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pseudowho · 1 month

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Kingsman!AU: Galahad/Nanami Kento

You become the latest Kingsman...and the man who sponsored you is so much more than the gentleman he presents himself as.

Warnings: Best if you've seen the Kingsman films! 18+, MDNI, soft!Dom Nanami, SecretAgent!AU

A little series of smutty drabbles...also planned, Higuruma, perhaps others, for now.

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It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the strangest job interview you had ever had.

Handcuffed, in an East London Police interview room, after assaulting five (...six? Seven?) police officers at an anti-government protest, you were scruffy but unharmed. The blood on your hands was not your own. There was a high flush on your cheeks, ripped clothes casting an indifferent, messy disdain to the situation you found yourself in.

There was a knock at the door, three brisk taps. You did not answer-- a pause. Three further raps at the door.

"...come in?" You asked. The door opened a crack. No further advancement.

"...may I?" A voice, velvet smooth and low, asking your permission.

"I...dont see why it would be my choice," you offered, stretching your hands against the cold metal of your handcuffs.

The door opened slowly, filled by a broad, tall man, blond and outstandingly handsome, with neither a hair nor thread out of place in his Savile Row suit. Over his arm rested a neatly folded overcoat, and a glossy-handled men's umbrella. His hat never graced his head indoors, and was, as such, clasped in his hand. He raised one fine eyebrow at you, his expression unreadable.

"It would be ill-mannered of me to consider it anyone's choice other than yours," he offered coolly, sitting opposite you, "considering you are the only occupant of the room." A moment of silence, again, as you regarded each other.

"Are you...my lawyer?" The man's nostrils flared slightly in suppressed mirth.

"Good heavens, no. No, I have come with a job opportunity." You blinked, certain you had heard wrong, while he continued, "I saw your performance, on my way to work, and I must say I was rather impressed. Seven officers, in under a minute. All incapacitated. Outstanding. And you're untrained, too. And, you did so well at University-- first class honours, correct?"

"Who the hell are you?" You spat, bristling under the man's casual knowledge of your life. The station's assistant looked awkwardly between the two of you as he dropped off two chipped police-issue teacups and saucers of anemic-looking tea. The blond man took the cup and saucer so gracefully, considering the enormity of his hands.

"Ah...quite right. I haven't introduced myself. Nanami Kento-- it's a pleasure to meet you."

You faltered again under his icy regard. Nanami took a sip of his tea. He paused, looking down at it with a hint of despair, before placing it down and delicately clearing his throat.

"...delicious," he lied.

"Are you...MI5?" A brief smile from Nanami, in response. He reached for something in his pocket.

"No," he responded, clipped, "we are not. But, we are in service to King and Country, and we are the sort of agency who punch up, instead of down. And...we find ourselves one member short."

Nanami slipped a thick, embossed coin over the desk to you; a circle, with a sideways "K". Nanami stood up, abruptly, inclining his head to you.

"All charges against you have been dropped. Your interview will commence, at..." Nanami looked at his watch, "...five o'clock this afternoon, should you wish to accept. If you press that coin for five seconds, my associate should send you the details."

You sat, stunned into silence, with the coin in your hands. Nanami Kento looked to you with twinkling eyes, at the door. You felt the twist of fate in your belly, and the pull as Nanami Kento walked it away with him.

"Good day to you. The pleasure was all mine."

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It had taken you over an hour to walk from Whitechapel to the Savile Row address. As bedraggled as you were, you passed through the bustling gentry and street performers of Covent Garden, skirting past the Savoy...before reaching the hushed, golden backlit glow of an exquisite Tailors shop. Letters were embossed upon the windowpane, glimmering gold on a backdrop of finery.

Kingsman.

A tinkling bell; an incongruous stranger, entering an unfamiliar domain. A familiar stranger, strong and smiling, upon the couch. Your breath hitched before you spoke.

"...you're here." Nanami folded his newspaper, standing up, before welcoming you to a changing room, that was not a changing room.

"You're late," he whispered against your ear, as the ground under London sank beneath your feet.

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"...that's mad." You stood in front of a glass window, somewhere far beneath Surrey, gazing in wonderment upon an aircraft hangar full of billions of pounds worth of mercenary equipment. Nanami chuckled beside you. You missed the almost fond sideways glance he passed you.

"I thought the same," he hummed, "when I was brought here, for the first time. I thought someone was playing some tremendous joke, for all the world but me." You were silent, dry-mouthed and swallowing.

"Tell me something..." you insisted, your palm pressed flat against the glass.

"...anything," Nanami reassured, soft and sincere.

"If I pass this-- this test," you whispered, turning to him, "will I get to work with you?"

Nanami smiled, leaning upon the handle of his umbrella, one leg crossed upon the tip of his toes behind the other.

"I'm counting on it."

Another man, tall and lithe, with inky black hair and a hooked nose, arrived with a clipboard. He offered you both a lopsided smile-- "Galahad-- good to see you, my friend"-- white sleeves rolled up against a tailored waistcoat--

-- a rich, Scottish brogue--

"...are you ready to begin?"

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Not only had you passed these months and months of bizarre, deadly tests...you had excelled.

Nanami had remained, always, at arms' length...a distant advisor. An odd, gentle promise. He could not offer any tangible advice, and you could see him itching to, at points.

It was down to the final two; you, and some Cambridge yuppy who could trace his family lineage back to the Battle of Hastings.

You stepped through the dormitories, late at night before the final test, your German Shepherd bounding ahead to sit diligently at the foot of your bed.

You felt a strong arm loop around your waist, and a hand over your mouth. A familiar cologne that made your stomach clench. You stood, pressed against his clipped, firm body, tucked into a camera's blindspot.

"Listen to me," he hissed in your ear, "Do you trust me?"

You nodded, not hesitating for a moment. Nanami's belly flipped to feel your hot little breaths around his hand.

"Good...shoot the fucking dog." You squeaked, trying to turn to him. He pinned you flush against the wall. His chest rumbled against your back.

"Trust me. Shoot the dog."

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You shot first, without a moment of hesitation. Your opponent returned to Cambridge. You became a Kingsman. Both dogs survived the trial.

The hamper that Galahad, your new partner, sent to your home, was nothing short of the finest luxury.

"To my Very Best Bet", read the lovingly annotated card. You brushed it against your lips, wishing it was his fingers instead.

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The wallet was a supple brown leather, smooth and warm. You knew it belonged to Galahad, from the faint smoky cologne that lingered upon its skin. Merlin gave you Galahad's address. You missed the knowing smile Merlin also gave you.

Your stomach flipped in your belly, all the way through Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens. You passed beneath trees hundreds of years older than the establishment for which you now worked, treading upon the footsteps of Kings and Queens.

The first fresh flakes of snow kissed upon your lips, by the time you turned to the towering white grandeur of Kensington, very much not where you were from. You were freezing, your little hands clenched in your pockets, but hot with anticipation.

Reaching a fine, tall townhouse, all Georgian architectural triumph, you pushed through the black metal gate, rising up white stone steps. You hesitated only briefly before tapping the door, heavy, and gilded forest green.

"--just a minute-- please excuse me--...oh. Hello."

Galahad stood at the door, as...relaxed as you had ever seen him. His crisp white shirt was unbuttoned to his chest, and his waistcoat hung similarly open, with tie tails trailing down his chest. With his sleeves rolled up, and a pinstriped apron tied round his waist, you swore you almost saw him blush.

"...to what do I owe the pleasure?" He breathed out, finally. The apples of your cheeks, pink with the cold, dimpled under your smile. You reached out to Galahad, his wallet clasped in your hand.

"You forgot something," you offered. His hand reached out immediately, a goodness, thank you, you shouldn't have upon his lips, before your cold little fingers grasped under his own.

"You are miles from home," he rumbled, chastising, "and you are freezing cold." You tipped on your heels on the doorstep, placating him with a finger to your lips, and a glint in your eye. You moved to go down the steps, but your fingers remained clasped in his.

"Where are my manners? You should come in...of course."

"Galahad, don't feel oblig--"

"Kento, please," he ushered you inside, a hand ghosting over the small of your back, "if we're going to share dinner, we should not pretend to be strangers."

Kento's house bore all the opulent gloss of its noble history, with fine black and white checkered tile flooring, and twisting dark oak bannisters carrying the high staircase away from you. A receiving room beside you, bigger than your whole home, bloomed beneath the sultry flicker of a fire, the only source of light in the room. The kitchen lights spilled inwards, a herby bourginon aroma drawing you in.

You slipped your coat off your shoulders, and blushed, as Kento stood behind you to receive it. His heart pounded under the effort of containing his thrill to have you in his home. The thought of being alone with him, like this, had occupied your mind at night, for so many months.

"Sit, please," Kento insisted, heading to his drinks cabinet. Two slim, hazel eyes darted to you in question; "...can I tempt you?"

You settled on the sofa, antique, and likely much older than you; "Ah...wine?" Kento smiled, heading over to you with a bottle in his grasp, and two slim-necked glasses between his fingers.

You shared the bottle-- dinner was forgotten, cooking slowly on the back burner. You felt yourself becoming supple, warmed by the fire, the wine and the company. Within just a few hours, you and Kento laughed together, both liquor-dishevelled, hands brushing forearms on the back of the sofa. His calloused fingertips were electric against the inside of your wrist.

"You really were, you know," Kento hummed, placing down his unfinished glass of wine, "my best bet. The best gamble I...I ever made." You didn't know how you had ended up drawn so closely to him. Your legs tangled in his, head radiating from his thighs into yours. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling you gently, insistently, closer to him.

"I don't normally do this," Kento bargained with himself, whispering against you, his tongue swiping out to dampen your plush lips, "it isn't very-- I really shouldn't, I-- dinner first, at least--" You couldn't help but drown under him, silent in the pools of his dilated pupils as he pressed you to lay back on the sofa, climbing over you, and trapping you beneath him.

"...can I tell you a secret?" Kento murmured against your neck, melting you under his lips and tongue. His hand moved down to undo the buttons of your silk blouse. You nodded, feeling him shiver as you did the same to his shirt.

"...I left my wallet behind on purpose," he rumbled, predatory. The tension snapped. His lips crashed to yours, with Kento groaning into your mouth, tongue trembling against yours. Ripping at the buttons of your blouse, his gentlemanly self-restraint was all but abandoned.

Stripping you, freeing your breasts with bitten-back growls and murmurs, Kento rolled you onto the Persian rug in front of the fire, crowding over you and taking one breast between his lips, licking your nipple into his mouth as his enormous hand pawed at the other.

"--beautiful...beautiful, you know that? Always thought...if you hadn't made it in...I'd have brought you home anyway..."

"Ken--Kento, I--" You broke off into breathy, high moans as Kento's hand slipped down, clutching at your pussy beneath your skirt. His hand scraped the lace edges of your stockings, his breaths frantic and panting with hurry.

"Say my name...again," he panted, strong fingers cupping your sex, moving to massage you, desperate need radiating through his hand. Kento pressed hard enough to massage your clit through the lips of your pussy, you mewled, squirming under him as he growled, "Again. Say my name."

"Kento," you squeaked. Your voice seemed to make Kento frantic, and he pulled off your skirt, your stockings, your underwear, until you were suddenly, blissfully bare beneath him. He knelt, still fully clothed in front of the firelight. His barrelled chest rose and fell, a high blush across his sharp cheekbones.

"This isn't...how a gentleman behaves," you gasped, one arm draped over your eyes. You heard Kento chuckle, cracking his knuckles above your prone, trembling curves. You heard the wolfish grin in his voice.

"Oh yes it fucking is."

One of his hands draped between your breasts, running down your chest and belly, to graze fingertips over your mound. His eyes flicked up to yours again, dark, hungry and questioning. You floated, somewhere both above and beneath him.

"Anything...anything you want," you keened, "whatever you want." Something tightened in Kento's jaw. His fingers trailed lower, grazing your plush lips again, dipping beneath to stroke up and down the slick length between your entrance and clit.

"...what a dangerous thing to say, to a man like me...I don't get treats like you often." Kento pressed two fingers slowly into your clenching heat, eyes rolling back with a fractured moan, gripping you to him by the hip. His cock strained against his trousers, and he moved lazily to unzip himself, shaking with self-restraint. He could not bear the way you twisted and squirmed, to feel his thick fingers fucking into you.

"...good girl...how does it feel? As good as your own? Did you touch yourself, like this, when you dreamt about me?" You could only nod in response, moaning and reaching down to clutch his wrist. His fingers curled upwards towards your soft sensitive spot, buried into you up to his knuckles, and swirling his fingertips over the spongy patch. You sobbed into his touch and he folded over you, shushing, pressing kisses to your temples.

"It's alright, darling...I felt it too...I'll show you. How I touched myself...thinking about you." Kento shuddered against your neck, his fingers still working magic into your belly. His cock flopped heavy into his hand, thick, long, and Kento felt so touch-starved as he closed his eyes, raising his thumb to stroke around your clit, imagining it was his weeping cockhead.

He shushed you again, chasing you up the rug as your pleasure built, heat surging through your thighs and belly. Kento couldn't help but fuck into his own fist, lubricated by his pre-cum, overheating with the need to sink himself inside you, and paint you white with his seed. He cracked his neck from side to side. Doubling down, his fingers picked up speed, pressing your clit until you writhed, your nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt.

"That's it...that's it...let it happen," Kento whispered into your neck, still fucking into his fist against your belly as you climaxed, hands tangled in his mussed hair, burning under the weight of him. His fingers fucked you through the haze of pleasure, nose stroking into your hair, whispering his praises against your ears; "...so proud of you...such a good job...so proud of you, my little gamble..."

Your thighs threatened to flop to the sides, soft and lazy after your orgasm. Kento nestled himself between them, cockhead stroking between your folds, and you whimpered to feel your sensitive clit nudged. Folded over you, Kento met your eyes. A slightly guilty smile ghosted over his face, his voice shaking, seemingly coming back to himself. He resolved to restrain himself;

"I, uh...usually have better manners. This was unprofessional of me. Ungentlemanly, even. I...I insist we...leave this here, and do this properly. Now, we sh-- haaaaah, fuck-- shit-- you--"

Interrupting Kento, you had waited for his cockhead to stroke down to your entrance before fucking him inside you, rolling your hips up to trap his cock inside your walls. You wailed around the stretch, Kento's cock huge and pulsing inside you, and Kento lost his mind.

Grasping your hips with vicious strength, he cursed, rutting into you with abandon. You felt his fat, blunt cockhead jabbing against your cervix immediately, and Kento leaned into it, tilting your hips to fuck you deeper, overtaken by a primal need.

"...little minx...I offer you--ahhhh fuck-- dinner, and you...you offer me...your cunt...just like you, shit--"

You giggled, breathless against Kento's feral attentions, and the sound shot straight down Kento's spine. Your laughs caught in your throat when he held his hips flush to yours, barely pulling out, bullying into your pussy with no restraint.

You felt the steam of sweat beneath Kento's shirt, felt how badly he needed this, and revelled in the way he fell apart above you, his cock milked by your wet, velvet heat. Kento leaned back just enough to see where his cock disappeared into you.

The sight had him reeling, and he came with a bark, spitting and swearing against his total lack of self-control. You felt his cock twitch and bound inside you, spattering your walls with thick stripes of cum. Kento crumpled onto his elbows, face twisted in euphoric agony to see you bite your lip at him, rolling your hips to milk him of every last drop of cum.

Gasping for just a few moments, before rolling his shoulders with soft cracks again, Kento pulled out of you, flipping you over so your face pressed down into the rug. You squealed to feel your hands drawn behind your back, and the soft shhhhff shhhfff shhhhhffff of his tie being pulled free of his collar.

Face down, and arse up, Kento dipped his fingers into your cum-dripping, twitching hole.

"That's how a boy does it," Kento growled, beginning to thread his tie around your wrists, "now lets show you how a Kingsman does it."

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Getting to wax lyrically about my beloved London was a treat.

Up next: Higuruma Hiromi/Merlin

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shibaraki · 1 year

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TO BUILD A HOME ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

synopsis: todoroki shouto is the ideal roommate. he is tidy, quiet, considerate, and one of your dearest friends. you almost wished he were a tactless slob. it would certainly make navigating your feelings for him easier.

tags: GN reader, friends to lovers, pro hero shouto, quirk support engineer reader, living together (and they were roommates!), mutual pining, fluff, alcohol, other character interactions, domesticity, jealous shouto, a little angst, minor oc, love confessions, making out + frottage

wc: 14K+

a/n: I wrote a little bonus sequel for this au about their first date which you can read here !! [+4K]

Shouto’s home strikes a dissonant note with you.

You’re a statuesque centrepiece in his living room, staring out his tall standing windows, paneled wall to wall and making for a beautiful view of the city. There’s a soft shine to it, iridescent from corner to corner. A privacy film to block any view into the apartment from the outside, you’re guessing.

Despite your closeness you’ve never had reason to visit until now. There’s far too much space for one man, you think. Jarringly, it’s as if you’ve stepped into a studio display. A picture perfect bachelor pad— but really, what bachelor pad needed three family sized bedrooms?

It feels awfully lonely.

Shouto heaves the last of your boxes onto the kitchen island with ease. The muscles in his arms flex under his loose shirt, fabric briefly tightening. Unfair, you think. He hasn’t even broken a sweat.

Back straightening, you watch Shouto roll back his shoulder and rub at the joint. The movement causes the hem to lift and flash a pale swath of skin, his shorts hung low on his hips. The weight in your arms is somehow heavier with his eyes turned onto you.

“You can set it down,” he says, his tone full of warm mirth. The disbelief must be written plain on your face. Your fingers tighten on the corners as he walks over. Tilting his head, the red strands that have been haphazardly pushed back into white slip over his forehead. You watch his gaze dart over the label scribbled onto the card that reads ‘toiletries’.

“I know. I’m just…” your jaw shifts and you swallow, a frown etched into your brow. “I don’t know. Got a little lost in my thoughts”.

“Feel free to change whatever you like,” his mouth curls into a small smile, scar wrinkling by his eye. You are taken by just how happy he looks to have you here. Shouto seemed the type to appreciate his own space. “I want you to be comfortable”.

“Whatever I like?” you echo teasingly, shucking the box up in your embrace and bumping his shoulder. “Famous last words. Maybe I’ll decide to renovate your other guest room into a mini workshop”.

Shouto exhales a quiet laugh. The air around him is displaced by an ephemeral wave of heat that seeps through your sweater; it cools back to room temperature as quick as it came.

“I wouldn’t oppose it,” he says, and your breath catches. Reaching to poke at the box, he adds, “Do you want me to help you unpack?”

You begin to shake your head. “No, no. I can do all that, don’t worry,” you demurred nervously.

“It wouldn’t be a problem”.

Memories of all the things you managed to salvage in the wreck flicker across your mind's eye. Mugs and plates, a few clothes, oil stained tools and various other inappropriate things you’d rather die than have him accidentally discover.

But he’s staring at you like a restless puppy. You relent, “Maybe you can put away the kitchen stuff then”.

After Shouto retreats you are left adrift to navigate the narrow corridors. The room he directs you to has the biggest guest bed and it shares a wall with his own room. You shuffle in, processing your surroundings. Your linens are freshly washed, tucked in tight at the corners, and they smell like him.

You lower another box on top of the bed and sit by the headboard. The mattress yields. Admittedly it is much more comfortable than your old bed used to be. Soft, you sink into a foamy embrace, smoothing a hand over the matching pillowcases, then reaching up to the shared accent wall.

Reality has hardly set in for you yet. It’s been four days since you lost your home, most of your earthly possessions along with it, and the life you had spent years building. The villain that managed to frisbee a car through your living room had been apprehended but not before destroying half the city block.

Shouto immediately volunteered his own place. You have been close friends for years now, having met during your second year at UA as a support course student. You’d worked with Yaomomo on redesigning her costume for your portfolio and managed to worm your way into their quaint friend group.

Your initial crush on him all that time ago burgeoned into something you’re too anxious to put a name to. When he first suggested you live with him while the city fixed everything you’d wanted to refuse. So far lack of proximity has been your only saving grace.

But you really had nowhere else suitable to stay. A hotel would be too costly in the long run. Your other friends are scattered across different prefectures and those who are in the city are too far from work.

Shouto practically sparkled when you agreed, plucked right out of a shoujo manga.

You remember this as your fingers curled into a loose fist and gave the wall a quiet knock. All the tension accumulated in your shoulders relaxes at the dull sound. “Atleast it isn’t thin,” you mused.

There’s a large closet adjacent to the bed, deep enough that you could crawl inside comfortably. Windows that stretch above your head and overlook the busy streets. You notice that same iridescent sheen, alongside a large blind connected to the control pad fixed by your doorway. They roll down as you fiddle and remind you of those old school projectors from the pre quirk era.

The walls are almost entirely bare. Your imagination drifts to the countless books and photo albums you managed to bring, envisioning them taking up the empty space. It makes you wonder what Shouto’s room looks like. You squash that thought.

When you rejoin him he stands with his back to you, blades shifting under the material as he plays with a small round object held between his fingers. Closing the distance you realise it is one of your stress balls.

His expression is entirely relaxed, bright with a little child-like satisfaction. He pulls at the flexible rubber, rolling it under his thumbs, flattening in between his palms. Your novelty mugs are lined up in the open cupboard right beside his own, entirely forgotten.

As not to startle him you call out gently, “Hey”.

Your voice stalls his movement. Shouto pivots and meets your eyes; they widen as you laugh, amused by his forced nonchalance. He clears his throat, “Hi. Are you happy with the room?”

Humming an affirmative, you sidle up next to him and poke at the ball. “It’s fine, thank you. Nicer than my old place”.

Redirecting his attention to the ball, he squeezes it so hard the foamy rubber protrudes through the gaps in his fingers and lets go, smiling as it retains its original shape. “I liked your old apartment,” he murmurs. “It suited you”.

“Because I’m a mess, you mean?” drawn back into Shouto’s orbit, you lean against his left side. He mirrors your weight until you are like two pillars braced against one another, standing uselessly in the middle of his obviously unused kitchen. Your heart aches recalling all those nights he spent at the agency doing unnecessary overtime. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to come back here.

“No,” Shouto huffs lightly, passing the ball hand to hand. He doesn’t elaborate. Instead he bumps you with his hip, “Come with me. I’ll give you a tour so you know where everything is”.

You are guided back to the genkan; it’s gorgeous, modernised with a calligraphy feature wall that breaks up the light colours. There is a narrow door leading to a coat room and two white cabinets under a granite countertop housing a small decorative bowl painted in Deku’s colours. Inside are your keys and his, the chains entangled.

Very quickly you realise Shouto doesn’t even know where ‘everything’ is. He opens the cupboard doors hesitantly, in a way that suggests he had no idea what is in them. One filled by his shoes and slippers, the other left empty.

The coat closet holds a few jackets you only ever see him wear in winter. He pinches the waterproof puffy sleeve between finger and thumb with a curious sound. Quietly, “I forgot that I had this”.

“You wore it once and Bakugo said you looked like an ugly toasted marshmallow”.

“That’s right,” a smirk pulls at his lips, mouth thin to restrain his laughter. You dip your chin to hide how infectious it is. “He hated it. Maybe I should take it with me tomorrow and wear it around the agency”.

“Please don’t. He’s coming to see me later in the day and I need him in a good mood”.

Shouto glances at you from the corner of his eye, sunlight reflecting through the blue iris. You would recognise that air of mischief anywhere. “I mean it, Shouto!”

“The day after, then”.

“As long as I’m not in the line of fire,” you snort, itching absentmindedly at your forearm where the skin feels tender. Probably bruising after carrying everything up. “Antagonising Pro Heroes should be listed as a hobby on your wiki page”.

You fall in line with his footsteps once more and keep pace until he stops by another door. There’s a laundry room and a separate toilet by the genkan, first door to the right. Upon opening the door the white toilet lid lifts.

You gasp and clutch his bicep, far too excitable to register how firm it is. ��You never told me you have a happy toilet. What the hell, Shouto?”

Still nestled in his palm, you notice Shouto squeezes the stress ball until the foam is straining under the stretchy skin but you say nothing of it. He swallows and echoes your words, “A happy toilet?”

“Yeah, ‘cause it's happy to see you! Isn’t it cute?”

He turns with his cheek between his teeth, exhaling a warm puff of air through his nose. “Yeah,” Shouto rasps. “It’s cute”.

The entrance leads to a hallway, opening at the end to an open plan living area and kitchen. A black and white palette, dark stained wood flooring from room to room. You stand by and watch fondly as he opens every half empty drawer. The sectional couch is a welcome splash of colour— deep royal blue, huge, L shaped and plush, facing a 60 inch TV held up by a cabinet with a few books and photographs inside.

You toe at the fluffy grey rug laid out under the coffee table. His place is spectacular, sure, but it isn’t Shouto. While left unspoken it seemed you both knew that. There’s an abashed pinch to his expression that’s endearing, yet sad; you thought he might be embarrassed by how threadbare his home life appeared to be.

“You ever use that thing?” you ask, pointing to the TV. Predictably, Shouto shakes his head.

“Not very much. These days it feels like I only come here to sleep,” he leans over to pick up the remote from between the cushions and balances it on the arm of the couch. “Every few months Uraraka and Midoriya will visit to order food and watch movies with me. You can use it whenever you want”.

The bathroom is opposite your bedroom doors. He taps his own in passing but does not open it. You step into a bright, white tiled room with a double vanity sink and murmur in awe. Above are ceiling lights that give a soft glow, giving it a warm toned hue. Behind a glass door is a bowl shaped bathtub, big enough to fit two.

“Damn…” you whisper, running your fingers over the control pad connected to the tub. There’s a big bath cover propped by the wall. “A sauna button, too?”

“Not that I need it,” he muses, standing by the doorway, hands loosely interlocked as he observes you navigating his space. Intuitively, you get the sense that this is the beginning of a true paradigm shift. His offer had been the fork in the road and your agreement took you down a path soon to be irreversible.

You could survive seeing him at work or out with the mutual friends you shared. You’re not sure how you’ll weather the domesticity that comes with living together.

The reflection in the mirror shifts awkwardly and you grimace at how hard you’re trying to act like a normal human being. This is just Shouto: your good friend and longtime supporter. Just the man you might possibly be in love with.

“We should probably talk about ground rules and stuff,” you begin, hoping it’ll wipe that gentle look off his face before you say something stupid.

“Ground rules?” Shouto pushes off from the door frame with his back straight. He tilts his head, sight following you closely as you scoot past him back into the hallway.

“Like a chore rota and stuff. Rules so we can live in harmony or something. And you still need to let me know how much I’m paying you”.

“But I don’t want you to”.

You pause mid step and turn to stare at him in soft incredulity. “Why not? It’s only right I contribute”.

Steadfast, he holds your gaze and bluntly says, “I have a higher income than you. There’s no need for you to pay me rent”.

“Way to rub it in”.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you laugh at the rare wobble to his voice and knock your hands together as a sign of forgiveness. His eyes squint into a smile. “It just feels unfair for me to ask that of you”.

The hallway falls dim as clouds gather, casting shadows that make the private bubble you’re in seem that much smaller. “But I want to,” you reassured him. “Come on— forty percent?”

“Thirty”.

You hold out three fingers up on the right and five on the left. You try again, “Thirty five?”

“Thirty,” he doubles down, covering the entirety of your left hand with his own. You feel his thumb skim your inner wrist and your resolve breaks.

“…Fine”.

Shouto grins boyishly and you do not acknowledge the flutter in your stomach.

The first few days are cautious despite your desire to behave as normal. At night you found yourself acutely aware of Shouto’s presence behind the bedroom wall. Your senses latched onto every muted bump and creak; the quiet drew thoughts you so valiantly avoided the surface and you could do nothing besides parse through them.

It made sleeping difficult.

You’d wondered if Shouto was having the same issue but the drowsy gait and hair plastered to one side of his head only ever spoke of a good night's rest. He wears loose silk pyjama pants to bed, low on his hips and an inch or so longer at the leg so they always caught under his heel as he walked.

Seeing him relaxed and fumbling like a fawn before his morning tea felt as if a big star was fizzing in your chest. It’s strange, in a tentative way, not an uncomfortable one.

The dust settles and a chore rota is scribbled out on a white board and pinned to the refrigerator with a worn All Might magnet. Your hours are less hectic so you offered to do the weekly shopping. Shouto volunteers for the laundry— his sister set the machines up for him when he first moved and he hasn’t moved the dials since— and taking out the garbage. Together you build a precariously clumsy peace, a mimicry of home.

Things started to change.

A kaleidoscope can take on an entirely new pattern with just the subtle turn of the lense. Weeks lapse. You stopped asking for permission and he no longer sought reassurance that you were happy. Existing parallel to one another, your lives fit seamlessly, though not without effort.

You’ve never known him to be a tactile type of guy— back when you rushed to hug him at graduation he’d brandished his diploma like a weapon before noticing it was you. Now, Shouto playfully hip checks you in the kitchen, he sits closer than he needs to on the couch and texts you at random throughout the day. He brings you a treat if his route overlaps your commute, keeping it hot in his left hand. He even greets you by the door on the rare occasion he finishes a shift first.

Your heart is fatter than ever and you aren’t quite sure what to do with it or where to put it down. After the city has rebuilt your apartment block and deemed it safe you’ll be returning to a normal you don’t recognise anymore.

You’re finalising the upgrade for Dynamite’s summer gauntlets when your phone buzzes on your bench. The vibration carries it closer to the edge and you scoop it up before the inevitable fall, cursing at the oil smeared around the case. The screen lights up.

shouto : 1 minute ago

There’s an image attached with no explanation. You are met with the open skyline, dense clouds of every shape and size dotted across a blue canvas. Shouto’s arm is in the shot, finger pointed towards one cloud in particular.

You squint at it. Zoom in on your phone, tilt it to the side, flip it in the editor and outline it— and nothing rings a bell. It’s a white blob.

Another notification drops down at the top of your screen. You wipe your hand against your overalls and open it.

shouto : just now

ヾ(=^・ｪ・^)

Your nose wrinkles as you glance back to the photo. Granted, it does have two pointed edges that could be interpreted as cat ears if you squinted. Maybe. This isn’t new — he burned his toast three days ago and took a picture simply because it looked vaguely feline.

you : delivered

aren’t u supposed to be on patrol?

The message turns to ‘read’ quicker than expected. You panic and click off the conversation, setting the phone face up on your workbench and reading from your locked screen. Lately, despite living together and seeing one another every day, Shouto seems to have more to say to you than ever.

shouto : just now

Divine intervention. We should get a cat.

The use of ‘we’ pings around your head like a pinball. Ever since the initial dubitation smoothed out he's become much more flippant about things— treating your situation as though it were permanent.

An intern shuffles into the workshop with a thick binder. Not one of yours, you realise. One of Mei’s. They blink curiously as your phone buzzes again, loud where it clatters on the hard surface, and you bite down on your inner cheek, hard, keeping your feelings at bay.

When handed the papers you breathe in recognition. They’ve been coordinated into two groups, and you’d know that logo anywhere. “The costume applications for the upcoming UA students! I wondered why they hadn’t come in yet”.

“Yes, for 1A and 1B. Hatsume-san said these ended up on her desk,” they said, gesticulating nervously, “and that I— I should give them to you?”

“Well If not for you I’m sure these would’ve ended up buried under all her discarded prototypes,” you demurred, offering what you hoped was a reassuring smile. “Thank you”.

Abruptly, your phone gives another violent jerk and disrupts the moment. The intern squeaks, rigidity returning to her posture, and scurries out with a rushed goodbye. You sink into your arms, forehead pressed to the cool metal. Surely you aren’t that scary.

Turning the screen, you read the texts and sigh fondly.

shouto : 4 minutes ago

An older cat would be nice.

shouto : just now

Should we order tonight?

My treat.

Your gaze lifts to find the time at the top of the screen. It blinks back at you, the hour changing. Not long until you can head out.

you : delivered

it isn’t a treat for me if it’s more cold soba. give me variety or give me death (งಠ_ಠ)ง

The cursor flickers. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, hesitating on the final letter. Something so minor that feels bigger than it has any right to be.

“Stop being ridiculous,” you mutter, sending it before your mind can change.

you : read

be safe ok? I’ll see you at home.

When he doesn’t reply you figure he’s returned to his job, thus you return to yours.

Dynamite was once again trusting you with his gear. Bakugo had been extraordinarily protective over his initial design in highschool. Great bulbous things strapped to each wrist, grenade-like appearance, so big that his arms became pendulous and swung away from his body as he walked. The shoulder strain was immense.

You fought tooth and nail to get him to accept your adjustments. Now every summer you remodelled the gauntlets to be lighter and ventilated, and in winter you added in insulation and flexibility.

Respectively, the gauntlets still weigh a lot without additional stored nitroglycerin. You lift, bending at the knees and groaning as you lower them both down into a protective case, slotting into foam padding for protection. No doubt they’d end up rough on the first day but you still wanted them to arrive without a scratch.

Evening draws near. Closing the lid, it gives a satisfying click. You fiddle with the lock pad and calibrate it to open only for Bakugo’s thumb print before lugging the case to the built-in vault in your workshop, where it’ll be kept over the weekend.

Mei’s lab is directly opposite your own. Despite the dense soundproofing and reinforced steel concrete the jarring screech of a saw echoes throughout the hallway. You press your hand to the towering door, muscle fibres wracked by vibrations. Bidding her goodbye would be futile— she’s been working on a new patent for months now. The rest of the world fell away when she got like this.

Heading through to the main lobby, you greet those passing by with a nod, exchanging hurried words. It was always as though time didn’t exist here. People worked all hours, any hours. Flexibility was a point of pride for your company, and seeing someone eat breakfast after midnight wasn’t uncommon.

You preferred a regular schedule. Routine keeps you moderately sane. A cool breeze gusts through the sliding doors as you duck into the street; you hiss at the immediate change in temperature. Patting down your coat pockets you dig out your phone, sending a one-handed text to Shouto while you slip in your earbuds.

Cacophonous bustling of the streets now muffled, you scroll through a playlist and click at random. An upbeat melody carries you to the station, scooting through the throngs of people and tapping your card at the barriers.

You pick up the pace, scurrying onto the train right before the doors close. A stranger glares, looking over your dishevelled state with judgement. You find a narrow corner, left standing on the far end of the carriage, squashed up against the window to make room for other passengers.

Conscious about the volume. you turned down your music a tad and sank into the confines of your coat. Shouto’s apartment is miraculously closer than your old one, meaning the commute is much shorter, and your time spent in bed is much longer. Three stops pass and the sky begins to bruise. Purple hues blend gently into red, the sun a fiery hearth on the seam of the horizon that blinks abruptly between the passing buildings.

When you reach home Shouto still hasn’t texted back. You bend to arrange your shoes, coat hung beside his terrible winter puffer. The floor is cold under socked feet, pottering through to the living room in search of the TV remote.

You flinch as the newscaster's voice blurts out of the speakers. Shouto must have left it on the news channel this morning. Watching the scene unfold on the screen you feel your heart climb your throat.

Shouto is a hero— a number of your friends are. Villain fights are not only inevitable, they’re a requirement. The truth of it doesn’t make reality any easier to swallow. Uravity is a welcome sight. She’s fighting diligently alongside Shouto, up against multiple villains seemingly working in tandem to destroy the area.

You always thought villains were a good example of how versatile and powerful even the most innocuous quirks can be. Topspin can morph their limbs into a whirling top, and with years of training has gained the ability to form small tornados using momentum. Another you recognise is Cryo, a woman capable of making her body intangible similarly to Lemillion— though she is able to freeze you temporarily if she phases through your body.

There are others, too. Criminals you don’t recognise. It’s been a long time since a big group tried to organise in this manner. You worry at your lip, bracing against the back of the couch for support. What you find most concerning is they don’t seem to have a goal. Just mass destruction, plain and simple.

“Come on,” you think anxiously, nails digging into the cushion as you watch Shouto brace a falling building with his ice, creating an emergency slide for those left inside to escape. You’ve always marvelled at his parallel processing skills— Deku, too. Their thoughts must be running a million miles a second.

The cameras switch to highlight the other heroes and you realise you’ve been holding your breath. You exhale, physically deflating, feeling the weight of your phone in your pants pocket. Clean up would take a while once the battle is won; curry night is off the table.

That’s fine. You could forgive it as long as he came back in one piece.

Evening sinks into night. Shouto comes home after you’ve retired to your bed, though you aren’t asleep yet; you took to staring at the ceiling, waiting for a call from the hospital that you hoped wouldn’t come.

The distant sound of his boots hitting the floor has relief flooding through your system. You strain to listen as he makes his way through the apartment, deliberately quiet. You hear him head straight to the bathroom. The echo of running water muffles after the door closes with a soft click.

You check your phone once more, scanning over the recent updates and not finding much. You consider leaving him alone. Villain fights are hard on the body and the heart. Shouto likes space to process things before he speaks on them, and so you don't want to overstep.

That sentiment dissipates steadily. Five minute intervals that feel like hours. Shouto is in the bathroom for a long, long time. You are seated on the edge of your bed with the covers pulled back when he finally comes out.

Warm light streams beneath your doorway. Muscles clenched, you daren’t move an inch as a stretch of shadow moves across. Shouto stands outside your room and you stare, silently urging him to knock and give you an excuse.

After a beat, Shouto turns away. He flicks off the bathroom light and shuffles down the hallway, away from his own bedroom. Your feet tentatively touch the floor and you slide off the bed with hands held out, careful not to knock into any furniture on the way.

Goose pimples raise across your forearms. You’re in sleep shorts and a ratty old shirt on a cool spring night. No wind and no clouds, the moon hung high and bright. You have never seen the city so eerily still at this hour.

The air always retains the warmth of his body for a while, and you feel it lingering when you step into the hallway.

Voice kept to a whisper, you softly called for him, “Shouto?”

You find him sitting in the middle of the couch. The blinds are up, moonlight flooding in. Shouto is a solid silhouette outlined in white.

“Did something happen?”

The fight ended up dragging on for a while, so you’re in the dark. Details about casualties were steadily being released to news outlets as the heroes dug through the remaining rubble. You’ve yet to hear of any deaths, civilian or otherwise, which is a relief.

He lifts his head, “I’m fine. Sorry if I woke you”.

“You didn’t,” Shouto’s gaze follows as you shuffle towards him, footfalls loud on the hardwood floor. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

The silence is suffocating. Your vision adjusts to the darkness, stuck on the downturn of his mouth and pallid eyes. “We’re friends right? Friends share their burdens,” you try again, awkwardness leaking out with every syllable. “I’m here for you”.

He looks away. There’s a dark, disquieting bruise blooming on his jaw. Subconsciously, Shouto presses a finger onto the bruise and the blood beneath it recedes, paling and returning like the tide.

You don’t sit too close— worried proximity might be suffocating. The couch arm is firm under you, feet propped on the seat cushion. Shouto wets his lips, as if to alleviate the gravity of his words.

“A group of school children were in the theatre when it collapsed,” he rasps. His hand curls into a tight fist, sparks of fire diminishing between his knuckles. “They were young. No older than ten”.

“You blame yourself”.

Turning to you, light casts softly across half of his face, pooling in his left eye. “I was a second too late and now—” he stops, the words caught in his throat.

“Because of my mistakes those children are stuck with the traumatic memory of being trapped under all that rubble. I... I could hear them screaming”.

You gulp and slide down onto the couch, guided by the urge to touch him, “Hey. But you got them out safely, yeah? They’re okay, Shouto”.

His eyes crinkle a bit, if only a trick of your own, and you take it as permission to reach over. One by one you unfurl each finger, massaging your thumbs into his palm to smooth away the crescent marks.

“We got them out,” he amends quietly, taking a brief pause to find the right words. You spend it appreciating the nicks in his skin, scars and rough edges, proof of his tenacity.

Shouto closes his hand around your own, staring dolefully at the point where your bodies meet. You see it for what it is— a request for comfort — and your palms kiss as you realign your fingers, holding on tight.

“You know what I think?”

He hums, curiously peering up through his damp bangs.

“Those kids? They won’t just remember the bad stuff,” you smile, as tender as you feel, “I think they’ll remember how at ease they felt when Hero Shouto opened the way with his ice to save them. And now they know a hero will always come”.

The strain bleeds from his bones and his expression opens up in quiet wonderment. “Really?” he asks, his voice small, mouth finally curling. Your heart gives a squeeze.

“Really,” you affirm, knocking your knees together. Shouto’s smile widens, chin tucking to hide it. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No. Just bruised up,” he says. An idea clicks into place.

“Good. I’ve got something we can do to make you feel better,” you scramble to your feet, weight shifting as Shouto’s stare lingers on your bare legs. It feels as though the moon is casting a spotlight, and you resist the urge to pull your shorts down.

“What is it?”

“Mug cake!” you exclaim happily, bringing your hands together. Adding an afterthought, “and a movie, too. One you haven’t seen yet”.

Shouto tilts his head, amused, but stands with you all the same. You notice then that he's changed into a pair of sweatpants, cuffed at the ankles. The t-shirt he’s wearing has a Pinky logo branded across his chest in bubble font.

“Mug cake?” he repeats.

“Cake in a mug,” you ribbed, poking at him. You start toward the kitchen. “Come on, it’ll only take like five minutes, tops!”

“Do we have cake ingredients?” he muses, following close behind. You flick on the recessed light over the stove and root through the cupboards, trying to ignore the natural warmth of his body beside yours.

“We have everything,” you insist. “I would know. I do the shopping, remember?”

Hovering unnecessarily close by, Shouto leans back against the counter and observes you with fondness as you list off the ingredients under your breath. It shouldn’t be so magnetising— you can feel something in your chest being drawn in, as though you were two unlike poles meant to come together.

Meeting his gaze, you look away and try to tame your giddiness. “Quit staring and find me two big mugs”.

You breathe a little easier when he does as you ask. Two large ceramic mugs are placed on the counter— a hideously priced vintage All Might mug gifted by Midoriya, another with cat ears on the rim and a tail curled into the handle.

“Will these do?” he murmurs. You startle at the closeness of his voice, nearly dropping the teaspoon in your hand.

“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “Yep. Thank you”.

He nods, satisfied. “Tell me what else to do”.

You grab another teaspoon and hand it to him. The joy in his eyes gleams, so pleased at the opportunity to help. “First we need to put four teaspoons of flour and caster sugar in our mugs, then add two teaspoons of the cocoa powder. You follow?”

Shouto mirrors each action, always glancing back to your movements to check he was doing so correctly. It is unbearably endearing.

“Now we add an egg in each— one sec,” the fridge light bursts through the dimly lit kitchen, and you squint, grabbing two eggs from the tray. You give him an egg. “Now crack it into the mug and stir”.

You’ve ended up with the All Might mug. Using it is nerve wracking; all you can think of is how expensive it was, but the cat mug is Shouto’s clear favourite. Gently, you tap the egg on the counter. A hairline fracture forms on the shell. You push your thumbs in, prying it apart over the mix, letting the whites drizzle.

Shouto is… faring well enough. There’s clear viscous liquid all over his fingers, and his shell is broken in three, but the yolk made it in.

You laugh quietly at his sheepish expression as you pass him some tissue. He wipes his hands, leaning to observe while you add three teaspoons of milk and vegetable oil. “Where did you learn to make these?”

“During my apprenticeship,” you admit. Graduation hadn’t led to immediate incredible offers like it had for Shouto. You needed to get your foot in the door first, which meant working awful hours with shit pay and little recognition. “I was trying to save up back then, so I ate a lot of crap like this”.

“I’ve never tried it,” he says, repeating the steps as you had shown him. Your fingers brush with a pass of the milk. “I wasn’t allowed treats as a child so I guess I didn’t develop much of a sweet tooth”.

“That’s just like you,” you grin, tearing open the bag of chocolate chips and shaking them in his direction. “Always gotta drop depressing lore in the middle of a nice moment”.

The truth about the Todoroki family had been outed during your first year, right before the war. It’s a subject Shouto can joke about now that time has mostly healed over those wounds. Granted, his relationship with his father was cautious at best, and his older brother was locked away in a private facility for a good few decades, but things were better.

“Did you hear me?”

You blink, startled out of your reverie, “What?”

“I said I have plenty more material but you zoned out,” Shouto raised a brow, dipping into the bag of chocolate chips and sprinkling them over his cake mix, “Where did you go?”

“Ah…” you take his mug and set it beside yours inside the microwave, turning the dial to the two minute mark. “I was just thinking I kinda want to kick your dad’s ass”.

Your heart leaps. You will never be sick of Shouto’s laugh; it’s like hearing his soul. The sound is rich and warm over the loud hum, glass plate turning, mixture bubbling.

“Don’t worry about that,” the laughter tapers off into an affectionate murmur, body naturally leaning into you, “he’s been kicking himself for years now”.

“Good—!” the microwave pings, and your soul jumps out of your skin. “Jesus. Why is it always so much louder at night?”

The mugs are still hot. You press a kiss to your stinging fingertips and step aside; Shouto takes each cake out one at a time with this left hand wrapped around the mug. “Show off,” you pout.

A sweet aroma fills your senses. They’ve risen well. You lightly scratch the top with your spoon, pleased by the firmness. “We did pretty good,” you chirped.

“Smells good,” Shouto notes, cradling his mugcake to his chest as though something precious. “Are we watching a movie?”

“Yeah. Let’s pick while it’s still hot”.

You cast a fleeting look at the counter before you walk around the kitchen island, putting the minor mess to the back of your mind. Bouncing back onto the couch, you run your free hand down the cushions in search of the remote.

“Where’s the—” Shouto sits to your right and passes it to you. “Did you pull that out of thin air?”

“Yes. I have a third quirk called ‘remembering where I put things’,” he grins, dodging the half hearted swat you send his way.

“You’re a real comedian. Just for that I’m picking what I want to watch”.

Infuriatingly, Shouto looks happy about that, “You know what I’d like anyway”.

In the end you choose Ponyo because he had not yet watched it— a fact you deemed criminal. You watch his expressions soften at the vibrant scenery, idly pushing the tip of his spoon into the cake. He scoops out a piece and brings it to his lips.

You try not to beam when he visibly freezes, eyes widening with his spoon held in his mouth. Slowly, Shouto starts to chew. He makes a happy little hum. Three words crossed your mind, travelled down to your heart and diffused throughout your body. You feel them restless in the tips of your fingers. You don’t say them.

Only then do you let yourself eat yours. The spoon sinks into the sponge, a faint waft of heat bursting from the centre where the chocolate chips have melted. It’s just the right side of fluffy.

Comfortable silence hung over your heads, masked under the clinking of your spoons against the mugs.

After the soft thud of an empty mug meeting the table, breaking through the quiet, Shouto speaks.

“Bakugo mentioned you today,” he says. “Asked me to pass on a message”.

You hum to indicate that you’re listening. “He said ‘hurry the fuck up or kiss my sponsorship goodbye’, verbatim”.

“I’m not sure I like those words coming out of your mouth,” you laugh, shoulders shaking with it. Shouto tips his head back, lips twisted to hold laughter of his own. “What a bullshitter”.

Bakugo liked working with you too much to pull out. Even if he didn’t, the man was a hard nut to crack and refused to trust anyone else with his gear.

“Are you almost done? Working on his gauntlets, I mean”.

“They’re finished,” you responded, cheek resting on the heel of your hand. Shouto repositions his hips, turning his body to face you in your periphery while you watch Sousuke and Ponyo eat ramen. “Good and ready for the summer. Now he won’t level half the city when he sneezes”.

“Thank you for your hard work,” comes his mirthful reply. “Oh, and Uraraka says hello. She wants you to go to the get together tomorrow night”.

“You know I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about, right?”

He huffed a laugh through his nose. A soft sound that has satisfaction singing through your veins. “I wasn’t planning on going so I forgot to mention it”.

You run your tongue along your molars. There’s still a lingering chocolate taste. “You aren’t going to go?” you ask, tone trended downwards, plainly implying your disappointment. It wouldn’t be so odd. While you’d befriended Momo and some of class B before ever meeting Shouto, you’re not sure you want to be there without him.

“I will go if you do,” he eyes the way your shoulders relax at that, attentive to a fault. “They can pick on you instead of me”.

You roll your eyes with exasperated affection and arms crossed over your middle. “Tomorrow?” mhm. “Is it at that place Denki likes?” mhm. “Thought it might be. Guess I can be your buffer for a few hours”.

“I’ll let them know,” Shouto murmurs. Colour dances across his skin, shadows moving with the picture on the screen. Ponyo dunks her head into the depths alongside Sosuke and the room is suddenly awash with vibrant blue, and you witness an unwelcome epiphany cross his mind.

Stated like a huffy accusation, he says, “You know, you’ve worked on most of my friends gear, but never mine”.

“You never asked,” you reminded him. “And you had connections in my industry already because of your… Endeavor. But I would’a jumped at the chance to get rid of that first costume you designed”.

Cheek pressed to the cushion, he smiles. “What, was the glacier too much?”

“It was so ugly Shouto,” you bemoan, leaning closer with your dramatic outburst. “The worst part was it covered up half of your pretty face. Now that’s just bad for branding”.

A soft intake of breath. Shouto’s lips part and you are caught in his awestruck stare. His voice deepens as he asks, “You think I’m… pretty?”

You swallow and muster up an easy grin, nudging his thigh with your foot. “Everyone thinks you’re pretty, you goof”.

His eyes lower, pensive for a moment, and then flicker back to the movie. Ponyo is sleepy, and the boat has shrunk, and Sousuke has big tears rolling down his cheeks.

You can’t help thinking it was the wrong thing to say.

Eventually the noise settles into static; the kind that makes the shadows seem a little darker, dense branches spreading across the ceilings and walls into a daunting canopy. You burrow into your hoodie, pulling the collar up over the bridge of your nose as Sosuke and Ponyo are reunited with his mother in a vast underwater paradise.

The earlier exchange weighs on you. Stealing a quick glance at Shouto, you feel your anxiety chip at the expression on his face. Somewhere there, beneath the scar tissue and laughter lines and eye bags, is a small boy watching in awe.

Neither of you speak until the film comes to an end. Your head bobs along to the final song, drawn into a bubble of nostalgia. Through the thick of it, you hear a whisper. Shouto says your name and there’s barely any strength behind it, uncharacteristically timid. Blinking away the haze, your eyes adjust. You can see an inviting, wide open embrace, his left arm now outstretched, the intention clear.

Shouto looks right back. Your vision has sharpened enough to make out the small smile on his face. You crawl across the couch cushions and curl under his arm, turning your cheek to watch the credits play out.

“You looked cold,” he belatedly adds. “Is this ok?”

You hum in agreement. Compared to his body heat, you’d say it had been freezing. Despite all the hard earned muscle over the years Shouto is pliable when he’s relaxed, doughy, and he yields when you begin to adjust your shared position.

Swallowed by warmth, you guide his arm down to cinch around your waist and nestle against his chest. You can feel his heart beating like a wing beneath your palm.

“Better?” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. A final shiver dances the length of your spine as the faint tremors dwindle and your bones thaw. Fatigue creeps up, making your eyelids heavy.

Quietly, “Better”. Then you mumble, “And I do think you’re pretty, Shouto”.

“Hm?”

“Was bein’ a bit of a coward earlier,” you continue, a sleepy drawl to your words. A yawn pulls at your jaw, nose flaring with it. You think you could sink right into him, like a hot bath. “Shouto’s pretty… all… all the time…”

Your weary eyes gave in to the rhythmic stroke of his hand, consciousness drifting away. Soft dreams undulate, drawing you in, pushing you out. There’s a familiar face. They turn into your palms when you cradle them. Your stomach clenches at the sudden weightlessness and you grasp at their shirt, worried you might float away.

When you wake up you are in your own bed again. It returns to you in fragments— Shouto’s arms around you, his rumbling laugh, the tangible intimacy that had hung over your heads. Realising he must have carried you to bed you turn over to groan into your pillow.

Eventually, what draws you out into the open is the smell. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you pad out into the living room, searching for Shouto. Leggings, your mind whispers. He’s milling about the kitchen in his workout clothes; a little pair of shorts overtop and a green hoodie.

“Morning,” he says, placing a small plate onto a tray. You notice two bowls have already been prepared. “I made breakfast”.

The greeting dies in your throat when he looks up. A stream of dewy morning light illuminates the room, reflecting on the pale surfaces, creating an ethereal view. He combs his hair back with his fingers, tucking the longer strands behind his ears. Your gaze strays from the bruise on his jaw— now turning a sickly shade of green— to the food on his tray.

“Wow,” you mumble, feeling hunger twist in your stomach. “This actually looks edible. What’s the occasion?”

It’s a traditional breakfast. A bowl of rice, miso soup with some vegetables, a rolled egg and a plate of grilled fish. Shouto sets a pair of chopsticks down. “No special occasion. I just wanted to cook for you”.

“God. You are so…” you wave your hands at him, too overwhelmed by the sudden flush of tenderness.

He blinks, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “You just gestured to all of me”.

“I just woke up and there’s a prince using my shitty old rice cooker. Forgive me,” you remarked groggily. It feels as if your entire being is a soft spot that he won’t stop prodding at.

Gathering the tray in your grasp you avoid his stare and make way to the dining table, his quiet chuckle close behind. You sit, unnerved by his presence and fighting off dregs of sleep. The seat is cold under your thighs. “Thank you for the food,” you murmur.

Chopsticks tucked in the crook of your thumb and finger, you pick up a rolled omelette. The egg tastes sweeter than expected— mixed with more sugar than required, you think, but it’s good, and you finish in the next bite.

“Are you not leaving for work?”

Shouto hovers across from you; his hands rested on the back of another chair, and stood silently. “How is it?” he deflects.

Your teeth sink into a tofu cube, umami flavours bursting on your tongue. You hum your approval, making a show of it. “It’s delicious. Thank you, Shouto. Really”.

Over the years you’ve come to learn that Shouto reacts to praise in subtle ways, and often smiles without his mouth. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice and see it in his spirited stride. You watch as his shoulders straighten. He’s alight, peacocking his pride, and you’re not sure he realises it.

“There’s a secret ingredient”.

You pause mid chew, swallowing thickly. “If you say love I’m moving out”.

Shouto tempers his amusement with a shake of his head. Stray hair falls forward to frame his cheeks. The chair reclines back on two legs as he leans. “My mother told me that making a meal for someone is a simple way to show gratitude,” he continued. “Thank you for taking care of me last night”.

Heat simmers under your skin, all buzzing energy and jitters. The sincerity is disarming. Had this been a dream you would’ve kissed him.

Shoving another tofu cube in your mouth you chew it down to fine paste, vying for time to formulate a coherent sentence. “Don’t thank me for that,” your initial playfulness softened to reciprocate some of his vulnerability. “I know I’m not a hero but I’ll always be there for you in whatever way I can”.

Whatever his response is, you don’t hear it. Shouto murmurs inaudibly, eyes falling closed with a long exhale. Your only respite is the warmth in his gaze when he looks back at you. “I need to leave now if I don’t want to be late. But I’ll see you tonight?”

You hum an affirmative, nodding around the white rice pinched between your chopsticks. It falls apart gently on your tongue. Covering your mouth, you say, “I’ll be there”.

Shouto steps away with some finality, readjusting the hem of his shirt. The fabric hangs loose around his hips, emphasising how tight his shorts are. You mentally kick yourself.

“I’ll text you, then”.

The day passes frustratingly slowly after Shouto leaves. You technically could be sifting through the new student’s designs, but all you can think about is how charged the atmosphere had been this morning. Retiring back to your room to scream into a pillow or two, you eventually find yourself getting ready.

Shouto let you know he would be going straight from the agency. He had clothes in a locker here— casual, some jeans and a sweater, which at least allayed the fear of being underdressed.

You pull on one of your nicer jackets, holding the lapels close to your chest as you step out into the cold evening. Dark cumuli gather in sparse clumps across the darkening sky; as mercy has it, the wind is pushing them in the opposite direction.

The place isn’t far. You don’t frequent it very often but liked it well enough despite management being a bunch of rich guys playing dive-bar dress up. The low ceilings, vintage mismatched furniture and dim red lights created an intimate atmosphere.

People loved the idea of finding a hole in the wall that nobody else knew about. The catch was everybody knows, but not everybody can get in.

Flashing above the door in green neon lights is a sign grimly reading ‘The Love Shack’. The first thing you notice is the strong woodsy smell masking the faint scent of alcohol. There’s a floral tinge to it that you have trouble pinpointing.

You head inside and greet the bouncer standing by the entrance. He’s a big guy, standing around 6 feet 9, mutton chops swallowing a great deal of his face. Resting on his bald crown are a pair of comically small sunglasses.

Before he can ask for your name it is being hollered across the bar. A few heads turn and you dip your chin to shield from prying eyes. Uraraka is bounding over, Mina hot on her coattails. The pair topple into you with canorous laughter clear over the music.

“You’re here!” Uraraka effused, grabbing at your shoulders and shaking them. “I haven’t seen you in so long! Shouto has been keeping you all to himself”.

Mina slumps against you, echoing Ursraka’s words with a slurred whine. “Holy shit. Are you guys already tipsy?” unsteady on your feet you try to keep them upright.

“No,” Mina tittered, pink lips jutting into a pout. She pokes at your cheek. “You’re just too sober!”

You startle. Another hand, large and hot, splays at the small of your back. The bouncer grunts and encourages you in the direction which they came from. That appears to spur the girls on— you’re dragged to the far end of the bar, a wide booth nestled just around the corner, hidden from view.

You’re met with a chorus of cheers. Kirishima, Jirou and Shinsou beckon you forward. Bakugo is nursing a pint, offering you a wordless nod. Momo shakes her head as Denki attempts to climb out and greet you despite being trapped by the table, patting his back when the effort is fruitless.

“Alright, alright. I missed you too,” you grin, helplessly charmed by your friend's excitement. Uraraka ushers you into the booth. You scoot up beside Momo, the group packed in like sardines to make room.

Mina bends to press a wet kiss to your hairline. It leaves behind a sticky impression of her lips. “Let me go grab you a drink, babe!” she chirps, skipping off toward the bar and immediately draping her upper body over the black countertop to wave the bartender over.

The conversations resume, an easy atmosphere settling over your group. Though you aren’t entirely from their world they do well to involve you, asking for your thoughts, trying to make you laugh. Jirou blushes under the red lights when you bring up her latest album, sending you an appreciative grin. Mina returns holding an impressive amount of drinks, her fingers slipping dangerously on the condensation.

You are one strawberry daiquiri in. There’s a muted yet pleasant buzz under your skin, no doubt aided by the good company. Still, you cast an anxious glance around the room, curious about Shouto’s absence. A soft tap to the knee draws your attention.

Momo turns to whisper in your ear, “Shouto said he’ll be here on the hour,” answering that unspoken question. Your cheeks fill with an indignant breath, embarrassed by your own transparency.

“We aren’t attached at the hip, you know,” you rasp childishly. It’s a lie— you’ve lived with Shouto for only three weeks and you have already forgotten where he ends and you begin. Momo laughs, hiding it behind the back of her hand.

“Could’a had me fooled,” Bakugo interjects, scoffing behind his drink. The glass tips and he drains the last of it. “Your name is all I hear outta his mouth these days. Starting to think he doesn’t know any other words”.

You hold up an accusing finger, “Quit reading our lips, dickhead”.

The other bares his teeth, gums and all. He moves his hands in recognisable patterns at a deliberately slow pace, as if talking down to you. ‘Fuck you’ he signs.

“Oh!” Kirishima claps abruptly. You startle, almost knocking over your drink. He’s so big that it rocked the table. “Check this, Bakugo. I’ve been learning more signs, you gotta tell me if I’m doing ‘em right!”

“Fuck do I look like to you?”

“Like my handsome best bro,” is his smooth reply. Cheeks red as his hair, a cocksure grin flashing his sharp teeth; Bakugo softens, clicking his tongue in feigned annoyance, betrayed by the twitch by the corner of his mouth. You think Kirishima is like an overgrown stray that manipulated Bakugo into being his human.

Whatever he clumsily signs must have been obscene, because Bakugo roars with laughter.

“Who the hell taught you that, shitty hair?”

The hour comes and goes. Rings of water collect under the glasses. Shouto is five minutes late. You displace the group, accepting Uraraka’s loose lipped complaints as she is forced to scoot back out the booth. Pinching the fat of her pink cheek, she’s placated by the promise of another round on you.

“I’ll come with,” Shinsou offered with a lazy wave.

“Thanks,” waiting for him to get to his feet, you smile. You liked Shinsou well enough. Working as an underground hero meant you didn’t get to see him too often.

You approach the bar. The man working behind it has gossamer insectoid wings on his back, sprouting from two long slits in his fitted shirt. They glint in the light, colours refracting iridescent, reminding you somewhat of a church window.

He comes over as he catches your eye, wiping down the sticky surface. You’re honest enough to admit he’s handsome. Rugged with a baby face, hair falling over his forehead in loose curls. There’s an easy air about him, and when he flashes a crooked grin you feel the alcohol a little too thick in your veins.

Tattooed forearms brace against the bar and he leans into your magnetism, “What can I get ya?”

“They’ll have the same as last time,” you reply. “I think the tab should be under Kaminari’s name?”

He nods, eyes skimming over your form, “Won’t be long”.

You turn to find that Shinsou is staring, kissed by a reddish glow. His mouth downturns into a smirk. “I don’t think he even noticed I was here,” he drawls.

Defensiveness prickles over you. “Don’t think anyone has,” you lightly knock your arms together. “You’ve been quiet tonight”.

“Not my scene,” Shinsou sinks forward, propped up by his elbow, and rests his chin in the cradle of his hand. His heavy lidded eyes never stray. “But I can’t say no to free drinks”.

The barman works the taps in your periphery but you remain focused on Shinsou. There’s a new scar across his cheekbone, right where his persona mask ends. Another over his mouth, a thin line of rough tissue that cuts through his five o’clock shadow. The mass untameable hair on his head has been cut shorter, tapering around his neck.

“Leech”.

“Look who’s talking,” his smirk widens. You watch his gaze slide over your head and dread swirls in your stomach at the gleam in his eye. “I think your nepo baby boyfriend just got here”.

“Not my boyfriend,” you hiss under your breath. He holds his laughter between his teeth. “And don’t call him that!”

Shinsou laughs into his palm, low and rumbling. You hear the fond invocation of your name as the heat of another body appears at your back. Met with brilliant teal and stormy grey, Shouto greets you both apologetically.

Perking up self consciously, you say, “You made it!”

“Hi. Sorry, I got caught up and lost track of time”.

You’re happy to see him. He’s in fitted jeans and a dark button up shirt over an old black turtleneck. Heterochromatic eyes slide from your smiling face to Shinsou’s own disinterest, then drawn to the drinks that have steadily begun to accumulate on the bar counter.

“Ah, let me get you a drink—” you wave over the guy who served you, though it is hardly necessary when he’s already observing. He saunters over with a pint of lager, setting it beside Mina’s garish rainbow concoction.

“Everything alright?”

Squinting at the messy kanji on his name tag, you think you can make it out. Kei, it reads. “Would we be able to add another to the tab? Our friend just made it”.

For some reason Shouto crowds in closer, the cool press of his left side seeping through your shirt. Kei barely pays him any mind. “No problem,” a cold flush crawls across your back when he winks. “Anything for you. What’ll it be?”

“I’ll have a highball,” Shouto interjects. You frown at his sudden sharp demeanour, and lean your weight back in hopes of comforting him. The air warms up.

Kei’s enthusiasm fractures imperceptibly, “Alright. Let me get started on that for ya”. Shinsou snorted, his head dipped to his chest and shaking; you think you aren’t nearly drunk enough for whatever this is.

“Shit. You really are petty,” Shinsou speaks up after Kei departs to the other end of the bar. “I always thought Midoriya was exaggerating”.

“Petty?” you echo, squinting at your roommate with a soft pout. Shouto fixes his gaze to the bottles lined across the wall and looks as though he wants the earth to swallow him whole.

“Highballs are tedious to make,” Shinsou turns his back to the bar, leaning against it with his drink in hand. “You definitely chose that on purpose”.

“I didn’t,” Shouto monotoned. “I like whisky”.

“I’ve never seen you drink whisky,” your voice lilts into suspicion. Shouto narrows his eyes, pointedly avoiding yours. A terse beat passes, and you inhale with defeat. “Oh, whatever. Go say hi to the others while we bring the drinks”.

Shouto blanched. “I can help—”

“I’ve already got a big strong man here to help me,” Shinsou scoffed. There’s an umbrella resting on the lip and a purple straw in his mouth. You put a hand on Shouto’s bicep and squeeze, “You need to let Momo know you’re here before she sends out a search party”.

The contact visibly placates him. You watch after him as he makes his way to the booth. Slurred over the low music, he turns the short corner to be met with a cheer in much the same way you had.

“You two are ridiculous,” Shinsou murmurs, amused exasperation clear in his tone. Splitting the drinks into two groups to carry, you ignore his remark and the fondness swirling in your chest.

Kei appears and sets the highball down. A tall glass of liquid gold, three carved ice cubes fizzing at the bottom, a lemon garnish on the rim. “Thank you,” you tell him, pleased when he reciprocates your sheepish grin.

You let Shinsou take it— your hands are already full and slipping. The others have pulled Shouto into the booth and sandwiched him between Denki and Mina, whose distinct voices are overlapping as they try to get a word in.

Denki stops mid sentence as Shinsou slams the drinks onto the table. You do the same, albeit much more carefully. He lists them off one by one, sliding the glasses over to their persons. Shouto’s comes last.

“And in a surprising turn of events we have Todoroki with a japanese highball”.

Shouto accepts the drink with his right hand and a straight face, ignoring the harmonious ‘ooh’ that reverberates around the booth.

Bakugo points his pinky at him, “And since when do you drink whisky?”

Petulantly, Shouto mutters, “Since now”.

Ultimately deciding to pull up a chair, Shinsou sits at the head of the table while you are squeezed on the end beside Bakugo; he side glances, raising his brow in acknowledgement.

“Dude, now that we’re all here, let's have a toast!” Denki exclaims, literal sparks of joy bouncing from his crown. Everybody groans.

“I’ll hear your toast bro,” Kirishima lifts his pint, the wonderful enabler that he is. Shouto meets your gaze across the table and raises his own with a shrug.

“I, uh…” Denki shrinks under the pressure. “I dunno what I was gonna say”.

“To a quick death,” Shinsou proposed, halfheartedly holding his sake in the air.

“Hear hear,” muttered from beside you, Bakugo’s eyes fell closed. You snickered, alcohol weakening your inhibitions as you hook your chin over his shoulder. He allows it.

Momo voices her disapproval and tips her glass, “To good health”.

“To Chargebolt,” Jirou adds, a grin splitting her cheeks, laughter already bleeding into her words. “Seen him at his best, seen him at his worst, and still can’t tell the difference”.

“Oi!”

“To a livable minimum wage!” Uraraka hiccups. All the blood in her body seems to have rushed to her face; expression comically determined, betrayed by her spasming diaphragm. Everyone lifts a glass.

The night crawls on. Another round, then two. Kei refills your glass, never without a flirty comment. You feel thawed from the inside out, a silly smile fixed to your lips. Your cheeks hurt from laughing, from the too-forceful kisses given by Mina, the rough pinch of explosive fingers.

You might as well be engaged in a game of musical chairs; the only one refusing to surrender his spot is Bakugo. Jirou and Momo slink away somewhere private— ‘private’ being behind the vintage jukebox right by the bathrooms— and Kirishima scoots over to wrap you up in a side hug and pushes all the air from your lungs. Uraraka drapes herself across your front. Shinsou surrenders as Mina sits in his lap. Being with them is as innate as breathing.

Maybe you didn’t fight a war together but they still embraced you as their own. And Shouto watches with that terrible, awful, shoujo twinkle in his eyes; you flush hot whenever you catch him, inundated by the desire to reach across and kiss him.

Your pulse is quick and movements slowed. A pleasant buzz circulates around your body. After the third round Shouto begins insisting that you stay put. “Okay,” you conceded tipsily. “Tell Kei I said hi”.

Shouto leaves with a vaguely constipated frown.

Bakugo cackles and refuses to tell you what was so funny. Momo returns to the sight of you clinging to the stubborn hero’s arm, cursing his name. “What are we laughing at?” she muses. You notice a few things first: there’s a fresh bruise on her neck, a button on her dress undone, and a glass of water in her grasp.

Disheveled Momo is a rare treat. You’d tease her about it, if Bakugo did not immediately jump at the opportunity to tease you first. “Just gearhead and halfie being oblivious idiots,” he surmised. Another snort bursts from his nose. “‘Tell Kei I said hi’. Shit. Should’a seen his face”.

“Bakugo,” Momo chides, attempting to disguise her own amusement. “Go easy on them”.

He clicks his tongue, shaking you with a rough shrug of his shoulder. “You should tell him how you feel and fuck already”.

Your mood tumbles, dampening as you sulk, “Shouto doesn’t want me like that”.

“Yeah, right. And vice prez didn’t just get fingered by the jukebox”.

“Bakugo!” Momo’s voice is stronger this time. She whips her head toward the other patrons and back, embarrassment flooding her cheeks. “I did not get… fingered,” she protested with a sharp whisper.

“What’s that?” you feign ignorance, drowsy and loose lipped. “Momo got fingered?!”

Making Bakugo laugh feels a little like winning the lottery; having him throw an arm around you as he does it leaves you dizzy with accomplishment. You curl into his side, shoulders shaking. You mouth an apology across the booth and Momo stretches to take your hand, stressing her forgiveness.

Shouto shatters the jovial atmosphere. He returns stiffly, his glare set in stone, and places a drink you did not order in front of you. After a quick sniff you realise that it’s water.

“Once you’ve drunk that we should head home,” he says. It’s posed as a suggestion but you hear the instruction. Not wanting to irritate him any further, you begin to sip.

Momo’s brow pinches with worry. “Is everything alright, Shouto?”

He breathes harshly through his nose, coming out in a puff of cold air. ”Yes, everything’s fine. I’m sorry to cut the night short, Momo,” his face softens. “It was good to see you”.

Astonishingly, Bakugo says nothing. His arm snakes from around your back. You finish the water with a big gulp, resurfacing for air. “Done,” you wipe the back of your hand across your lips.

Shouto steadies you while you awkwardly scoot around the booth. Momo gathers you both into a hug, her kind hand stroking the length of your spine. “Text us when you get home”.

“We will,” you promise, saluting as you’re gently pulled away. “See ya on Monday, great explosion murder god dynamite, sir!”

The others have dispersed amongst the small crowd. You mourn not being able to say goodbye to them all. Shouto cinches around your waist and guides you to the door. You can’t complain— instinctively sinking into the embrace, surrounded by his cologne— but you do wonder what the hurry is.

You waded through the mass of people until you both finally made your way out into the open air. The breeze encourages you closer to his front, cold and refreshing in your lungs. Already you feel as if some of your drunken enthusiasm is dissolving.

“Shouto?” his pace slows mercifully, coming to a stop underneath a streetlight. The bulb blinks in five second intervals, dousing him in sickly orange. “Are you mad?”

A warm hand hooks your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye only to avoid looking back. His lips part to speak, and when nothing comes they close. “I’m not mad,” he intoned quietly, thumb skimming over the line of your jaw. Your breath catches.

He seems so… guilty.

“I think you are,” you observe, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. You bring his hand down and intertwine it with yours. The alcohol must be making you brave. “But if you’re not ready you don’t need to tell me”.

Some colour returns to his skin. Shouto huffs a disbelieving laugh. “You’re so—” cutting off that train of thought, he tugs you forward and wraps you into a hug. The crook of his neck shields you from the cold, and for a few short moments all you can hear is your heart beating in your ears.

“…Have you ever felt like there are things you want to say but there’s something that always stops you from expressing them?”

You take note of how his grip tightens, warm nose squished into your cheek as if he thought you might run. Shouto is nervous— rather, he’s making himself vulnerable to you. “I have,” you murmur.

He bows his head to burrow into your shoulder, “Then, would you give me the chance to say them?”

What you hear is: will you be patient with me?

“Now?” you ask gently. The light overhead flickers again and your vision swims. You’re realising now that his impulsivity might simply be because he’s drunk. “Don’t you want to talk at home?”

Shouto shakes his head. “If I say it now you can change your mind and go back”.

That’s worrying. You chew nervously on your bottom lip, “…Okay”.

You expect him to let go but he doesn’t, though he does loosen his hold, as if giving you the chance to leave. Following a deep inhale, Shouto solemnly admits, “That guy at the bar. Kei. He asked me to give you his phone number”.

“He did?”

“Yes,” he says.

“So where is it?”

Dread and fatigue curdled in your stomach. You hear the moment Shouto swallows his caution. The atmosphere sours as he admits, “I burned it”.

You step back, leaving his arms limp at his sides. He looks betrayed. Like you’re testing the strength of a promise you don’t recall making. This was not a good time nor place to talk about this.

“My feet hurt,” his eyes widened in confusion. “I’m cold and I’m drunk and my feet hurt, Shouto. I want to go home”.

The request registers slowly. You watch his face fall, gathering a facsimile of a smile. “Okay. Then let’s go home”.

Your chest aches. You want to cry. You scramble for his hand and squeeze it tight, hating the despondent tone in his voice. “We’re too drunk. We’ll talk about this in the morning,” and that seems to lessen the rigidity in his bones.

From then on, the walk is done in heavy silence. Your thoughts are muddied and loud, emotions bouncing back and forth between resentment and uncertainty.

Underneath all of it is a seedling of hope that you daren’t nurture.

The atmosphere clings, following you all the way home, suffocating as you stand a metre apart in front of your respective bedrooms. You bid him goodnight, hand lingering on the handle. Anticipation sits like a stone in your chest.

You lie in bed waiting for him to knock.

He doesn’t.

Next time you open your eyes you wince at the throb behind them; it pings around the inside of your skull and you groan into your pillow.

There’s movement in the apartment. Shouto had always been an early riser. Cold relief washes over you at the confirmation that he was here. Last night filters through your mind. One scene after another you try to make sense of it all.

Kei had been genuinely flirting— you didn’t really think to take it seriously at the time. It was harmless fun, and you figured he was just the type that enjoyed teasing.

Shouto must’ve realised it early on. That was the reason he stepped in and kept you away from the bar. But that didn’t line up right with the reality you knew, because the only reasonable explanation for his behaviour would be that—

You shoot upright, kicking off your covers, and immediately feel it rebound. Thumbs pressed to your temples, you massage firm circles into your skin until the pain dulled.

Holy shit. Shouto was jealous.

A strange blanket of exhaustion settles back over you, as though your muscles have atrophied. You slide down the headboard and stare up at the marks on the ceiling, all sprawled out like dropped skeins of yarn. Suddenly your bedroom was a refuge from an inevitable relationship altering conversation.

Shouto had been jealous of a man vying for your affection. Your Shouto: gentle, placid, considerate, patient, funny, beautiful Shouto.

“Fuck,” you whisper into the emptiness. You can hear the coffee machine brewing in the distance. You’re torn between screaming into your hands and jumping on the bed.

You settle on getting up. Slowly. It’s clear you had been drunker than you thought; your pyjamas are on back to front. You tremble as you slip your arms through the sleeves and right the collar, padding over to the door.

Shouto wanted to talk last night and you stopped him. Guilt gnaws away at you. All that courage was shot down. Pretending to forget about it isn’t an option— you had to do this.

The plan to be stealthy is squandered by the hinge on your door. A harsh squeak reverberates through the apartment. You huff, lowering from your tip toes, and walk towards the kitchen.

Another body enters the hallway. Shouto turns on his heel and nearly drops his mug as you almost collide. Reflexes hammered into him, he catches it in one hand and manoeuvres you away from the hot splash with the other.

“Shit. Did it burn you?” he breathes, bringing your hand up to his mouth. A chilly puff of air blows over your skin and you shiver.

You clear your throat and try to find your voice. “I think you got it. Thank you, Shouto”.

The sound of his name pulls him out of his reverie. You try not to feel hurt when he drops your hand like hot coal. “Sorry,” casting a forlorn look at the half empty mug and the small coffee puddle at his feet. Lips pressed into a thin line, he says, “I was bringing you some coffee. Thought you might need it”.

Delicate tendrils of steam dance and dissipate into the air. You gently cup your hands around his and receive the mug, a small smile pulling at your mouth. His eyes are keen and searching as you take a drink.

“I definitely needed it,” you tell him between sips. The coffee paves a hot path down your throat to your stomach— the warmth spreads, seeking to fill the spaces between. All the earlier fear is washed away.

The time you spend observing one another feels like a short eternity. You watch hope visibly thread into his features, brighter; the way he always should be.

Softly, you ask, “Do you think we could talk about last night?”

“Yeah,” the word comes in a whisper. Head inclining, Shouto nods in one slow motion. Then, louder, “I should clean up, first. Where do you want to…?”

“Where?” you repeat. The thoughts in his head are written plainly across his forehead and you longed to rid him of them. Tilting and raising your brows suggestively, you tease, “Bedroom?”

Shouto gives an amused huff and the remnants of caution are blown away like seeds in a dandelion clock. His steps are lighter, a subtle bounce to them. Light filters into the living room and your spirit is buoyed by giddiness and wonder.

What had you been so afraid of?

You wait in the crook of the L shaped couch, legs curled beneath your body, facing the tall standing windows that overlook the city. Your headache has lessened into a quiet echo.

While he mops up the coffee you finish off the last drops in your cup. You take a moment to appreciate your surroundings. The emptiness you once felt in this room no longer exists. Blankets strewn across the cushions, small crochet coasters, pictures put into frames, books left face down to save the page, things out of place— it felt so lived in.

It felt like home.

You sit up when footfalls approach. Shouto is pretty in the late morning light, under eye shadows and all. “Did you even sleep last night?”

“Not much,” he confesses. His weight shifts before he finally decides on sitting beside you, turning to mirror your posture. “I thought I might’ve messed things up”.

You stretch to put your mug on the coffee table and his eyes follow attentively. “Shouto, you didn’t mess anything up,” he wrings his hands together in his lap, searching your face for dishonesty and finding none. “Though you probably shouldn’t have burned up that guy's number”.

“Probably,” he affirmed. The hair on his left side is pressed flat to his head. You count the creases on his cheek, stopping at the healing bruise on his jaw. The movement of his full mouth draws you back, “I am sorry for that. It was childish of me and I took away your choice”.

You hum, shuffling closer on your knees. Shouto’s expression is beautifully open, and you understand it, because your heart beat is thrumming just the same. “Next time, give me the number so I can ask you to burn it myself”.

Shouto’s fiddling halts. It’s a relief. You thought if he pulled at that hangnail any more he might unravel in front of you. A crease forms between his brows, “What?”

“I don’t want anyone else’s number. I…” losing some of your strength, you close your eyes for a second. Inhale deeply, continuing on an exhale, “Last night, you were jealous”.

It’s not a question. Shouto nods, his hand making an aborted reach for your own but thinking better of it.

You slide your palm against his. Your fingers fill the spaces between his knuckles. Shouto holds on tight and you ask, “…Why?”

A nail traces random shapes into his skin. You watch him watching your finger, mouth curled into a small, wobbly smile. He steels his resolve, an internal monologue you aren’t privy to. With spine tingling cadence, he says, “Because I’m in love with you”.

You’re not sure what you anticipated. There isn’t much that could prepare you for such a long awaited admission— for something you’d only daydreamed about hearing. The hunger in your heart rears its head, seeing his words as permission to want. To take.

Shouto carries on, incognisant to your plight. “I made peace with my feelings a long time ago. It’s not something I wanted you to worry about”.

“You’re doing it again,” you tell him. “Deciding things for me”.

“I don’t want you to make peace with them. I want you to share them. With me,” Your eyes meet as he peers up. There’s a stray kiss curl by his temple, white and soaking up the sun. He shudders when you twist it gently around your finger. “I love you too, dummy”.

Heat prickles at the back of your neck, feeling the shift in atmosphere. “Oh,” is his eloquent reply. A slow blooming grin pulls at his mouth as the reality sets in.

“Yeah. Oh”. Giddiness bubbles in your chest like water in a wellspring and you let go to cup his face. Shouto leans into the cradle your hands form, eyes fluttering closed as your thumb skims over the scar tissue. His ears are warm.

Guided by fleeting impulses you press a quick kiss to his left eyelid, and he sucks in a shaky breath. You move lower, nose bumping his cheek, to press another to the corner of his mouth.

“Is this okay?” you whisper, feeling like you were on the delicate precipice of something incredible. His mouth turns to chase yours, bicoloured eyes peeking beneath his lashes.

“Kiss me,” he murmurs, and it comes like a puff of steam. “On the mouth this time”.

Your lips tremble as you try not to laugh, aligning with his. You kiss him, petal soft and gentle, and feel it when he smiles. Tentative, derived from uncertainty and unfamiliarity.

Shouto’s cool fingers slide around the nape of your neck, holding you in place. Don’t go anywhere. You answer in kind— hands sliding down to his chest to guide him back into the cushions and feel his heart racing as you settle your knees either side of his hips. You barely part for air, and Shouto follows your lead.

“Again,” he mumbles.

The intensity grows. Shouto kisses like it’s his last. Strong arms wrap around your waist, wandering hands mapping out the topography of your body. Somewhere between, your tongue dips into the seam, biting his bottom lip and plucking a whine right from his mouth. Heat flutters low in your abdomen; hips squirm between your thighs, his chest pressed to your own.

“Shouto,” you groan, pushing harder, needing to be closer, threading into the soft hair at the back of his head. Fingers curl into the fat by your hips, they pull, rocking you into his lap. Invigorated, Shouto nips at your lips. Arousal spikes through you at the cool exhale— his tongue slides over your own and along the grooves in your teeth, wet and cold.

“Fuck, is that—” you pant, head falling back as he begins to leave a trail of hot kisses down your throat. “S’that your quirk?”

He hums an affirmative. The sound is resonant, deep in his chest and satisfied. Smug. You feel the impression of his smile against your jugular. Static fills your brain. Your thighs clench, rutting forward to relieve the ache between your legs, imagining all the things his mouth could do.

At some point you part to catch your breath. Your foreheads come together, sharing awed laughter. Shouto cheeks are pink and there’s a soft smile on his swollen, kiss-bitten lips. His hand moves to cup your jaw, rubbing small circles into the cheekbone.

“We should… slow down…” his chest heaves, eyes swallowed by his pupils. They fall to his lap, right where you’re pressed to his cock. You file away the lazy slur in his voice and wonder if that’s where all his blood went. “…I want to do this properly”.

Figures that he would have more willpower than you; though you get the sense if you pushed, he’d give, and every surface in the apartment would see you laid out. Gathering your thoughts is made much more difficult as he kneads at your thigh, heedless to your struggle.

“Okay baby,” you murmur, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his brow bone. His ears turn red and you’re alight, “You like that?”

Shouto tucks his grin against your shoulder. Like before, he locks both arms around your back and holds you close. You comb your fingers through his hair, overlapping white and red, a long tender moment passing.

“You love me,” he whispered apprehensively. Then again, thick with wonderment. “You love me”.

It’s unbelievable to him— and that’s unbelievable to you. Shouto is easy to love, moreso than anyone you have ever met. All clandestine glances, soft spoken words and inside jokes; a book of every witty little thing you’ve said, keeping your words close, giving importance to the things you enjoy; he’s gag gifts and thoughtfulness and open arms, the reason all your hot drinks never go cold, he’s the cream that never melts. He’s home.

You cradle him to your chest with no intention of letting go. The sun crawls higher, casting a warm blanket over your shoulders.

“I do,” you reply. “How could I not?”

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 6 months

Note

Hi. I read your work on Ao3 and I saw that you said we could come here and leave a request. Can you write something with Crosshair x fem reader with the prompt "What kind of spell did you put on me?" And if I can help you with the plot, maybe the reader could be a shy doctor who agreed to work with the boys when everyone else rejected it. There aren't many stories out there with Crosshair and a shy reader. You choose whether there will be smut or not. xoxo 🌺

Thank you so much, anon. Writing a shy reader was fun. I hope I did it justice! Kept this one SFW.

Cracks in the Wall

Not much could ruffle Crosshair's feathers or get past the wall he'd built around himself over the years - until he met you.

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: sibling banter/teasing, shy!reader, doctor!reader, Cross doesn’t know what to do with feelings but he’s trying okay, sprinkle of self-doubt from both Cross and reader, alludes to medical trauma, fluff, softness, cheeky lil’ kiss, pet names.

“Off somewhere?” Hunter’s voice cuts through their shared barracks, stopping Crosshair as he heads for the door. He’s careful to keep his voice even, suppressing the smile that’s trying to appear.

Crosshair grits his teeth, freezing at his older brother’s question. He’d hoped to get away with minimal fuss, but the Maker didn’t look to be on his side today. “Fresh air.” He answers cooly with a slight shrug, sliding effortlessly behind a mask of indifference.

“Right…” Hunter drags out the word, raising an eyebrow as he glances out the panoramic window. “In the storm?” He clarifies, knowing eyes turning back to his baby brother.

“Nah, he’s slinking off to see that pretty doctor again, ain’t ya?” Wrecker steamrollers, not one to miss the opportunity to tease Crosshair. He sits on the edge of his bunk, leaning forward like an excited child about to be told a deep secret.

Crosshair doesn’t dignify the question with an answer, though nerves have him sliding the toothpick between his lips to the other side of his mouth.

Tech knows he shouldn’t torment his twin, but when it’s been so beautifully laid out for him, he would be remiss not to. “Feeling unwell again?” He asks, tone neutral though the mirth in his eyes is unmissable.

The frustrated grunt Crosshair lets out makes his brothers chuckle, and he stalks from the room, the sound of their combined laughter only dying out once the door slides shut behind him.

Making his way down the corridor towards the medbay, the sterile white halls of Kamino make him squint, the light unnecessarily bright. He hates the constant noise and busyness here, the Regs sneering at him as he passes. He hates how sterile everything is and all the memories of being tested and tormented as a cadet.

But that hatred evaporates as he rounds the corner and spots your name on the board for ‘on duty’ doctors. At least there was one good thing about coming back.

Crosshair’s pace slows as he reaches the doors to the medbay, pesky nerves settling into his gut. He takes a moment to compose himself, adjusting his armour and smoothing a hand over his hair. He might be an expert marksman on the battlefield, but the prospect of a simple conversation with you has him feeling oddly out of his element.

You were the only doctor who’d tend to him and his brothers when they were injured, the only one willing to adapt how you worked to suit their differences. The memories of your considerate actions flood his mind – dimming the lights so he doesn’t have to squint, providing candy to uplift Wrecker’s spirits, explaining procedures to Tech, and creating a more comfortable space for Hunter’s senses. It wasn’t just out of professional duty; there was a personal touch, a kindness rarely extended to him and his brothers.

Somewhere along the way, Crosshair had found himself replaying your interactions like a cherished film, analysing every word and every gesture, searching for any signs that you enjoyed his company as much as he did yours. You never pushed or asked too much of him, never complained when he denied a test, and you didn’t draw attention to the way his body betrayed him by trembling ever so slightly whenever you approached with a needle for blood tests or booster shots.

With a deep breath, he pushes open the medbay doors. The familiar hum of medical equipment and the crisp scent of bacta greet him as he steps inside. Memories try to resurface, but he battles them down, even as his heart races.

The medbay is relatively quiet, with a few Regs resting in recovery beds and a medical droid diligently tending to its duties. And there, at the back of the room, head bent over a datapad, he spots you. He hesitates for a moment, watching you work. He shouldn’t be disturbing you; he knows you’re always busy, but since Tech had informed him that they were heading back to Kamino, he hasn’t been able to shake the urge to see you, speak to you, and exist in the same space as you.

As he approaches, his boots make a minimal sound on the pristine floor, and he clears his throat, his usually confident demeanour faltering in the presence of the one person who manages to unravel his composure. “Hey.” His voice breaks the silence, though it doesn’t draw the attention of the Regs or droids.

Caught off guard, you startle a little, glancing up. Your eyes widen slightly as you take in the man standing before you. Elation floods your body as you gaze into the sharp brown eyes you’d come to adore, and relief follows quickly at the realisation that he’s in one piece and has survived whatever mission he’d been sent on recently. For the longest time, you’d tried to convince yourself that your care for the quiet sniper was solely professional, but you were fooling no one. “Cross… you’re back.” You greet him, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

He’d never admit it, but warmth spreads through his chest at the nickname. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” He mutters, sliding his toothpick back to the other side of his mouth.

Your eyes track the movement of the toothpick before flicking up to meet his gaze, offering him a warm smile. “No problem. Just caught up in the datapad, you know how it is.”

He nods, though internally, he’s relieved by your easy response. The following silence is awkward, and your gaze dips away momentarily, but you take the initiative and set aside the datapad. “What brings you to the medbay today? Not feeling under the weather, I hope?” You inquire, concern evident in your expression.

Guilt churns in Crosshair’s gut, but he refuses to let it show. He can’t help himself. “Feeling off.” He states, the lie rolling from his tongue with ease.

With a slight frown of concern, you gesture towards the private consultation room, a familiar song and dance now. Crosshair enters the room first, depositing his toothpick in the trash can near the door before he slides himself up to sit on the exam bed while you enter. The door clicks shut, and you fall into a standard med check routine.

Crosshair answers your questions with his usual brevity, providing enough information to satisfy your professional curiosity and cover up that he’s lying to be here with you. As you work, the tension in the room eases.

As you move to the physical examination, you watch as Crosshair pries his left hand plate and gauntlet off, enabling you to slide your fingers under the cuff of his blacks, pointer and middle fingers pressed to his wrist, counting the beats of his heart.

Despite his best efforts to remain indifferent, he can’t help but feel warm at your touch, heart rate elevating.

Under your fingers, you feel his pulse quicken. It’s throwing off your count, and you know that once again, you won’t get an accurate figure, but you don’t draw attention to it, blissfully believing it was his anxiety at being in the medbay. Selfishly, you enjoy this part the most. Crosshair is warm to the touch, skin surprisingly soft, and you can stand a little closer than usual, enabling you to breathe in a scent you’ve come to associate with him – regulation body wash, blaster cleaner, and a sour sweetness you’re sure is from candy. You’ve seen how he eyes up the sour gummies you hand to Wrecker whenever you’ve finished patching up or looking over the gentle giant.

After a minute, you draw your hand back, offering a slight nod, which sees him sliding his armour back into place. Lifting your pointer finger, you wait for his gaze to snap towards it, and then you watch as he tracks it side to side, up and down, near and far. You’d recommended the addition of this check when you’d learned about his enhancements – never a defect, in your opinion – and how heavily he relied on his vision.

He tracks your finger with ease, eyes moving smoothly and quickly. “Everything seems to be in order.” You state quietly, reaching for a nearby datapad to update his medical file.

Crosshair can’t help but admire you as you tap away at the screen. He sees a great deal from afar, but being closer opens a new world. “How’ve you been?” He asks, finding himself genuinely curious. He hates small talk with a burning passion, but he’ll always make an exception for you.

“Good! It’s been busy. We had some of the boys from 184th come in, and their injuries were unlike anything I’ve seen before.” You paused in your tapping, glancing up at Crosshair, gauging whether to continue. His gaze was focused on you, and the fact he was still listening gave you the courage to continue. “I mean, I’ve dealt with blaster wounds, shrapnel, even the occasional strange accident, but this...this was something else.” You shared, focusing back on the screen before continuing the story.

“They had this inexplicable rash all over their bodies. I’ve never seen anything spread so fast. And the worst part? No one could figure out where it came from. We ran every test imaginable, yet their blood work was normal; there were no signs of infection, but this rash kept spreading.” You rambled, excited at getting to share this with him. It had been a highlight of the last few weeks – a break from the usual. “We started brainstorming, throwing around ideas, and then it hit me. We needed to check their gear, their uniform, everything. And you won’t believe what we found.” You paused again, looking up at Crosshair with wide eyes.

Did Crosshair give a damn about some Regs with a rash? No, not really. But he cared about you, and the excitement on your beautiful face, as you shared this story, meant he’d gladly listen to the tale a hundred times. “What did you find?” He asked, watching as you broke out into a smile. Sometimes, his heart ached at how easy it was to make you happy – that all it took was someone willing to listen to you.

“Coma-bloom flowers. They’d made camp beside a huge patch of coma-bloom and, while sleeping on the ground, had rolled into some of its pollen. It could’ve killed them if they’d accidentally ingested it, so thank the Maker, all they did was get it on their skin. But still…took a lot of meds, and a lot of showers, to get it out of their systems.” You explained. It had been a fascinating case, expanding your medical knowledge and driving you into exploring other fauna and flora that could be toxic to the men who swung by the medbay.

The realisation sank in quickly that you’d rambled for a while, excited over a case of troopers with a rash. Maker above, he’d think you were crazy. Head dipping a little, you tapped at the datapad screen nervously.

Your sudden shift in mood wasn’t lost on him. He’d seen his brother act the same way after info-dumping. “Smart girl.” Crosshair murmurs, a deep feeling of pride settling in his chest. The shyness that overcame you at his compliment made his gut twist. You were too sweet.

Warmth blooms in your chest at the compliment, and you busy yourself by sifting through his medical file, so you don’t dwell on the feelings bubbling inside you. “You didn’t collect the prescriptions from your previous visits...” You mumble with a frown, double-checking that you were reading his notes correctly. “Did the symptoms go away on their own?” You ask, glancing up at him.

Crosshair freezes, mind racing as he tries to devise an excuse. Any excuse would do.

They were shipped out before he could collect them? No. Once, perhaps, but more than that, and it would be obvious he was lying.

He could go down the route of feeling better before collecting them. But no, that would only make it seem like he’d been wasting your time.

With a sigh, Crosshair realises he only has one path. “They were never there to begin with.” He comes clean.

Brow’s furrowing, your head tilts ever so slightly, curious and concerned. “What? Then why did yo-“

“What kind of spell did you put on me?” Crosshair unintentionally interrupts, watching as your concern melts into surprise, your beautiful eyes blinking a few times. He reaches out, tracing a finger across your cheek before dragging his thumb across your lower lip. “You won’t leave my thoughts. Driving me crazy.” He whispers, loathing how vulnerable he feels but unable to stop himself now there are cracks in the wall he’d built up around himself.

“O-Oh…” You swallow, not sure what to do with such a confession, caught off guard by the intensity of the words and his gaze. The thud of your heart rings in your ears, and butterflies erupt in your stomach. “Urm, well, I’m so-”

Before you can finish the sentence, Crosshair presses his thumb more firmly to your lips. “Don’t you dare apologise, doll.”

Silence hangs in the air between you. Your thoughts are a whirlwind, processing the unexpected confession from Crosshair. His touch lingers on your lips, and you can feel the warmth of his skin against your face. The nickname catches you off guard, and a flutter of something unspoken stirs within you.

Crosshair, for all his stoicism, appears different in this moment. Vulnerability seeps through the cracks in his demeanour, and the intensity of his gaze makes your heart race. You can’t deny the attraction you’ve felt for him, the way your heart would skip a beat whenever he entered the medbay, but this...this is a revelation.

Finally, Crosshair withdraws his thumb from your lips, filling the room with a charged silence. It’s as if the atmosphere has shifted. “When are you next off duty?” He asks. He’d already shown his hand, and you hadn’t run away or demanded he leave – it was worth pushing his luck just a little more.

Confusion mars your brow. “Tomorrow.” You answer quietly.

“I know this great place on Kowak.” Crosshair pitches, anxiety clinging to his words despite his attempt to sound casual. He’s never been one for small talk or sweet gestures, but the prospect of spending time with you outside the confines of the medbay is something he finds strangely appealing.

Your eyes widen in surprise, the unexpected invitation catching you off guard. Kowak isn’t exactly a typical choice for a casual outing, but then again, Crosshair is anything but typical. “Kowak? Really?” You respond, a mix of curiosity and amusement colouring your tone.

He nods, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, there’s this little cantina with the best atmosphere. Quiet, secluded. I think you’ll like it.”

A genuine smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “I’ll take your word for it. Tomorrow, then?”

Crosshair nods again, a subtle tension releasing from his shoulders. “Tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 0900 hours.” He shifts off the exam bed, booted feet meeting the floor. He holds your gaze for a second longer before breaking it and heading for the door.

A fleeting feeling of panic laces through you. You don’t want Crosshair to go, even though you’ll see him tomorrow morning. As he reaches to press the small button to open the exam room door, you call out his name, watching as he pauses. Feet carrying you across the small space, you don’t know where the courage comes from as you push up on your tiptoes, pressing a feather-light kiss to his cheek.

Crosshair freezes at the unexpected touch, his heart pounding in his chest. The sensation of your lips against his cheek sends a jolt through him, and for a moment, he’s unsure how to react. It’s a rare instance where he finds himself genuinely caught off guard.

He turns to face you, his sharp brown eyes meeting yours. The vulnerability in his expression is back, your small gesture cracking open another layer of the wall he tried to hide behind, and Crosshair finds himself at a loss for words.

You, on the other hand, feel a mix of bravery and uncertainty. You’ve taken a leap, and now you’re waiting for the reaction, unsure what it means for the dynamic between you both. His gaze lingers on you, and the air is thick with tension.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Crosshair breaks into a rare, genuine smile. It’s a subtle curve of his lips that transforms his usually serious countenance into something softer. “You surprise me, doc.” He says, his voice a low murmur. “But I’m not complainin’.”

With that, Crosshair steps back and opens the door, sliding a fresh toothpick between his lips. As he exits the room, he glances back at you, a lingering intensity in his gaze. The door slides shut behind him, leaving you in the quiet room, heart racing and mind reeling from the unexpected turn of events.

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

#the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #tbb x you #tbb x reader #the bad batch crosshair #crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x you #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair bad batch #bad batch crosshair #tbb crosshair #crosshair #crosshair x you #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #star wars clone wars #ct 9904

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imisssummer · 4 months

Text

𖤐 — nsfw, pussy eating, pussy fingering, filming, mei mei is bad asf

Mei Mei makes you record her while she’s eating ur pussy, her mischievous eyes looking up into the camera with mirth, your small pants can be heard from behind the camera, the video shaky from ur unsteady hands. She flicks the tip of her tongue from side to side, up and down, humming in amusement into your wet pussy every time you moan out— her name at the tip of your tongue every time. Her lips suck at your clit, nearly making you shake at the intense sensation between your legs. At some point she’ll take the phone from your weak hands, taking to filming her pumping two long slender fingers in and out of your slick hole, the digits dragging your walls with ever thrust. And it’s not long till the cameras facing the wall, your sounds of pleasure the only indicator of your upcoming high to the recording.

masterlist

#mei mei smut #jjk x y/n #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #mei mei x reader

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rocorambles · 8 months

Text

Final Girl: Act II

Pairing: Daichi x Reader x Kuroo

Tags: NSFW, Yandere, Non-Con, Dehumanization, Humiliation, Belly Expansion/Forced Enema and Water Sports, Mind-Break, Non-Con Photography/Filming, Forced Bondage, Sex Machines, Cow Tail Plug

A/N: Think I hit the biggest TWs, but just be warned this is leaning into Dead Dove territory and there’s a lot here. My depraved mind is clearly making up for the literal years I’ve left you all hanging smut wise.

Link to Final Girl: Act I

Women are trained actors when it comes to fooling men and you tell yourself this is no different than smoothly weaning off the unwanted attention of an annoyingly persistent man at a bar. Fluttering your eyelashes, laughing and smiling on cue, maybe slightly overexaggerating how divine Daichi’s cooking is, you’re the epitome of a silly smitten woman. Too bad you’re pitted against two even more veteran actors who are enjoying your little act, enjoying pushing your fraying nerves.

A feline smile widens at how your muscles subtly tighten, swiftly painted over by a coy smile when calloused hands purposefully linger and litter your body with far too many casual touches.

An eyebrow above seemingly kind brown eyes slightly arches in amusement at how you pretend to admire the interior of the cabin, trying to hide how your gaze pauses at every possible escape route.

But as fun as it is to watch you flounder about, the show must go on.

“I’m glad you like the meal. The eggs are actually from the neighbor who lives on the land next door.”

Both men hide their shared mirth at how your neck practically snaps towards them at those words. How predictable.

“Oh, you have a neighbor? Where? It didn’t seem like there was anyone nearby when I found your cabin…”

You drone on, every carefully inquisitive phrase and sentence nothing new to the two players watching you unknowingly recite your script word for word. Intermission is over and the second act has officially begun.

Scene: Foolish girl walks right into an obviously placed trap.

It’s a delicate dance feigning interest, coquettish charms on full display while gently turning down the offers to stay up late that night. A well placed giggle here and there while you gracefully dodge the proffered glasses of wine Kuroo seems set on you drinking. An Oscar worthy rendition of an exhausted woman when Daichi playfully brings out a deck of playing cards. It takes everything in you to pace yourself as you climb up the stairs to the guest bedroom, to keep up the act with an exaggerated yawn, when every instinct in you is begging you to flee and run as fast as your legs can take you.

Safely behind your locked door, you quietly wait for the dead of night while two beasts silently prowl and scheme beneath you.

Let the hunt begin.

It’s been hours since you’ve heard the sound of their voices, hours since you’ve heard both of them enter and close their respective doors, hours since you’ve heard any sound at all in the house. Surely they must be deep asleep?

You can’t risk double checking, not when every footstep you take is already an enormous risk. So instead you head directly for the door, slipping into the shadows as best you can, racing in the direction that Daichi had mentioned their neighbor occupied.

All you hear is your racing heart. All you see is endless greenery. Yet you feel that something is following you, watching you, hunting you. You don’t dare to fully stop, but confusion laces your natural instincts when every harried gaze backwards reveals nothing but the eerie darkness of the wilderness that encompasses you.

It feels like you’ve been running for ages, lungs burning, legs aching. Doubt and panic creep into your mind. How far did Daichi say this neighbor lived? Were you heading in the wrong direction- Your spiraling train of thought abruptly stops as the top of a structure peeks out from above the treeline. Could that be…A relieved sob forces its way out of your choked up throat as the outline of a barn becomes clearer with every approaching step. Hope fuels you to the finish line.

This has to be the neighbor’s farm, but you falter as you draw nearer. For an active working farm Daichi and Kuroo had been chatting a storm up about this morning, it’s awfully quiet. Not an animal in sight. You reason with yourself that it’s simply because of the odd hours. Of course any sane living creature would be asleep at this time. You’re sure the animals are just in their stables and pens. You’ll knock on the door and someone will answer. They’ll help you and everything will be alright.

Knock Knock

Scene: Girl ignores all warning signs.

You’re not completely wrong. When you knock someone does answer and your legs turn to lead as familiar brown eyes amusedly scan you over.

“Well well well, doesn’t this feel like deja vu? You know, it’s dangerous for girls to visit stranger’s homes. You should really fix that bad habit.”

Involuntarily your body takes a shaky step backwards only to collide with a firm surface and suddenly arms are snaking around you, pinning you in place, an unnervingly familiar sly voice chuckling in your ear.

“That was a fun little run, princess. I’ve worked up quite the appetite.”

You cry out, fight instincts taking over your body with flight no longer being an option as Kuroo’s arms painfully tighten their hold on you while he sinks teeth into your skin, biting, sucking, marking your vulnerably exposed neck. Squirming, kicking, flailing to no avail, you let out a choked sob when you realize all you’re doing is enticing the man behind you more, tears forming in your eyes as you feel him harden, hear his lewd moans in your ears as he ruts his clothed erection against you from behind.

You’re manhandled further into the barn, four arms now easily subduing you, toying with you as your struggles are repaid with sharp smacks to your ass, cruel pinches to your now exposed nipples as your clothes are torn off of you. Then suddenly, for a split second, you’re able to breathe, dilated pupils whirling around trying to understand what’s going on-

The barn fills with your screams as a pelt of cold water washes over you, your sobs and writhing a stark contrast to Kuroo’s relaxed smile as he lazily aims the hose at you. But before you can even think about lunging towards him you’re pulled onto Daichi’s lap, his hands cupping your breasts, almost laughably intimate in the way they knead and stroke your skin, lathering soapy suds onto every inch of you. You harshly throw your head back hoping to make contact, anger beginning to lace itself among your tumultuous emotions, but Daichi’s a pro at this, easily foreshadowing your every move. Your retaliation is countered by a painfully accurate smack to the space between your legs, exposed for all to see as Daichi’s knees hook between yours, prying your thighs open.

You feel like livestock, strung up on display for its owners to examine, one of Daichi’s hands holding your wrists behind your back, the position forcing your back to arch, thrusting your chest on full display, the cool night air brushing against your most intimate parts between your spread legs. There’s nothing you can do as Kuroo stalks closer to the two of you, hose still in hand, a razor sharp smile splitting his handsome face. It’s humiliating how Daichi treats you like a frightened animal, cooing at you, deft fingers skillfully tugging and flicking your nipples, drawing soothing gentle lines down your navel before landing at their final destination.

“Good girl.”

His words barely register as you let out a shaky moan when he circles your clit, your body unwillingly melting into his touch. But then you’re tensing, begging them to stop as Kuroo slips one finger inside of you, then two, the feeling of them scissoring inside of you combined with Daichi’s touches and his voice overwhelming, terrifying, delicious. There are three fingers in you now, the embarrassing sound of your leaking hungry cunt brutally apparent in the empty silent space.

“What a dirty girl. I knew you were a slut, but you’re liking this even more than I thought you would. Time to wash you again.”

You mewl in confusion when Kuroo suddenly pulls out of you eliciting mocking laughs from both men, but you’re not left empty for long and you shriek as the hose is ruthlessly plunged into you, cold water gushing into you, filling you, expanding your insides more than you could ever have imagined. Seconds feel like ages and you plead with them to stop, whimpering in discomfort as Daichi splays his free hand across your now bulging stomach. Just when you don’t think you can take anywhere it stops and hot tears of humiliation stray from your eyes as Kuroo pulls the hose out, a splattering of water you can’t control leaking from your clenching hole.

It takes everything in you to not let any more water out. It hurts, the fullness almost unbearable. But you won’t give them the satisfaction- Can’t give them the satisfaction of debasing you further by relieving yourself in front of them like a damn animal.

Except you do. After all, will power can only do so much against biology and you cry out as Daichi forcefully presses down on your stomach, a vulgar explosion of water expelling from between your legs, the harsh flash of a camera in Kuroo’s hands capturing every moment of your disgraceful fall.

Something inside you breaks at that moment. This can’t be real. How could this be happening to you? Things like this don’t happen in real life. It hurts to think.

So, you stop.

It’s easier to give in. Easier to accept the way Kuroo’s cock too easily sinks into your quivering and still dripping wet hole. Easier to melt into Daichi’s soothing voice and touch as he praises your newfound obedience while they perform the same cleansing ritual to your back hole. Easier to moan, drool, and enjoy the stretch and slide of both their cocks fucking you. One at a time. Two at a time. Your mouth is also used when both holes are deemed sufficiently christened…at least for now.

You’re so warm. Warm from the two bodies entwining and smothering you between them. Warm from the cum leaking from every crevice of your body. Warm from the graciously more comfortable temperate shower your two captors decide to reward you with.

Eyes heavy, breath slowing into an exhausted sleep cadence, you barely react to the leather collar carefully locked around your neck, only stirring slightly at the obnoxious sound of the cowbell on it ringing as you’re moved to a different section of the barn, a blindfold wrapped around your head. You sleepily whine as you’re repositioned, your stomach laid across a plush leather surface, legs, arms, and neck supported and locked into position, your breasts hanging below you.

Sleep is lulling you in, finally. Maybe if you sleep and wake up, it’ll all just be a dream, a nightmare. But there’s something too real about the sudden thrumming of electricity that fills the air, something too real about the dildo thrusting in and out of you, something too real about the vibrating plug being pushed into your ass, a pretty cow tail attached to it that brushes and sways against you with every limited movement you make. And there’s something too real about the devices being attached to your breasts, something too real about the suction as your nipples are milked, the vibrators and brushes inside of the plastic cups only enhancing your overstimulation.

Unknown to you, two pairs of eyes watch you, drinking in the sight of their newest pet, satisfied smiles on their lips as they watch you helplessly thrash around as much as your restraints will let you, your cries of ecstasy a sweet melody to their ears as you’re forced to come undone over and over again, a slave to the pleasure forced upon you.

End of Act II.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kuroo #yandere kuroo x reader #yandere daichi #yandere daichi x reader #kuroo smut #daichi smut #haikyuu smut

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3garcons · 7 months

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Wild In The Trees Music and Rainbows above link and skateboarding in below link Oct 2023

#wild in the trees #mirth films #lake george #candy ambulance #fine grain #joey mansman #midnight revival band #shu #the hauntings.

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jesswritesthat · 2 months

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Iwaizumi Hajime: Brothers’ Best Friend

Fandom: Haikyuu!! — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: 2.5k, fluff

• It can be hard when you catch feelings for your brother best friend, but the least you can do is be mature about it and turn it into a game.

Warnings: a few insults

>>>>——————————>

Iwaizumi Hajime had been 5 things to you over the years, some you'd regretted, many you'd denied, but there's 1 he'd finally accept.

———

He was your ‘brothers’ best friend.

Even from a young age, Iwaizumi Hajime had always captured your interest - most would often sway towards Oikawa but considering he was your older brother figure as your families were quite close, you saw quite enough of him already.

To anyone, your favouritism was evident, including to Oikawas' parents who regularly took you to collect Tōru from his Volleyball club practices.

Gingerly you walked past the child players who varied in height but were all taller than you, some recognising you and side stepping so you could locate your targets faster.

All while Tōrus older sister filmed the humorous ritual. You strolled toward the familiar pair, Oikawa immediely breaking into a blinding smile and picking you up with a prideful greeting. Iwaizumi halted beside his partner whilst he lifted you (there was only 2 years between you but at this age you'd yet to grow).

However, it was not your brother you wanted - no, he held you in his arms only for you pout and kick in his grasp.

Adhering to his childish personality, the cute Setter scoffed whilst mumbling curses as he passed you to his best friend who had his arms open already, used to this familiar favouritism behaviour - a smug look sent to his partner as you settled immediately with a content grin.

Happily you allowed Hajime to manoeuvre you to a piggy back position and carry you over to your amused family.

"This'll be good blackmail in the future y'know, I think for all of you~" Tōrus sister finally pressing stop on the recording, you supposed that at her age she had it out for her 'siblings'.

———

He was a crush.

A phase you'd told yourself, just some ridiculous school girl crush that'd pass eventually because above all else, he was a good friend.

"Hi (Y/n), Iwaizumi is here y'know." Oikawas sister said it with a playful mirth to her silky tone, knowing smirk situated on her face upon seeing you light up.

"Iwa?! Really~"

"That's the guy you talk about, on the high school team with your 'brother' right?"

"Yes! You have to me him -them- c'mon." Eagerly you dragged your friend into the kitchen where the two volleyball players were conversing.

"Hey guys."

"Awh! Chibi-chan, did you miss me? I know I'm amaz—"

Fluently you ducked under his open arms, flying straight into the unsuspecting but easily prepared Iwaizumi who only groaned in reply.

"Tch, not as amazing as Iwa-chan apparently."

"You've grown (Y/n), and who’s your friend?"

"Yeah, that's how life generally works Iwaizumi, oh and this Yuki."

"Nice to meet you. Oi, careful, you sound like Crappykawa and one of those is enough thanks." Iwaizumi chided after introductions, leaving you shaking your head but excited to ask your next question.

"How was the game? God I can't wait to start Aobajohsai next year! I'll finally be able to watch you guys for real."

"We won 2-0. Next year you can come to our practices too. We still need a manager and since Crappykawa is going to be Captain, he might put in a good word."

"Not likely, especially since you'll take Iwas' side in everything." Oikawa sneakily replied, giving you a childish face which you naturally returned.

"That's because he's usually right Tōru."

Once finishing your conversation, you left for your own home like originally planned with Yuki, also glad she’d finally met the two most important people in your life.

“Wow, you’re big brother figure is really good looking~”

“Ew no, did you even meet Iwaizumi? He’s so cool, he’s the arm wrestling champion at Aobajohsai.”

“You know we don’t stand a chance, they’ll be thirds years whilst we’re first years.” She’d awkwardly added, but you remained charismatically confident.

“You’re not thinking ahead, I’ll have a chance one day but until then there’s a bunch of cute guys in our year.”

“Yes, speaking of, I finally got the courage to speak to Tadashi-kun today~”

———

He was a protector.

"Back. Off." Every word was deadly punctuated, standing as a warning all on their own without needed the back up of Iwaizumis dangerous glare.

"Who are you?!" The pestered had glowered, having followed you from your friends’ party that night.

"Take another step and you'll find out."

"Iwaizumi, it's fine— I can handle this." You had every intention to, but Iwaizumi stood protectively in front of you and fingers twitching to punch this scoundrel if he dared make a move to touch you, it was best to leave it.

"Whatever.” Then he was gone, storming off in the other direction much to your joint relief.

“(Y/n) you need to be more careful.”

“I was careful! That’s why I messaged Oikawa the second I noticed him following me.” Hold on, why the hell was Iwaizumi here then?

“Creeps will target students walking alone, especially ones like you.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I’m not and idiot an— what do you mean ‘like me’?”

“What? You’re, y’know— you’re ours!” He seemed stifled by his response but he couldn’t exactly tell you it’s because you were considered attractive.

"You can stop treating me like a baby, I'm 16 Hajime! I can take care of myself, besides..." There was brief hesitation but your emotions were too strong. "I need to get used to you and Tōru not being around, don't I?"

It was a low blow, you knew that, but had every right to be angry at both the world and him, especially with that bubbling feeling of betrayal being so fresh.

"What? So protecting you suddenly means I'm treating you like a child?"

"What else would it be?" You bit back again, knowing by this point you were only being hurtful.

"That I—" A pause.

"That I care about you dumbass, is that so hard to believe? I know you're growing up but that doesn't mean me -or Tōru- are gonna stop looking out for you just because we're on the other side of the world."

"Sure it doesn’t, I'm going home." Despite his words being full of honesty, you turned your back on him and started walking.

"I'll walk you."

"No, I'll walk myself thanks."

"It wasn't a request."

Eventually you arrived at Oikawas’ house, storming in and ditching your shoes in his porch - the pretty brunette heaving a knowing sigh. Oikawa would give you a minute, Iwa having now walked into the house moments after without a word, and that’s when Oikawa followed your path and hesitantly knocked on his own bedroom door for entry.

"Don't be mad at Iwa-chan."

"Yeah yeah 'he's only trying to look out for you' and 'Hajime is protective over people close to him', heard it all before Tōru." Came your muffled reply, face hidden in your arms on the setters bed.

"...Guess you have but uh, this is different."

"Tch."

"It's because he's going to miss you, our Ace won't ever admit that but it's true. Not seeing you and dealing with our chaos all the time will be weird for him. You were near the top of his list to tell once he’d made his decision about California y'know?" Tōru sat tentatively beside you, a reassuring hand patting your back in aid of comforting you.

"Doesn't make it hurt any less, finding out I'm not only losing my big brother but his best friend too."

"You're more upset about me though right?" There was a preganant pause, quite honestly you weren't exactly listening but it was enough for Oikawa to sit abruptly from the bed. "Right?!"

"Tōru!"

"Fine fine, I'm taking that as a yes, but anyway, Iwa-chan just wants to make sure you're gonna be okay in life before he leaves (Y/n)."

There was another silence, a quiet sob escaping you that you’d desperately tried to cover up.

"…Where were you? I needed you Tōru and you weren’t there…"

You felt him cease up, the pain laced your voice and he knew it was partly because it’ll be this way for the foreseeable future, but this time wasn’t his fault.

“Iwa-chan was here when I got your message, he was out the house before I could even put my shoes on. So I waited here for when you came back.” They really were the best team. “Anyway, I’ll prepare my sisters old room for you to stay tonight.”

Awkwardly you shuffled into the kitchen, finding the Ace situated at the table, already changed into a t-shirt and joggers he had here and tiredly brooding over some freshly made tea.

"Hey..." The quietened whisper from your lips surprised even you, let alone Hajime who looked up from his cup with a softening frown.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, I um, I wanted to apologise. You were only trying to help and you even walked me home after I was a crappy friend so..."

"Anytime." There was a hanging silence again, hugging yourself a bit before the brunette awkwardly cleared his throat. "I uh, I understand you were upset, and butting in on the situation probably wasn't necessary so I'm sorry too. It just pissed me off."

"We're good then?"

"Yeah, we're good."

Pausing at the entrance, you sighed quietly - bare feet quickly tapping on the floor and before Hajime could check the origin you'd engulfed him from behind, arms wrapped around his chest and nose buried in the nape of his neck.

"I'll miss you too Hajime."

You heard his breath hitch, muscles tensing under your touch and tentative fingers gracing your own with a gently sigh.

Then you pulled away slightly, the same moment he'd looked back to you, gazes meeting for only a few sacred seconds like sharing a thousand words. Softly you smiled, both of you laughing as your fingers slipped from his figure and you'd walked back to the guest room. Only to find Oikawa sat expectantly on the bed waiting for you.

"You tell him?"

"Not quite. But I said enough."

———

He was a traitor.

Not a phase. It must be a familiarity thing then, Hajime had always been present in your life since you could remember. There wasn't a prolonged period of time when he hadn't been involved - at school, at home, with Oikawa, even on vacations, or via social media.

Maybe once he'd left, once he was no longer around, the constant familiarity wouldn't influence your feelings anymore.

For now though, when you were gifted a moment alone with him that’d likely be your last, you decided it couldn’t hurt to express your feelings. Calmly and nonchalantly.

"I like you Hajime."

"I like you too (Y/n)." He paused, soft and sentimental smile gracing his lips briefly as if resenting his next words. "But you know there's the age thing."

"I know, but I'm in it for the long game."

You could tell your confident statement caught him off guard, yes Iwaizumi knew the topic of conversation was to be handled with care but that didn’t mean he wasn’t perplexed by you.

"I don't want you to wait for me or anything, considering I'm heading to California."

"I had no intention of waiting, our paths will cross again. It's nice knowing you're out there, I'm out there, and we both know. That's enough." You shrugged, leaning back far too casually for the situation.

"Knowing we're both out in the world, I can play along with that."

"Besides, I'll win in the end Hajime."

"Oh yeah? What makes you so sure."

There was a playful smirk on your lips as you sat up a little straighter, hands clasped and head tilted in curiosity. "Well, date me now?"

"No way."

"Okay, then date me later?"

"..." Despite his snapping reply earlier, he now furrowed his brows in thought. "You don't even know what we'll being doing in the future."

"You're not saying no."

"..." A flicker of realisation when meeting your competitive gaze.

"See." You smirked. "That's what makes so sure."

"The long game huh?" Iwaizumi smiled "Count me in."

Oikawa joined you both then, stepping out onto the field and standing before your sitting figures.

"I'm still going to hate you though." A playful punch hitting Iwaizumis’ shoulder as you rose to your feet. "For leaving. I can't hide those feelings very well."

"I know, and it's okay. Hate me for as long as you need to."

“You two done? Let’s go~”

However it was the text later that night which left you more confused than ever.

[ Iwa: Finally. ]

[ (Y/n): Huh? ]

[ Iwa: I didn't give you an answer earlier, so that's it. ]

[ Iwa: Date you finally. ]

[ (Y/n): What does that mean? Eventually??? Later??? Iwaaaaa!!!! 😭 ]

[ Iwa: You're playing the long game remember? So you'll just have to wait I guess. Anyways tell Shittykawa he better be up early tomorrow, night (Y/n) x ]

[ (Y/n): Tōrus' right, you are mean! 💀 ]

———

He was a friend.

"Someone grew up good." Iwaizumi nodded to you in greeting when you’d shown up to Oikawas’ family home, yourself gladly embracing the former traitor.

"Iwa-chan! That's my little chibi-chan!" Oikawa was quick to chastise, even at your expense.

"Tōru I'm not so little anymore, I'm a grown assed human with a job and rent for crying out loud!"

"With a petty attitude to boot." Oikawa mocked, sticking his tongue at you like you were children again.

"Wonder who they got that from Crappykawa?"

"How dare you compare me to him Iwaizumi?! That's it, we're enemies now - prepare to lose."

"I just got back from California, can't we do things normally for once? Like unpack, then celebrate my graduation by going out for dinner together like old times?"

Yourself and Oikawa looked at each other with offended expressions, mirroring smirks etching onto your lips once you'd set your attention back on an irritated Iwa.

"Nope!" You devilishly grinned, Oikawa already holding up Mario Kart controllers as he finished off.

"We're going to my place to have a tournament, loser buys dinner!"

"Idiots."

“Woah, us ‘idiots’ threw you a graduation party. We’re the best friends ever, you should be thanking rather than insulting us y’know.” Oikawa pointedly corrected referring to the destination later tonight.

“Yeah, when Tōru got back from the airport, we even tried making you a cake!”

“Guys… thanks so much…”

“Iwa-chan, congratulations on your graduation.” Tōru proudly cemented, next you gladly followed. “And welcome home.”

———

He was the love of your life.

It was a beautiful summers night in Tokyo, and you'd come to congratulate Iwaizumi on his recent job offer as the Japanese Olympic Volleyball Teams fitness trainer.

You didn't think you'd be sitting beside him staring up at the stars though, a blissful warm breeze allowing you to truly feel the moment.

It seemed Iwaizumi was the same, content smile upon his face.

"It's nice to see you (Y/n), I'm glad you made it."

"Well it's easier when you don't have to catch a flight from the other side of the world." It was evident to whom you’d referred, his absence always being felt in some way.

"Heh, yeah I got to speak to him over video chat though."

"Ugh that means he didn't get the slaps he deserves." Was your witty reply, Iwaizumi laughing alongside you.

"Nah, but don't worry I managed to scold him for anything ridiculous he came out with."

"Like beating everyone?"

"Exactly. With the team I'm gonna train, I'll kick his ass." It amazed you, that even as best friends their rivalry continued into adulthood.

"I hope you both do well Hajime."

"Hm, I hope Japan and Argentina get to face one another most of all."

"You miss him."

"Yeah." A sentimental smile and Iwa turned to you. "And I miss you too."

The atmosphere once again settled into that of comfortable tranquility. You supposed there was only one last thing to say then.

"Well Iwaizumi Hajime, I have one last question for you tonight."

"I know, you've been waiting. So go ahead." It was a challenge, the brunette facing you with an expectant smirk that matched your own.

"Date me now?"

"Don't you remember? I said date you, finally."

"Finally?" You mimicked again, still not knowing what he’d meant by that phrase.

"Guess the long game is over now huh?" Iwaizumi shrugged nonchalantly, despite his mocking tone which only left you sarcastically retorting.

"Shut up asshole."

"It meant, I may not have been your first love (Y/n), but I have every intention of being your last." His sentiment surprised you, especially if this is the thought he had when typing that text all those years ago. "If that's okay with you obviously."

"It is Hajime, then it's your call."

"(Y/n), will you finally go on a date with me?"

"No." You'd said it proudly, Hajime only knowingly smirking. "You don't get to take the victory lap now. This is my game, and I asked you first. You owe me an answer."

"Ah man, it was worth a shot but the only true loss here is missing the chance to be with you so yeah."

"Don't get all sappy on me Hajime! It doesn't suit you."

"Hey! I said I'd date you (Y/n), aren't I supposed to be a little sentimental with that." Though he seemed confident, Iwaizumi hadn’t hidden his blush very well.

"You might want to make another call to Oikawa, I'm sure dating his 'Chibi-chan' will have him back here in no time. Don't you need his permission huh?"

"Already got it." Iwaizumi seemed smug about it, no doubt probably asking prior to this encounter since he already knew what you wanted to ask - but you had your own surprises.

"Funny, I did too."

"You asked his permission to date me?!"

"Duh, you're his best friend. I got permission before you even left for California~"Not explicitly, but you assumed Oikawa had always known how you felt.

"You really had me from the start didn't you?"

"Yeah, but you had me too Iwa.”

Iwaizumi Hajime was (and had been) your everything. But you were always his everything too.

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

#iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime imagine #iwaizumi hajime x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #anime x reader #anime imagine #iwaizumi scenarios #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu oneshot

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maximotts · 2 years

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𝔡𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔶 𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔱 ☾ 𝔴. 𝔪𝔞𝔵𝔦𝔪𝔬𝔣𝔣

pairing ❦ sorority!Wanda Maximoff x sorority!reader

summary ❦ it's Halloween horror movie night at your sorority and your best friend, Wanda, is more than a bit squeamish; but funnily enough, it's not the movies she's worried about

warnings ❦ smut, 18+ only content; bottom!Wanda; lap sits because they seem to be a running theme in your requests this year; thigh riding; handsy cuddling; soft kisses because Wanda deserves them; copious pet names; humiliation; not really degradation, but Wanda gets talked down to playfully; clothed sex; public sex, but like.. in secret

words ❦ 3.4k

a/n ❦ yeaaaah this fic is late, but motivation to finish my Kinktober requests has been low so uhhh I hope you like lil baby sorority Wanda, I sure do

kinktober masterlist.

“Hey, guess what?”

Wanda turned her head, searching mirthful eyes for a clue. “What’s up?”

“If you’re a baby then you’re my baby.” Her cheeks bloomed tomato red, Wanda suddenly grateful for the pitch dark room. You couldn’t see the color, but you could feel the heat on your shoulder through your t-shirt as she hid her face in your chest.

“Shut up, don’t say that.”

Wanda only joined the sorority because of you. She was shy and reserved, so opposite of your outgoing nature that when she ran up to you on rush week, declaring her pledge to the same group you’d been planning to your whole freshman year, you were shocked. Pleasantly so; the one downside to Greek Life was the reality of spending less time with your best friend. Wanda didn’t like it either, the idea of a huge group of girls she didn’t know occupying your attention with her nowhere around nearly kept her up at night. So she decided to join alongside you, simple fix.

She’d gotten in with no problem; quiet as Wanda was, she was so easily beloved it’d been easy to win over the council with her addictive laugh and sweet demeanor. Still, it was clear to anyone that saw the two of you together that Wanda only got in to be with you; Wanda being assigned your roommate in the house wasn’t a coincidence. The girl was at your side constantly, had been since she and her brother first transferred to your high school and you’d offered the twins a spot at your lunch table.

You didn’t mind; Wanda was cute, fun, and all around a supportive friend. There wasn’t a dull time to be had with her around, which is why you wanted her to hang out with you now. “It’s just one little movie marathon, Wands. It’s not that bad.”

Wanda was still hovering at the entrance to the expansive living room, lights dim as the other girls found their spots and decided what film to watch first. The Halloween movie night was a long upheld sorority tradition, a fun start to the month of October— too bad Wanda had always been too jumpy for the ones on their lineup. “It’s a horror movie marathon…”

“I don’t want you to be upstairs all by yourself on a Friday night, that’s sad.” Wanda didn’t budge, not even when you grabbed her arms and gave them a playful tug. “Come on, I’ll let you sit with me! And you don’t have to watch anything you don’t want to. I’ve got our favorite blanket?”

“I’ve got our favorite blanket!” Natasha brushed past you both, mocking your encouragement as she carried popcorn in for the group. She was something like friends with Wanda, but nowhere near as patient with her clingy nature, poking fun at it more than anything.

About a month ago, Wanda drunkenly confessed her crush on you to Nat, crying outside on the lawn after you’d taken some other girl to bed; since then, Natasha tried her best to encourage Wanda to come clean. As visible as Wanda’s dependence on you was, your reciprocal love was evident as a neon sign above your head. You’d never reject her, but so far, Nat hadn’t convinced Wanda. Plan B was to antagonize incessantly.

The redhead ruffled Wanda’s hair, poking the tip of her nose before backing away. “I see you’re babysitting again tonight or else I’d ask you to sit with me. Movies can get a little boring without something to do while watching.” Wanda wound her arms around you at her insinuation, holding tight while she glared daggers at the older girl.

“She won’t be bored! I’m right here.” It was no secret you thought Natasha was hot, even joked about sleeping with her a few times, but nothing serious. You only had eyes for Wanda and Natasha, well, she found you attractive, but she would never stomp on Wanda’s feelings so blatantly.

But she saw no harm in teasing you until Wanda decided to spill her secrets. All in good fun. “Possessive, are we? Don’t worry, I won’t take your toys, little one.”

Natasha walked off then, unbothered by Wanda’s prominent scowl and making her rounds to deliver snacks. Wanda wanted to be as mad as she looked and she was, to a point. Her crush wasn’t her only secret. While she hated being picked on, she couldn’t deny the taunts always left a dull ache in her belly that she never quite knew what to do with.

“Hey, don’t let her get to you.” You were already leading Wanda to the couch, settling in against the arm before motioning her to sit next to you. “I don’t care if you get scared, we’ll still have plenty of fun.”

“Yeah…” Wanda couldn’t be upset with your kindness, it was the opposite really. The only thing that changed the aforementioned ache was how much worse it got each time you reassured her. For years, her guilty pleasure had been basking in how good it felt to be doted on by you specifically, often playing up her worries just to get an extra pat on the head or kiss on the cheek.

It’d been annoying, but manageable until other people started calling her out for her behavior, the sick combo of being ever so slightly humiliated and then subsequently coddled by her favorite person never failing to set her off. Whenever you’d notice her blushing or how she folded into you each time she was questioned, you read it as shame and stuck up for her, protective friend that you were. How was she supposed to explain that made it all the worse? Now, in this house surrounded by girls who were always pointing it out, Wanda was growing more and more exasperated.

The lights shut off and Wanda curled up beside you, folding her knees under her and leaning against your shoulder. You were quick to pull the thick blanket over you both, taking care to make sure Wanda was nicely cuddled in before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “This okay?”

“Huh?” Wanda was too preoccupied with Natasha plopping down on the other end of the couch, making stupidly obvious thumbs up motions at her to fully understand what you were saying until you asked again. This time, the hand you’d placed behind her was smoothing out her hair and she had to swallow a gulp before she could respond normally. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Really, don’t worry about me.”

Your eyes followed Wanda’s focus and you spotted Natasha who, upon seeing your curious look, instantly shot a “have fun looking after the baby!” your way. You sent her an indignant finger back before turning your attention on Wanda once more. “Hey, guess what?”

Wanda turned her head, searching mirthful eyes for a clue. “What’s up?”

“Shut up, don’t say that.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first movie was… okay. Wanda only ducked her face under the blanket three times which was a new personal record. Most of her issues stemmed from you honestly, how insistent you’re being in keeping her calm. Each time a jumpscare ran, you looked down, whispering your reassurances and nuzzling your cheek against your forehead. You’d been rubbing circles over her hip for the better part of an hour now and Wanda was dangerously close to losing her composure.

“How’s she holding up?” Natasha stretched herself across the couch until she was inches away from the cozy space you’d created for her and the younger woman huffed, stamping down the urge to push the redhead away. Instead she stayed quiet and let you do the talking; it wouldn’t be the first time. Besides, if she spoke up now, she’d give herself away. Natasha was too sharp to miss it.

“She’s fine, Tasha. Leave her alone.” You rolled your eyes, but your tone was light; Natasha was clearly still just joking. “If you’re so worried, why don’t you take her?”

She instantly shook her head; she couldn’t peel Wanda away from you if she tried. “I’m just surprised the little princess isn’t bundled up on top of you by now is all.” Wanda couldn’t be mad that Natasha was pointing out the obvious; if she wasn’t next to you, she was on you, but you claimed it was never an issue.

Never one to be too outdone, Wanda wiggled her way into your lap, settling down once her legs were on either side of yours. Surprise was clear on your face when Wanda looked your way, but she only grinned and stuck her tongue out at Nat. So much for staying quiet, “Go away, the next movie is starting.”

Natasha backed up, hands in the air as if to admit defeat, but her shit-eating grin never faltered. If she had to shove you two together by being annoying, so be it; unfortunately for Wanda, she was completely unaware of the other ways the taunts affected her.

Surrounding conversations quieted down as the second film choice started to play and Wanda let out a deep breath, figuring she’d survived another wave of torment. Until you bounced her on your lap, “Don’t be so grumpy, Natasha is just messing around.”

“Yeah? Well then you can stop messing around too and don’t jostle me. I was comfortable.” She grumbled, trying to ignore how much she actually liked it. Just enough friction for her to feel it, to hold back a groan.

Your mouth poked out in a pout, hands coming to cup Wanda’s pink cheeks, “Aww, is someone upset? What’s wrong, you’ve been weird all night.”

Wanda shook her head, craning her neck towards the television across the room as the movie’s intro blasted through the speakers, ignoring you in favor of whatever creature was crawling out of the lake. It didn’t last long; the instant that thing attacked, Wanda was cowering, shuddering against your chest.

“Wands…” Through her fear Wanda registered your hand on the small of her back making small circles that were supposed to be soothing, but currently only left her shivering for a completely different reason. When she whined, you took it as further distress and you’d had enough. “You’re having a bad time, I’m taking you upstairs.”

“No!” She gripped your shirt before you could move her away and this time when you looked her way, Wanda was close enough to really take in her flushed cheeks and nervous lip biting. “I’m fine, quit worrying!”

You were worried about her; when you all went to college, Pietro made you swear you’d look after his twin and you’d rolled your eyes because everyone knew there wasn’t a day that’d gone by where you weren’t taking care of your friend. You chose her over anything, always, even if tonight that was a movie night you’d been looking forward to for months.

“I won’t make fun of you for leaving, not seriously.” You nuzzled your face into the top of Wanda’s head before brushing your lips against her temple to hopefully calm her as you felt her fingers skirt over your hips. The actions made her the opposite of calm, but as her shuffling increased, so did your affection. It was a vicious cycle and Wanda was quickly falling behind.

“It’s not what you think.” If you knew the true source of her discomfort, she’d never be able to look you in the eye again. After you allowed her a few long breaths, you pulled her closer, missing how her legs tightened around yours as her clothed center met the top of your thigh. This was certainly how Wanda was going to die, she was sure of it.

“Then what is it? I only want to help, sweetheart.” You wouldn’t if you could see inside my head right now. She didn’t want to lie to you, not ever. Wanda wished you were more intuitive, really; as often as you’re together, you apparently never actually noticed her behavior. It was cute at first, having her little crush, but it was comforting.. the coddling… fuck, she couldn’t last another second. Not without you knowing how it made her feel. This wasn’t where she wanted to tell you, but you’d start to make a scene soon otherwise.

“You and Natasha, mostly you…” Wanda wasn’t looking at you, if she could, she’d surely lose her nerve. She changed a small movement of her hips, rolling them over your leg and hoping you could feel the ever building heat between her legs. You did. And as soon as you did, your concerned frown curled into pure mischief.

You let her fidget for a while, taking a cursory scan of the room before cupping Wanda’s face in your hands. No one was watching, even Natasha was giving all of her attention to the movie; there was no way you could pass this opportunity up. “What’d we do, hm, are you that annoyed with us? All you’ve done is complain about us bugging you all night.”

“That’s not- I’m not annoyed,” She’d hoped that much was clear by now, what with how she’d been rubbing herself on you like a horny teenager for the past few minutes. You weren’t stupid, maybe you’d only just caught on, but you were more than experienced enough to not have to ask what Wanda’s problem was.

“So you’ve been lying? What are you then?” Wanda didn’t say a word, face scrunched as she fought to get out of your grasp. You let her go and for a second, Wanda thought she was free. But then you were grabbing her hips, guiding her into your own pace, slow and deep, and Wanda gasped audibly.

It might’ve been better if you did just laugh and take her off your lap; she was terrible at keeping quiet. “Well it’s.. mostly it’s when you’re nice to me.”

“When am I ever not nice to-” Your brow furrowed, thinking over your behavior until that last piece clicked, your lips falling open in a shocked ‘O.’ Of course Wanda would be into that, of all things. Your heart swelled, now reliving every time she’d wiggled around happily when you’d tucked her into bed, smothered her in kisses, called her the loveliest of names; she was so precious, it hurt. “My darling girl gets off on being babied, is that it?”

It’d be stupid to deny it when her arousal was so obvious now, her underwear soaked and quickly giving way to the thin material of her shorts. You bounced your leg like you had earlier when her response didn’t come immediately and Wanda nearly drew blood biting the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t see anyone else in the room and she didn’t want to; your egotistical demeanor was more than she could take on already. “If you’d stopped like I asked, I’d be fine-”

“Not a chance! We’d be right here and you’d be so upset if I didn’t bring your favorite blanket or made you sit upright next to me. You hate when I’m not giving you my full attention.” Wanda so badly wanted to shout how untrue that was— but she’d be too loud and severely wrong.

You ducked down, peppering her face with kisses, innocent looking enough that anyone would think you’re just comforting your jumpy friend— only you knew Wanda was shaking not from fear, but lust. “Wish you’d told me sooner, I would’ve taken care of you, sweet pea.”

Wanda wanted to hear those words for so long, but actually experiencing them, whispered low in her ear was more than she could ever fantasize. “Then do it..” She grabbed your hand, tugging it further under the blanket between the two of you until you could feel the light cotton on her waist, “ Please? I’ll be good.”

“Yeah? You wanna be my good girl?” She nodded painfully fast, but you didn’t go where she’d hoped, hand skirting around to her backside, gripping her ass. The new angle was as perfect as she could get on a couch in a room full of your sorority sisters; her thighs parted further, neglected clit hitting the top of your leg as you steadily led her along.

Wanda left kisses along your exposed neck, clumsy and messy in her desperation. She longed to push you down, force your leg right where she needed, beg you to sink your fingers where she was currently clenching around nothing… For obvious reasons, she couldn’t — not here — and it made her so frustrated she could cry. “I know, I know, but you have to keep quiet.”

Much easier said than done; Wanda buried her face in the crook of your neck, muffling the moans she couldn’t force herself to contain any longer. The movie might as well have been yards away, the audio just a dull noise behind her as she worked to find her release on your lap.

You’d known Wanda for years, she wasn’t an open book, but you knew her better than she did. Her grip on your waist tightened, her hips stuttering as she lost focus, “Are you gonna cum?”

You felt more than heard her yes, a low hum of a whimper against your skin. “Go on, I wanna see you cum for me.”

A stray giggle from across the room reminded Wanda of her surroundings, suddenly tense in a bid to hide how close she was to falling apart. “B-But… everyone’s here…”

“Oh, shy little thing.. no one will know, I won’t tell.” True, no one was looking at you, too engrossed in the action on screen or their own side conversations. You’d never dream of saying anything about this anyways; you were never one to brag, especially at Wanda’s expense. “Our little secret, pinky promise.”

It only took a few seconds for Wanda to let go, shaking against you as she sank her teeth into your collarbone. When she settled she realized how uncomfortable she was, too warm under the blanket, but unwilling to look more vulnerable than she already did curled up in your lap. You kept her close, shushing her as Wanda pulled herself together. She could feel her release pooled where she sat, embarrassment creeping up in her chest the longer she had that wet reminder. “Now I’m all sticky…”

“And whose fault is that?” She hated that you pulled her away, even if it was just to give her a cautious once over. You didn’t seem to mind that Wanda ruined one of your favorite pairs of lounge pants, but that didn’t make her feel any better. Your face softened as you took in her awkward squirming and nervous eyes, for as much as you teased her, Wanda really was a delicate little thing. “What’s wrong, baby doll?”

“I don’t want to watch scary movies anymore…” Wanda didn’t regret it, not at all, but where she’d let it happen was possibly the most risky thing she’d done her entire life and while she seemingly hadn’t been caught, she was mortified as the mess she’d made.

“Want me to take you upstairs?” Gentle thumbs smoothed over Wanda’s cheeks, feeling their lingering heat under your fingertips. Your favorite movie was up next, but you wouldn’t enjoy it with Wanda so unsettled and it wasn’t in your nature to send anyone off after sex, especially Wanda. Never her. “I’ll get you all cleaned up, then we can sit in bed and watch whatever you want, does that sound better?”

She agreed instantly of course, the offer of having you all to herself once more too good to pass up. Wanda was being selfish, she knew it, but she’d always been this way when it came to you. This time when you held her to your chest it was so you could stand, securing her legs around your midsection, arms under her for support.

The movie was at its climax, making it easy to slip away without anyone noticing, well, mostly everyone. As you rounded the back of the couch Natasha caught your attention. Wanda didn’t notice, her face firmly attached to your shoulder to avoid accidentally making eye contact with anyone who might’ve caught her being quite literally carried away, but you felt your friend swat at your thigh when you walked past.

You only looked down for a moment, not wanting to worry the girl in your arms, but the split second you locked eyes was enough to catch Natasha’s satisfied grin. “Fucking finally, I was getting tired of bothering Wanda every day.”

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