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strafepanzer · 6 days

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pairing: Toshinori Yagi x F!Reader -> Mirio Togata x F!Reader

word count: 7.8k

contents: Canon divergence for final war arc and beyond, friends to lovers with history, reader has a defined quirk (magnetism) and is a support equipment safety consultant, reader is 29 and Mirio is 30, appearances from other heroes (Deku & Bakugou and they are married, in their 20's)

cw: major character death and discussions of aspects of caretaking for someone at the end of their life, discussions of loss and grief

notes: This idea could not have come to fruition without my most beloved @izvmimi and @bakvrue so thank you to them for always being the very best. I have really been having a Mirioaissance lately and as you all know I love Mr. Might so here goes. Hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading ♡ | crossposted to ao3

“I’m dying.”

Mirio Togata nearly chokes mid-swallow, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to prevent droplets of tea from seeping out of his lips. It’s a rare Wednesday day off for Lemillion and sunlight pours into the expansive room used as an office at. He’s a guest in the home of one of the most prolific heroes of all time, as he often is, though today he was invited by the man himself instead of showing up to pop in and say hello.

All Might, Toshinori Yagi, is dying.

Technically he has been for years though hearing it from the man’s own mouth feels different than the vague conversations about ‘terminal’ and ‘incompatible organs’.

“No,” the younger man starts but Toshinori raises a hand to stop him, shaking his head with a chuckle.

It’s no secret he has been rapidly looking more and more frail as autumn faded into winter which is now melting into the bright green of spring.

“It’s true. No matter how many times you tell me ‘you can get better’ or ‘medical technology is improving’ it will not change the fact that my time has a finite number on it.”

There has been a finite amount of his life remaining for a very long time, he’s simply managed to dodge it for as long as possible. Running away from the truth is no longer an option, the years he has been given since the War and its finish already leaving the man feeling like a perpetual cheat. He was supposed to die then, and then after that, and then again and again and again…

There are no more ducks and dodges left in him.

“Midoriya knows and has accepted it. It’s time for you to do the same.”

The words would be harsh coming from anyone other than a beloved mentor turned friend though Yagi has always had the natural ability to soften blows when necessary. Mirio nods, blue eyes trained toward the ground and refusing to meet those of the man in the comfortable chair next to him. He dares to take a peek at the man who will forever be known as All Might, the thinness of his hands and arms and wrists alone a surprising sight. Time has run out. No medical science or quirk or act of God can reverse the inevitable. A transplant cannot save him, medicine will not save him, and he’s made the decision to be as comfortable as possible over the remaining weeks to months he has left.

Togata’s mind unconsciously drifts to you in all of this. You are the young woman who has devoted the latter half of her twenties to taking care of this iconic man, tending to his illnesses and the complications from them with a smile and a joke, a reassuring hand on his shoulder and a kiss on his forehead. The younger of the pair has witnessed this kindness himself on more than one occasion and he remembers when you were simply a Support course student at UA high school a year younger than Mirio himself. You assisted with equipment in the war and it has followed you through your adulthood, your support item safety consulting business thriving and helping build a safer world.

The way you care about everyone is so admirable, it’s difficult not to view you as a hero in all of this. Mirio raises a brow and balls his hands together into a fist, letting it rest in his lap.

“How does she feel about, well, everything?”

It’s a daring question to ask given the older man is well aware of the younger man’s affection toward you no matter how discreet he thinks he is about it. It’s the perpetual elephant in the room. Toshinori sighs, shifting in his chair and positioning his hands in his lap. Mirio’s eyes dart from them and toward the older man’s sallow face, noting the hint of a smile at the mention of you.

“She was the first person to know. It’s the least I could give her for wasting her youth on a sorry old man like me.”

Togata offers a tight smile and tilts his head to the side. The self deprecation isn’t anything new, it has been like this the last several years, though it never sits well when the man he has attempted to pattern his own morals over says something so blasphemous about himself.

“That’s a pretty downer way to look at things, All Might.”

This gets a chuckle from the older man, the sound of his head shaking against the back of his chair causing the younger one to look up at him curiously.

“It’s a pretty downer thing to die but telling you it’s coming isn’t the only reason I asked you here today.”

The older man clears his throat, wiping his thumb against his bottom lip and looking away, joining his hand in his lap. How can he properly phrase what he’s asking his young friend to do without it seeming sordid and disrespectful? He’s leaving you his legacy when he goes. His home, his royalties that will keep you well taken care of for the rest of your life and, well, he’s planning on leaving Mirio Togata the one gift he deserves the most - you.

He simply lays the plot down, hands still folded in his lap.

“How long have you loved her, kid?”

Mirio feigns shock that his mentor, the one who came after the one he lost years ago, is onto him. He has always played off his affection for you as friendliness and lingering glances as simply curiosity and assumed he has been doing it well enough that nobody notices.

“It’s not like that.”

Toshinori laughs, a weak cough wracking his body and he raises his fist to his grinning mouth to cover it. Mirio leans forward in his seat, reaching for the man who waves him off and instead leans to grab the bottle of hand sanitizer on the desk next to him.

“You are a grown man, Togata. Own up to it. It’s not going to offend me.”

There was no expectation of a trip down memory lane set for the younger man prior to arriving for this visit yet his mind launches into years of fuzzy and undefined memories. Evenings he’d come to visit you in the Support course workshop when he was younger with fewer scars covering his arms and torso, the few times in your early twenties you sat thigh to thigh with him in dimly lit izakaya hanging out with your mutual group of friends and their respective partners who are also heroes. He remembers too much and too little at the same time, skin crawling.

Shifting in his seat, he unclasps his hands and claps them against his thighs.

“A long, long time.” He finally responds and Toshinori chuckles in response, leaning back in his own chair and sliding one of his hands out toward Mirio. “Since I was in high school.”

The truth doesn’t hide forever. It makes him feel childish that he was so easily caught by the older man, replaying years of interactions in his head. Did he smile a little too wide at you? Glance a little too long? Pine a little too openly?

There is no way for him to change anything that has happened before now and the usually easy going man tensely lifts his head, meeting Toshinori’s soft gaze. There is no anger even if these events crossed boundaries, something the man is infinitely grateful for, and he reaches across the desk to take his mentor’s offered hand.

“I know.” He weakly squeezes the younger man’s hand, his lack of strength more evident than ever. Mirio feels emotion welling up inside of him and blinks it back, taking a deep breath. “That’s why I am asking you to give her the life I never could, Togata. Take her traveling when you can. Remind her that she’s brilliant and will probably keep this country safer than any hero ever could. Just…be there for her. For me.”

The request carries more weight than the older man could ever possibly understand. It’s not merely a responsibility but a strange kind of bequeathing. No formal paperwork, no meetings with officials, just two men discussing a woman they both care about deeply and how to best assuage her in the sorrows to come.

It also brings another question to Mirio’s mind he has contemplated for many years - do you have lingering feelings for him too? A far younger version of you, magnetism quirk engaged and using it to make him laugh, certainly did. He assumed those feelings just vaporized over time and with responsibility, your heart belonged to another man before he could ever ask that it be his.

A noble man. A good man who you did not want to see live lonely, by himself in his ailing years. A man Togata spent his entire life trying to emulate.

There’s a flutter of hope through the sorrow of knowing the end is coming for his friend and the younger man is the one to squeeze the older mans’ this time, gentle firm pressure to ensure it doesn’t hurt.

“I know it’s a big request. I don’t blame you if it makes you uncomfortable or if you’d like to say no,” Toshinori adds quickly. “I simply know that she cares about you a lot and always has.” His voice cracks and he swallows his sadness, only grateful that his life has been so glorious the last few years thanks to your gentle touch and your silly stories and your tendency to ad-lib songs to make him smile. “She deserves to be happy.”

The younger man couldn’t agree more. He nods, emotion continuing to rise, breaking eye contact to gaze down at his lap to allow him a moment to compose himself. For his entire twenties, he regretted losing his chance with you despite his gratefulness for the care and love you gave Toshinori. Now, entering his thirties, he gets the opportunity to try again. To speak up when he should and to put the feelings he has harbored for more than a decade to good use.

“I will do everything I can to make sure she is, you have my word.”

Even if it means you want nothing to do with him and keep yourself away from everyone forever. Whatever makes you happy, Mirio Togata will make sure you have it.

“I only have weeks. Months if I’m lucky but I don’t think I’m all that lucky anymore.”

The words make Mirio look up from his lap, brows furrowed. He didn’t think there was so little time left but he is a man of action and nods.

“Then let’s make these next few weeks memorable. What do you need me to do?”

A chuckle from the older man as he finally drops the younger one’s hand gently, tucking it back into his lap to join the other.

“For now, just be around if you can make it work.”

That he can do and he does for three more weeks.

On a warm spring day, a little past the end of cherry blossom season, the world loses All Might.

‘The days I spent with you were the happiest of my life. Let me take care of you for the rest of yours. - Toshinori’

The note he left you, the one you were handed by some man in a suit you’d never met before in the days following his death, rests on your desk. It feels too soon to tuck away the increasingly wrinkled piece of paper and you’re far too grateful for the life he has put between your two palms to stop glancing at the note every few hours each day.

It doesn’t answer any of the questions you have about what becomes of your life now though.

Emotion wells up in you again, a lump in your throat you have to swallow down to continue working, the results from your audit of the Dynamite agency’s safety audit on the screen of the tablet in front of you. They’re generally highly rated, Bakugou’s fastidious tendencies seeping through even the smallest detail of safety and care of his employees, but you have to look away. You close the screen cover and slide the device aside, standing up from your spot at the kitchen table to walk into the living room.

The house feels like a mausoleum even if it’s now yours and yours only. Being alone for the first time in weeks leaves a strange taste in your mouth and you fold your arms over your chest, padding across the wooden floors to plop down on the overstuffed couch you picked out three years ago. Deku’s wife spent a week by your side, the first seven days after the tremendous loss ensuring you ate and slept, sleeping in your bed with you and letting you cry on her shoulder. The day she went home hurt almost as badly as the day you lost the man himself, the encroaching loneliness feeling claustrophobic.

Thankfully, the second week was dotted with various visitors, your former classmates and long time friends of Toshinori paying their respects posthumously by being good to you in his departure. Dynamite’s wife tended to you and forced you out of your house, inviting you over with the promise of visiting with her eager to see you children.

The third week was much of the same, even chatting with his old friend David and accepting condolences from other heroes former and current. Your refrigerator stayed full, your mailbox overstuffed with more cards than you could open wishing you well and thanking you for taking care of him.

The fourth fewer people came but you still stayed busy. The fifth, same. The sixth, seventh, and eighth all followed suit although the amount of visitors thinned. Ninth, tenth, eleventh your house became empty outside of your close friends and Mirio. Now you are twelve weeks past his death and facing down a lifetime of uncertainty in a house that feels too large for you but too small for your pain.

Your heart swells recalling the love you’ve been given but it shrivels when you look around, wondering when it will start to feel full of life again; when you will.

Standing, you lumber over to the wall adjacent to where you sit, admiring the artwork and memories on the wall. There are photos of a freckle-faced teenager who became a freckle-faced man with his wife and children alongside Toshinori. Photos of Mirio grinning and giving a thumbs up in a vintage American All Might t-shirt that was almost too small for him. Photos of you and Toshinori smiling side by side when he was still well enough to attend the occasional event, you in glittering floor length sequins and him in a custom suit built to accommodate his ever weakening body.

Sighing, you reach out and brush your thumb along the frame. The photo doesn’t move, anchored into the wall, and you know that all of the care you gave him wasn’t wasted for a moment. He truly made your life better and you believe you did the same for him, though your eyes flit back to the photo of Mirio for a moment.

You took the picture a few years back while cleaning out the spare bedroom used solely for merchandise and collectables Toshinori had been given over the years. You accosted the younger blonde for pulling a shirt that was clearly too small for him over his head but snapped the photo anyway, grinning behind your phone at his silly posing.

Mirio.

He has been here for you almost as much as your closest friends, popping by daily if able with food or stories or just…sunshine, which is exactly what he is and always has been for the time you’ve known him. Even when the two of you were back in high school he knew your favorite candy and delivered it to your desk daily while spending his evenings sticking paper clips to your arm or the side of your face while your quirk was engaged.

Reaching into your pocket, you grab out your phone and dial his number. He answers before the first ring can even finish its trill.

“Hey-o, what are you doing?”

You giggle at his greeting though he hears the strain in your voice that indicates you are feeling down. He tucks his phone between his shoulder and ear, pulling his sweatpants on in the changing room of the agency, ready to head home.

“Nothing. I tried to work a little bit today and couldn’t focus. I’m sure Bakugou will bitch at me but his audit will simply have to wait another week.”

The man on the other end of the phone chuckles, rising to his full impressive stature and heading toward the exit.

“Do you need a distraction? I could come over.”

The offer is appreciated but you wrestle with how to respond to it. What you assumed were long forgotten feelings for Mirio surface every time you are around him and in your grief and confusion, you struggle to separate them from reality and what’s a balm to make you feel temporarily better. Would seeing him now, only three months removed from losing Toshinori, be appropriate? Is it what’s best?

“You don’t have to, I’m sure it was a long day.”

Togata scoffs, using his coded keycard to exit the building. The sun is still somewhat up, a hot summer evening encroaching and he does not want to go home when he could be spending time with you. The day exhausted him a bit, lots of petty crime picks up during the summertime, but he’s never too tired for you.

“Actually, this was the easiest shift I’ve had in a long time.” He’s lying and you can tell by the lilt in his voice, a particular tone he takes when he’s pretending everything is fine you’ve heard before but you are in no condition to press the issue. “I can pick you up in about thirty minutes and we can just drive if you want?”

You shake your head although he can’t see it. Part of you wants to say no, to rebuff your own feelings once and for all, but you’re weak and hurting and needy.

“We don’t have to go anywhere, we can just stay here if you want to come.”

And come he does, in that promised thirty minutes. He doesn’t bother to knock on the door anymore, punching in the code and announcing himself with a boisterous smile, then plopping down on the couch next to you.

It feels a lot more like coming home than it reasonably should but every time he feels guilty for envisioning his place in his life, next to you, he remembers the promise he made. He will make you happy no matter what that looks like.

Time passes so quickly when he’s around and it’s welcome to have something besides your own loneliness to listen to while he explains one of his heroic saves of the day, enthusiastically explaining phasing through a tree to capture a runaway attempted bank robber.

“So I caught the guy and somehow managed to save all the money too, which is crazy when you think about it. I thought the wind would carry half of it off but not today.”

You smile at him fondly, eyes crinkling at the corners, but he can tell something else is on your mind. Repositioning himself on the couch, he turns toward you and props his head up with his fist.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He has always been able to tell when something is bothering you and your brain screams that you should say no. You should turn down all of Mirio’s kindness and lock yourself inside of this home with your grief forever, a timeless pseudo-widow trapped in a prison of her own making.

But the warmth of his gaze encourages you so much, words bubble out of you before you can stop them, your hands instantly flying to your face to be pressed against your cheeks.

“Despite what people have said, I loved him.”

Mirio’s face falls into a concerned frown when he notices your eyes welling up, your glance firmly trained on his face. The papers were pretty harsh to you when the news of his death and your subsequent appointing the heir to his agency, legacy, and image were announced. Opportunistic seemed to be the media’s favorite term, honing in on the age and vitality difference between the two of you rather than the fact a fairly selfless young woman took care of him not knowing any of this was in her future.

You never took care of him in hopes of getting anything, only out of compassion for a man who has made the lives of others so much brighter. Who heals the healer? You took it upon yourself to be the one and you do not regret a moment of it, sitting cross legged at twenty-nine with a sense of pride despite it all.

“Maybe not in a conventional way. I never had,” your face falls a little, as though you’re fearful of reaction toward what you’re about to say. “You know…sex or anything with him. We kissed a few times, we held hands on occasion but my days and nights revolved around him for five years.”

Your voice breaks and immediately you push your thumbs against your eyes to keep yourself from crying where someone else can see it although the sniffling gives you away, sharp little inhalations through your nose.

“What do I do now?”

The question appears to be rhetorical though he feels compelled to answer, wrapping a reassuring arm around your shoulders and gently pulling you against his side. The lack of personal space between the two of you is honestly nothing new, certainly more so since Toshinori’s departure, and you settle into the warmth of him. It’s a comfort you need desperately, his fingers drumming a little beat of four into your shoulder.

“Whatever you want.”

You remove your thumbs from over your eyes, sensitive and red rimmed as they are, glancing at the man next to you carefully. The brightness of your living room causes you to squint and he reaches his free hand to wipe tears from your bottom lashes, his crooked index finger pressing delicately against your skin.

“I know that sounds callous and it probably is the wrong thing to say but your life isn’t over just because he isn’t here to watch you live it.” Now it’s Mirio’s voice that cracks and he clears his throat, hand flexing against where it rests on your upper arm. “He left you the tools to live however you want. You have a successful business, you are young and beautiful and…”

He trails off and you blink at him silently. The true feelings he has tried so desperately to hide for the years he has known you are seeping out of him. How much longer can he possibly hold it in before the pressure starts to cause cracks? Before it spills out of him wildly, an ode to you from a boy who has loved you since seventeen?

You stop him from spiraling, opening your mouth to speak while tears escape over his finger and roll down your face.

“I think I’m scared, Mirio.”

This is the first time you’ve admitted it, even to yourself. An undefined future is a terrifying prospect and while Toshinori was here, you were guaranteed to always have him. Scheduled pills and injections, showers and quality of life activities. Even your work is unstructured outside of your scheduled annual audits, only being called upon when you are needed.

He holds you against him, leaning down to press his lips against your forehead. This could be just what you need and although he worries about pushing boundaries, you prove his worries wrong by snuggling further into his side. Your tears drip onto the cotton of his t-shirt and he uses his second hand to begin wiping them away, shushing you gently and affectionately.

“It’s okay to be afraid, he wouldn’t judge you for that, but don’t let it make you waste the opportunity to live exactly how you want.” His words are comforting and you nod against his chest, sniffling. “There is no right or wrong way to handle this.”

This is the first time anyone has told you that it’s okay to not know what to do right now. Not that you’ve ever asked, too fearful of making missteps to try and prevent them at all. You need reassurance and although you’ve been given it, it’s hard not to seek it from a man you’ve found so much comfort in over the past few months. He has been vulnerable with you, it seems only right to do the same for him in return.

Sighing, you unbury your face from his chest. “Do you think I’m doing okay?”

There is a version of you, more than a decade younger than you are now, that lives in Mirio’s mind and he sees her in the way you look up at him with uncertain eyes. It strikes him how long the two of you have known each other; how long he has been dancing around his feelings for you. He nods, removing his arm from your shoulder to cup your cheeks in his palms.

The urge to kiss away those tears is strong but he talks himself down, tilting your head until your gazes fully meet. All of the love he has kept to himself for a decade further threatens to spill out. He stops himself, self restraint a requirement of being a hero after all, and his thumbs gently stroke the rose petal soft skin beneath them.

“You’re doing better with all of this than anyone else ever could.”

There are no words he has ever meant more than these besides the ones he decides to keep to himself, saving the oft considered ‘I love you’ for another day.

“Thank you. For everything. I kind of worry I’m asking too much from you,” you rush to apologize and he keeps his grip on your face gentle but firm.

“You can ask me for anything you need.”

He means it more than he meant his promise to the last man that loved you.

“Alright, I think we’ve had as much fun as we are going to have. Babysitters get paid hourly, you know.”

Katsuki wraps his arm around his wife’s shoulders, pulling her close to him beneath the same lights the six of you used to drink under a long time ago while saying his goodbye. He has never been much of a drinker and hasn’t indulged even a bit tonight but his wife’s relaxed expression gives away how many beers she’s had and you giggle at her, squeezing her hand as she walks by on their way out.

“Be careful you two,” you call after them, Mirio turning to look at you while you glance over your shoulder. Only Midoriya and his wife remain seated across from you two, snuggled in the corner of their side of the booth. Deku’s ever lovely better half raises a brow and nudges her husband in the ribs gently, subtly motioning toward where the pair of you sit.

This is the first night you’ve really enjoyed yourself in the six months since you’ve lost Toshinori. It has been a great walk down a memory lane you haven’t bothered to explore in a long time.

“Gosh, he’s so grumpy,” you laugh to yourself and Mirio giggles beside you, looking as smitten as he always does. Izuku notices it and looks down at his wife, the two of them communicating wordlessly by the time you glance at them. “I’m guessing you two are next to head home?” You tease, your own brain slightly hazy from the few beers you’ve allowed yourself to indulge in.

A little voice in the back of your head made you fear showing your face in public, especially after the scrutiny that came so few months ago, but nobody has taken a second glance at your group of friends despite all of the men in the group landing in the top five of the Hero standings. It appears whatever backlash was sparked has faded quickly. You make a note to thank the classmates you had that now work in the media who were likely behind it, hoping you remember it later.

You haven’t just had a good time tonight, you’ve had a great one. Smiling gratefully, you look over at your two remaining friends.

“Like Kacchan said, babysitters are paid hourly,” Deku raises his brows and shrugs. His wife kisses his cheek, beginning to slide out of the booth while he holds onto her hand and follows.

Mirio nods at Izuku and smiles at his wife, having known the two of them since high school as well, the same story with the now gone Bakugou’s.

“Get that beautiful wife of yours home safe, Deku.” He jokes with a chuckle and his friend laughs in response, reaching across the table to pat his shoulder and then yours.

It’s hard for him to believe how much has changed over these years but how much has remained the same simultaneously. His close friends married their high school sweethearts and settled into their family life, kids and recitals and dinner parties. A piece of him has wondered for years if that could have been the two of you as well if he’d left less up to chance as a young man.

Does it do any good to wonder? Mirio doesn’t know yet he does often, tonight especially.

“You ready to go?”

A little lost in your own world, you look up at him with your eyebrows raised and nod slowly. He looks so handsome, even in this poorly lit room, and heat rises in your face straight to the tips of your ears. It has been a long time since you’ve felt that particular heat, the kind that makes your stomach flip flop.

Would it be wrong of you to ask him if he wants to hang out with you for a little while longer? You don’t have ill intentions in wanting to spend time with him, at least that’s what you tell yourself, and the few beers have made you feel brave.

“Do you wanna hang out with me for a little while? We can just go back to the house or find somewhere else or…” you trail off slightly, a little self conscious. Do you seem desperate? Lonely? Annoying? “If you don’t want to though, I understand.”

Finishing your question hurriedly, you glance up at Mirio who looks at you with that same earnest stare he has given you for years. There are depths in those pretty blue eyes, humor and pain that he has experienced and joy and so much. There is simply so much more to this man than most people know and unexpectedly, it isn’t just your face that feels too hot, it’s the entire room.

“Of course I do. Let me just take you home and we can hang out there, that way I’m not keeping a lady out too late.”

He knows he’s taking a risk by being outright flirtatious with you after months of trying to keep it subtle. He is but a man and knows that look, though. That ‘through the lashes, lips slightly parted, beautiful woman who wants to spend time with you’ look. He’d be a fool to say no, even if you two do nothing but talk for hours. There’s nothing else he’d rather do with the remnants of his night anyway.

“After you,” he offers with a bright grin. The few beers he has had make his cheeks pink and you want to reach out and touch them but refrain, uncertain of how to do all of this correctly. You’ve never really dated, outside of a few hookups in your early twenties, so this is truly foreign territory. It’s a lot to wrestle with the guilt of moving on, something you have reluctantly admitted to yourself it seems you’re doing, and the weight of grief on your shoulders at all times.

When does it ever get better or at the very least, when does it become less of a struggle?

Saving those questions for another, less fun evening you slide out of the booth and he follows after, placing his hand against your back to walk you out of the bar. It feels natural, his fingers splayed across your spine and heat once again blooms. It’s embarrassing to feel so excited by sheer touch.

Your relationship with Toshinori was never sexual. Always a companion more so than a lover despite the deep love that bloomed between the two of you, you spent a lot of nights in a different bed exploring your own body while he slept in his own room down the hall. This was always the arrangement, comfortable for both of you. He was physically incapable of having sex and you never wanted to make him feel like less because of it, still complimenting his appearance and doing your best to make him feel attractive. Which he was, even until the end that smile and those jovial blue eyes had the ability to light up a room.

It’s just different with Mirio. This isn’t the first time that heat has bloomed beneath your belly button, begging you to follow it all the way down a rabbit hole you aren’t quite sure you are ready for and the alcohol is making it worse tonight. If he can tell, he’s being a gentleman about it, something to be grateful about.

The two of you stand in the now cool autumn night air, the city still noisy outside. The breeze chills your warm cheeks and you look up at him to find him glancing down at you, wearing an expression that tells him some of the same things on your mind are on his.

“What are you thinking about?”

The question is laced with humor, as most of what the man says tends to be, and you feel caught with your pants down. Playing it off with a giggle, you decide to push back; to make him feel like he’s the one being surveyed instead.

“Why didn’t you kiss me when we were in high school?”

The topic of first kisses came up tonight, your friends reminiscing about how they’ve shared their first everything together throughout the years, and you recall yours being lackluster. Some guy you went to college with named Dai who slobbered all over your face your first year.

Certainly not who you would’ve preferred sharing a kiss with.

Your question has caught Mirio off guard and he rubs his neck, scrunching his nose and refusing to make eye contact with you. The truth is that he was simply too afraid to make a move and by the time he was able to, it felt improper given the conflict and all that happened.

It was hardly a time for making a move on the girl you had a crush on and the two of you just went your separate ways after that. He became a Pro Hero, working his way up into the top 15 within his first year and then the top 10 the next and only climbing from there, you went to college to pursue your public safety certification. By the time you were able to reconnect in your early twenties, your lives had diverged so wildly it no longer felt appropriate to, well, go after you.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “I think I was afraid you didn’t like me back.” Snorting, you attempt to stifle your laughter. He glances down at you, tilting his head, feigning offense.

“Really? I’m being honest with you and you’re going to laugh at me?”

Wrapping your arm around his bicep, you attempt damage control by resting your head against him. A breathy sigh leaves you and you glance upward to catch him staring down at you once again.

“I had such a crush on you that even Hatsume gave me shit about it.” You speak through your nose, attempting the now most sought after equipment outfitter in all of Japan's higher voice and inflection. “Where’s your little boyfriend, magnet girl?”

The two of you devolve into a fit of childish giggles, not unlike the ones you shared back then, and without warning he leans in close to you. You still cling to his bicep but he’s bent at the waist, lips inches from yours, one of his hands reaching to rest against the side of your neck.

“Can I make up for it now?”

Ocean eyes search yours, pleading for an answer. All of that heat courses through your body at once and without putting too much thought into any real consequence, you nod. Just a kiss won’t hurt either of you, for old time’s sake regardless of what may or may not be blooming here. Mirio closes the distance between the two of you and gently brushes his lips against yours, gentlemanly and chivalrous even in the throes his tremendous need to touch and feel and be close to you, and you whimper when he pulls away sooner than you liked.

“Was that okay?”

Giggling, you lean in and kiss him again to give him his reply. It was more than okay, it was everything you’ve ever dreamed of. His lips are soft, a sharp comparison to the well kept and bulky rest of him that you have had to stop yourself from eyeing hungrily on more than one occasion. His mouth tastes like salt and beer and love.

Pure love lives on his tongue that is working its way into your mouth while he hurriedly backs you two into a narrow alleyway between the bar you just left and the building next to it. His knee rests between your barely parted legs and your hands reach for anything they can grab, forearms and biceps and his shoulders and chest. You touch recklessly, one hand sliding up the side of his neck to cup his jaw and the other rubbing circles just beneath the hem of his shirt, above his belt buckle.

“Hey,” he stops you unexpectedly to catch his breath, chest heaving while he glances down at you. “I want to keep this going but I have to tell you first that I love you.”

There it is. The thing he has been keeping to himself for twelve long, torturous years. Mirio loves you so fiercely he wonders how he’s managed to even breathe the last 12 years without you by his side, your laughter and light filling his days and nights no matter how they go.

How could he ever live without you again? He isn’t sure that he could.

Blinking up at him, you slide your hand further up his face and tousle his blonde hair between your fingers.

“I don’t care if it’s too soon for you to say it back or if you ever will but I love you. I have for such a long time it hurts to keep it to myself any longer.”

The smile on your face turns into a full blown grin, fingers still snaked in his hair. Maybe it’s too soon, maybe lust is winning the battle between your wits and your heart or maybe this is a chance to say something you’ve felt for longer than you realized.

“I love you too, Mirio.”

It doesn’t make your love for Toshinori any less real to admit you love the man who has been by your side for virtually 24 hours a day for the last six months and long before that too.

He leans back in and kisses you again, silencing any thoughts other than the two of you and it leaves you breathless, gently grinding against his jean clad thigh and sucking on his tongue. Another pause and he pulls away, cupping your face.

“Take me home with you.”

It isn’t a plea of desperation but one of pure unadulterated need. He needs you, any way you’ll let him have you, tonight.

Nodding, you close the distance and press your lips against his.

“Let’s go.”

In all the time that has passed since you lost Toshinori, your home feels a little brighter when you arise in it each day.

It feels like somewhere you can build your own life now instead of living trapped inside the memory of his. You were concerned that changing anything about this place would rob you of the comfort of having once loved the man who left it to your care but you know he wouldn’t want you to stand in one place for long. All those months ago, Mirio was right when he told you that Toshinori would want you to make the best of what you’ve been given.

Move forward, he’d assure you if he were still here. Be yourself and find happiness.

Despite all the ways you’re still healing, you have.

You think about him every day. You will forever, regardless of the nature of your relationship and how other people view it. Some days the memory of him cuts through you like a knife, especially the last year of your life with him spent doing a lot more caretaking than you’d done the prior four, and other days it’s a gentle breeze. A whisper and reminder that he’s watching you, he loves you, he’s proud of you.

You’ve done the All Might legacy well, donating a large chunk of his fortune back to the communities he so committedly served. Scholarships for students who want to go to hero academies but may not have the pedigree or wealth to let them in, rebuilding the last remnants of an over decade old war that still scar areas of Musutafu tourists don’t visit.

The dreams you have yet to fulfill with what you’ve been provided make your future seem more full than ever. Hospitals bearing his name, education about the balance of hero life and personal life, safety equipment becoming better than ever. Your ambitions are big and you will make them all come true, a vow you made to him on the day he died even if he wasn’t cognizant enough to understand what you were saying.

This is all for him, dearly departed, a man you cared so deeply about you would’ve taken care of him for ten more years if you had to. You’re grateful it didn’t come to that if only for his sake, the suffering his ailing body was facing more than you like to think about even today, but all things considered it was a good life.

Even the papers have commended the woman they once referred to as an amoral opportunist.

Maybe you aren’t so bad after all.

And today when your feet hit the ground, the sun rises and fills the room with light through the gauzy curtains you put up a few months back. The cat you recently adopted twines himself around your legs and looks up at you expectantly, breakfast already a few minutes late. You couldn’t go long without having something new to take care of, the cat was once a beat up little thing brought to you by Lemillion himself one evening after a shift that has grown into a demanding beast.

“Saving little lost cats is a bit cliche, isn’t it?” You joked when he unzipped his hooded sweatshirt and produced the fuzzy, green eyed lump that mewed at you the moment he saw you. Mirio grinned and half shrugged. “Yeah but I’m good at it, right?”

Good he is, you think looking over at his still sleeping form in your bed.

For some, it may be too soon to cautiously lend your heart to another man. You love Toshinori and always will, the impact he left on your life is profound in ways you’ll discover for years to come, but a part of you has always loved Mirio even if circumstances prevented the pair of you from being together. He was once a silly teenager who was too afraid to ask you to be his girlfriend when he graduated high school, satisfied to leave things up to fate, and now he is a grown man who has been by your side through the most painful loss of your life so far, holding you together on the days when you were worried you would crumble.

Both of you are grateful that fate decided well although she took her time and brought a lot of pain on her way.

Instead of getting out of bed, you lean down and pick up your now purring cat and slide back into bed beside him, his hands instinctively reaching behind him for your thighs to pull you closer.

“I didn’t think you were awake,” you whisper and he chuckles, scarred hand running up the expanse of your thigh while your cat climbs onto his shoulder and licks his face. There’s no use in trying to carefully swat the creature away so he lets him settle onto the pillow above his head.

“I always notice when you get up and I have to fight the urge to follow you.”

Giggling, you wrap yourself around his back and rest your cheek between his bare shoulder blades.

“Why’s that?”

He finally turns to face you, blue eyes glancing down at the thing he has wanted for years. Your unmade, half awake face. The domesticity of your cat purring above both of your heads. The promise of packing to take a week off from heroics to go and enjoy a far off destination neither of you have been together.

“In case I ever lose you again,” he admits vulnerably and you smile up at him, hand reaching to cup his cheek.

The half awake mumblings have more truth to them then you could possibly imagine, fear that something else will hurt you or pull you away from him. Fear that he’s going to waste his time again, precious days he has always wanted to spend with you meaning nothing because he’s too cowardly to fight for what he wants. Maybe a younger version of Mirio Togata would have let this happen but not this one, older and wiser that he is.

The ring he plans on proposing to you with this week is nestled in his suitcase, buried beneath too many pairs of socks and probably too few pairs of boxers. He won’t even mind a long engagement, if you need one, as long as he knows forever with you is what waits on the other side.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I think we’re stuck together for life after all we’ve been through.”

As he promised his mentor a few months over a year ago, he will ensure that you are.

#👀👀👀👀#to read later!!!

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strafepanzer · 7 days

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INCENDIARY : BAKUGOU KATSUKI x READER

SUMMARY: When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it. TAGS/WARNINGS: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, light hurt/comfort, themes of discrimination, canon typical violence, eventual smut, aged up characters, fem pronouns + afab reader LENGTH: 30k, STATUS: COMPLETE

CHAPTERS:

part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v, part vi, part vii, part viii

[READ ON AO3]

Keep reading

#weeewooo weeewooooo #tbr #bakugou katsuki x reader

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strafepanzer · 7 days

Text

incendiary | 1 | bakugou x reader

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

length: 3.8k of ~23k / 1 of 8 chapters

summary: When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, light hurt/comfort

warnings: themes of discrimination (please see note in fic masterpost), canon typical violence, eventual smut, aged up characters

notes: A HUGE thank you to my sensitivity readers @cat-slippered and @darkenedniqhts. They’re both incredible writers and lovely human beings, please check their fics out!! Please see my notes in the fic masterpost for more!

DRUNK COLLEGE STUDENT ABSOLUTELY OWNS PRO-QUIRK BIGOT | REACTION Mika Reacts · 2.14M subscribers 7 hours ago · 15:39 · 1,083,076 views Description Hey guys, today on my channel we are reacting to one of the funniest interactions I have ever seen. An unidentified woman walks past a group of QRAs shouting slogans… [SHOW MORE]

Idk who this girl is but she didn’t need a quirk to put this man in a coffin RIP yeetus deletus 6 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 1.9k [Thumbs Down]

“my guy out here with a pencil-sharpening quirk and he thinks he’s genetically superior” absolutely sent me Hisa Ota 2 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 1.1k [Thumbs Down]

↗ Trending Now: Watch as tipsy college student argues with angry “quirk rights activist”, totally annihilates him Marie Honda, Staff Reporter On Friday afternoon, a small group of self-described “quirk rights activists” gathered on the southeast campus of Musutafu University, to spread awareness of their group’s core ideologies. They believed they were in for an afternoon of debate and discussion and pamphlet distribution. What they didn’t expect was one drunk passerby… [READ MORE]

Musutafu University @musutafu_u_official At this time, MU has no comment on the incident occurring on southeast campus on Friday evening at approximately 7 PM. More will be discussed at the administrator town hall on Monday at 4 PM. All welcome to attend.

jelly beanz @greenhopp replying to @musutafu_u_official drunk girl for prime minister 2X74

Akihiro Endo | Class of 2X74 @endoaki replying to @musutafu_u_official while i don’t agree with the QRA protestors, i don’t think the way this girl handled things was all that appropriate. all are entitled to their opinions under the law.

kirishima eijirou if ur reading this i’m single @ell3_bell3 replying to @endoaki and @musutafu_u_official boy shut the fuck up. somebody tell drunk girl to come get this guy too.

Detective Tanaka was far too chipper, you thought, for a man relaying a death threat to you.

His white teeth flashed brightly between his upturned lips, his voice light and airy, as though he was delivering a list of specials at a diner, rather than a slew of threats against your safety. His neatly combed hair and the starched collar of his uniform did little to shatter the illusion, and his badge, polished within an inch of its life and clipped fastidiously to his pocket, winked at you under the fluorescent lighting.

His office was similarly immaculate. His paperwork had been tucked away into well-dusted filing cabinets or organized into careful piles on his desk. Next to them were several tidy little portraits of a clean-cut family spaced two inches apart, and a small bowl near your guest chair held an assortment of peppermints and hard caramel candies.

Detective Tanaka probably thought it was all very reassuring. But there was nothing reassuring about the situation you’d found yourself in.

“I’m afraid your image and your personal details are already in circulation,” the detective said, typing something out quickly on his keyboard. Then he turned back to you, revealing his teeth in another blinding smile.

You suppressed a grimace. You were, unfortunately, already well aware of this fact.

This morning, you’d awoken to a dry mouth, a pounding headache, and phone buzzing with approximately three thousand texts. Almost none of them were from numbers you knew, and all of them contained deeply mystifying messages.

Hundreds of variations of “quirkless QWEEN” and “send those mfs to the shadow realm!!” choked your inbox, along with a light smattering of “will you come to my prom” and “are you single?? asking for a friend.” More concerningly, there were a few less-than-friendly missives, containing what appeared to be thinly-veiled threats against your life.

You’d had absolutely no idea what the fuck was going on, until your RA had knocked on your door and you’d blearly fallen out of bed to let her in. She’d informed you that university security was here to escort you down to several police officers waiting outside, which had taken you aback.

You’d asked her if she was looking for your roommate instead—who was the likelier of you two to have anything to do with the police—and she’d just whipped out her phone and hit play on a very loud, very horrifying youtube video documenting the events of your evening last night.

Events in which you engaged in a very drunk, very passionate verbal altercation with several pro-quirk bigots.

Events which had apparently garnered several million views in the time it took you to sleep off the worst of your hangover. Events which had apparently also garnered the attention of some of the more unsavory elements of the internet.

And then matters had become all too clear.

Keep reading

#ENEMIES TO LOVERSSSSSS #EHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHE #katsuki bakugou x reader #ficrec #ill rb the m.list before i go to sleep so its easier for me to find in the morning xx

926 notes · View notes

strafepanzer · 7 days

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This is truly a wonderful story with fantastic pacing, characterisation, dialogue, and FEELING. Honestly adored every minute reading this and hope that other people put in the time to read it, too!

What a fantastic and utterly emersive read!! I wish yn and His Grace all the best and thank you Andie for sharing this with us 🤍✨️

Deceiving the Duke | 9 | Todoroki Shouto

pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Female Reader

length: 4.1k of 30k words | 9th of 9 chapters

summary: When Camie Utsushimi elopes on the eve of her society debut, scandal threatens to destroy the family’s prospects. It’s up to you, a maid, to impersonate Camie throughout the Season, long enough that her elder sister can make a match. The only trouble? Lord Shouto Todoroki is also intent on making a match—and that match, quite impossibly, appears to involve you.

tags/warnings: romance, regency au, class differences, hidden identity/identity porn, aged up characters, eventual smut

You couldn’t think of a thing to say during the carriage ride, pretending to look out over streets glowing in the newly-risen sun. But you kept sneaking glances back at Lord Shouto, only to find him watching you contemplatively, his handsome face unreadable to you.

You wondered what he truly thought of you. If he had known this entire time you were only pretending to be Camie–why had he let you go through with it? Why had he kissed you last night, even?

You could almost think he had been trying to entrap you in turn, except that you knew him to be too good for that.

So why had he let you go on?

You stiffened as the palace came into view, a huge, imposing structure with immaculately whitewashed walls, rising several stories above the ground. An enormous wrought iron gate let into the grounds, down a short drive fringed pink-blossomed trees, which finally led onto a cobblestoned concourse which looked like it had never seen a speck of dirt.

Guards in the Yaoyorozu livery were stationed all along the palace’s face, their sabers resting conspicuously at their sides.

You felt your fingers tighten in the fabric of your dress.

Lord Shouto jumped down from the carriage as soon as it stopped, and reached out a hand for you again. You considered whether you should avoid it–you were not a lady, and you were now in the presence of hundreds of people who would see him do so. Before you could brace yourself to jump down on your own, however, Lord Shouto’s hands found your waist. Your stomach swooped as he lifted you out of the carriage entirely, placing you on the ground as though you were no heavier than a child.

Your knees felt suddenly weak, and you focused on getting your feet properly back under you. You did not dare grip his sleeve for support.

“Come with me,” Lord Shouto said, his low voice gentle in the morning air.

He offered his arm—as though you were a lady again!–and looked at you expectantly.

“My lord, I do not think you should treat me as such,” you said quietly, as a footman scurried out the entrance of the palace towards you.

Lord Shouto’s eyes picked over you, his head tilting. “There should be no object. You’ve already embroiled me in scandal enough, do you not think?” he said.

Your stomach turned over, but the tiniest quirk at the corner of his mouth told you he meant it in jest. Still–

“Your Grace, the princess will receive you in her sitting room,” the footman said, puffing as he approached.

“Thank you,” Lord Shouto said. Then he reached out and quite determinedly took your hand, pulling your arm carefully through his. He ignored the footman’s wide-eyed look, and gently tugged you along after him.

You were too stunned to say anything, your tongue feeling as though it had tied itself in a knot. The feeling only worsened as you were led deeper into the palace, down a long hall and through a series of intricately brocaded and muraled rooms with echoing marble floors. Eventually you emerged into a room painted a cheery yellow, with sunny rows of windows and several ornately patterned sitting benches.

Your heart stopped.

On the nearest sofa sat a gorgeous woman, with fair skin and raven-black hair, upon which rested a small silvery tiara. The Princess Momo Yaoyorozu herself.

Quickly abandoning Shouto, you dropped into the lowest curtsy you could manage, feeling your knees wobble underneath you. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Shouto swept the most absolutely cursory bow you’d ever seen in your life. You started, appalled by the slight.

What was he doing?

But the princess looked deeply unruffled, smiling as she rose from the sofa.

“Shouto,” she said, happily.

And then she rounded the table and embraced him.

“Momo,” Lord Shouto said in return. “It is good to see you in good health.”

You stared, aware that your mouth had dropped open, but completely unable to close it. So they–were a couple? But then you noticed the slight woman at the princess’s shoulder, who also reached out and embraced Lord Shouto.

��Jirou,” he said.

Jirou colored pink and cuffed the back of his head lightly. “Next time I’d ask you to consider causing a scene like this later in the day.”

Lord Shouto’s face went carefully blank, the very picture of innocence. “I know not what you mean.”

Jirou looked unfazed. “I’m sure.”

Just then, the princess’s gaze wandered to you, her eyes dark and fathomless and intimidatingly pretty. You froze under her sudden attention. “This must be your Miss Not-Quite-Utsushimi,” she said.

Your stomach lurched. She knew. The princess already knew what you had done.

Was this it, then? The moment of reckoning? What Shouto had brought you here for, to see that royal justice was done unto you?

But the princess just smiled, and gestured to a bench opposite the sofa. “Please, sit.”

You almost sat down reflexively right on the floor. Thankfully, Lord Shouto took your elbow and gently guided you to the chair, taking the place next to you. You tried very hard not to notice the way his strong thigh pressed against your skirts.

“Now then, Shouto tells me you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble. I’d like to hear it from you, if you don’t mind,” Princess Momo said as she settled back into her seat.

You could barely think straight. It was like every thought you’d ever had suddenly gathered in your mouth, all clamoring to burst forth. You tripped over your own words, barely managing coherence.

“Your Highness–it’s not. I mean, it’s not my trouble, it’s Lord Shouto’s. I’ve gone and involved him in a way I did not mean, and he desperately needs to call off the marriage. It’s entrapment! He was caught with me, and I’m not Camie–his reputation—my fault, I mean–”

Lord Shouto’s gloved hand found your thigh, and you jumped.

His mouth drew close to your ear. “Breathe, Y/N.”

It was the first time you’d ever heard him use your name, and the sound went through you like a lance. You only just managed to clamp down on what might have been a horrible little whimper, your fingers clenching in your skirts for something to ground you.

“It’s as I described in my letters, Momo,” Lord Shouto said, turning back to the princess.

She ignored him, her gaze picking over you. “You mean you meant to entrap His Grace?” she asked.

“No!” you yelped, leaning forwards desperately. “No, please. You must ask him to call it off!”

She tilted her head and waited, as if for more of an explanation.

You blew out a nervous breath, trying to find the words to explain. “I am a–I was a maid, Your Highness. I have worked for the Utsushimi family for years. Just days before the season, Camie Utsushimi eloped with Lord Inasa Yoarashi, leaving her elder sister Caroline the consequences of the scandal. Mrs. Utsushimi–that is, it was decided that I should pretend to be Camie long enough for Miss Caroline to make a match.”

The princess’s eyebrows raised.

“I did not expect that I should–-that I should find someone as good and kind as Lord Shouto. I have no excuses for participating in and continuing the charade.”

You did not know how to continue. You let the words sit there in heavy silence.

“And what would you want now?” The princess finally asked. “Now that you’re to be revealed as a servant?”

You ducked your head. “I want only that Lord Shouto distance himself quickly.”

“And you?” Princess Momo asked.

You did not dare ask that she let you flee into the countryside as you so desperately hoped. It was the height of folly to think that you would be let off with no punishment. God, however had you thought you could have pulled this scheme off? What absolute madness had possessed you to go along with it?

“Whatever Your Highness thinks is suitable penalty,” you said, unable to look into her face.

“Why did you do it?” The princess asked, as Lord Shouto had.

You answered as you had then. “For money, Your Highness.”

Lord Shouto leaned forward. “For her family, Momo. She sends a wage.”

Your skin prickled, hoping that this admission would not make targets out of your parents too.

“And your parents know of this scheme?” she asked.

You panicked, getting to your feet. “No! Your Highness, please, I have not told them–”

“Momo, I’ll thank you not to scare my intended,” Lord Shouto intoned from your side. You realized he’d also risen. He took your arm, tugging you gently back down. “Nothing will happen to your family, Y/N,” he said.

Your pulse pounded under his grip. You tried to focus on how gentle and warm his touch was, as little as you deserved it.

Fuck. Fuck, just what had you gotten yourself into?

“You are lucky,” Princess Momo said finally, “That Shouto thinks this is all very funny.”

You froze, glancing up at her. He–he thought this was–what?

“He’s been writing me these past months, telling me of you. I did not like the idea of it, but Shouto tells me you are…good. That you did not mean to draw anyone’s notice, and that you have very consistently resisted his advances,” the princess said.

Your memory flashed to the feeling of his mouth on you last night. You had not really resisted his advances consistently enough. If only she knew how inappropriately you had reveled in them.

“I see that you are much like what he says,” the princess said, and you heard a kind of unexpected softening of her tone.

You did not know what to say.

“I brought you here to see for myself. And I am…satisfied,” she said. “Though, I will always watch out for him as he has watched out for me since the War for All.”

The knot of tension in your chest uncoiled a little. But surely, she could not mean that she meant to let an infringement of this nature go unpunished?

“Your Highness, I am afraid I do not understand,” you said.

Lord Shouto’s hand found the side of your thigh again, and he pressed those long fingers against you. “She means that she will insist on keeping an eye on you, once we are married,” he said.

Your head snapped towards him, and you gaped. He watched you back, those mismatched eyes glittering in a way that you found so very horribly familiar.

“Married?” you echoed incredulously. “My lord–I am not–you cannot–what?”

Shouto ducked his head to look into your face more closely. “Then you will not have me?”

You sputtered. “Have you? Me, have you? My lord, really, are you unwell? We’ve just established, I am not Camie Utsushimi!”

“I’m well aware…Y/N.” Lord Shouto said, his tone dropping terribly low. A little shiver went up your spine.

“And as you are now well aware, I have known for some time,” he continued. “I knew from the beginning. And I certainly knew when I kissed you last night.”

The shiver became a full body shudder. “Lord Shouto–it doesn’t make sense…”

“He never does,” Jirou piped up helpfully from the princess’s side. “He’s been strange since birth, according to Momo.”

Shouto’s features went intentionally deadpan again, as though he could not countenance such a claim. You couldn’t help the grin that pulled at your mouth.

“He liked when you threw the apricot cake at him,” the princess supplied. “Wrote about it in great detail in his first letter about you. He also waxed poetic about your inability to speak any Greek, as though that were a great accomplishment of yours.”

Your ears went hot. “You did not,” you said.

Shouto had the grace to look the tiniest bit abashed. “Thank you, Momo,” he said, with absolutely no inflection to his tone whatsoever.

You were overcome by a wave of helpless affection for him. “Lord Shouto, I’m still afraid it isn’t done…much as I should–much as your affections are more than reciprocated. I–I’m afraid the scandal–”

“Will not bother me,” Shouto said.

You waved your arm helplessly. “My lord–”

“If it helps,” Princess Momo said. “At Shouto’s behest, I’ve found a little barren plot of land and a just-barely noble title that might be granted to you, in order to facilitate a proper marriage. I…owed him a favor, for services rendered in the War for All. That is, if you will agree to have him.”

Shouto looked back at you, looking a little bit smug for managing to have pulled all this together.

“I’ve procured a special license weeks ago. And I have also written Lord Inasa, and your Camie,” he said. “As it happens, I know Lord Inasa well enough. They will attest to having known of your status, and to having attended the wedding. Your friends Miss Uraraka and Lady Asui have also agreed, provided that you apologize to them in person.”

“As will Jirou and I,” Princess Momo said. “Which should be enough to get half the ton pretending that they were there.”

“Miss Caroline and Mr. Awase, should they care to continue their engagement, should also be told. There should be no impropriety in the match, then,” Shouto said. “Although there will still be talk of your impersonating Camie.”

You could not believe it.

It all sounded so unreal–that you, simply by agreeing now, could become Shouto’s wife.

Horrible, hot little tears gathered in the corner of your eyes. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Shouto pointed out, though his tone was gentle. “Let those be the last secrets we keep from one another.”

A wave of emotion crashed over you, and it was only the princess’s presence that kept you from throwing yourself at Shouto.

It was real. He was really real, and he truly wanted you.

“Yes,” you said, watching him closely. “If you will really have me, then yes. It would be improper of me, I think, to admit how much I…how much I love you. But I have been driven mad with it, Shouto. I love you.”

A blindingly handsome smile lit up Shouto’s face, and he’d pulled you to him before you realized he’d even moved. He had you up and out of the seat in the blink of an eye, and he swept another barely-courteous bow in Princess Momo’s direction–one that you realized was born of years of friendship, rather than any disrespect.

“You understand we must take our leave of you,” Shouto said.

Princess Momo bit her pretty lip as though fighting down a laugh. “Indeed. Though I will expect you both back for tea the week after next. I still have questions.”

“I'm afraid I have a honeymoon planned,” Shouto said. He leaned down to you and said in conspiratorial tones. “I think perhaps some Greek ruins might be in order.”

You groaned out a laugh. “Shouto…”

Princess Momo waved you off, disinterested. “Then write, please. I am pleased to see you finally happy, Shouto.”

“I am,” Shouto said seriously. He pulled you towards the door in a bout of sudden impatience. “Thank you, Momo.”

She waved again, and then you were through the door, a footman collecting you and leading you back out of the palace.

Your head was spinning with a rush of emotion, and your heart beat a staccato of disbelief in your chest. Shouto helped you back into the carriage, a fond little grin on the corner of his mouth.

“You really mean it, Y/N?” he asked as he followed you in, taking up the seat next to you rather than opposite. You soaked in the delicious warmth of him alongside you, something you had been sure just fifteen minutes ago that you might never feel again. “Be honest with me.”

You nodded, looking up into his handsome face. “I promise to always be honest with you from this point on.”

Another smile twitched at the corner of Shouto’s mouth, a wry, mischievous little thing. “Good,” he said, his voice dropping low. “As I plan to make an honest wife out of you now, love.”

You shivered again, and Shouto drank it in with far too much satisfaction.

But then he leaned in, smiling, and kissed you.

Over the carriage ride, you spoke very little–far too occupied with one another to manage much conversation–but Shouto did convey that your wedding would be a secret affair, first thing in the morning, under the eye of the Archbishop who was closely aligned with the Yaoyorozu family, and excellent at keeping secrets.

Which left you with the entire afternoon—an afternoon you planned to spend wisely.

When you arrived back at his lodgings, an attempt was made to feed you and offer you a room of your own–so that things might be proper. But you hadn’t done any of this properly in the slightest, and you didn’t plan to start now.

In only a matter of minutes, you had both stumbled into Shouto’s bedroom, an elegantly-appointed suite that you would have to inspect more closely later, when you weren’t so preoccupied with what his mouth was doing just above the neckline of your dress.

“Shouto, you’ll tear it,” you said, as he tugged at the higher, more conservative collar of your servant’s garb.

“Good,” Shouto intoned in his low voice, his mouth still pressed to the line of your neck in a way that reminded you of the masquerade last night. “You’ll never need it again.”

His fingers tugged harder, and he murmured quietly, “Once I have this off you, you’ll never dress as a maid again.”

The thought made you dizzy, and you grasped his shoulder for stability, which only gave him better purchase to tug your dress down the other arm. Soon he’d gotten you down to your stays and stockings, and the appreciative groan he made as he looked you over sent little shivers over your skin.

He walked you back to his bed, layering kisses everywhere–over your face, your chest, your arms, any part of you he could reach.

“You’ll stop me, if you want to?” he asked, mismatched eyes flicking up to yours.

“I don’t want to,” you told him, reaching out to grasp his coat, pulling him down to the bed with you. His warm, hard body against you dredged up the memory of last night–all those straining feet of him pressing you against the wall, that feeling that had built up within you as he touched you through your skirts. “I could have screamed when they found us last night.”

Shouto’s face dropped into the crook of your neck, and he left a stinging bite on your shoulder. “I almost challenged Mr. Awase to a duel there and then. All good sense had left me.”

You knew the feeling–all good sense had left you quite presently, replaced with the burning desire to have him over you, pressing all along you, weighing you down into the mattress and finishing what you’d started on the assembly room balcony.

“Shouto, please. I want–I need–”

Shouto didn’t let you finish, sealing his mouth over yours. His fingers busied themselves with the laces of your stays, and it was only a matter of minutes until he had you bare to him entirely.

“Perfect,” he said, in a tone so low you could feel it in your bones. His fingers pressed between your thighs, and your gasp echoed in the early morning quiet. “You are perfect.”

You rather thought he was perfect, as you finally managed to push his coat off of him and tore at the buttons of his shirt. Underneath he was all hard muscle and smooth skin, and you found yourself struck dumb by the way his abs flexed, the way his waist tapered into the line of his breeches.

He was even more perfectly carved than those blasted Greek sculptures, and you surged up to kiss him again. His fingers found their way back between your thighs, and you threw your arms over his shoulders, clinging to him as he worked you up to the peak he’d brought you to last night.

It felt like you had no control over yourself as you writhed against his hand, your mouth desperately seeking his to quiet the noises you wanted to make.

Shouto’s touch was maddening, every twist of his fingers smooth and deft, and his thumb worked your clit so gently you wanted to scream. It was too much, and yet not enough, and yet everything you’d ever wanted—

“Please, Shouto,” you begged. “Please, please.”

“Please what, love?” he asked, smiling down at you. But you could tell he knew what you wanted, and that he wanted it too, if the hard press of him against your thigh was any measure.

“Shouto, if you don't take me in the next few moments, I swear there will be an entire hailstorm of apricot cakes with your name on them–!” you threatened, but Shouto was laughing and pressing into you before you could finish, and you cut off on another gasp, clutching him for dear life.

The stretch of him inside you was sharp, and unfamiliar, and a little uncomfortable at first. But he seemed to know what he was doing, teasing your clit and layering hot, biting kisses all over you, until you didn’t know what to focus on–until he was fully inside you.

He kissed you utterly stupid while he let you adjust, his hands everywhere, distracting you. He murmured sweet things, how beautiful you were, how lovely, how perfect for him. By the time he finally moved you were a shivery puddle of praise and feeling, and the slide of him was so suddenly good you couldn’t even think straight.

“I knew you were my match the minute you first spoke to me,” he bit at out as his hips worked against you. “I knew I would love you.”

You bit back an embarrassing noise as Shouto’s pace grew faster and unmeasured. “I–Shouto–love you–” you managed. Shouto’s hips jerked in response, and he grasped your thighs, pulling you even harder into him. You couldn’t hold back a moan as he hit deeper within you and the new angle had you shuddering uncontrollably. He huffed a harsh breath against your throat, similarly affected, his fingers digging into you thigh.

After that, it was only a matter of minutes. Everything about him seemed calculated to drive you over the edge–the feeling of him hot and hard inside you, the sight of his abs tightening and flexing between your thighs, his fingers and his mouth all over you. The flush of effort on his cheekbones looked so good on him that you could barely believe he was real.

Everything–absolutely everything about him drove you right to the edge of madness, and then another hard thrust from him sent you right over it.

You cried out his name, trapped underneath him as you rode out your pleasure. And it seemed to hit Shouto too–his eyes widened as he watched you, and he bit out a curse you’d never heard from him before. His hips stuttered, frantically bucking into you as if he had no control, and a warmth flooded inside you.

Shouto breathed out a shaky breath and relaxed over you, the sticky, hot weight of him pinning you underneath him.

“I love you,” was all you could think to tell him, your mind still fuzzy with pleasure. “I love you.”

Shouto’s mouth curved into another wry little grin, and he smiled down at you, those mismatched eyes glinting.

“I see I did make an honest woman of you, then,” he said, sounding a little too pleased with himself.

You kissed him to shut him up, and pulled him closer–unable to deny that he had. You couldn’t think of anything you wanted than to give him your whole heart, bare and honest and real, for the rest of your lifetime together.

There would be no deceiving the duke–-not anymore.

Especially if, after you’d caught your breath, you could convince him to make an honest woman of you yet again.

And hopefully, again and again and again.

#i am SO stoked #what a great read #READ THIS FIC IT WILL NOT DISAPPOINT #FICREC #todoroki shouto x reader

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strafepanzer · 7 days

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me running to the last chapter:

Deceiving the Duke | 8 | Todoroki Shouto

pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Female Reader

length: 2.9k of 30k words | 8th of 9 chapters

tags/warnings: romance, regency au, class differences, hidden identity/identity porn, aged up characters, eventual smut

The Utsushimis were quiet the entire carriage ride home.

It wasn’t until you were through the doorway of their townhome that Mrs. Utsushimi seemed to snap, grabbing your hair and marching you up the stairs towards your attic bedroom.

“What were you thinking, you wretched girl!” she cried, her voice shrill in your ear.

You couldn’t bring yourself to fight her off, knowing as she did that you had just ruined the family once and for all.

“I permitted this acquaintance with Lord Todoroki long enough, thinking you might turn his attentions to Caroline!” she shouted. “And this is what you’ve been doing instead? This is your contribution to preventing scandal?”

“Mama–” Caroline’s voice interrupted. You could just barely hear the worried pad of her slippers over Mrs. Utsushimi’s angry stomps.

“To your room, Caroline, I will speak with you later!” Mrs. Utsushimi said as the pair of you turned the corner to your tiny room.

She shoved you forward, and you stumbled, catching yourself over the bed frame.

“Mrs. Utsushimi, I’ll think of some way to fix it–” you said, but Mrs. Utsushimi shouted over you.

“Pack your things, you little harlot! You have until morning to disappear. You will not be receiving any of your wages, and if you dare seek employment with Camie, so help me I will end you myself!” she bellowed.

She grabbed the door handle and slammed it closed with a strength you’d never known she possessed–rattling the wall and sending a puff of dust into the air from the rafters. You heard her stomp back down the stairs, and heard another door slam on the floor below. And then it was quiet—deafeningly quiet.

A sudden sob welled up in your throat, surprising you with its force. You sank onto your bed helplessly, breath coming in short little hiccups.

What had you done?

How could you have forgotten yourself so foolishly? How could you have lost sight of your objective, this close to the finish line?

It wasn’t enough that you’d had a duty to the family, either. And a duty to your parents, to send back money. But you’d also had a duty to Shouto–Lord Shouto, that was–god, how could you have ever addressed him as Shouto?–to uphold your respective positions in society.

And yet you’d let him go right to your head, like the bubbly fizz of champagne. He was so kind and good and utterly beautiful, inside and out. You’d been overwhelmed by him–but that was no excuse.

He was too honorable. And he would suffer for it. You’d trapped him in matrimony to a woman who was already married.

And he had to be made aware, so he could call off the wedding.

You could disappear–let him find out weeks from now, when the news of the real Camie’s elopement was sure to break, save yourself the face in the process. It might be the only way that Caroline could still have her wedding to Mr. Awase, if he wasn’t too scandalized by the idea of a runaway sister.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to let it happen that way.

You had betrayed Lord Shouto–and you needed to be the one to close this ridiculous sham out.

You would tell him.

You spent the next few minutes packing your things into your small valise, the one you’d come to the Utsushimi’s doorstep with all those years ago as a wide-eyed teenager. You shed Camie’s fine gown and Caroline’s pretty paste jewels, her silk flower she’d lent you. You folded them all and put them on the bedside and changed into the dress of your station, feeling the loss a little too keenly.

It was disappointing, how much you’d come to like living as a gentlewoman, when you’d known all along you could never have that.

You took Lord Shouto’s calling cards out from under your mattress, where you’d squirreled them away like the lovelorn little rat you were–and noted his address. It was still an early hour, far too early to see him–but this was urgent, and it would take you some hours to cross the city on foot, to the fashionable part where the Todoroki family kept a series of townhomes.

You crept down the stairs quietly, and let yourself out into the night, and began the long trek to Lord Shouto’s.

The early-morning air was cool and damp, and it helped you clear your head. As you walked, you rehearsed all of the things you wanted to say to him, determinedly pushing down the sick feeling that rose like bile in your throat.

The sun was just barely rising, a deep red tinge at the edge of the sky, when you found the placard indicating Lord Shouto’s address.

There was a light at one of the windows on the second floor, the flickering glow of a candle. You wondered if it was Lord Shouto’s room–if he would be awake at this hour, still, unable to stomach the thought of the marriage trap you’d sprung on him.

Well, you would soon put him out of his misery.

With your heart hammering in your mouth, you knocked on the door.

For a long while there was silence, and then a manservant opened the door, looking down at you with a dour expression.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I’m here to see Lord Shouto,” you said.

The manservant looked over your shoulder and squinted, as if a proper chaperone might manifest behind you–but then his eyes seemed to catch on your dress. Not a proper gentlewoman–just a woman.

“What business have you with His Grace at this early hour?” he asked suspiciously.

You opened your mouth, wondering how exactly you might explain it, when a familiar head of red and white hair poked over the man’s shoulder.

“Lord Shouto!” you said, equal parts relieved and horrified to see him.

He looked rumpled, but still wore those dark shirtsleeves and waistcoat, as if he had not yet gone to bed. Those mismatched eyes found yours, and a curious expression came over his handsome face.

“Tell me you did not walk here on your own?” he said, something strangely hard in his voice.

You wondered how angry he must be with you, for it to show in his voice.

“I did. But please, Your Grace. I have some things you need to hear, it should only be a moment,” you said.

Lord Shouto gestured the manservant aside, and offered you his hand, helping you up the last step though you did not need it. You accepted, wondering if this was to be the last time you would get to touch him.

“My study should be best,” he said, and led you down a long, winding hall, to a room at the back of the house where a candle was still glowing on a desk. It was large, and would have been intimidating were it not filled with squashy, comfortable looking furniture and stuffed with all manner of books. There were tens of shelves of them, and even more were piled up around the room in teetering towers.

Lord Shouto’s desk was absolutely carpeted in papers, and your hands itched to tidy them.

Once you were inside, Lord Shouto closed the door behind you. You took a deep, steadying breath–and then–

“You should not have come alone. The streets are dangerous at night,” he said.

You turned, to look into his face. “My lord, I treasure your concern. However, you’ll want to hear–”

“The Utsushimis let you come alone?” he repeated, looking as though he couldn’t stomach the thought. His care warmed something inside you, but you knew you could not let him persist in his delusion that you were a gentlewoman. There was nothing wrong with a servant walking the streets alone.

You gathered yourself up.

“I am not Camie Utsushimi,” you said.

Lord Shouto’s eyes darted up to yours, and he paused. His brow raised slowly, but his expression did not change otherwise. The flickering light of the candle cast fluttering shadows over his face, dancing in the hollows of his cheeks, smudging under the dark line of his thick lashes.

He did not offer a reply, and you stood in an awkward silence, until you realized he meant for you to explain further.

“I–my lord, I never meant…I did not think…” you fumbled, until your eyes flashed up to his face again, handsome and solemn. And you realized he deserved the truth, not your excuses.

“No, regardless of what I meant or why I did it,” you tried again. “I have deceived you. I am not Camie Utsushimi. I am not even a gentlewoman. I am called Y/N, and I was a servant in the Utsushimis’ home until this morning.”

Lord Shouto watched you still, saying nothing, and so you continued.

“Camie Utsushimi eloped days before the opening of the season, to Lord Inasa Yoarashi. They are honeymooning now, but she will return to Musutafu soon enough, and our plot will be revealed. I wanted…” you cast your eyes down, unable to look at his face. “I wanted you to find out from me. I wanted to give you the opportunity to announce you are calling off the marriage, before you are caught up in the scandal too.”

You drew in a shivering breath. “I am sorry.”

For a long moment, Lord Shouto said nothing. You could not imagine what he was thinking, how he might even begin to respond to something like this.

After several minutes of silence, he finally moved. There was the soft tread of his boots across the floor. You stayed frozen, unable to anticipate what he was doing. His index finger curled gently under your chin, tipping your face up to his.

“You think I did not know,” he said.

Your mouth opened in shock.

He–what? He knew?

“You–? How could you know?” you asked, when you were finally able to gather the trappings of language back to you. “My lord, what do you mean–?”

“The way you behaved, from our first meeting,” Lord Shouto said in his deep tone. “I suspected you were either a very uneducated debutante–quite at odds with Miss Caroline–or a pretender. And then, when I called on you–you answered the door as a servant would. The Utsushimis’ sitting room was barren of any portrait of you, but had plenty of Caroline and another girl who looks just like her–who I am assuming must be the real Camie.”

Fuck! So he had seen something then!

His fingers burned on your skin, and you were all too aware of his touch when you swallowed nervously. Horror and embarrassment burned hot across your skin, igniting your cheeks.

“My lord, I can only apologize and promise that you will never have to see me again,” you said, fighting down the sudden hot sting of tears behind your eyelids. “You were kinder to me than I deserved, and I–-if I had known how good you were, I should have never done it.”

“And if I want to see you again?” Lord Shouto asked carefully.

You glanced up at him, cringing when a tear escaped you in your surprise. “Lord Shouto, please. Do not continue to be kinder to me than I deserve. I will not ever be able to work again in Musutafu, besides.”

Lord Shouto’s thumb came up, and brushed your tear away. You froze, a cocktail of confused emotion burbling up inside you.

“Tell me why you did it,” Lord Shouto said softly. You stared up into those mismatched eyes, watched his long, shadowy lashes fall over his perfect cheekbones when he blinked.

You did not want to say it. But…

“For money, my lord,” you said, hating the way honesty tasted in your mouth. “I send a stipend back to my family. The Utsushimis promised steady wages and a bonus, and future employment with Camie and Lord Inasa when we were discovered. I would have money for my family, and get to see my friend again. And I–”

You took a shuddering breath in, embarrassed with just how open your emotions must be to Lord Shouto. “I did not think I would befriend anyone. I did not know there was anyone like you, or Miss Uraraka, or Lady Asui. I thought all the gentry ridiculous and overweening. Stupidly, I did not understand that it would be so easy to become close–that I would directly affect anyone…”

You had to stop, then, clamping down on a fresh wave of tears. You would not cry in front of Lord Shouto–not when you were at fault here.

Lord Shouto watched you silently, for a long time, your face still held in his grip. You just watched him helplessly, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Eventually, he spoke, his thumb sliding absently across your cheek, again. “Will you come with me?” he asked.

Your brows knit. “Come with you–? To…where, my lord?”

“To the palace,” he said. “To meet Her Highness, Princess Momo.”

All the blood in your veins iced over, and you could feel your body drawn into itself defensively, your hands curling into fists at your side.

There could be nothing good for a deceitful maid at the palace. Nothing good in meeting Princess Momo, especially if he planned to tell her what you’d done.

But…perhaps that was exactly it.

Perhaps Lord Shouto meant to let her pass judgment on your crimes against him. To deliver her royal justice upon you. He was rumored to be her impending fiancee–and there had to be a price to pay, for attempting to entrap the future prince of the empire in a marriage scheme that might have disrupted their union.

Fear and apprehension prickled up your spine. Your gut churned in great heaving turns, and you felt like you might be sick.

But you had come to set things right, hadn’t you? You had come to do the right thing by Lord Shouto, when you could have just as easily fled the city.

You could…No, you would see this through.

“Yes,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I will.”

Lord Shouto’s hand finally dropped from your chin, and he bade you wait a moment. He stepped over to his desk and scribbled something down on a bit of parchment, and then sealed it and stepped out into the hall. You heard him conduct a brief conversation with a manservant, and then he ducked back in to tell you he wouldn’t be a moment.

You nodded, afraid of what you’d sound like if you spoke. When the door closed behind him, you let the shivers come over you, gripping Lord Shouto’s desk against a sudden bout of lightheadedness.

You briefly considered running, turning and contemplating your valise where you’d deposited it next to the door.

But suddenly all the fight had left you.

If this is truly what Lord Shouto wanted, then you owed him this much, didn’t you?

When he returned, he’d changed into something decidedly less rumpled and considerably more appropriate for an audience with royalty. You felt conspicuous in your graying maid’s garb, but there was nothing to be done for it.

Lord Shouto led you outside, where a carriage had already been arranged, and he surprised you by handing you up into the carriage as though you were any sort of a proper lady. Your face went hot, despite the cool prickle of apprehension that had settled into your bones.

He settled in across from you, those mismatched eyes blisteringly hot on your skin.

And then, with a final word from him, the carriage rattled off towards the palace, the wheels clattering over the cobblestones in the early morning quiet.

#if i had read this as it was released #i would need to be committed #like #i would not be sane at all about this #todoroki shouto x reader #ficrec

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strafepanzer · 7 days

Text

Deceiving the Duke | 7 | Todoroki Shouto

pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Female Reader

length: 4.2k of 30k words | 7th of 9 chapters

tags/warnings: romance, regency au, class differences, hidden identity/identity porn, aged up characters, eventual smut

Lord Shouto continued to watch you strangely throughout the rest of the season.

You could tell he was observing you worryingly closely, and he seemed to request your company more frequently than ever. You were barely managing your household chores and dress modifications with all the time you spent in his company, and Mrs. Utsushimi was beginning to cotton onto the fact that for all your time spent talking Caroline up to him, they were seeing few results.

But you couldn’t pass up time with him, now that the season was drawing to an end. You took to sneaking out, agreeing to meet Lord Shouto somewhere down the street from the Utsushimi town home, a sense like cool relief washing over you every time you saw him, though he was watching you more hawkishly than ever.

He took you to a play, where he seemed to spend the entirety of its run glancing sideways at you, and when you stumbled on your next promenade he managed to reach out and catch you once almost before you’d begun to fall.

You could feel clearly that somehow, the intent behind his interest in you had shifted, and you wondered how much of the truth he was beginning to uncover.

You were glad Caroline had nabbed herself a suitor who was not at all circumspect in his interest in her, as it meant you would soon be able to close the book on this horrible scheme, and leave Lord Shouto in peace. But another, uglier little part of you hissed and yowled like a street cat at the idea of never seeing Lord Shouto again–at leaving the Utsushimis’ employ and Musutafu city, never able to return to even the places you’d visited together.

Despite yourself, you also wanted to linger in the season forever, riding through the park with Lord Shouto, poking fun at players, and twirling through ballrooms in his arms–but it quickly drew towards its end.

The season would culminate in a series of masked balls, after the first of which Mrs. Utsushimi expected Caroline’s suitor to propose. This would likely be your last event, for Caroline was sure to be married off quickly after that, perhaps within a fortnight.

You dressed carefully this time, allowing yourself to pick out the prettiest of Camie’s gowns you’d altered. It was a soft pink satin undergown, dressed over in a sheer, soft voile with tiny lace details. The dress was utterly lovely and utterly frivolous–not something you’d ever get to wear again in your lifetime.

You ferreted Camie’s only masquerade mask out of her chest, a cream-colored domino shape with lace trim at the edges, that tied around the back of your head with a matching ribbon. In Camie’s looking glass, you looked unfamiliar and—dare you think it—pretty, and you could almost believe that your station did not matter, that you might be just as beautiful as the leagues of bourgeoisie women who would surround you this evening.

You let yourself enjoy it.

When she saw you, Mrs. Utsushimi seemed taken aback by the choice, frowning over the nerve of your selection, but Caroline managed to insert herself before she could say as much, drawing you into her room and insisting she had just the thing to set it off. You couldn’t have been more grateful to her if you’d tried.

The thing turned out to be two: a silk rose for your hair and a tiny strand of paste jewels on a chain, so small you could almost believe them for real diamonds, were you not so intimately acquainted with the Utsushimi household’s finances.

Caroline had also dressed in her finest, a gown of a flowing purple fabric, set off with dusky pink paste jewels and a glittering paste tiara. It stood out against her pale skin, making it glow like moonlight under the flickering shine of the candles. She looked like a princess, peerless and elegant. You were sure that if her suitor hadn’t planned on declaring his intentions after this ball, he’d find himself unable to resist doing so anyhow.

You managed to make it out of the house without Mrs. Utsushimi requesting you change, and you were glad you’d let yourself make a little bit of a spectacle of your outfit when you made it into the assembly rooms and saw the rest of the peerage.

Every single person had worn their best, it seemed, and the ballroom was a sea of fine satins and pale muslins, immaculately-tailored coats and glowing white stockings. Candlelight glinted off of thousands of jewels, a sparkling rainbow of color. You suddenly found the room just as overwhelming as when you’d first set foot at the Monomas’, but this time you drank it all in eagerly, aware that this was the last time you’d ever see the peerage this closely again.

Like a magnet, your gaze was pulled to a tall figure winding his way through the crowd. You tracked his progress towards you, heart fluttering as that telltale mop of red and white hair drew closer. Lord Shouto emerged from the crowd and stalked towards you with all the grace and self-assurance you’d come to expect of him.

He looked utterly dashing in his masquerade attire–a dark coat and a dark undershirt clearly recently dyed to match, dark breeches and stiff black boots. He wore a black domino mask tied over his eyes, a similar shape to your own, except that he looked very much like a handsome highwayman or rogue, and you felt rather soft and flowery in comparison–very frivolous and utterly silly.

His costume had the effect of drawing out the paleness of his skin, the glittering gemstone colors of his eyes, and the shape of his mask only drew more attention to the sharp cut of his jaw and the pouty shape of his full mouth.

Your breath left you in a shaky exhale, as Lord Shouto caught your hand in a dark glove and raised it to his mouth.

“You are beautiful,” he said quietly. You could feel heat rising to your cheeks, and you fought the urge to squirm under his gaze.

“You too–um,” you said, coherent thought suddenly escaping you. “I mean, you look…handsome. Very handsome. But of course you knew that. You always…um…”

You pinched yourself through your skirts to get yourself to stop babbling, and Lord Shouto’s mouth quirked.

“I should very much like to accompany you this evening, if you’ll permit me,” he said.

The heat from your cheeks crept down your body in a warm flush. That was…well, bold was the only way to put it. If you spent most of the evening in Lord Shouto’s company, unchaperoned, there would be talk–that he meant to make your match, that you were far too bold for a woman, that you should certainly never be marriageable if this was your idea of propriety.

But, this was your last evening in his company. You felt certain Caroline’s suitor would propose, and you would likely never see Lord Shouto again, after tonight.

You stared at his face, the openness of his expression. He was so very beautiful and so very kind, and this was the last time you would ever get to speak to him.

“I—yes. I should like that,” you said, unable to help yourself.

Lord Shouto smiled, then, that charming half-moon sliver that all but took a sledgehammer to a woman’s knees. You clutched the arm he proffered, feeling weak.

Lord Shouto led you to the refreshments room, right past Miss Uraraka and Lady Asui, both of whom were watching you with wide eyes. You offered a small, self-conscious little wave. You would have to write to both of them, too, to tell them you were sorry–to have missed them, and for the deception that you had been anything like their equal.

Lord Shouto distracted you from your sudden sobriety by fetching you a glass of lemonade and a tiny apricot cake. You lifted a brow at him petulantly as he returned to you, smirking.

“Do not think that an audience provides any impediment to this being thrown,” you told him as he placed the cake into your hand.

“Ah, but you’ve told me you intend to win a husband someday,” he said, inclining his head towards you to speak softly but conspiratorially. “You’ll want to be on your best behavior here.”

You took a dismissive sip of your lemonade. “Actually, I’m feeling rather impulsive this evening. This season is almost at a close.”

“Ah, and you’ve intimated it will be your last,” Lord Shouto said.

“Yes,” you replied. “So do not think you are safe from flying foodstuffs.”

Lord Shouto smiled again. “Never.”

You couldn’t help but grin up at him, amused with his indulgent tone. “I suppose you’re grateful the season is ending too. What will you do at its close? Return to your family’s estate?”

Lord Shouto looked contemplative, and he took a sip of his own lemonade. You tried not to pay attention to the way his mouth looked pressed against the glass, the line of his throat as he swallowed. “If the season ends as I intend it to, there will be a return to my family estate, yes,” he said. “And after, a series of long travel plans.”

You turned towards him, nibbling on your apricot cake. “A long journey? To where? Will it take you out of the country?”

Lord Shouto’s eyes glittered with the tiniest hint of mischief. “It is a secret.”

You squinted at him suspiciously. You’d used the same trick on him but you did not like it turned back on you. And really, what would make travel plans so secret?

Unless…

Did he mean a honeymoon, perhaps? And, considering he was rumored to be courting Princess Yaoyorozu–would it need to be kept secret specifically for her? Perhaps to keep her safe?

“Need I remind you I am a fantastic secret keeper,” you groused, but did not press. If it was a royal matter, you really had no right to the information.

Lord Shouto’s mouth quirked. “I am well aware.”

“Have it your way then,” you waved a dismissive hand at him, searching for someplace to put your empty lemonade glass down.

Lord Shouto’s gloved fingers plucked it from your hand, and pressed something else in its place–a frosty, pale-colored drink you recognized for iced punch. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’ve said you were feeling rather impulsive this evening,” he said. “Forgive me for the presumption.”

But he took his own glass of punch, too, and the idea of sharing this last anything with him thrilled you to your core. You took a sip, bracing against the many alcohols that had been mixed in. It sat fruity and sharp and heavy on your tongue.

“You plan to aid and abet my bad behavior, then?” you asked him.

Lord Shouto’s mouth curled, like he was laughing at something secret. “You say that as though I had not already.”

You couldn’t help the pout that crossed your lips. “I have been a saint. You are the corrupting influence.”

Lord Shouto’s smile pulled more sharply at the corner of his mouth. “I should like to be.”

Your face flashed hot with the implication of his words, and you almost choked on your sip of punch. “You are determined to be on your worst behavior as well then,” you wheezed out.

“The season is almost at a close,” he echoed in his blandest tone.

Even straight-faced, you could sense the underlying mischief. You didn’t know what had him in such a mood this evening, when he was normally so genteel–but you found you quite liked it.

You laughed. “Well, then. Partners in crime?” You offered a hand, and Lord Shouto smirked and shook it, striking up another deal as you had that first night in the Monomas’ darkened library. His hand was warm and strong in yours, and even through the fabric of your gloves, his touch sent a swarm of shivers down your spine.

“What hijinks shall we get up to?” you asked.

“Perhaps you might stand up with me for a dance,” he said.

Another little thrill went through you. You could not deny how much you liked dancing with him, for all that you should have avoided it throughout the season. You liked his warm, hard body pressed alongside yours, the sureness of his movements, the clasp of his arms around you.

You finished your punch in a determined gulp. “Lead on, my lord.”

Lord Shouto looked pleased. He drained his glass too, and led you back into the ballroom, where the players were just beginning another song.

Flushed with punch and the urgency of the evening, it was better than any dance you’d had before. You let yourself enjoy it this time, knowing it would be one of the last. You basked in the feeling of your hand in his, his other hand at your back, the intimacy inherent in the touch. You drank in the strength of his movements, his deliberate focus, the soothing timbre of his voice when he spoke to you over the sound of the music–smoother and lovelier than any instrument.

More than anything, you drank in Lord Shouto’s handsome face, put out a little by the mask that covered his distinctive scar. It occurred to you that you had perhaps already seen his whole face for the final time, that you would never see it in full again, and a somber, hiccupy little feeling rose in your chest.

You tried to memorize the most minute details about him–the tiniest spray of freckles across his nose, the serious way he held his mouth when it was at rest. The flush of exertion high on his cheeks looked so unbearably good on him, you knew you’d remember it forever.

Lord Shouto seemed just as determined to enjoy things as you. When the first dance ended, he asked for another–a bold move that signaled far too much interest–but you couldn’t help but accept. When that one ended, you retreated back to the refreshments room where you fetched yourselves more punch, feeling rather giddy.

One glass turned to another, and then another, and Lord Shouto asked you again for another dance—so wholly inappropriate, but you couldn’t help but comply. You could see the scandalized faces of the room around you as he spun you in your third dance, but it all mattered so little in the end, you thought. The nobility could think whatever they wanted–you would no longer be beholden to their prejudices after this evening.

And Lord Shouto—all that mattered to you in this one moment was Lord Shouto.

You clung to him perhaps more closely than was appropriate, but there was nothing for it. His coat was soft under your hands, his voice so soothing, his presence intoxicating. Any time you glanced at his face, his gaze was all but burning through you, and you thought he was watching you with equal abandon.

As the third dance ended, you noted that Caroline and her suitor, Mr. Yosetsu Awase, too, had stood up for four dances together—there would be no doubt about their engagement now.

“I hope he’s good to her, after everything,” you said absently.

Lord Shouto looked down at you through his dark mask. “You sound wistful.”

“I should have liked her to have stayed single a few weeks longer,” you said, forgetting yourself. “I should have liked more time. But I am happy to see things finally come together. It is for the best.”

Lord Shouto’s face went strange. His hand found your wrist, and he tugged you closer to him. You fought against the desire to press yourself to him, to burrow in against him.

“You mean this to be your last event of the season,” he said, though how he’d deduced it, you had no idea.

You nodded. There was no reason not to tell something close to the truth, now. “I’d have liked more time with you, my lord. Truthfully, you have been an unexpected delight in this season. I should like to see you settled soon, too. You deserve much happiness.”

Lord Shouto’s hand tightened on your wrist, his mouth pressing into a determined slash.

“Come with me,” he murmured.

You followed him through the crowds, thankful that your mask shielded you some from the intrigued stares of the nobility. Your head was swimming with all the dancing and the punch and the emotion of the evening, and you held tightly to Lord Shouto in return.

Lord Shouto led you down the adjoining hall, poking his head into rooms alternately, until he found an alcove, leading out onto a small balcony. He tugged you out with him, into the chill night air. The evening was quiet, the sky deep blue and lit with so many stars.

It was lovely–almost as lovely as he.

“My lord–” you started, but Lord Shouto turned to you, stepping close again. His face was unexpectedly serious.

“If it is time you want, I would give you all the time in the world,” he said. His tone was soft, low, but resolute.

Your heartbeat slammed to a halt in your chest, your fingers freezing in his grasp.

“I–my lord–what–?”

Lord Shouto stepped even closer, his face drawing far too near. His fingers shifted on your wrist, tugging it down to your side, and his hand slid into yours, holding tightly. The nightscape swam.

“I would spend the rest of my days with you,” he murmured, those eyes searching yours. You felt very suddenly like your heart was swelling, ballooning so large you thought it might crack your ribs. “If this season must be your last, please say it is not your last with me.”

He looked so solemn, so earnest, so utterly and terribly perfect, gazing down at you like that.

Your thoughts raced and your breath came short, and you couldn’t make heads or tails of what he was saying! He sounded like—he sounded like—!

“Lord Shouto–” you started, but he shook his head.

“Just Shouto. Please.”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. You opened your mouth, with absolutely no notion of what you might say. Suddenly you knew only two things. That you were desperately in love with him–-and that you could never, ever say yes to him.

You opened your mouth to refuse him–you had to refuse him, for what else could be said?--and then–

“I love you,” you said into the silence of the night.

The sound of it startled you. But Shouto’s mouth broke out into the most stunningly gorgeous smile you had ever seen–wide and full and so incandescently happy.

Before you knew what you were doing, you’d leaned forward and pressed your mouth to his.

Shouto reacted like lightning, sinking into it with abandon. His arms came around you, pulling you to him tightly, one hand coming up to the back of your head to hold you close. Your arms went around his shoulders and your hands fisted in his collar points.

You’d never been kissed before–and you thought you’d never, ever be kissed like this again. Shouto’s kiss was so exactly like him–strong and sure, but gentle, and a little bit mischievous. His tongue teased yours and you responded in kind, your head spinning with him.

Without any input from your brain, your hands reached up to tug off his mask, and you pulled back to stare at him, desperate to see his face again.

He was just as gorgeous as you’d remembered.

Your heart twinged again, and he pulled you back to him, pressing his mouth to yours again.

He kissed you until you were dizzy with it, and then kissed you some more. You couldn’t stop your hands from roaming all over him, as if to reassure yourself that he was real, a solid, touchable thing under your fingertips.

His own hands slid down your waist, tightening there, and then his thumbs slid up to sit against your ribcage, dangerously close to the undersides of your breasts. You suddenly wanted nothing more than to be touched there, the need becoming an ache under your skin.

You wanted him, anything he would give you, his hands, his mouth—wanted it all over you. This was the only time you could ever have this from him–

“Please touch me,” you heard yourself murmuring against his lips. “Shouto, please.”

He groaned low in his throat and kissed you even more fervently. But his hands slid up obediently, his thumbs brushing the cloth over your nipples.

You gasped into his mouth, surprised at the feeling, and tugged harder on his collar points. “Shouto. Shouto please.”

His mouth dipped to your throat, layering hot, open-mouthed kisses there, and you threw your head back. His lips blazed a line down your neck, down your chest, and then to the neckline of your gown. A set of long fingers pulled the fabric aside and delved under the cups of your stays. He brushed the bare skin of your nipple and you made an embarrassingly breathy little noise, holding onto him for dear life.

He worked you looser from your stays, and then his mouth was closing over the tip of your breast, and you had to fight down a shout.

He let out that soft groan again, and surged back up to kiss you on the mouth. He walked you back, pressing you against the cool stone wall of the building, just beside the doorway. One of his legs came between yours, pressing to your center, and you squeaked the most embarrassing noise into his mouth.

Shouto inhaled sharply, and did it again, pulling you onto his thigh with the hand at your waist. His mouth found your neck, kissing fervently down it, and his fingers teased your nipple again. You found yourself moving against him, wild with want.

Something built within you, hot and twisting. You felt somehow that you might shatter into a thousand pieces if something did not give.

Lord Shouto’s hand pressing to you through your skirts had you biting off a sudden moan.

Your hand shot up to cover your own mouth, when something shifted at the corner of your vision. For a moment you thought you were seeing things–until it solidified into silhouettes moving at the entry to the balcony. Your molten blood instantly iced over as several gasps and a shocked exclamation rang out.

Shouto went rigid under your hands for only a second before he was standing up, holding you to him to cover you, while he quickly jerked your stays back in place. You just stood there uselessly, utterly stupefied.

Your stomach dropped as the voice of Caroline’s new fiancee ventured, “Lord…Todoroki?”

Shouto’s eyes found yours for a moment, flitting down your face as if assessing your condition. But then he turned, and you heard him say, “Mr. Awase.”

Over Shouto’s broad shoulder you could see Caroline and Mrs. Utsushimi looking aghast alongside the hostess of the evening. Too many eyes had seen you. With Caroline’s suitor and the hostess–there would be no covering this up.

Fuck. On the eve of Caroline’s betrothal–right on the edge of the family’s success–you’d gone and embroiled them in exactly the type of impropriety scandal this charade had been meant to prevent!

Your stomach churned.

“And…Miss Utsushimi,” Mr. Awase finally surmised, catching sight of you. Next to him, Caroline’s expression was horrified, and Mrs. Utsushimi had produced her handkerchief from somewhere and was starting to flap it agitatedly.

Your mind raced for some way to explain this away–-but Shouto spoke first.

“I intend to marry her,” he said.

Your mouth dropped open–as did Caroline and Mrs. Utsushimi’s. Their shock was the only way you could tell you hadn’t just experienced an auditory hallucination.

“I should hope so,” the hostess sniffed. “As it is, this is most improper. And from you, Lord Shouto! Such behavior can not be countenanced.”

A tiny noise escaped you, and you stepped forward, but Shouto’s hand on your sleeve stopped you.

“I’ll procure a special license in the morning,” he said, turning to glance down at you. “I will call upon you when I have.”

Horror welled in your gut at hearing the preparations laid out so plainly. He meant it–he really meant to marry Camie Utsushimi.

When Camie Utsushimi was already married. And you weren’t even her!

You’d trapped him into wedlock when such a thing could absolutely under no circumstances ever be permitted, especially considering your station.

Before you could say anything, however, Mrs. Utsushimi had moved forward and snatched you away from Shouto. “We will await your calling, Lord Todoroki,” she said tightly. Her fingers were tight in your sleeve, and you could feel them trembling–even over what you realized was your own trembling.

You could do nothing but let her quickly bundle you away from the crowd, with no time to say anything to Shouto. You heard Caroline murmur something to Mr. Awase, and then she too was hurrying to catch up, her slippered feet soft on the tiles.

You barely had enough time to glance behind you before Mrs. Utsushimi hustled you around the corner. You caught the barest sliver of a glimpse of Shouto, his face unreadable in the dim.

And then you were being led out into the cool night air–and into a future that you were certain you’d ruined for everyone.

#no words #flabbergasted #todoroki shouto x reader #ficrec

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strafepanzer · 7 days

Text

oh my god they are so intimate with each other and it's killing me how her entire internal monologue is "this can never actually happen"

and "I'll think of you always"???? what if I JUMP OFF A CLIFF???? WHAT IF I DID THAT????

Deceiving the Duke | 6 | Todoroki Shouto

pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Female Reader

length: 3.1k of 30k words | 6th of 9 chapters

tags/warnings: romance, regency au, class differences, hidden identity/identity porn, aged up characters, eventual smut

Over the course of the ensuing weeks, your certainty only grew worse: you were developing feelings for Lord Shouto.

You sent another letter to Camie, ashamed to tell her that not only had you continued the scheme against her express wishes, but now you were falling for the worst person possible. She wrote back, heartbroken to hear it, demanding once more you put a stop to things before they went too far.

But you couldn’t help yourself. You would never again get time with Lord Shouto–you wanted to revel in it as long as you could.

You reassured yourself that he meant to marry the princess–a rumor that was only growing stronger as the season crept onwards with no hint of a proposal to anyone from his corner–and he meant only to use you as a deterrent to the other scheming misses and matchmaking mothers crowding the parlors and assembly rooms of Musutafu.

You hoped that once your own scheme was uncovered he wouldn’t hold it against you–would understand that you’d liked spending the time with him, but had never desired to trap him in any sort of romantic understanding.

Lord Shouto made things so much more difficult for you by continuing to be so horribly good. He was kind and attentive, and so unexpectedly funny, you couldn’t help but fall harder.

He sought you out many times a week, taking you for several more promenades, insisting on a dance at every ball, and even took you riding in the park. He even let you take the reins when you’d reached an emptier stretch of road where no one might see you driving, showing you how to steer his set of bays and smiling that gentle smile when you got the hang of it and urged them to go faster.

He called several times more, bringing another bouquet of flowers for you–tiny bright jonquils tangled with orange winter cherries, and hedged with short-trimmed ferns–that you managed to squirrel away into your tiny bedroom without the Utsushimis seeing.

He was on your mind so constantly that you found yourself ducking into the haberdashery on an afternoon Miss Uraraka and Lady Asui had invited you out. An idea seized you as you had looked into the window, and you found yourself drawn over to the small selection of handkerchiefs for sale.

You didn’t have much in the way of spending money, sending most of it back to your family, but you had just enough to buy a linen square bordered in a dark blue. Miss Ochako and Lady Asui watched you almost too knowingly as you did.

You worked late into the night that evening, tucked up in your bed with embroidery thread and a book you’d ferreted out of the late Mr. Utsushimi’s study propped open in your lap–a Greek primer, with a tiny section on Ancient Greek. You found that their phonetic system did not align quite so neatly with yours, but you made do, stitching the closest approximation of Lord Shouto’s name in the Greek alphabet–how it might be spelled had he found himself there.

You hoped he would find it fun, and not too silly–-and that he would understand that you had liked him enough to think of him, even when your deception was uncovered.

Giving to him was another matter, however, as you found yourself too shy and girlish on the several occasions you saw him next. It stayed tucked away in your reticule, burning at your wrist.

You finally resolved to give it to him at a dinner party at Lady Cathleen’s, where you might hopefully be able to flee to the other end of the table and not speak to him for the rest of the night. Caroline had informed you that tables were set according to rank, meaning the Utsushimi family would find themselves at the foot of the table, with Lord Shouto all the way at the head.

In preparation, you donned the most secure of Camie’s gowns—which was not saying much—but you felt better for the more protective, higher neckline, the muted blue of its color which would draw little attention your way, for it almost bordered on the drab palette of married women or spinsters. You knew Camie had chosen it for the contrast it would draw to her largest, sparkliest choker of paste jewels, which you carefully ignored in favor of her smallest pendant.

You would be as well hidden as you could manage, at the other end of the table, and with any luck Lady Cathleen would dress her table with elaborately tall candlesticks and floral displays you might duck behind.

In fact, once you thought of it, you were almost certain you could hide Lord Shouto’s gift at the table itself, that you might not have to confront him in person with the full force of both your stupidity and your regard for him. You wouldn’t even need to witness his expression upon its receipt.

It was with that thought that you stuck to the edges of the drawing room as guests crowded into Lady Cathleen’s estate, drawing as little notice as you could. You requested the restroom as soon as you were able, instead sneaking off towards the dining room to scout out Lord Shouto’s place.

Except—as you scanned the head of the table–his place card was nowhere to be found. You knew he was coming–Mrs. Utsushimi hadn’t shut up about it, and besides that, Lord Shouto had told you as much himself. Brow furrowing, you wandered around the table.

A little shocked thrill went through you to see his name next to Camie’s, towards the opposite end of the table he should have been. Camie’s name also had managed to come unmoored from the Utsushimi block that occupied the end of the table, several seats away from Caroline and Mrs Utsushimi.

You wondered at the specificity of the mistake, and then a thought occurred to you.

Well–if there had been a mistake, it only made sense to use it to your advantage.

You quickly tucked your gift under Lord Shouto’s place card, very carefully that it might only be seen once he’d moved it. And then you took your own place card away and carried it down the table to Caroline’s spot. You’d just managed to replace hers with yours when a low voice carried across the room.

“I suppose I should be less surprised to find you in another deserted room.”

You froze, arm still outstretched over Caroline’s seat, your eyes darting up to the entryway. Lord Shouto stood there, looking as preternaturally handsome as ever. The candlelight glinted off the white of his hair, burnishing it gold, and the shadows danced in the hollows of his cheeks, the divot under his full mouth. He was dressed in a dark gray dinner jacket, a cravat tied immaculately at his throat.

He took a step into the room, a white eyebrow raised.

“Lord Shouto,” you said hoarsely, quickly whipping Caroline’s card behind your back. Perhaps he hadn’t seen what you’d been up to. “I—it’s not what it looks like.”

“Then you are not rearranging Lady Cathleen’s seating placards?” he asked in his smooth baritone. He continued into the room, circling the table to you.

A hunted feeling crept over you. “I–it’s funny it should look that way…but I, um…”

Lord Shouto drew closer, leaning in, and a gloved hand touched the place card in your fingers, tugging it gently from your grasp. He glanced down at it, a tiny smile touching his mouth. “You’d not been about to seat Miss Caroline next to me, had you?”

His gaze darted over to the middle of the table where his placard sat, like he’d already known there’d been some mistake with his placement.

Hot embarrassment burned its way through your veins, and you snatched Caroline’s place marking out of his hand. “As a matter of fact, the only empty spot is next to you,” you said, attempting to make your way around him to put it down.

“And that would not be because you had already moved another place card, would it?” Lord Shouto asked mildly, stepping in front of you so that you almost headbutted his chest. You backpedaled wildly, almost tripping over the hem of your gown.

“I—what proof have you?” you demanded, trying your best to sound as though you hadn’t just done exactly that.

Lord Shouto’s smile widened, a rare sight, and it sent a lick of heat right down your spine. You clutched a chair, aware of how stupid it was that a smile was about to send you into a swoon.

Those long fingers reached out and pulled Caroline’s place card from your grip again, and Lord Shouto produced your own, switching your places once more. “The proof that I asked Lady Cathleen to seat me here, with you,” he said simply.

A horde of butterflies exploded in your chest again, and your face went hot.

How could he say things like that so easily? An ask like that was a clear declaration of his favor–something you very much did not deserve, all things considered.

“Your Grace,” you said, in protest.

Lord Shouto’s smile flashed white in the candlelight, a clever half-moon. “It was you who doubted I might reign in my presumption by the end of the season. You should be pleased to find yourself proven right.”

Pleased didn’t quite cover the breadth of emotion you were feeling–embarrassment, guilt, and pleasure all warred with one another in your chest.

“Really, I was doing you a favor,” you insisted, gesturing at Caroline’s place setting. “She is a great conversationalist, and very pleasing to look at.”

“As you have said perhaps hundreds of times,” Lord Shouto acknowledged. “It is just as well I can look at her from across a table.”

You frowned up at him. “I am beginning to think you do not mean to find a wife, as you’d hinted.”

Lord Shouto bent his head so he could lean closer, and your hip bumped the table as you stepped back, nervous with his sudden proximity.

“Then you did take my meaning that day,” he said, his voice low.

Your skin prickled at the layer of intent in his tone.

“And I am only trying to help you now,” you told him. “You’ll get very little mileage out of me as your dining companion, considering I cannot wed.”

“Cannot,” Lord Shouto murmured, as if turning the word over in his mouth.

“Caroline can, however,” you continued as though you hadn’t heard him. “And I understand she is a very desirable match. She’s acquired several admirers, you know, and you won’t want to dally. There is a Mr. Awase who is very keen.”

“You say it as though you are not a desirable match,” Lord Shouto said.

His words were like a thunderbolt, striking through you. The very idea of you as a desirable match!

You laughed, but Lord Shouto’s face did not change, and he pressed even closer, close enough that you found yourself trapped against the table. Lightning zinged in your veins as you registered the heat of him over you, your blood singing with the thrill of a man so close.

“You do not believe so?” he asked. He was close enough that you could feel the exhalation of his words on your mouth.

Your head swam with the ridiculousness of the question, and the press of him so close. You scrounged around for an appropriate ripost, but then Lord Shouto’s face drew even nearer.

Your breath seized in your chest, and you stared silently up at him, heart racing.

Outside, a loud laugh sounded, startling you, and you jumped, almost smacking your forehead into Lord Shouto’s nose.

He dodged neatly, smiling ruefully and stepping away. But there was a light in his eyes like he was strangely satisfied–as though he’d confirmed something.

“We should go, lest we are discovered here, and your reputation compromised,” he said. “You should take your leave first.”

You could tell he meant to prevent you from switching the place settings again once he was gone, and you squinted at him suspiciously. He looked far too pleased with himself, and his smile seemed to grow a fraction wider. It was your observation that his eyes slivered into little crescents when he truly smiled that finally sent you stumbling out of the dining room, your heartbeat tripping over itself.

You found your absence had gone unnoticed when you arrived back in the drawing room, though Lord Shouto’s entrance was intently noted by every single set of female eyes. Several fans came out, flapping back immaculately coiffed curls, and Lord Shouto’s face went politely blank.

You stifled a laugh at his expense.

Eventually you were let into the dining room and you found yourself at Lord Shouto’s side once more. Lady Cathleen’s eyes flickered interestedly over you and tried not to look too strange or suspicious under her attentions.

You were pointedly studying the table linens with avid interest when you felt Lord Shouto stiffen beside you. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him draw the handkerchief out from under his place card, and you found you couldn’t lift our eyes to his face, too anxious of his reaction. You adopted a sudden fascination with the centerpiece to your opposite side–until a gloved hand touched yours in your lap.

You startled, almost knocking over your water glass, fingers reflexively seizing on the hand that had touched you.

You glanced up at Lord Shouto as his own fingers tightened on yours, and found him smiling that tiny, private smile of his. His gaze was almost molten in the candlelight.

“I see rearranging the place settings was not your only objective,” he said. There was a touch of pleasure in his voice, so rich and low. The sound made your blood fizz like a bottle of champagne had just been poured down your veins.

His hand shifted, his wrist resting on your thigh, and your breathing went shallow at the feeling of a man’s hand where it had never been before.

“I–you might think it’s silly—” you groped for something to say.

“I can think of no gift I have ever liked more,” he said.

The praise flooded through you in a warm wave of pleasure, and your ears went hot. “I��should like if you would think of me fondly, after this season,” you said.

Lord Shouto’s brows creased, and that full mouth pursed a little in thought. You tried very hard not to think of kissing it.

“You say that as if you do not plan we should ever see each other again,” he said carefully.

A hot stab of panic lanced through you when you realized you’d almost hinted at the dissolution of your scheme. You searched for some response.

“I–there is only one objective to the season,” you said. “After a match is made, I’ll have no reason to return to Musutafu, unless my husband’s estate is at a close enough remove.”

“I thought you did not mean to marry?” Lord Shouto asked. You almost jumped again when a server reached between the two of you to serve the first course–a pale soup swimming with carrots and rice.

Fuck, that was right. You had said you’d not meant to make a match. “Do not worry, Lord Shouto. You are safe from any attempts on your virtue.”

But Lord Shouto did not look at all reassured by this. “Then you do wish to marry?” he asked.

You did not see a way around answering truthfully. “I–well, yes, eventually,” you admitted. You had at least had hopes at one point, before meeting Lord Shouto, before understanding that no other man might ever measure up. Gentry though he might be, you’d never felt as light-headed, as happy, as surprisingly comfortable in another person’s presence.

You had not meant to feel quite like this about him.

“One day, I should like to,” you said, trying not to sound morose. One day, a long time from now, perhaps you would have enough distance that you might once again find the prospect of another man palatable.

Lord Shouto’s gloved thumb smoothed over your knuckles, and you realized you’d still been gripping his hand. You reluctantly let go, but he seemed to feel no need to move his hand.

“One day and the end of this season sound rather distant from one another,” Lord Shouto said.

You stared into your soup to avoid having to look at him, guilt settling heavily in your stomach. “It is complicated,” you said. “All there is to know, my lord, is that I plan this should be my last season in Musutafu. And that I should like you to think of me fondly, as I shall think of you. For all that you seem to insist on dwelling in darkened rooms, you have been a bright spot in this season.”

You pointedly studied the silverware, wanting to start in on your soup to halt conversation, but found that you could not remember how Caroline had instructed you to dine. Was it outward in, or inward out?

Your hand hesitated over the silverware, and Lord Shouto’s finally rose from your lap to press gently to the outward-most spoon.

“It’s this one,” he said, leaning in. “Outward in.”

That smile was back on his mouth, and it felt both private and conspiratorial, somehow. Like you shared a secret, though the only secret you had, really, was the one that he absolutely could not have known.

“Of course…” you said primly, like you’d just momentarily forgotten. But your heart warmed a little with his assistance and you couldn’t help the smile that wormed its way across your face in answer. “Thank you.”

Lord Shouto’s eyes seemed to linger on your mouth for a long moment, before he murmured, “Anything I may give you.”

And for a minute, it sounded like he meant more than just help with the spoon. Like he was offering something much larger, much more secret.

But of course that was nonsense. You waved him off, answering in turn. “You are kinder than you know, Lord Shouto. I will remember that too, always.”

You started in on your soup, feeling Lord Shouto’s eyes lingering on you still.

But for the rest of the evening, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just had a conversation with him whose parameters you did not truly fathom.

That Lord Shouto knew something he couldn’t.

But it wouldn’t matter, with the season so close so its end. You would just have to last a few more weeks.

#crying screaming throwing up #you know the drill #todoroki shouto x reader #ficrec

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