The fact that you have to call places you're applying to sometimes and be like "hey btw I applied. any news?" to supposedly "let them know you're interested" is like... so fucking stupid. like I fucking applied. call me back. I don't need to be the one to fucking take initiative because I took initiative by applying in the first place. you need someone in the job. I applied. call me. or tell me you don't need me. fuck you and die. everywhere that has ever hired anyone, I hope you burn down
Pairing: Stable boy Kirishima x Lady (title) f!Reader, Duke Bakugou x Lady (title) f!Reader
for @myherokatsuki's A Familiar Face Collab, thank you @nocturnalazura for beta reading and @arlertslove @kenzumekodma and @lavenders-fandom-elixirs for brainstorming.
Also blaming @lavenders-fandom-elixirs for rudely enabling this becoming a series /lh /nm
warnings: none for this chapter. MUST BE 18 OR OLDER TO INTERACT.
word count: 2.3k
masterlist || next
Numerous staff members are hard at work, arranging tables, vases, and flowers in preparation for the ball your family is hosting tonight to kick off the season. As the house bustles with activity, you make your way down the stairs, hoping to sneak out without seeing your mother for an early morning ride.
With your lady’s maid, Ochako, behind you, your gloved hand grips the gold of the doorknob, pulling the door open and slipping through it. You quickly make your way to the stables, smiling when you see the black hair blending in with the black hat atop his head.
As you approach him, your eyes roaming down his navy blue stable jacket before making their way to his ruby red eyes. The corners of his lips turn up at you as he runs a brush along the chestnut colored horse.
“My lady, I was not expecting you today,” Kirishima bows at you before going back to his task.
Bowing your head, you match his smile, heart beating fast in your chest, “and why is that? Riding is one of my favorite past times – nothing could keep me away,” you step up to the horse, running your hand along her hair as your lady’s maid silently watches the exchange.
“Not even a certain ball being hosted by your family tonight? I thought you would be getting ready for it.”
With a mischievous grin on your lips, you shake your head, “As long as I am back before dusk, I will have plenty of time.”
Ochako’s timid voice reaches your ears, “my lady, perhaps it would be better to practice the piano or your painting.”
“It will be fine, Ochako, especially with you by my side,” you roll your eyes, petting your mare before looking right at Kirishima. “Eijirou, will you please ready Rosalind with a saddle for a ride?”
Kirishima nods as he steps away to get your preferred saddle, “with pleasure, Lady L/n. And one for Miss Uraraka, as well?”
“If it would not be too much trouble. How many times do I have to tell you to call me by my first name, Eijirou?” You admonish him, stars and mischief dancing in your eyes.
“It would be improper, my lady.”
A pout forms on your face as he secures the saddle to Rosalind, longing present in your heart as you avert your eyes. Once Kirishima finishes with Rosalind, he moves to prepare Cressida for Uraraka.
With Uraraka ready and next to you, you grip the reins in your hands and squeeze each side with your legs, sending Rosalind into a trot. Uraraka’s sigh from behind barely reaches your ears as the hoof beats against the grass. Wind blowing against your face, the corners of your lips turn up in a happy smile as you reflect back on the time you first met Kirishima.
Dew drops hang off the grass outside as soft light just starts to break through the early morning clouds. Mud coats the bottom of your dress as you guide Rosalind into the stables by her reins, jumping as a voice booms out.
“Bit early for a morning ride, is it not?”
Hand resting on your chest, you turn to face the voice, “bit early to be sneaking up on unsuspecting young ladies, is it not?” You bite back, eyes roaming up his body and making a note of his mesmerizing ruby eyes and his raven black hair sticking up in all directions as he removes his cap.
“Touche. Please forgive me,” he holds his gloved hand out for yours, pressing his lips to your hand as you place it in his. “I was in awe of such beauty.”
Heat coats your cheek at his obvious flirting, “are you always this charming with the ladies you meet?”
“Only when they stumble into my stable with my horse’s rein in their hand.”
“Your horse and stable?” You raise a brow and a smirk forms on your lips, “I was unaware you were a l/n. I thought I knew all our family members.”
Kirishima freezes at your words, dropping your hand as he turns rigid and drops into a bow immediately, “my lady, please accept my apologies. I was unaware you were one of the ladies of the house.”
You wave him off, smile on your face, “It is quite alright. You must be the new stable boy, then?”
“Eijirou Kirishima, at your service,” he looks up at you, removing his hat to peer up at you as he remains bent at the waist.
A giggle escapes your lips as you give him your first name, “please stand. You do not have to bow for me.”
He straightens as he gives you a smile, “beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
“Careful, Eijirou. I might think you were after my heart with all that flattery.”
“You are right, my lady. Forgive my forwardness. It was improper. I must attend to my duties, starting with this one,” he pets Rosalind, taking her reins from you and leading her to her stall.
You watch him go for a moment, smile on your face as your heart beats faster in your chest, before turning to sneak back into your estate to be on time for your piano lesson.
Shaking your head, you come back to the present as Rosalind carries you to your favorite pasture. As she slows to a stop with Uraraka next to you, you revel in the peaceful morning, pinks and orange coloring the sky as the sun rises.
“This is my favorite place to be. I would love to build a house here, a bedroom overlooking this hill to wake up to this view every day.”
“It is a beautiful sight but it would be even more beautiful with a husband, no? Maybe a rich duke?” Uraraka speaks wistfully next to you.
Your heart pangs in your chest at her words, “it would not mean as much if I could not share it with the one I love.”
“What does love matter so long as you have a husband to provide for you and take care of you?” Uraraka sighs wistfully, daydreams of an easy life, full of wealth, playing in her head.
“Because I want more than to just be taken care of. I want to be cherished,” you reply solemnly, pulling on Rosalind’s reins to turn her around. “Let us return. If we are gone too long today, mother will notice and have a fit.”
Uraraka’s laugh fills the air at your words before turning Cressida around to ride back to your estate.
Soft music from the string quartet fills the air as soft candlelight from the chandeliers and floor candelabras light up the room. The married ladies of the ton gossip as their daughters either remain by their side or have taken to the dance floor with their gentlemen suitors. Ladies still awaiting their debut to society or ones without a dance partner carefully pick at the food laid out as waiters move about the room, flutes of champagne resting on their silver trays.
A huff escapes your mouth as you fiddle with the tops of your gloves.
“Do not slouch, dear,” comes from your mother’s mouth, causing you to roll your eyes.
Straightening your back to appease her - or, rather, get her off your back - and moving your eyes to her before they roam over the room again, you huff again, “mother, what is the point of this ball? You do not normally start the season. You prefer to end the season.”
“Why must I have a reason to host the first ball, as opposed to the last, dear?”
“Because you seldom do things without reason,” comes your brother’s teasing voice as he walks up to the both of you.
A snicker escapes your mouth at his words, causing your mother to glare at the both of you before putting a peaceful smile on her face, “do you both not think it would be grand to start and end the season? To be the talk of the ton at the beginning and end of the season?”
“If I did not know you so well, mother, I would almost believe that to be the reason,” your brother quips as he presses a kiss to her cheek then yours before taking his place beside you, watching the ball in full swing.
You bite your lip to keep in another snicker, watching curiously as a man - one you have never seen before - with vermillion eyes and slicked-back blonde hair enters the room. A hushed silence falls over the room, only the music fills the air, as dances slow and gossip ceases as the new gentleman. A sneer takes place on his face as he glances around the room, looking for someone.
Confusion colors your face as his eyes meet your mother’s, then your brother’s, before they stop on you. Stomping his way over, he stops in front of your mother with a bow, “Duke Katsuki Bakugou, my lady. Thank you for hosting a lovely ball.” He stands up straight, looking at you before addressing your mother again, “I would love to have a dance with your daughter.”
Your heart beats fast as your chest tightens in panic, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to avoid biting off the layer of skin.
Smile on her face, your mother gives a curtsy back, “it would be her pleasure.”
Placing a smile on your face to hide your indignation, you curtsy and place your hand in his. Bowing slightly, he brings your glove hand to his lips before guiding you to the dance floor. His hand moves to your upper back as your hand rests on his shoulder as the music for the next song starts and you join the rest in a synchronized dance.
As he moves you about the floor, you focus your eyes on his chest, on the pattern of his vest; red and gold swirl together against smooth black silk. Your eyes follow the neckline of the vest, mesmerized by the contrast of rich black against crisp white. A teasing chuckle reaches your ears before you hear the sound of his voice.
“Staring is impolite, you know, my lady,” Bakugou says, smirk playing at the tips of his mouth.
“Forgive me, your grace. I was simply intrigued by the. . . unique design on your vest,” comes your retort, fighting your own smirk from showing.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself, princess.”
Rolling your eyes, silence falls between you as you both move about the room. You stare forward, past Bakugou’s slicked back blonde hair, biting your lip.
“You can ask your question and speak freely with me, you know.”
Your head snaps up, shock coursing through your veins as you gape at him, mouth opening and closing. Stealing your shoulders and snapping your mouth closed, you exhale slowly and look at him curiously, ignoring the way your heart picks up speed.
“You would answer anything I ask?”
“I will.”
You bite your lip nervously, starting off easy, “favorite color?”
“Orange. Followed closely by green.”
A snort falls from your mouth, “that is unexpected. I thought it would have been red.”
“Appearances can be deceiving, princess,” he smirks at you, spinning you softly before pulling you back. “And yours?”
A soft smile crosses your face as you think of a certain stable boy’s magnetic eyes, “ruby red.”
“Aw, am I having an influence on you already, princess?”
A chuckle falls from your lips as you’re brought back to the present, shaking your head slightly, “I am not that easy to sway, your grace.”
The game continues with the two of you giving question after question until the dance ends and you part. You curtsy as he bows before he grabs your hand and presses a kiss to it.
“Until next time, my lady.”
“Your grace,” you call after him, “One more question?” You ask, hopefully.
“One more question,” he nods his head.
“I have heard stories of you declining every advance made on you. Many desire your attention, your hand, but you have never given either to anyone. Why have you deemed me worthy?”
Pursing his lips, he shoves his hands in his pockets, regarding you seriously, “because you are not like other women. Most women flock to me and fawn over me because of my title. You, on the other hand, appear as though you do not care about me, my title, my money. Besides, you are the Queen’s jewel this season and I only take the best.” He walks closer, bringing his lips to your ear and whispering, “you are not the only one who has heard stories, princess.”
Your mouth falls open as he pulls away, winking at you before he departs, “if you’re not finished staring, you might as well fill out your dance card with my name.”
An incredulous scoff falls from your lips as you watch him go, fast beating heart drowning out the noise of the party.
Sunlight filters in through the windows of the drawing room, your back straight as your fingers fly across the piano, soft music filling the room. Your mother works on her embroidery as she listens from the couch, your younger sister, sitting next to you as she diligently watches you play when the doors open and your brother enters the room.
“Y/n!” He calls out and you cease your playing to give him your full attention, “Good news! I have accepted an offer for your hand in marriage.”
Mouth falling open, your chest tightens at the thought of belonging to anyone you do not love, “but the season has just started, brother. Surely it is too soon to accept such offers?”
“Sister, it is for the best for our family and reputation to marry early into the season, especially to such a suitable man,” he claps his hands and the door opens again. “Come, meet your fiancé.”
You wipe your hands on your dress, standing up straight and turn to face the man who is to be your husband, mouth falling open in shock as vermillion eyes and blonde hair invade your line of sight.
“Pleasure to see you again, princess.”
Vocabulary terms for those who
ton = the who's who of British High Society in the late regency era
drawing room = the designated room to accept visitors after breakfast and before lunch
dance card = a booklet with a decorative cover, listing dance titles, composers, and the person with whom the woman intended to dance
General tag list: @chibishae34 @patchworkpuzzle
Secrets I Have Held in my Heart tag list: @lyn-soso
firmly love romance books where the mean angry guy who’s like genuinely violent has a soft spot for his little spitfire wife. like yesss threaten anyone who touches her and prove your devotion through mangled attempts at taking care of her yesssss
I lied this isn’t angst, it turned into hurt/comfort cos it’s Bokuto and I love him too much :((( but you might be able to detect where this fic started 👀 enjoy some snapshots of your friendship with Bokuto | wc: 2.4k
“Hey, hey, hey! The name’s Bokuto! You’re new here, right?” His grin is bright like the sun, hair wild like vines climbing up a trellis, and his voice booms like thunder. He’s overflowing with energy, and you can’t help but feel at ease.
“Yeah, I am. Nice to meet you.” Apparently, there’s no need for formalities. The boy slings an arm around your shoulders and begins to introduce you to his team, beaming all the while and it’s so infectious and warm, a smile cracks over your own face.
“Will you stay and watch us practice?” he asks excitedly. You don’t really want to sit in a gym of sweaty boys and run the risk of being hit in the face by a stray volleyball. But he’s shining and vivid and without realising, you tell him yes.
“Awesome!” He begins to turn away, but whips back quickly. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” You laugh, taking a seat on one of the folding seats set out on the sidelines.
“Y/n.”
“Y/n,” he repeats, testing the weight of it on his tongue. “Keep your eyes on me, y/n!” He winks, jogging onto the court with a whoop, and your chest flutters with warmth.
“Didja see me out there?” he asks, vibrating with post-match excitement, though you don’t think he’s stopped buzzing since he woke up from his nap on the bus.
“You guys were amazing!” you tell him happily. “I’m so proud of you!”
“What did you think of my winning spike? Pretty damn cool, right?” If Bokuto had a tail, it’d be wagging right now. It’s insane how he still has so much energy after playing 5 whole sets. The rest of the team is catching their breath and rehydrating, but their captain? He’s animatedly recounting the match to you as if you didn’t just sit and watch the whole thing.
“Very cool, Bo,” you tell him, rolling your eyes fondly. He cheers, wrapping sweaty arms around you and crushing you in a hug that lifts you off your feet. You squeak, heart thudding erratically and your cheeks heat up as if you were the one who was rushing around the court. When he finally puts you down, you’re disoriented.
“Couldn’t have done it without my good luck charm.”
“What charm?” You raise an eyebrow in question.
“You.” His smile is sweet and youthful. “Don’t ever stop being my friend, okay?”
“Okay.” Is that all you’ll ever be?
“You’re one of my best friends,” he mumbles tiredly. “Of course I’m gonna miss you.” Even his hair is limp as his entire body sags sadly at the thought of having to leave you to pursue his dream. His head is heavy when it slumps against your shoulder, gelled strands of hair tickling at your skin. And you know you shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t, but your heart soars when he nuzzles against you.
“I’ll miss you too, Bo. But it’s okay, you won’t be gone forever.”
“But what if I am? What if we never get to see each other again?” He sits up, bright, golden eyes staring into yours, naked with emotion. “It’ll be my fault cos I’m the one that’s leaving.”
“That won’t happen.”
“But what if-“
“Bokuto.” You whisper so quietly, so gently. “Don’t worry. We’ll be okay.” Without warning, he launches himself at you, enveloping you in his big arms and his endless warmth. He hugs you tightly, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.
“Don’t let go. Please.”
So you hold him. All night, your arms are secured around him, holding him tight to your beating heart as he sleeps. Greedily, you soak in every second, determined not to succumb to exhaustion so that you can sear this feeling into your heart forever. Because what if he’s right? What if you never see him again?
Since the day that Bokuto left, there’s been a pain in your chest, right where your heart should be. The ache is your companion, your only friend, though dubbing it so is quite generous. It’s tucked away somewhere between your heart and ribs, nestled amongst your organs, made its home in your blood, and every so often it throbs in greeting.
It’s like a weed, rearing it’s head through the cracks in your chest, red through red. Persistent. Your very own Hydra that doesn’t stop regrowing.
The fissures themselves are born from their hammers, tiny little things that they take turns using to tap against the fragile porcelain of your heart.
Tap. Crack. Tap. Crack. Tap tap. Crack crack crack.
Chipping away without rhyme or reason, glossing over the droplets of blood that trickle and feed the ache’s deep, deep roots.
They must know what this does to you. What their endearments and gooey smiles and intertwined fingers and lips do to you. How every flushed cheek and sparkling eye awakens the ache, crying like a newborn in a crib fashioned from your skeleton. It insists that you acknowledge it right fucking now or you’ll suffocate if you don’t.
When? It asks, tugging at your sleeves like a toddler. When do we get to have that? It throws a tantrum, screaming and complaining about it’s not fair and what do they have that I don’t and why isn’t he here, where is he.
You have to ignore it before it can squeeze at your lungs.
And just as your breaths turn ragged and sharp, you see him.
He’s so far away. Something lies between you, a chasm or an ocean, you’re not quite sure which since it yawns on endlessly. Far and wide, in every direction and still so far beyond, it separates you from him. Though he’s miles and miles away, you see him clearly and for the first time in eons, your heart sprouts wings and flutters.
This feeling is familiar. Like home. It feels nice. Warm. Good. You don’t want to let go of it again.
So you start to close the distance. Hiking, climbing, swimming and hiking again, over rocks and rivers, through tangled forests and scorching fires. But just as his figure becomes clearer, larger, he shrinks again.
And again.
And again.
You don’t understand. He’s right there. He’s been there the whole time.
But he’s too far away.
Yet still so close.
Too impossible.
A mirage, shimmering and dancing in and out of reach.
Blink and he fades. Blink and he reappears.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
“They look so happy together,” he says, grinning as he watches his best friend kiss his new wife. Longing simmers in his eyes, threatening to push down the corners of his smile, one that you’ve felt before, plastered over your own cheeks.
“They do.” He sighs, blinking rapidly before he turns back to your table, fiddling with the rim of his glass. “We should go congratulate them, Bo.”
“Yeah. Yeah, we should.” Defeat smudges his words, but he downs his drink and stands, straightening his tie and collar and sucking in a deep breath. “How do I look?”
“Fine.” Devastatingly handsome.
“Just fine?” he pouts, and you grin, standing to go with him. You tighten his tie a little, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulders.
“Yep.” I could look at you forever. “How about me?”
“You look good,” he says, after giving you a once over. It takes effort not to deflate. Don’t you think I’m beautiful, Bo? The way that you are to me?
“Come on then.”
“Do you think there’s someone out there for me?” You wonder quietly. Bokuto tilts his head to the side like a curious puppy, thick brows knit together in thought. He sees the look in your eyes, so distant and lonely. It makes his chest ache.
“There’s someone for everyone, isn’t there?” he says. “There has to be.” His words don’t comfort you in the slightest, but he sounds so hopeful when he says them. You turn to him and smile, a brittle thing that hides just enough. He never looks hard enough to see behind it anyway. Just not for me, you finish silently.
“That sounds nice,” you say, even though your chest is constricting. Tell me that we’re supposed to be together. Say it. Please.
“Yeah. It does.”
“Have you ever been in love?” he asks, on a night where the moon is full and the air is crisp in your lungs. You’re reluctant to answer but you do, because it’s Bokuto. You do, because it’s been too long since you’ve talked like this and you’ve fucking missed him.
“Yeah. I have.” A beat, and then, “I am.”
“You are?“ He sounds shocked. “And you never told me?”
“You never asked,” you say simply, and he hums, mulling something over before he speaks again.
“Who is it? Do I know them?” You tug at a loose thread on your hoodie, chewing at your lip before you slowly give an answer.
“You do.”
“Oh. Is that why you didn’t tell me?” he prods.
“I guess so.” Bokuto is quiet, rolling over to lay on his back and stare at the clear sky. “I’ve been in love before too,” he murmurs.
“You have? With who?” You pretend that your organs aren’t currently tying themselves into achy little knots.
“Someone special.” A soft smile curves his lips. “They’re perfect. But… I didn’t think they could ever love me, so I let them go. But as long as they’re happy, I can live with it.” He turns to look at you, eyes shimmering like two tiny pools of honey set into his skull, and you see the very thing that greets you in the mirror each morning.
“Did you ever tell them?” He shakes his head.
“I couldn’t. They’d turn me away, and I know they’d be so nice about it too.”
“How do you know that without telling them?” He shakes his head again but doesn’t answer, instead turning your question back on you.
“Have you ever told them?”
“No.”
“Why not?” You sigh and stare at your lap, blinking away the tears that are beginning to gather in your waterline.
“Same reason as you, actually. I know he could never love me like that.”
“How do you know that without telling him?” he echoes with a small smirk, and you mentally curse him for hanging out with Kuroo so much.
“Cos it’s me.” His smirk fades into something serious, eyes hardening to shards of topaz.
“What’s that supposed to mean.”
“I’m not the sort of person people fall in love with.” Bokuto sits up, anger quickly bleeding into his tone.
“That’s not fucking true,” he says, spitting the words out like they’re made of acid.
“Isn’t it?” you say, not realising the true meaning behind his words. But you don’t really care, because there’s a lump in your throat that’s turned to stone from being kept inside you for so long. “I’ve got nothing to offer him! He hasn’t even noticed that I’m fucking head over heels for him, I’m practically invisible to him! I shouldn’t be surprised! No one has ever wanted me like that, and no one ever will!”
“I did!” he roars, and the world stands still. Tears soak your cheeks, dampening your jeans as you stare at him. Softly, he repeats himself. “I did.”
“Bo, what-“
“I loved you. All these years, I’ve been so, so in love with you. I thought that you were so perfect, and everything felt so right when I was with you, I couldn’t help it.” He pauses, breathing shakily, his voice wobbly with emotion. “But the longer I stayed quiet, the easier it was to convince myself that you would never feel the same. So I had to get over it. Over you.”
His eyes are glistening with tears, spilling over onto his rosy cheeks and you laugh bitterly.
“You’re a hypocrite,” you sneer. “Don’t you dare blow up at me when you’ve just told me the exact same thing! And guess what Bo? You’re fucking wrong too!”
He’s taken aback by the venom hissing through your teeth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You fucking idiot, Bokuto, are you blind? I’m in love with you! It’s always been you!” Everything’s a silent mess as you glare at him. You’re crying, Bokuto’s crying, but you’re both simultaneously angry and relieved. You want to punch him and kiss him, scream at him and whisper that you want him, burn him and soothe him, all in the same breath.
But there’s been enough aching to last you 6 lifetimes, enough pain to fill an ocean, so you choose this moment to be a complete idiot and give him an ultimatum that could destroy you.
“If you’re still in love with me, you’ve got 5 seconds to kiss me or we’ll pretend that tonight never happened. One.” Bokuto stares, jarred first by your confession, and now by your ultimatum.
“Two.” He’s breathing hard from the waterfall of emotions that have coursed through him tonight and he can’t think.
“Three.” Why can’t he think?
“Four.” You sound like you’re about to cry, why do you sound like that?
“Fi-“
You’re cut off by something clumsy and a little chapped, salty and damp. You can’t tell whose tears you can taste, but holy fuck, Bokuto’s kissing you. He’s kissing you. And you’re trembling as you reach up to cup his cheeks, warm and sticky with tears, and your heart damn near bursts as you press closer.
You kiss him harder, and as first kisses go, it’s not all that you dreamt it would be. It’s a little gross if you’re honest, and you’re sure your nose is running a little bit from crying, but you can’t bring yourself to care right now. Why would you, when the world is in your palms, with the ocean on his cheeks and sunshine in his eyes.
“I’m a liar. I’m such a fucking liar, I never stopped loving you, how could I?” he whispers as he pulls away just a little. “I tried so hard but I just couldn’t.” You fingers find their way into his mix rubbing gently at his scalp as you fit back together again.
“It’s okay.” It’s not. You can’t help but think that so much time has been spent wallowing in loneliness, when you could’ve been in each other's arms instead. You’ve been robbed of all that time.
“It’s okay,” you say again, and it is. One small moment of his love is more precious than having never felt it at all. Eternity stretches on before you, and you swear to yourself that you’ll cherish it until your dying breath.
“It’s okay.” Your breath shakes and tickles his damp skin when you whisper. “I’m yours, Koutaro. I’ve always been yours.”
Notes: wrote this while on zoom in class, but it’s okay I swear I was still paying attention to what was being said. Please be gentle, this is the first thing I’m writing in like almost a month of not posting anything substantial. Kuroo brain rot is always on my mind. Anyways, I’m picking up writing and content again so I’ll be working away on stuff again soon. Thanks to everyone who has supported me even when I was feeling extremely insecure and down about my writing.
**Reposting, sorry for those who are tagged, tumblr is being difficult atm**
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