the movies. You are out of your depth here.
“Charlie Tango come in please, over.” The disembodied voice of air traffic control interrupts my reverie. Eijirou answers, sounding in control and confident.
Seattle is getting closer. We are on the very outskirts now. Wow! It looks absolutely stunning. Seattle at night, from the sky…
“Looks good, doesn’t it?” Eijirou murmurs.
You nod enthusiastically. It looks otherworldly – unreal – and you feel like you’re on a giant film set, Yosetsu’s favorite film maybe, ‘Bladerunner.’ The memory of Yosetsu’s attempted kiss haunts you. You’re beginning to feel a bit cruel not calling him back. He can wait until tomorrow… surely.
“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Eijirou mutters, and suddenly your blood is pounding in your ears as your heartbeat accelerates and adrenaline spikes through your system. He starts talking to air traffic control again, but you’re no longer listening. Oh my… You think You’re going to faint. Your fate is in his hands.
We are now flying amongst the buildings, and up ahead you can see a tall skyscraper with a helipad on top. The word Escala is painted in white on top of the building. It’s getting nearer and nearer, bigger and bigger… like your anxiety. God, You hope you don’t let him down. He’ll find you lacking in some way. You wish you’d listened to Uraraka and borrowed one of her dresses, but you like your black jeans, and you’re wearing a soft mint green shirt and Uraraka’s black jacket. You look smart enough. You grip the edge of your seat tighter and tighter. You can do this. You can do this. You chant this mantra as the skyscraper looms below You both.
The helicopter slows and hovers, and Eijirou sets it down on the helipad on top of the building. Your heart is in your mouth. You can’t decide if it’s from nervous anticipation, relief that you’ve arrived alive, or fear that you will fail in some way. He switches the ignition off and the rotor blades slow and quiet until all you hear is the sound of your own erratic breathing. Eijirou takes his headphones off, and reaches across and pulls yours off too.
“We’re here,” he says softly.
His look is so intense, half in shadow and half in the bright white light from the landing lights. Dark knight and white knight, it’s a fitting metaphor for Eijirou. He looks strained. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are tight. He unfastens his seatbelt and reaches over to unbuckle you. His face is inches from yours.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You know that don’t you?” His tone is so earnest, desperate even, his red eyes impassioned. He takes you by surprise.
“I’d never do anything I didn’t want to do, Eijirou.” And as you say the words, You don’t quite feel their conviction because at this moment in time – you’d probably do anything for this man seated beside you. But this does the trick. He’s mollified.
He eyes you warily for a moment and somehow, even though he’s so tall, he manages to ease his way gracefully to the door of the helicopter and open it. He jumps out, waiting for you to follow, and takes your hand as you clamber down on to the helipad. It’s very windy on top of the building, and you’re nervous about the fact that you’re standing at least thirty stories high in an unenclosed space. Eijirou wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you tightly against him.
“Come,” he shouts above the noise of the wind. He drags you over to an elevator shaft and, after tapping a number into a keypad, the doors open. It’s warm inside and all mirrored glass. You can see Eijirou to infinity everywhere you look, and the wonderful thing is, he’s holding you to infinity too. Eijirou taps another code into the keypad, then the doors close and the elevator descends.
Moments later, you’re in an all-white foyer. In the middle is a round, dark wood table, and on it is an unbelievably huge bunch of white flowers. On the walls there are paintings, everywhere. He opens two double doors, and the white theme continues through the wide corridor and directly opposite where a palatial room opens up. It’s the main living area, double height. Huge is too small a word for it. The far wall is glass and leads on to a balcony that overlooks Seattle.
To the right is an imposing ‘U’ shaped sofa that could sit ten adults comfortably. It faces a state-of-the-art stainless steel – or maybe platinum for all you know - modern fireplace. The fire is lit and flaming gently. On the left beside you, by the entryway, is the kitchen area. All white with dark wood worktops and a large breakfast bar which seats six.
Near the kitchen area, in front of the glass wall, is a dining table surrounded by sixteen chairs. And tucked in the corner is a full size, shiny black grand piano. Oh yes… he probably plays the piano too. There is art of all shapes and sizes on all the walls. In fact, this apartment looks more like a gallery than a place to live.
“Can I take your jacket?” Eijirou asks. You shake your head. You’re still cold from the wind on the helipad.
“Would you like a drink?” he asks. You blink at him. After last night! Is he trying to be funny? For one second, You think about asking for a margarita – but I don’t have the nerve.
“I’m going to have a glass of white wine, would you like to join me?”
“Yes, please,” You murmur.
You are standing in this enormous room feeling out of place. You walk over to the glass wall, and you realize that the lower half of the wall opens concertina-style on to the balcony. Seattle is lit up and lively in the background. You walk back to the kitchen area – it takes a few seconds, it’s so far from the glass wall – and Eijirou is opening a bottle of wine. He’s removed his jacket.
“Pouilly Fumé okay with you?”
“I know nothing about wine, Eijirou. I’m sure it will be fine.” Your voice is soft and hesitant. Your heart is thumping. You want to run. This is seriously rich. Seriously over-the-top Bill Gates style wealthy. What am I doing here? You ask yourself. You know very well what you’re doing here - your subconscious sneers at you. Yes, you want to be in Eijirou Kirishima’s bed.
“Here.” He hands you a glass of wine. Even the glasses are rich… heavy, contemporary, crystal. You take a sip, and the wine is light, crisp, and delicious.
“You’re very quiet, and you’re not even blushing. In fact – I think this is the palest I’ve ever seen you, Y/n,” he murmurs. “Are you hungry?”
You shake my head. Not for food.
“It’s a very big place you have here.”
“Big?”
“Big.”
“It’s big,” he agrees, and his eyes glow with amusement. You take another sip of wine.
“Do you play?” You point your chin at the piano.
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“Yes.”
“Of course you do. Is there anything you can’t do well?”
“Yes… a few things.” He takes a sip of his wine. He doesn’t take his eyes off you. You feel them following you as you turn and glance around this vast room. Room is the wrong word. It’s not a room – it’s a mission statement.
“Do you want to sit?”
You nod, and he takes your hand and leads you to the large off-white couch. As you sit, You’re struck by the fact that you feel like Tess Durbeyfield looking at the new house that belongs to the notorious Alec D’Urberville. The thought makes you smile.
“What’s so amusing?” He sits down beside you, turning to face you. He rests his head on his right hand, his elbow propped on the back of the couch.
“Why did you give me Tess of the D’Urbervilles specifically?” You ask. Eijirou stares at you for a moment. You think he’s surprised by your question.
“Well, you said you liked Thomas Hardy.”
“Is that the only reason?” Even you can hear the disappointment in your voice. His mouth presses into a hard line.
“It seemed appropriate. I could hold you to some impossibly high ideal like Angel Clare or debase you completely like Alec D’Urberville,” he murmurs, and his blue and black eyes flash dark and dangerous.
“If there are only two choices, I’ll take the debasement.” You whisper, gazing at him. Your subconscious is staring at you in awe. He gasps.
“Y/n, stop biting your lip, please. It’s very distracting. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
He frowns.
“Yes. Would you excuse me a moment?” He disappears through a wide doorway on the far side of the room. He’s gone for a couple of minutes and returns with a document.
“This is a non-disclosure agreement.” He shrugs and has the grace to look a little embarrassed. “My lawyer insists on it.” He hands it to you. You’re completely bemused. “If you’re going for option two, debasement, you’ll need to sign this.”
“And if I don’t want to sign anything?”
“Then it’s Angel Clare high ideals, well, for most of the book anyway.”
“What does this agreement mean?”
“It means you cannot disclose anything about us. Anything, to anyone.”
You stare at him in disbelief. Holy shit. It’s bad, really bad, and now You’re very curious to know.
“Okay. I’ll sign.”
He hands you a pen.
“Aren’t you even going to read it?”
“No.”
He frowns.
“Y/n, you should always read anything you sign,” he admonishes you.
“Eijirou, what you fail to understand is that I wouldn’t talk about us to anyone, anyway. Even Uraraka. So it’s immaterial whether I sign an agreement or not. If it means so much to you, or your lawyer… whom you obviously talk to, then fine. I’ll sign.”
He gazes down at you, and he nods gravely.
“Fair point well made, Miss L/n.”
You lavishly sign on the dotted line of both copies and hand one back to him. Folding the other, You place it in your purse and take a large swig of your wine. You’re sounding so much braver than you were actually feeling.
“Does this mean you’re going to make love to me tonight, Eijirou?” Holy shit. Did you just say that? His mouth drops open slightly, but he recovers quickly.
“No, Y/n it doesn’t. Firstly, I don’t make love. I fuck… hard. Secondly, there’s a lot more paperwork to do, and thirdly, you don’t yet know what you’re in for. You could still run for the hills. Come, I want to show you my playroom.”
Your mouth drops open. Fuck hard! Holy shit, that sounds so… hot. But why are you looking at a playroom? You are mystified.
“You want to play on your Xbox?” You ask. He let’s out a breathy chuckle.
“No, Y/n, no Xbox, no Playstation. Come.” He stands, holding out his hand. You let him lead you back out to the corridor. On the right of the double doors, where you came in, another door leads to a staircase. You go up to the second floor and turn right. Producing a key from his pocket, he unlocks yet another door and takes a deep breath.
“You can leave anytime. The helicopter is on stand-by to take you whenever you want to go, you can stay the night and go home in the morning. It’s fine whatever you decide.”
“Just open the damn door, Eijirou.”
He opens the door and stands back to let you in. You gaze at him once more. You so want to know what’s in here. Taking a deep breath you walk in.
And it feels like you’ve time-traveled back to the sixteenth century and the Spanish Inquisition.
Holy fuck.

Chapter Text

The first thing you notice is the smell; leather, wood, polish with a faint citrus scent. It’s very pleasant, and the lighting is soft, subtle. In fact, you can’t see the source, but it’s around the cornice in the room, emitting an ambient glow. The walls and ceiling are a deep, dark burgundy, giving a womb-like effect to the spacious room, and the floor is old, old varnished wood. There is a large wooden cross like an X fastened to the wall facing the door. It’s made of high-polished mahogany, and there are restraining cuffs on each corner. Above it is an expansive iron grid suspended from the ceiling, eight-foot square at least, and from it hang all manner of ropes, chains, and glinting shackles. By the door, two long, polished, ornately carved poles, like spindles from a banister but longer, hang like curtain rods across the wall. From them swing a startling assortment of paddles, whips, riding crops, and funny-looking feathery implements.
Beside the door stands a substantial mahogany chest of drawers, each drawer slim as if designed to contain specimens in a crusty old museum. You wonder briefly what the drawers actually do hold. Do you want to know? In the far corner is an oxblood leather padded bench, and fixed to the wall beside it is a wooden, polished rack that looks like a pool or billiard cue holder, but on closer inspection, it holds canes of varying lengths and widths. There’s a stout six-foot-long table in the opposite corner – polished wood with intricately carved legs – and two matching stools underneath.
But what dominates the room is a bed. It’s bigger than king-size, an ornately carved rococo four-poster with a flat top. It looks late nineteenth century. Under the canopy, You can see more gleaming chains and cuffs. There is no bedding... just a mattress covered in red leather and red satin cushions piled at one end.
At the foot of the bed, set apart a few feet, is a large oxblood chesterfield couch, just stuck in the middle of the room facing the bed. An odd arrangement… to have a couch facing the bed, and you smile to myself – You’ve picked on the couch as odd, when really it’s the most mundane piece of furniture in the room. You glance up and stare at the ceiling. There are karabiners all over the ceiling at odd intervals. You vaguely wonder what they’re for. Weirdly, all the wood, dark walls, moody lighting, and oxblood leather makes the room kind of soft and romantic… you know it’s anything but, this is Eijirou’s version of soft and romantic.
You turn, and he’s regarding you intently as you knew he would be, his expression completely unreadable. You walk further into the room, and he follows. The feathery thing has you intrigued. You touch it hesitantly. It’s suede, like a small cat-of-nine-tails but bushier, and there are very small plastic beads on the end.
“It’s called a flogger,” Eijirou’s voice is quiet and soft.
A flogger… hmm. You think You’re in shock. Your subconscious has emigrated or been struck dumb or simply keeled over and expired. You’re just numb. You observe and absorb but not articulate your feelings about all this, because you’re in shock. What is the appropriate response to finding out a potential lover is a complete freaky sadist or masochist? Fear… yes… that seems to be the over-riding feeling. You recognize it now. But weirdly not of him – You don’t think he’d hurt you, well, not without my consent. So many questions cloud your mind. Why? How? When? How often? Who? You walk toward the bed and run your hands down one of the intricately carved posts. The post is very sturdy, the craftsmanship outstanding.
“Say something,” Eijirou commands, his voice deceptively soft.
“Do you do this to people or do they do it to you?”
His mouth quirks up, either amused or relieved.
“People?” He blinks a couple of times as he considers his answer. “I do this to women who want me to.”
You don’t understand.
“If you have willing volunteers, why am I here?”
“Because I want to do this with you, very much.”
“Oh,” You gasp. Why?
You wander to the far corner of the room and pat the waist high padded bench and run your fingers over the leather. He likes to hurt women. The thought depresses you.
“You’re a sadist?”
“I’m a Dominant.” His eyes are a scorching, intense.
“What does that mean?” You whisper.
“It means I want you to willingly surrender yourself to me, in all things.”
You frown at him as you try to assimilate this idea.
“Why would I do that?”
“To please me,” he whispers as he cocks his head to one side, and you see a ghost of a smile.
Please him! He wants you to please him! Your mouth drops open. Please the one and only Eijirou Kirishima. You realize, in that moment, that yes, that’s exactly what you want to do. You want him to be damned delighted with you. It’s a revelation.
“In very simple terms, I want you to want to please me,” he says softly. His voice is hypnotic.
“How do I do that?” Your mouth is dry, and you wish you had more wine. Okay, You understand the pleasing bit, but you’re puzzled by the soft-boudoir-Elizabethan-torture set up. Do you want to know the answer?
“I have rules, and I want you to comply with them. They are for your benefit and for my pleasure. If you follow these rules to my satisfaction, I shall reward you. If you don’t, I shall punish you, and you will learn,” he whispers. You glance at the rack of canes as he says this.
“And where does all this fit in?” You wave your hand in the general direction of the room.
“It’s all part of the incentive package. Both reward and punishment.”
“So you’ll get your kicks by exerting your will over me.”
“It’s about gaining your trust and your respect, so you’ll let me exert my will over you. I will gain a great deal of pleasure, joy, even in your submission. The more you submit, the greater my joy – it’s a very simple equation.”
“Okay, and what do I get out of this?”
He shrugs and looks almost apologetic.
“Me,” he says simply.
Oh my. Eijirou rakes his hand through his hair as he gazes at you.
“You’re not giving anything away, Y/n,” he murmurs, exasperated. “Let’s go back downstairs where I can concentrate better. It’s very distracting having you in here.” He holds his hand out to you, and now you’re hesitant to take it.
Uraraka had said he was dangerous, she was so right. How did she know? He’s dangerous to your health, because you knew that you were going to say yes. And part of you doesn’t want to. Part of you wants to run screaming from this room and all it represents. You are so out of depth here.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Y/n.” His eyes implore, and you know he speaks the truth. You take his hand, and he leads you out of the door.
“If you do this, let me show you.” Rather than going back downstairs, he turns right out of the playroom, as he calls it, and down a corridor. You pass several doors until you reach the one at the end. Beyond it is a bedroom with a large double bed, all in white… everything, furniture, walls, bedding. It’s sterile and cold but with the most glorious view of Seattle through the glass wall.
“This will be your room. You can decorate it how you like, have whatever you like in here.”
“My room? You’re expecting me to move in?” You can’t hide the horror in your voice.
“Not full time. Just say, Friday evening through Sunday. We have to talk about all that, negotiate. If you want to do this,” he adds, his voice quiet and hesitant.
“I’ll sleep here?”
“Yes.”
“Not with you.”
“No. I told you, I don’t sleep with anyone, except you, when you’re stupefied with drink.” His eyes are reprimanding.
Your mouth presses in a hard line. This is what you cannot reconcile. Kind, caring Eijirou, who rescues you from inebriation and holds you gently while you’re throwing up into the azaleas, and the monster who possesses whips and chains in a special room.
“Where do you sleep?”
“My room is downstairs. Come, you must be hungry.”
“Weirdly, I seem to have lost my appetite,” You murmur petulantly.
“You must eat, Y/n,” he admonishes and, taking your hand, proceeding to lead you back downstairs.
Back in the impossibly big room, you are filled with deep trepidation. You’re on the edge of a precipice, and you have to decide whether or not to jump.
“I’m fully aware that this is a dark path I’m leading you down, Y/n, which is why I really want you to think about this. You must have some questions,” he says as he wanders into the kitchen area, releasing your hand.
You do. But where to start?
“You’ve signed your NDA, you can ask me anything you want, and I’ll answer.”
You stand at the breakfast bar watching him as he opens the refrigerator and pulls out a plate of different cheeses with two large bunches of green and red grapes. He sets the plate down on the worktop and proceeds to cut up a French baguette.
“Sit.” He points to one of the bar stools at the breakfast bar, and you obey his command. If you’re going to do this, you’re going to have to get used to it. You realize he’s been this bossy since you met him.
“You mentioned paperwork.”
“Yes.”
“What paperwork?”
“Well, apart from the NDA, a contract saying what we will and won’t do. I need to know your limits, and you need to know mine. This is consensual, Y/n.”
“And if I don’t want to do this?”
“That’s fine,” he says carefully.
“But we won’t have any sort of relationship?” yoy ask.
“No.”
“Why?”
“This is the only sort of relationship I’m interesting in.”
“Why?”
He shrugs.
“It’s the way I am.”
“How did you become this way?”
“Why is anyone the way they are? That’s kind of hard to answer. Why do some people like cheese and other people hate it? Do you like cheese? Mrs. Jones – my housekeeper – has left this for supper.” He takes some large, white plates from a cupboard and places one in front of you.
You’re talking about cheese… Holy crap.
“What are your rules that I have to follow?”
“I have them written down. We’ll go through them once we’ve eaten.”
Food. How can I eat now?
“I’m really not hungry,” You whisper.
“You will eat,” he says simply. Dominating Eijirou, it all becomes clear. “Would you like another glass of wine?”
“Yes, please.”
He pours wine into your glass and comes to sit beside you. You take a hasty sip.
“Help yourself to food, Y/n.”
You take a small bunch of grapes. This you can manage. He narrows his eyes.
“Have you been like this for a while?” You ask.
“Yes.”
“Is it easy to find women who want to do this?”
He raises an eyebrow at me.
“You’d be amazed,” he says dryly.
“Then why me? I really don’t understand.”
“Y/n, I’ve told you. There’s something about you. I can’t leave you alone.” He smiles ironically. “I’m like a moth to a flame.” His voice darkens. “I want you very badly, especially now, when you’re biting your lip again.” He takes a deep breath and swallows.
You’re stomach somersaults – he wants you… in a weird way, true, but this beautiful, strange, kinky man wants you.
“I think you have that cliché the wrong way round.” You grumble. You’re definitely the moth and he is the flame, and you’re going to get burnt. You know it.
“Eat!”
“No. I haven’t signed anything yet, so I think I’ll hang on to my free will for a bit longer, if that’s okay with you.”
His eyes soften, and his lips turn up in a smile.
“As you wish, Miss L/n.”
“How many women?” You blurt out the question, but you’re so curious.
“Fifteen.”
Oh… not as many as you thought.
“For long periods of time?”
“Some of them, yes.”
“Have you ever hurt anyone?”
“Yes.”
Holy shit.
“Badly?”
“No.”
“Will you hurt me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Physically, will you hurt me?”
“I will punish you when you require it, and it will be painful.”
You think you feel a little faint. You take another sip of wine. Alcohol - this will make me brave.
“Have you ever been beaten?” You ask.
“Yes.”
Oh… that surprises me. Before you can question him on this revelation further, he interrupts your train of thought.
“Let’s discuss this in my study. I want to show you something.”
This is so hard to process. Here you was foolishly thinking that you’d spend a night of unparalleled passion in this man’s bed, and we’re negotiating this weird arrangement.
You follow him into his study, a spacious room with another floor-to-ceiling window that opens out onto the balcony. He sits on the desk, motions for you to sit on a leather chair in front of him, and hands you a piece of paper.
“These are the rules. They may be subject to change. They form part of the contract, which you can also have. Read these rules and let’s discuss.”
RULES
Obedience:
The Submissive will obey any instructions given by the Dominant immediately without hesitation or reservation and in an expeditious manner. The Submissive will agree to any sexual activity deemed fit and pleasurable by the Dominant excepting those activities which are outlined in hard limits (Appendix 2). She will do so eagerly and without hesitation.
Sleep:
The Submissive will ensure she achieves a minimum of seven hours sleep a night when she is not with the Dominant.
Food:
The Submissive will eat regularly to maintain her health and wellbeing from a prescribed list of foods (Appendix 4). The Submissive will not snack between meals, with the exception of fruit.
Clothes:
During the Term, the Submissive will wear clothing only approved by the Dominant. The Dominant will provide a clothing budget for the Submissive, which the Submissive shall utilize. The Dominant shall accompany the Submissive to purchase clothing on an ad hoc basis. If the Dominant so requires, the Submissive shall during the Term any adornments the Dominant shall require, in the presence of the Dominant and any other time the Dominant deems fit.
Exercise:
The Dominant shall provide the Submissive with a personal trainer four times a week in hour-long sessions at times to be mutually agreed between the personal trainer and the Submissive. The personal trainer will report to the Dominant on the Submissive’s progress.
Personal Hygiene/Beauty:
The Submissive will keep herself clean and shaved and/or waxed at all times. The Submissive will visit a beauty salon of the Dominant’s choosing at times to be decided by the Dominant, and undergo whatever treatments the Dominant sees fit.
Personal Safety:
The Submissive will not drink to excess, smoke, take recreational drugs, or put herself in any unnecessary danger.
Personal Qualities:
The Submissive will not enter into any sexual relations with anyone other than the Dominant. The Submissive will conduct herself in a respectful and modest manner at all times. She must recognize that her behavior is a direct reflection on the Dominant. She shall be held accountable for any misdeeds, wrongdoings, and misbehavior committed when not in the presence of the Dominant.
Failure to comply with any of the above will result in immediate punishment, the nature of which shall be determined by the Dominant.
Holy fuck.
“Hard limits?” You ask.
“Yes. What you won’t do, what I won’t do, we need to specify in our agreement.”
“I’m not sure about accepting money for clothes. It feels wrong.” You shift uncomfortably, the word ‘ho’ rattling round your head.
“I want to lavish money on you, let me buy you some clothes. I may need you to accompany me to functions, and I want you dressed well. I’m sure your salary, when you do get a job, won’t cover the kind of clothes I’d like you to wear.”
“I don’t have to wear them when I’m not with you?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Think of them as uniform.
“I don’t want to exercise four times a week.”
“Y/n, I need you supple, strong, and with stamina. Trust me, you need to exercise.”
“But surely not four times a week, how about three?”
“I want you to do four.”
“I thought this was a negotiation?”
He purses his lips at you.
“Okay, Miss L/n, another point well made. How about an hour on three days and one day half an hour?”
“Three days, three hours. I get the impression you’re going to keep me exercised when I’m here.”
He smiles wickedly, and his eyes glow as if relieved. “Yes, I am. Okay, agreed. Are you sure you don’t want to intern at my company? You’re a good negotiator.”
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You stare down at his rules. Waxing! Waxing what? Everything? Ugh.
“So, limits. These are mine.” He hands you another piece of paper.
Hard Limits
No acts involving fire play
No acts involving urination or defecation and the products thereof
No acts involving needles, knives, piercing, or blood
No acts involving gynecological medical instruments
No acts involving children or animals
No acts that will leave any permanent marks on the skin
No acts involving breath control
Ugh. He has to write these down! Of course – they all look very sensible, and frankly, necessary… any sane person wouldn’t want to be involved in this sort of thing surely? Though you now feel a little queasy.
“Is there anything you’d like to add?” he asks kindly.
Crap. I’ve no idea. You are completely stumped. He gazes at you and furrows his brow.
“Is there anything you won’t do?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
You squirm uncomfortably and bite your lip.
“I’ve never done anything like this.”
“Well, when you’ve had sex, was there anything that you didn’t like doing?”
For the first time in what seems to be ages, you blush.
“You can tell me, Y/n. We have to be honest with each other or this isn’t going to work.”
You squirm uncomfortably again and stare at your knotted fingers.
“Tell me,” he commands.
“Well… I’ve not had sex before, so I don’t know.” Your voice is small. You peek up at him, and he’s staring at you, mouth-open, frozen, and pale - really pale.
“Never?” he whispers. You shake your head.
“You’re a virgin?” he breathes. You nod, flushing again. He closes his eyes and looks to be counting to ten. When he opens them again, he’s angry, glaring at you.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” he growls.

Chapter Text

Eijirou Is running both his hands through his hair and pacing up and down his study. Two hands – that’s double exasperation. His usual concrete control seems to have slipped a notch.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me,” he castigates you.
“The subject never came up. I’m not in the habit of revealing my sexual status to everyone I meet. I mean, we hardly know each other.” You’re staring at your hands. Why are you feeling guilty? Why is he so mad? You peek up at him.
“Well, you know a lot more about me now,” he snaps, his mouth presses into a hard line. “I knew you were inexperienced, but a virgin!” He says it like it’s a really dirty word. “Hell, Y/n, I just showed you,” he groans. “May God forgive me. Have you ever been kissed, apart from by me?”
“Of course I have.” You try your best to look affronted. Okay… maybe twice.
“And a nice young man hasn’t swept you off your feet? I just don’t understand. You’re twenty-one, nearly twenty-two. You’re beautiful.” He runs his hand through his hair again.
Beautiful. You flush with pleasure. Eijirou Kirishima thinks you’re beautiful. You knot your fingers together, staring at them hard, trying to conceal your goofy grin. Perhaps he’s near-sighted, your subconscious has reared her somnambulant head. Where was she when you needed her?
“And you’re seriously discussing what I want to do, when you have no experience.” His brows knit together. “How have you avoided sex? Tell me, please.”
You shrug.
“No one’s really, you know.” Come up to scratch, only You. And Eijirou turned out to be some kind of sex monster. “Why are you so angry with me?” You whisper.
“I’m not angry with you, I’m angry with myself. I just assumed… ” He sighs. He regards you shrewdly and then shakes his head. “Do you want to go?” he asks, his voice gentle.
“No, unless you want me to go,” You murmur. Oh no… you don’t want to leave.
“Of course not. I like having you here.” He frowns as he says this and then glances at his watch. “It’s late.” And he turns to look at you. “You’re biting your lip.” His voice is husky, and he’s eyeing you speculatively.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s just that I want to bite it too, hard.”
You gasp… how can he say things like that to you and not expect you to be affected.
“Come,” he murmurs.”
“What?”
“We’re going to rectify the situation right now.”
“What do you mean? What situation?”
“Your situation. Y/n, I’m going to make love to you, now.”
“Oh.” The floor has fallen away. You’re in a situation. Holding your breath.
“That’s if you want to, I mean, I don’t want to push my luck.”
“I thought you didn’t make love. I thought you fucked hard.” You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry.
He gives you a wicked grin, the effects of which travel all the way down there.
“I can make an exception, or maybe combine the two, we’ll see. I really want to make love to you. Please, come to bed with me. I want our arrangement to work, but you really need to have some idea what you’re getting yourself into. We can start your training tonight – with the basics. This doesn’t mean I’ve come over all hearts and flowers, it’s a means to an end, but one that I want, and hopefully you do too.” His gaze is intense.
You flush… oh my… wishes do come true.
“But I haven’t done all the things you require from your list of rules.” Your voice is all breathy, hesitant.
“Forget about the rules. Forget about all those details for tonight. I want you. I’ve wanted you since you fell into my office, and I know you want me. You wouldn’t be sitting here calmly discussing punishment and hard limits if you didn’t. Please, Y/n, spend the night with me.” He holds his hand out to you, his eyes are bright, fervent… excited, and you put your hand in his. He pulls you up and into his arms so you can feel the length of his body against yours, this swift action taking you by surprise. He runs his fingers round the nape of your neck, winds your ponytail around his wrist, and gently pulls so you’re forced to look up at him. He gazes down at you.
“You are one brave young woman,” he whispers. “I am in awe of you.”
His words are like some kind of incendiary device; your blood flames. He leans down and kisses your lips gently, and he sucks at your lower lip.
“I want to bite this lip,” he murmurs against your mouth, and carefully he tugs at it with his teeth. You moan, and he smiles.
“Please Y/n, let me make love to you.”
“Yes,” you whisper, because that’s why you’re here. His smile is triumphant as he releases you and takes your hand and leads me through the apartment.
His bedroom is vast. The ceiling height windows look out on a lit up, high-rise Seattle. The walls are white, and the furnishings are pale blue. The enormous bed is ultra-modern, made of rough, grey wood, like driftwood, four posts, but no canopy. On the wall above it is a stunning painting of the sea.
You’re quaking like a leaf. This is it. Finally, after all this time, You’re going to do it, with none other than Eijirou Kirishima. You’re breath is shallow, and you can’t take your eyes off him. He removes his watch and places it on top of a chest of drawers that matches the bed, and removes his jacket, placing it on a chair. He’s dressed in his white linen shirt and jeans. He is heart-stoppingly beautiful. His dark copper hair is a mess, his shirt hanging out – his colored eyes bold and dazzling. He steps out of his Converse shoes and reaches down and takes his socks off individually. Eijirou Kirishima’s feet… wow… what is it about naked feet? Turning, he gazes at you, his expression soft.
“I assume you’re not on the pill.”
What! Shit.
“I didn’t think so.” He opens the top drawer of the chest and removes a packet of condoms. He gazes at you intently.
“Be prepared,” he murmurs. “Do you want the blinds drawn?”
“I don’t mind.” you whisper. “I thought you didn’t let anyone sleep in your bed.”
“Who says we’re going to sleep?” he murmurs softly.
“Oh.” Holy hell.
He strolls slowly toward you. Confident, sexy, eyes blazing, and your heart begins to pound. Your blood’s pumping around your body. Desire, thick and hot, pools in your belly. He stands in front of you, staring down into your eyes. He’s so freaking hot.
“Let’s get this jacket off, shall we?” he says softly, and takes hold of the lapels and gently slides your jacket off your shoulders. He places it on the chair.
“Do you have any idea how much I want you, Y/n L/n?” he whispers. Your breath hitches. You cannot take your eyes off his. He reaches up and gently runs his fingers down your cheek to your chin.
“Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you?” he adds, caressing your chin.
The muscles inside the deepest, darkest part of you clench in the most delicious fashion. The pain is so sweet and sharp you want to close your eyes, but you’re hypnotized by his gray eyes staring fervently into yours. Leaning down, he kisses you. His lips are demanding, firm and slow, molding yours. He starts unbuttoning your shirt while he places feather-like kisses across your jaw, your chin, and the corners of your mouth. Slowly he peels it off, and lets it fall to the floor. He stands back and gazes at you. You’re in the pale blue lacy perfect-fit bra. Thank heavens.
“Oh, Y/n,” he breathes. “You have the most beautiful skin, pale and flawless. I want to kiss every single inch of it.”
You flush. Oh my… Why did he say he couldn’t make love? You will do anything he wants. He grasps your hair tie, pulls it free, and gasps as your hair cascades down around your shoulders.
“I like (Hair color),” he murmurs, and both of his hands are in your hair, grasping each side of your head. His kiss is demanding, his tongue and lips coaxing yours. You moan, and your tongue tentatively meets his. He puts his arms around you and hauls you against his body, squeezing you tightly. One hand remains in my hair, the other travels down your spine to your waist and down to your behind. His hand flexes over your backside and squeezes gently. He holds you against his hips, and you feel his erection, which he languidly pushes into you.
You moan once more into his mouth. You can hardly contain the riotous feelings or is it hormones that rampage through your body. You want him so badly. Gripping his upper arms, you feel his biceps, he’s surprisingly strong… muscular. Tentatively, you move your hands up to his face and into his hair. Holy Moses. It’s so soft, unruly. You tug gently, and he groans. He eases you toward the bed, until you feel it behind my knees. You think he’s going to push you down on to it, but he doesn’t. Releasing you, he suddenly drops to his knees. He grabs your hips with both his hands and runs his tongue around your navel, then gently nips his way to your hipbone, then across my belly to your other hipbone.
“Ah,” you groan.
Seeing him on his knees in front of you, feeling his mouth on you, it’s so unexpected, and hot. Your hands stay in his hair, pulling gently as you try to quiet your too-loud breathing. He gazes up at your through impossibly long lashes, his eyes red hot fire rubys. His hands reach up and undo the button on your jeans, and he leisurely pulls down the zipper. Without taking his eyes off yours, his hands move beneath the waistband, skimming you and moving to your behind. His hands glide slowly down your backside to your thighs, removing your jeans as they go. You cannot look away. He stops and licks his lips, never breaking eye contact. He leans forward, running his nose up the apex between your thighs. You feel him. There.
“You smell so good,” he murmurs and closes his eyes, a look of pure pleasure on his face, and you practically convulse. He reaches up and tugs the duvet off the bed, then pushes you gently so you fall on to the mattress.
Still kneeling, he grasps your foot and undoes your Converse, pulling off your shoe and sock. You raise yourself up on your elbows to see what he’s doing. Your panting… wanting. He lifts your foot by the heel and runs his thumbnail up your instep. It’s almost painful, but you feel the movement echoed in your groin. You gasp. Not taking his eyes off yours, again he runs his tongue along your instep and then his teeth. Shit. You groan… how can you feel this, there. You fall back on to the bed, moaning. You hear his soft chuckle.
“Oh, y/n, what I could do to you,” he whispers. He removes your other shoe and sock, then stands and removes your jeans. You’re lying on his bed dressed only in your bra and panties, and he’s staring down at you.
“You’re very beautiful, Y/n L/n. I can’t wait to be inside you.”
Holy shit. His words. He’s so seductive. He takes your breath away.
“Show me how you pleasure yourself.”
What? You frown.
“Don’t be coy, Y/n, show me,” he whispers.
You shake my head.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Your voice is hoarse. You hardly recognize it, laced with desire.
“How do you make yourself come? I want to see.”
You shake your head.
“I don’t,” You mumble. He raises his eyebrows, astonished for a moment, and his eyes darken, and he shakes his head in disbelief.
“Well, we’ll have to see what we can do about that.” His voice is soft, challenging, a delicious sensual threat. He undoes the buttons of his jeans and slowly pulls his jeans down, his eyes on your the whole time. He leans down over you and, grasping each of your ankles, quickly jerks your legs apart and crawls onto the bed between your legs. He hovers over you. You are squirming with need.
“Keep still,” he murmurs, and then he leans down and kisses the inside of your thigh, trailing kisses up, over the thin lacy material of your panties, kissing you.
Oh… you can’t keep still. How can you not move? You wriggle beneath him.
“We’re going to have to work on keeping you still, baby.” He trails kisses up your belly, and his tongue dips into your navel. Still he’s heading north, kissing you across your torso. Your skin is burning. You’re flushed, too hot, too cold, and You’re clawing at the sheet beneath you. He lay down beside you, and his hand trails up from your hip, to your waist, and up to your breast. He gazes down at you, his expression unreadable, and gently cups your breast.
“You fit my hand perfectly, Y/n,” he murmurs and dips his index finger into the cup of your bra and gently yanks it down freeing your breast, but the under wire and fabric of the cup force it upward. His finger moves to your other breast and repeats the process. Your breasts swell, and your nipples harden under his steady gaze. You are trussed-up by your own bra.
“Very nice,” he whispers appreciatively, and your nipples harden even more.
He blows very gently on one as his hand moves to my other breast, and his thumb slowly rolls the end of your nipple, elongating it. You groan, feeling the sweet sensation all the way to your groin. You are so wet. Oh please, you beg internally as your fingers clasp the sheet tighter. His lips close around your other nipple and he tugs, You nearly convulse.
“Let’s see if we can make you come like this,” he whispers, continuing his slow, sensual assault. Your nipples bear the delicious brunt of his deft fingers and lips, setting alight every single nerve ending in your body so that your whole body sings with the sweet agony. He just doesn’t stop.
“Oh… please,” You beg, and you pull your head back, your mouth open as you groan, your legs stiffening. Holy hell, what’s happening to you?
“Let go, baby,” he murmurs. His teeth close round your nipple, and his thumb and finger pull hard, and you fall apart in his hands, your body convulsing and shattering into a thousand pieces. He kisses you, deeply, his tongue in your mouth absorbing your cries.
Oh my. That was extraordinary. Now you know what all the fuss is about. He gazes down at you, a satisfied smile on his face, while you’re sure there’s nothing but gratitude and awe on yours.
“You are very responsive,” he breathes. “You’re going to have to learn to control that, and it’s going to be so much fun teaching you how.” He kisses you again.
Your breathing is still ragged as you come down from your orgasm. His hand moves down your waist, to your hips, and then cups you, intimately... Jeez. His finger slips through the fine
lace and slowly circles around you– there. Briefly he closes his eyes, and his breathing hitches.
“You’re so deliciously wet. God, I want you.” He thrusts his finger inside you, and you cry out as he does it again and again. He palms your clitoris, and you cry out once more. He pushes inside you harder and harder still. You groan.
Suddenly, he sits up and tugs your panties off and throws them on the floor. Pulling off his boxer briefs, his erection springs free. Holy cow… He reaches over to his bedside table and grabs a foil packet, and then he moves between your legs, spreading them further apart. He kneels up and pulls a condom on to his considerable length. Oh no…Will it? How?
“Don’t worry,” he breathes, his eyes on you, “You expand too.” He leans down, his hands on either side of your head, so he’s hovering over you, staring down into your eyes, his jaw clenched, eyes burning. It’s only now that you register he’s still wearing his shirt.
“You really want to do this?” he asks softly.
“Please,” you beg.
“Pull your knees up,” he orders softly, and you’re quick to obey. “I’m going to fuck you now, Miss L/n,” he murmurs as he positions the head of his erection at the entrance of your sex. “Hard,” he whispers, and he slams into you.
“Aargh!” You cry as you feel a weird pinching sensation deep inside you as he rips through your virginity. He stills, gazing down at you, his eyes bright with ecstatic triumph.
His mouth is open slightly, and his breathing is harsh. He groans.
“You’re so tight. You okay?”
You nod, your eyes wide, your hands on his forearms. You feel so full. He stays still, letting you acclimatize to the intrusive, overwhelming feeling of him inside you.
“I’m going to move, baby,” he breathes after a moment, his voice tight.
Oh.
He eases back with exquisite slowness. And he closes his eyes and groans, and thrusts into you again. You cry out a second time, and he stills.
“More?” he whispers, his voice raw.
“Yes,” You breathe. He does it once more, and stills again.
You groan. Your body accepting him… Oh, you want this.
“Again?” he breathes.
“Yes.” It’s a plea.
And he moves, but this time he doesn’t stop. He shifts onto his elbows so you can feel his weight on you, holding you down. He moves slowly at first, easing himself in and out of you. And as you grow accustomed to the alien feeling, your hips move tentatively to meet his. He speeds up. You moan, and he pounds on, picking up speed, merciless, a relentless rhythm, and you keep up, meeting his thrusts. He grasps your head between his hands and kisses you hard, his teeth pulling at your lower lip again. He shifts slightly, and you can feel something building deep inside you, like before. You start to stiffen as he thrusts on and on. Your body quivers, bows, a sheen of sweat gathers over you. Oh my… you didn’t know it would feel like this… you didn’t know it could feel as good as this. Your thoughts are scattering... there’s only sensation... only him... only you… oh please… you stiffen.
“Come for me, Y/n,” he whispers breathlessly, and you unravel at his words, exploding around him as you climax and splinter into a million pieces underneath him. And as he comes, he calls out your name, thrusting hard, then stilling as he empties himself into you.
You’re still panting, trying to slow your breathing, your thumping heart, and your thoughts are in riotous disarray. Wow… that was astounding. You open your eyes, and he has his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged. Eijirou’s eyes flicker open and gaze down at you, dark but soft. He’s still inside you. Leaning down, he gently presses a kiss against your forehead then slowly pulls out of you.
“Ooh.” You wince at the unfamiliarity.
“Did I hurt you?” Eijirou asks as he lies down beside you propped on one elbow. He tucks a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. And You have to grin, widely.
“You are asking me if you hurt me?”
“The irony is not lost on me,” he smiles sardonically. “Seriously, are you okay?” His eyes are intense, probing, demanding even.
You stretch out beside him, feeling loose-limbed, your bones like jelly, but you’re relaxed, deeply relaxed. You grin at him. You can’t stop grinning. Now you know what all the fuss is about. Two orgasms… coming apart at the seams, like the spin cycle on a washing machine, wow. You had no idea what your body was capable of, could be wound so tightly and released so violently, so gratifyingly. The pleasure was indescribable.
“You’re biting your lip, and you haven’t answered me.” He’s frowning. You grin up at him impishly. He looks glorious with his tousled hair, burning narrowed colored eyes, and serious, dark expression.
“I’d like to do that again,” You whisper. For a moment, you think you see a fleeting look of relief on his face, before the shutters come down, and he gazes at you through hooded eyes.
“Would you now, Miss L/n?” he murmurs dryly. He leans down and kisses you very gently at the corner of your mouth. “Demanding little thing aren’t you. Turn on your front.”
You blink at him momentarily, and then you turn over. He unhooks your bra and runs his hand down your back to your behind.
“You really have the most beautiful skin,” he murmurs. He shifts so that one of his legs pushes between yours, and he’s half lying across your back. You can feel the buttons of his shirt pressing into you as he gathers your hair off your face and kisses your bare shoulder.
“Why are you wearing your shirt?” You ask. He stills. After a beat, he shuffles out of his shirt, and he lies back down on you. You feel his warm skin against yours. Hmm… it feels heavenly. He has a light dusting of hair across his chest, which tickles your back.
“So you want me to fuck you again?” he whispers in your ear, and he begins to trail feather light kisses around your ear and down your neck.
His hand moves down, skimming your waist, over your hip, and down your thigh to the back of your knee. He pushes your knee up higher, and your breath hitches… oh my, what’s he doing now? He shifts so he’s between your legs, pressed against your back, and his hand travels up your thigh to your behind. He caresses your cheek slowly, and then trails his fingers down between your legs.
“I’m going to take you from behind, Y/n,” he murmurs, and with his other hand, he grasps your hair at the nape in a fist and pulls gently, holding you in place. You cannot move your head. You are pinioned beneath him, helpless.
“You are mine,” he whispers. “Only mine. Don’t forget it.” His voice is intoxicating, his words heady, seductive. You feel his growing erection against your thigh.
His long fingers reach round to gently massage your clitoris, circling slowly. His breath is soft against your face as he slowly nips you along your jaw.
“You smell divine,” he nuzzles behind your ear. His hand rubs against you, round and round. Reflexively, your hips start to circle, mirroring his hand, as excruciating pleasure spikes through your blood like adrenaline.
“Keep still,” he orders, his voice soft but urgent, and slowly he inserts his thumb inside, rotating it round and round, stroking the front wall of your vagina. The effect is mind-blowing – all your energy concentrating on this one small space inside your body. You moan.
“You like this?” he asks softly, his teeth grazing your outer ear, and he starts to flex his thumb slowly, in, out, in, out… his fingers still circling.
You close your eyes, trying to keep your breathing under control, trying to absorb the disordered, chaotic sensations that his fingers are unleashing on you, fire coursing through your body. You moan again.
“You’re so wet, so quickly. So responsive. Oh, Y/n, I like that. I like that a lot,” he whispers.
You want to stiffen your legs, but you can’t move. He’s pinning you down, keeping up a constant, slow, tortuous rhythm. It’s absolutely exquisite. You moan again, and he moves suddenly.
“Open your mouth,” he commands and thrusts his thumb in your mouth. You eyes fly open, blinking wildly.
“See how you taste,” he breathes against your ear. “Suck me, baby.” His thumb presses on your tongue, and your mouth closes round him, sucking wildly. You taste the saltiness on his thumb and the faint metallic tang of blood. Holy fuck. This is wrong, but holy hell is it erotic.
“I want to fuck your mouth, Y/n, and I will soon,” his voice is hoarse, raw, his breathing more disjointed.
Fuck your mouth! You moan, and you bite down on him. He gasps, and he pulls your hair tighter, painfully, so you release him.
“Naughty, sweet girl,” he whispers, and then reaches over to the bedside table for a foil packet. “Stay still, don’t move,” he orders as he releases your hair.
He rips the foil while you’re breathing hard, your blood singing in your veins. The anticipation is exhilarating. He leans down, his weight on you again, and he grabs your hair holding your head immobile. You cannot move. You’re enticingly ensnared by him, and he’s poised and ready to take you once more.
“We’re going to go real, slow this time, Y/n,” he breathes.
And slowly he eases into you, slowly, slowly, until he’s buried in you. Stretching, filling, relentless. You groan loudly. It feels deeper this time, delectable. You groan again, and he deliberately circles his hips and pulls back, pauses a beat, and then eases his way back in. He repeats this motion again and again. It’s driving you insane – his teasing, deliberately slow thrusts, and the intermittent feeling of fullness is overwhelming.
“You feel so good,” he groans, and your insides start to quiver. He pulls back and waits. “Oh no, baby, not yet,” he murmurs, and as the quivering ceases, he starts the whole delicious process again.
“Oh, please,” You beg. You’re not sure you can take much more. Your body is wound so tight, craving release.
“I want you sore, baby,” he murmurs, and he continues his sweet, leisurely torment, backward, forward.
“Every time you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I’ve been here. Only me. You are mine.”
You groan.
“Please, Eijirou,” You whisper.
“What do you want, Y/n? Tell me.”
You groan again. He pulls out and moves slowly back into you, circling his hips once more.
“Tell me,” he murmurs.
“You, please.”
He increases the rhythm infinitesimally, and his breathing becomes more erratic. Your insides start quickening, and Eijirou picks up the rhythm.
“You. Are. So. Sweet,” he murmurs between each thrust. “I. Want. You. So. Much.”
You moan.
“You. Are. Mine. Come for me, baby,” he growls.
His words are your undoing, tipping you over the precipice. Your body convulses around him, and you come, loudly calling out a garbled version of his name into the mattress, and Eijirou follows with two sharp thrusts, and he freezes, pouring himself into you as he finds his release. He collapses on top of you, his face in your hair.
“Fuck.Y/n,” he breathes. He pulls out of you immediately and rolls onto his side of the bed. You pull your knees up to your chest, utterly spent, and immediately drift off or pass out into an exhausted sleep.
When you wake, it’s still dark. You have no idea how long You’ve slept. You stretch out beneath the duvet, and you feel sore, deliciously sore. Eijirou is nowhere to be seen. You sit up, staring out at the cityscape in front of you. There are fewer lights on amongst the skyscrapers, and there’s a whisper of dawn in the east. You hear the music. The lilting notes of the piano, a sad, sweet lament. Bach, you think, but you’re not sure.
You wrap the duvet round yourself and quietly pad down the corridor toward the big room. Eijirou is at the piano, completely lost in the music he’s playing. His expression is sad and forlorn, like the music. His playing is stunning. Leaning against the wall at the entrance, You listen enraptured. He’s such an accomplished musician. He sits naked, his body bathed in the warm light cast by a solitary freestanding lamp beside the piano. With the rest of the large room in darkness, it’s like he’s in his own isolated little pool of light, untouchable… lonely, in a bubble.
You pad quietly toward him, enticed by the sublime, melancholy music. You’re mesmerized watching his long skilled fingers as they find and gently press the keys, thinking how
those same fingers have expertly handled and caressed your body. You flush and gasp at the memory and press your thighs together. He glances up, his unfathomable colored eyes bright, his expression unreadable.
“Sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
A frown flits across his face.
“Surely, I should be saying that to you,” he murmurs. He finishes playing and puts his hands on his legs.
You notice now that he’s wearing PJ pants. He runs his fingers through his hair and stands. His pants hang from his hips, in that way… oh my. Your mouth goes dry as he casually strolls around the piano toward you. He has broad shoulders, narrow hips, and his abdominal muscles ripple as he walks. He really is stunning.
“You should be in bed,” he admonishes.
“That was a beautiful piece. Bach?”
“Transcription by Bach, but it’s originally an oboe concerto by Alessandro Marcello.”
“It was exquisite, but very sad, such a melancholy melody.”
His lips quirk up in a half smile.
“Bed,” he orders. “You’ll be exhausted in the morning.”
“I woke and you weren’t there.”
“I find it difficult to sleep, and I’m not used to sleeping with anyone,” he murmurs. You can’t fathom his mood. He seems a little despondent, but it’s difficult to tell in the darkness. Perhaps it was the tone of the piece he was playing. He puts his arm around you and gently walks you back to the bedroom.
“How long have you been playing? You play beautifully.”
“Since I was six.”
“Oh.” Eijirou as a six-year-old boy… your mind conjures an image of a beautiful, red hair little boy with red eyes and your heart melts – a moppet-haired kid who likes impossibly sad music.
“How are you feeling?” he asks when you’re back in the room. He switches on a sidelight.
“I’m good.”
You both glance down at the bed at the same time. There’s blood on the sheets – evidence of your lost virginity. You flush, embarrassed, pulling the duvet tighter around you.
“Well, that’s going to give Mrs. Jones something to think about,” Eijirou mutters as he stands in front of you. He puts his hand under your chin and tips your head back, staring down at you. His eyes are intense as he examines your face. You realize that you’ve not seen his naked chest before. Instinctively, you reach out to run your fingers through the smattering of dark hair on his chest to see how it feels. Immediately, he steps back out of your reach.
“Get into bed,” he says sharply. “I’ll come and lie down with you.” His voice softens. You drop your hand and frown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched his torso. He opens a chest of drawers and pulls out a t-shirt and quickly slips it on.
“Bed,” he orders again. You climb back onto the bed, trying not to think about the blood. He clambers in beside you and pulls you into his embrace, wrapping his arms around you so that You’re facing away from him. He kisses your hair gently, and he inhales deeply.
“Sleep, sweet Y/n,” he murmurs, and you close your eyes, but you can’t help feel a residual melancholy either from the music or his demeanor. Eijirou Kirishima has a sad side.

Chapter Text

Light fills the room, coaxing you from a deep sleep to wakefulness. You stretch out and open your eyes. It’s a beautiful May morning, Seattle at your feet. Wow, what a view. Beside you, Eijirou Kirishima is fast asleep. Wow, what a view. You’re surprised he’s still in bed. He’s facing you, and you have an unprecedented opportunity to study him. His lovely face looks younger, relaxed in sleep. His sculptured, pouty lips are parted slightly giving you a small view of his teeth, and his shiny, clean hair is a glorious mess. How could anyone look this good and still be legal? You remember his room upstairs… perhaps he’s not legal. You shake your head, so much to think about. It’s tempting to reach out and touch him, like a small child, he’s so lovely when he’s asleep. You don’t have to worry about what you’re saying, what he’s saying, what plans he has, especially his plans for you.
You could gaze at him all day, but you have needs – bathroom needs. Slipping out of bed, you find his white shirt on the floor and shrug it on. you walk through a door thinking that it might be the bathroom, but you’re in a vast walk-in closet as big as your bedroom. Lines and lines of expensive suits, shirts, shoes, and ties. How can anyone need this many clothes? You tut with disapproval. Actually, Uraraka’s wardrobe probably rivals this. Uraraka! Oh no. You didn’t think about her all evening. You was supposed to text her. Crap. You’re going to be in trouble. You wonder briefly how she’s getting on with Midoriya.
Returning to the bedroom, Eijirou is still asleep. You try the other door. It’s the bathroom, and it’s bigger than your bedroom. Why does one man need so much space? Two
sinks, you notice with irony. Given he doesn’t sleep with anyone, one of them can’t have been used.
You stare at yourself in the gigantic mirror above the sinks. Do you look different? You definitely feel different. You feel a little sore, if you’re honest, and your muscles - jeez it’s like you’ve never done any exercise in your life. You don’t do any exercise in your life, your subconscious has woken. She’s staring at you with pursed lips, tapping her foot. So you’ve just slept with him, given him your virginity, a man who doesn’t love you. In fact, he has very odd ideas about you, wants to make you some sort of kinky sex slave.
ARE YOU CRAZY? She’s shouting at you.
You wince as you look in the mirror. You are going to have to process all this. Honestly, fancy falling for a man who’s beyond beautiful, richer than Croesus, and has a Red Room of Pain waiting for you. You shudder. You’re bewildered and confused. your hair is its usual wayward self. Just-fucked hair doesn’t suit you. You try and bring order to the chaos with your fingers but fail miserably and give up – maybe you’ll find hair ties in your purse.
You’re starving. You head back out to the bedroom. Sleeping beauty is still sleeping, so you leave him and head for the kitchen.
Oh no… Uraraka. You left your purse in Eijirou’s study. You fetch it and reach for your cell phone. Three texts.
*RU OK Y/n*
*Where RU Y/n*
*Damn it Y/n*
You call Uraraka. When she doesn’t answer, you leave her a groveling message to tell her you are alive and have not succumbed to Bluebeard, well not in the sense she would be worried about – or perhaps you have. Oh this is so confusing. You have to try and categorize and analyze your feelings for Eijirou Kirishima. It’s an impossible task. You shake your head in defeat. You need alone time, away from here to think.
You find two welcome hair ties at the same time in your bag and quickly tie your hair in pigtails. Yes! The more girly you look, perhaps the safer you’ll be from Bluebeard. You take your iPod out of the bag and plug your headphones in. There’s nothing like music to cook by. You slip it into the breast pocket of Eijirou’s shirt, turn it up loud, and start dancing.
Holy hell, you’re hungry.
You are daunted by his kitchen. It’s so sleek and modern and none of the cupboards have handles. It takes you a few seconds to deduce that you have to push the cupboard doors to open them. Perhaps you should cook Eijirou breakfast. He was eating an omelet the other day… um, yesterday at the Heathman. Jeez, so much has happened since then. You check in the fridge, where there are plenty of eggs, and decide you want pancakes and bacon. You set about making some batter, dancing your way round the kitchen.
Being busy is good. It allows a bit of time to think but not too deeply. Music blaring in your ears also helps to stave off deep thought. You came here to spend the night in Eijirou Kirishima’s bed, and managed it, even though he doesn’t let anyone in his bed. You smile, mission accomplished. Big time. You grin. Big, big time, and you’re distracted by the memory of last night. His words, his body, his lovemaking… You close your eyes as your body hums at the recollection,
and your muscles contract deliciously deep in your belly. Your subconscious scowls at you… fucking – not lovemaking – she screams at you like a harpy. You ignore her, but deep down you know she has a point. You shake your head to concentrate on the task at hand.
There is a state-of-the-art range. You think you have the hang of it. You need somewhere to keep the pancakes warm, and you start on the bacon. Ayour Studt is singing in your ear about misfits. This song used to mean so much to you, that’s because you’re a misfit. You have never fitted in anywhere and now… you have an indecent proposal to consider from King Misfit himself. Why is he this way? Nature or Nurture? It’s so alien to anything you know.
You put the bacon under the grill, and while it’s cooking, you whisk some eggs. You turn, and Eijirou is sitting on one of the bar stools at the breakfast bar, leaning on it, his face supported by his steepled hands. He’s still wearing the t-shirt he’s slept in. Just-fucked hair really, really suits him, as does his designer stubble. He looks both amused and bewildered. You freeze, flush, then gather yourself and pull the headphones out of your ears, your knees weak at the sight of him.
“Good morning, Miss L/n. You’re very energetic this morning,” he says dryly.
“I slept well,” you stutter your explanation. His lips try to mask his smile.
“I can’t imagine why.” He pauses and frowns. “So did I, after I came back to bed.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Very,” he says with an intense look, and you don’t think he’s referring to food.
“Pancakes, bacon, and eggs?”
“Sounds great.”
“I don’t know where you keep your placemats.” You shrug, trying desperately hard not to look flustered.
“I’ll do that. You cook. Would you like me to put some music on so you can continue your… err… dancing?”
You stare down at your fingers, knowing that you are turning puce.
“Please, don’t stop on your account. It’s very entertaining.” His tone is one of wry amusement.
you purse your lips. Entertaining eh? your subconscious has doubled over in laughter at you. You turn and continue to whisk the eggs, probably beating them a little harder than they need. In a moment, he’s beside you. He gently pulls your pigtail.
“I love these,” he whispers. “They won’t protect you.” Hmm Bluebeard…
“How would you like your eggs?” You ask tartly. He smiles.
“Thoroughly whisked and beaten,” he smirks.
You turn back to the task at hand, trying to hide your smile. He’s hard to stay mad at. Especially when he’s being so uncharacteristically playful. He opens a drawer and takes out two black slate placemats for the breakfast bar. You pour the egg mix into a pan, pull out the bacon and turn it over, and put it back under the grill.
When you turn back round, there is orange juice on the table, and he’s making coffee.
“Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, please. If you have some.”
You find a couple of plates and place them in the warming tray of the range. Eijirou reaches into a cupboard and pulls out some Twining’s English Breakfast tea. You purse your lips.
“Bit of a foregone conclusion wasn’t I?”
“Are you? I’m not sure we’ve concluded anything yet, Miss L/n,” he murmurs.
What does he mean by that? Our negotiations? Our, err… relationship… whatever that is? He’s still so cryptic. You serve up the breakfast onto the heated plates and lay them on the placemats. You hunt in the refrigerator and find some maple syrup.
You glance up at Eijirou, and he’s waiting for you to sit down.
“Miss L/n.” He motions to one of the bar stools.
“Mr. Kirishima.” You nod in acknowledgement. You climb up and wince slightly as you sit down.
“Just how sore are you?” he asks as he sits down. His red eyes dark.
You flush. Why does he ask such personal questions?
“Well, to be truthful, I have nothing to compare this to,” You snap at him. “Did you wish to offer your commiserations?” You ask too sweetly. You think he’s trying to stifle a smile, but you can’t be sure.
“No. I wondered if we should continue your basic training.”
“Oh.” You stare at him dumbfounded as you stop breathing and everything inside you clenches tight. Ooh… that’s so nice. You suppress your groan.
“Eat, Y/n.” your appetite has become uncertain again… more… more sex… yes please.
“This is delicious, incidentally.” He grins at you.
You try a forkful of omelet but can barely taste it. Basic training! I want to fuck your mouth. Does that form part of basic training?
“Stop biting your lip. It’s very distracting, and I happen to know you’re not wearing anything under your shirt which makes it even more distracting,” he growls.
You dunk your teabag in the small pot that Eijirou has provided. your mind is in a whirl.
“What sort of basic training did you have in mind?” You ask, your voice slightly too high, betraying your wish to sound as natural, disinterested, and calm as you can with your hormones wreaking havoc through your body.
“Well, as you’re sore, I thought we could stick to oral skills.”
You choke on your tea, and stare at him, eyes wide and gaping. He pats you gently on the back and passes you some orange juice. You cannot tell what he’s thinking.
“That’s if you want to stay,” he adds. You glance up at him, trying to recover your equilibrium. His expression is unreadable. It’s so frustrating.
“I’d like to stay for today. If that’s okay. I have to work tomorrow.”
“What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?”
“Nine.”
“I’ll get you to work by nine tomorrow.”
You frown. Does he want you to stay another night?
“I’ll need to go home tonight – I need clean clothes.”
“We can get you some here.”
You don’t have spare cash to spend on clothes. His hand comes up, and he grasps your chin, tugging it so your lip is released from the grip of your teeth. You’re not even aware you’ve been biting your lip.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I need to be home this evening.”
His mouth is a hard line.
“Okay, this evening,” he acquiesces. “Now eat your breakfast.”
your thoughts and your stomach are in turmoil. your appetite has vanished. You stare at your half-eaten breakfast. You’re just not hungry.
“Eat, Y/n. You didn’t eat last night.”
“I’m really not hungry,” You whisper.
His eyes narrow.
“I would really like you to finish your breakfast.”
“What is it with you and food?” You blurt. His brow knits.
“I told you, I have issues with wasted food. Eat,” he snaps. His eyes are dark, pained.
Holy Crap. What is that all about? You pick up your fork and eat slowly, trying to chew. You must remember not to put so much on your plate if he’s going to be weird about food. His expression softens as you carefully make your way through your breakfast. you note that he cleans his plate. He waits for me to finish, and then he clears your plate.
“You cooked, I’ll clear.”
“That’s very democratic.”
“Yes.” He frowns. “Not your usual style. After I’ve done this, we’ll take a bath.”
“Oh, okay.” Oh … You’d much rather have a shower. Your cell rings, interrupting your reverie. It’s Uraraka.
“Hi.” You wander over to the glass doors of the balcony, away from him.
“Y/n, why didn’t you text last night?” She’s angry.
“I’m sorry, I was overtaken by events.”
“You’re okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Did you?” She’s fishing for information. You roll your eyes at the expectation in her voice.
“Uraraka, I don’t want to talk over the phone.” Eijirou glances up at me.
“You did… I can tell.”
How can she tell? She’s bluffing, and you can’t talk about this. You’ve signed a damned agreement.
“Ura, please.”
“What was it like? Are you okay?”
“I’ve told you I’m okay.”
“Was he gentle?”
“Uraraka, please!” You can’t hide your exasperation.
“Y/n, don’t hold out on me, I’ve been waiting for this day for nearly four years.”
“I’ll see you this evening.” You hang up.
That is going to be one difficult square to circle. She’s so tenacious, and she wants to know – in detail, and you can’t tell her because you’ve signed a – what was it called? NDA. She’ll freak and rightly so. You need a plan. You head back to watch Eijirou move gracefully around his kitchen.
“The NDA, does it cover everything?” you ask tentatively.
“Why?” he turns and gazes at you while putting the Twinings away. You flush.
“Well, I have a few questions, you know, about sex.” You stare down at your fingers. “And I’d like to ask Uraraka.”
“You can ask me.”
“Eijirou, with all due respect.” your voice fades. I can’t ask you. You’ll get your biased, kinky-as-hell, distorted world-view regarding sex. You want an impartial opinion. “It’s just about mechanics. I won’t mention the Red Room of Pain.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“Red Room of Pain? It’s mostly about pleasure, Y/n. Believe me,” he says. “Besides,” his tone is harsher. “Your room-mate is making the beast with two backs with your brother. I’d really rather you didn’t.”
“Does your family know about your… um predilection?”
“No. It’s none of their business.” He saunters toward you until he’s standing in front of you.
“What do you want to know?” he asks, and raising his hand runs his fingers gently down your cheek to your chin, tilting your head back so he can look directly into your eyes. You squirm inwardly. You cannot lie to this man.
“Nothing specific at the moment,” You whisper.
“Well, we can start with – how was last night for you?” His eyes burn, filled with curiosity. He’s anxious to know. Wow.
“Good,” you murmur.
His lips lift slightly.
“Me too,” he murmurs. “I’ve never had vanilla sex before. There’s a lot to be said for it. But then, maybe it’s because it’s with you.” He runs his thumb across your lower lip.
You inhale sharply. Vanilla sex?
“Come, let’s have a bath.” He leans down and kisses you. Your heart leaps and desire pools way down low… way down there.
The bath is a white stone, deep, egg-shaped affair, very designer. Eijirou leans over and fills it from the faucet on the tiled wall. He pours some expensive looking bath oil into the water. It foams as the bath fills and smells of sweet sultry Jasmine. He stands and gazes at you, his eyes dark, then peels his t-shirt off and casts it on the floor.
“Miss L/n.” He holds his hand out.
You’re standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and wary, your arms wrapped around yourself. You step forward while surreptitiously admiring his physique. He is just….so….handsome. Your subconscious swoons and passes out somewhere in the back of your head. You take his hand, and he bids you to step into the bath while you are still wearing his shirt. You do as you’re told. you’ll have to get used to it if I’m going to take him up on his outrageous offer… if! The water is enticingly hot.
“Turn around, face me,” he orders, his voice soft. You do as you’re bid. He’s watching you intently.
“I know that lip is delicious, I can attest to that, but will you stop biting it?” he says through clenched teeth. “You chewing it makes me want to fuck you, and you’re sore, okay?”
You gasp, automatically unlocking your lip, shocked.
“Yeah,” he challenges. “Got the picture.” He glares at you. You nod frantically. Youvhad no idea you could affect him so.
“Good.” He reaches forward and takes your iPod out of the breast pocket, and he puts it by the sink.
“Water and iPods – not a clever combination,” he mutters. He reaches down, grasps the hem of your white shirt, lifts it above your head, and discards it on the floor.
He stands back to gaze at you. You’re naked for heaven’s sake. You flush crimson and stare down at your hands, level with the base of your belly, and you desperately want to disappear into the hot water and foam, but you know he won’t want that.
“Hey,” he summons you. You peek up at him, and his head is cocked to one side. “Y/n, you’re a very beautiful woman, the whole package. Don’t hang your head like you’re ashamed. You have nothing to be ashamed of, and it’s a real joy to stand here and gaze at you.” He takes your chin in his hand and tilts your head up to reach his eyes. They are soft and warm, heated even. Oh your. He’s so close. You could just reach up and touch him.
“You can sit down now.” He halts your scattered thoughts, and you scoot down into the warm, welcoming water. Ooh… it stings. Which takes you by surprise, but it smells heavenly too, and the initial smarting pain soon ebbs away. You lie back and briefly close your eyes, relaxing in the soothing warmth. When you open them, he is gazing down at you.
“Why don’t you join me?” you ask, bravely you think – your voice husky.
“I think I will. Move forward,” he orders.
He strips out of his PJ pants and climbs in behind you. The water rises as he sits and pulls you against his chest. He places his long legs over yours, his knees bent and his ankles level with yours, and he pulls his feet apart, opening your legs. You gasp in surprise. His nose is in your hair and he inhales deeply.
“You smell so good, Y/n.”
A tremor runs through your whole body. You are naked, in a bath with Eijirou Kirishima. He’s naked. If someone had told you that you’d be doing this when you woke up in his hotel suite yesterday, you would not have believed them.
He reaches for a bottle of body wash from the built-in shelf beside the bath and squirts some into his hand. He rubs his hands together, creating a soft, foaming lather, and he closes his hands around your neck and starts to rub the soap into your neck and shoulders, massaging firmly with his long, strong fingers. You groan. His hands on me feel good.
“You like that?” You hear his smile.
“Hmm.”
He moves down your arms, then under them to your underarms washing gently. I’m so glad Uraraka insisted you shave. His hands glide across to your breasts, and you inhale sharply as his fingers encircle them and start kneading gently, taking no prisoners. your body bows instinctively, pushing your breasts into his hands. your nipples are tender. Very tender, no doubt from his less-than-delicate treatment of them last night. He doesn’t linger long and glides his hands down to your stomach and belly. your breathing increases, and your heart is racing. His growing erection presses against your behind. It’s such a turn-on knowing that it’s your body making him feel this way. Ha… not your mind. your subconscious sneers. You shake off the unwelcome thought.
He stops and reaches for a washcloth as I pant against him, wanting… needing. your hands rest on his firm, muscular thighs. Squirting more soap on to the washcloth, he leans down and washes between your legs. You hold your breath. His fingers skillfully stimulating you through the cloth, it’s heavenly, and your hips start moving at their own rhythm, pushing against his hand. As the sensations take over, You tilt your head back, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your mouth slack, and you groan. The pressure is building slowly, inexorably inside me … oh your.
“Feel it, baby,” Eijirou whispers in your ear and very gently grazes your earlobe with his teeth. “Feel it for me.” your legs are pinioned by his to the side of the bath, holding you prisoner, giving him easy access to this most private part of yourself.
“Oh… please,” you whisper. You try to stiffen your legs as your body goes rigid. You are in a sexual thrall to this man, and he doesn’t let you move.
“I think you’re clean enough now,” he murmurs, and he stops. What! No! No! No! your breathing is ragged.
“Why are you stopping?” you gasp.
“Because I have other plans for you Y/n.”
What… oh your… but… I was… that’s not fair.
“Turn around. I need washing, too,” he murmurs.
Oh! Turning to face him, I’m shocked to find he has his erection firmly in his grasp. your mouth drops open.
“I want you to become well acquainted, on first name terms if you will, with your favorite and most cherished part of your body. I’m very attached to this.”
It’s so big and growing. His erection is above the water line, the water lapping at his hips. You glance up at him and come face to face with his wicked grin. He’s enjoying your astounded expression. You realize that you’re staring. You swallow. That was inside you! It doesn’t seem possible. He wants you to touch him. Hmm… okay, bring it on.
You smile at him and reach for the body wash, squirting some soap onto your hand. You do as he’s done, lathering the soap in your hands until they are foamy. You do not take your eyes off his. your lips are parted to accommodate your breathing… very deliberately you gently bite your bottom lip and then run your tongue across it, tracing where your teeth have been. His eyes are serious and dark, and they widen as your tongue skims your lower lip. You reach forward and place one of your hands around him, mirroring how he’s holding himself. His eyes close briefly. Wow… feels much firmer than you expect. You squeeze, and he places his hand over mine.
“Like this,” he whispers, and he moves his hand up and down with a firm grip round your fingers, and your fingers tighten around him. He closes his eyes again, and his breath hitches in his throat. When he opens them again, his gaze is a scorching molten red fire. “That’s right, baby.”
He releases your hand, leaving you to continue alone, and closes his eyes as you move up and down his length. He flexes his hips slightly into your hand and reflexively you grasp him tighter. A low groan escapes from deep within his throat. Fuck your mouth… hmm. You remember him pushing his thumb in your mouth and asking me to suck, hard. His mouth drops open slightly as his breathing increases. You lean forward, while he has his eyes closed, and place your lips around him and tentatively suck, running your tongue over the tip.
“Whoa… Y/n.” His eyes fly open, and you suck harder.
Hmm… he’s soft and hard at once, like steel encased in velvet, and surprisingly tasty – salty and smooth.
“Christ,” he groans, and he closes his eyes again.
Moving down, you push him into your mouth. He groans again. Ha! your inner goddess is thrilled. You can do this. You can fuck him with your mouth. You twirl your tongue around the tip again, and he flexes his hips. His eyes are open now, blistering with heat. His teeth are clenched as he flexes again, and you push him deeper into your mouth, supporting yourself on his thighs. You feel his legs tense beneath your hands. He reaches up and grabs your pigtails and starts to really move.
“Oh… baby… that feels good,” he murmurs. You suck harder, flicking your tongue across the head of his impressive erection. Wrapping your teeth behind your lips, You clamp your mouth around him. His breath hisses between his teeth, and he groans.
“Jesus. How far can you go?” he whispers.
Hmm… you pull him deeper into your mouth so you can feel him at the back of your throat and then to the front again. Your tongue swirls around the end. He’s your very own Eijirou Kirishima flavor popsicle. You suck harder and harder, pushing him deeper and deeper, swirling your tongue round and round. Hmm… you had no idea giving pleasure could be such a turn-on, watching him writhe subtly with carnal longing. your inner goddess is doing the merengue with some salsa moves.
“Y/n, I’m going to come in your mouth,” his breathy tone is warning. “If you don’t want me to, stop now.” He flexes his hips again, his eyes are wide, wary, and filled with salacious need – need for you. Need for your mouth... oh your.
Holy crap. His hands are really gripping your hair. You can do this. You push even harder and, in a moment of extraordinary confidence, You bare your teeth. It tips him over the edge. He cries out and stills, and you can feel warm, salty liquid oozing down your throat. You swallow quickly. Ugh… you’re not sure about this. But one look at him, and he’s come apart in the bath because of me, and you don’t care. You sit back and watch him, a triumphant, gloating smile tugging at the corners of your lips. His breathing is ragged. Opening his eyes, he glares at me.
“Don’t you have a gag reflex?” he asks, astonished. “Christ, Y/n… that was… good, really good, unexpected though.” He frowns. “You know, you never cease to amaze me.”
You smile and consciously bite your lip. He eyes me speculatively.
“Have you done that before?”
“No.” And you can’t help the small tinge of pride in your denial.
“Good,” he says complacently and, You Think, relieved. “Yet another first, Miss L/n.” He looks appraisingly at me. “Well, you get an A in oral skills. Come, let’s go to bed, I owe you an orgasm.”
Orgasm! Another one!
Quickly, he clambers out of the bath, giving you your first full glimpse of the Adonis, divinely formed, that is Eijirou Kirishima. your inner goddess has stopped dancing and is staring too, mouth open and drooling slightly. His erection tamed, but still substantial… wow. He wraps a small towel around his waist, covering the essentials, and holds out a larger fluffy white towel for me. Climbing out of the bath, you take his proffered hand. He wraps you in
the towel, and pulls you into his arms, he kisses you hard, pushing his tongue into your mouth. You long to reach round and embrace him… touch him… but he has your arms trapped in the towel. You’re soon lost in his kiss. He cradles your head, his tongue exploring your mouth, and you get a sense he’s expressing his gratitude – maybe – for your first blowjob? Whoa?
He pulls away, his hands on either side of your face, staring intently into your eyes. He looks lost.
“Say yes,” he whispers fervently.
You frown, not understanding.
“To what?”
“Yes to our arrangement. To being mine. Please,Y /n,” he whispers, emphasizing the last word and your name, pleading. He kisses you again, sweetly, passionately, before he stands back and stares at you, blinking slightly. He takes your hand and leads you back to his bedroom, leaving yoy reeling, so you follow him meekly. Stunned. He really wants this.
In his bedroom, he stares down at you as you both stand by his bed.
“Trust me?” he asks suddenly. You nod, wide-eyed with the sudden realization that you do trust him. What’s he going to do to you now? An electric thrill hums through you.
“Good girl,” he breathes, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. He steps away into his closet and comes back with a silver-Kirishima silk woven tie.
“Knit your hands together in front of you,” he orders as he peels the towel off you and throws it on the floor.
You do as he asks, and he binds your wrists together with his tie, knotting it firmly. His eyes are bright with wild excitement. He tugs at the binding. It’s secure. Some boy scout he must have been to learn these knots. What now? Your pulse has gone through the roof, your heart beating a frantic tattoo. He runs his fingers down your pigtails.
“You look so young with these,” he murmurs and moves forward. Instinctively, you move back until you feel the bed against the back of your knees. He drops his towel, but you can’t take your eyes off his face. His expression is ardent, full of desire.
“Oh, Y/n, what shall I do to you?” he whispers as he lowers you on to the bed, lying beside you, and raising your hands above your head.
“Keep your hands up here, don’t move them, understand?” His eyes burn into yours, and you’re breathless from their intensity. This is not a man I want to cross… ever.
“Answer me,” he demands, his voice soft.
“I won’t move my hands.” You are breathless.
“Good girl,” he murmurs and deliberately licks his lips slowly. You’re mesmerized by his tongue as it sweeps slowly over his upper lip. Catching a glimpse of his sharp teeth. He’s staring into your eyes, watching you, appraising. He leans down and plants a chaste, swift kiss on your lips.
“I’m going to kiss you all over, Miss L/n,” he says softly, and he cups your chin, pushing it up giving him access to your throat. His lips glide down your throat, kissing, sucking, and nipping, to the small dip at the base of your neck. your body leaps to attention… everywhere. your recent bath experience has made your skin hyper-sensitive. your heated blood pools low in your belly, between your legs, right down there. You groan.
You want to touch him. You move your hands and rather awkwardly, given you’re restrained, feel his hair. He stops kissing you and glares up at you, shaking his head from side to side, tutting as he does. He reaches for your hands and places them above your head again.
“Don’t move your hands, or we just have to start all over again,” he scolds me mildly. Oh, he’s such a tease.
“I want to touch you.” your voice is all breathy and out of control.
“I know,” he murmurs. “Keep your hands above your head,” he orders, his voice forceful.
He cups your chin again and starts to kiss your throat as before. Oh… he’s so frustrating. His hands run down your body and over your breasts as he reaches the dip at the base of your neck with his lips. He swirls the tip of his nose around it then begins a very leisurely cruise with his mouth, heading south, following the path of his hands, down your sternum to your breasts. Each one is kissed and nipped gently and your nipples tenderly sucked. Holy crap. your hips start swaying and moving of their own accord, grinding to the rhythm of his mouth on you, and you’re desperately trying to remember to keep your hands above your head.
“Keep still,” he warns, his breath warm against your skin. Reaching your navel, he dips his tongue inside, and then gently grazes your belly with his teeth. your body bows off the bed.
“Hmm. You are so sweet, Miss L/n.” His nose glides along the line between your belly and your pubic hair, biting you gently, teasing you with his tongue. Sitting up suddenly, he kneels at your feet, grasping both your ankles and spreading your legs wide.
Holy shit. He grabs your left foot, bends your knee, and brings your foot up to his mouth. Watching and assessing your every reaction, he tenderly kisses each of your toes then bites each one of them softly on the pads. When he reaches your little toe, he bites harder, and you convulse, whimpering. He glides his tongue up your instep – and you can no longer watch him. It’s too erotic. You’re going to combust. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to absorb and manage all the sensations he’s creating. He kisses your ankle and trails kisses up your calf to your knee, stopping just above. He then starts on your right foot, repeating the whole, seductive, mind-blowing process.
“Oh, please,” You moan as he bites your little toe, the action resonating deep in your belly.
“All good things, Miss L/n,” he breathes.
This time he doesn’t stop at your knee, he continues up the inside of your thigh, pushing your thighs apart as he does. And you know what he’s going to do, and part of you wants to push him off because you’re mortified and embarrassed. He’s going to kiss you there! You know it. And part of you is glorying in the anticipation. He turns to your other knee and kisses his way up your thigh, kissing, licking, sucking, and then he’s between your legs, running his nose up and down your sex, very softly, very gently. You writhe… oh my.
He stops, waiting for you to calm. You do and raise your head to gaze at him, your mouth open as your pounding heart struggles to come out.
“Do you know how intoxicating you smell, Miss L/n?” he murmurs, and keeping his eyes on yours, he pushes his nose into your pubic hair and inhales.
You flush scarlet, everywhere, feeling faint, and you instantly close your eyes. You can’t watch him do that!
He blows gently up the length of your sex. Oh fuck…
“I like this.” He gently tugs at your pubic hair. “Perhaps we’ll keep this.”
“Oh… please,” You beg.
“Hmm, I like it when you beg me, Y/n.”
You groan.
“Tit for tat is not your usual style, Miss L/n,” he whispers as he gently blows up and down me. “But you’ve pleased me today, and you should be rewarded.” You hear the wicked grin in his voice, and while your body is singing from his words, his tongue starts to slowly circle your clitoris as his hands hold down your thighs.
“Aargh!” You moan as your body bows and convulses at the touch of his tongue.
He swirls his tongue round and round, again and again, keeping up the torture. You’re losing all sense of self, every atom of your being concentrating hard on that small, potent powerhouse at the apex of your thighs. your legs go rigid, and he slips his finger inside you, and you hear his growling groan.
“Oh, baby. I love that you’re so wet for me.”
He moves his finger in a wide circle, stretching you, pulling at you, his tongue mirroring his actions, round and round, you groan. It is too much… your body begs for relief, and you can no longer deny it. You let go, losing all cogent thought as your orgasm seizes you, wringing your insides again and again. Holy fuck. You cry out, and the world dips and disappears from view as the force of your climax renders everything null and void.
You are panting and vaguely hear the rip of foil. Very slowly he eases into you and starts to move. Oh… your. The feeling is sore and sweet, and bold and gentle all at once.
“How’s this?” he breathes.
“Fine. Good,” you breathe. And he really starts to move, fast, hard, and large, thrusting into you over and over, implacable, pushing you and pushing you until you’re close to the edge again. You whimper.
“Come for me, baby.” His voice is harsh, hard, raw at your ear, and you explode around him as he pounds rapidly into you.
“Thank fuck,” he whispers, and he thrusts hard once more and groans as he reaches his climax, pressing himself into you. Then he stills, his body rigid.
Collapsing on top of you, you feel his full weight forcing you into the mattress. You pull your tied hands over his neck and hold him the best you can. You know in that moment that you would do anything for this man. You are his. The wonder that he’s introduced you to, it’s beyond anything you could have imagined. And he wants to take it further, so much further, to a place you can’t, in your innocence, even imagine. Oh… what to do?
He leans up on his elbows and stares down at you, red eyes intense.
“See how good we are together,” he murmurs. “If you give yourself to me, it will be so much better. Trust me, Y/n, I can take you places you don’t even know exist.” His words echo your thoughts. He strokes his nose against yours. You are still reeling from your extraordinary physical reaction to him, and you gaze up at him blankly, grasping for a coherent thought.
Suddenly you both become aware of voices in the hall outside his bedroom door. It takes a moment to process what you can hear.
“But if he’s still in bed, then he must be ill. He’s never in bed at this time. Eijirou never sleeps in.”
“Mrs. Kirishima, please.”
“Taylor. You cannot keep me from my son.”
“Mrs. Kirishima, he’s not alone.”
“What do you mean he’s not alone?”
“He has someone with him.”
“ Oh… ” Even you hear the disbelief in her voice.
Eijirou blinks rapidly, staring down at you, wide-eyed with humored horror.
“Shit! It’s my mother.”

Chapter Text

He pulls out of you suddenly. You wince. He sits up on the bed and throws the used condom in a wastebasket.
“Come on, we need to get dressed – that’s if you want to meet my mother.” He grins, leaping up off the bed, and pulls on his jeans, no underwear! You struggle to sit up as you’re still tethered.
“Eijirou - I can’t move.”
His grin widens, and leaning down, he undoes the tie. The woven pattern has made an indented pattern around your wrists.
It’s… sexy. He gazes at you. He’s amused, his eyes dancing with mirth. He kisses your forehead quickly and beams at you.
“Another first,” he acknowledges, but I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“I have no clean clothes in here.” You’re filled with sudden panic, and considering what you’ve just experienced, You’re finding the panic overwhelming. His mother! Holy crap. You have no clean clothes, and she’s practically walked in on you in flagrante delicto. “Perhaps I should stay here.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Eijirou threatens. “You can wear something of mine.” He’s slipped on a white t-shirt and runs his hand through his just-fucked hair. In spite of your anxiety, you lose your train of thought. Will you ever get used to looking at this beautiful man? His beauty is derailing.
“Y/n, you could be wearing a sack and you’d look lovely. Please don’t worry. I’d like you to meet my mother. Get dressed. I’ll just go and calm her down.” His mouth presses into a hard line. “I will expect you in that room in five minutes, otherwise I’ll come and drag you out of here yourself in whatever you’re wearing. your t-shirts are in this drawer. your shirts are in the closet. Help yourself.” He eyes you speculatively for a moment, then leaves the room.
Holy shit. Eijirou’s mother. This is so much more than you bargained for. Perhaps meeting her will help put a little part of the jigsaw in place. Might help you understand why Eijirou is the way he is… Suddenly, you want to meet her. You pull your shirt off the floor, and you’re pleased to discover that it has survived the night well with hardly any creases. You find your blue bra under the bed and dress quickly. But if there’s one thing you hate, it’s not wearing clean panties. You rifle through Eijirou’s chest of drawers and come across his boxer briefs. After pulling on a pair of tight gray Calvin Kleins, you tug on your jeans and your Converse.
Grabbing your jacket, you dash into the bathroom and stare at your too-bright eyes, your flushed face – and your hair! Holy crap… just-fucked pigtails do not suit you either. You hunt in the vanity unit for a brush and find a comb. It will have to do. A ponytail is the only answer. You despair at your clothes. Maybe you should take Eijirou up on his offer of clothes. Your subconscious purses her lips and mouths the word ‘ho’. You ignore her. Struggling into your jacket, pleased that the cuffs cover the tell-tale patterns from his tie, I take a last anxious glance at yourself in the mirror. This will have to do. You make your way into the main living room.
“Here she is.” Eijirou stands from where he’s lounging on the couch.
His expression is warm and appreciative. The black-haired woman beside him turns and beams at you, a full megawatt smile. She stands too. She’s impeccably attired in a camel-colored fine knit sweater dress with matching shoes. She looks groomed, elegant, beautiful, and inside you die a little.
“Mother, this is Y/n L/n. Y/n, this is Akari Kanna-Kirishima .”
Dr. Kanna-Kirishima holds her hand out to you.
“What a pleasure to meet you,” she murmurs. If you’re not mistaken, there is wonder and maybe stunned relief in her voice and a warm glow in her red eyes. You grasp her hand, and you can’t help but smile, returning her warmth.
“Dr. Kanna-Kirishima ,” You murmur.
“Call me Akari,” she grins, and Eijirou frowns. “I am usually Dr. Kanna but for you you can call me Akari.” She winks. “So how did you two meet?” She looks questioningly at Eijirou, unable to hide her curiosity.
“Y/n interviewed me for the student paper at CSU because I’m conferring the degrees there this week.”
Double crap. You’d forgotten that.
“So you are graduating this week?” Akari asks.
“Yes.”
Your cell phone starts ringing. Uaraka, you bet.
“Excuse me.” It’s in the kitchen. You wander over and lean across the breakfast bar, not checking the number.
“Uaraka.”
“Dios mio! Y/n!” Holy crap, it’s Yosetsu. He sounds desperate. “Where are you? I’ve been trying to contact you. I need to see you, to apologize for my behavior on Friday. Why haven’t you returned my calls?”
“Look Yosetsu, now’s not a good time.” You glance anxiously over at Eijirou who’s watching you intently, his face impassive as he murmurs something to his mom. You turn your back to him.
“Where are you? Uaraka is being so evasive,” he whines.
“I’m in Seattle.”
“What are you doing in Seattle? Are you with him?”
“Yosetsu, I’ll call you later. I can’t talk to you now.” You hang up.
You walk as nonchalantly back to Eijirou and his mother. Akari is in full flow.
“… And Midoryia called to say you were around – I haven’t seen you for two weeks, darling.”
“Did he now?” Eijirou murmurs, gazing at you, his expression unreadable.
“I thought we might have lunch together, but I can see you have other plans, and I don’t want to interrupt your day.” She gathers up her long cream coat and turns to him, offering him her cheek. He kisses her briefly, sweetly. She doesn’t touch him.
“I have to drive Y/n back to Portland.”
“Of course, darling. Y/n, it’s been such a pleasure. I do hope we youet again.” She holds her hand out to you, her eyes glowing, and you both shake.
Taylor appears from… where?
“Mrs. Kirishima?” he asks.
“Thank you, Taylor.” He escorts her from the room and through the double doors to the foyer. Taylor was here the whole time? How long has he been here? Where has he been?
Eijirou glares at you.
“So the photographer called?”
Crap.
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“Just to apologize, you know – for Friday.”
Eijirou narrows his eyes.
“I see,” he says simply.
Taylor reappears.
“Mr. Kirishima, there’s an issue with the Darfur shipyount.”
Eijirou nods curtly at him.
“Charlie Tango back at Boeing Field?”
“Yes sir.”
Taylor nods at you.
“Miss L/n.”
You smile tentatively back at him, and he turns and leaves.
“Does he live here? Taylor?”
“Yes.” His tone is clipped. What is his problem?
Eijirou heads over to the kitchen and picks up his BlackBerry, scrolling through some emails, You assume. His mouth presses in a hard line, and he makes a call.
“Ros, what’s the issue?” he snaps. He listens, watching you, red eyes speculative, as you stand in the middle of the huge room wondering what to do with yourself, feeling extraordinarily self-conscious and out of place.
“I’m not having either crew put at risk. No, cancel… We’ll air drop instead… Good.” He hangs up. The warmth in his eyes has disappeared. He looks forbidding, and with one quick glance at you, he heads into his study and returns a moment later.
“This is the contract. Read it, and we’ll discuss it next weekend. May I suggest you do some research, so you know what’s involved.” He pauses. “That’s if you agree, and I really hope you do.” He adds, his tone softer, anxious.
“Research?”
“You’ll be amazed what you can find on the Internet,” he murmurs.
Internet! You don’t have access to a computer, only Uaraka’s laptop, and you couldn’t use Clayton’s, not for this sort of ‘research’ surely?
“What is it?” he asks, cocking his head to one side.
“I don’t have a computer. I’ll see if I can use Uaraka’s laptop.”
He hands you a manila envelope.
“I’m sure I can… err, lend you one. Grab your things, we’ll drive back to Portland and grab some lunch on the way. I need to dress.”
“I’ll just make a call,” You murmur. You just want to hear Uaraka’s voice. He frowns.
“The photographer?” His jaw clenches, and his eyes burn. I blink at him. “I don’t like to share, Miss L/n. Remember that.” His quiet, chilling tone is a warning, and with one long, cold look at you, he heads back to the bedroom.
Holy crap. You just wanted to call Uaraka, you want to call after him, but his sudden aloofness has left you paralyzed. What happened to the generous, relaxed, smiling shark man who was making love to you not half an hour ago?
“Ready?” Eijirou asks as we stand by the double doors to the foyer.
You nod uncertainly. He’s resume his distant, polite, uptight persona, his mask back up and on show. He’s carrying a leather messenger bag. Why does he need that? Perhaps he’s staying in Portland, and then you remember graduation. Oh yes… he’ll be there on Thursday. He’s wearing a black leather jacket. He certainly doesn’t look like the multi-multi millionaire, billionaire, what-ever-aire, in these clothes. He looks like a boy from the wrong side of the tracks, maybe a badly behaved rock star or a catwalk model. You sigh inwardly, wishing you had a tenth of his poise. He’s so calm and controlled. You frown, recalling his outburst about Yosetsu… Well, he seems to be.
Taylor is hovering in the background.
“Tomorrow then,” he says to Taylor who nods.
“Yes sir. Which car are you taking, sir?”
He looks down at you briefly.
“The R8.”
“Safe trip, Mr. Kirishima. Miss L/n.” Taylor looks kindly at you, though perhaps there’s a hint of pity hidden in the depths of his eyes.
No doubt he thinks you’ve succumbed to Mr. Kirishima ’s dubious sexual habits. Not yet, just his exceptional sexual habits, or perhaps sex is like that for everyone. You frown at the
thought. You have no comparison, and you can’t ask Uaraka. That’s something you’re going to have to address with Eijirou. It’s perfectly natural that you should talk to someone – and you can’t talk to him if he is so open one minute and so standoffish the next.
Taylor holds the door open for you both and ushers us through. Eijirou summons the elevator.
“What is it, Y/n?” he asks. How does he know you’re chewing something over in your mind? He reaches up and pulls your chin.
“Stop biting your lip, or I will fuck you in the elevator, and I don’t care who gets in with us.”
You blush, but there’s a hint of a smile around his lips, finally his mood seems to be shifting.
“Eijirou, I have a problem.”
“Oh?” You have his full attention.
The elevator arrives. You walk in, and Eijirou presses the button marked G.
“Well,” You flush. How do you say this? “I need to talk to Uaraka. I have so many questions about sex. If you want to do all these things, how do I know–?” You pause, struggling to find the right words. “I just don’t have any terms of reference.”
He rolls his eyes at you.
“Talk to her if you must.” He sounds exasperated. “Make sure she doesn’t mention anything to Midoryia.”
You bristle at his insinuation. Uaraka isn’t like that.
“She wouldn’t do that, and I wouldn’t tell you anything she tells me about Midoryia – if she were to tell me anything,” You add quickly.
“Well, the difference is that I don’t want to know about his sex life,” Eijirou murmurs dryly. “Midoryia’s a nosy bastard. But only about what we’ve done so far,” he warns. “She’d probably have your balls if she knew what I wanted to do to you,” he adds so softly you’re not sure You’re supposed to hear it.
“Okay,” you agree readily, smiling up at him, relieved. The thought of Uaraka with Eijirou’s balls is not something you want to dwell on.
His lip quirks up at you, and he shakes his head.
“The sooner I have your submission the better, and we can stop all this,” he murmurs.
“Stop all what?”
“You, defying me.” He reaches down and cups your chin and plants a swift, sweet kiss on your lips as the doors to the elevator open. He grabs your hand and leads you into the underground garage.
you, defying him… how?
Beside the elevator, you can see the black 4x4 Audi, but it’s the sleek, black sporty number that flips open and lights up when he points the key fob at it. It’s one of those cars that should have a very leggy blonde, wearing nothing but a sash, sprawled across the hood.
“Nice car,” you murmur dryly.
He glances up and grins.
“I know,” he says, and for a split second, sweet, young, carefree Eijirou is back. It warms your heart. He’s so excited. Boys and their toys. You roll your eyes at him but can’t stifle your smile. He opens the door for you and you climb in. Whoa… it’s low. He moves round the car with easy grace and folds his long frame elegantly in beside you. How does he do that?
“So what sort of car is this?”
“It’s an Audi R8 Spyder. It’s a lovely day, we can take the top down. There’s a baseball cap in there. In fact there should be two.” He points to the glove box. “And sunglasses if you want them.”
He starts the ignition, and the engine roars behind you. He places his bag in the space behind your seats, presses a button, and the roof slowly reclines. With the flick of a switch, Bruce Springsteen surrounds you both.
“Gotta love Bruce,” he grins at you and eases the car out of the parking space, and up the steep ramp where you pause for the barrier.
Then you’re out into the bright Seattle May morning. You reach into the glove box and retrieve the baseball caps. The Mariners. He likes baseball? You pass him a cap, and he puts it on. You pass your ponytail through the back of yours and pull the peak down low.
People stare at you as you both drive through the streets. For a moment, you think it’s at him… and then a very paranoid part thinks everyone is looking at you because they know what you’ve been doing during the last twelve hours, but finally, you realize it’s the car. Eijirou seems oblivious, lost in thought.
The traffic is light and we’re soon on the I-5 heading south, the wind sweeping over our heads. Bruce is singing about being on fire and his desire. How apt. You flush as you listen to the words. Eijirou glances at you. He’s got his Ray-Bans on so you can’t see what he’s thinking. His mouth twitches slightly, and he reaches across and places his hand on your knee, squeezing gently. your breath hitches.
“Hungry?” he asks.
Not for food.
“Not particularly.”
His mouth tightens into that hard line.
“You must eat, Y/n,” he chides. “I know a great place near Olympia. We’ll stop there.” He squeezes your knee again, and then returns his hand to the steering wheel as he puts his foot down on the gas. You’re pressed into the back of your seat. Boy this car can move.
The restaurant is small and intimate, a wooden chalet in the middle of a forest. The décor is rustic: random chairs and tables with gingham tablecloths, wild flowers in little vases. Cuisine Sauvage, it boasts above the door.
“I haven’t been here for a while. We don’t get a choice – they cook whatever they’ve caught or gathered.” He raises his eyebrows in mock horror, and you have to laugh. The waitress takes your drinks order. She flushes when she sees Eijirou, avoiding eye contact with him, hiding under her long blonde bangs. She likes him! It’s not just you!
“Two glasses of the Pinot Grigio,” Eijirou says with a voice of authority. You purse your lips, exasperated.
“What?” he snaps.
“I wanted a Diet Coke,” You whisper.
His gray eyes narrow, and he shakes his head.
“The Pinot Grigio here’s a decent wine, it will go well with whatever we get.” He says patiently.
“Whatever we get?”
“Yes.” He smiles, his dazzling, head cocked to one side and sharp white teeth smile, and your stomach pole vaults over your spleen. You can’t help but reflect his glorious sharp smile back at him.
“My mother liked you,” he says dryly.
“Really?” His words make you flush with pleasure.
“Oh yes. She’s always thought I was gay.”
your mouth drops open, and you remember that question… from the interview. Oh no.
“Why did she think you were gay?” you whisper.
“Because she’s never seen me with a girl.”
“Oh… not even one of the fifteen?”
He smiles.
“You remembered. No, none of the fifteen.”
“Oh.”
“You know, Y/n, it’s been a weekend of firsts for you, too,” he says quietly.
“It has?”
“I’ve never slept with anyone, never had sex in my bed, never flown a girl in Charlie Tango, never introduced a woman to my mother. What are you doing to me?” His eyes burn, their intensity takes your breath away.
The waitress arrives with your glasses of wine, and you immediately take a quick sip. Is he opening up or just making a casual observation?
“I’ve really enjoyed this weekend,” you murmur. He narrows his eyes at you again.
“Stop biting that lip,” he growls. “Me too,” he adds.
“What’s vanilla sex?” you ask, if anything to distract yourself from the intense, burning, sexy look he’s giving you. He laughs.
“Just straightforward sex, Y/n. No toys, no added extras.” He shrugs. “You know… well actually you don’t, but that’s what it means.”
“Oh.” You thought it was chocolate fudge brownie sex that you had, with a cherry on the top. But hey, what do you know?
The waitress brings us soup. You both stare at it rather dubiously.
“Nettle soup,” the waitress informs us before turning and flouncing back into the kitchen. You don’t think she likes to be ignored by Eijirou. You take a tentative taste. It’s delicious. Eijirou and you look up at each other at the same time with relief. You giggle, and he cocks his head to one side.
“That’s a lovely sound,” he murmurs.
“Why have you never had vanilla sex before? Have you always done… err, what you’ve done?” You ask, intrigued.
He nods slowly.
“Sort of.” His voice is wary. He frowns for a moment and seems to be engaged in some kind of internal struggle. Then he glances up, a decision made. “One of my mother’s friends seduced me when I was fifteen.”
“Oh.” Holy shit that’s young!
“She had very particular tastes. I was her submissive for six years.” He shrugs.
“Oh.” your brain has frozen, stunned into inactivity by this admission.
“So I do know what it involves, Y/n.” His eyes glow with insight.
You stare at him, unable to articulate anything – even your subconscious is silent.
“I didn’t really have a run-of-the-mill introduction to sex.”
Curiosity kicks in big time.
“So you never dated anyone at college?”
“No.” He shakes his head to emphasize the point.
The waitress takes your plates, interrupting you for a moment.
“Why?” you ask when she’s gone.
He smiles sardonically.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t want to. She was all I wanted, needed. And besides, she’d have beaten the shit out of you.” He smiles fondly at the youmory.
Oh, this is way too much information – but you want more.
“So if she was a friend of your mother’s, how old was she?”
He smirks.
“Old enough to know better.”
“Do you still see her?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still… err… ?” you flush.
“No.” He shakes his head and smiles indulgently at you. “She’s a very good friend.”
“Oh. Does your mother know?”
He gives you a don’t-be-stupid stare.
“Of course not.”
The waitress returns with venison, but your appetite has vanished. What a revelation. Eijirou the submissive… Holy shit. You take a large slug of Pinot Grigio – he’s right, of course, it’s delicious. Jeez, all these revelations, it’s so much to think about. You need time to process this, when you’re on your own, not when you’re distracted by his presence. He’s so overwhelming, so Alpha Male, and now he’s thrown this bombshell into the equation. He knows what it’s like.
“But it can’t have been full time?” You are confused.
“Well, it was, though I didn’t see her all the time. It was… difficult. After all, I was still at school and then at college. Eat up, Y/n.”
“I’m really not hungry, Eijirou.” You are reeling from your disclosure.
His expression hardens.
“Eat,” he says quietly, too quietly.
You stare at him. This man – sexually abused as an adolescent – his tone is so threatening.
“Give me a moment,” You mutter quietly. He blinks a couple of times.
“Okay,” he murmurs, and he continues with his meal.
This is what it will be like if you sign, him ordering you around. You frown. Do you want this? Reaching for your knife and fork, you tentatively cut into the venison. It’s very tasty.
“Is this what our err… relationship will be like?” I whisper. “You, ordering me around?” You can’t quite bring yourself to look at him.
“Yes,” he murmurs.
“I see.”
“And what’s more, you’ll want me to,” he adds, his voice low.
You sincerely doubt that. You slice another piece of venison, holding it against your mouth.
“It’s a big step,” You murmur and eat.
“It is.” He closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, they are wide and grave. “Y/n, you have to go with your gut. Do the research, read the contract – I’m happy to discuss any aspect. I’ll be in Portland until Friday if you want to talk about it before then.” His words are coming at you in a rush. “Call you – maybe we can have dinner – say, Wednesday? I really want to make this work. In fact, I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want for this to work.”
His burning sincerity, his longing, is reflected in his eyes. This is fundamentally what you don’t grasp. Why you? Why not one of the fifteen? Oh no… Will that be you – a number? Sixteen of many?
“What happened to the fifteen?” You blurt.
He raises his eyebrows in surprise, then looks resigned, shaking his head.
“Various things, but it boils down to,” he pauses, struggling to find the words I think. “Incompatibility.” He shrugs.
“And you think that I might be compatible with you?”
“Yes.”
“So you’re not seeing any of them anymore?”
“No, Y/n, I’m not. I am monogamous in my relationships.”
Oh… this is news.
“I see.”
“Do the research, Y/n.”
You put your knife and fork down. You cannot eat any more.
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to eat?”
You nod. He scowls at you but chooses not to say anything. You breathe a small sigh of relief. Your stomach is churning with all this new information, and You’re feeling a little lightheaded from the wine. You watch as he devours everything on his plate. He eats like a horse. He must work out to stay in such great shape. The memory of the way his PJ’s hung from his hips joyous unbidden to your mind. The image is totally distracting. You squirm uncomfortably. He glances up at you, and you blush.
“I’d give anything to know what you’re thinking right at this moment,” he murmurs. You blush further.
He smiles a wicked smile at you.
“Can I guess,” he teases softly.
“I’m glad you can’t read my mind.”
“Your mind, no, Y/n, but your body – that you’ve got to know quite well since yesterday.” His voice is suggestive. How does he switch so quickly from one mood to the next? He’s so bipolar… It’s hard to keep up.
He motions for the waitress and asks for the check. Once he’s paid, he stands and holds out his hand.
“Come.” Taking your hand in his, he leads you back to the car. This contact, flesh to flesh, it’s what is so unexpected from him, normal, intimate. You can’t reconcile this ordinary, tender gesture with what he wants to do in that room… The Red Room of Pain.
You are quiet on the drive from Olympia to Vancouver, both lost in your own thoughts. When he parks outside your apartment, it’s five in the evening. The lights are on – Uaraka is at home. Packing, no doubt, unless Midoryia is still there. He switches off the engine, and you realize you’re going to have to leave him.
“Do you want to come in?” I ask. You don’t want him to go. You want to prolong your time together.
“No. I have work to do,” he says simply, gazing at you, his expression unfathomable.
You stare down at your hands, as you knot your fingers together. Suddenly you feel emotional. He’s leaving. Reaching over, he takes one of your hands and slowly pulls it to his mouth, tenderly kissing the back of your hand, such an old fashioned, sweet gesture. your heart leaps into your mouth.
“Thank you for this weekend, Y/n. It’s been… the best. Wednesday? I’ll pick you up from work, from wherever?” he says softly.
“Wednesday,” you whisper.
He kisses your hand again and places it back in your lap. He climbs out, coyous round to your side, and opens the passenger door. Why do you feel suddenly upset? A lump forms in your throat. You must not let him see you like this. Fixing a smile on your face, you clamber out of the car and head up the path, knowing you have to face Uaraka, dreading facing Uaraka. You turn and gaze at him midway. Chin up L/n, you chide yourself.
“Oh… by the way, I’m wearing your underwear.” you give him a small smile and pull up the waistband of the boxer briefs that you’re wearing so he can see. Eijirou’s mouth drops open, shocked. What a great reaction. Your mood shifts immediately, and you sashay into the house, part of you wanting to jump and punch the air. YES! your inner goddess is thrilled.
Uaraka is in the living area packing up her books into crates.
“You’re back. Where’s Eijirou? How are you?” Her voice is fevered, anxious, and she bounds up to you, grabbing your shoulders, minutely analyzing your face before you’ve even said hello.
Crap… you have to deal with Uaraka’s persistence and tenacity, and you’re in possession of a legal signed document saying you can’t talk. It’s not a healthy mix.
“Well how was it? I couldn’t stop thinking about you, after Midoryia left, that is.” She grins mischievously.
You can’t help but smile at her concern and her burning curiosity, but suddenly you feel shy. You blush. It was very private. All of it. Seeing and knowing what Eijirou has to hide. But you have to give her some details, because she won’t leave you alone until you do.
“It was good, Uaraka. Very good, you think,” You say quietly, trying to hide your embarrassed tell-all smile.
“You think?”
“I’ve got nothing to compare it to, do I?” you shrug apologetically.
“Did he make you come?”
Holy crap. She’s so blunt. You go scarlet.
“Yes,” you mumble, exasperated.
Uaraka pulls you to the couch and we sit. She clasps your hands.
“That is good.” Uaraka looks at you in disbelief. “It was your first time. Wow, Eijirou must really know what he’s doing.”
Oh Uaraka, if only you knew.
“My first time was horrid,” she continues, making a sad comedy face.
“Oh?” This has you interested, something she’s never divulged before.
“Yes.” She shudders. “He was rough. I wasn’t ready. We were both drunk. You know – typical teenage post-prom disaster. Ugh – it took me months before I decided to have another go. And not with him, the gutless wonder. I was too young. You were right to wait.”
“Uaraka, that sounds awful.”
Uaraka looks wistful.
“Yeah, took almost a year to have my first orgasm through penetrative sex and here you are… first time?”
You nod shyly. Your inner goddess sits in the lotus position looking serene except for the sly, self-congratulatory smile on her face.
“I’m glad you lost it to someone who knows their ass from their elbow.” She winks at you. “So when are you seeing him again?”
“Wednesday. We’re having dinner.”
“So you still like him?”
“Yes. But I don’t know about… the future.”
“Why?”
“He’s complicated, Uaraka. You know – he inhabits a very different world to mine.” Great excuse. Believable too. Much better than – he’s got a Red Room of Pain, and he wants to make you his sex slave.
“Oh please, don’t let this be about money, Y/n. Midoryia said it’s very unusual for Eijirou to date anyone.”
“Did he?” your voice hitches up several octaves.
Too obvious, L/n! your subconscious glares at you, wagging her long skinny finger, then morphs into the scales of justice to remind you he could sue if you disclose too much. Ha… what’s he going to do – take all your money? You must remember to Google ‘penalties for breaching a non-disclosure agreement’ while you’re doing the rest of your ‘research’. It’s like you’ve been given a school assignment. Maybe you’ll be graded. You flush, remembering your A for this morning’s bath experiment.
“Y/n, what is it?”
“I’m just remembering something Eijirou said.”
“You look different,” Uaraka says fondly.
“I feel different. Sore,” you confess.
“Sore?”
“A little.” You flush.
“you too,” she says in mock disgust. “They’re animals.” you both laugh.
“You’re sore?” you exclaim.
“Yes… overuse.”
You giggle.
“Tell me about Midoryia the over-user,” you ask when you’ve stopped giggling. Oh, you can feel yourself relaxing for the first time since you was in line at the bar… before the phone call that started all this – when you were admiring Mr. Kirishima from afar. Happy uncomplicated days.
Uaraka blushes. Oh your… Ochako Uraraka goes all Y/n L/n on you. She gives you a dewy-eyed look. You’ve never seen her react this way to a man before. Your jaw drops to the floor. Where’s Uaraka, what have you done with her?
“Oh, Y/n,” she gushes. “He’s just so… Everything. And when we… oh… really good.” She can hardly string a sentence together she’s got it so bad.
“I think you’re trying to tell me that you like him.”
She nods, grinning like a lunatic.
“And I’m seeing him on Saturday. He’s going to help us move.” She clasps her hands together, leaps up off the couch, and pirouettes to the window. Moving. Crap – you’d forgotten all about that, even with the packing cases surrounding us.
“That’s helpful of him,” you say appreciatively. You can get to know him too. Perhaps he can give you more insight into his strange, disturbing brother.
“So what did you do last night?” you ask. She cocks her head at you and raises her eyebrows in a what-do-think-stupid-look.
“Pretty much what you did, though we had dinner first.” She grins at you. “Are you okay really? You look kind of overwhelmed.”
“I feel overwhelmed. Eijirou is very intense.”
“Yeah, I could see how he could be. But he was good to you?”
“Yes,” you reassure her. “I’m really hungry, shall I cook?”
She nods and picks up two more books to pack.
“What do you want to do with the fourteen thousand dollar books?” she asks.
“I’m going to return them to him.”
“Really?”
“It’s a completely over-the-top gift. I can’t accept it, especially now.” You grin at Uaraka, and she nods.
“I understand. A couple of letters came for you, and Yosetsu as been calling every hour on the hour. He sounded desperate.”
“I’ll call him,” you mutter evasively. If you tell Uaraka about Yosetsu, she’ll have him for breakfast. You collect the letters from the dining table and open them.
“Hey, I have interviews! The week after next, in Seattle, for intern placements!”
“For which publishing house?”
“For both of them!”
“I told you your GPA would open doors, Y/n.”
Uaraka, of course, already has an internship set up at the Seattle Times. Her father knows someone, who knows someone.
“How does Midoryia feel about you going away?” You ask.
Uaraka wanders into the kitchen, and for the first time this evening, she’s disconsolate.
“He’s understanding. Part of me doesn’t want to go, but it’s tempting to lie in the sun for a couple of weeks. Besides, Mom is hanging in there, thinking this will be our last real family holiday before Ethan and I head off into the world of paid employment.”
You have never left continental US. Uaraka is off to Barbados with her parents and her brother Ethan for two whole weeks. You’ll be Careless in your new apartment. That will be weird. Ethan has been traveling the world since he graduated last year. You wonder briefly if you’ll see him before they go on vacation. He’s such a lovely guy. The phone rings, jolting you from your reverie.
“That’ll be Yosetsu.”
You sigh. You know you have to talk to him. You grab the phone.
“Hi.”
“Y/n, you’re back!” Yosetsu shouts his relief at you.
“Obviously.” Sarcasm drips from your voice, and you roll your eyes at the phone.
He’s silent for a moment.
“Can I see you? I’m sorry about Friday night. I was drunk… and you… well. Y/n – please forgive me.”
“Of course, I forgive you Yosetsu. Just don’t do it again. You know I don’t feel like that about you.”
He sighs heavily, sadly.
“I know, Y/n. I just thought, if I kissed you, it might change how you feel.”
“Yosetsu, I love you dearly, you mean so much to me. You’re like the brother I never had. That’s not going to change. You know that.” You hate to let him down, but it’s the truth.
“So you’re with him now?” His tone is full of disdain.
“Yosetsu, I’m not with anybody.”
“But you spent the night with him.”
“That’s none of your business!”
“Is it the money?”
“Yosetsu! How dare you!” You shout, staggered by his audacity.
“Y/n,” he whines and apologizes simultaneously. You cannot deal with his petty jealousy now. You know he’s hurt, but your plate is overflowing dealing with Eijirou Kirishima .
“Maybe we can have a coffee or something tomorrow. I’ll call you.” You are conciliatory. He is your friend, and you’re very fond of him. But right now, you don’t need this.
“Tomorrow then. You’ll call?” The hope in his voice twists your heart.
“Yes… goodnight, Yosetsu.” You hang up, not waiting for his response.
“What was that all about?” Katherine demands, her hands on her hips. You decide honesty is the policy. She’s looking more intractable than ever.
“He made a pass at you on Friday.”
“Yosetsu? And Eijirou Kirishima? Y/n, your pheromones must be working overtime. What was the stupid fool thinking?” She shakes her head in disgust and returns to packing crates.
Forty-five minutes later, you pause your packing for the house specialty, your lasagna. Uaraka opens a bottle of wine, and you sit amongst the boxes eating, quaffing cheap red wine, and watching crap TV. This is normality. It’s so grounding and welcoming after the last forty-eight hours of… madness. You eat your first unhurried, no nagging, peaceful meal in that time. What is it about him and food? Uaraka clears the dishes, and you finish packing up the living room. You are left with the couch, the TV, and the dining table. What more could you need? Just the kitchen and your bedrooms left to pack up, and you have the rest of the week. Result!
The phone rings again. It’s Midoryia. Uaraka winks at you and skips off to her bedroom like she’s fourteen. You know that she should be writing her Valedictorian speech, but it seems Midoryia is more important. What is it about the Kirishima youth? What is it that makes them totally distracting, all-consuming, and irresistible? You take another slug of wine.
You flick through the TV channels, but deep down you know you’re procrastinating. Burning a bright red hole in the side of your purse is that contract. Do you have the strength and the wherewithal to read it tonight?
You put your head in your hands. Yosetsu and Eijirou, they both want something from you. Yosetsu is easy to deal with. But Eijirou… Eijirou takes a whole different league of handling, of understanding. Part of you wants to run and hide. What are you going to do? His burning red eyes and that intense smoldering stare come into your mind’s eye, and your body tightens at the thought. you gasp. He’s not even here, and you’re turned on. It just can’t be about sex, can it? You recall his gentle banter this morning at breakfast, his joy at your delight with the helicopter ride, him playing the piano – the sweet soulful oh-so-sad music.
He’s such a complicated person. And now you have an insight as to why. A young man deprived of his adolescence, sexually abused by some evil Mrs. figure… no wonder he’s old before his time. Your heart fills with sadness at the thought of what he must have been through. You’re too naïve to know exactly what, but the research should shed some light. But do you really want to know? Do you want to explore this world you know nothing about? It’s such a big step.
Your mind drifts to last night, and this morning… and the incredible, sensual sexuality you’ve experienced. Do you want to say goodbye to that? No! Screams your subconscious… your inner goddess nods in silent zen-like agreement with her.
Uaraka wanders back into the living room, grinning from ear to ear. Perhaps she’s in love – you gape at her. She’s never behaved like this.
“Y/n, I’m off to bed. I’m pretty tired.”
“Me too, Uaraka.”
She hugs you.
“I’m glad you’re back in one piece. There’s something about Eijirou,” she adds quietly, apologetically. You give her a small, reassuring smile – all the while thinking… How the hell does she know? This is what will make her a great journalist, her unfaltering intuition.
Collecting your purse, you wander listlessly into your bedroom. You are weary from all your carnal exertions of the last day and from the complete and utter dilemma that you’re faced with. You sit on your bed and gingerly extract the manila envelope from the bag, turning it over and over in your hands. Do you really want to know the extent of Eijirou’s depravity? It’s so daunting. You take a deep breath, and with your heart in your throat, You rip open the envelope.

Chapter Text

There are several papers inside the envelope. You fish them out, your heart still pounding, and you sit back on your bed and begin to read.
CONTRACT
Made this day_________ of 2018 (“The Commencement Date”)
BETWEEN
MR. EIJIROU KIRISHIMA of 301 Escala, Seattle, WA 98889
(“The Dominant”)
MISS Y/N L/N of 1114 SW Green Street, Apartment 7, Haven Heights, Vancouver, WA 98888
(“The Submissive”)
THE PARTIES AGREE AS FOLLOWS
1. The following are the terms of a binding contract between the Dominant and the Submissive.
FUNDAMENTAL TERMS
2. The fundamental purpose of this contract is to allow the Submissive to explore her sensuality and her limits safely, with due respect and regard for her needs, her limits and her wellbeing.
3. The Dominant and the Submissive agree and acknowledge that all that occurs under the terms of this contract will be consensual, confidential, and subject to the agreed limits and safety procedures set out in this contract. Additional limits and safety procedures may be agreed in writing.
4. The Dominant and the Submissive each warrant that they suffer from no sexual, serious, infectious or life-threatening illnesses including but not limited to HIV, Herpes and Hepatitis. If during the Term (as defined below) or any extended term of this contract either party should be diagnosed with or become aware of any such illness he or she undertakes to inform the other immediately and in any event prior to any form of physical contact between the parties.
5. Adherence to the above warranties, agreements and undertakings (and any additional limits and safety procedures agreed under clause 3 above) are fundamental to this contract. Any breach shall render it void with immediate effect and each party agrees to be fully responsible to the other for the consequence of any breach.
6. Everything in this contract must be read and interpreted in the light of the fundamental purpose and the fundamental terms set out in clauses 2-5 above.
ROLES
7. The Dominant shall take responsibility for the wellbeing and the proper training, guidance, and discipline of the Submissive. He shall decide the nature of such training, guidance, and discipline and the time and place of its administration, subject to the agreed terms, limitations and safety procedures set out in this contract or agreed additionally under clause 3 above.
8. If at any time the Dominant should fail to keep to the agreed terms, limitations and safety procedures set out in this contract or agreed additionally under clause 3 above the Submissive is entitled to terminate this contract forthwith and to leave the service of the Dominant without notice.
9. Subject to that proviso and to clauses 2-5 above the Submissive is to serve and obey the Dominant in all things. Subject to the agreed terms, limitations and safety procedures set out in this contract or agreed additionally under clause 3 above she shall without query or hesitation offer the Dominant such pleasure as he may require and she shall accept without query or hesitation his training, guidance and discipline in whatever form it may take.
COMMENCEMENT AND TERM
10. The Dominant and Submissive enter into this contract on The Commencement Date fully aware of its nature and undertake to abide by its conditions without exception.
11. This contract shall be effective for a period of three Calendar Months from The Commencement Date (“The Term”). On the expiry of The Term the parties shall discuss whether this contract and the arrangements they have made under this contract are satisfactory and whether the needs of each party have been met. Either party may propose the extension of this contract subject to adjustments to its terms, or to the arrangements they have made under it. In the absence of agreement to such extension this contract shall terminate and both parties shall be free to resume their lives separately.
AVAILABILITY
12. The Submissive will make herself available to the Dominant from Friday evenings through to Sunday afternoons each week during the Term at times to be specified by the Dominant (“the Allotted Times”). Further allocated time can be mutually agreed on an ad hoc basis.
13. The Dominant reserves the right to dismiss the Submissive from his service at any time and for any reason. The Submissive may request her release at any time, such request to be granted at the discretion of the Dominant subject only to the Submissive’s rights under clauses 2-5 and 8 above.
LOCATION
14. The Submissive will make herself available during the Allotted Times and agreed additional times at locations to be determined by the Dominant. The Dominant will ensure that all travel costs incurred by the Submissive for that purpose are met by the Dominant.
SERVICE PROVISIONS
15. The following service provisions have been discussed and agreed and will be adhered to by both parties during the Term. Both parties accept that certain matters may arise which are not covered by the terms of this contract or the service provisions, or that certain matters may be renegotiated. In such circumstance further clauses may be proposed by way of amendment. Any further clauses or amendments must be agreed, documented and signed by both parties and shall be subject to the fundamental terms set out at clauses 2-5 above.
DOMINANT
15.1 The Dominant shall make the Submissive’s health and safety a priority at all times. The Dominant shall not at any time require, request, allow or demand the Submissive to participate at the hands of the Dominant in the activities detailed in Appendix 2 or in any act that either party deems to be unsafe. The Dominant will not undertake or permit to be undertaken any action which could cause serious injury or any risk to the Submissive’s life. The remaining sub-clauses of this clause 15 are to be read subject to this proviso and to the fundamental matters agreed in clauses 2-5 above.
15.2 The Dominant accepts the Submissive as his, to own, control, dominate and discipline during the Term. The Dominant may use the Submissive’s body at any time during the Allotted Times or any agreed additional times in any manner he deems fit, sexually or otherwise.
15.3 The Dominant shall provide the Submissive with all necessary training and guidance in how to properly serve the Dominant.
15.4 The Dominant shall maintain a stable and safe environment in which the Submissive may perform her duties in service of the Dominant.
15.5 The Dominant may discipline the Submissive as necessary to ensure the Submissive fully appreciates her role of subservience to the Dominant and to discourage unacceptable conduct. The Dominant may flog, spank, whip or corporally punish the Submissive as he sees fit, for purposes of discipline, for his own personal enjoyment, or for any other reason, which he is not obliged to provide.
15.6 In training and in the administration of discipline the Dominant shall ensure that no permanent marks are made upon the Submissive’s body nor any injuries incurred that may require medical attention.
15.7 In training and in the administration of discipline the Dominant shall ensure that the discipline and the instruments used for the purposes of discipline are safe, shall not be used in such a way as to cause serious harm and shall not in any way exceed the limits defined and detailed in this contract.
15.8 In case of illness or injury the Dominant shall care for the Submissive, seeing to her health and safety, encouraging and when necessary ordering medical attention when it is judged necessary by the Dominant.
15.9 The Dominant shall maintain his own good health and seek medical attention when necessary in order to maintain a risk-free environment
15.10 The Dominant shall not loan his Submissive to another Dominant.
15.11 The Dominant may restrain, handcuff, or bind the Submissive at any time during the Allotted Times or any agreed additional times for any reason and for extended periods of time, giving due regard to the health and safety of the Submissive.
15.12 The Dominant will ensure that all equipment used for the purposes of training and discipline shall be maintained in a clean, hygienic and safe state at all times.
SUBMISSIVE
15.13 The Submissive accepts the Dominant as her master, with the understanding that she is now the property of the Dominant, to be dealt with as the Dominant pleases during the Term generally but specifically during the Allotted Times and any additional agreed allotted times.
15.14 The Submissive shall obey the rules (“the Rules”) set out in Appendix 1 to this agreement.
15.15 The Submissive shall serve the Dominant in any way the Dominant sees fit and shall endeavor to please the Dominant at all times to the best of her ability.
15.16 The Submissive shall take all measures necessary to maintain her good health and shall request or seek medical attention whenever it is needed, keeping the Dominant informed at all times of any health issues that may arise.
15.17 The Submissive will ensure that she procures oral contraception and ensure that she takes it as and when prescribed to prevent any pregnancy.
15.18 The Submissive shall accept without question any and all disciplinary actions deemed necessary by the Dominant and remember her status and role in regard to the Dominant at all times.
15.19 The Submissive shall not touch or pleasure herself sexually without permission from the Dominant.
15.20 The Submissive shall submit to any sexual activity demanded by the Dominant and shall do without hesitation or argument.
15.21 The Submissive shall accept whippings, floggings, spankings, caning, paddling or any other discipline the Dominant should decide to administer, without hesitation, enquiry or complaint.
15.22 The Submissive shall not look directly into the eyes of the Dominant except when specifically instructed to do so. The Submissive shall keep her eyes cast down and maintain a quiet and respectful bearing in the presence of the Dominant.
15.23 The Submissive shall always conduct herself in a respectful manner to the Dominant and shall address him only as Sir, Mr. Kirishima, or such other title as the Dominant may direct.
15.24 The Submissive will not touch the Dominant without his express permission to do so.
ACTIVITIES
16. The Submissive shall not participate in activities or any sexual acts that either party deems to be unsafe or any activities detailed in Appendix 2.
17. The Dominant and the Submissive have discussed the activities set out in Appendix 3 and recorded in writing on Appendix 3 their agreement in respect of them.
SAFEWORDS
18. The Dominant and the Submissive recognize that the Dominant may make demands of the Submissive that cannot be met without incurring physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, or other harm at the time the demands are made to the Submissive. In such circumstances related to this, the Submissive may make use of a safeword (“The Safeword (s)”). Two Safewords will be invoked depending on the severity of the demands.
19 The Safeword “Yellow” will be used to bring to the attention of the Dominant that the Submissive is close to her limit of endurance.
20 The Safeword “Red” will be used to bring to the attention of the Dominant that the Submissive cannot tolerate any further demands. When this word is said the Dominant’s action will cease completely with immediate effect.
CONCLUSION
21. We the undersigned have read and understood fully the provisions of this contract. We freely accept the terms of this contract and have acknowledged this by our signatures below.
________________________
The Dominant: Eijirou Kirishima
Date
________________________
The Submissive: Y/n L/n
Date
APPENDIX 1
RULES
Obedience:
The Submissive will obey any instructions given by the Dominant immediately without hesitation or reservation and in an expeditious manner. The Submissive will agree to any sexual activity deemed fit and pleasurable by the Dominant excepting those activities which are outlined in hard limits (Appendix 2). She will do so eagerly and without hesitation.
Sleep:
The Submissive will ensure she achieves a minimum of eight hours sleep a night when she is not with the Dominant.
Food:
The Submissive will eat regularly to maintain her health and wellbeing from a prescribed list of foods (Appendix 4). The Submissive will not snack between meals, with the exception of fruit.
Clothes:
During the Term the Submissive will wear clothing only approved by the Dominant. The Dominant will provide a clothing budget for the Submissive, which the Submissive shall utilize. The Dominant shall accompany the Submissive to purchase clothing on an ad hoc basis. If the Dominant so requires the Submissive shall during the Term wear adornments the Dominant shall require, in the presence of the Dominant and any other time the Dominant deems fit.
Exercise:
The Dominant shall provide the Submissive with a personal trainer four times a week in hour-long sessions at times to be mutually agreed between the personal trainer and the Submissive. The personal trainer will report to the Dominant on the Submissive’s progress.
Personal Hygiene/Beauty:
The Submissive will keep herself clean and shaved and/or waxed at all times. The Submissive will visit a beauty salon of the Dominant’s choosing at times to be decided by the Dominant, and undergo whatever treatments the Dominant sees fit. All costs will be met by the Dominant.
Personal Safety:
The Submissive will not drink to excess, smoke, take recreational drugs or put herself in any unnecessary danger.
Personal Qualities:
The Submissive will not enter into any sexual relations with anyone other than the Dominant. The Submissive will conduct herself in a respectful and modest manner at all times. She must recognize that her behavior is a direct reflection on the Dominant. She shall be held accountable for any misdeeds, wrongdoings and misbehavior committed when not in the presence of the Dominant.
Failure to comply with any of the above will result in immediate punishment, the nature of which shall be determined by the Dominant.
APPENDIX 2
Hard Limits
No acts involving fire play
No acts involving urination or defecation and the products thereof
No acts involving needles, knives, cutting, piercing, or blood
No acts involving gynecological medical instruments
No acts involving children or animals
No acts that will leave any permanent marks on the skin
No acts involving breath control.
No activity that involves the direct contact of electric current (whether alternating or direct), fire or flames to the body.
APPENDIX 3
Soft Limits
To be discussed and agreed between both parties:
Which of the following sexual acts are acceptable to the Submissive?
• Masturbation
• Fellatio
• Cunnilingus
• Vaginal intercourse
• Vaginal fisting
• Anal intercourse
• Anal fisting
Is swallowing semen acceptable to the Submissive?
Is the use of sex toys acceptable to the Submissive?
• Vibrators
• Dildos
• Butt Plugs
• Other
Is Bondage acceptable to the Submissive?
• Hands in front
• Hands behind back
• Ankles
• Knees
• Elbows
• Wrists to ankles
• Spreader bars
• Tied to furniture
• Blindfolding
• Gagging
• Bondage with Rope
• Bondage with Tape
• Bondage with leather cuffs
• Suspension
• Bondage with handcuffs/metal restraints
What is the Submissive’s general attitude about receiving pain? Where 1 is likes intensely and 5 is dislikes intensely: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5
How much pain does the submissive want to receive? Where 1 is none and 5 is severe: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5
Which of the following types of pain/punishment/discipline are acceptable to the Submissive?
• Spanking
• Paddling
• Whipping
• Caning
• Biting
• Nipple clamps
• Genital clamps
• Ice
• Hot wax
• Other types/methods of pain
Holy Fuck. You can’t bring yourself to even consider the food list. You swallow hard, your mouth dry, and read it again.
Your head is buzzing. How can you possibly agree to all this? And apparently it’s for your benefit, to explore your sensuality, your limits – safely – oh please! You scoff angrily. Serve and obey in all things. All Things! You shake your head in disbelief. Actually, doesn’t the marriage ceremony use those words… obey? This throws you. Do couples still say that? Only three months, is that why there have been so many? He doesn’t keep them for long? Or have they had enough after three months? Every weekend? That’s too much. You’ll never see Uraraka or whatever friends you may make at your new job – provided you get one. Perhaps you should have one weekend a month to yourself. Perhaps when you have your period, that sounds… practical. He’s your master! To be dealt with as he pleases! Holy shit.
You shudder at the thought of being flogged or whipped. Spanking probably wouldn’t be so bad, humiliating though. And tied up? Well he did tie your hands together. That was… well it was hot, really hot, so perhaps that won’t be so bad. He won’t loan you to another Dominant – damn right he won’t. That would be totally unacceptable. Why are you even thinking about this?
You can’t look him in the eye. How weird is that? The only way you ever have any chance to see what he’s thinking. Actually, who are you kidding, you never know what he’s thinking, but you like looking into his eyes. He has beautiful eyes – captivating, intelligent, deep and dark, dark with dominant secrets. You recall his burning smokey red hot gaze and press your thighs together, squirming.
And you can’t touch him. Well, no surprise there. And these silly rules… No, no you can’t do this. You put your head in your hands. This is no way to have a relationship. You need some sleep. You’re shattered. All the physical shenanigans you’ve been engaged in over the last twenty-four hours have been, frankly, exhausting. And mentally… oh man, this is so much to take on board. As Yosetsu would say, a real mind-fuck. Perhaps in the morning, this might not read like a bad joke.
You scramble up and change quickly. Perhaps you should borrow Uraraka’s pink flannel pajamas. You want something cuddly and reassuring around you. You head to the bathroom in your t-shirt and sleep shorts and brush your teeth.
You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You can’t seriously be considering this… Your subconscious sounds sane and rational, not her usual snarky self. Your inner goddess is jumping up and down, clapping her hands like a five-year-old. Please, let’s do this… otherwise we’ll end up alone with lots of cats and your classic novels to keep you company.
The only man you’ve ever been attracted to, and he comes with a bloody contract, a flogger, and a whole world of issues. Well, at least you got your way this weekend. Your inner goddess stops jumping and smiles serenely. Oh yes… she mouths, nodding at me smugly. You flush at the memory of his hands and his mouth on you, his body inside yours. Closing your eyes, you feel the familiar delicious pull of your uscles from deep, deep down. You want to do that again and again. Maybe if you just sign up for the sex… would he go with that? You suspect not.
Are you a submissive? Maybe you come across that way. Maybe you misled him in the interview. You’re shy, yes… but submissive? You let Uraraka bully you – is that the same? And those soft limits, jeez. Your mind boggles, but you’re reassured that they are up for discussion.
You wander back to your bedroom. This is too much to think about. You need a clear head – a fresh morning approach to the problem. You put the offending documents back in your satchel. Tomorrow… tomorrow is another day. Clambering into bed, you switch off the light and lie staring up at the ceiling. Oh, you wish you’d never met him. Your inner goddess shakes her head at you. She and you know it’s a lie. You have never felt as alive as you do now.
You close your eyes, and you drift into a heavy sleep with occasional dreams of four-poster beds and shackles and intense red eyes. Uraraka wakes you the next day.
“Y/n, I’ve been calling you. You must have been out cold.”
Your eyes reluctantly open. She’s not just up – she’s been for a run. You glance at your alarm. It’s eight in the morning. Holy Moses, you’ve slept for a solid nine hours.
“What is it?” you mumble sleepily.
“There’s a man here with a delivery for you. You have to sign for it.”
“What?”
“Come on. It’s big. It looks interesting.” She hops from foot to foot excitedly and bounds back into the living area. You clamber out of bed and grab your dressing gown hanging on the back of your door. A smart young man with a ponytail is standing in your living room clasping a large box.
“Hi,” you mumble.
“I’ll make you some tea.” Kate scuttles off to the kitchen.
“Miss L/n?”
And you immediately know whom the parcel is from.
“Yes,” You answer cautiously.
“I have a package for you here, but you have to set it up and show you how to use it.”
“Really? At this time?”
“Only following orders, ma’am.” He smiles in a charming but professional he’s-not-taking-any-crap way.
Did he just call me ma’am? Have you aged ten years overnight? If you have, it’s that contract. Your mouth puckers in disgust.
“Okay, what is it?”
“It’s a MacBook Pro.”
“Of course it is.” You roll your eyes.
“These aren’t available in the shops yet, ma’am, the very latest from Apple.”
How come that does not surprise you? You sigh heavily.
“Just set it up on the dining table over there.”
You wander into the kitchen to join Uraraka.
“What is it?” she says inquisitive, bright eyed and bushy tailed. She’s slept well too.
“It’s a laptop from Eijioru .”
“Why’s he sent you a laptop? You know you can use mine,” she frowns.
Not for what he has in mind.
“Oh, it’s only on loan. He wanted me to try it out.” Your excuse sounds feeble. But Uraraka nods her assent. Oh my… you have hoodwinked Uraraka Ochako. A first. She hands you your tea.
The Mac laptop is sleek and silver and rather beautiful. It has a very large screen. Eijioru Kirishima likes scale – You think of his living area, in fact, his whole apartment.
“It’s got the latest OS and a full suite of programs, plus a one-point-five terabyte hard drive so you’ll have plenty of room, thirty-two gigs of RAM – what are you planning to use it for?
“Uh… email.”
“Email!” he chokes, bemused, raising his eyebrows with a slightly sick look on his face.
“And maybe Internet research?” You shrug apologetically.
He sighs.
“Well, this has full wireless N, and I’ve set it up with your Me account details. This baby is all ready to go, practically anywhere on the planet.” He looks longingly at it.
“Me account?”
“Your new email address.”
You have an email address?
He points to an icon on the screen and continues to talk at you but it’s like white noise. You haven’t got a clue what he’s saying, and in all honestly, You’re not interested. ‘Just tell me how to switch it on and off – I’ll figure out the rest,’ you think. After all, you’ve been using Uraraka’s for four years. Uraraka whistles, impressed when she sees it.
“This is next-generation tech.” She raises her eyebrows at me. “Most women get flowers or maybe jewelry,” she says suggestively, trying to suppress a smile.
You scowl at her but can’t keep a straight face. You both burst into a fit of giggles, and computer man gapes at you both, bemused. He finishes up and asks you to sign the delivery note.
As Uraraka shows him out, you sit with your cup of tea, open the email program, and sitting there waiting for you is an email from Eijirou. Your Heart leaps into your mouth. You have an email from Eijirou Kirishima. Nervously, you open it.

 

———

From: Eijirou Kirishima
Subject: Your New Computer
Date: May 22 2011 23:15
To: Y/n L/n
Dear Miss L/n,
I trust you slept well. I hope that you put this laptop to good use, as discussed.
I look forward to dinner, Wednesday.
Happy to answer any questions before then, via email, should you so desire.
-Eijirou Kirishima
CEO, Crimson Enterprises Holdings Inc.

 

You hit reply.
From: Y/n L/n
Subject: Your New Computer (on loan)
Date: May 23 2011 08:20
To: Eijirou Kirishima
I slept very well thank you – for some strange reason – Sir.
I understood that this computer was on loan, ergo not mine.
-Y/n
Almost instantaneously there is a response.

 

From: Eijirou Kirishima
Subject: Your New Computer (on loan)
Date: May 23 2011 08:22
To: Y/n L/n
The computer is on loan. Indefinitely, Miss L/n.
I note from your tone that you have read the documentation I gave you.
Do you have any questions so far?
-Eijirou Kirishima
CEO, Crimson Enterprises Holdings Inc.

 

You can’t help but grin.
From: Y/n L/n
Subject: Enquiring Minds
Date: May 23 2011 08:25
To: Eijirou Kirishima
I have many questions, but not suitable for email, and some of us have to work for a living.
I do not want or need a computer indefinitely.
Until later, good day. Sir.
-Y/n

 

His reply again is instant, and it makes you smile.
From: Eijirou Kirishima
Subject: Your New Computer (again on loan)
Date: May 23 2011 08:26
To: Y/n L/n
Laters, baby.
PS: I work for a living too.
-Eijirou Kirishima
CEO, Crimson Enterprises Holdings Inc.

———

You shut the computer down, grinning like an idiot. How can you resist playful Eijirou ? You’re going to be late for work. Well, it is your last week – Mr. and Mrs. Clayton will probably cut you some slack. You race into the shower, unable to shake your face-splitting grin. He emailed you. You’re like a small, giddy child. And all the contract angst fades. As you wash your hair, you try and think what you could possibly ask him via email. Surely it’s better to talk these things through. Suppose someone hacked into his account? You flush at the thought.
You dress quickly, shout a hasty goodbye to Uraraka, and you’re off to work your last week at Clayton’s.
Yosetsu’s phones at eleven.
“Hey, are we doing coffee?” He sounds like the old Yosetsu. Yosetsu your friend, not a – what did Eijirou call him? Suitor. Ugh.
“Sure. I’m at work. Can you make it here for say twelve?”
“See you then.”
He hangs up, and you go back to restocking the paintbrushes and thinking about Eijirou Kirishima and his contract.
Yosetsu is punctual. He comes bounding into the shop like a gamboling dark-eyed puppy.
“Y/n,” he smiles his dazzling toothy smile, and you can’t be angry with him anymore.
“Hi Yosetsu.” You hug him. “I’m starving. I’ll just let Mrs. Clayton know I’m going for lunch.”
As you both stroll to the local coffee shop, you slip your arm through Yosetsu’s. You’re so grateful for his – normality. Someone you know and understand.
“Hey Y/n,” he murmurs. “You’ve really forgiven me?”
“Yosetsu, you know I can never stay mad at you for long.”
He grins.
You can’t wait to get home. The lure of emailing Eijirou, and maybe you can begin your research project. Uraraka is out somewhere, so you fire up the new laptop and open your email. Sure enough, there’s an email from Eijirou sitting in the inbox. You’re practically bouncing out of your seat with glee.

——

From: Eijirou Kirishima
Subject: Working for a living
Date: May 23 2011 17:24
To: Y/n L/n
Dear Miss L/n
I do hope you had a good day at work.
-Eijirou Kirishima
CEO, Crimson Enterprises Holdings Inc.

 

You hit reply.
From: Y/n L/n
Subject: Working for living
Date: May 23 2011 17:48
To: Eijirou Kirishima
Sir… I had a very good day at work.Thank you.
-Y/n

 

From: Eijirou Kirishima
Subject: Do The Work!
Date: May 23 2011 17:50
To: Y/n L/n
Miss L/n
Delighted you had a good day.
While you are emailing, you are not researching.
-Eijirou Kirishima
CEO, Crimson Enterprises Holdings Inc.

 

From: Y/n L/n
Subject: Nuisance
Date: May 23 2011 17:53
To: Eijirou Kirishima
Mr. Kirishima, stop emailing me, and I can start my assignment.
I’d like another A.
-Y/n
You hug yourself.

 

From: Eijirou Kirishima
Subject: Impatient
Date: May 23 2011 17:55
To: Y/n L/n
Miss L/n
Stop emailing me – and do your assignment. I’d like to award another A.
The first one was so well deserved. ;)
-Eijirou Kirishima
CEO, Crimson Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Eijioru Kirishima just sent you a winking smiley… Oh my. You fire up Google.

From: Y/n L/n
Subject: Internet Research
Date: May 23 2011 17:59
To: Eijirou Kirishima
Mr. Kirishima
What would you suggest I put into a search engine?
-Y/n

From: Eijioru Kirishima
Subject: Internet Research
Date: May 23 2011 18:02
To: Y/n L/n
Miss L/n
Always start with Wikipedia.
No more emails unless you have questions. Understood?
-Eijioru Kirishima
CEO, Crimson Enterprises Holdings Inc.

 

From: Y/n L/n
Subject: Bossy!
Date: May 23 2011 18:04
To: Eijirou Kirishima
Yes… Sir.You are so bossy.
-Y/n

 

From: Eijirou Kirishima
Subject: In Control
Date: May 23 2011 18:06
To: Y/n L/n
Y/n, you have no idea.
Well, maybe an inkling now.
Do the work.
-Eijirou Kirishima
CEO, Crimson Enterprises Holdings Inc.

 

———

You type Submissive into Wikipedia.
Half an hour later, you feel slight queasy and frankly shocked to your core. Do you really want this stuff in your head? Jeez – is this what he gets up to in the Red Room of Pain? You sit staring at the screen, and part of you, a very moist and integral part of you – that you’ve only become acquainted with very recently, is seriously turned on. Oh my, some of this stuff is HOT. But is it for you? Holy shit… could you do this? You need space. You need to think.

Chapter Text

The following day, you call your mom when you’re home from work. It’s been a relatively peaceful day at the Clayton’s, allowing you far too much time to think. You’re restless, nervous about your showdown with Mr. Control Freak tomorrow, and at the back of your mind, You’re worried that perhaps you’ve been too negative in your response to the contract. Perhaps he’ll call the whole thing off.
Your mom is oozing contrition, desperately sorry not to make your graduation. Bob has twisted some ligament which now he’s hobbling all over the place. Honestly, he’s as accident-prone as you are. He’s expected to make a full recovery, but he has to rest up, and your mother has to wait on him hand and sore foot.
“Y/n honey, I’m so sorry,” your mom whines down the phone.
“Mom, it’s fine. Aizawa will be there.”
“Y/n, you sound distracted – are you okay, baby?”
“Yes, Mom,” Oh if only you knew. There’s an obscenely rich guy you’ve meet and he wants some kind of strange kinky sexual relationship, in which you don’t get a say in things.
“Have you meet someone?”
“No, Mom.” You are so not going there right now.
“Well, darling, I’ll be thinking of you on Thursday. I love you… you know that honey?”
You close your eyes, her precious words give you a warm glow inside.
“Love you too, Mom. Say hi to Bob, and I hope he gets better fast.”
“Will do, honey. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Idly, you switch the mean machine on and fire up the email program.
There’s an email from Eijirou from late last night or very early this morning, depending on your point of view. Your heart rate spikes instantly, and you hear the blood pumping in your ears. Holy crap… perhaps he’s said no – that’s it – maybe he’s canceling dinner. The thought is so painful. You dismiss it quickly and open the email.

 

———

From: Eijirou Kirishima
Subject: Your Issues
Date: May 24 2011 01:27
To: Y/n L/n
Dear Miss L/n
Following your more thorough examination of your issues, may I bring to your attention the definition of submissive.
submissive [suhb-mis-iv] – adjective1. inclined or ready to submit; unresistingly or humbly obedient: submissive servants.2. marked by or indicating submission: a submissive reply.Origin: 1580–90; submiss + -ive Synonyms: 1. tractable, compliant, pliant, ayounable. 2. passive, resigned, patient, docile, tayou, subdued. Antonyms: 1. rebellious, disobedient.Please bear this in mind for our meeting on Wednesday.
Eijirou Kirishima
CEO, Crimson Enterprises Holdings Inc.

 

——

Your initial feeling is one of relief. He’s willing to discuss your issues at least, and he still wants to meet tomorrow. After some thought, you reply.

 

——

From: Y/n L/n
Subject: your Issues… What about Your Issues?
Date: May 24 2011 18:29
To: Eijirou Kirishima
Sir, Please note the date of origin: 1580-90. I would respectfully remind Sir that the year is 2011. We have come a long way since then.
May I offer a definition for you to consider for our meeting:
compromise [kom-pruh-mahrez] - noun 1. a settlement of differences by mutual concessions; an agreement reached by adjustment of conflicting or opposing claims, principles, etc., by reciprocal modification of demands. 2. the result of such a settlement. 3. something intermediate between different things: The split-level is a compromise between a ranch house and a multistoried house. 4. an endangering, esp. of reputation; exposure to danger, suspicion, etc.: a compromise
of one’s integrity.
L/n

 

-

From: Eijirou Kirishima
Subject: What about your Issues?
Date: May 24 2011 18:32
To: Y/n L/n
Good point, well made, as ever, Miss L/n. I will collect you from your apartment at 7:00 tomorrow.
Eijirou Kirishima
CEO, Crimson Enterprises Holdings Inc.

-

From: Y/n L/n
Subject: 2011 – Women can drive
Date: May 24 2011 18:40
To: Eijirou Kirishima
Sir
I have a car. I can drive.
I would prefer to come get you somewhere.
Where shall I get you?
At your hotel at 7:00?
L/n

-

From: Eijirou Kirishima
Subject: Stubborn Young Woman
Date: May 24 2011 18:43
To: Y/n L/n
Dear Miss L/n
I refer to your email dated May 24, 2011 sent at 1:27 and the definition contained therein.
Do you ever think you’ll be able to do what you’re told?
Eijirou Kirishima
CEO, Crimson Enterprises Holdings Inc.

 

-

From: Y/n L/n
Subject: Intractable youn
Date: May 24 2011 18:49
To: Eijirou Kirishima
Mr. Kirishima
I would like to drive.
Please.
L/n

 

-

From: Eijirou Kirishima
Subject: Exasperated youn
Date: May 24 2011 18:52
To: Y/n L/n
Fine.
My hotel at 7:00.
I’ll get you in the Marble Bar.
Eijirou Kirishima
CEO, Crimson Enterprises Holdings Inc.

 

——

He’s even grumpy by email. Doesn’t he understand that you may need to make a quick getaway? Not that your Beetle is quick… but still – you need a means of escape.

——

From: Y/n L/n
Subject: Not So Intractable youn
Date: May 24 2011 18:55
To: Eijirou Kirishima
Thank you.
Y/n x

 

-

From: Eijirou Kirishima
Subject: Exasperating Woyoun
Date: May 24 2011 18:59
To: Y/n L/n
You’re welcome.
Eijirou Kirishima
CEO, Crimson Enterprises Holdings Inc.

 

——

You call Aizawa, who is just about to watch the Sounders play some soccer team from Salt Lake City, so your conversation is mercifully brief. He’s driving down on Thursday for graduation. He wants to take you out afterward for a meal. Your heart swells talking to Aizawa, and a huge lump knots in your throat. He has been your constant support through all mom’s romantic ups and downs. You have a special bond that you treasure. Even though he’s your step dad, he’s always treated you as his own, and you can’t wait to see him.
It’s been too long. His quiet fortitude is what you need now, what you miss. Maybe you can channel your inner peace for Aizawa in your meeting tomorrow.
Uraraka and you concentrate on packing, sharing a bottle of cheap red wine as you do. When you finally go to bed, having almost finished packing your room, you feel calyour. The physical activity of boxing everything up has been a welcome distraction, and you finally tire out. You want a good night’s sleep. You snuggle into your bed and you’re soon fast asleep.
Kaminari is back from Princeton before he sets off for New York to start an internship with a financing company. He follows you round the store all day asking you for a date. It’s annoying.
“Kaminari, for the hundredth time, I have a date this evening.”
“No, you don’t, you’re just saying that to avoid me. You’re always avoiding me.”
Yes… you’d think he’d take the hint.
“Kaminari, I never thought it was a good idea to date the boss’s brother.”
“You’re finishing here on Friday. You’re not working tomorrow.”
“And I’ll be in Seattle as of Saturday and you’ll be in New York soon. We couldn’t get much further apart if we tried. Besides, I do have a date this evening.”
“With Yosetsu?”
“No.”
“Who then?”
“Kaminari…..” your sigh is exasperated. He’s not going to let this go. “Eijirou Kirishima .” You cannot help the annoyance in your voice. But it does the trick. Kaminari’s mouth falls open, and he gapes at you, struck dumb. Humph – even this renders people speechless.
“You have a date with Eijirou Kirishima ,” he says finally, once he’s over the shock. Disbelief is evident in his voice.
“Yes.”
“I see.” Kaminari looks positively crestfallen, stunned even, and a very small part resents that he should find this a surprise. Your inner goddess does too. She makes a very vulgar and unattractive gesture at him with her fingers.
After that, he ignores you, and at five you are out of the door, pronto.
Uraraka has lent you two dresses and two pairs of shoes for tonight and for graduation tomorrow. You wish you could feel more enthused about clothes and make an extra effort, but clothes are just not your thing. What is your thing, Y/n? Eijirou’s softly spoken question haunts you. Shaking your head and endeavoring to quell your nerves, you decide on the plum-colored sheath dress for this evening. It’s demure and vaguely business-like – after all, you are negotiating a contract.
You shower, shave your legs and underarms, wash your hair, and then spend a good half-hour drying it so that it falls in soft waves to your breasts and down your back. You slip a comb into it keeping it on one side off your face and apply mascara and some lip-gloss. You rarely wear make-up – it intimidates you. None of your literary heroines had to deal with make-up – maybe You’d know more about it if they had. You slip on the plum-colored stilettos that match the dress, and You’re eady by six-thirty.
“Well?” You ask Uraraka.
She grins.
“Boy, you scrub up well, Y/n.” She nods with approval. “You look hot.”
“Hot! I’m aiming for demure and business-like.”
“That too, but most of all, hot. The dress really suits you and your coloring. The way it clings.” She smirks.
“Ura!” You scold.
“Just keeping it real, Y/n. The whole package – looks good. Keep the dress. You’ll have him eating out of your hand.”
Your mouth presses in a hard line. Oh, you so have that the wrong way round.
“Wish you luck.”
“You need luck for a date?” Her brow furrows, puzzled.
“Yes, Uraraka.”
“Well then – good luck.” She hugs you, and you are out the front door.
You have to drive in your bare feet – Wanda, your sea-blue Beetle, wasn’t built to be driven by stiletto-wearers. You pull up outside the Heathman at six-fifty-eight precisely and hand your car keys to the valet for parking. He looks askance at your Beetle, but you ignore him. Taking a deep breath and mentally girding your loins, yoy head into the hotel.
Eijirou is leaning casually against the bar, drinking a glass of white wine. He’s dressed in his customary white linen shirt, black jeans, black tie, and black jacket. His hair is as red as ever. You sigh. Of course he looks gorgeous. You stand for a few seconds in the entrance of the bar, gazing at him, admiring the view. He is beyond beautiful. He glances, nervously you think, toward the entrance and stills when he sees you. Blinking a couple of times, he then smiles a slow, lazy, sexy smile that renders you speechless and all molten inside. Making a supreme effort not to bite your lip, You move forward aware that you, Y/n L/n of Clumsyville, are in high stilettos. He walks gracefully over to meet you.
“You look stunning,” he murmurs as he leans down to briefly kiss your cheek. “A dress, Miss L/n. I approve.” Taking your arm, he leads you to a secluded booth and signals for the waiter.
“What would you like to drink?”
Your lips quirk up in a quick, sly smile as you sit and slide into the booth – well, at least he’s asking you.
“I’ll have what you’re having, please.” See! You can play nice and behave yourself. Amused, he orders another glass of Sancerre and slides in opposite you.
“They have an excellent wine cellar here,” he says, cocking his head to one side.
Putting his elbows on the table, he steepled his fingers in front of his beautiful mouth, his eyes alive with some unreadable emotion. And there it is… that familiar pull and charge from him, it connects somewhere deep inside you. You shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny, your heart palpitating. You must keep your cool.
“Are you nervous?” he asks softly.
“Yes.”
He leans forward.
“Me too,” he whispers conspiratorially. Your eyes shoot up to meet his. Him. Nervous. Never. You blink at him, and he smiles his adorable lopsided shark tooth smile at you. The waiter arrives with your wine, a small dish of mixed nuts, and another of olives.
“So, how are we going to do this?” You ask. “Run through your points one by one?”
“Impatient as ever, Miss L/n.”
“Well, I could ask you what you thought of the weather today?”
He smiles, and his long fingers reach down to collect an olive. He pops it in his mouth, and your eyes linger on his mouth, that mouth, that’s been on you… all parts of you. You flush.
“I thought the weather was particularly unexceptional today,” he smirks.
“Are you smirking at me, Mr. Kirishima ?”
“I am, Miss L/n.”
“You know this contract is legally unenforceable.”
“I am fully aware of that, Miss L/n.”
“Were you going to tell me that at any point?”
He frowns at you.
“You’d think I’d coerce you into something you don’t want to do, and then pretend that I have a legal hold over you?”
“Well… yes.”
“You don’t think very highly of me at all, do you?”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“Y/n, it doesn’t matter if it’s legal or not. It represents an arrangement that I would like to make with you – what I would like from you and what you can expect from me. If you don’t like it, then don’t sign. If you do sign, and then decide you don’t like it, there are enough get-out clauses so you can walk away. Even if it were legally binding, do you think I’d drag you through the courts if you did decide to run?”
You take a long draft of your wine. your subconscious taps you hard on the shoulder. You must keep your wits about you. Don’t drink too much.
“Relationships like this are built on honesty and trust,” he continues. “If you don’t trust me– trust me to know how I’m affecting you, how far I can go with you, how far I can take you – if you can’t be honest with me, then we really can’t do this.”
Oh my, you’ve cut to the chase quickly. How far he can take you. Holy shit. What does that mean?
“So it’s quite simple, Y/n. Do you trust me or not?” His eyes are burning, fervent.
“Did you have similar discussions with um… the fifteen?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because they were all established submissives. They knew what they wanted out of a relationship with me and generally what I expected. With them, it was just a question of fine-tuning the soft limits, details like that.”
“Is there a store you go to? Submissives R Us?”
He laughs.
“Not exactly.”
“Then how?”
“Is that what you want to discuss? Or shall we get down to the nitty-gritty? Your issues, as you say.”
You swallow. Do you trust him? Is that what this all comes down to – trust? Surely that should be a two-way thing.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, distracting you from your thoughts.
Oh no… food.
“No.”
“Have you eaten today?”
You stare at him. Honesty… Holy crap, he’s not going to like your answer.
“No.” your voice is small.
He narrows his eyes.
“You have to eat, Y/n. We can eat down here or in your suite. What would you prefer?”
“I think we should stay in public, on neutral ground.”
He smiles sardonically.
“Do you think that would stop you?” he says softly, a sensual warning.
Your eyes widen, and you swallow again.
“I hope so.”
“Come, I have a private dining room booked. No public.” He smiles at you enigmatically and climbs out of the booth, holding his hand out to you.
“Bring your wine,” he murmurs.
Placing your hand in his, you slide out and stand up beside him. He releases you, and his hand reaches for your elbow. He leads you back through the bar and up the grand stairs to a mezzanine floor. A young man in full Heathman livery approaches you both.
“Mr. Kirishima, this way sir.”
You follow him through a plush seating area to an intimate dining room. Just one secluded table. The room is small but sumptuous. Beneath a shimmering chandelier, the table is all starched linen, crystal glasses, silver cutlery, and white rose bouquet. An old-world, sophisticated charm pervades the wood-paneled room. The waiter pulls out your chair, and you sit. He places your napkin in your lap. Eijirou sits opposite you. You peek up at him.
“Don’t bite your lip,” he whispers.
You frown. Damn it. You don’t even know that you’re doing it.
“I’ve ordered already. I hope you don’t mind.”
Frankly, you are relieved, You’re not sure you can make any further decisions.
“No, that’s fine,” you acquiesce.
“It’s good to know that you can be amenable. Now, where were we?”
“The nitty-gritty.” You take another large sip of wine. It really is delicious. Eijirou Kirishima does wine well. I remember the last sip of wine he gave you, in your bed. You blush at the intrusive thought.
“Yes, your issues.” He fishes into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. Your email.
“Clause 2. Agreed. This is for the benefit of us both. I shall redraft.”
You blink at him. Holy shit… you are going to go through each of these points one at a time. You just don’t feel so brave face to face. He looks so earnest. You steel yourself with another sip of your wine. Eijirou continues.
“My sexual health. Well, all of my previous partners have had blood tests, and I have regular tests every six months for all the health risks you mentioned. All my recent tests are
clear. I have never taken drugs. In fact, I’m vehemently anti-drugs. I have a strict no-tolerance policy with regards to drugs for all your employees, and I insist on random drug testing.”
Wow… control freakery gone mad. You blink at him shocked.
“I have never had any blood transfusions. Does that answer your question?”
You nod, impassive.
“Your next point I mentioned earlier. You can walk away any time, Y/n. I won’t stop you. If you go, however – that’s it. Just so you know.”
“Okay,” You answer softly. If you go, that’s it. The thought is surprisingly painful.
The waiter arrives with your first course. How can you possibly eat? Holy Moses – he’s ordered oysters on a bed of ice.
“I hope you like oysters,” Eijirou’s voice is soft.
“I’ve never had one.” Ever.
“Really? Well.” He reaches for one. “All you do is tip and swallow. I think you can manage that.” He gazes at you, and you know what he’s referring to. You blush scarlet. He grins at you, squirts some lemon juice onto his oyster, and then tips it into his mouth.
“Hmm, delicious. Tastes of the sea,” he grins at you. “Go on,” he encourages.
“So, I don’t chew it?”
“No, Y/n, you don’t.” His eyes are alight with humor. He looks so young like this.
You bite your lip, and his expression changes instantly. He looks sternly at you. You reach across and pick up your first ever oyster. Okay… here goes nothing. You squirt some lemon juice on it and tip it up. It slips down your throat, all seawater, salt, the sharp tang of citrus, and fleshiness… ooh. You lick your lips, and he’s watching you intently, his eyes hooded.
“Well?”
“I’ll have another,” You say dryly.
“Good girl,” he says proudly.
“Did you choose these deliberately? Aren’t they known for their aphrodisiac qualities?”
“No, they are the first item on the menu. I don’t need an aphrodisiac near you. I think you know that, and I think you react the sayou way near you,” he says simply. “So where were we?” He glances at your email as you reach for another oyster.
He reacts the same way. You affect him… wow.
“Obey you in all things. Yes, I want you to do that. I need you to do that. Think of it as role-play Y/n.”
“But I’m worried you’ll hurt me.”
“Hurt you how?”
“Physically.” And emotionally.
“Do you really think I would do that? Go beyond any limit you can’t take?”
“You’ve said you’ve hurt someone before.”
“Yes, I have. It was a long time ago.”
“How did you hurt them?”
“I suspended them from your playroom ceiling. In fact, that’s one of your questions. Suspension – that’s what the carabiners are for in the playroom. Rope play. One of the ropes was tied too tightly.”
You hold your hand up begging him to stop.
“I don’t need to know any more. So you won’t suspend me then?”
“Not if you really don’t want to. You can make that a hard limit.”
“Okay.”
“So obeying, do you think you can manage that?”
He stares at you, his crimson eyes intense. The seconds tick by.
“I could try,” you whisper.
“Good.” He smiles. “Now term. One month instead of three is no time at all, especially if you want a weekend away from you each month. I don’t think I’ll be able to stay away from you for that length of time. I can barely manage it now,” he pauses.
He can’t stay away from you? What?
“How about, one day over one weekend per month you get to yourself – but I get a midweek night that week?”
“Okay.”
“And please, let’s try it for three months. If it’s not for you then, you can walk away anytime.”
“Three months?” You’re feeling railroaded. You take another large sip of wine and treat yourself to another oyster. You could learn to like these.
“The ownership thing, that’s just terminology and goes back to the principle of obeying. It’s to get you into the right frame of mind, to understand where I’m coming from. And I want you to know that as soon as you cross your threshold as your submissive, I will do what I like to you. You have to accept that and willingly. That’s why you have to trust you. I will fuck you, any time, any way, I want – anywhere I want. I will discipline you, because you will screw up. I will train you to please you. But I know you’ve not done this before. Initially, we’ll take it slowly, and I will help you. We’ll build up to various scenarios. I want you to trust me, but I know I have to earn your trust, and I will. The “or otherwise” – again it’s to help you get into the mindset, it means anything goes.”
He’s so passionate,it’s memorizing. This is obviously his obsession, the way he is… you can’t take your eyes off him. He really, really wants this. He stops talking and gazes at you.
“Still with you?” he whispers, his voice rich, warm and seductive. He takes a sip of his wine, his penetrating stare holding yours.
The waiter joyous comes to the door, and Eijirou subtly nods permitting the waiter to clear our table.
“Would you like some more wine?”
“I have to drive.”
“Some water then?”
You nod.
“Still or sparkling?”
“Sparkling, please.”
The waiter leaves.
“You’re very quiet,” Eijirou whispers.
“You’re very verbose.”
He smiles.
“Discipline. There’s a very fine line between pleasure and pain Y/n. They are two sides of the same coin, one not existing without the other. I can show you how pleasurable pain can be. You don’t believe you now, but this is what I mean about trust. There will be pain, but nothing that you can’t handle. Again, it comes down to trust. Do you trust me, Y/n?”
Wow!
“Yes, I do.” You respond spontaneously, not thinking… because it’s true – you do trust him.
“Well then,” he looks relieved. “The rest of this stuff is just details.”
“Important details.”
“Okay, let’s talk through those.”
your head is swimming with all his words. You should have brought Uraraka’s minidisc player so you can listen back to this. There is so much information, so much to process. The waiter re-emerges with your entrees: black cod, asparagus, and crushed potatoes with a hollandaise sauce. You have never felt less like food.
“I hope you like fish,” Eijirou says mildly.
You make a stab at your food and take a long drink of your sparkling water. You vehemently wish it was wine.
“The rules. Let’s talk about them. The food is a deal breaker?”
“Yes.”
“Can I modify to say that you will eat at least three youals a day?”
“No.” You are so not backing down on this. No one is going to dictate to you what You eat. How you fuck, yes, but eat… no, no way.
He purses his lips.
“I need to know that you’re not hungry.”
You frown. Why?
“You’ll have to trust me.”
He gazes at you for a moment, and he relaxes.
“Touché, Miss L/n,” he says quietly. “I concede the food and the sleep.”
“Why can’t I look at you?”
“That’s a Dom/sub thing. You’ll get used to it.”
Will you?
“Why can’t I touch you?”
“Because you can’t.”
His mouth sets in a mulish line.
“Is it because of Mrs. Robinson?”
He looks quizzically at you.
“Why would you think that?” And immediately he understands. “You think she traumatized me?”
You nod.
“No Y/n. She’s not the reason. Besides, Mrs. Robinson wouldn’t take any of that shit from me.”
Oh… but you have to. You pout.
“So nothing to do with her.”
“No. And I don’t want you touching yourself, either.”
What? Ah yes, the no masturbation clause.
“Out of curiosity… why?”
“Because I want all your pleasure,” his voice is husky, but determined.
Oh… You have no answer for that. On one level it’s up there with, ‘I want to bite that lip’, on another, it’s so selfish. You frown and take a bite of cod, trying to assess mentally what concessions you’ve gained. The food, the sleep, you can look him in the eye. He’s going to take it slow, and you haven’t discussed soft limits. But you’re not sure you can face that over food.
“I’ve given you a great deal to think about haven’t I?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to go through the soft limits now too?”
“Not over dinner.”
He smiles.
“Squeamish?”
“Something like that.”
“You’ve not eaten very much.”
“I’ve had enough.”
“Three oysters, four bites of cod, and one asparagus stalk, no potatoes, no nuts, no olives, and you’ve not eaten all day. You said I could trust you.”
Jeez. He’s kept an inventory.
“Eijirou, please, it’s not every day I sit through conversations like this.”
“I need you fit and healthy Y/n.”
“I know.”
“And right now, I want to peel you out of that dress.”
You swallow. Peel you out of Uraraka’s dress. You feel the pull deep in your belly. Muscles that You’re now more acquainted with clench at his words. But you can’t have this. His most potent weapon, used against you again. He’s so good at sex – even you’ve figured this out.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” You murmur quietly. “We haven’t had dessert.”
“You want dessert?” he snorts.
“Yes.”
“You could be dessert,” he murmurs suggestively.
“I’m not sure I’m sweet enough.”
“Y/n, you’re deliciously sweet. I know.”
“Eijirou. You use sex as a weapon. It really isn’t fair,” You whisper, staring down at your hands, and then looking directly at him. He raises his eyebrows, surprised, and you see he’s considering your words. He strokes his chin thoughtfully.
“You’re right. I do. In life you use what you know, Y/n. Doesn’t change how much I want you. Here. Now.”
How can he seduce you solely with his voice? You’re panting already – your heated blood rushing through your veins, your nerves tingling.
“I’d like to try something,” he breathes.
You frown. He’s just given you a shit load of ideas to process and now this.
“If you were your sub, you wouldn’t have to think about this. It would be easy.” His voice is soft, seductive. “All those decisions – all the wearying thought processes behind them. The – is this the right thing to do? Should this happen here? Can it happen now? You wouldn’t have to worry about any of that detail. That’s what I’d do as your Dom. And right now, I know you want me, Y/n.”
your frown deepens. How can he tell?
“I can tell because… ”
Holy shit he’s answering your unspoken question. Is he psychic as well?
“… Your body gives you away. You’re pressing your thighs together, you’re flushed, and your breathing has changed.”
O, this is too much.
“How do you know about my thighs?” your voice is low, disbelieving. They’re under the table for heaven’s sake.
“I felt the tablecloth move, and it’s a calculated guess based on years of experience. I’m right aren’t I?”
You flush and stare down at your hands. That’s what you’re hindered by in this gayou of seduction. He’s the only one who knows and understands the rules. I’m just too naïve and inexperienced. your only sphere of reference is Uraraka, and she doesn’t take any shit from men. Your other references are all fictional: Elizabeth Bennett would be outraged, Jane Eyre too frightened, and Tess would succumb, just as you have.
“I haven’t finished your cod.”
“You’d prefer cold cod to you?”
your head jerks up to glare at him, and his crimson eyes burn molten hot lava red, with compelling need.
“I thought you liked me clearing your plate.”
“Right now, Miss L/n, I couldn’t give a fuck about your food.”
“Eijirou. You just don’t fight fair.”
“I know. I never have.”
your inner goddess frowns at you. You can do this, she coaxes – play this sex god at his own gayou. Can you? Okay. What to do? your inexperience is an albatross around your neck. Picking up a spear of asparagus, you gaze at him and bite your lip. Then very slowly put the tip of your cold asparagus in your mouth and suck it.
Eijirou’s eyes widen infinitesimally, but you notice.
“Y/n. What are you doing?”
You bite off the tip.
“Eating your asparagus.”
Eijirou shifts in his seat.
“I think you’re toying with me, Miss L/n.”
You feign innocence.
“I’m just finishing your food, Mr. Kirishima .”
The waiter chooses this moment to knock and, unbidden, enter. He glances briefly at Eijirou, who frowns at him but then nods, so the waiter clears our plates. The waiter’s arrival has broken the spell. And you grasp this precious moment of clarity. You have to go. Your meeting will only end one way if you stay, and you need some boundaries after such an intense
conversation. As much as your body craves his touch, your mind is rebelling. You need some distance to think about all he’s said. You still haven’t made a decision, and his sexual allure and prowess doesn’t make it any easier.
“Would you like some dessert?” Eijirou asks, ever the gentleman, but his eyes still blaze.
“No, thank you. I think I should go.” You stare down at your hands.
“Go?” He can’t hide his surprise.
The waiter leaves hastily.
“Yes.” It’s the right decision. If you stay here, in this room with him, he will fuck you. You stand, purposefully. “We both have the graduation ceremony tomorrow.”
Eijirou stands automatically, revealing years of ingrained civility.
“I don’t want you to go.”
“Please… I have to.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve given you so much to consider… and I need some distance.”
“I could make you stay,” he threatens.
“Yes, you could easily, but I don’t want you to.”
He runs his hand through his soft red hair, regarding you carefully.
“You know, when you fell into my office to interview you, you were all yes sir, no sir. I thought you were a natural born submissive. But quite frankly, Y/n, I’m not sure you have a submissive bone in your delectable body.” He moves slowly toward you as his speaks, his voice tense.
“You may be right,” You breathe.
“I want the chance to explore the possibility that you do,” he murmurs, staring down at you. He reaches up and caresses your face, his thumb tracing your lower lip. “I don’t know any other way, Y/n. This is who I am.”
“I know.”
He leans down to kiss you, but pauses before his lips touch yours, his eyes searching yours, wanting, asking permission. You raise your lips to his, and he kisses you and because you don’t know if you’ll ever kiss him again, You let go – your hands moving of their own accord and twisting into his hair, pulling him to you, your mouth opening, your tongue stroking his. His hand grasps the nape of your neck as he deepens the kiss, responding to your ardor. His other hand slides down your back and flattens at the base of your spine as he pushes you against his body.
“I can’t persuade you to stay?” he breathes between kisses.
“No.”
“Spend the night with me.”
“And not touch you? No.”
He groans.
“You impossible girl.” He pulls back, gazing down at you. “Why do I think you’re telling me goodbye?”
“Because I’m leaving now.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
“Eijirou, I have to think about this. I don’t know if I can have the kind of relationship you want.”
He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against yours, giving you both the opportunity to slow your breathing. After a moment, he kisses your forehead, inhales deeply, his nose in your hair, and then he releases you, stepping back.
“As you wish, Miss L/n,” he says, his face impassive. “I’ll escort you to the lobby.” He holds out his hand. Leaning down, You grab your purse and place your hand in his. Holy crap, this could be it. You follow him down the grand stairs and into the lobby, your scalp prickling, your blood pumping. This could be the last goodbye if you decide to say no. your heart contracts painfully in your chest. What a turnaround. What a difference a moment of clarity can make to a girl.
“Do you have your valet ticket?”
You fish into your clutch purse and hand him the ticket, which he gives to the doorman. You peek up at him as we stand waiting.
“Thank you for dinner,” You murmur.
“It’s a pleasure as always, Miss L/n,” he says politely, though he looks deep in thought, completely distracted.
As you peer up at him, you commit his beautiful profile to your memory. The idea that you might not see him again haunts you, unwelcome and too painful to contemplate. He turns suddenly, staring down at you, his expression intense.
“You’re moving this weekend to Seattle. If you make the right decision, can I see you on Sunday?” He sounds hesitant.
“We’ll see. Maybe,” you breathe. Momentarily, he looks relieved, and then he frowns.
“It’s cooler now, don’t you have a jacket?”
“No.”
He shakes his head in irritation and takes off his jacket.
“Here. I don’t want you catching cold.”
You blink up at him as he holds it open, and as you hold your arms out behind you, You’re reminded of the time in his office when he slipped your coat onto your shoulders – the first time you meet him – and the effect he had on you then. Nothing’s changed, in fact, it’s more intense. His jacket is warm, far too big, and it smells of him. Oh he’s … delicious.
Your car pulls up outside. Eijirou’s mouth drops open.
“That’s what you drive?” He’s appalled. Taking your hand, he leads you outside. The valet jumps out and hands you your keys, and Eijirou coolly palms him some money.
“Is this roadworthy?” He’s glaring at you now.
“Yes.”
“Will it make it to Seattle?”
“Yes. She will.”
“Safely?”
“Yes,” You snap, exasperated. “Okay she’s old. But she’s mine, and she’s roadworthy. your step dad bought it for you.”
“Oh, Y/n, I think we can do better than this.”
“What do you youan?” Realization dawns. “You are not buying me a car.”
He glowers at you, his jaw tense.
“We’ll see,” he says tightly.
He grimaces as he opens the driver’s door and helps you in. You take your shoes off and roll down the window. He’s gazing at you, his expression unfathomable, eyes dark.
“Drive safely,” he says quietly.
“Goodbye, Eijirou.” your voice is hoarse from unbidden, unshed tears – jeez You’re not going to cry. You give him a small smile.
As you drive away, your chest constricts, your tears start to fall, and you choke back a sob. Soon tears are streaming down your face, and you really don’t understand why you’re crying. You were holding your own. He explained everything. He was clear. He wants you, but the truth is, you need more. You need him to want you like you want and need him, and deep down you know that’s not possible. You are just overwhelmed.
You don’t even know how to categorize him. If you do this thing… will he be your boyfriend? Will you be able to introduce him to your friends? Go out to bars, the cinema, bowling even, with him? The truth is, you don’t think you will. He won’t let you touch him and he won’t let you sleep with him. You know you’ve not had these things in your past, but you want them in your future. And that’s not the future he envisages.
What if you do say yes, and in three months’ time he says no, he’s had enough of trying to mold you into something you’re not. How will you feel? You’ll have emotionally invested three months, doing things that you’re not sure you want to do. And if he then says no, agreement over, how could you cope with that level of rejection? Perhaps it’s best to back away now with what self-esteem you have reasonably intact.
But the thought of not seeing him again is agonizing. How has he gotten under your skin so quickly? It can’t just be the sex… can it? You dash the tears from your eyes. you don’t want to examine your feelings for him. You’re frightened what you’ll uncover if you do. What are you going to do?
You park up outside our duplex. No lights on. Uraraka must be out. You’re relieved. You don’t want her to catch you crying again. As you undress, you wake up the mean machine and sitting in your inbox is a message from Eijirou.

 

——

From: Eijirou Kirishima
Subject: Tonight
Date: May 25 2011 22:01
To: Y/n L/n
I don’t understand why you ran this evening. I sincerely hope I answered all your questions to your satisfaction. I know I have given you a great deal to contemplate, and I fervently hope that you will give your proposal your serious consideration. I really want to make this work. We will take it slow.
Trust you.
Eijirou Kirishima
CEO, Crimson Enterprises Holdings Inc.

 

——-

His email makes you weep more. You are not an acquisition. Reading this, you might as well be. You don’t reply. You just don’t know what to say to him. You fumble into your PJs, and wrapping his jacket around you. You climb into bed. As you lie staring into the darkness, you think of all the time he warned you to stay away.
‘Y/n, you should steer clear of me. I’m not the man for you.’
‘I don’t do the girlfriend thing.’
‘I’m not a hearts and flowers kind of guy.’
‘I don’t make love.’‘This is all I know.’
And as you weep into your pillow silently, it’s this last idea you cling to. This is all you know, too. Perhaps together we can chart a new course?