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The room looked like the set of a gothic dating show, if the budget had been absurdly high and the lighting guy had a raging boner for red. Crimson velvet curtains hung from floor to ceiling, casting a deep glow on everything, like the world was dipped in blood and drama. Candles flickered from every table. Actual candles. No electricity. No LEDs. Just open flames and immortality. Very on-brand.
Bakugo hated it already.
He adjusted the collar of his black shirt, rolled his eyes at the violin music playing softly in the background, and tried not to think about how stupid he looked in his “dark and seductive” outfit. He wore it because Mina told him he needed to “at least pretend to be a snack,” and he didn’t want to argue with someone who’d once broken into a vampire nightclub with glitter bombs and lived to tell the tale.
His name tag read "Bakugo." He was supposed to keep it mysterious, apparently.
He leaned back in the cushioned chair, arms crossed, and glared across the table at his first vampire of the night.
Tall, pale, sexy in that “I died in a European war and haven’t blinked since” kind of way.
“You seem tense,” the vampire purred, swirling the wine glass in his hand. It wasn’t wine. It was blood. They served wine glasses of blood like this was normal, like it was a goddamn wine tasting, except instead of “oaky finish,” they’d say shit like, “a hint of A-negative with strong emotional trauma.”
“I’m fine,” Bakugo said shortly.
“You don’t smell fine.”
Bakugo’s lips twitched. “You smell like someone sucked off a pine tree.”
The vampire laughed, which was irritating. Apparently, vampires found insults charming, or maybe just Bakugo’s specific brand of pissed-off energy was their idea of foreplay.
Thirty minutes per table. Thirty minutes to figure out if he wanted to let one of these night creepers fuck him and maybe bite him a little. Maybe bite him a lot.
It wasn’t like he was looking for a relationship. Shit no. He didn’t have time for that. Between work and trying not to explode with boredom, the idea of being someone’s eternal “blood soulmate” made him want to choke on his own spit, but he had needs. Needs that normal humans couldn’t always meet without things getting weird, and apparently, vampires were into that.
“Why are you here, Bakugo?” The vampire asked, leaning forward, eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. “Truly.”
Bakugo shrugged. “Heard you guys were good at sex and pain. Figured I’d see what the hype’s about.”
The vampire blinked slowly, then licked his lips. “You’re honest.”
“You’re still wearing a cape in 2025.”
Their thirty minutes ended with the vampire asking if Bakugo wanted to get a drink later, blood for him, whiskey for Bakugo, but he declined with a sharp shake of his head.
Next table. Next vampire. Same setup. New bloodsucker.
This one was shorter, had a beauty mark on his neck and eyes that looked half-dead, half-drunk. He grinned like he already knew Bakugo wouldn’t like him.
“I can smell the fire on you,” he said.
Bakugo sipped his water and stared. “That supposed to turn me on?”
“Does it?”
“No.”
Liar.
He was kind of enjoying himself. Not the conversation, no, but the absurdity. The entire circus of it all. Vampires trying to flirt like they weren’t technically corpses. Humans pretending they weren’t a little turned on by that fact. It was like a horny haunted house with better snacks.
He didn’t plan on saying yes to anyone tonight, but maybe, maybe if one of them was hot, smart enough, and mean enough.
Bakugo wanted someone who could shut him up with their teeth.
And hell, if he had to speed-date his way through a dozen immortal freaks to find that, he’d do it.
He sighed and leaned forward, cracking his knuckles on the table.
“Alright, Nosferatu. Impress me.”
The next vampire looked like a runway model who’d overdosed on melancholia and French poetry. She had long black hair, a choker with a little glass vial of blood hanging from it, and eyes that screamed “I wrote fanfiction before fanfiction was legal.”
“You carry so much rage,” she said, voice slow like she wanted each syllable to stroke his soul.
Bakugo stared at her. “Thanks?”
“I could bottle it. Paint with it.”
“What?”
She leaned forward, placing pale fingers on the table. “Do you know how rare that is? To find someone who burns like you in a world of cold?”
“Do you say this to everyone, or am I special?”
“I wrote a poem about you in my mind just now.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
He stood up before the bell even rang. “Nope. Next. Bring on Dracula Number Four.”
He moved tables without waiting for the host, earning himself a glare and a muttered “rude” from a nearby human in a mesh shirt. Bakugo gave him a middle finger and kept walking.
Next vampire was built like a statue and had one of those accents that made it sound like he’d witnessed every war personally. His suit probably cost more than Bakugo’s rent. His nails were polished. His teeth, even while smiling, were sharp.
“You are strong,” the vampire said, eyes raking over him in a way that was not entirely appropriate for public spaces.
Bakugo narrowed his eyes. “Okay.”
“I enjoy breaking strong things.”
Bakugo raised an eyebrow. “That supposed to make me wet?”
The vampire’s smile widened. “Does it?”
Bakugo leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Listen, Vlad the Thirsty, I like pain, not power play. If I wanted to be psychologically dismantled, I’d call my mother.”
The vampire blinked. Then blinked again.
Bakugo sighed and held up his number card for the host. “Next. Let’s keep this party train rollin’. Who’s next, Count Chokula?”
Next table. Next nightmare.
This one had pink hair. Real pink. Not a tint. Full Pepto-Bismol. His eyes glowed blue, and he looked barely legal, even if he was probably older than the Eiffel Tower. He didn’t sit. He draped. Over the chair. Over the table. Over reality itself.
“Hi,” he breathed.
“No,” Bakugo replied.
The vampire pouted. “But I didn’t even say anything yet.”
“You just did. That was enough.”
“You’re mean. I like it.”
“I’m meaner when I haven’t eaten dinner, and I swear to god, if I have to listen to another half-dead guy say the word ‘energy’ like he’s reading my aura, I’ll stab someone with a chair leg.”
Pepto Vampire giggled. “That’s hot.”
Bakugo groaned. “Why are you all like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like this!”
The vampire blinked innocently. “Horny?”
“Insufferable.”
“Same thing.”
Bakugo stood up again. “I need air. Or garlic. Maybe a crucifix.”
The host rushed over before he could storm out. “Mr. Bakugo, if you leave the circle, your slot will be forfeited.”
Bakugo glared at him. “What a goddamn tragedy.”
“Please. There’s only one more vampire left. Would you like to finish the circle?”
Bakugo looked back at the rows of tables, the clinking of blood-filled glasses, the whispering vampires, the humans pretending to be unbothered. He hated all of them.
Still.
One more wouldn’t kill him.
Probably.
He grunted. “Fine. Last one. If they quote Nietzsche, I’m burning this place down.”
The last vampire didn’t say anything when Bakugo sat down.
That was new.
He just smiled, like he was actually glad to be here, not like he was about to monologue about the fall of Rome or recite sonnets in Latin. His fangs peeked out, the sharpest Bakugo had seen all night, so sharp they looked like they could slice through steel if he grinned too hard.
He had long red hair tied in a high ponytail that somehow didn’t look stupid. It fell over one shoulder like silk, thick and glossy, with just enough mess to make it seem natural. His clothes were human, black jeans, a short-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing strong forearms, a pair of scuffed boots. No cape. No eyeliner. No weird smoky eye pretending it was still 2002.
Just normal.
Bakugo stared at him for a full ten seconds before speaking.
“You gonna say something, or just keep smiling like I’m on a cooking show?”
The vampire laughed, which was also new. It wasn’t a seductive chuckle or a haunting cackle or any of the other dumb shit Bakugo had heard all night. It was just a real, loud, friendly laugh.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t wanna come off too strong. Figured I’d give you a minute to recover from the last guy. The one with the pink hair. He tried to feed me a strawberry once.”
Bakugo blinked. “You’re not supposed to eat fruit, right?”
“No. I nearly died.”
Bakugo snorted. “Good.”
The vampire smiled again, less sharp this time, and leaned forward a little. “I’m Kirishima.”
“Bakugo.”
“I know. You were the only one who told every vampire to shut up within five minutes. Word got around.”
Bakugo scowled. “Yeah? You like that?”
“I think it’s hilarious.”
Okay. Points for that.
Bakugo leaned back in his chair, arms crossing again. He wasn’t going to like this guy just because he didn’t open the conversation with something like ‘I want to taste your despair.’ That was a low bar. Real low. Basically underground.
But Kirishima hadn’t even mentioned blood yet. Or pain. Or energy. He was just sitting there, calm, like this wasn’t a vampire speed-date at all, but just a chat at a bar, between two tired, weirdly attractive people.
“Haven’t tried to flirt with me yet,” Bakugo said. “You planning to?”
Kirishima shrugged. “Not unless you want me to.”
“You’re weird.”
“I get that a lot.”
He took a sip of his drink. It was blood, of course, but he drank it like it was iced tea. One hand on the glass, pinky out, relaxed posture. Bakugo caught himself watching his throat move.
“Okay, hold on,” Bakugo said, pointing at him. “Why are you normal? What’s your deal?”
“My deal?”
“Yeah. What’s your tragic backstory. Were you a war general? A philosopher? Did you kill a king?”
Kirishima grinned. “I was a fisherman.”
Bakugo blinked. “What.”
“Fisherman. In the 1700s. Northern Japan. Got turned by accident, actually. Long story. I was more pissed about the boat, to be honest. Still miss that damn boat.”
“You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“Fuck.”
Bakugo didn’t know how to respond to that.
He expected drama. Darkness. Intensity. Not this. Not a fisherman vampire with a pretty red hair and a laugh that sounded like it belonged at a barbecue.
He shifted in his seat, suddenly too aware of the way the candlelight hit Kirishima’s jawline.
Kirishima tilted his head. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Bakugo said. “Just processing.”
“Take your time.”
Bakugo eyed him suspiciously. “So what are you looking for, huh? You want a blood doll? Some dramatic romance? A human to pet?”
Kirishima smiled again, slower this time. “Nah. Just someone who won’t scream if I ask them to bite me sometimes.”
Bakugo choked on his own spit.
“Wait. You’re a bottom vampire?”
“I’m versatile,” Kirishima said cheerfully. “But yeah. Pain’s good both ways.”
Bakugo didn’t want to laugh, he really didn’t, but he did, too loud.
The host looked over, surprised.
So did half the room.
Kirishima was grinning now, fangs out, like this was the best part of his night.
And weirdly, maybe it was the best part of Bakugo’s too.
“So,” Kirishima said, resting his chin on his palm, “what about you? What’s your deal, Bakugo?”
Bakugo narrowed his eyes. “Why do you wanna know?”
“Because this is a date?” Kirishima grinned. “Kind of. Technically. Plus, you’re interesting.”
“You’re just saying that because I didn’t let any of your friends talk.”
“Exactly. You’re the highlight of the evening. Everyone else just blinked at me and talked about art or the moon.”
“Oh no,” Bakugo said, deadpan. “Not the moon.”
“It was a lot.”
Bakugo huffed a quiet laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not much to say. I’m not that interesting.”
Kirishima raised a brow. “See, you look like someone who’s secretly very interesting but refuses to admit it because it’s cooler to pretend you’re miserable.”
Bakugo squinted at him. “That’s some therapy-level bullshit.”
“Thanks.”
He wasn’t used to this.
Vampires were supposed to be sexy and dangerous and dramatic as hell, not chill. Not charming in a way that made Bakugo’s stomach feel weird. Kirishima wasn’t even trying that hard, he was just leaning in slightly when he spoke, smiling in a way that felt too easy, too genuine, and asking real questions like this wasn’t all a game.
“I work in demolition,” Bakugo said eventually. “Explosives. Buildings, bridges, tunnels. Shit like that.”
Kirishima’s face lit up. “Seriously?”
“Why’s that surprising?”
“I don’t know,” he said, laughing. “You’ve got the angry loner energy of a guy who sells knives online and lives alone with six plants.”
“I do live alone.” Bakugo pointed out.
“With plants?”
“No.”
“Aw, missed opportunity.”
Bakugo shook his head, lips twitching. “What about you? You don’t seem like the ‘eternal damnation and tragic longing’ type.”
“Nah.” Kirishima leaned back in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest. “I got all that out of my system in my first hundred years. Had a bit of an existential spiral when trains got invented. You ever get jealous of trains, Bakugo?”
“No?”
“Well, I did. They were fast, loud, and nobody cared if they ran people over.”
Bakugo blinked. “Okay, what the hell.”
“I was a very dramatic twenty-year-old,” Kirishima said, grinning. “I wrote a manifesto. Burned it ten years later. Absolute trash. Would’ve gotten canceled.”
Bakugo laughed again, low in his throat this time. “You’re such a weirdo.”
“Thank you.”
He shook his head, trying not to smile again, trying hard not to like him. It was too easy, actually, because of the way Kirishima looked at him, not like he was food, not like he was a curiosity, but like he actually wanted to hear what he had to say.
“You been in these things long?” Bakugo asked, motioning vaguely to the room.
Kirishima shrugged. “Couple times. I didn’t want to at first. Seemed dumb. But I figured, why not?”
“And you’re really just looking for a person ? Not a victim or a soulmate or some poetic tragedy?”
“Yeah.” He paused. “I mean, if someone’s hot and they want to make out in the back of my car, I wouldn’t say no.”
Bakugo’s face heated.
Kirishima smirked, and he looked away fast.
There it was.
The flirting.
Soft, well-timed, impossible to ignore.
“You think you’re real smooth, huh,” Bakugo said, eyes still on the flickering candle between them.
“I know I am.”
“Cocky.”
“Only because you’re actually listening.”
Bakugo looked at him then. The smile, the posture, the slow confidence. The fangs that gleamed every time Kirishima laughed. The way he didn’t try to overpower the conversation, just leaned in when needed, pulled back when he got prickly, let silence sit when it wanted to.
“Shit,” Bakugo said under his breath.
“What?”
“You’re actually hot.”
Kirishima’s eyes widened, then crinkled as he laughed.
“Was that a compliment, or did it escape against your will?”
“Don’t push it,” Bakugo said, though his voice was less biting than usual.
The bell rang.
End of the round.
Kirishima didn’t move, he just smiled again, gentler this time. “You free after this?”
Bakugo hesitated. “What, like a second date?”
“Not even,” Kirishima said. “Just fresh air. Real food. A walk. Something human.”
“I could eat.”
“Cool.” Kirishima stood, tall and solid and stupidly attractive. “Then let’s get you dinner.”
Bakugo rolled his eyes as he stood too. “Better not follow me home like some bloodthirsty bat after that.”
“No promises,” Kirishima said, laughing.
And somehow, Bakugo found himself laughing too.
They didn’t leave together, Kirishima had made a point of it.
“You pick the place,” he’d said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Wherever you want. I don’t eat, so it’s your call.”
That had been surprisingly thoughtful, even if it gave Bakugo an excuse to back out.
“If you don’t show,” he added with a shrug, “I won’t take it personally. These things are weird. You owe me nothing.”
He said it casually, like he hadn’t just spent thirty minutes being hot, funny, and way too competent at flirting. Then he smiled, sharp teeth, soft eyes, and walked away into the night like some kind of romantic anime bastard.
And now, Bakugo sat in a booth at a ramen place.
He’d picked it because it was close to home, open late, and blessedly loud. Real food. Real noise. Bright lights and people yelling about noodles. Everything a vampire would probably hate.
Which made it even weirder that he was still there, waiting.
“I’m not into vampires,” he said to himself, stabbing an ice cube in his drink with the straw. “I’m not.”
He wasn’t. Not in the cult-y, wear-a-leash, drink-my-blood-in-public kind of way. He didn’t want to be somebody’s little chew toy. He’d been to BDSM events, okay? He knew what it was like to sit in a room full of sweaty strangers talking about collar etiquette and who got to pee on who, and most of the time, the people there were either too boring, too dramatic, or just plain ugly.
Kirishima wasn’t.
Kirishima had fangs and a face and humor.
The holy fucking triad.
He was tall and broad and stupidly beautiful in that effortless, “I’ve existed for centuries and none of them gave me acne” kind of way. But more than that, he was funny. Like, actual human funny. Not vampire funny, which always felt like it came with a side of murder and an existential crisis.
And worse, he didn’t try to own him or to dominate him so far, at least. Just treated him like a person. With a little flirtation. And a lot of teeth.
“Shit.”
He wasn’t supposed to like him, not really. He was supposed to laugh about this later with Mina. Tell her it was the dumbest, horniest idea he ever had. He wasn’t supposed to still be here, half-expecting some red-haired vampire to walk through the door like he belonged in a ramen shop at midnight.
But he was here.
And, apparently, so was Kirishima.
Bakugo spotted him the second he stepped in, ducking through the doorway like the ceiling was lower than it was, one hand running through his hair to shake out the light mist clinging to it from the street. He looked slightly damp, a little flushed, very much not human in the way his eyes adjusted to the lighting too fast, but otherwise? He could’ve been anybody. Just a tall, handsome guy looking for someone in a crowded ramen shop.
Until he saw Bakugo.
And smiled.
“You came,” he said, sliding into the booth across from him.
“Unfortunately.”
“You got food yet?”
“No.”
Kirishima grinned. “Good. You’ll need a lot. That was a rough night. Emotionally.”
“I hate you.”
“I know,” he said, then flagged the waiter down. “We’ll take the big bowl combo for him. Extra pork. Spicy. Oh, and a melon soda.”
Bakugo blinked. “How the hell do you know my order?”
“I don’t,” Kirishima said cheerfully. “But you look like a spicy pork guy.”
“You are so fucking weird.”
“Right?” He leaned back with a smug little grin. “But you’re still here.”
He glared at him.
“Why are you here?” Kirishima tilted his head, that damn necklace catching the light again.
Bakugo didn’t answer right away, he reached for his drink and took a long, aggressive sip. The straw made a slurping noise.
Kirishima waited.
Finally, he said, “You weren’t the worst.”
And then, Kirishima laughed.
“And you’ve got fangs.”
That made him laugh harder.
Bakugo looked away, annoyed at the heat crawling up his neck. “Shut up. This was a dumb idea.”
“Maybe, but dumb ideas are my favorite kind.”
Bakugo looked back at him, lips twitching.
Maybe he wouldn’t regret this, maybe he’d even survive it.
Though he had a feeling that if he didn’t, if this was a disaster of biblical proportions, he wouldn’t even be mad.
Not if it meant kissing those fangs at least once.
The ramen came fast, steaming and bright red with spice. Bakugo didn’t wait, he dove in like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Because really, he hadn’t eaten anything all night unless you counted judgment and regret.
Kirishima didn’t touch anything, just leaned his elbow on the table and watched Bakugo eat like it was entertainment. Which, judging by the amused look on his face, it probably was.
“You know,” he said, “I’m starting to think you’re one of those guys who eats like he's fighting the food.”
Bakugo slurped loudly in response.
Kirishima laughed. “Elegant.”
“I’m not here to impress you.”
“Yeah, no, I got that back at table seven when you told the cape guy to go choke on his own ego.”
Bakugo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “He was asking for it.”
Kirishima nodded solemnly. “He did have that I used to own peasants look.”
That got a real laugh out of Bakugo, short and sharp and unexpected. He covered it with another bite of ramen, but Kirishima saw it. Grinned wider.
“So,” he said, leaning in a little, “tell me. Worst sex of your life. I’ll go after.”
Bakugo narrowed his eyes. “Is that a vampire thing? Oversharing on the first date?”
“Nope. It’s a me thing.”
Bakugo stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. “Alright. Fine.” He shoved more noodles in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and pointed at the vampire with his chopsticks. “Met this guy at a kink club. He had a decent jawline, so I thought, why not. Said he was into edging. Didn’t say he was the one who wanted to be edged.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” Bakugo said. “Thirty minutes in, I realize he hasn’t touched me once. Just kept muttering ‘almost there’ under his breath like we were on a road trip.”
Kirishima snorted.
“I left halfway through and stole his socks.”
Kirishima doubled over laughing, hand over his mouth. “You stole his socks?! ”
“They were nice. And he wasted my time.”
“That’s fair. That’s so fair.”
Bakugo grinned into his drink. “Alright, your turn.”
“Okay. Worst one? There are so many. I attract disaster.”
Bakugo raised an eyebrow. “That a vampire thing or a you problem?”
“Absolutely a me problem,” Kirishima said proudly. “Okay. There was this guy back in the 2000s. Hot. Tall. Wore a choker unironically. Big into vampire culture.”
“That’s rich.”
“Yeah. He had a thing for being bitten, which, cool, whatever, but during sex he kept whispering ‘turn me... turn me... make me yours forever....’ like we were in a low-budget romance novel.”
Bakugo nearly choked on a piece of pork.
“Oh no. It gets worse,” Kirishima said, eyes gleaming. “When I finally stopped and told him I wasn’t gonna turn anyone without, you know, consent and a full psychological screening, he, get this, he looked me dead in the eye and asked if he could call me Edward.”
Bakugo slapped the table, laughing so hard his shoulders shook. “Edward?! Like from the books?”
“Exactly. Twilight had just come out. He’d read it twice. Said I reminded him of the ‘good vampire.’”
“Holy shit. ”
“I wasn’t even cold yet,” Kirishima said, fake offended. “We’d only just started. I hadn’t even said anything mysterious!”
Bakugo was full-on laughing now, red in the face, trying not to fall sideways in the booth. “That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”
“And I’ve lived through five pandemics,” Kirishima added.
He groaned, still laughing. “God, no wonder you don’t do this often.”
“Right? That Edward guy texted me for a year. Said he was ‘ready now.’ Like we were gonna run away to a forest and sparkle together.”
Bakugo wiped his eyes with a napkin, face sore from smiling. “Okay, I admit it. Yours is worse than mine.”
Kirishima grinned. “Knew it.”
They sat there for a second, the quiet hum of the ramen shop buzzing around them, the clink of dishes and background pop music somehow making it all feel normal.
“I don’t get it,” Bakugo said, still catching his breath. “You’re hot. You’re actually funny. You’re not a creep. How the hell are you single?”
Kirishima shrugged, looking almost shy for the first time. “Hard to find someone who wants me, not just the idea of me.”
Bakugo went still for a moment.
Then quietly said, “Yeah. I get that.”
Kirishima smiled at him, smaller now, softer.
And Bakugo suddenly didn’t feel like this was a dumb idea anymore.
The night air hit Bakugo’s skin as they stepped outside, crisp but not freezing, just enough bite to make him shove his hands into his jacket pockets and hunch his shoulders a little. The smell of broth and soy sauce clung faintly to his clothes, but he didn’t mind. They’d just had the best damn ramen of the month, maybe the year, and somehow, he wasn’t in a rush to get home.
Kirishima walked beside him with that same relaxed energy, long strides keeping perfect pace. The street was quiet, most of the shops already closed. Just ahead, the edge of a small park came into view, quiet paths, yellow leaves on the ground, and an old bench that looked like it could fall apart if someone sneezed near it.
Bakugo jerked his chin toward the trees. “Let’s cut through. I’m not in the mood to dodge drunk idiots.”
Kirishima nodded, following easily. “Lead the way, mortal.”
They stepped into the dim park path, lit only by the occasional lamp. Leaves rustled softly under their feet. It smelled like earth and damp wood, like the edge of rain, but it hadn’t started yet.
After a long moment of silence, Bakugo nudged him with his elbow. “Alright. It’s your time to shine for me, Edward.”
Kirishima let out a snort, too sharp to be elegant. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
“I don’t even look like an Edward.”
“No,” Bakugo said. “You look way hotter, to be honest.”
Kirishima turned to him with a surprised little smile. “Was that a compliment?”
“I’m allowed one per night.”
“I’ll take it.”
They kept walking, falling into a pace that didn’t feel rushed. The quiet settled in again, but it wasn’t awkward. If anything, it was weirdly comfortable.
Bakugo glanced sideways. “You ever get tired of living forever?”
Kirishima hummed. “Not really. I mean, you get tired of people, sometimes. Or the news. Or taxes.”
“Wait. You pay taxes? ”
“I own property, man. I’m not a cave goblin.”
Bakugo snorted. “Okay, fine. Mr. Responsible Vampire.”
“Hey, I’ve got investments, a fake job, a guy who pretends to be my lawyer. I’ve got the system figured out.”
“That’s depressing.”
“I think I’m doing alright.”
They turned down a quieter path, tree branches arching overhead like a sleepy tunnel. Bakugo kicked at a leaf and shoved his hands deeper into his jacket.
“So, you’ve lived through, what, wars? Pandemics? Fashion trends?”
“All of the above,” Kirishima said. “Some of them worse than others. Bell-bottoms should never come back.”
“I dunno. You’d probably look good in them.”
Kirishima gave him a crooked smile. “You really do only give compliments when you’re half-frozen, huh?”
“Shut up.”
He bumped their shoulders. “What about you? What’s the highlight of your twenty spicy little years on earth?”
Bakugo blinked. “My what?”
“Your human years. The golden age. Top memories.”
“Uh. That’s a lot of pressure.”
“You had ramen tonight, that counts.”
Bakugo chuckled, breath visible in the cool air. “Okay, there’s that. And I like my job. I like blowing shit up.”
“Healthy.”
“Hey, I don’t do it for fun. I do it for money.”
Kirishima raised an eyebrow.
Bakugo sighed. “Okay, and a little fun, but I’m good at it.”
“I believe that.”
They walked for a few more seconds. Bakugo found himself talking again without being asked.
“My first apartment had roaches, and this guy above me who screamed in German at his cat every night. Thought I’d lose my mind.”
“Did you?”
“No. But I did almost throw a microwave at him. Not the cat. The guy.”
Kirishima laughed, head tipped back, fangs flashing. “God, I missed this.”
Bakugo blinked. “What, microwaves?”
“No. Just people. Regular people. Not obsessed fans or immortals who collect antique spoons. You’re just a guy. A really loud guy with zero filter.”
Bakugo frowned. “I’ve got a filter.”
“Do you?”
“I do, but it’s broken.”
“Still counts.”
They passed a bench and paused. Kirishima looked at it like he was thinking something over.
“You wanna sit?” He asked. “Just for a minute. My undead knees could use the break.”
Bakugo rolled his eyes, but nodded. “Fine, but if that thing collapses under you, I’m not calling anyone.”
“I’ll crawl home dramatically.”
The night was quiet around them. No one else in the park. Just the low hum of the city far in the distance.
After a while, Kirishima glanced sideways. “You ever think about how short it all is?”
Bakugo tilted his head. “My life?”
“Yeah. It’s nothing to some people, but it feels huge to you, right?”
Bakugo didn’t answer for a second.
Then he said, “It’s all I’ve got, so yeah, it feels big.”
Kirishima nodded slowly, something flickering in his expression.
“I think that’s what I like about you,” he said, voice softer now. “You live like things matter. Like they have weight.”
Bakugo shifted, a little flustered.
“You’re annoying.”
“You like it.”
He didn’t argue.
They sat down, the old bench creaking under their weight like it might give up any second. Bakugo shoved his hands back into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched tight from the chill. The wind had picked up a little, carrying that damp bite that always hit right before real winter.
Kirishima didn’t seem to notice it at all.
Of course he didn’t. He was dead. Or undead. Or whatever the term was for someone who could probably lie shirtless in snow and still look like a magazine spread.
“Damn, it’s cold,” Bakugo complained, rubbing his hands together.
Without a word, Kirishima slipped off his jacket and handed it over.
Bakugo blinked at it. “What are you...?”
“Take it, I don’t need it. I just wear it because it looks cool.”
Bakugo frowned. “It does look cool.”
“Exactly. So make me look good and wear it.”
He hesitated, then snatched it and tugged it on in one sharp motion.
It was warm.
Ridiculously warm.
It smelled like spice and rain and something old, like books in a sunlit library or firewood in a quiet mountain house. Too romantic for someone like Kirishima. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Kirishima was secretly romantic and just good at pretending he wasn’t.
“You know you’re making this weird, right?” Bakugo said, sinking deeper into the jacket like it didn’t feel amazing.
“How?”
“By being not awful.”
Kirishima laughed. “I’ll try harder to be terrible next time.”
Bakugo rolled his eyes, then glanced over at him, a little quieter now. “You ever had a fixed partner before?”
“Kinda, but not really.” He leaned back against the bench, arms stretched casually across the backrest.
Bakugo raised an eyebrow. “The hell does that mean?”
“I mean, there were a few someones. A long time ago, but no one was forever.”
Bakugo kept looking at him, waiting.
Kirishima shrugged, eyes on the path ahead now. “I know some books say vampires are big sluts...”
“Not disagreeing.”
“But most of us? We’re loyal. We live long, yeah, but not alone by choice. If a vampire finds a forever partner, they settle up. No games. No playing around.”
Bakugo stayed quiet, listening.
“Sometimes they turn the person. Sometimes they don’t. And when that person dies, the vampire either isolates themselves or they die too. Eventually. Stops eating. Stops caring. Just ends.”
“That real?”
“It’s not dramatic. It’s just how it is.”
Silence settled between them, softer this time, like a blanket instead of a weight.
“And I’m still here, single, right?” Kirishima said, smiling again. “So I guess you could say I’ve never had that.”
Bakugo looked down at the jacket wrapped around him, then back at Kirishima.
“Sounds heavy.”
Kirishima shrugged again, but it didn’t look careless. “It is. But it also makes it kinda worth it, when it happens.”
“And you think it’ll happen to you?”
“I hope so.” He looked at him then. “That’s the best part of living this long, I think. You always get another shot.”
Bakugo snorted. “You’re disgusting.”
“I’m romantic.”
“Same thing.”
Kirishima laughed again. “What about you?”
“What?”
“Ever had someone? Like that?”
Bakugo looked away, teeth gritting. “Yeah. A few. But never anything good.”
“Wanna elaborate?”
“No.”
Kirishima just smiled and let it go.
They sat there for a while longer, not speaking, just breathing.
Bakugo adjusted the jacket, pulling it tighter. Still smelled like him. Still warm.
The quiet stretched.
Kirishima was still leaning back against the bench like he had all the time in the world, like he wasn’t a goddamn vampire with stupid long eyelashes and shoulders that looked like they could bench press a motorcycle. His expression was relaxed, easygoing, but there was something else in it, too, something more focused now, like he was watching Bakugo more carefully than before.
And maybe Bakugo felt it too much, because all at once, he turned on the bench, one knee folding under him so he could face Kirishima completely.
Dead serious.
Face calm.
Voice flat.
“Can we please make out now?”
Kirishima’s eyes went wide. “Wait. What?”
“I said what I said.”
The vampire blinked, then burst out laughing. It was bright and loud and entirely too fond. “Here? In the middle of the park?”
Bakugo scowled. “Don’t make it weird.”
“You’re the one initiating public make-outs!”
“You said something about your car earlier,” Bakugo said, narrowing his eyes. “I want that.”
Kirishima grinned. “Didn’t realize you were keeping a receipt.”
“You promised. ”
Kirishima looked at him again, really looked, let the smile fade just a little, let his gaze linger longer on Bakugo’s face, on the flush creeping up his ears, the tight line of his mouth trying not to betray how nervous he maybe was underneath all that fire.
It wasn’t just horniness. It wasn’t a joke, either.
Bakugo had made up his mind.
And he wanted this.
Kirishima’s voice dropped. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
For a moment, Kirishima didn’t move, just kept looking at him like he needed to memorize the whole damn moment. Then he smiled, all fangs and sweetness.
“Alright, then.” He stood. “I’ll lead the way.”
Bakugo followed without hesitation.
The walk to the car wasn’t long, but it still felt charged, like every step was building toward something inevitable. Kirishima’s Lexus TX sat parked under a tree near the edge of the lot, sleek and black, the kind of expensive that whispered instead of shouted. The streetlights hit its surface just enough to make it gleam, and when Kirishima unlocked it with a soft beep, Bakugo blinked at it in quiet surprise.
“This yours?” He asked, eyeing the pristine finish, the shiny wheels, the space.
“Yeah.” Kirishima smiled like it wasn’t a big deal. “Good investments, I told you. And I like to be comfortable.”
Bakugo didn’t answer.
He was already thinking about how much space there was inside.
They climbed in, driver’s seat for Kirishima, passenger for Bakugo, and for a second, it was weird.
Not bad weird, though, just first-date-in-a-vampire’s-car weird.
Bakugo sat stiffly, adjusting Kirishima’s jacket over his lap like he was trying to keep his dignity. Kirishima was quiet too, hands on the wheel, not starting the car. They didn’t need to drive anywhere. That wasn’t the point.
Then, like something broke, their eyes met.
And that was it.
Bakugo’s hand shot out, grabbed Kirishima’s collar, and then both of them moved at once, fast, messy, all heat and breath and crushed fabric. Bakugo clambered straight into his lap without grace, straddling him in the driver’s seat like he’d been waiting for this exact moment since birth.
His hands tangled in red hair. Kirishima’s arms locked tight around his waist. Their mouths met in a crash of lips and teeth, open and desperate, breathing each other in like they’d run out of patience hours ago.
Bakugo groaned into his mouth, hips pressing down, sparks flying hot and fast in his gut.
Then his tongue flicked out and licked across one of Kirishima’s fangs.
The sound he made after that couldn’t be classified as decent.
It was a moan, a real one, loud and so not subtle.
Kirishima froze for half a second. Pulled back, panting.
“You alright?”
Bakugo stared at him, eyes dark and wide, lips red.
“I take back what I said,” he breathed, voice rough. “I may have something for vampires. Or just fangs. Or your fangs. I don’t know, kiss me again.”
Kirishima didn’t need to be told twice.
His hands slid under Bakugo’s shirt, palms warm despite the whole “dead” thing, dragging up his spine, pulling him impossibly closer. Their mouths met again, deeper this time, slower but no less intense. Kirishima kissed like he meant it, like he studied it, and Bakugo didn’t stand a fucking chance.
It was so much.
Too much.
Not enough.
Bakugo rocked his hips down, swallowed a curse against Kirishima’s mouth, and decided that maybe, just maybe, the whole vampire thing wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever had.
Especially when Kirishima’s fangs scraped gently against his bottom lip.
Especially when Kirishima whispered, “You taste really good when you’re into it.”
Bakugo groaned again, louder this time, and he didn’t stop.
Kirishima’s lips were soft, but everything else was not. His hands were big and warm and greedy, sliding up Bakugo’s back under his shirt like he couldn’t stand to go slow anymore. Bakugo was half in his lap, half pressed against the steering wheel, but he didn’t care.
He’d crawl inside this man’s mouth if he could.
Another kiss, wet, messy, tongue curling against his, and god, Bakugo felt like his brain had short-circuited. He dragged his hands up Kirishima’s chest, fingers catching on the edge of a stupid, ancient necklace, and pulled it aside just to bite at his neck like he was the goddamn vampire.
Kirishima groaned, hips twitching up into him. “Shit, you’re intense.”
Bakugo only leaned in closer, lips brushing against his ear. “You’ve no idea.”
Their mouths crashed again. His fangs grazed him, and Bakugo moaned so loud it echoed in the car.
He rocked down harder, and Kirishima’s grip tightened. One hand on his thigh, the other splayed wide across his back, sliding lower. His fingers dug in, strong enough to bruise, and Bakugo gasped, teeth scraping down his jaw like he needed to mark something.
“This is so fucking good,” Bakugo breathed out, panting against his skin. “God, I’m loving this.”
Kirishima’s laugh was broken and so, so hot. “You sound like you’re gonna marry my mouth.”
Bakugo rolled his hips again, and grinned. “Not your mouth. Your fangs. Your stupid hot undead face.”
“Romantic,” Kirishima rasped, biting back a groan as Bakugo kissed down his neck. “You’re ruining me, Bakugo.”
“Good.”
He sucked a spot on Kirishima’s collarbone hard enough to make him swear, then dragged his tongue up the side of his throat. The vampire shivered under him, grip tightening again.
Their mouths met once more, deeper now, slower, but so much. Bakugo licked into him like he needed it to breathe, like kissing was survival and Kirishima was oxygen. His body was on fire, every part of him straining toward more. More heat, more hands, more fangs.
Kirishima broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, breathless, “You’re unbelievable.”
“You’re welcome.” He said, chasing his mouth again.
“Wanna bite you so bad.”
Bakugo groaned. “Then fucking do it.”
Kirishima froze.
Bakugo pulled back, just a little, eyes dark. “Not all the way. Just a little. I want it.”
Kirishima looked at him, serious for the first time in minutes, thumb brushing over his cheek. “I wouldn’t do it unless you’re sure.”
He licked his lips, still panting. “I’m so sure.”
And that was all it took.
Kirishima surged up, mouth hot and full of fang, kissing him again, and this time when he dragged his lips across Bakugo’s neck, when he opened his mouth and bit down just enough to make him shudder, he felt it like a goddamn explosion.
It was sharp, hot, a pulse of pain that made the pleasure spike, and Bakugo moaned so loudly it echoed off the windows.
Kirishima pulled back instantly, licking the mark with something that felt almost reverent.
“Fuck,” Bakugo said, slumping forward, boneless in his lap. “Okay. Yeah. I definitely have a thing.”
Kirishima laughed breathlessly, forehead pressed to his. “Just for me, right?”
Bakugo grinned, dazed. “Don’t push it, Edward.”
And he was still catching his breath when Kirishima kissed him again.
It was slower this time, less frantic, more claiming. His mouth moved like he already knew Bakugo’s favorite parts, like he was settling into it now. Confident. Focused. Still with one hand firm on his hip, the other shamelessly cupping his ass, helping him grind down just right, just hard enough to drag another groan from Bakugo’s throat.
And then he tasted it.
Blood.
It was faint, barely there. A hint of copper that clung to Kirishima’s tongue like smoke. Not thick or heavy, not metallic enough to gag on. Just present. Like the echo of something intimate.
Bakugo froze for a second, mouth parted, chest rising and falling in short, ragged breaths.
Kirishima pulled back an inch, eyes searching his face. “Too much?”
He didn’t answer, just leaned back in, licked back into his mouth with purpose, chased that flavor like it wasn’t just bearable but good.
Wild. That’s what it made him feel, like his skin was too tight and his blood was burning and maybe he wasn’t entirely sane for wanting more instead of less, but hell, sanity had never gotten him anywhere fun.
He could get used to this, the way Kirishima’s hands never stopped touching, gripping, dragging, holding him in place like he was the only thing that mattered.
Bakugo moaned again, rocking down into his lap with zero shame.
And Kirishima was right there with him. Hands tight on his hips now, guiding him, coaxing every movement. Their lips were slick with spit and breath and something too intense to name. The vampire kissed like he meant it, like he’d been starving for years and this was his first meal.
“Holy shit,” Bakugo gasped against his mouth, voice half broken.
“You’re incredible,” Kirishima said, just as breathless.
“You’re, fuck, cheating. ” He groaned, fingers fisting in his hair. “No one should be this good.”
“I’ve had decades of practice.”
Bakugo gritted his teeth as Kirishima rolled his hips up hard, dragging him closer, mouths colliding again.
“I hate you,” he mumbled into his lips, bit his lip, actually whined, and let Kirishima pull him back in like gravity was a vampire too.
Because the truth was, he could get used to the taste of blood.
He could get used to all of it.
The teeth.
The hands.
The filthy grind of it.
And Bakugo didn’t know how long they were at it. Time blurred when your entire body felt like it was on fire and your brain had been reduced to more, please, now. The windows were fogged up to hell, his thighs ached from straddling Kirishima this long, and his lips were definitely swollen, probably red, maybe bitten, maybe bruised in the best way.
He didn’t care.
Kirishima was still kissing him like he owned him, hands tight on his ass, helping him roll down again, and, knock knock knock.
The sharp tap-tap-tap against the window sliced through the moment like a knife.
Bakugo froze.
So did Kirishima.
They turned their heads slowly, too slowly, and of course, because the universe hated him and nothing good was allowed to happen uninterrupted, a flashlight beam was now very clearly aimed at them from the driver’s side.
And behind the light, a very real and very unamused police officer was squinting through the fogged glass.
“Fuck me,” Bakugo hissed under his breath, already trying to scramble back into his own seat. “Fuck me sideways.”
Kirishima sighed, sat back, and hit the button to lower the window.
Cool night air swept in immediately, cutting through the heat. Bakugo clenched his jaw and tried not to look like he’d just been dry-humping a vampire’s legs five seconds ago.
The cop frowned. “You two wanna tell me what the hell is going on here?”
Kirishima smiled, too charming. “Evening, officer. Just sitting, enjoying the night. My partner wasn’t feeling great, so we pulled over for a bit.”
The cop looked right at Bakugo, whose hair was a mess, shirt bunched up, pupils still blown. He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.
Bakugo stayed quiet. He was not getting involved in this.
“You can’t park like this,” the officer said, arms crossed. “Windows are fogged up. You’ve been here too long. People call this kind of behavior suspicious. You wanna get ticketed for indecent conduct?”
Kirishima’s face didn’t change, but something in his voice did, still calm, but lower now. Rougher. Commanding.
“You saw nothing,” he said evenly. “You’ll go to your car and forget the last five minutes.”
The officer blinked.
Paused.
And nodded.
“Right,” he mumbled. “Yeah. Must’ve been a mistake. I’ll head back.”
He walked off like he was in a daze, the flashlight beam faded, the footsteps retreated, and the sound of the patrol car engine starting filled the silence.
Bakugo just stared.
“You Jedi mind-tricked a cop.”
Kirishima gave him a lazy grin, fangs peeking out. “It’s not that strong. Just works when people are already confused. Or horny. Or, y’know, both.”
Bakugo blinked.
Then blinked again.
“Fuck.”
“What?”
Bakugo groaned and dropped his head against his shoulder. “If I wasn’t hard, I’d pop a fucking hard-on right now.”
Kirishima laughed, smugly. “You’re welcome.”
Bakugo didn’t even deny it, because seriously, who the hell gave this man the right to be hot, hilarious, a good kisser, and able to hypnotize law enforcement?
Unfair.
Utterly, obscenely unfair.
Bakugo didn’t even try to fight it anymore. He leaned in again, hand curling into the front of Kirishima’s shirt, mouth already parted and ready, desperate to kiss him stupid until the whole damn night blurred back into heat.
But Kirishima shifted, tilted his head, and instead of devouring him like before, he pressed a slow, sweet kiss to Bakugo’s lips.
He blinked, caught off guard, leaning in for more, but Kirishima pulled back, smiling like he was hiding something.
“Okay,” he said, like it was final. “You passed.”
Bakugo frowned. “I did what?”
Kirishima’s smile grew. “Passed,” he repeated, tapping a finger lightly against Bakugo’s cheek. “On the ‘probably the love of my life’ test. Congrats.”
Bakugo just stared at him.
Then snorted so hard he almost knocked his forehead against Kirishima’s.
“What the fuck kind of test is that?”
Kirishima grinned. “A good one. Very scientific. Takes into account things like emotional damage, taste in ramen, how hard you kiss, and your ability to stay hot while threatening a police officer.”
Bakugo laughed, really laughed, loud and full and helpless, pressed against his shoulder.
“Didn’t know I applied for that one.”
“You didn’t,” Kirishima said, still beaming. “You just aced it.”
Bakugo pulled back, gave him a look, still a little flushed. “You’re so fucking annoying.”
“You like me so much already.”
“I don't.”
Kirishima brushed his fingers through his hair, fondly. “Shame, because I really like you a lot already. If I had a functional heart, it would be beating so fast for you.”
Bakugo groaned, flopping back into his lap with dramatic flair. “You’re ruining me.”
“Good,” he said cheerfully, already leaning down to kiss him again.
Eventually, the heat simmered down, and the inside of the car returned to something like reality, though the windows were still fogged, and Bakugo’s lips were definitely swollen. His hair stuck up in wild directions, and Kirishima looked criminally smug about all of it.
Bakugo half-sat, half-melted in his lap, still panting, still wearing Kirishima’s jacket like it belonged to him now. He was drunk on kissing and blood and warm hands that had touched him like a goddamn prayer.
Kirishima kissed his temple once, then whispered, “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”
And he meant it, because of course Kirishima was the kind of bastard who could eat him alive and then still act like a gentleman about it.
They got out of the car, air cold on Bakugo’s face again, and the vampire walked beside him, quiet now, hands in his pockets like they hadn’t just spent the last thirty minutes fogging up the windows like teenagers.
Bakugo didn’t say anything.
Kirishima stopped with him next to his old, beat-up hatchback. The contrast between it and that damn sleek Lexus was honestly embarrassing, but Kirishima didn’t say a thing. He just smiled, leaned in, and kissed him again.
Not soft.
Not polite.
This one was deep, long, a little dirty, like he wanted Bakugo to remember it every time he touched his mouth later.
Bakugo gripped the front of his jacket to stay upright, and when they pulled apart, he was out of breath all over again.
“Can you give me your number?” Kirishima asked, voice low, hand still resting at his hip.
Bakugo looked up at him, heart beating stupidly fast.
Fuck.
He wanted to give him way more than that.
His number. His name. His fucking address. His neck. A key. His soul.
Instead, he smirked and pulled his phone from his pocket. “Only if you promise that we're not gonna be interrupted on the second date.”
Kirishima grinned, already taking the phone. “Deal.”
Numbers exchanged, thumbs brushed, and just before he turned to leave, Kirishima looked back, red hair catching in the wind.
“I’ll call you,” he said, smiling, fangs showing.
Bakugo leaned against his car, breath still uneven.
“Yeah,” he whispered to himself, staring after him. “Please fucking do.”
one year later
Bakugo walked through the heavy velvet curtains like he owned the place.
Same red lights. Same dramatic candle crap. Same unnecessarily horny violin music playing softly in the background like someone had pressed play on “Sexy Gothic Nightcore Vol. 3.”
Everything looked exactly the same.
Except him.
He didn’t flinch at the sight of vampires, he didn’t tense when one of them gave him a once-over, and he definitely didn’t stop when the poor host tried to greet him with a clipboard and a smile.
“Good evening, sir, if you’re here for the circle...”
“Not here for the circle,” Bakugo said flatly, not even slowing down.
Behind him, the host blinked in confusion as Bakugo marched right past the rows of desperate undead and awkward humans nervously sipping blood cocktails, making their way from table to table like they were auditioning for a doomed marriage.
Somewhere off to the left, a bell rang. “Time’s up!” The host called out. “Please move to the next table!”
Bakugo snorted, loud enough for a few heads to turn.
And there he was.
Still here.
Pepto Pink Hair.
Wearing a sheer shirt and dramatic eyeliner, sitting at table six, fluttering his lashes at some poor guy who looked like he wanted to dissolve into the floor.
“Oh my fucking god,” Bakugo muttered, grinning like the asshole he was. “He’s still here.”
He kept walking, past the velvet ropes, past the confused glares, past the scent of too much perfume and not enough self-awareness, because he wasn’t here to date.
Hell fucking no.
He was here for the bar.
And more importantly, he was here for his boyfriend.
Kirishima was already waiting for him, leaning casually against the counter, sipping from a glass of dark liquid that was probably blood and definitely too classy for this place. His hair was tied back like it had been that first night, a few strands loose around his face, fangs just barely peeking out through a smile that lit him up like a fire.
Bakugo walked right up and grabbed the front of his shirt.
Kissed him, hard.
Kirishima hummed against his mouth, smiling when they finally pulled apart. “Hey, stranger.”
“You let me walk in here alone like a chump,” Bakugo whispered against his lips.
“I wanted to see how long it took you to punch the host.”
“Came close.”
Kirishima chuckled and set his glass down. “You look good.”
“You gonna take me home and prove it?”
“I’m gonna do a lot more than that.”
Bakugo huffed a laugh, leaning his weight into him.
“Pink hair guy’s still here,” he muttered.
Kirishima groaned. “Please tell me he didn’t call anyone 'my moonligh’tonight.”
“Didn’t get that close. But I heard him say ‘immortal soul connection,’ so...”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
They both laughed, soft, easy, familiar.
A year ago, Bakugo had come in here thinking he’d leave with a bloody lip and a decent story, instead, he walked out with him, the vampire with a Lexus, warm hands, sharp teeth, and a terrifyingly good sense of humor.
Bakugo reached for Kirishima’s hand under the bar, fingers locking between his without hesitation.
“I still don’t get how you made me like all this undead bullshit.”
Kirishima leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Easy. I’m hot.”
Bakugo rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.
And when Kirishima brushed his thumb along the spot on his neck, the one that still held the faintest trace of a fang mark, Bakugo smiled.
Soft.
Happy.
Dangerously in love.
extra
Bakugo was sprawled across the ridiculous bed like a man with no responsibilities. Naked, except for the sheet barely clinging to his hip, one leg hanging off the edge like he was daring gravity to try something. The room was dim, curtains drawn, the kind of warm-lit luxury that came with dating a vampire who invested well.
Kirishima sat next to him, also naked, though considerably more dignified about it, with his back propped against the headboard, long legs stretched out, and his entire focus locked onto the dumb little game on his phone. Something about building a vampire castle, which felt very on the nose.
Bakugo rolled onto his side, one hand slipping up Kirishima’s thigh with zero subtlety.
“Hey.”
“Hmm?”
“Turn me into a vampire.”
Kirishima didn’t look up. “We’re doing this again?”
“Yes. It’s our five-year anniversary. I deserve immortality.”
Kirishima smiled, thumbs still tapping the screen. “You also deserve brunch and a nap, but you didn’t ask for that.”
“First of all,” Bakugo said, sitting up slightly, “I’m thirty-three now. My dick’s not gonna be hard forever.”
Kirishima snorted but didn’t look away from his game. “We hope not. That would be very strange. We’d have to go to the hospital.”
“No, Eijiro. I’m serious. If you don’t do it, soon enough I’ll have to start taking Viagras.”
Kirishima finally looked at him, grinning. “You’re thirty-three, not seventy-five.”
“Still.”
“You’re literally naked and already half-hard. I think you’re fine.”
Bakugo narrowed his eyes. “Okay, but in five years...”
“In five years, you’ll still be hot, and you’ll still be mine.”
Bakugo went quiet at that.
Just long enough to make it feel soft.
Then, “Yeah, but in fifty years I’ll have back pain, a receding hairline, and you’ll still look like a fuckin’ Calvin Klein ad.”
Kirishima set his phone down finally, turned toward him, eyes glowing faintly in the low light. “You think I care if your hair goes silver?”
“It’s not sexy silver when you’re old. It’s sad silver.”
“I’ll still lick your neck.”
Bakugo snorted.
Kirishima leaned in closer. “Still want me to turn you?”
“Eventually. I mean it.”
“Alright,” Kirishima said, brushing a knuckle along his cheek. “Then one day, when you’re sure sure, I will.”
Bakugo leaned back into the touch. “I am so sure sure.”
“You’re also currently using my thigh as a pillow and still salty about losing Mario Kart two hours ago.”
“None of that negates my argument.”
Kirishima kissed his forehead, smiling against his skin. “Tell you what.”
Bakugo opened one eye. “Hm?”
“If you still want it next year, we’ll start talking about how to do it right. Full vampire, no regrets.”
Bakugo looked at him, eyes soft, lips slightly parted. “Promise?”
“Promise, but only if you let me finish this game first.”
Bakugo groaned and flopped back down dramatically. “I’m trying to be reborn here and you’re building virtual furniture.”
Kirishima just laughed, pulling him close with one arm, phone balanced in the other.
“Happy anniversary, Katsuki.”
The blonde said into his skin, “Happy fuckin’ anniversary. Now bite me already.”
“Later,” the vampire said cheerfully. “When the castle’s done.”
Bakugo smiled.
Because he could wait.
Forever sounded good, actually.
As long as it was with him.
another one
They were sitting on the balcony of their seaside house. Bakugo had his feet kicked up on the railing, sunglasses on, and a scowl that had nothing to do with the view. The vampire lounged beside him, wearing one of Bakugo’s tank tops like it was his now.
Bakugo took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and sighed.
“People are starting to look at me like I’m your sugar daddy.”
Kirishima didn’t even blink. “Theoretically, I am your sugar daddy.” He leaned over and kissed him, completely unbothered.
He didn’t move for a second, then he pulled off his glasses and glared. “Yeah, but you’re forever twenty-nine. I’m what, forty-nine now?”
“You’re thirty-five.”
“Same thing.”
Kirishima groaned. “Oh my god, you are so dramatic.”
“I’m not. I just, look, I don’t want people looking at me like I’m some perv dating a guy too young and too pretty for my age.” He shifted in his chair, arms crossed. “It’s not fair, Eijiro. You promised.”
Kirishima blinked. “Promised what?”
“Last year. I told you I wanted it. The bite. The whole bloodlust immortality package. Where is it? Where’s my desire for blood? Where’s my dramatic coat? I want a fucking aesthetic.”
Kirishima tried, he really did, but he snorted so hard he nearly spilled his drink. “You want an aesthetic.”
“I want to look normal standing next to you in public. Right now people probably think I’m your divorced finance professor.”
“You’re so hot when you’re unhinged.”
“I’m always unhinged, you can’t keep using that as a distraction.”
Kirishima laughed, leaned in, and kissed him again, lingering, lazy. “You really wanna go through with it?”
Bakugo narrowed his eyes. “Yes. For the fifth time.”
“You know you’ll be stuck with me forever.”
“I live with you. I’ve already accepted that nightmare.”
Kirishima grinned. “Then maybe tomorrow night.”
Bakugo blinked. “Wait, what?”
“You wanted drama, right?” Kirishima’s voice dropped. “Moonlight, blood, commitment? We’ll do it right.”
He sat there, stunned, mouth slightly open.
Kirishima reached over, brushing his thumb against his lip. “Unless you’re too old and grumpy for it.”
Bakugo bared his teeth. “Bite me.”
The vampire licked his fang, all slow menace. “I will.”
The moon was high, the curtains were open, and the bed was a mess.
Bakugo sat shirtless, legs crossed, eyes fixed on Kirishima with an expression halfway between suspicion and simmering anticipation.
The vampire stood beside him, shirtless too, looking very not nervous for a man about to bite someone for real. His fingers brushed along Bakugo’s jaw, tilting his face gently.
“You ready?”
Bakugo scowled. “Been ready.”
“You’re gonna be dramatic if it’s not sexy, aren’t you.”
“I’m gonna be dramatic regardless. Just bite me.”
Kirishima leaned down, warm breath against his neck, and then, bite.
It wasn’t bad, he was used to it by now.
And then it was just over.
Bakugo blinked. “That’s it?”
“Hold on,” Kirishima said, grabbing a small silver flask from the nightstand.
He unscrewed the top and held it out. “You need to drink a little. Just a bit.”
Bakugo sniffed it. “This smells like coins and regret.”
“It’s blood, babe. What do you want, cinnamon swirl?”
With a grimace, Bakugo took a sip.
Metallic, slightly disgusting, not awful, but definitely not what the books made it sound like.
He licked his lips. “Okay, that also tasted like metal.”
Kirishima took the flask, capped it, and leaned in for a kiss.
A long one, and then he pulled back, touched his cheek, and smiled.
“Yeah. It’s done.”
Bakugo blinked again.
“What do you mean it’s done?”
Kirishima tilted his head, all innocence. “I mean, it’s done. You’re turned.”
“I don’t feel different.”
“You wouldn’t yet.”
“What? Where’s my burning desire for blood? Where’s the painful transformation? The crawling on the floor growling montage?!”
Kirishima chuckled, crawling onto the bed beside him. “You’re so dramatic.”
“You said I was gonna feel everything!”
“Yeah,” he shrugged, clearly trying not to laugh. “Because I knew you’d expect to feel everything, but I’ve been preparing your body for this since the first time you really asked for it.”
Bakugo stared. “What?”
“All those little bites after you said you wanted it? They weren’t just for fun. Small transformations. Adjustments. Building your tolerance. That’s why your body didn’t freak out just now.”
Bakugo’s jaw dropped. “You’ve been vampiring me in increments?”
“You’re welcome,” Kirishima said, resting back on his elbows. “Sure, you’re still gonna sleep like a fucking bear tonight, and you’re gonna wake up feeling like a kid that was neglected sugar, but yeah, it’s pretty much done.”
He grinned.
“Welcome to immortality, I hope you like it here.”
Bakugo threw a pillow at his face.
“Are you serious?! That’s how I turn?! That’s my big moment?!”
Kirishima caught the pillow and beamed. “Would you prefer to have a violent seizure on the floor while I monologue about eternity?”
“Yes!”
“Well, tough luck.”
Bakugo flopped back onto the mattress, groaning into the sheets.
“This is so anticlimactic. I wanted to feel something. I wanted, like, I don’t know, my soul to shift.”
Kirishima leaned over him, brushing his hair back with ridiculous affection. “You’ll feel it tomorrow.”
“You better be right.”
“I always am.”
Bakugo looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “You’re such a pain.”
Kirishima just smiled, warm and stupidly smug. “Do I look like someone who doesn’t spend eternity with you?”
Bakugo stared at him for a long moment.
Then pulled him down and kissed him so hard they nearly fell off the bed.
the last one
Being a vampire wasn’t bad.
Actually, it was kind of suspiciously normal.
Sure, the blood cravings hit once or twice a day, but Kirishima kept their fridge stocked like it was a weird artisanal wine cellar. And okay, the sun tickled, which was annoying more than painful, like static on his skin instead of actual burning. Sunglasses helped. So did Kirishima’s smug insistence on slathering SPF 100 on him like he was a sexy roast about to go on the grill.
He also felt a bit hornier than usual. Which, coming from him, was saying something.
But his husband (life partner? immortal lover?) was extremely okay with that. Very okay. So okay, in fact, that Bakugo often ended up shirtless on a balcony or half-dressed on the kitchen counter while Kirishima murmured “wow, vampire you is intense,” with blood on his lips and a dopey smile on his face.
So yeah. Being a vampire? Fine.
His parents didn’t even flinch when he told them.
His mom squinted at his neck for two full seconds, huffed, “Figures,” and went back to making soba. His dad looked relieved, honestly, patted Kirishima on the shoulder and said “thank you for putting up with him.”
Apparently, they'd written him off as a lost cause sometime around his explosive teenage years and were just happy he’d found someone who could handle the blast radius.
His friends didn’t care either.
Kaminari spent the first three months begging Kirishima to bite him. “C’mon, just one nibble,” he’d plead at dinner, nudging Kirishima with puppy eyes while Bakugo rolled his eyes so hard he nearly pulled a muscle.
“Go find your own Cullen,” he snapped every time.
Kirishima would just laugh, that stupid laugh, the one that made Bakugo’s chest warm and stomach flutter, and kiss Bakugo’s temple while Mina cooed and Sero made very loud, very fake gagging noises from across the table.
“You two are so gross,” Sero would say, stuffing fries in his mouth.
“I love love,” Mina would sigh.
And Bakugo, smug and happy and definitely not blushing because he didn't blush anymore, would lean into Kirishima’s side and lick a fang just to shut them all up.
But the best part, the best part, was the nights, because nights belonged to them now.
The world felt smaller. More open. Quiet in the way that let them explore it, one stolen hour at a time. They went on dates in cities with cobblestone streets and in diners that never closed. They danced under neon lights and made out in alleyways and held hands in museums where time didn’t matter.
And sometimes (often) Bakugo would look at Kirishima, bright under the moon, always smiling like he couldn’t believe his luck, and think: yeah, this is mine.
He’d grab his hand in the middle of a street. He’d lick at his fangs just to see him shiver. He’d pull him into a kiss that felt like a promise and say, “You’re mine, idiot,” even when he was smiling so hard it ruined the scowl.
And every time, without fail, he’d think, I’ll do all that again tomorrow.
With a smile on his face, because forever was long, but with Kirishima?
It was going to be fun.