#but if you squint and tilt your head it can be canon

[vampire-bite]

hi this post gave me thoughts and feelings because @iwrotemrtambourineman is a poet

Actually wasn't going to post this. Was just gonna make it to show my friends whats in my brain. But it's kinda annoying to send this many images in Tumblr messages.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Just Like Dad (1 of 4)

Content & Warnings: referenced military career, domestic fluff, some humor, brief mention of pregnancy, canon-typical swearing, Simon is a girl dad

Word Count: 890

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Filling out a parent questionnaire leads to Simon having to answer a hard question.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // just like dad

“Daddy.”

 A small fist curls around the bottom of Simon’s shirt, tugging. He glances down, finding his daughter there holding out a piece of paper.

“What’s this?” Simon takes it from her, his gaze shifting to the black ink.

“It’s for school.”

It’s a questionnaire. Simons scans over the questions quickly before returning his gaze to his daughter. “Give me a second, love.”

Simon packs up the files he brought home from work. Grabbing a pencil, he strolls out to the living room, his daughter on his heels. Simon takes a seat in the middle of the sofa, placing the paper and pencil on the coffee table. His daughter snags a pillow off the couch, dropping it on the floor next to his legs. Sitting, she stares at him expectantly.

Simon nods toward the paper. “You need to practice your letters.”

She groans. “But it’s about you!”

Simon slowly slides the paper and pencil over to her. She pouts but takes up the pencil, the graphite tip poised above the first line.

“Name,” she says, glancing up at him.

“You know my name.”

She squints at him and looks back at the paper, taking her time to write each letter. She holds it up and Simon smiles. It’s stilted and a bit sideways, but it’s there. She asks several more questions like favorite food and color. Simon doesn’t understand the point to it but they’re likely doing a project on a parent.

“Job,” she says, expectant.

Job. His occupation. That’s a fucking complicated question.

“Military,” he answers.

She frowns. “How do you spell that?”

“Sound it out.”

She does so slowly, elongating each letter as she writes.

Simon glances over her shoulder and chuckles. “That’s an ‘i,’ darling.” He points and she aggressively erases her mistake.

When she finishes, she looks up at him. “Explain.”

Explain. Explain.

Explain…what?

That he kills people? That he negotiates the release of hostages? That he faces violence every day he’s on the job? That he sees some of the worst in people?

How the bloody hell does he explain all that to a six-year-old girl? How does he summarize the violence into a watered-down version that’s digestible enough for her, her teacher, the other students, and her school.

Simon swallows. “I stop bad people from doing bad things.”

She blinks. “Do I have to write all that?”

Simon barks a laugh. “It’s one sentence.”

She silently mimics him, shaking her little body in annoyance as she begins to write. Simon has no idea where the attitude comes from, but it’s likely from Johnny.

“Next question,” prompts Simon once the sentence is written down.

She hesitates and then turns in his direction. “Can I be like you when I grow up?”

Could she? Yes. But the very idea of her in the line of danger frightens him. It twists his stomach, knowing all the things that could befall her if she were to follow in his footsteps. Simon’s gut-instinct is to tell her “No.”

“Why do you want to be like me?” he asks.

She shrugs. “You’re strong. I want to be strong like you.”

“You don’t need to do what I do to be strong.”

“Uh, no,” she says, matter-of-fact, peering at the next question.

Fucking hell, she’s going to be an absolute hellion when she hits puberty. Sighing, Simon rubs at his temple. For some reason, he glances away from his daughter, his gaze landing on you in the hallway. With your hand cradling your slightly swollen belly, you watch on with an amused expression.

Number two. Will this one be like her? Wanting to do what he does?

“Daddy.”

Simon turns back to his daughter. She points at the paper with the tip of her pencil, head tilted slightly to the side.

He leans forward. “What’s the next question?”

“What does your day look like?” She grins up at him, ready for his answer.

Simon hears your soft laugh from the hall, and then your footsteps across the carpet. Your hand reaches out to cradle the back of Simon’s neck. On instinct, he lifts his arm, resting his hand on the small of your back.

“Go on, Simon. Tell her,” you tease, knowing that he’s struggling to form an answer.

“Do you put your mask on first?” The question is innocent but Simon laughs anyway.

“No,” he chuckles, gently taking the paper and pencil from her. “I kiss your mother first.”

Simon drags you in for a kiss.

“Ugh. Gross.” She makes a face, tiny nose scrunching up in disgust.

“Still want my job?” Simon presents the paper and she snatches up in her little fist.

“No thanks,” she sing-songs, stuffing the paper in her backpack, crinkling it up.

You hide your grin in Simon’s shoulder, and Simon tugs you closer. “Good save,” you murmur.

Simon presses his lips to the top of your head. “She has one of my masks.”

“I know,” you giggle. “Found it under her pillow this morning. I put it in your bag.”

“Was it covered in your makeup this time?”

“Had to wash it.”

Simon shakes his head in exasperation. He’s not annoyed. Just perplexed. He doesn’t understand why his daughter wants to be just like him.

It’s because she doesn’t know.

No. She doesn’t know. But one day she will. She might even change her mind.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @pearljamislife @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @cinnabeanz @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @xxkay15xx @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

[seiwas]

three-part honesty | todoroki shouto

wc: 16.3k

summary: honesty, you've realized, is shouto’s most cunning trait—a quality that's endeared you over the years now rendering you into a stuttering, fumbling mess like never before. 

contains: intended as f!reader but no pronouns used, reader wears heels, a skirt, & a dress, post-canon (divergent), aged-up pro-hero!shouto and assistant!reader, workplace romance, development of feelings, confessions, boss/assistant dynamics, co-workers to lovers (ish), todoroki family dynamics and healing, fluff, slow burn.  

sequel to: two-part something ao3 mirror

a/n: primarily from shouto’s perspective but switching of character pov’s is denoted by ‘( )’. i enjoyed the entire process of writing this fic and hope you do too! 

sponsored by @arcvenes for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please do check it out and support if you can! this is also my submission for the pretty boy summer collab by @andypantsx3.

I. LISTEN CLOSELY

Much to his relief, Shouto’s yearly health check-up turns out just fine. 

His blood work results come back stellar, levels all floating within normal range; some x-rays and scans reveal injuries healing up nicely—that collarbone he’d fractured months ago, especially. Save for a few recommendations on better sleep and stress management, Shouto receives no additional diagnoses for anything particularly concerning. 

Except for this one thing—

“Maybe you have a crush.” Natsuo sinks into the backrest of his chair. A slight ‘squeak’ sounds from its springs as he props one foot up on his knee and clasps his hands over his stomach. 

Shouto thinks it must be some doctor pose; Natsuo’s been doing it more often now that he’s gotten deeper into his medical practice. 

In Shouto’s final year at UA, Natsuo made the decision to fully shift into Pre-Med. The aftermath of the war left a big portion of Musutafu lost and in dire need of a society to believe in. To Natsuo, this felt like a calling; an effort of playing his part to restore faith in a better, functioning system that did not discriminate. Internal medicine felt expansive in that way.

This, of course, also meant that Natsuo was now the (unofficial) assigned private and personal doctor of the Todoroki family—to Shouto, mostly. 

So—

A… Crush?

“How does that happen?” Shouto turns to his brother, head tilted in confusion. His brows furrow slightly. 

This isn’t what he was expecting at all. 

“I mean, you said it in your text,” Natsuo reaches for his phone, clicking it open to scroll. The light from his screen reflects on the gray of his irises; then, he air quotes, “you said: ‘my chest feels weird’, then when I asked if anything happened,” his index finger glides across the screen, swiping through a long block of text uncharacteristic of Shouto’s typical dry responses.

“You detailed the entire scene of–” he pauses for a moment, squinting to find a specific line, “–a santa hat? Being put on you, or something. You didn’t mention who but I figured it was—” 

You, Shouto thinks, at the moment Natsuo says your name. That same two-part thump sounds in his ears. 

You, who’s stayed by his side for the past five, nearly six years. You’ve carved your presence so deeply into his life, it’s become an undercurrent in his speech. He doesn’t even think of having to say your name when he talks about you. 

You, and how he turns over this familiarity with you inside his brain. How everyone knows—

“—who else stays with you in the agency past office hours, anyway?” 

Natsuo raises an eyebrow, knowing. 

“We’ve been working together for a while.” Shouto replies, lips pressed firmly into a small pout. 

If he’s being honest, he’s not sure what compelled him to say something Natsuo already knows. To state the obvious? Or to argue, maybe? To act in denial? To express disbelief? 

He takes a long breath, surveying Natsuo’s clinic. The walls are pristine white, the desk and examination bed the same shade of ashen gray—a conscious choice to keep patients calm; ironic, given the state of his thoughts right now. 

Shouto’s mind is buzzing, and Natsuo watches the muddled confusion in his little brother’s eyes shift and swirl in blue-gray emotion. Then he chuckles, holding onto his arm rests as he stands up from the other side of his desk. 

“It can happen, Shouto.” he plants a palm on his little brother’s head, ruffling red and white the way he would have when they were teens, “It’s been years, right? Feelings can develop over time, that sorta thing, you know?” 

Shouto lets the realization settle in. 

Under the weight of his brother’s hand, he feels like a kid again—right before all the training started; and right before being kept away, excluded from the childhood he could have had with his siblings. 

Shouto feels like a teen again, without the trauma, without the war, being taught things about life and himself, about feelings he never had the time nor capacity to explore.

The two-part thump continues, beating. 

A crush. On you. Huh. 

The rustling of his hair dusts strands of warm, fuzzy feelings over his eyelids. 

This feels… new, he thinks. 

.

.

.

Shouto knows his Mondays. 

He gets to Shouto Agency an hour before everyone else does because he likes the stillness of it right before the day turns busy. The sun is up but only barely, casting a soft glow of blue and orange hues through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. 

This habit began years ago, back when the agency functioned on the 7th floor of a commercial building. It was called Flashfreeze then, and even though it had an entire floor of 24 office units, being in a commercial building still meant sharing common areas with other companies and agencies. The morning rush left the elevators flooded in utter chaos daily. 

To Shouto, going in early meant less people and less noise—a quiet bube he could use to prepare himself for the rest of the day.  

A lot has changed since then: the agency’s move into a larger, newly constructed building of its own; staff, interns, and sidekicks quadrupling in numbers; better office spaces, bigger teams, more facilities—a big expansion, essentially. 

Somehow, despite being more settled in the industry, he finds that the days feel even busier than before. 

So, Shouto keeps his Mondays the same: his preference of coming in early carrying itself into this newer, much larger and private office space, and his same habit of brewing himself a cup of tea finding its own spot by the small kitchen nook you helped design during the construction of his office space. 

Everything about his office is optimized for efficiency: the backdoor, where he enters from on most days, opens to an elevator with a matching staircase that both lead straight down to the costume unit, training grounds, and his own parking area; the blinds of his windows automatically draw up and down at set times of the day; and the minimalism of his entire space is carefully considered, with every area plotted for easy navigation. 

It’s sleek and neat, sharp edges and clean lines, straightforward much like he is. Cold, for the most part, save for the corners touched by your warmth.

Pale yellow jars sit on the counter of his kitchen nook, with each one housing sugar, cinnamon, and his stash of tea.  

When he looks more closely around the room, he spots the fresh flowers on his desk—a vase of luscious white chrysanthemums starkly contrasting the dark grays and browns of his interiors; they tell him you must be in already, because even when he manages to come in an hour ahead, you always, without fail, beat him to it 30 minutes too early. 

And also, like always, you enter his office in the same way you do every Monday morning. 

Your heels clack against his stone flooring, marking your arrival. He turns to face you from the kitchen nook, cup of tea in hand as he greets you. 

“Good morning.” 

You jolt, nearly tripping. Your head whips up quickly as you clutch a mass of folders tightly to your chest. 

He takes a sip of his tea, the corners of his lips curling slightly on the edge of his cup. 

“Si–” you clear your throat, correcting yourself as you take a breath. Then you smile warmly, bowing your head slightly, “Shouto, good morning.” 

“You scared me a bit there,” you add with a soft chuckle. 

It’s endearing, he thinks, seeing you caught off guard, so out of your usual composure.

You loosen your grip on the folders, “I just came to place this on your desk,” your finger taps against the plastic, “I didn’t notice you were here already, sorry.” 

“No worries,” he sets down his tea cup, pocketing one hand in his sweatpants, “do you want some tea?” 

“I’m good, thank you,” you shake your head, walking towards his desk to set the folders down, “Just a couple of debriefs for the case last month.” 

He nods, eyes tracking your movement around the room. You pause then turn to him, clicking your pen as you say, “Let me get your schedule so we can do the run-down.” 

Shouto moves to his desk when you leave, settling into the few squeaks and cracks of the leather chair you helped restore using your quirk—the ability to minimally reconstruct organic matter. 

Not even a few minutes pass until you return, a tablet perched on the crook of your elbow with a digital pen in hand. 

This is part of his Monday routine. 

The agenda you follow is the same: a schedule run-down for the coming week, any notable trips or events, report updates, and department updates. Occasionally, PR will have you relay messages they have trouble communicating nicely—most of the time, they involve suggestions for him to ‘smile more’ or ‘answer questions more enthusiastically’. 

You have no problem telling him these things straight up, and he has no issue hearing it directly from you, either. 

For this week, you detail a few meetings scheduled for tomorrow and Wednesday, along with updates on his costume revisions, to be fitted on Wednesday afternoon, and—

“Deku requested a joint patrol on Thursday morning, so I moved your fitting for the gala to that evening instead. Is that okay with you?” you look up from your tablet, the tip of your pen hovering over the screen. 

In this light, you’re bathed in the colors of sunrise. 

(From where you’re standing, Shouto is backlit by the rising sun. His figure is washed over by a faded shadow, but you can see his eyes clearly, bright turquoise and dark gray staring right at you.

You hold your breath; you are well aware of Shouto’s tendencies to stare, but he’s taking much longer to answer you this time. And you don’t know what to do, where to look. Do you wait until—)

Shouto nods, catching himself lingering. 

You mumble an ‘okay’ before tapping on your tablet. 

The rest of your reminders are about upcoming events and deadlines: there’s the company team building happening in a few weeks, and a few reports due today and tomorrow. Fuyumi moved the family lunch to Saturday to make way for his photoshoot on Sunday. 

He watches you from his desk as you speak, your foot tapping in conjunction with each item you relay to him, as if marking every point. It’s a thing you do, something he’s noticed in the years you’ve worked together. 

Shouto knows his Mondays, and he’s always been relaxed during these earlier parts of it. 

But ever since that check-up with Natsuo, he’s been more… conscious about it lately. It seems to be a consistent trend that every time he’s around you, he feels a significant uptick in his heartbeat. 

Except now, when you speak—

“Will you be bringing a plus-one to the gala this year? The committee is confirming how many seats they’ll reserve for you.” 

—his heart feels like it drops, plummeting straight to his stomach. 

He looks at you intently, a slight crease forming between his brows. 

You go to most of these things with him; you always have, ever since. 

So, why are you even asking? 

He thinks about it, deciding what to say next. The thought of you not going with him feels weird. Unusual. 

If you’re unavailable, he supposes he can just go alone. 

But—

“What should I do then?” Shouto shifts in his seat, peering up at his brother. 

Natsuo’s instinctive reaction is to laugh; after all, it’s not often that you see pro-hero Shouto at a loss on troubleshooting. But when he spots pure and genuine uncertainty swirling in heterochromatic gray and blue, he sees his little brother—Shouto at ages 4, 8, and 12, still a little helpless on what to do.

“Do you want to do something about it?” Natsuo asks gently, squeezing Shouto’s shoulders. 

Shouto doesn’t say anything. 

The lack of response tells him all he needs to know. 

“Maybe figure that out first, then just be honest about it when the time comes. Nothing beats saying it plain and simple.” 

—‘just be honest about it’ echoes in his head, Natsuo’s voice morphing into his own.

“Will you not be available?” he manages to ask flatly, masking his worry. 

(You look up from your tablet and his eyes meet yours, an intensity in his gaze that’s only been directed at you a handful of times before.) 

“Oh,” you fluster a little, shifting your weight, “I will be, but I just thought…”

He can hear you hesitate, voice trailing off as if contemplating your next words. His head dips to coax you to go on. 

“...I just thought, maybe you’d want to bring someone from your family?” you give a small smile, half-genuine, half-uncertain. 

You know Shouto’s family; know their stories and know what each of them are like, individually. 

You know how far they’ve come into healing, seeing Touya through multiple cycles of rehab and relapse. You’ve witnessed his mother’s strength first-hand, watching her rebuild their family with the help of Fuyumi. On the weekends when work wouldn’t let up for Shouto, she’d welcome you to join in family lunches too. 

There were days during Natsuo’s medical internship when he’d go to the office at midnight because the hospital was nearby. It was the only free time he and Shouto had at the time, but Natsuo would ask you to join in, the three of you slurping on cup noodles while Natsuo prattled on about the absurdity of some of his coworkers. 

So, Shouto can fully understand your intentions. After all, he thinks you’ve been instrumental to his family’s healing, too. 

But he has his reasons for never bringing Fuyumi—she usually has school the next day, if not volunteer work at an orphanage. Natsuo has gotten increasingly busier with his practice, and Touya—Touya is still in rehab, and though he’s allowed at home three times a week, Shouto’s sure he’d rather spend it doing things other than being in a room full of pro-heroes. 

“It might be nice to bring your mom,” you add on.

And as for that—

“The gala is this Friday?” he leans forward, the tips of his bangs brushing his eyelids. 

You nod.

“She and Touya are going to the gardens,” he recalls, his mother casually mentioning it the last time he visited. 

You look pleasantly surprised, “Oh,” then your small smile returns, “that’s good to hear.” 

(It must mean a lot to Rei, you think. She’s always wanted to make up for lost time.) 

You don’t say anything else, silence filling the conversation as you hold his gaze.

It isn’t uncommon for Shouto to hold stare-offs, with you especially, but this might just be the first time he feels fully conscious about it—wondering what you’re thinking; if you can read his mind and tell what he’s thinking. 

“Do you not want to join me?” he asks, a small pout forming on his face. 

(The softness of his cheeks sink just a little bit, and his eyes lose some of the luster they typically carry in the morning. 

He looks so sad, you wish you just said yes in the first place. 

How do you even respond to this?) 

“No, n-no–” you stutter, inching forward subconsciously, “–it’s nothing like that.” 

You check your tablet, swiping through your calendar. He can see portions of it from where he’s sitting, your Friday definitely freed up and empty. 

He pushes himself up, standing to full-height. His hands dig into the pockets of his sweatpants as he tilts his head to the side. 

“What seems to be the problem then?” 

(In your years of knowing Shouto, you’ve learned that he never intends to sound harsh even though his words may seem like it. But even though you’re aware that he only means to be curious, you still feel a little embarrassed admitting that you didn’t anticipate the possibility of going to the gala with him this Friday. 

You’ve always been prepared; it’s in your job description to be like this. You should have had a back-up dress just in case. You shouldn’t have shown Shouto your hesitation in the first place.

So, you breathe out, voice level and calm. This is your problem to fix, you don’t have to let him know about it. You’ll find a way, like you always do.) 

“There’s no problem. I’ll add my name to the list then.”

Then you smile, but it’s just a touch uneasy, and if there’s one thing you underestimate about Shouto—for just as much as you know him, he’s gotten to know you pretty well too. 

He pauses. The last thing he would want is for you to feel forced to go.

“If you have other plans, I hope you don’t feel obligated to go. I can go alone.”

His brows furrow, crease deepening and heart still sinking. 

(And you can see it, that little pout on his face staying right where it is. 

You’re endeared, touched by his consideration.

“I don’t have other plans,” you grin, brighter and more at ease, “and I don’t feel forced to go either,” you sigh, hiding a small chuckle. 

A pause. 

You mull it over before deciding to admit why you were hesitant in the first place, “I thought you were going to bring your mom, so I wasn’t able to prepare a dress.”)

Shouto’s eyes widen slightly, mouth opening to express his apologies. 

“But–!” you interrupt, “That’s my fault,” you raise your hand, swaying it side-to-side. “So please don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.” 

The smile on your face is meant to reassure him, he knows, but he still feels guilty. 

This Friday’s gala is the Annual Midyear Pro-Hero Awards; it’s grand because it’s important, and the dress code is always black-tie—everything typically made custom. 

He tilts his head slightly, thinking, eyes zeroing in on the small calendar propped up on his desk.

“My suit is being made by Bakugo’s parents, correct?” 

You nod, reiterating, “Your final fitting is on Thursday night.”

His gaze flits to you once again. 

(There’s that look in his eyes you’ve become all too familiar with—a glint of mischief accompanying a sort-of ‘Eureka!’ moment that means he’s thought of something.

The pieces click together, realization dawning upon you, but when you open your mouth to refuse—)

“I can ask them to do yours as well.” Shouto beats you to it. 

It wouldn’t be fair for you to scramble for your outfit last minute simply because he assumed you knew you were going. You shouldn’t be more stressed than you already are. 

“Si– Shouto,” you say firmly, “That’s too much.” 

“I’m sure they won’t mind,” he flashes you a small smile. 

(And you hate to admit it, but he’s right.

The Bakugo’s have known you for as long as you’ve been Shouto’s assistant. They’ve consistently designed his suits for big events like the Pro-Hero Awards, and Mitsuki has always extended their services to you too, knowing full well that you are Shouto’s plus-one most of the time. 

She likes to chat with you during suit pick-ups, with Masaru serving you a cup of tea as you wait for minor tweaks and adjustments to Shouto’s outfits. 

“It would be too last minute,” you resist, feeling bad for the hassle this would impose on them.

“Then I can call them later today.” Shouto reaches for his phone, eagerly typing what you assume is a reminder to call Mitsuki some time later, just as he said he would. 

“You–” your voice hesitates, “you don’t have to do that. I can contact their secretary–”

This is part of your job, after all. 

“It will be much faster if I call them directly.” 

And while he does have a point, you still feel bad, inching closer towards his desk, “It’s okay, you shouldn’t have to concern yourself with this–” 

He gives you a look. 

You stop moving. 

Shouto is stubborn, this much you know. When he looks like this, you’re well aware that there’s no point dissuading him from doing something he’s already set his mind to.)

“It’s only right given that I told you last minute.” 

He tells this to you sincerely; it really is the least he can do. 

Besides—

“…be honest…” the words replay in his head.

—he swallows his truth; lets it sink deep into stomach along with that two-part thump in his chest. 

“I only feel comfortable going to these with you, anyway.” 

(Your mind blanks, coming up with nothing else to say but ‘okay’.) 

.

.

.

Cameras flash as Shouto steps down from his van. 

The building ahead of him is colossal, tall pillars and perfect arches made of raw stone and marble—it feels both ancient and otherworldly, fitting to represent Musutafu in this new age. Ahead of him, the staircase stretches on, steps spanning the width of half a block. Down its center cascades a luscious carpet, thick velvet that further lends to the grandeur of the event. 

Standing at the foot of the staircase, Shouto takes a moment to unbutton his suit jacket, revealing his perfectly fitted waistcoat underneath. 

(You know he isn’t doing it on purpose; it’s hardly ever Shouto’s intention to make people swoon, but you’re positive that that one move alone can make anyone melt on sight—you included.) 

Tonight is the Annual Midyear Pro-Hero Awards, a prestigious event where hero rankings, major announcements, and charity biddings take place. 

(It’s not anything new to the both of you, but Shouto skipped out on the past two, and it’s been years since you joined him on the last one he went to. Being here again after so long makes you feel a little out of practice.

After he scales the flight of stairs ahead, Shouto turns back to you, offering his arm for support as you step down from the vehicle. You hesitate, partly because you don’t know whether it’s acceptable behavior for you to take it, and also because you don’t remember if this was something you did the last time you went to one of these with him.

You can’t think straight—not when he looks as seraphic as he does, face half-illuminated by the lights behind him with the shadows hugging the softness of his cheeks. 

Shouto is beautiful, a fact you’ve known long before you ever even started working with him; but you’re reminded of that fact in moments like this, especially. 

“The steps are tall,” he tells you, shaking you out of your thoughts as you glance back at the staircase behind him. You try not to stare, but the strands that frame his forehead shift from his sudden movement; it scatters into a perfect mess—characteristic of how anything out of place always seems to look on him.

You take his offer.)

His forearm is firm against your palm, the thick fabric of his suit jacket providing cushion for your touch. When he bends it towards his chest, your fingers slip towards the crook of his elbow. 

Scarlet red contrasts the building’s stone white structures, the carpet providing a center stage for all heroes and public figures to parade their outfits. If not for the photographers yelling, “Shouto, right!” and “Shouto, left!”, he would have gone straight inside, barely pausing on the landings between each flight of stairs. 

You stand to the side when he takes them, just as you always do. But between each flash that goes off, Shouto thinks about whether you should join him too; after all, Mitsuki did intend for the dark navy of your dress to match the stone gray of his three-piece suit. 

When you finally arrive at the lobby of the city hall, the two of you are welcomed into a receiving area adorned with crystal chandeliers. The lights bounce off the sharp white edges of the building’s neoclassical interiors, the carpet’s scarlet red returning as a recurring motif in the form of drapes cascading from the high ceilings and down the sides of the room.

By this time, Shouto’s relaxed a bit more, his hand slipping loosely into his front pocket. 

(You don’t realize you’re still holding onto him until you’re midway across the floor.) 

“Hey, you guys!” Kirishima waves over, squeezing himself within a narrow space between the backs of who look like one of the executives of the hero commission and last year’s awarded peace ambassador. 

(You don’t know how he could have possibly fit, the width of him wider than any pro-hero you know, but you chuckle at his timid mumbles of “sorry, excuse me, just passing through.” It reminds you of how he typically approaches you when he asks for favors regarding joint patrols and assignments with Shouto.

He greets you both with his trademark hug, a bone-crushing grip that leaves you a little winded.) 

“I didn’t know the two of you were coming!” 

“It was a last minute decision,” Shouto smiles, small and fond. 

(You look at Shouto intently from beside Kirishima, as if processing what he means. And when his eyes meet yours, you feel caught, shy, averting your gaze quickly.)

Kirishima clears his throat, no doubt noticing the interaction but choosing to focus on something else instead—Shouto’s outfit, a dark navy tie tucked underneath a fitted gray waistcoat; the white collar of his button down peeking through the all stone-gray ensemble. His hair is styled down, bangs curled inwards to form commas that frame his forehead.  

“Looking good, man.” the red head deflects, joining his index finger and thumb to form an ‘O-K’ sign as he nods at Shouto. Then he turns to you, the same genuine smile on his face as he says, “That color really suits you.” 

You smile sheepishly, mumbling, “Thanks.” 

(Kirishima is a sweetheart; you can never doubt that his intentions are pure. But the attention makes you feel a little self-conscious, even more now that—) 

Shouto looks at you then, again, too.

It’s the only time he’s managed to get a real good look at you if he’s being honest; from the incident in the car to the flashing lights up the staircase, there haven’t been many opportunities to fully see what you’re wearing. 

And—

Kirishima’s right. 

The color really does suit you, but so does the design of your dress—a simple cowl neck joining into halter straps; it dips low at the back, this detail of it, he knows. He’s been careful not to touch you there the entire time so far. It doesn’t help that your hair is tied into a low bun, accentuating the vacant space with how the dress hugs you beautifully in all the right places. 

The dark navy satin was a good choice, the perfect vessel for catching ripples of light. 

It’s simple but classic; understated, just like the accessories you’ve chosen are. And it brings out the one thing he thinks carries this look the most—

You. 

He tries to form the words in his head, urging himself to speak up—he wants to give you a compliment of his own. 

But—

“Bakubro!” Kirishima waves overhead, much like he did earlier. 

—maybe he can try again next time. 

You and Kirishima don’t stay long after Bakugo arrives, Ashido coming in to whisk you and the redhead away to the main room. She loops her arm around yours and pulls you towards her, prompting you to give one last glance at Shouto as an expression of your apologies. 

The corner of his lips curl only the slightest bit. 

Bakugo watches. 

“Don’t forget the drinks, Blasty!” Ashido calls over her shoulder, green silk flowing behind her. 

He tuts, grumbling as he heads towards the reception bar, leaving Shouto in the middle of the receiving area, unsure of where to follow. 

“Y’coming or what?” 

Shouto lingers for a few seconds, watching your back disappear into the hall before he decides to walk after Bakugo.  

The lobby begins to quiet down as people flood into the main event area, a large hall adorned with the same scarlet red drapes and crystal chandeliers. The table arrangements have been pre-selected and arranged, you and the others most likely finding your seats inside. 

“Old hag told me you’re dating.” 

Bakugo speaks, his back still turned to Shouto. 

The bar in front of them offers a generous selection of drinks, all ranging from different wines to cocktails and liquor shots. It isn’t a surprise that Bakugo knows all of his friends’ chosen drinks, down to each specificity—it’s how he shows that he cares. Shouto’s come to learn that over the years. 

Their friendship has settled into its own dynamic as Bakugo’s mellowed down. Shouto will ask a question here and there, and Bakugo will look at him like he’s the dumbest fuck on the planet, but still answer anyway. 

It works, as evidenced by right now. 

Shouto stops right beside Bakugo, leaning against the countertop as he hums, confused, “Who?” 

Bakugo sighs, sliding Shouto his gin and tonic, “Mom.” Then he rolls his eyes, gesturing towards the door of the main room, “She told me you two are finally dating.”

Shouto pauses mid-sip. 

When he recalls the conversation he had with Mitsuki, it went a lot more like:

“Can a dress be made for my assistant as well?” he speaks into the line, “I will be bringing them to the gala.” 

He doesn’t think he insinuated anything. 

But now that he replays it in his head, it’s no wonder Mitsuki’s enthusiastic reply sounded so eager. 

Bakugo snorts, smirking as if his suspicion was just proven right, “Knew that lady was hearin’ shit.” 

The bartender serves up another drink, Ashido’s raspberry daiquiri being placed right in front of the blond before he moves on to mix another one. Clacking ice fills in the silence, the drink coming together inside the shaker. 

Shouto stares at his drink and watches as little bubbles form on the slice of lime submerged in it. 

“Are you at least thinkin’ about it?” the blond faces Shouto, leaning his forearm against the counter. 

Shouto furrows his brows, a single thought running through his mind.

“How did you know?” 

Bakugo stares, deep vermillion as he speaks, deadpan, “You can’t be serious.” 

Shouto stares right back. 

Another drink is served, Kaminari’s mixed drink of vodka, lime, and lemonade.

The stare-off persists for a few seconds, a series of blinks emphasizing Shouto’s cluelessness to the whole ordeal. Because—why does it feel like everyone knows? Did he mention it without knowing? Or is it really just that obvious?

Bakugo sighs, mentally facepalming as he turns back to watch the bartender shake another drink, “Whatever. S’none of my business.” He leans onto the counter, elbows resting on the steeltop. 

Shouto isn’t sure what else to say. He knows that Bakugo is observant, that his friend has always had a keen sense of awareness for the things going on around him; it just never crossed his mind that that would include his interactions with you.

The blond slides over Ashido’s drink, prompting Shouto to hold the flute of the glass between his fingers, “Just don’t be a fuckin’ dumbass about it. Gotta be dense as hell if you think the way you’re treated is part of the job description.”

The bartender serves up the final drink: Sero’s whiskey on the rocks. Bakugo takes it along with Kaminari’s and starts walking back to the main room, Shouto following right behind him. 

He thinks about it. 

A thump. 

Because right before they both enter the hall, Shouto spots you, further back at the right side of the room as you laugh at something Yaoyorozu must have said. 

He blinks, wondering if the soft glow around you is from the haziness of his eyes. 

“If y’don’t do shit first, some other loser will,” Bakugo mumbles, just within ear-shot before he walks ahead to where Kirishima and the others are seated. 

Shouto makes a mental note to drop off Ashido’s drink before heading over to you. 

.

.

.

You and Shouto leave the gala early.

A message from the police station came in the middle of the event: a request to bump up a few reports for submission tomorrow.

You’d mentioned to Shouto that he could stay, especially since he’d be needed to accept awards that you were sure he’d be the recipient of—among them being one of the top performing agencies of the year, a big chunk of it based on the high turnover rate of timely reports. But he insisted that someone else could represent him instead; he’s certain Midoriya wouldn’t mind. 

If you were going back to the agency to work, so was he. 

The night shift at the agency is minimally staffed, with most sidekicks and pro-heroes out on patrol. Regular employees have clocked out by this time, and it seems that the only ones left in the building are the emergency unit and the two of you. 

You’ve split the work between you two: Shouto tasked to fill in the second pages, where the scene-by-scene breakdown and additional comments can be found, and you, in charge of summarizing those details along with all basic information onto the first pages. 

It feels nostalgic, watching you flip through the papers laid out on the coffee table of his lounging area at a quarter past midnight. Back then, he had just hired you, and the only other employees in the agency were his gear tech and PR manager. There was no way the volume of workload could be managed without spending late nights organizing investigations and reports on the floor of that rented studio unit. 

Now, you sit by the coffee table in his lounging area, one you helped decorate. The books atop it have been pushed to the side to give you ample workspace, but even those remind him of how much consideration you’ve put into helping him build his space. 

Bakugo’s words linger when he thinks about it—how the books you’ve chosen remind him of his family. There’s one on the language of flowers that his mother would love, and a cookbook that he’s sure Fuyumi’s used (some corners are folded, with her handwriting scrawled on every other page). On another stack lie a few comic books he remembers Touya and Natsuo reading when they were younger (that he’s pretty sure he’s seen them flip through during their visits to his office over the years).  

And along with all the books sits a family photo taken years ago, framed and taken by you during one of their annual trips to their family beach house a few hours away from the city. 

It begins to sink in. 

A thump.

He folds the sleeves of his button down to his elbows, his gray suit jacket long since draped over the back of his leather chair. You’ve changed out of your heels too, opting instead for the soft slippers you keep under your desk. 

It’s cute, he thinks, the formality of your entire get-up toned down by a pair of fluffy yellow slippers. 

When he glances at you again, he finds you hunched over yourself on the sofa of his lounging area, an arm wrapped around yourself as if to contain whatever warmth you have left. 

He furrows his brows. 

“Are you cold?” his voice booms through the stillness of his office, jostling you out of focus. You whip your head up to look at him, shaking it immediately as if on autopilot. 

(He pouts, then, a small downturn of his lips that you find adorable, more than anything.) 

“I’m okay,” you smile, but he can see the slight twitching of your lip; the goosebumps dotting down your trembling arms. 

You always seem to be doing things like this with him. 

He pushes himself away from his desk, the wheels of his chair rolling against the stone floor. 

You never express your discomfort in any situation you’re put in, and you diligently work and endure all conditions to get the job done. He always extends his help, but you often decline, and—

“You have to be dense as hell if you think the way you’re treated is part of the job description.”

—Shouto is beginning to realize that the way you treat him really is so much more than that. 

You’ve laid the groundwork of the operations in his agency and you always smooth talk your way to getting him out of schedules he mistakenly forgets to show up to (typically with good reason, though). You cover all the areas he misses—this entire building would not be how it looks and functions without your help overseeing its construction. 

You’re organized and driven, eager and compassionate, and you care, above all else. 

The flowers you leave on his desk are never needed, but you always insist on them to keep his space alive. You fix all his clumsy papercuts, even though he never asks you to; he’s dealt with much, much worse, yet it’s only a split-second after you spot it that the tingling of your quirk works its way to mend his split skin. 

It’s just like what happened in the car earlier tonight, a few minutes away from reaching the city hall. Shouto had accidentally cut himself with the invitation to the gala, and though he insisted that it was okay, it was right on his eyelid—a miracle it even missed his eyeball in the first place, you’d commented. 

You managed to convince him then, saying, “It’s going to sting every time you blink.” —which was true; it did sting every time he blinked. 

That care extends to the people in his life too. His mom loves to go to the weekend market with you, and Fuyumi can always count on you to help her cook when she needs an extra hand. You keep up with Natsuo’s jokes and Touya talks to you, long enough conversations that allow him to be himself. 

You care, and you insist upon your care especially when you know he needs it but would never ask for it. 

It’s only fair, then, that it’s time he does the same for you. 

He removes the suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, the movement drawing your attention. 

(Your eyes widen as he approaches you. You feel shy, a little flustered as you raise your hands up to reassure him that you don’t need it.) 

“Your arms are shivering.” he points out, holding up the thick fabric. 

You crane your neck up to look at him, just a few steps away from reach. 

(You can’t deny the facts.)

From above, he only sees skin—the plunging dip of your exposed back, the small hairs standing along your arms. He tries his best to look into your eyes only, but—

“At least let me place this over you.” 

(And you know you can’t deny Shouto, either.) 

—when you concede and let him, he steps closer and bends just a little bit, his full height too tall to be able to place it on you properly. His arms circle around you, carefully resting the thick wool around your neck and onto your shoulders. 

He bends lower to adjust the sleeves, making sure that your arms are fully covered. You’re so still, and so close, the tips of his ears nearly touching the highest points of your cheeks. 

(It’s just like the gala—)

It’s just like the car—

(—with Shouto helping you navigate through the crowd of people exiting the event as early as you both did. His presence was a steady heat against your back, near and warm but barely touching.)

—with your face almost nose-to-nose with his; apart from the gentle touch of your fingertip against his eyelid, Shouto can only remember feeling that, along with the traitorous thump of his heartbeat. 

It’s a good thing that he had his eyes closed then; he wouldn’t have known how to react at the proximity. 

But now, he can see you so clearly, your low bun kept in place by bobby pins the same color of your hair; there’s glitter on the inner corners of your eyes, some of it falling to dot the corners of your nose. 

This has to be more than just a crush if he’s feeling this intensely.  

Your eyes meet for a brief moment, then it’s two blinks before you look away, clearing your throat as you glance at him again, a little bashful, “Thank you.” 

Shouto nods, taking one step back. 

“The estate we booked for the company outing offered to host a visit for you next weekend.” you speak before he fully returns to his seat, shifting in your seat, “I checked your schedule and there’s nothing set for that day yet.” His suit jacket dwarfs you, the deep navy silk becoming an accent the further you sink into it, “Maybe you’d like to go with your mom?”

You suggest it to him again. Because you know and you care. 

He taps his foot, looking out into the city, “That would be nice.” Then he turns back to you, strands of his bangs falling to dust his forehead as he puts his hands inside his pockets, “You’ll be coming too, then?” 

(There are things you don’t allow your heart to feel in moments like this—hope being one of them. Shouto looks dangerously attractive in a suit, and it’s been difficult to keep your feelings at bay the entire night. He speaks honestly, rarely with double meaning, so when he speaks to you like this, you try not to think too much of it. 

“Yes,” you agree, thinking that he must want you to scope out the venue for the company outing activities, “is there anything in particular that you want me to check out for the team building?”)

Shouto tilts his head. 

“Not for work,” he clarifies, staring straight into your eyes. “Just to spend the day with us.” 

He expects your reaction already, your eyes widening and your hands raising to wave off a ‘there’s no need.’ But, he finds that there’s no reason for you to be shy, already beating you to the final say.

“Mom would want you there,” he mentions, because it’s true. She’d look for you. 

And if he’s being completely honest with himself, with how he’s been feeling around you lately—he would too. 

II. IF I SPEAK

The Todoroki family home comes alive on the weekends. 

Since Touya’s return, his mom has moved into a smaller, more modern place to stay. The walls of its exteriors are painted a warm off-white, its features complemented by light wood and bluish-gray accents. At the back exists a garden large enough for a few small trees and her growing flower collection—a complete flip from their larger and darker old home. 

The tall windows stream sunlight into the living space, each corner of the house doused in its comfort. Opting for a smaller home was a conscious choice—everything would be within reach, and so would the people in it. 

On the days that Touya is allowed to stay home from rehab, he lives here, sometimes with Fuyumi, but always with Rei. 

“Food is ready!” Fuyumi calls from the kitchen, prompting Touya and Natsuo to look over from the couch. Shouto is just about to finish setting the table when Rei brings out a piping hot pot of soup, Fuyumi in tow with a whole plate of tonkotsu. 

Natsuo heads inside the kitchen for anything else that might need carrying, and Touya opens the fridge to take out the iced tea he helped make last night.

It’s taken some time to get here—with Touya willingly doing anything with his family. Getting used to living with people he thought abandoned him for a decade is hard; learning to become a family has been even harder. 

But Touya has always lived in a special corner of his mother’s heart—never forgotten and always considered. Shouto thinks it’s the same case for all of them; that’s how it’s managed to work. 

Touya takes his seat beside Shouto, pouring himself a glass of iced tea while waiting for the rest of their family. 

“Played any golf lately?” Touya eyes Shouto from the side.  

Shouto shakes his head, staring at his palms; calluses used to line the base of his fingers, “Work at the agency has gotten busy.” 

Taking up golf has been part of Touya’s rehabilitation program for the past few months, a recommendation to aid in improving focus while keeping himself calm. And though there was much resistance at first, Touya’s grown fond enough of the sport to play it on his own; it’s made all the difference, Shouto’s noticed, his brother’s overall disposition a lot less angry—

“Looks like I’m going to beat your ass next week,” Touya smirks, cracking his wrists. 

—but still equally as snarky.

Shouto doesn’t normally care about competition; the only person he really has to beat is himself. But he and Touya are alike in many ways, with eyes as sharp as their father’s but their faces holding the same innocence as their mother’s. They are both lit up by fires—one forced to blaze and the other forced to dim. There is a bluntness Shouto shares with Touya that no one else in the family can argue with.

“Being too confident can jinx it for you on the fairway,” Shouto replies, turning to his brother with his signature blank gaze. 

Natsuo laughs as he settles into his seat beside Touya, watching as his older brother’s smirk quickly dissolves into a frown. 

“Little shit,” Touya mumbles, taking a sip from his drink. 

The corners of Shouto’s lips curl up slightly. 

Rei and Fuyumi join the table last, bringing out a steaming pot of rice and a few side dishes to complement the rest of the meal. 

These family lunches keep them connected. 

Fuyumi believes that no matter how busy they are, having this time to gather together and share details on each other’s lives is important.

“Sorry I can’t join you and these two next weekend, mom,” Natsuo starts, slicing through his tonkotsu as he points an elbow towards his brothers, “The hospital has a medical mission out of town.” 

Rei simply smiles, waving her hand, “No need to apologize. I’m so proud of you, Natsuo.” 

“Will you be free, Fuyumi?” she turns next to her, placing a hand on Fuyumi’s lap. 

Fuyumi swallows her food, smiling apologetically, “Sorry, mom, the school’s hosting a kiddie pool party for the first day of summer.”  

Rei pats her lap reassuringly, smiling again as she says, “It’s no problem, I’m glad the kids are having fun under your care.” 

“It’ll just be the three of us, then.” Rei looks at her two boys across from her—her eldest and her youngest. 

Touya blows at his bowl, puffs of steam dissipating into the air. For as hot as Touya’s flames can get, he dislikes anything too hot to eat—a preference of his that Rei’s taken note of as she reaches across the table to cool down his bowl ever so slightly. 

“Thanks,” Touya mumbles, still hesitant to call her ‘mom’ when it’s face-to-face. 

“I heard the estate has a greenhouse,” Shouto mentions, Rei instantly perking up at the information, “You can take a look at the plants there, mom.” 

“That sounds lovely, Shouto,” she smiles; this time, it reaches her eyes, “We can take photos in your handsome outfits too.” 

Touya scrunches his nose as Shouto nods. As per the invitation, the estate prepared a whole day’s worth of activities—a game of golf in the morning, brunch by the gardens, and a simple wine tasting to cap off the afternoon. 

Lunch continues with Fuyumi sharing more about the kids she’s handling this year, and Natsuo retelling interactions of the most obnoxious patients he’s had yet. 

They laugh, a little more like a family—Shouto chuckling as Touya gives a snarky comment or two. Fuyumi laughs, full-bodied, and Rei giggles, softly, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. 

“How are your flowers, mom?” Shouto asks after they settle down, remembering that you helped her pick out which ones to plant last time. 

“The morning glories are going to be blooming soon,” Rei replies, her smile fond and proud. Since being released from the hospital years ago, she’s taken to planting and flower arranging, oftentimes asking you to help her choose which ones to use. 

“Really?” Fuyumi turns her head, gasping as she catches a glance from the window across the room, “They look good, mom! Can I have some when they bloom?” 

Rei nods, turning to her youngest, “You can get some too, Shouto.” 

For you, she adds.

Natsuo eyes him from the side as he freezes, Rei suggesting some more, “You can place it in a vase. It’s not fair, you always receive flowers for your desk.” 

Shouto nods, a small ‘okay’ because he doesn’t really know how else to respond without giving his feelings away. 

Touya observes Shouto’s expressions, his eyes twinkling in sinister aquamarine.

“Speaking of,” he shifts in his seat, crossing his legs to face Shouto, “s’your hot assistant coming?” 

Something twists in Shouto’s face, his brows furrowing slightly. 

Touya knows just how to get on Shouto’s nerves.

(What stares back at him is a deadly shade of gray and blue. 

Touya does this pretty often: provoking just for fun. 

Shouto stares at almost everyone he interacts with; it’s unnerving and uncomfortable for people who aren’t used to it, but Touya’s noticed that his little brother stares at you for far longer than he needs to. 

And though he’s missed a big chunk of how Shouto grew up, he likes to think he reads him pretty well now—how he acts around you, especially.

At his core, Shouto believes in carving his own path, choosing to fix wrongs and better himself for the now. Touya knows these things, knows where a person is weakest, just like he’s been taught—just like he’s been made aware of his entire life. Yet, for how independent Shouto’s become, he still chooses to lean on you; turns to you for thoughts and opinions,  considering you in everything. 

Touya has met you a few times; the whole family has. During the worst of his relapse, you were the only person apart from family who was trusted to accompany him in and out of rehab. You picked him up and dropped him off, often joining Rei and Fuyumi on visits when Shouto would be too busy. 

To him, you’re an extension of Shouto at this point—an olive branch that’s been just as instrumental in healing this family and the people in it. 

It’s never in the big things, but those few minutes of small talk you attempt with him in the car ride home help loosen his tongue, training a muscle that with time, has helped him open up more. 

Touya doesn’t care much for people; he’s still just beginning to learn to love his family again, but he thinks you fit in well, because you and Natsuo have the same god-awful humor, and Fuyumi only trusts you to help out in the kitchen. His mom likes having you around, and you never stick your neck in too deep in other people’s shit when they aren’t ready for it—especially his. You never nag Shouto, but you stand firm on the things you disagree with, because as far as Touya can see, you care, far deeper than your job requires you to. 

In all ways, you are the stability and calm authenticity that Shouto needs after growing up in such a tumultuous family.

So, Touya likes to stir the pot a little. Or a lot. Maybe.

Just for fun.)

Shouto continues to stare, his frown deepening. His jaw clenches, tension throbbing in his temples.

“Don’t say it like that,” he mutters, low and firm.

He feels like a kid again; like this would be a conversation they’d be having if things were normal and Touya had been around when Shouto turned 15, teasing him about a crush he might have, like older brothers do. 

Natsuo and Fuyumi have always felt like his protectors, siblings forced to be parents by circumstance; but Touya feels like his brother, the one he can fight and steal food from; the one who holds a toy up above head where Shouto can’t reach—even though he’s much, much taller than his older brother now. 

Touya scoffs, smirking, “Just saying what you think, little brother.”

.

.

.

All Shouto hears is a thump. 

A succession of them, in a steady three-part beat. 

The golf ball in front of him sits on an even plot of vibrant green, its dents and grooves emphasized by the sunlight of the early morning—there’s pressure, a thump; he needs to beat Touya in this hole to tie overall. Another thump; you’re watching him play. 

He analyzes all conditions, feels the heat on his back seep through the fabric of his white golf shirt. He breathes in and prepares to swing. 

Today is the visit to the estate. 

The agenda starts with an early game of golf, followed by brunch at the gardens and wine tasting in the early to late afternoon. It’s a beautiful day, and Shouto should be focusing on winning this game, but it’s distracting when you’re all he’s really thought about since the start of this round. 

—you, in your perfectly fitted white golf shirt and its complementary skirt; you, sitting with his mom at the back of the golf cart, smiling and laughing as if you aren’t the slightest bit aware of how much you brighten a space when you look like that. You, with your head whipping right in his direction when you hear the loud ‘swauck!’ that the impact of his club makes with the ball—your eyes excited and hopeful. 

Shouto misses the hole, and Touya snickers from the side. 

The thumbs up you give him is a soothing balm to his miss.

Shouto readjusts his cap as they walk closer to the hole, tucking in the strands of hair clinging to his forehead. He glances back at you and lingers, interrupted only by—

“Pretty thing, your assistant,” Touya teases, nudging his head towards your direction, “Cute skirt and all.” 

“Stop.” Shouto stares, impassive and unamused. His eyebrow twitches before he turns, walking away. 

From afar, he can hear Touya’s chuckle, breathy from the movement of fixing his arm sleeve. Shouto only pays attention to preparing his putter.  

He knows this is just how his older brother is. 

Since the start of this round, Touya’s managed to lead by a few strokes, with Shouto falling behind in every hole. It’s frustrating and annoying, aggravated even more by Touya’s teasing and the fact that Shouto has played the sport for far longer than Touya has.

It doesn’t help that he ends up missing again, with Touya managing to make the put afterwards. 

Shouto sighs, clenching his jaw. 

“You know,” Touya eyes him as they walk to the next hole, “staring’s not gonna get you anywhere.” 

“I’m not staring,” Shouto retorts immediately. The expanse of greenery ahead of him is taunting, an endless plot of land that feels like it’s watching.  

Touya scoffs, “Sure.” 

The golf course in the estate is landscaped with luscious trees, vibrant in the brightness of summer. Flowers bloom along the perimeter, yellows and reds carving out this specific section of the estate. You and his mom follow closely behind, riding the cart at a slow and steady pace. 

Just a few meters down, the little red flag for the next hole comes into view, moving with the breeze. 

“If you don’t plan on acting on it, you should let me know.” Touya mentions it a little too casually. 

Another thump. 

It’s a joke. Obviously. Something only meant to rile him up—it’s how Touya is. 

But it still makes him feel just a tad bit uneasy; it makes him feel a little bit like it did when they were kids. 

Before Touya disappeared, they used to sneak into the garden on winter nights. Shouto must have been no older than five and learning how to manage his quirk properly. 

They used to play a game: The Twigfire Race, Touya called it—a competition on who can form the longest and fastest fire trail using a bunch of twigs. 

Touya would always win, his long legs and lanky arms gathering more sticks than Shouto ever could at that age. His flames burned a deep azure blue, eating through the twigs much faster than Shouto’s flames did. Then, he’d press onto the pads of his burnt fingertips, teasing Shouto in some twisted attempt at motivating his little brother to do better. 

Touya would always win, but not without getting a word in. Not without leaving Shouto with a lesson or two about it. 

“I said, stop.” Shouto warns him, voice stern as he turns slightly to catch his brother's eyes. 

“Damn. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Touya raises a hand in mock surrender, smirking, “I can just do it without asking you.” 

Shouto stops walking, fists clenched tightly around his golf club. 

“That’s not funny.” 

“Oh, I’m not joking,” Touya taunts, holding back his laugh.

The stare Shouto gives him turns icy, glare intensifying as he inches closer towards his big brother. Touya doesn’t move, the stare-off lasting long enough for you to notice the confrontation. 

From his periphery, Shouto can see you looking at them in confusion. 

“Or am I?” Touya snickers right before he turns away, walking straight towards the next hole. 

Shouto watches him walk away, each thump matching the footsteps his brother makes. To the side, the cart slows to a halt and you get off, standing up as if to gain a better view of what just happened. 

You lock eyes with Shouto and he musters a small smile, raising a hand as if to say ‘everything’s fine.’ 

“Losers lose ‘cause they don’t get shit done, Shouto!” Touya calls from a few steps ahead. 

Shouto stares at his brother’s back; it’s just how Touya used to say when they were kids—

“You just have to go for it!” 

He takes a step. 

.

.

.

Touya wins the round, with Shouto losing by only a few strokes. 

Rei hugs them both, Touya’s slight reluctance evident in the way his arms stay glued to his side as she wraps hers around the both of them. 

Shouto brings one hand up, resting it against her back; from his line of sight, he spots you smiling fondly, giving him another thumbs up when your eyes meet. 

.

.

.

The estate’s staff escorts everyone to their respective rooms, allowing some time to change into clothes more suited for the late morning brunch. 

When Shouto and Touya finish, they make their way to the greenhouse, a glass dome teeming with life. It’s art in bloom—chrysanthemums, hydrangeas, sunflowers, and camellias all in varying colors of pink, red, purple, and yellow. Under a small bridge is a pond, alive with koi fish swimming underneath pads of water lilies, and right up above, where the sunlight streams in, are baskets of japanese roses, hanging in bright, fuschia clusters. 

He walks atop the bridge, hands stuffed inside his linen pants—a pair that matches the linen shirt you gifted him birthdays ago. What surrounds him is beautiful; perhaps the most heavenly place he’s been to. 

A morning of golf under the sun, nature in florescence. A (relatively) peaceful morning. 

And you—

The moment Shouto spots you, the scenery on your backdrop fades into muddled hues. You and Rei enter the greenhouse side-by-side, with his mother wearing an all-white ensemble: a cardigan with a long, flowy skirt. 

And you—

—you walk in wearing a pale yellow sundress, its hem hitting just above your knees. There are dainty flowers dotted all over it, but nothing too loud; the straps sink into a v-neck with bust details, flowing down into an a-line skirt. It’s perfectly understated, only emphasizing the focus on how radiant you look in it. 

He can’t stop staring. 

Touya snorts as he passes him. 

This day, this sight, is going to stay in his memory for a long, long while, he thinks. 

From up ahead, he can hear his mom call for Touya, dragging him around to ask which blooms would look best for the garden at home. And when he snaps out of the daze you’ve put him in, you appear right beside him, asking if he’s okay. 

“Yes,” he answers promptly, unsure of what to say next. His eyes flit to the baskets of japanese roses hanging above you, then to the view peeking from outside. “Do you want to look around before we eat?”

You nod. 

The depth of the greenhouse is deceiving upon first glance, with Touya and Rei now out of sight as you explore the area. You walk close enough to be side-by-side but still stay a step behind like you typically do, pausing every now and then to take pictures of the flowers around you. 

“You seem more relaxed,” he points out, pushing up the sleeves of his button-up. 

You turn to him from the chrysanthemums you’re snapping, a little flustered at his comment. 

(And at him, mostly. You don’t know how anyone can look this good in a simple linen set. Nature favors Todoroki Shouto, and it shows in moments like now, with sunlight hitting his face at just the right angle that it paints stardust on the tips of his eyelashes.) 

“It’s good,” he quickly follows-up, fluffing through his bangs, “I did mention this wasn’t for work.” 

(You feel warm at the reminder.

“It’s nice to see you with some down time too,” you return the sentiment, uncomfortable with the attention on you.

Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your dress.)

“Did something happen earlier?” you put your phone down, continuing to walk. “At the course. Things looked pretty tense.” 

Shouto hums, considers his next words. He takes a few more steps before answering, “Touya is a dick.” 

A laugh escapes you, and you cover your mouth quickly as you mumble an apology. Shouto knows it’s because it’s completely out of character for him to be so vulgar and insulting when it comes to his siblings.

“Was he sabotaging you?” 

“...Something like that.” he responds. 

“That’s okay,” you scrunch your nose, peering up at him, “You haven’t had much time to play lately.” 

And Shouto wonders if he’s just that easy to console, or if it’s a specific comfort that only comes from you. You make it so easy for him to feel better about all the little and big things—whether it’s news articles headlining him as a PR nightmare, or near-losses on missions gone wrong. 

Not a lot of things get to Shouto, but when they do, you somehow always know how to handle it. 

You continue to stroll around the greenhouse, looking closely at the steel bars holding up the glass arches. From a few steps ahead, Shouto can hear your mumbles—something about measurements and the logistics of turning the rooftop of the agency into a smaller version of this greenhouse.  

“You and mom looked like you were enjoying yourselves earlier,” he mentions offhandedly, hands clasped around his back. 

It’s something he’s noticed for a while—his mother seems to relax more around you, laughing and smiling in most of your conversations. He gets it; you have that effect on everyone around you, the warmth you exude a welcome invitation to be opened up to. 

(You eye him from the side knowingly; Todoroki Shouto is nothing but a closet snoop.) 

“We were talking about plant stuff,” you smile, “and how she’s happy you and Touya finally got to play together. You should’ve seen how red her hands were from clapping for the both of you.” 

He chuckles softly, matching your steps in comfortable silence. 

It’s at a different section of the greenhouse that he pauses, giving you time to admire the shrubs of hydrangeas blooming around you.

Touya’s words come back to him. 

He wonders if he should say it, if he should ask—

“Don’t move,” you tell him, raising your phone to eye-level.

Shouto stares at you, hands in his pockets as he watches you tap on your phone.

“Look to the side,” you instruct him again, and he follows, albeit a little confused. 

When he turns to face you again, the smile on your face is beaming, glowing as you turn your phone to show him the photos you managed to take. 

“The lighting was nice. See!” 

And when you point to the way sunlight streaks highlights onto the redness of his hair, down to the slope of his nose and the width of shoulders, he can’t help but agree. 

Now, he wonders—

“Do you want a photo with the flowers?” Shouto asks, because it makes no sense that you deem him worthy to be pictured in perfect lighting when there’s you, looking like you do—the walking subject to the backdrop of greenery behind you. 

Your eyes widen, a stuttered “O-Oh,” falling from your lips. You tug at your skirt again, fiddling with the soft fabric until your eyes nervously meet his. “I don’t really need—”

“The lighting is nice here, too.”

“Oh,” you respond, a hint of diffidence as you flash a small, hesitant smile, “Okay.” 

As Shouto angles himself to take your photo, he notices you turn restless, the smile on your face never quite reaching your eyes and your fingers constantly twirling the fabric of your dress. 

He puts down his phone, tilting his head. 

“Are insects biting you?”

(Your brows shoot up, embarrassed by how he’s noticed. 

You shake your head in response, providing no other explanation besides “Sorry.” 

He continues to stare, as if waiting for you to continue. You know there’s no point hiding the real reason you feel so nervous when he’s already noticed this much.  

“I think I might be underdressed,” you admit, smiling sheepishly as you clasp your fingers in front of you, “This entire place is gorgeous.”

The estate screams high-class; apart from the golf course and the greenhouse, the area also boasts its own private lake glistening across a large green field. It feels a little too good to be true—a paradise you find yourself out of place in. 

But—)

Shouto looks at you, really looks at you—at the way your dress hits right above your knees at the perfect length, at how your collarbones peek through its dainty v-neck cut. Its pale yellow makes you look like summer, radiating in light, and he thinks he hasn’t seen anything more beautiful, really; anything more fitting—for this occasion, for this venue, for this day. 

For you. 

The words have been lodged at his throat since he first saw you step in, and now they’re being pushed out, coaxed slowly by the honesty beating thunderously in his chest. 

He thinks about his mom, how she speaks of beauty whenever and wherever she finds it, with nothing stopping her speech and—

There’s a hum, a thoughtful vibration priming his throat as he continues to stare. 

“I think you’re dressed just right,” is what he manages to get out. 

A thump. 

It’s more than that, though, he knows. 

If this is his chance, if this is ‘next time’ from his attempt at the gala—

He blinks, and you only get prettier. 

“You look beautiful.” he confesses, the sentence overflowing with honesty.

(And when he says your name unlike any way he’s said it before, you feel your chest expand, terrified that it might explode.

Shouto is blunt and honest to a fault; and that honesty, you’ve realized, also happens to be his most cunning trait—a quality that's endeared you over the years now rendering you into a stuttering, fumbling mess like never before. 

“T-Thank you.” you straighten your dress, “You—”)

Shouto’s phone vibrates in his palm, a call from Touya breaking him out of your conversation. He bows his head slightly to excuse himself and you nod in acknowledgment. 

“Brunch is served,” he relays, pocketing his phone soon after he hangs up.

(Then, with his hand inside his pocket, he bends his arm deeper, creating a wider loop as if to offer it for you to hang onto—the same way he did during the gala.

And just like you did then, you take it.)

.

.

.

Brunch was served at the estate’s main patio, a circular table made of light wood adorned with dainty white tableware and muted green linen. In the middle was a centerpiece, an assortment of fresh flowers from the greenhouse coming together for a pop of color against the main neutral color scheme. 

The food was divine, a lovely selection of seasonal salads and warm breads, along with eggs cooked in every way possible. Newly harvested fruits were served before and after the meal, a kind of appetizer-dessert to complement the main piece—a large slab of freshly caught salmon. 

Now, you all gather on the second floor of the estate’s main building, right at the balcony overlooking the greenhouse and the field—a perfect view for wine tasting.

Shouto doesn’t care much for alcohol, all technicalities going past his head as the sommelier explains notes and wine pairings.

He can’t taste much of the difference, if he’s being honest. 

In the sommelier’s hand is a bottle of red wine; he describes all of the technical parts of it before finishing off with the fact that it’s ‘beautifully balanced’, something that causes Touya to snort at the side. 

Shouto looks, raising an eyebrow curiously. 

Touya leans in closer to his little brother, swirling the wine in his glass as he lowers his voice mockingly, “‘You look beautiful’.”

The expression on Shouto’s face remains unreadable, his brain processing the fact that his brother must have overheard his conversation with you earlier. It’s while Touya begins to gulp down his glass that Shouto steps on his foot—a sharp pressure stomped onto freshly cleaned loafers. 

“Fuckin–” Touya hisses, cursing under his breath as he pulls his foot away. 

The edges of Shouto’s lips curl up as he turns back to his glass of wine, watching from across the table as his mom smiles fondly at something you must have said. 

(You still feel flustered, a little fuzzy. You’re unsure whether the heat emanating off your cheeks is from the wine or the lingering echoes of his compliment earlier.

From across the table, you lock eyes with Shouto, gray and blue sitting strikingly atop flushed cheeks. You look away quickly—a knee-jerk reaction of bashfulness. He doesn’t hold his liquor well, a fact you’ve known for many, many years, so you can’t tell for sure whether he’s turned red from the wine, or from the same thing you’re feeling, too.)

III. LET ME TELL YOU (HONESTLY)

“If y’don’t do shit first, some other loser will.”

“Losers lose ‘cause they don’t get shit done…”

“...just be honest about it when the time comes.”

The streets are calm at this time of night, with cars occasionally passing by and the chimes of shop doors tinkling as they open and shut. Not a lot of people stay up late in this part of the neighborhood, but Shouto still hears them—all the jumbled voices of Bakugo and his brothers merging in his mind. 

He steps onto concrete, footfalls muffled by the cushion of his boots—a new update on his costume, one you suggested after a stealth mission mishap caused by the drag of his heel. 

Tonight is his scheduled patrol—a route he knows like the back of his hand, memorized from the many years he’s been assigned to it. The streetlamps ahead cast a dim glow down the road; an atmosphere he would otherwise find unsettling if not for the fact that it’s provided him odd comfort in times he’s needed it the most. 

Tonight, his mind ruminates on you. 

Lately, his interactions with you have been… different—shy glances and awkward slip-ups; the intentional way he’s been expressing himself more around you. 

He can’t tell what you think of it yet. 

Yet, you still sit with him in comfortable silence on the nights that you both work late, and you still bring in fresh flowers for his desk every few days. He’s sure that when he gets back to the agency after his shift, you’ll still be there, claiming to finish a report when you both know it’s just an excuse to make sure that he finished patrol safely.

You still care for him in the same way. 

And now that he’s thinking more about it, maybe it’s been those little things all along—the same way you’ve been treating him all these years shifting into something deeper and more significant, beating its way out of his chest. 

You know Shouto better than anyone—so much so that his family asks you for lists of gift ideas because they don’t have the slightest clue what else to get him. He’s found himself seeking your opinion on things more and more over the years, and if he’s being honest, a big chunk of his decisions are now partly influenced by what you think of them first. 

Across the street, a couple sways to the beat of the jazz bar they step out of, their hands intertwined and smiles giddy with adoration and love. He looks away quickly before they catch him staring. 

There are things Shouto’s discovered that he likes seeing you do—like how you shift your feet when you feel flustered at something he says, or when you tap your index finger against whatever surface it’s on when you’re deep in thought. Your eyes widen when he says things you don’t expect him to, and something about that intrigues him.

He thinks you look cute. 

He wonders if you know that about yourself; and if you don’t, a part of him is saying that he should be the one to tell you.  

.

.

.

You and Shouto attend only one day of teambuilding. 

The company trip spans an entire two weeks, with each department coming in a few days at a time. You both would stay if you could, but Shouto’s schedule doesn’t allow him to be gone for more than a day.

It’s always been unspoken: wherever Shouto goes, you go too. 

This day of the teambuilding is assigned for the managers and those under Shouto’s direct reporting team. 

The estate is still as beautiful as the last time you both visited, summer shining atop the glistening surface of the lake across the green field. Company trips aren’t typically this grand, but this is also the first time in years that Shouto’s had free time to drop by. 

(It’s a bit funny, you think, watching him struggle to reach the finish line in a three-legged race paired with his finance director. Shouto is typically awkward in most team activities, but you find it endearing, watching him put full effort into things he normally doesn’t do.) 

By mid-afternoon, the day’s activities have consisted of tank rolls, marble balancing, and a classic game of pass-the-message (which, you’ve learned, Shouto is absolute garbage at). And for the final game of the day, the both of you are paired for a duo tug of war against his PR manager and support engineer. 

The afternoon heat burns the back of Shouto’s neck, his cap providing little to no protection for that area of his skin. He stands behind you, rope twisted firmly in his grasp as he prepares to pull. You mimic his stance, bracing yourself with your knees bent as you grip the rope tightly. 

Prior to the game, you were all given three minutes to discuss strategies. 

And so now, Shouto counts, low and steady, “One.” 

“Get set,” the facilitator for this activity announces. 

“Two.” 

You take a deep breath. 

“Go!” 

“Three.”

You both pull, holding your ground for a few seconds. He can see your knuckles turning white from where he’s standing, and when he glances at the other team, they’ve begun to lean back, anchoring their bodies to the ground before pulling away slowly. 

Shouto digs his feet into the earth, the rope’s rough fibers sticking to the calluses on his hands. It doesn’t take long before you both slip forward, being dragged by the other team and eventually pulled into your loss. 

You turn back to him immediately, apologetic as you rub your palms, “Sorry!”

(Before the game even began, you already knew whoever your partner was would be carrying most of the work. And you feel a little bad because your loss does make a bit of sense, you think. 

Though Shouto is strong, you know he’s developed his agility far more than his strength. It doesn’t help that his support engineer lifts bulks of synthetic thermal cloth everyday. 

The both of you didn’t stand a chance, really.) 

But Shouto waves it off, smiling softly. 

“Are you okay?” he looks down at your hands. Your skin is an angry flaming red all over your palms, but what causes him to frown are the small cuts resting at the base of your fingers. 

“Yup, all g–” you attempt to hide it, but Shouto’s reflexes are quick, and he catches your wrist the moment you pull away. 

It’s an instinctive reaction when he looks over it once, pressing his thumb to the center of your palm to get a better look. He reaches for his utility belt out of habit, patting the area above his hip only to feel nothing but the smooth cotton of his shirt.

Right, he remembers, he isn’t wearing his gear today.  

He drops his arms, looking around the field for a first-aid kit nearby. 

(A small chuckle escapes you, endeared, and Shouto looks up at the sound. His eyes meet yours briefly before he jogs all the way to retrieve the red box by the tree. 

It’s just a friction burn; a few small cuts from the rough material of the rope, at most. 

You don’t need first-aid. But—) 

When Shouto comes back, he ushers you to the side, grabbing a few cotton buds and antiseptic ointment from the box. His brain works on autopilot, barely thinking as he tends to your injury.

(You don’t need first-aid. But—) 

He peels the bandaid for you and gently places it on top of your wounds—a yellow checkered pattern decorating your skin. 

(You don’t need first aid. But you kind of get it, you think. It’s the same instinctive reaction you have when he gets papercuts. There’s no need for you to mend them with your quirk, but it’s an inexplicable feeling that makes you feel uneasy at the idea of him getting injured off the field.

A whistle is blown to call everyone back to huddle. 

“Better?” Shouto stares at you from under his cap, readjusting it as red and white strands touch the tips of his eyelashes. 

(He looks unfairly pretty like this. How can he even expect you to answer?

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, swallowing your breath. 

When Shouto walks towards everyone else, you follow, pressing your thumb onto your palm.) 

.

.

.

Shouto drops by the greenhouse at the end of the day. 

The sky above the glass dome ceiling is warmed by orange and pink hues. At sunset, the greenhouse looks ethereal, an almost otherworldly escape. The flowers haven’t changed much from his last visit here, but they seem to have blossomed further now that time has passed. 

He walks past the familiar cluster of chrysanthemums and spots a patch of white flowers he doesn’t recall from last time—a wooden placard with the name ‘iris’ sticks out from the soil. His knees bend to crouch low, fingers grazing over the softness of its petals. 

Earlier today, the estate so kindly offered to let him bring home flowers of his choice, and this bunch in front of him calls out to him, a purity and warmth that reminds him of his mom. 

The nippers in his hand feel clunky, a heavy-duty version of the ones he uses when he helps with gardening at home; but he cuts the stems gently, careful to remember all he’s been taught. 

When he thinks he’s gotten enough, he continues to stroll around the greenhouse, the wicker basket in his hand half-filled with pure, white irises. 

A little further down the path, he passes by the hydrangea bushes, his steps slowing as fragmented pieces of that memory with you replay in slow motion. 

“The lighting was nice. See!” 

“You look beautiful,” he confesses, the sentence overflowing with honesty.

And he decides—

He should get you flowers too. 

Your desk always seems to have some, and you’re consistently on top of keeping fresh flowers around the agency—on his desk specifically. 

It’s only right.

His mom always tells him that flowers can never lie; they bloom where they are loved and speak from the heart when words are not enough—it’s why she loves them so much.

And, maybe she has a point, because the pink hydrangeas look pretty; they remind him of you, especially.

On his way here, the white camellias spoke to him too. Maybe he’ll get them both for you. 

He crouches low again, nipping the hydrangea stems before backtracking to collect a few camellias. By the time he finishes, his wicker basket is filled to the brim, an assortment of pink and white threatening to spill from its edges. The leaves of the irises stick out, poking at his wrist and making the skin itch.

You find him that way—struggling to wrangle in the abundance of blooms into his basket.

“I think you need another basket,” you chuckle, walking towards him. 

There’s something about you and this hour; how it feels like you fit right in this moment, at the peak of sunset, blooming the same way the flowers do. 

Your smile is radiant against the warmth of diffused sunlight, and though he’s seen you in this same exact slacks-and-blouse combination before, the way he sees you now has shifted. 

You look different, but in all the ways he can’t visibly point out. 

He blinks, and that thump beats once more. 

His arm moves before he can comprehend it, the bunch of camellias and hydrangeas outstretched towards you.

Your eyes widen in surprise, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you tilt your head slightly, your hand reaching out for it reluctantly. 

“Would you want me to have this wrapped?” 

(The flowers feel lush in your palm, and you can’t help but wonder who he intends to give them to. There are irises in his basket too, left untouched for reasons you’re not sure you’d like to know. 

Your grip on the stems tighten. 

The camellias stare back at you, an immaculate white, with the pink hydrangeas adding a delicate softness to them. It’s a pretty combination, and you can’t help but think that whoever they’re intended for should feel—)

“It’s for you.”

You lock eyes when you look up. There’s a weight to Shouto’s gaze that intends to get his message across, the words still barely forming on his tongue. 

“Oh,” is the only thing you manage to say.  

(—surprised; grateful; confused; the emotions swirl inside of you. The shock is apparent on your face, your eyes widening at his admission. Confusion presents itself in the tilt of your head as you stumble over how to express your gratitude.

“It’s not…” you hesitate, diverting your gaze to anything else but that piercing pair of gray-and-blue. Your mind is drawing up a blank, figuring out what reason he has for giving them to you.)

“There’s no occasion…?”

It comes out as half a question and half something else, your uncertainty marked by the semi-lilt at the end. 

Shouto blinks. 

He wonders if he should tell you now, if he should just confess that he’s been feeling differently about you these days.

You shift your feet, your thumbs rubbing against the flowers’ leaves. 

The thump persists in his chest, knocking at the base of his throat—

Thump.

He takes a deep breath.

Thump.

—but even with its persistence, the words still struggle to come out.

Thump.

Maybe not now; it’s not the right time. 

But he says something else, an admission much easier that still holds just as much truth.

“No occasion.” 

.

.

.

Shouto knows your Mondays. 

You switch out the flowers on his desk for a different arrangement of blooms every week. Then, you give him a run-down of his schedule, going over important announcements and upcoming events. 

The mornings go by quickly, with you constantly moving around your desk. Shouto can’t tell what you’re doing exactly, but you’re always working on something whenever he sneaks a peek through the single glass panel cut-out from your shared wall. 

Lunch is a wildcard. On some days, you bring your own; on others, you grab a bite down in the cafeteria. Your routine is largely dependent on how busy you anticipate work to be that day, and though it varies from time-to-time, you never forget to knock on his door—a two-part thump that takes him out of his own little work bubble. 

He almost looks forward to it now, the way your head peeps in from behind his office doors. You call out his name softly, only continuing to speak when he looks up from whatever file he’s working on. 

Shouto knows your Mondays. 

You spend the afternoons all over the place, much like he does; while he roams the city, you roam the agency, attending meetings and checking in on different departments. He knows because when he comes back by the end of the day, you almost always have a new set of updates prepared on your desk for the next morning. 

He also knows that Mondays are when you often work overtime, preferring to get a bulk of any urgent matters completed and out of the way.

The back door of his office clicks shut as he walks into the room, his rubber boots leaving no trace that he’s arrived from how quietly his footsteps hit the floor. He unbuckles his utility belt, one hand automatically reaching for its lock; it’s a habit, the ‘clack’ that sounds from it a satisfying marker he looks forward to at the end of every patrol. 

In the corner of his office is a private restroom that he slips into. He quickly changes out of his hero suit and into a pair of sweatpants, throwing on one of his many favorite white shirts—his go-to outfit on the days he works late. 

There are still some reports he has to look over tonight, but nothing too time-consuming. 

It’s really you he’s staying behind for. 

He glances at you through the glass panel of his wall, your face dimly lit by your computer screen. Your eyebrows are scrunched, eyes squinting in pure focus. 

It never feels right for him to leave when you haven’t left either. 

He settles into his seat, finger tapping on his desk as he contemplates whether or not he should offer you his help. 

You always decline when he does; he can already hear your response. But there are stacks of folders on your desk right now and he’s predicting that it’ll take at least a few more hours before you get through all of them.

He taps his foot, staring at the report in front of him. 

A thump. 

The wheels of his chair roll back, leather squeaking as he stands up. 

As soon as he exits his office, you look up, surprised. 

“You’re back!” 

He nods, walking closer to your desk. “It’s 8:00 p.m.”

You glance at the top of your screen, a sheepish smile forming on your face, “Right.” 

(This is his way of telling you it’s late, you’re well aware.)

He looks around your desk, folders and stationery all neatly organized and labeled. You keep a few touches of your personality around your space, with personalized pens and notepads gathered in one corner. 

They’re all things he’s seen before, but what makes him do a double-take is the vase sitting in the corner, obscured by your computer screen. 

Sitting inside it is the arrangement of flowers he gave you back at the teambuilding, the pink hydrangeas still as good as new next to the white camellias. It’s been a little over a week since, and you always change the arrangement on your desk as frequently as you change his. 

So for you to keep it for this long—

“And how may I help you?” you ask jokingly, biting down your smile. 

His eyes flit over to you, your gaze set on your screen as you continue to type.

(It’s hard to focus on the documents in front of you when he looks at you like that. Shouto’s stare has always been unnerving, but it feels especially scrutinizing when he merely stands, watching without a word.)

“You have a lot of work left,” he gestures towards the stack of folders on your desk. 

(Your eyes glance over the pile quickly as you mumble, “Yeah.” 

A few seconds of silence pass before what he really means starts to sink in. 

It’s not often that Shouto finishes work before you—at least, to your knowledge. You still see him inside his office when you pack your things, ready to leave. 

So, this is out of the ordinary. 

And if he’s standing in front of your desk, hinting at how much longer you’ll be staying at work. Then, it can only mean—

“A-are you waiting for me to go?” you move to stand, guilty. “Don’t worry about it, I can lock up.”)

Shouto furrows his brows, tilting his head slightly. 

That’s never been a thing; he’s always gone home last, and has always waited for you when you have work left to do. He makes sure of it every time, watching carefully for your computer light to turn off. 

But he won’t tell you that; letting you know would mean admitting that he’s been doing it for years. 

He places his palm on the top folder. 

“What else do you have to do?” 

You stay quiet for a few seconds before reluctantly listing it all—reports, meeting summaries, and a few emails you plan to schedule for tomorrow morning. His frown deepens as your list only grows, immediately cutting yourself off the second you notice your ramblings. 

“… but if you’re waiting, I can bring these home and—”

“What can I do to help?” he interjects, stopping you just before you shut down your computer. 

(You can only stare when proceeds to take a seat in front of you, the legs of your guest chair dragging against the floor as he pulls it closer. 

It hits you a bit like déjà vu, this moment, how it feels just like early days back in that rented studio unit; back when you could count the number of people comprising his team on one hand. 

Back then, your desks were just a few steps away from each other, an overflow of paperwork inevitably spilling into each other’s spaces. Because all of the files were stored in your drawers, it was more convenient for Shouto to sit himself across your desk, splitting the work and going over them one at a time. 

Things are different now that the agency’s grown—you have a bigger space, and the work isn’t nearly as packed as it used to be; but some days still end up a little bit more hectic than others. Like today.

“There’s no need,” you reach for the stack under his palm, “I can finish this at—”

“We can finish faster if we do this together.”

That promptly shuts you up. 

Shouto is blunt to a fault, unafraid of saying things as they are; his voice carries an unbothered cadence no matter who it is he’s talking to. 

You figure, there’s no point arguing with him when he’s right, after all.) 

Shouto begins going over a few of the reports that you’ve tagged red and yellow, listening intently as you instruct him on which parts to focus on. In exchange, you make space for him on your desk, setting aside some of the folders you had brought out earlier.

It’s a good hour into working before Shouto notices you easing up slightly, your shoulders more relaxed in comparison to how bunched up they were earlier.

He knows you’ve been glancing at him occasionally, your head turning every now and then to check on how he’s doing—a failed attempt at subtlety. 

“Are you almost done?” he asks, head down as he slips another completed file into its folder. The stack beside him is growing, his ‘done’ pile nearly as tall as the unfinished one. 

(You turn to him, attention shifting to the split of red and white hair down the center of his head, “Yeah, I just—”

Your words trail off, eyes squinting as you move closer to where he’s hunched over. 

Right on the shoulder of his shirt is a small tear, big enough to touch the edges of its collar but small enough that you’d only have to be up close to be able to notice. 

You assess the tear intently, looking carefully for any cuts underneath and thankfully find none.

But—

He notices you’ve gone quiet and looks up, the sudden movement catching you off guard. You make a sound, something in-between a squeak and an ‘oops.’ 

“Sorry, I just,” you point, “your shirt’s ripped.” 

His eyes follow the direction of your finger, finding the small tear running horizontally along the fabric of hjs shirt. 

“I can fix it,” you offer, the wheels of your chair rolling to land you directly across him. 

It’s one of his favorite shirts.)

He barely thinks when his body acts on its own, pressing itself closer to your desk as you slightly bend over for better reach. 

You don’t have to patch up his shirt, especially something so small. He has plenty of the same ones in his closet; and if it comes to it, he wouldn’t mind buying a new one. You really don’t have to patch up his shirt, because he wouldn’t have even noticed had you not mentioned it. 

But it’s that kind of tender care and attention to detail that you’ve had for him since you started working together that’s always drawn him in. 

Shouto has lived most of his life with the means to live comfortably, but since starting his own agency, he’s learned the value of maximizing resources—and it’s all because of you.

A thump. 

The moment your fingers touch his shoulder, he hears nothing but that continuous three-beat thump. Your quirk tingles when it touches skin, but you aren’t mending that—you’re fixing his shirt, separate from your skin, and yet, he still feels the little zaps go off inside of him. 

A thump. 

Up close, the strands of your hair tickle his cheek. 

A thump. 

The fabric of his shirt mends itself slowly, and it only makes him think of everything else—of the leather chair you helped fix, painstakingly going through each and every crack to bring it back to near-new condition. He thinks about every cut and scrape you’ve helped heal without having to, about every time you’ve insisted when he’d shrug it off as nothing. 

From you, he’s learned that things can be fixed without having to change them whole. 

It’s how he’s (you’ve) managed to keep the agency running; it’s why you get along so well with him and the rest of his family. 

And these feelings in his chest are pounding, built up over time to tip over and transform into something more than just an excellent work dynamic. At this point, it’s become companionship, a presence he seeks out a little bit more than friendship. 

You know him better than anyone else does. 

The flowers he gave you are still on your desk. 

So, he says your name, voice low and tender by your ear. 

You freeze, holding your breath. 

Another thump.

His honesty spills outs—

“I like you.” 

A three-beat thump. 

(You don’t believe it at first, the urge to ask him again right at the tip of your tongue. But, he pulls away, unfinished, and looks you in the eye to continue. 

“But it feels more than a crush, I think.” He presses his fingers against the table, grounding himself, “Natsuo told me it was a crush, and he told me to think about it, so I did.” 

Shouto is a man of sufficient words; not too few, not too plenty. But when he gets nervous and a little excited, he starts rambling, and—

“Bakugo told me his mom thought we were dating, and even though I said that wasn’t the case, I almost didn’t want to deny it. Touya has been a dick about it, but he makes good points, so I also owe it to him.”

(The shock on your face shifts into fondness. You can’t see the point of what he’s saying yet, but it’s cute—one of the many things that make him endearing.) 

He pauses, watching your expression shift into curiosity. 

“It started with this thumping,” he places a hand over his chest. “It used to only come sometimes, but lately it’s been happening all the time.” 

Shouto keeps his gaze deadset on yours. He doesn’t say anything else, sentences just barely forming in his head to fully capture what he really means. His feet and palms stay firmly planted where they are, his only movement being the steady blinking of his eyes. 

(But it’s okay, because you can understand. 

If you’re being honest, the signs were all there. 

Nothing Shouto does can be subtle when you know him as well as you do. 

A smile breaks out on your face, the one you can barely contain around him. It’s a little teasing and shy but completely genuine from the way it softens your eyes. 

“We’ll have to come up with something for HR,” you try to contain your smile.)

And he isn’t worried at all. He knows you’ll both find a way, just like you always do.

additional material: moodboard + playlist

a/n: so much to say about this fic but i'll sum it up with saying this is my baby! and i hold it close to my heart for many reasons. writing this made me love their dynamic and i hope you did too!

thank you notes: to @soumies for literally beta reading this. i owe this fic to you fr you are my lifesaver i love you. to @augustinewrites @scarabrat @stellamancer @arcvenes for helping me a ton with characterisations, dialogues, songs, inspo, everything!!! ily all!! it took a village to write this fic fr. (+ to my bf for sitting me down and so he could explain the whole point system of golf for like 30 minutes LOL)

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[clawsmiic]

"I had to talk to you."

Repost from other account

2.4k words

CW: Heavy flirtation, canon divergence (S4 end events didn't happen), College Student!Steve, Steve has shit eyesight

October 13th, 1989

Steve sighs, leaning back on the drivers side of his 1983 BMW. Burgundy paint starting to chip on the hood, the car becoming less appealing day by day. Girls passing by not even looking in his direction anymore. He was old news in Hawkins after people found out he had finally started at a college half an hour away in Fort Wayne. Just starting his life like everyone else did 4 years ago just wasn't appealing to most girls.

At least not Hawkins girls.

But at this point he didn't care. He was proud of himself for pulling his life together after all the bullshit he had been put through. With saving an entire town too many god damn times. Cutting his dad off when his parents divorced. Moving out to get a rented house with his best friend Robin. Just what he learned he needed over time.

Getting into a good school by himself with no help was just a cherry on top of the fuck you sundae he graciously served his past problems.

He was satisfied with what he had right now.

Dustin walks out of the new game shop in the newest strip mall to grace Hawkins. Steve looks up, pushing his Ray-Ban sunglasses onto his head.

"You made it out before, Robin. I'm surprised." Dustin glanced at the instrument shop a few doors down, then back to Steve. "You get what Eddie needed?"

"Mostly yeah. She's still getting her trumpet fixed?" Steve shrugs at Dustin's question and slides his sunglasses down in place again.

"She probably got distracted looking at something shiny and new. You know Robins crow brain sometimes." Dustin laughs, looking into his bag, shuffling a few things around inside.

Steve looked over at the liquor store at the end of the strip mall. Looking back at Dustin, he taps the top of the car. His head snapped up, eyes a bit surprised at the sudden noise.

"You want anything?" Steve asks, tilting his head back towards the store.

"Coke? If they got it." Dustin simply replied before getting in the back seat. Steve nods and walks to the liquor store.

The bell chimes over his head as he walks through the door. He takes in the warmth of the store and the radio playing over the speakers on the ceiling. Such a nice contrast to the crisp Autumn air outside.

He turns heading down an isle of assorted liquor bottles and bar accessories before finally stopping at the fridge. Humming along to the song over the radio, mumbling the lyrics to 'I wanna know what love is' absentmindedly.

Sliding his glasses down his nose, he squints at the selection. All the labels are blurry the farther he is, he steps forward rubbing his eyes and sure doesn't help with the florescent lighting blinding him from above.

God I need to get my eyes checked.

Opening the fridge, he grabs the 3 soft drinks and a 6-pack for later when he hears a metal scrapping and whoosh next to him. Followed by a muffled but panicked "Shit!"

Looking over, he sees the back of a squatting woman struggling with a metal shelf slipping out of one of the fridges.

Walking over, he quickly puts his things down and pushes the shelf back in. The metal shelf, cold against his warm skin as he reaches into the fridge, fixing the fasteners back into place.

An issue he's all too familiar with working at Family Video. The fridge racks always got loose and every time it happened he was always made to clean them up. He could only imagine the mess a bunch of glasses and beer would have made.

"Thank you so much!" The woman speaks as Steve stands up, slowly closing the door. Looking back, he finally sees your face. His lips slightly part as you continue talking, he can't hear a word you're saying right now.

All he can hear is the very oddly convenient Foreigner song playing over the store radio as he takes in every detail of your gorgeous face. From your shiny hair to your bright smile. The vibrant colored nail polish on your fingers you're waving as you talk. You're unfamiliar, he's never seen you before, but you're an absolute stunner of a woman.

Steve never thought of himself as a love at first sight kind of guy. But right now he was undoubtedly being proven wrong by the spark he was feeling, not to mention the nervous knot in his stomach.

"But really you're a life saver... Thank you." You stop talking, looking at him. Your face falls as he perks up, realizing he's just been staring like a complete idiot this entire time.

"You're welcome!" He spoke, choking almost over how inappropriately loud he was for a second. Feeling the effect of not talking to women for a while really hit him. You look down at his soon-to-be purchases.

"Full Sail Amber. Good beer." You comment, making him look at the floor and nod.

Crouching down, he grabs his things and stands cracking his head on one of the fridge door handles. His sunglasses fell off his face and onto the floor. He stands up wedging his soft drink between his side and arm. Rubbing his head with a hiss.

"You okay?" You ask with a slight chuckle. Bending down, you grab the sunglasses, Steve moves his hand, grabbing the bottom of the door handle to shield your head from injury.

"Yeah, thanks." Before he gets to put his hand out to take his Ray-Bans back, you slide them on his head with a soft smile.

God she's so fucking pretty.

"You're welcome. And thanks again for... Saving me from paying for a full shelf of beer." She turned down the isle to another part of the store.

Part of Steve wants to follow you and try chatting you up, but the slight embarrassment of hurting his head just keeps him from doing so.

He turns, goes to the front of the store and makes his purchases. Heading outside, he walks to his car, finally seeing Robin in her usual spot, the passenger seat. Opening the driver's door, he slips in.

"There you are!" Robin looked at him, her trumpet case in-between her legs on the floor of the car.

"What's with the face?" Dustin asks, Steve looking at him in the rearview, glaring.

"Shut up Henderson." He hands them their sodas, moving to close his car door when he hears the bell from the liquor store chime.

Out you walk, starting across the parking lot to a top-down red 86' Volkswagen Cabriolet. Steve freezes, staring again. He really can't help but stare.

"Oooh." Robin and Dustin both taunt him, making him sigh. He needs more friends, fewer annoying friends.

"She's pretty." Robin says looking at Dustin.

"Too pretty to talk to, apparently." Dustin adds, laughing as he looks back at Steve.

"I talked to her in the store." Dustin raised his eyebrows, pushing his baseball cap up a bit.

"You asked her out?"

"No." Steve watches you load your bag into the back seat and start pulling the top up on your car.

"Not too late!" Robin smiled, taking a sip of her drink. Dustin looked at her.

"He's not gonna do it."

"No, he's gonna do it."

Steve feels like he has a devil and an angel bickering on his shoulders right now. His foot meets the new asphalt of the parking lot as you open your driver's door.

He's quickly out of the driver's seat.

"Holy shit he's doing it." Dustin comments as he shuts the door on them.

He stops at the bumper of his car, hearing your car engine click over. Music pours out of your open windows before you turn it down quickly.

The universe is screaming at him to talk to you when he starts hearing that familiar Tears for Fears song, 'Head Over Heels'.

Please don't pull away, please don't pull away.

He nearly sprints across the parking lot out of fear of missing his chance. Upon reaching the car, he knocks on the back window, pulling you from looking for something in the console.

"Hi..." He says awkwardly, approaching the window. Leaning on the door, he smiles as you smile back.

"Hi. You need something?" He gets so agitated that you smirk up at him.

'Why'd you have to be so God damn pretty?'

"Sorry if this is weird, but I had to talk to you." He started, finally being able to say something. Your eyes go half shut with a soft nod.

"Talk to me?" He nods, clenching the door frame for a second. "Go ahead then. Talk."

His eyes go wide in surprise at your sudden confidence. Steve stammered for a second.

"Uh... At the risk of sounding crazy or desperate... You're probably the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my life." You can feel your body warm up as he gives the most genuine smile you've seen on a man in a while.

"Mmhm, go on."

"Are you by chance single? Or like... Are you even attracted to men at all?" He asks, sheepishly smiling.

"Yes, and yes." Your smirk slowly turns into a grin as he squats to eye level now, feeling a bit more confident after your answer.

"I'm Steve, by the way. Steve Harrington." He smiles again hearing you reply with your name. "Are you new to Hawkins?"

"I am actually. I just moved here from the city and needed to stay nearby for school."

"Where are you going?"

"Trine University." His eyes go wide, the same school he goes to. What are the odds?

"Really? I actually go there too. Education major." You look him up and down. You never pegged him for the teacher type.

"Software Engineering major."

"So you're smart and gorgeous. Good to know." He smirks, finally feeling like himself when talking as your flush finally becomes noticeable. "You like movies?"

"What kind of psychopath doesn't like movies?" He laughs at your response, leaning in closer to the window.

"Lemme be more specific. The new Halloween 5 movie came out today. You interested in seeing it? Maybe with me tonight at the drive-in theater in Lafayette. We can have dinner after. All my treat, of course." He can see the sparkle in your eyes, that spark he felt looking at you before is still lingering around him.

"What's in it for me?" You playfully ask. He cocks his head to the side, leaning it on his arm for a second.

"A fun night out with a gentleman, I promise I'm fun." You chuckle, rolling your eyes, he knows you want to say yes. "Please?"

He'd never said please before when asking a girl out. It didn't feel embarrassing like he thought it would. You turn your attention back to the console looking for something.

Pulling out a napkin and pen, you quickly write down your number and address. Turning back, you hold it out to him as he takes it.

"I'm free at 8. And dress nicely. You're taking me somewhere decent after the movie."

"I'll take you to the most expensive restaurant I can find if that's what you want. I don't care. As long as I get to see you again." You laugh at his bluntness, it's like music to his ears.

"That won't be necessary. I don't need to be spoiled."

"What if I want to spoil you?" That caught you off guard as you didn't respond right away. He let a soft breath escape his mouth. "You like roses?"

"White roses." You reply, he nods, standing up again and folding the napkin, storing it in his back jean pocket for safe keeping.

"I'll be sure to remember that." You two just stare at each other in silence for a minute. No man's ever looked at you like Steve has right now, it makes your heart race from nervousness.

"I'll see you at 8 o'clock then." You look past him for a moment and back to him. "Tell your friends I said hello since they like to stare so much."

Raising an eyebrow, Steve turned his head. He sees Robin poking her head over the roof of the car and Dustin sitting on the rolled down window frame. They quickly hurry back into the car, noticing they've been caught. He should be embarrassed, but he fully expects their behavior from being friends for so long.

"Ignore them." Steve says, sighing as he looks back at you. "I'll see you at 8."

He turned away towards his car, trying to stay as confident as he was before turning his back. Reaching his car, he pops the door open, clutching it for dear life as he silently collects himself. Robin poked her head across the driver's seat to look up at him.

"You good dude?" She asks, concerned but also excited as he just nods.

You pull out of your parking spot, stopping behind his car and honk once to get his attention. Dustin pops his head out the back window as Robin looks out her open door. Steves head snaps up at you as you lean on your window frame, chin on fist with the most shit eating grin on your face.

"See you at 8 sexy~" You called to him. And then you have the balls to blow him a kiss before peeling out of the parking lot.

Steve silently gets in the car. Robin shuts her door as Steve does his. Dustin sits forward looking at Steve, who's just gripping his steering wheel, the adrenaline starting to wear off.

"Dude, she's so into you, into you!" Dustin breaks the silence as Robin nods.

"And I'd say it's the same for Harrington here." Robin grins as a massive smile spreads across Steve's face.

He starts excitedly thrashing frontwards and backwards. Enough to shake the car and look like he's about to rip the steering wheel from it's column. He lets out an excited yell, causing his two friends to laugh at him.

He let out a long breath, looking at them.

"She says hi by the way."

[thevirtualvalentine]

TAPE ONE : PIZZA DELIVERY !

Starring… PORTGAS D. ACE 📸

SET SCRIPT :

“Hi hi hi!!! For the follower request event, can i get a pizza delivery Ace? Sweet boy, kinda clueless, and a sweet reader as well? 🥹❤️”

MATURE WARNING(S) : unprotected penetrative sex, cheesy porno dialogue, cunnilings (you sit on his face), slight breeding kink if you squint, afab/fem reader, Ace thinks you’re really pretty, thick!dick ace (canon), switchy!ace, & he calls you “sweetheart/pretty girl.”

DIRECTORS CUT : for my love @kingofthe-egirls !!! I loved this prompt so much and have been itching to complete it since I saw it. Thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy. 🖤

A Friday night with nothing to do, a product of boredom. You didn’t feel like doing anything tonight, especially cooking. Sitting in your apartment in shorts too tiny for your ass and a tight tank top, waiting for your pizza delivery.

Getting your usual favorite combo from the local shop guarantees a good comfort meal with some quiet TV before you head to bed. The couch offers you adequate back support after a long week at your desk, sighing and falling into the cushions while ads play in the background as ambiant noise.

Time slips you before there’s a series of knocks at your door, playing a rhythm as you’re pulled from your trance. “Yo, Delivery.”

Checking the peep hole before unlocking the door you’re faced with the cutest delivery boy. He’s in shitty combat boots and cargo shorts matched with a half buttoned uniform shirt. His long wavy black hair kept under a hat as he reads the receipt, “a large pizza for y/n?” You open the door wider as you step into frame. “Ohhh, for miss pretty y/n,” he corrects himself, tipping his hat at you with a smile.

Giggling slightly you cover your mouth, “yeah, y/n. Thank you so much, let me get my wallet.” You wish you could invite such a cutie inside but you know it’s against better judgement. Turning around you make your way through the apartment looking for your wallet.

Ace, the delivery boy, grins watching your dainty ass sway as you saunter back inside. Tiny shorts riding up between your cheeks as you bend over the counter, but he’s just the delivery boy. A distressed look crosses your face before you walk back to the doorway where he’s leaning. One arm holding your pizza and another flexing as he rests his weight into it.

“Everythin’ ok?” A pretty girl like you should never have such a perturbed look spread across your face like that.

You lean forward, studying his name tag. “I’m sorry Ace, I can’t seem to find my wallet. I must’ve left it at work.” Feeling like an idiot you’re barely able to look at him. The guilt of making him come all the way from across town to deliver your order setting in.

“I can help ya find it,” he offers, ignoring the fact he’s on the clock. It’s not the first time something like this has happened at work, just not to someone so enticing.

“No no,” biting your lip as you try to think of a solution that’ll remedy the situation. You look at him, worried to find an annoyed expression on his face but you heat up finding such a soft handsome gaze thrown your way. A complete stranger so bothered by your troubles. “How bout I pay you back? Whaddya say?”

Confused, he tilts his head; was that not the problem in the first place? “How,” he asks curiously.

Looking into the hallway, you check down both ends before tugging him inside by the collar. “Like this.” Leaning on your tip toes not letting go of his shirt you kiss him softly, taking over his senses with your soft plush lips against his. Ace drops the pizza and doesn’t even bother to catch it as it clatters to the floor. “That ok with you?” Your eyes looking at his lips and then back to the rest of his face.

He’s lit up bright red as he nods dumbly, “more than ok.”

You push him back against your front door chasing his lips once more. He tastes like cinnamon gum as you swipe your tongue against his bottom lip, eager for entry into his mouth. He grants it to you unquestionably, equally craving the feel of your heated tongue sliding against his. Muffled groans escaping him as your hands caress his warm exposed skin beneath his shirt.

“You’re s’good at this,” he says in between each wet smack of your mouthes. His hands wrapping and groping along your waist and backside, kneading the plump flesh like playdough. The cutest part is he’s much taller than you, bending down so you can kiss him how you want.

“You think so? I can get better.” One of your hands leaves his chest, trailing down his toned body as you palm his hardening cock in your hand. “Oh, and you’re so big Ace. Almost like you’re paying me with all this.” Heavy breaths leaving him as you cup his dick tenderly and give such feverish love to his neck all at once. It has him rutting into your hand trying to satiate that itch that’s been bothering him ever since he saw you in the doorway. Little shorts leaving nothing to the imagination.

You unzip his cargos, leaving only his thin boxers between his growing length and your nimble fingers. He rolls his hips harder each time you tease the waist band and lick his lips as you both swap saliva. “Stop teasin, thought I was ‘sposed to get paid.”

“You’ll get compensated, delivery boy,” you grab him by the belt loops as you lead him to your couch. Smiling as you push him back, he plops against the cushion with a soft ‘hmp’. Ace takes off his shirt, throwing it to the side as he man spreads to ease the ache in his balls, bulging erection awaiting your attention. “Want your dick sucked or what?”

While that sounds like a great idea, Ace is more eager to taste the sweetness between your legs. “Sit on my face pretty girl, wanna eat you.” He pulls you by the back of your thighs, edging you closer to his body as he starts to slide down your shorts. His forwardness makes you glow, slotting your hands in his hair, ruffling it slightly while he tends to your clothes. For a delivery boy, he sure knows the art of seduction. You’re practically dripping for him already.

He kisses your hipbone while waiting for you to join him on the couch. Sliding down the cushions, grabbing hold of your legs as you mount and hold the backing. “You sure?” He stares up at you from the valley of your swell breasts and smooth tummy, not having any of your objections. He sits up to swipe his wet muscle from your clit down. A soft ‘oh’ leaving your lips as he gets to work.

“Mhhm,” he moans as he taste you, almost analyzing its components like a savory sauce. He plants his hands on your waist, pulling you down further onto his mouth— it’s as if he’s not afraid of suffocating down there.

He’s eating you out like a man starved, dipping and curving his tongue into your oozing hole before suckling on your clit. He ignores the mixture of spit and slick on his chin as he devours you greedily. “Pussy’s so fuckin’ good, could eat this every day.”

Your soft moans encourage him to give you more, he needs you to fuck his face. He uses those same hands to hook around your ass and thighs, dragging you down on his tongue as he licks your insides. “Oh shit, ah— wait Ace,” you try to sit up, running from all the attention but it’s no use.

His strong arms keep you planted in place, “no runnin’ m not done yet.” Fuck this guy is hot, it’s like he’s straight out of a shitty 80’s porno as he makes you cream against his mouth. He slurps and sucks your hole as you whine loose chants of his name.

Adding his hands into the mix when he slides two fingers knuckle deep inside you. Scissoring your tight walls, you shake feeling those calloused pads massage your g-spot. “Gotta cum for me sweetheart, then I’ll fuck you as a tip.”

It feels even closer cause his tongue does not relent from your throbbing bud. Sliding it back and forth while his fingers give you something to squeeze on. “Yes yes, like that!” You sound so raunchy taking advantage of his face; running your hips in a figure eight along his tongue.

He’s grinding against the air trying to find friction, shallow thrusts up that match the pace of his fingers inside you. So close, you start pinching your nipple trying to tip yourself over the edge of raw pleasure. The pizza delivery boy of course notes this, groaning as he watches you play with yourself. He wants to replace his hand with yours, pinching and tugging at your dark bud. But, he has to keep you in place while he fucks you on his fingers. “Gonna— oh fuck,” here it comes.

Your orgasm crashes hard, washing over you in one big wave as you almost collapse on his face. He drinks whatever you offer as you whine and cry out, it’s too good. “Think you’re stretched? Cause I really wanna fuck you now. Ya look really hot when you cum.”

He’s swiping the culminating wetness from his face into his mouth, sucking the fingers he had inside you like a greedy bastard. Licking and suctioning onto the pads to emphasize how needy he is for you. Oh, he’s good.

“Be my guest, pretty boy.” Ace has never really thought of himself as pretty, so hearing someone as beautiful as you say it, it must be true. He flushes a light shade of pink while removing the rest of his clothes.

“Condom?” Like an idiot, he didn’t bring any and his wallets downstairs in the shitty delivery car where he typically keeps one if he’s lucky.

“Want you inside, I’m on the pill.” Oh.. and he gets to pound you raw? He’ll definitely be coming back here. Shaking your ass back and forth at him as if to invite him over. “Cmon I want the tip already.” He laughs at your two way pun, rubbing your ass in his hands as he marvels the sight of you bent over the side of the couch.

Ace sees his hard work continuing to drip down the insides of your thighs, smirking while lining his fat tip up with your cunt. He spits in his hand before pumping himself to make sure it’ll fit just right. You’re pushed forward till your hips meet the arm of the couch, sandwiched between two immovable forces.

He’s trying his hardest to not just slam into you, your pussy is so warm and wet around his cock and there’s nothing separating the two of you. You’re squirming from the sheer size of his length even after all that work he did to prep you. “Doin’ so good taking all of me sweetheart. Just a lil’ more.” He doesn’t know if he’s saying that for you or himself at this point, the way your bare walls grip his cock makes him double over.

The couch gives before Ace does, each thrust of his strong hips into you makes it creak and slide forward. He starts off with deep punctuated strokes, each one earning a high pitched cry from you. He’s pummeling your cunny, making your hips rub against the arm as your knees begin to buckle.

“Feelin’ good pretty girl?” But when you go to open your mouth any answer is replaced with moans that sound so pornagraphic. “Fuck your cunts so good. Suckin’ me in.” Being drilled by the hunk of a man behind you and the friction of being fucked into the couch is bringing you near your second orgasm of the night, you start to feel it licking at your insides tentatively.

Ace isn’t in much better shape himself, fucking your pussy raw is taking all of him to shoot his load right in you. He needs to get his moneys worth after all. “Can’t cum yet pretty, wanna see you.”

He moves you both to the couch so you’re flat on your back, one leg hooked around his small waist as another dangles off the couch. “Easy baby, remember to breathe,” he says before easing himself back in. That feeling of fullness returns and brings a dopamine rush with it as he flashes a toothy smile your way. Savoring the feeling of sliding his tip through the gummy resistance.

Your body is so warm beneath him as he drives in and out of your soaking cunt. “Cmon’ give it to me baby. Know you were so close…” Ace trails a hand down your abdomen, spreading his palm across your stomach as leverage while he fucks you stupid. Hair shrouding his face as he coos at you. “Please, dont wanna without you.”

The way he pleads for you is what does it, breaking the dam that was holding back another mind shattering orgasm from this sexy delivery boy. “Ahh fuck, cumming— oh! I’m-” you’re gripping onto him for dear life, firm biceps not budging an inch even when you start to dig your nails into his skin.

It all happens so fast he doesn’t even realize he’s also cumming right behind you, too caught up in the way your sultry lips fall into an “O” shape as you scream his name loud enough to be heard by the entire complex. He buries himself to the hilt, mind boiling with the thought of how he’s fucking his cum into you raw. For some reason the idea only pushes him to not pull out, letting you keep all his seed as he mewls. “Take it, take it all,” sweat accumulating at his hairline.

You’re squeezing him like a damn vice while you come undone, face scrunched so pretty. It makes his cock ache inside you, relishing in the soft sighs that come from your parted lips.

You both start to come down from your lust filled highs when he speaks again, “mhhhm, you’re still a few cents short.” He kisses you, leaning forward and almost suffocating you into his large chest.

Oh boy, hopefully he clocked out.

Enjoy? Reblog & click 2 see event masterlist!

[lukesandromeda]

౨ৎ kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor

l. castellan

content : fluff, a little teeeeeensy bit of angst but you’d have to squint, cussing, canon plot line luke

pairing : luke castellan x fem!reader

She took my fingers to her mouth / The kind of thing that makes you proud / That nothing else had ever / Worked out, worked out / And lately I've tried other things / But nothing can capture the sting / Of the venom she’s gonna spit out right now

Kiss me on the mouth / And love me like a sailor / And when you get a taste / Can you tell me what’s my flavor? / I don’t believe in God / But I believe that you're my savior

I know that you’ve been worried / But the truth is in my favor / And when we're getting dirty I forget all that is wrong / I sleep so I can see you cause I hate to wait so long / I sleep so I can see you and I hate to wait so long

luke had a way of finding you, no matter where you were. it’s 1:07 a.m.—or, so says your watch that’s already wet with lake water, which, by the way, isn’t digital because chiron insisted you’d be found and mauled if you did in fact get a digital one—and luke has somehow found you out at the lake. 

you don’t realize at first, obviously, because you’re completely submerged in water. but when you finally feel the last bit of composure slipping out from your closed mouth in the crystal water, you swim as fast as you could to the top and breathed out. your head is dizzy from the panting that follows closely after, and you squeeze your eyes shut and relish in the feeling of the breathlessness you get when you have your time alone. the time you spend to swim, to clear your mind. 

“yo, is that a mermaid?” you hear from behind you. the voice is dramatic and sarcastic, and familiar and homelike. you turn around, biting back your grin as you swim to the edge of the dock. 

luke’s sitting with his feet in the water, his sweatpants rolled up around his knees so he can do this without getting them wet in a way that makes you giggle as you wade into his presence. 

“something funny?” he asks, tilting his head. 

you shake your head, looking up at him. he  stands, holding out his hand for you to take as he helps you out of the water. he holds up a finger, as if to say, ‘one second,’ walks away to where he has his bag and shoes, and comes back with a towel. you go to take it from him, but he tsks. you put your arms down and smile sheepishly as he wraps it around you carefully, pulling it snug over your shoulders and pulling away when he’s done. 

“you know it’s 1:30 a.m, right?” luke prompts. 

you look down at your watch. “1:10.”

he smiles, pulling his phone out of his pocket and tapping on the lock screen to show that it was, in fact, 1:30. luke wasn’t necessarily allowed to have a cell phone, just like every other demigod wasn’t, but even though he’s camp halfblood’s golden boy, he’s still a child of hermes. it’s in his blood to break the rules, even if only a little bit. 

you look down at your watch, frowning. “huh. stupid piece of shit.”

“it’s damaged by the water, probably,” luke points out, hands gently pulling you toward him. you stumble until you’re standing in front of him, watching his face as he grabs your hand and removes the watch from your wrist. his fingers rub in the red marks and dents the watch leaves, and he takes the watch in his hand. “i’ll take this to the hephaestus cabin for you tomorrow, okay?”

you nod, smiling as he finally looks back at you. you bathe in the feeling his eye contact gives you, and after a few seconds, your smile mirrors onto his face, too.

“shouldn’t be out here so late,” luke said as his forehead creased. he watched you in concentration, looking down at you as if he was trying to memorize everything about you. “come back with me?”

immediately you nod, eyes widening at the thought of him letting you sneak into his cabin. usually, as much as he wanted you to, he didn’t let you because he was too worried about getting caught and “wouldn’t forgive himself” if you were on clean up duty for the next two weeks. 

“come on, then, you prune,” he jokes in a silky voice, fingers moving against the wrinkled skin on your fingers that have become that way from the swimming you’ve been doing. 

he wraps his hand in yours and squeezes it, grabbing his bag and slipping on his shoes. you follow him to his cabin where the two of you sneakily get past his sleeping siblings to the counselor’s bedroom, (his), and he shuts the door softly once you make it there. 

he hangs his backpack on the door and slips off his shoes, running his hand through his tussled curls. he turns to face you, looking down at you for a moment, smiling when you shiver at the water running down your body. 

his hand trails to your shoulder, lifting it to your face where he presses the back of his pointer finger to your face. he crinkles his nose and smiles when he feels the droplets of lake water drip onto his skin. “you need a shower?”

“you saying i stink, castellan?” you questioned in sarcasm, earning a scoff that soothes out into a chuckle. 

“yup. terrible.”

you put on a faux offended look as he urges you to go to his dresser and grab what you need. 

luke has a drawer dedicated to your clothes in his room, mostly things you’ve left behind in there from your time being together. however, you only grab everything but a sweatshirt, turning to him and smirking when he realizes what you’re up to. 

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered, walking to his closet. “grabbin’ you my hoodie, don’t worry.”

you grin when he places it in your hands. luke guides you by the small of your back in the direction of the bathroom and you enter, closing the door, not bothering got lock it.

looking down at the hoodie, you blush when you realize it smells like him. you put your clothes down and get in the shower. you use his tropical shampoo and conditioner that you’re always praising when you run your hands through his hair, and you use the complimentary body wash that you inhale dramatically when you’re resting your head in his neck. 

you dry yourself off with a fresh towel that smells like his laundry detergent, similar to the smell of his hoodie. after changing into the clothes, you open the door to find luke laying face first on the bed, sprawled out. grinning, you tip toe to the side and tap on his shoulder. 

he only grunts out a response. 

“move over, you boulder,” you scold as you give his shoulder a half hearted shove. 

he groans, rolling over onto his back as he moves to his side of the bed. you climb into the covers and squeal when he wraps his muscular arm around you, pulling you close to him. he turns so he can face you. “hi.”

“hi,” you echo, bringing your hand to the back of his neck where you let your fingernails scratch gently. 

he lets out a hum of approval, looking down at you. “missed you.”

“yeah?”

luke nods. “yeah. s’much.”

he leans in and plasters a kiss on the crown of your head. he pulls away, giving you the opportunity to look up at him in adoration. he reaches his hand up and traces your lips with his fingertip, smiling when you flex them to kiss it. 

“c’mere,” he groans, grabbing the back of your head and guiding it to his. he captures your lips in a soft and gentle kiss. you close your eyes and savor the feeling of him smiling against your lips when you dig your hands deep into his hair. 

when he finally pulls away, he looks down at you with so much adoration written over his features it makes your heart jump. “y’taste like the ocean.”

“i was swimming in the sound,” you defend, and he shrugs. 

“i wasn’t complaining.”

and then he tugs you back in for another kiss. 

you pull away from the kiss and look up at him through your tears. you try at a smile because luke looks like the boy he was when you were in this position countless times before, except when it was in his bed of his cabin instead of the princess andromeda state room. 

your skin is rosy and a little bit dry from bathing in the cruise ship life luke has provided you with when you agreed to help him take down the gods. since then, it’s been the two of you and no one else. 

however, he’s constantly overworking himself. he did it before even at camp, but now it’s constant training and sometimes fighting other demigods when they’d stumble upon the ship. 

today, particularly, luke had got into a fight with a brother of ethan nakamura’s when he’d come to save ethan. the fight was ugly and bloody, resulting in the brother ending up over the ship. luckily, he wasn’t dead and had swum back to the boat he’d brought out there, but you couldn’t help but feel a sense of fear when you looked at your boyfriend’s bloody hands when he’d returned to the stateroom. 

“i—i’m sorry,” he’d said as you looked at him with fear. “he was tryin’ to kill me. he’s okay.”

you let him lead you to his bed where he sat down at the edge and pulled you in between his legs, watching you with guilt as you patched his wounds, occasionally wincing when antiseptic broke through his pain tolerance. 

“i know you worry about me, angel,” he whispered, his sweet brown eyes looking up at yours with patience, “believe me, i do. gods, you’re so perfect.”

you shook your head, blinking the tears that threatened to spill over your waterline away. “you hurt yourself so much, luke, it scares me.”

“i know,” he responded firmly, grabbing your hands and stopping them for a moment. he held them in his, looking up at you desperately. “i promise you, i wouldn’t ever think of doing anything reckless enough to take me away from you. i don’t wanna lose you either, sweetheart.”

you watched him for a few moments before he continued, “ ‘m always gonna come back to you. no matter what.” 

you smiled for a moment more before going back to cleaning his wounds. he watched as your brows furrowed, whispering, “i promise, i’m with you.”

you watched him, bringing your hand up to his cheek and dragging your thumb across it. you nodded. 

“yeah?” he asked, a boyish smile appearing on his face. 

“yeah.” you echoed. 

now, he looks down at your lips again. “y’taste like the ocean.”

you shake your head. “that’s pool water.”

“same thing?” he asks, silently asking for you to agree to disagree before your argument skills come out. 

“yeah, sure,” you agree, letting him guide you by the back of your head to kiss you softly again.

[grimm-writings]

HI ITS BARD ANON I MISSED YOU!!! insane request but what about a situation where the party + kabru + chil’s family orchestrate a date between chil and reader? like setting them up… i think that’d be so cuteeee

for the dancing and the dreaming

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, post-canon spoilers, chilchuck’s wife remains nameless, i love chilchuck's family can you tell

…wc! 1887

…notes! BARD ANON I’M BACK FROM WAR (burnout) !!!! these two requests are similar so i decided to make ‘em a wombo combo!!! enjoy my loves!

The woman gives you a kindly smile as she waves you off, you and her ex leaving the tavern.  She sighs and leans back, crossing her arms.

God, Chilchuck is more stupid than she remembered.

How could he possibly miss the affection in your eyes when he called out to you both before you left?  Or how you clearly wanted to ask if you can stay with him longer?  He’s just going to ignore that and consider it all platonic?

What an idiot.  Do I really have to step in for him again?  Just like old times, huh…?

The half-foot taps a finger against her cheek in thought.  Maybe she can push you to confess?  No, you’d probably wave your hands around and insist against having feelings for Chilchuck in the first place.  A heavy sigh escapes her.

Looks like she has to do things the old-fashioned way.

Step 1 – Family

The quickest way to alert someone is to see who the people closest to you know.  Flertom is rather in-the-know about any gossip.  Usually, as a mother, the half-foot really doesn’t want to encourage such things, but for now…

“What’s trendy in dating circles nowadays?”  She asks offhandedly, eyeing a bouquet Flertom bought to gift a possible suitor.  “Is the man still expected to be the one to initiate everything?”

She could nearly scoff at her own words.  Only reason she and Chil got together was pure happenstance.  Practically a blur by now.  He’d be hopeless at actually trying to start anything with you.

The younger woman hums in curiosity, before stopping to think.  “Not really nowadays, no…  If you have enough charisma, you can charm any man into taking you out for a drink.  Why do you ask, Ma?”

Flertom squints as she watches her mother laugh and shake her head in response.  “Oh, I just think your old man might need some… encouragement with a new flame is all.”

Just as she expected, Flertom was immediately on the ball with planning, rushing out to the town in order to visit her sisters and inform them of the operation.  She practically commanded her old mother to see if she could look for any clues about Chilchuck’s possible beau.  With a knowing smile, she remarks that she’s very happy to pay a visit to Melini.

Step 2 – Friends

“You really think something that elaborate could work?!”  Marcille Donato leans forward in her chair.  Her eyes shine with a certain kind of joy at the idea of playing Cupid that amuses the matured half-foot significantly.

She nods.  “I don’t see anything else coming close to pushing them.  Force might be the only way.”

A female tall-man, Falin if recalled correctly, squints and hums, tapping her finger on her chin as she tilts her head.  Her brow furrows.  “From what I know, Chilchuck seems to be more open, but… I don’t know if he has the courage to be truly vulnerable in front of someone like that.”

“No need to tell me twice,” his ex scoffs.

“Oh!”  The king, of all people, seems to have an epiphany.  “We could hold some sort of ball, encourage him to invite a plus one.  That can work, right Kabru?”

All eyes turn to look at the advisor standing to the side, clearly enjoying the conversation but not wishing to intrude.  He startles at the sudden attention, before clearing his throat behind his fist.

“It will take some time to plan, but it could work…  You mentioned having three daughters, ma’am, you can take one as a plus-one, and the two will take each other.”  He’s calm with his conclusion, which the half-foot woman can definitely respect.

“A banquet of all their favourite foods,” the dwarf Senshi, as food-brained as ever, sighs in daydream.

Kabru takes a step forward.  “Though I have to ask,” he enquires, “is it really necessary to call upon all of the king’s advisors and himself for a Cupid scheme?”

Silly boy.  He doesn’t yet realise the stakes.

If Chilchuck and you don’t say something soon, then you may stay silent forever.  This idea might be the best shot they have.

Step 3 – The Preparation

“What’s even the occasion…?”  Chilchuck sighs as he adjusts the sleeves of the formal outfit he’s wearing.  He’s definitely unused to something so high-class.  Being invited as a guest of honour certainly isn’t doing any favours either.

Not to mention, Laios was stupid enough to not even bestow upon you a guest of honour title!  Chilchuck has to go through the means of inviting you as a plus one due to some ‘organisational issues’, as Kabru put it.

What a load of crap.

“I ‘unno!”  Puckpatti peeks her head around the corner to look at her father.  “Royals just seem to like their balls!”

“This isn’t one of your period romances…” Meijack’s voice rings from the other room too.

You sit with them, talking amongst one another.  Flertom’s plus one remains a mystery to you, though she assures you that you’ll meet with her when you get there.  You can only assume it’s the girls’ mother but you have no clue why she’s so giggly and secretive about it.

“On the contrary!” Flertom announces.  “I think it’s exactly like a period romance.  Maybe one of us will be swept into a dance so beguiling, you forget there’s a whole ballroom of people!”

You squeal in surprise when Flertom takes your hands and pulls you out of your chair.  You dance together in a fit of giggles.  You only barely miss Chilchuck walking out to meet with you all, a fond smile on his face.

Little do you know, he’s thinking about what it would be like if joy like this could be shared in a household with the two of you.

“Come on now, settle.  Apparently there’s gonna be a carriage taking us to Melini.  I couldn’t fight against the theatrics, according to Marcille…”

“Oh Papa!”  Puckpatti sighs blissfully.  “We truly are living like nobles now!  Maybe you can… ah…”

Both you and Chilchuck spy her eyes darting towards her sisters with unsureness.  How strange.

“You can find… someone nice there!”

“No, Patti.”  Chilchuck shakes his head with a sigh.  “I’m not gonna marry some rich dwarf.”

“You are too cruel, Papa,” Flertom points out with a pout.  “No one will want you if you just keep saying no.”

As the three bicker, Meijack spares you a sympathetic glance, and she rolls her eyes.  Her sisters hardly know subtlety.  Finally she stands up and walks to your side.

“I’m glad you’re here with us,” she says with uncharacteristic softness; she’s similar to her father like that.  “Papa has good taste.”

You go red just as much as Chilchuck.  For a moment, Flertom and Puckpatti wonder if their less romance-focused sister has some secret charisma she’s been hiding up her sleeve this whole time.  It seems to work though, as they chorus their agreements loudly.

“Very good taste!”

“Their formal wear matches yours fashionably well!”

“Just as pretty as Ma too!”

“If not prettier!”

The entire carriage ride to Melini was full of this type of chatter, asking questions about you and Chilchuck’s time together the whole way.  A few times you had to clarify that you are only as close as the rest of your old party were close, but were only met with a few smug “mhms” and “sures”.

Chilchuck can only roll his eyes when he gets the chance to comment on it privately with you.  “I have no idea what’s up with them.”

“Oh, cheer up!”  You laugh softly.  “I’m flattered that they like me.”

Chilchuck can’t help but hear your laugh and chuckle along – music to his ears.  “...Yeah, I’m glad they like you too.”

“Come on!  Ma is here to greet you two!”  Flertom’s voice calls out.

The mastermind has been watching you and Chilchuck the whole time you approach.  Her expression remains neutral, with the smallest sliver of a smile.  Seems like the proximity has been lending itself quite well.

“Well, aren’t you two a pair,” she greets you both.  “Ready to take the ball by storm.”

“Your jokes haven’t gotten any better,” Chilchuck replies.

“And you’re still wearing the same shabby suit from sixteen years ago.”

Chilchuck flushes red once again and you can’t help but laugh, patting his shoulder sympathetically as he hooks his arm through yours.

The watching half-foot knowingly grins.  Yes, you two are definitely going to take it up a level after tonight.

Step 4 – Profit!

The ball came and went.  It goes as typical as the dark-haired half-foot expects.  What really is supposed to be a high-class noble event is a mask for foodies, romantics, and those looking for a fun time.

Senshi’s food was as wonderful as promised, and even if this was all done in the name of romance, Flertom and Puckpatti had to be held down from trying to approach the dwarf with lowered eyelids and twirled hair.  Chilchuck doesn’t need more heart palpitations than he already did.

She did her best to encourage Chilchuck to drink.  She knows better than anyone that his tongue only loosened when he got enough alcohol in him.  It hurts just a little, knowing that this is one of the only ways Chilchuck can be open with someone romantically.

The temptation did cross her to ask how Chilchuck views her now, but she stood against it.  It’s not the night for that.

By the time the party drew to a close, people were exhausted, drunk, in a food coma, or all of the above.  The King had to be dragged over to his quarters, and Marcille had since passed out on Falin’s shoulder, who’s bidding farewell to guests.

The dark-haired half-foot swirls the last of her wine in a glass as she stands outside, making small-talk with the tall-man.  It’s not until you stumble out with Chilchuck clinging to the fabric on your hip that she looks up.

“Do you—”

“No need for help!”  You reassure her with a grin.  “He always seems to get clingy with me when drunk, so I’m kinda used to it at this point!”

Your laughter meets a knowing smile, not knowing exactly what she’s so smug about.  “Yes, he seems to really like you.”

“I sure hope he does, considering he’s accepted my request to go on a date with him.”

Falin perks up enough to wake up the elf on her shoulder.  “A date?”

The half-foot across from you is stunned into silence.  It actually worked.  The atmosphere and passion of it all actually egged you both on!

“Congratulations.”  You’ve seen more emotion from the dark-haired woman than ever before.  Her smile relaxed but her eyes shining, the lines underneath crinkling with happiness.  “Treat him well, okay?”

“Of course,” you reply, and you lean forward a little.  “Thank you for your help.  Kabru couldn’t help but gossip to me.”

You wink and lean up again.  Chilchuck at your side whines for your attention and you laugh, walking towards a carriage.

Safe travels were promised, and the dark-haired half-foot turns to the two blonde women.

The elf blinks slowly, red-faced from drink.

“Did we win…?”

The two other women laugh.  Stories must be exchanged the next time you all meet – especially on your end of things.

[catopoliscat]

absence / suguru geto/fem!reader

suguru's been working away for a few days. time apart always made your boyfriend a little insatiable. sometimes he couldn't even wait for you to wake up before he had a taste.

tags: nsfw. 18+. fem!reader. (consensual) somnophilia. established relationship. canon!verse but slight au!suguru (not a cult leader/normal sorcerer). cunnilingus. fingering. one pet name, ‘my sweet thing’. spitting. suguru knows how to EAT. he’s also very, very into it if you catch my drift. porn without plot, really. no use of y/n or any other placeholders. ever.

wc: 1.9k.

a/n: is this a drabble? how small is a fucking drabble idk - but a lil smth small while i work on a lil smth fatter ehe

mdni.

It’s the throbbing between your legs that eventually wakes you up. 

Your head is thick, still dusted and clouded with the heavy remnants of your disturbed dreams. There’s a cool breeze against your skin, and you vaguely become aware of the lack of covers on top of you… and yet your skin feels hot, prickly. You palm at the sheets, go to roll from your back onto your side but a firm grip against your thighs keeps you planted. The feeling of restriction rouses you more, your eyelids fluttering, squinting against the darkness of your bedroom—

—and the long, hot slide of something wet against your clit has you snapping awake. 

Your eyes blink open as a breathless sound leaves your lips. Your hips buck up involuntarily against the unknown source of pleasure, a hot flush blooming across your skin. You go to rise up on your elbows, only to fall back again a breath later as you feel a strong suction against your swollen bud. 

A soft moan falls out of you, the sound snapping through the silence of your bedroom, filtering with the lewd wet sound coming from between your thighs.

Looking down, you’re greeted by the mess of ink-black hair spilling over your lower stomach, untied and untamed, tickling your skin with every movement. You can make out a single ear and black gauge amidst the dishevelled locks, the soft moonlight catching on its obsidian surface. 

Even if you couldn’t see, you could tell it was Suguru by the sounds of his deep groans alone. 

“F-fuck, Suguru,” you gasp as those tight lips clench harder around your clit. “Couldn’t… ah, couldn’t wait until the damn morning?” 

Something like a grunt and a moan is all you get in reply. Your hips go to roll again, but an arm is winding around your thigh—and a large hand presses down on your lower stomach to keep you still. Those sinful lips pop off of your clit with a wet smack. 

“Missed you,” you hear Suguru murmur, the words muffled against your hot flesh before he gives one long lick from your entrance upward. He moans as if the taste is all he needs to sustain him. “Missed this.” 

You bite your bottom lip, teeth dragging against the skin as your arm snakes down your body. Your fingers wind into those untamed locks, gripping the strands tightly at the root–and a rumbling moan vibrates against your hot, sensitive flesh in response. Suguru was always weak for having his hair pulled.

You rise up on one elbow. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your grip almost severe, but Suguru only groans again, his wet tongue sliding against your pussy messily. His head tilts up a little, two dark eyes looking up at you from underneath his lashes and the hair spilling across some of his face. Your own arousal glints against his lips and tongue, even his nose. A light flush blooms across his cheeks. He looks almost drunk.

He pushes against your grip easily, face diving back down an inch between your thighs. His tongue circles the slick rim of your entrance once again before sliding inside, a wet slurping sound filling the air—drinking from you like a man parched. A sharp nose bumps against your clit and you clench around his tongue tightly. 

“A-ah,” you roll your hips toward his mouth, feeling his tongue probe deeper, and Suguru makes no move to stop you this time. Instead, his large palm slides up across your stomach, dipping under your shirt to grab greedily at your breast. “You’ve r-really missed me, huh?” 

“You have no fucking idea,” he breathes out between thrusts of his tongue, voice muffled by your slick heat. Suguru wasn’t one for cursing often, but when he did, it never failed to make you clench, that coil in your gut winding a little tighter. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this.” 

Suguru pulls back his tongue, purses his lips, and a trickle of spit falls against your pussy, wetting you further. He smears it with his tongue, his grip on your breast tightening. His ministrations are sloppy, a mixture of his saliva and your own arousal coating his lower face, strands of his untied hair, your thighs and ass. 

“So fucking messy,” he groans, pinching at your nipple harshly almost as if you were to blame for all this. 

Suguru was typically methodical and precise when it came to your pleasure… that was until distance separated you. Then he became like this–wanting, hungry, filthy. Almost insatiable.

Typically, however, he had the patience and restraint to wait until morning. It seems tonight he had been in a rush—not even bothering to remove take off his own clothes or even your underwear fully, instead tugging them hastily to the side. They were damp too, you could feel it, and you wondered how long he had busied himself licking against the fabric until his impatience had pushed him forward. 

Your moans rise in both pitch and volume as he busies his tongue against your clit again, stimulating it in sure, quick circles with the tip. He lets the drool fall freely from his mouth until you feel it drip down between your cheeks to soak the bedsheets below you. You continue to tug and pull at his scalp, your hips twitching and your breathing growing increasingly ragged. 

Suguru can tell you’re growing close—he knows your body well enough by now to recognise the signs. Laboured breathing, moans turning to pitchy gasps, the grip on his hair that’s almost painful. He doesn’t waste any time in sliding two thick fingers inside you, the passage barely felt with how slick you are. The pads of his digits pressing against the soft part inside your walls that has your hips nearly flying off the bed; not thrusting, simply curling. Insistently. 

A guttural sound leaves Suguru’s lips in response, something like a growl. 

“Fuck!” You gasp, the combination of his tongue on your clit and his fingers massaging your spot sending you dizzy. Your lips are dry, parched, as you pant into the cool air. “I’m gonna’ fucking cum-“ 

Suguru’s fingers rub more firmly against your spot and that coil in your gut is winding so tight you fear you’ll ache in the morning. You know you’re going to crash. Hard. 

“Come on, come on,” Suguru is chanting against your pussy in breathless gasps. “Give it to me, my sweet thing, goddamn, give it—“ 

You glance down between eyelids that seem determined to clamp shut. You see Suguru’s face buried against you, hear the wet squelch of his fingers massaging you from the inside and you’re so close, so fucking close— 

Then you see the movements of Suguru’s hips; small twitches and slow grinds as he ruts his clothed cock against the mattress—the thought that he’s as aroused by this as you are, as he always is when he brings you pleasure like this—sends you careening over the edge. 

Your back bows, a harsh cry leaving your lips as your pussy clenches tight around his fingers. Eyes scrunched tight, you’re throbbing, crying out his name you think, but it’s hard to tell. Suguru’s groaning against you, whispered curses and praises falling from his lips like a symphony. 

The pleasure is blinding, seemingly infinite—Suguru’s tongue and fingers working you even now, pushing you further and further until you can’t take it anymore. When it gets too much, even for you, you tug his lips away from your oversensitive core by his hair. He removes his fingers of his own accord, a slick sound accompanying the movement. 

Your eyes are hazy, clouded, as you look at him, your breaths coming shallow and stilted. His face is soaked with you, his shining lips still parted, his tongue darting out to collect every drop as he stares back. The flush across his cheeks has darkened, and his breathing is shallow, too shallow—you recognise that look, it’s when— 

A breathless laugh falls past Suguru’s lips. He seems sated, yet drained. With a breath, he pulls his hand from your shirt and rises up onto his knees, his movements languid and sluggish. As he sits back on his haunches, his knees slightly spread, you get a clear view of the swell in his pants—and the large dark spot blooming around it. 

He had cum. Without touching himself. 

Suguru’s lips tug to one side as he looks down at you spread out before him. He doesn’t seem sheepish or embarrassed, only vaguely surprised, yet satisfied. His hair is a mess, strands clinging to his damp face and neck. His hand drifts down to his clothed, softening cock, giving it a small squeeze. It twitches in his grasp, and a small ‘hah’ leaves his mouth as his hips twitch. 

“Fuck,” he exhales as his eyelids flutter shut. “You made me cum.” He opens his eyes after a moment, letting his hand fall back to his thigh with a small sigh. “Couldn’t hold back. Not when you sounded like that.”  

You chuckle weakly as your heart calms down in your chest, feeling exhausted in the best possible way. “Not like you to lose control,” you murmur, a lazy smile on your face.

“No?” He slowly crawls over you, two forearms bracing near your head, his hair tickling your collarbones. He dips down to press his lips against yours in a wet, unhurried kiss. You sigh as you taste yourself on his tongue, the taste of both him and you making you melt against the mattress beneath you. He pulls back after a moment too short, settling his weight down against you, but even in his tired state he’s careful not to press fully. “I think you seem to be the best at making me lose my sense.”  

A nose brushes against yours, his eyelids fluttering shut in contentment. The weight against you grows a little heavier, and you imagine he must be beyond exhausted. 

But still, you’re both covered in fluid, sweat and spit. It’s a little gross. 

“We should shower,” you murmur, and Suguru hums in agreement. He makes no effort to move just yet, though. “And probably change the sheets.” 

Suguru exhales through his nose sharply in amusement, his eyes blinking open to look at you through a hooded gaze. “Who said we were done?”

You raise an eyebrow and glance over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:56am.  

“Sugur-“ 

His hips roll against yours, the fabric of his pants rubbing against your tender heat. You jolt a little, a small gasp leaving your lips in response to the stimulation—and the fact that Suguru is still very much hard underneath his trousers. 

You look up at him with a huff of disbelief. “You’re kidding. You need to rest—”

“I missed you so fucking much,” he cuts in, the words deep in tone as his lazy gaze bores into yours from above. There’s an undercurrent of need in his voice, something damningly close to desperation. “Badly.” His hips roll again, more firmly this time. Despite your reservations, you moan at the hard pressure of his cock against you–and the fact that Suguru, composed Suguru, always seemed to be insatiable. Only for you.

His smiles, something frayed at the edges as his grinding becomes more insistent, fervent. “Did you miss me too? Hah, fuck, go on. Tell me.” 

And you do.

You tell him how much you missed him many, many times that night—until warm sunlight filters into the room and you both fall asleep tangled together–amidst the very soiled sheets. 

masterlist.

[emelinstriker]

Starscream ♡ Kiss The Spark

He may be in denial over certain things, but his spark says otherwise. Also I know this ain't a canon way of humans bonding with cybertronians, but eh, this is how I always saw it as a possible headcanon. Btw, "Kiss The Spark" was supposed to be a little one-shot series for each Decepticon, which is why there's more than one.

[TL;DR] A simple examination of the spark chamber turns into a sparkbond with a human.

♡ ~ Fluff ~ ♡

"Will he be okay?" You asked the cherry red medic, worried about your lover's current state. The seeker was lying on Knockout's operation table because he took a heavy blow from an Autobot.

"Well, his physical state isn't instable or anything, but he did receive quite the blow to his chassis. His spark might be damaged. And this is why I asked for your assistance", Knockout responded as he brought some potential tools over to the table. You gave him a puzzled look and he raised an optic ridge at you. "You two are Conjunx Endura, right?"

You tilted your head at that question. Humans couldn't physically become a Cybetronian's Conjunx... right? You crossed your arms, avoiding eye contact. "...Not exactly. We agreed on our relationship verbally, but we don't think a sparkbond is possible."

He hummed in thought before returning to check his tools. "Well, either way, you're the closest he has to a Conjunx Endura. Therefore I'm asking you to be the one to examine his spark and spark chamber." Your mouth hung agape at his request. But... wasn't the spark a Cybetronian's most sacred possession? Their entire life essence? Their heart and soul?

"I-I don't think he-" "Oh please, he wouldn't mind being touched like that by you. He most certainly would shoot my own if I accidentally touched his spark." You gulped and he noticed your uneasy posture. "Don't worry, doll. The procedure will not be taking up a lot of your time and he most likely won't suffer from any further injuries. Just follow my instructions as best as you can. Best case scenario would just turn this into a simple examination."

Letting out a nervous sigh, you reluctantly agreed to his request and climbed your way up to the seeker's chassis. Giving the medic one last glance, you lightly held your hands on top of the grey mech's Decepticon insignia. His spark chamber opened up to you with ease as if his spark was awaiting you.

And there it was- a brightly glowing sphere.

"Alright, doll," the red mech started, "check around his spark chamber for any possible dents or even leaks. We do not know if any of his most inner energon spill. The opening shouldn't have any dents either." You grabbed ahold of the edge of his spark chamber, making sure to not touch his spark as you got closer to examine the insides of his chamber. Squinting your eyes at the brightness, you tried looking around the walls.

"...I don't see any energon. Although, I believe there's a potential dent on the right side of the opening, but none in- WOAH-" Suddenly you were interrupted by his spark reaching out towards you with some strange bright rays, acting like little tendrils. Startled, you backed away from his chassis while the tendrils seemed to retreat as you went further away.

"Uh- Knockout?!" You really needed an explanation for this. The medic just started laughing at both the discovery and your awkward misery. "Knockout, this isn't funny, you jerk!"

"Oh my! He really does want to sparkbond with you, even while in stasis!" He was now clutching his tank at the irony. "Breakdown owes me an energon cube!"

"W-Wait, what-"

He wiped an imaginary tear from his optic before he slowly started to calm down. "You know what? I think you can deal with his spark chamber without my instructions. I don't want to interrupt your sparkbonding experience with your Conjunx, doll. Simply write down any possible damages and we'll fix it afterwards."

And with that he casually walked out of the room, smirking. What a prick.

Now surrounded by silence, not counting the slight energy sound Starscream's spark was giving off, you decided to just get it over with. You mustered up your courage and got a little closer to his spark. Again, trying to avoid touching it while attempting to get a good angle to see if there was any damage further to the top of the chamber. And yet again, the tendrils reached out to you once more. They gently wrapped themselves around your head and pulled you closer to the spark. The spark and its tendrils started giving you the feeling of comfort as you let yourself be lead even closer towards your lover. You closed your eyes due to the intense light as your lips touched his warm spark in a kiss. You stayed like this until it started making weird sounds, startling you.

Suddenly, you were able to feel what seemed to be Starscream's memories or present feelings while in stasis. His anger towards the Autobots, his fear of Megatron and Predaking, his sadness over his insecurities, his love for you... You felt it all in one big wave of emotions. After it was over, finally you felt like you could breathe again. You gasped as you swiftly retracted from his spark. However, you then noticed that you now had your hands on it instead.

"Uh-" You were about to call Knockout for his knowledgeable advice, when Starscream's optics onlined. You looked up at him in worry, frozen in fear of him now hating you for touching his spark. But you didn't expect his optics to look so... out of it. His facial expression held a mix between confusion and what you could only describe as having a hangover. And that's when his optics looked down, staring at you. You suddenly panicked as you swiftly retracted your hands. "Oh my gosh, I'm so, so, sorry! I-I don't know what-" Starscream simply interrupted you by using his talons to gently push you towards his spark once more. Confused, you stared him in the optics.

"Please, hold my spark again..." His voice sounded desperate to have you this close to him. Reluctantly, you lightly layed your hands on it. The seeker seemed satisfied, but something was still missing...

"Put your chassis over it...", he added. You stared at him, surprised by his request, but did as he asked. You took off your shirt, as to not have it bother his most vulnerable part, and placed it on the side of the table while you were slowly starting to get cold. It wasn't cold for long however. You climbed a bit further up his chassis so you could lie down over his spark chamber, with your chest making slight contact with his warm spark. Now you certainly weren't cold anymore.

Not the most comfortable position to be lying in but hey, you got to be closer to your love. The tendrils emerged once more, and this time they seemed to hug you by wrapping around you, securely holding you against Starscream. Said seeker used one servo to trail a digit up and down your back, seemingly content to finally have you be this close.

The comforting heat and emotions his spark was giving off suddenly got you very tired. So you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep in your Conjunx Endura's embrace.

Bonus:

"Wow, Starscream..." That voice. That unnerving voice. "I only asked them to check your spark chamber for any dents, and you want to suddenly try sparkbonding instead in a rather desperate way", Knockout said as he walked closer to the table the seeker was lying on. He then added, "And here I thought you couldn't sparkbond with a human. Guess Shockwave will have something new to examine."

The seeker glared at the direction of the red mech, scoffing at the medic. "If either one of you tries to touch them, there will be dire consequences, Knockout." He snapped back, slightly tightened his grip on you as you kind of curled around his spark.

The red mech smirked at your Conjunx's sudden protectiveness. "I didn't say I would touch them. Although, I do hope you two are done soon. I'll still be needing that table to fix you up, after all."

[ Masterlist ]

[miguelhugger2099]

Hiii, I’m in love with your writing it’s a comfort for me atp. Could you please do grumpy reader where she doesn’t talk to others a lot. That makes Miguel look like an extrovert (even though we both know that’s not true 😭). Happy Easter 🐣 and or any holiday you celebrate.

Two Peas in a Pod

c.....comfort,,,,, sad hamster meme the highest honor i could ever get omg thank you i really liked this ask because its basically me haha my friend actually told me ive gotten better at being more welcoming and "nice" and another friend would tell me that i could never mask my uncomfortableness if someone was bothering me LMFAO but as alwayyssssss i can rewrite this request for u if ur not satisfied :) Art: nellwhre17 on instagram

Spider-People were supposed to be funny and outgoing. It was in their canon to have some resemblance to the original quippy and humorous Spider-Man. If not outgoing then at least a little endearing and sweet.

So the Spider Society is a little thrown off when you’re introduced to the team by Miguel. Both of your arms are crossed, your face blank and looking over other Spiders with neutrality. 

“Here’s our new recruit. She’ll be working more with Margo and Lyla. Think of her as one of your superiors like myself or Jess or Peter B.” Miguel tilts his head at all the other Spiders. “That’s all. Dismissed.”

He turns to face back to his console, returning to work on new files Lyla had presented to him. Some Spiders stay to chat with you. They don’t notice the slight discomfort and annoyance in your face.

“Hey! My name is Peter M! I think we might be the same age!” One says, his mask squinting to look like he’s smiling.

“Have you gone on a mission yet? What Earth are you from?”

“Has Miguel explained The Canon to you yet? It’s a little overwhelming, I know.”

The commotion irks you a bit, the Spiders coming into your personal space so you shuffle away and your brows instinctively scrunch together. “No, I’m fine.” You mutter curtly. The others finally see the change in your demeanor and they awkwardly step back.

Miguel turns over to see the few Spiders around and barks at them to stop. “She’s still new to all this so don’t go around pestering her.” 

They smile wearily up at him then at you, whose face is still contorted a bit in a way that looks like you’re obviously still being bothered. 

They get the message and wave goodbye to you but not without feeling a chill down their spine at how cold you were. Maybe you were just shy. Everything is and always will be overwhelming around here with different variants of yourself. So, they believed in time you’d come around like the others.

You, in fact, did not come around. After weeks, months even, you still came in and left without a word. Get in and get out. You rarely engaged in conversation and if you were in a group, you’d keep to yourself. If someone tried to include you, you’d just say a few blunt words that didn’t move the conversation at all so there'd be an awkward standstill before moving on.

No matter what, no one knew anything else about you besides your name, you were a Spider-Woman and the name of your Earth.

Even the esteemed group of young SpiderLings couldn’t even get you to open up. Jess and Gwen had just come back from a mission, wanting to eat at the cafeteria before heading home. They had found seats beside Hobie and Pav who were just catching up together.

Pav had mentioned trying to talk to you once but his bright personality pushed you further and further away from him, your responses to his questions becoming more and more short and quick.

“I’ve never met such a complicated individual.” He pouts, crossing his arms on the table.

“Don’ bother me none. I don’ like someone tryin’ to bug me either.” Hobie scratches the back of his neck. 

“Would’ve thought they opened up by now.” Gwen brushed her hair out her face. “It’s like pulling teeth with her.”

“She just seems kinda grumpy sometimes…” Pav sighs resting his head in his arms. “Even more than Miguel which feels wrong.” 

“Yeah, at least Miguel snaps at you but she…kinda just sits there.” Gwen leans back with a weak smile. “Not really sure how to make conversation when she’s so quiet.”

“She just doesn’t feel like talking, guys. Go easy on her.” Jess rubs her temples. 

Their conversation is cut short when Miguel walks through the cafeteria, documents in hand and with you in tow. Speak of the Devil. 

“Jess, Gwen, I misremembered about giving you the reports of your last mission together. I also have the analysis for the next one on Earth—199B.” Miguel hands the reports to Jessica and she immediately skims through it. Gwen looks over her shoulder and gives you a smile.

“Hey, how’s it going?” She asks. 

You respond with a shrug and a nod. “Good.”

Gwen’s smile wavers, laughing nervously as the awkward silence. She expected some sort of greeting back. 

Miguel answers for you. “She’s been with me the whole day since Peter’s been busy at home.” Gwen looks to Miguel.

“And how about you, boss? Doin’—uh—doin’ good?”

Miguel sighs, crossing his arms. “Better now that Margo fixed what Hobie broke in the console room.”

Hobie tsks. “Did not. You’re jus’ blamin’ me ‘cause I’m the scapegoat around ‘ere. Tha’ it?” 

Miguel pulls up camera footage from his Gizmo, of Hobie pulling apart different motherboards and CPUs from the server and tucking them away in his pocket. “Is this not you?!”

Hobie squints at the footage and shrugs. “AI has truly come a long way, mate. Bettah check tha’ out.”

Gwen, Pav and Jessica laugh at the scene, giggling at the sheer anger on Miguel’s face and Hobies indifference. You watch with a soft smile up at Miguel but nothing else.

Miguel feels your hand on his forearm and he looks down at you. You nod your head to the side, signaling it’s time to go. He looks at the time on his watch and collects himself. 

“We’re gonna head out. Don’t bother us unless there’s an emergency and be alert for any sudden messages should I need to contact any of you for anomalies.” He turns and gives a small wave before leaving, you trailing behind him.

You don’t say much other than looking behind to give them a small nod and following beside Miguel.

The group watches as Miguel talks to you, relating information and talking your ear off about missions and the to-do for the day. You listen quietly, eyes held on his and nodding along.

They glance at each other and think they would’ve never seen a person more closed off than Miguel in their lifetime. Even less where it looks like he’s more talkative compared to you. What an odd pair. “I think she has opened up. Maybe just not with us.” Jess leans back with a smile.

[dindjarindiaries]

Rush

summary: You and Hunter have to make a risky escape when the end of a mission goes sideways, though even an exit gone wrong has a bright side.

pairing: sergeant hunter (tbb) x reader

tags: canon-typical violence, light angst, kissing/sexual themes, fluff

rating: T

word count: 3.478k

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

Thunder crackled overhead, and no later did you start feeling the droplets of rain that ricocheted off the trees surrounding you. With a huff, you tried in vain to press yourself harder against the rough bark, as if the canopy of leaves would somehow give you cover from the oncoming storm. “Great,” you muttered. “This is just what we needed.”

“At least it’ll cool us off,” Hunter offered, tilting his helmet as he kept his blaster lifted in his hand. He spoke without moving from his post, which happened to be the tree across from yours.

You raised an amused eyebrow at him. “Ever the optimist.”

Hunter chuckled. “I’m trying my best.” He touched his fingers against his helmet and spoke into the comms. “Time’s winding down, Echo. How close are you two?”

“We’ve nearly got it,” Echo responded. “I’ve gotten access, but Tech just has to decrypt a few more sequences.”

You and Hunter watched another patrol of guards stroll around the corner of the safehouse Echo and Tech had snuck into. It was the third you had seen in the past ten minutes, which confirmed their suspicions were rising. Your squad had over welcomed their stay.

“There’s a third patrol group,” you warned them.

“Make that four,” Wrecker added. “Omega and I see a new group, too.”

You and Hunter shared a cautious look. His finger tapped his blaster a few times before he spoke into the comms again. “Tech?”

“Thankfully, I work well under pressure.” The tapping of Tech’s fingers along his datapad could be heard in the background of his comm. “All of Cid’s requested intel has at last been decrypted and uploaded. I must say, I find it utterly intriguing that she—.”

“Is this relevant, Tech?” Hunter’s tone was short with concern, not anger.

Tech’s sigh was audible over the comms. “I suppose it can wait. Echo and I are making our exit now.”

“Great.” With that, Hunter lowered his blaster, though he kept it close. You did the same with your own as you kept your keen eye on the latest patrol. Tech and Echo were getting out the same way they got in, and you and Hunter were closest to that exit point. Your focus would guarantee their safety.

As the rain turned into a downpour, however, it was harder to see. You squinted and blinked a few times when raindrops cascaded from your brow down to your lashes, eventually raising your arm to your eyes in a vain attempt to dry them. Your clothes had already started to stick to your soaked skin.

“You okay over there?” Hunter’s voice was yet again full of concern as you lowered your arm to look at him.

“I’m fine.” You offered him a nod for further reassurance. “You’re just lucky you have a helmet.”

Hunter began to raise his hands to the sides of his helmet. “You can have it if you need it.”

Warmth that was much more welcome than the tropical planet’s humidity swelled inside your chest as you shook your head. “That’s sweet, honey, but I’ll be fine.”

Hunter lowered his hands and nodded. His visor returned to the sight of the building in the distance even as he continued to speak to you. “I like it when you call me that.”

You chuckled to yourself. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s…”

Hunter trailed off, causing you to look from the blurry view of Echo and Tech’s exit point over to him. His entire body was tense as his visor looked just beyond you, and it became apparent that his senses had alerted him to something new. You furrowed your brow and prepared to ask him about it when you heard the sound of a growl just behind you.

“Sunny.” Hunter’s voice was a low and worried warning. “Don’t move.”

You slowly turned your head over your shoulder and felt your heart leap into your throat. There was a creature at least twice your size standing just behind you, a four-legged beast with long talons and two rows of eyes. It flashed its massive teeth at you as it growled once again.

Your panicked instincts took over, but before you could act out on them, Hunter lunged over to muffle your scream and keep you in place. His gloved hand absorbed the sound as his other arm wrapped around your waist. “Don’t. Move.”

You tried to control your breathing as your gaze stayed locked on the creature’s, but the louder it growled at you, the more difficult that task became. It took a step closer, and you gripped Hunter’s arm and wrist, lowering his hand from your mouth. “Hunter…”

“I’m watching.” His own steady breaths guided yours as his armored chest rose and fell behind you. For a moment, you really thought it would be okay.

Then, the creature roared, and Hunter raised his blaster and shot it so fast that it was nothing more than a flash in your memory.

Keeping his arm on your waist for a moment, Hunter tugged you away, leading you in a new direction. “Come on!”

You snapped back into battle mode as you diligently followed him. “Where are we going?”

“We can’t evade this thing on foot,” Hunter insisted, guiding you through the trees as the creature followed. You didn’t need Hunter’s enhanced senses to know it was only getting closer and closer. “I saw some speederbikes by the other exit point.”

“Won’t they see us stealing their equipment?”

Hunter gave his helmet a tilt even as he ran. He continued to raise his voice above the sound of the storm. “I have a feeling they already know we’re here.”

Then came the first blaster shot. You ducked down and glanced to your right, seeing the patrol group from earlier taking their aim at you and Hunter. “Oh, great! Another thing to avoid!” You fired back at them, though the attempt was pointless as the downpour blurred their distant images. “I could really use some of that optimism right about now!”

“Just stay close!” Hunter also fired back some shots at the patrol, which was thankfully composed of some poor shooters. He artfully dodged each tree and other obstacle as he led you forward, and soon, he was pointing at something ahead of him. “Here!”

You saw the outline of the speederbike just before Hunter hopped onto it. He waited until you had fallen in place behind him to push it forward, but even with the sound of its loud engine and the pouring rain around you, you could hear the other bikes following you in close pursuit. “We’ve got company!”

“Hold on!” Hunter took a sharp right, causing you to tighten your grasp on his middle for stability. Once he had straightened the bike out again, you reached back with your blaster and started to take aim at your pursuers.

“What’s causing that blaster fire?” Echo asked over the comms. “It’s impossible to see anything in this storm.”

“We’re in a bit of a situation,” you informed the squad, taking another few shots before holding tight to Hunter as he banked left. “We’re handling it, though. Did you get out okay?”

“Echo and I have rendezvoused with Wrecker and Omega,” Tech answered. “We are en route to the ship.”

“We’ve got a patrol hot on our trail,” Hunter managed to say even as he steered the bike. “We’re not heading back to the ship until we lose them.”

“Do you want some help?” Wrecker asked, and his tone revealed his desire to see some action.

“Negative, Wrecker.” Hunter paused as he went right, and you nearly lost your grasp on him thanks to how slick his armor had become. He set a hand over yours to keep it secure. “I don’t want them knowing there are more of us. Just get the ship ready to go.”

“You’ve got it, Sarge.”

“Be careful!” Omega’s genuine request managed to make you smile even as you blasted a few more times. None of your shots were landing, thanks to how hard the downpour was making it to aim. To make matters worse, they were firing their own shots, and you were just barely managing to dodge them thanks to your exposed position.

“I can’t see anything in this rain!” You ducked as a blaster bolt nearly grazed both your heads. “My shots are useless!”

Hunter, of course, only needed a moment or two before his quick thinking began. “I have an idea.” He paused to go around a tree, and you held on tight to keep yourself from slipping. “We’re gonna switch.”

Your eyes widened as you gave him a once-over. “How?”

Hunter spoke without once looking away from where you were going. “I’m gonna lean left, and you lean right. I’ll maneuver myself behind you, and once we’re both settled, you’ll take the handles from me. Okay?”

You took a deep breath. “Do you trust me to pilot in this downpour?”

Hunter’s response was genuine as he offered you a quick glance. “I trust you with my life, Sunny.”

You smiled as your determination set in. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Hunter nodded. “On the count of three.” He tightened his grip on the handles. “One… two…” Hunter took one more hard turn and then leveled the bike back out. “Three!”

As Hunter lifted himself up and leaned to the left, you leaned right and pushed yourself forward, tucking yourself under his arm. Hunter’s right leg swung off the front of the bike and fell in place behind you, and in just a few seconds, he was seated behind you. You wrapped your hands around the handles to take them from Hunter, and he let go once you were in full control.

“There you go.” Hunter wrapped his left arm around you for stability and drew his blaster with his right. “See? Easy.” He gave you a gentle squeeze before he focused on shooting.

“Yeah, don’t speak too soon.” You smirked to yourself as you banked left and then right, causing Hunter’s grasp on you to tighten.

“Are you trying to throw me off this thing?” Hunter’s tone was laced with amusement as he fired a few blaster bolts.

Your mischievous grin widened. “I thought you said you trusted me.”

“I do.” Hunter paused to focus on aiming for a few moments. “But I still wouldn’t put it past you to make it hard on me.”

“Considering you’re the one who’s responsible for keeping us alive right now,” you gritted your teeth as you swerved around two trees, “these are purely circumstantial challenges.”

“Lucky for you, I can handle it.” No later did you hear Hunter’s blaster go off, followed by the sound of a speederbike crashing. “We’ve only got two left.”

You revved the bike and pushed it forward even faster, causing Hunter to grunt with surprise as he held on tighter. You racked your brain for a new strategy as you artfully dodged each obstacle in your path. “Okay, I’m gonna make a hard left,” you told him. “That should give you a good shot at the pilot on our left.”

Hunter nodded, a movement you could sense as he kept shooting to distract them. You waited until you were headed full-speed at a tree to turn the handles and brake left, causing your bike to be perpendicular to the path of the others. All it took was two shots from Hunter’s blaster to incapacitate the second driver, leaving you with one more left to go.

Hunter’s modulated voice was warm as he spoke. “If I had known you were this good at piloting a bike, I would’ve had you hop on first.”

You chuckled to yourself and tried to ignore the heat that rushed to your face at his praise. “That’s nice of you to say, but we’re not done yet.” You glanced over your shoulder to see the bike gaining speed on you. “Got any ideas?”

Hunter kept shooting, and each new shot proved this pilot wasn’t going down as easy as the others did. “Not really. This one’s tough.” He pressed himself against you when a blaster bolt flew over your shoulders. “We might just have to try to lose them.”

You wove around another tree, and the movement alone gave you a new plan. “I’ve got something.” You flexed your wrists to increase your speed. “Holster your blaster and hold on tight, Sergeant.”

Hunter didn’t hesitate to obey your order. It was only after both his arms were tight around you that he spoke up. “What do you have in mind?”

You tilted your head and focused on the upcoming path. “You’d rather not know.”

Before Hunter could respond, you began to swerve around a massive tree trunk, but you kept your momentum to the left and turned the bike all the way around in a circle. You pressed forward even harder, causing you to charge the other bike head-on as you fired a few blasts from the bike’s guns. It did nothing as the distance between your two bikes began to close.

“Sunny,” Hunter warned, his gloved hands fisting the material of your tunic as you went faster and faster. When you still didn’t stop or turn away, he said your real name in an even more panicked tone.

At the last second, you pulled up hard, causing the bottom of your bike to narrowly miss skimming the other as they flew under you. Your distraction, however, caused them to miss what was standing directly in their path, and their bike flew straight into the tree trunk you had already circled around.

“And that’s three,” you said, smiling to yourself with satisfaction as you began to steer yourselves back towards the Marauder. You gave Hunter a quick glance over your shoulder. “Still think I’m a good pilot?”

There was a pause as Hunter lifted one of his arms from you. He reached up to remove his helmet as he exhaled an affectionate breath. “You’re amazing.” The hand holding his helmet wrapped around you again as the other moved to your thigh, his thumb and his fingers stretching across the expanse of it. “Amazing.”

Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt the warmth of his lips on your rain-soaked neck, and despite the fact you were trying to focus on the winding path ahead of you, you couldn’t help tilting your head to give him more access. His hand running up and down your thigh was no help. “Hunter,” your utterance of his name was more of a pleased sigh than you would’ve liked, “this isn’t helping me to focus.”

He stopped kissing you to speak, but he kept himself close enough for his breath to fan over your skin. “I think you’ve proven you can still work well with distractions.” Hunter gave your skin another kiss before pausing again. “But I’ll stop if you want me to.”

You couldn’t resist him. “Hell no.” You freed a hand from the handles to cover his on your thigh. “By all means, keep challenging me.”

Hunter huffed, the sound melting into your skin in a way that drew an audible breath from you. He took your words as an open invitation to devour you, despite the way the rain was still pouring over him—and now soaking his unprotected head. Heat coursed through you in a way that was much different than the planet’s humidity, and it was only getting more and more impossible to ignore.

So much for working well with distractions.

You weren’t far from the Marauder when you brought the bike to a full stop. Before Hunter could even begin to question it, you had already spun around to grab his face and pull it to yours. Each bead of rainwater on your faces began to melt together in a sweet storm of your own, feelings of strong desire and relief from your leftover adrenaline pulsing through in each matching stroke of your tongues. It wasn’t often that you got to show off for each other, and it certainly wasn’t often that you got to celebrate a victory like this.

You raked a hand through his wet locks, drawing a pleased growl from him that caused him to somehow intensify his beautifully overwhelming actions. He tilted your head back, deepening your kiss in a way that made you cling to him the most you could. It was a breathtaking moment that made everything else fall away, from the raging storm that continued to pour down on you to the squad who was still waiting for you on the ship.

That was the thought that eventually helped you to separate yourself from him, though your teeth gently clung to his lip in your desperation to stay in the moment as long as you possibly could. Your slickened forehead rested against his as you took a few breaths of composure. “I really need to focus on getting us back to the ship, honey.”

Hunter smiled at that. “You’re right. We can’t leave the squad waiting for too long.” He lifted his head from you and helped you to turn back around. “I don’t like it when they start to get suspicious of us.” You chuckled at that, the warmth remaining in your chest as he set his hand on your thigh once again. “Lead the way, love.”

You beamed and prepared to push hard on the handles. “Hold on, Sarge.” You surged forward, and Hunter tightened the arm he had around you to keep himself in place. You laughed as he shook his head, though his own armored chest was rumbling with a hearty sound that you could feel on your back.

It wasn’t much longer before you saw the Marauder exactly where you had left it. You parked the bike, and before you could hop off, Hunter had already done so and extended his hand to you. You smiled and accepted it before the two of you ran towards the open hatch.

“Nice of you two to join us,” Echo quipped from inside the hold. He had a smile on his face that proved Hunter’s earlier words to be true; he was eagerly suspicious of something.

“Took a while for us to lose them.” Hunter’s response was delivered with as much composure as usual, though you didn’t miss the gentle brush of his hand over your back as he passed you on the way to the cockpit. “Tech, get us out of here.”

You were immediately distracted by Omega, who ran up to you with a worried stitch in her brow. “Are you okay, Sunny?” She gave you a quick once-over, no doubt searching for injuries, as she held the blanket over her shoulders even tighter. “How did they see you? It was so hard to see anything in the rain!”

“We’re fine, Omega.” You ran a hand over her wettened hair and smiled. “A creature jumped out and surprised us, and that gave away our position.”

Omega’s eyes widened. “How’d you get away?”

You crossed your arms, suddenly starting to shiver now that the regulated temperature of the Marauder was making your soaked clothes feel colder. “Speederbikes.”

Omega began to look even more impressed as she raised an eyebrow. “You stole one?”

“We did.” It was Hunter who answered for you, having returned from his quick check-in with Tech. His gloved hand had fallen on your shoulder, and as you glanced at him, there was no hiding the concern in his gaze as he looked upon your shivering form. He stepped away to set his helmet down and grab another one of the blankets, which he set over your shoulders for you. You uttered a quiet thanks as he nodded.

“Aww,” Wrecker cooed from where he was sitting in the hold. “Look at your soft side, Sarge!”

“No blanket for me?” Echo added, his grin having widened even more.

Hunter grabbed another blanket and threw it at Echo, causing both him and Wrecker to laugh as he did so. You giggled and shared a look with Omega, who was beaming at you as she rested her side against yours. You sat down with her on the floor of the hold, huddling together for more warmth. Your gaze caught Hunter’s as his lips stretched in a smile that warmed every inch of you in a way that was much more wholesome than your stolen moment.

You would only have those longing glances until you could steal another moment with him, though the rush his admiring eye gave you would never fail to leave you wanting more.

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

hunter tag list: @zenrobbins0021 @cw80831

[alexa-fika]

Hello again I thought of a request

How about the scene in the Baratie Arc

So mihawk attacked Don Krieg because he kidnapped winged reader (wr)

But wr managed to escape and steals a small boat

he's starving and finds the Baratie but he doesn't have money and we see his interaction with Sanji

And at the end he goes with his dad

This going to be a long one 😂

🐼💕~

Escape, Friend, Return ( Zoro,x male!child!reader x Sanji)

A/N: You were not wrong this was long 😳, at least compared to what im used to. When I was writing I was like this wont be so long, and then I was oh…

Dividers by @/saradika

Reader squeaks, avoiding another cannonball heading his way as he flies away

Finally, he managed to reach his destination, an emergency boat intended for use if the main ship sank.

Reader, however, had a much different intention for said boat, intending to escape his captivity at the hands of Captain Krieg.

Don Krieg's face drops as he watches the ship take off.

"Shoot the little rat down!"

Another shriek escapes him as he raises the sails, giving the small boat speed and creating distance from Krieg and the incoming cannonballs

'Shoot for the sails!'.

Don-Kreich and the rest of his crew frantically fire their remaining cannons.

He flinches as one of the cannonballs lands dangerously close, the small boat shaken by the force of the waves created in turn

He sighs with relief as he makes enough distance from the main boat to be out of range of the canon

“I did it…” he mutters, the reality of what just happened to him hitting the young boy as they slowly sink down, rogue tears gradually increasing until a river of tears fell from his eyes, sobbing for his father and the safety on his embrace, exhaustion catching up to him as sleep enveloped him.

Reader was woken up by the ship impacting with a much bigger boat

“Ow,” he whines, rubbing his head, looking up and awing; he had stumbled upon a giant ship if one could call it that, a fish making the underside with a building in the middle.

“B..?” he squints at the words in front of the weird shape, unable to make out what the collection of letters read; he flutters up and into the vast ship.

He sneaks all the way towards where he sees bustling of people, hiding behind a pillar and peeking out, spotting a blond man smoking on the railings of the ship

He squeaks as the man turns his head his way, and he quickly dart back behind the pillar

“Hmm?” Sanji watches the strange sight, tilting his head

Reader peeks his head out again, taking a glimpse at the man, darting back once they see the man staring at him

Sanji watches the child curiously before heading over to the person of interest

He squeals as he peeks out again, only to see the man right before him, slowly backing away, tears welling in his eyes

Sanji looks at the child, his expression softening

“Hey, what are you doing out here all alone?”

“I-I I “

Sanji kneels down in front of the boy.

“Are you alright?” he asks

“I -I want my daddy.”

Sanji looks concerned. “Do you know where he is?” he asks

He shakes their head

“Oh…how about you just come with me to my kitchen then…we can get something to eat at least,” Sanji says

He stares at his hand hesitantly

“Hey, I won’t hurt you, alright? You look like you could use a nice meal. C’mon,” he says, offering his hand

He slowly puts his hands over his

Sanji gently takes the little hand as he starts walking, headed to the kitchen

“What’s your name, kid?” he asks

“Reader”

“And where are you from, Reader?”

“Ummm, im from Papa’s island!”

“Hmm…and how did you end up all alone out here?”

“A bad guy took me,” he said, stretching his wings out

“I see…let’s see if we can find you some food then, ok?” Sanji takes the boy to the kitchen

“Okay!”

Sanji puts the little one on a chair before making them some food

“Here…” Sanji gives him a warm bowl of soup

“Thank you, Mister!”

“You’re welcome…” Sanji says kindly

“That was really yummy, Mister.” he smiles, kicking his feet and lightly flapping his wings in content

“Umm, what's your name, Mister?”

“My name is Sanji…nice to meet you, Reader.”

“Hi, Hi, Sanji!”

“Oi Assitant Headchef Sanji! We need you on the floor! We don’t have any waiters! They ran off yesterday!”

Sanji looks up from his workstation and then turns back to the child; he sighs

“I gotta help these idiots out there. Could you wait for me on the platform? You have a nice view from there; once im done, I‘ll help you find your father; does that sound good?”

“Okay! But you have to promise to come back and help me find Daddy!”

Sanji smiles.

“Do not worry, im a man of my word. Go on now and wait for me there; I’ll be there shortly.”

"Okay." he smiles flying toward the upper balcony

The next hour was a blur to the small child, from meeting the future King of the pirates on the balcony to seeing him comedically try to convince Sanji to join his crew to laughing joyously as Luffy and Zoro quarrel to a feeling of fear and dread enveloped him as the familiar gold armored man came barging in, carried by the hungry man, asking for food and pummeling Sanji to the ground and shooting all the chefs when he received the food but did received refusal to his demand of handing the restaurant To him.

He now found themselves crying in the hands of the blond cook as he soothed down his loud sobs and cries.

Sanji sighs softly as he takes a handkerchief and gently wipes his tears

"Hey, Hey, it's okay; he's not gonna touch you again, darling."

"H-H-he came back, he came back, and Mister Sanji and the others got hurt!"

"Hey now, I will never let anyone hurt you, alright?" Sanji pulls the child close to him

He grunts as Don Krieg starts demanding food for his crew; needing food to feed a hundred people, he gently passes over the kid over to Zoro, who happens to be the closest to him; once they had managed to calm down the child, their sobs now simply reduced to heavy breathing.

"Stay here, Darling, i'll be right back

"Where are you going?" a chef questions

"Im going to the kitchen to prepare enough food for a hundred people," he mutters, taking a drag from his cigarette as chaos erupted in the restaurant once again, punches being delivered until Zeff walked out and handed a bag full of food for Krieg's crew

Zoro rolls his eyes, glancing down at the child. In his arms

"Oi, where are your parents?" he questions

"I don't know where Daddy is."

"Who is your dad?"

"Umm, Daddy!

"Of course," He grunts

"....That hawk-eyed man whose glare is sharp enough to kill a man," the hungry man mutters as they both tune in back to the conversation

"That's Daddy!"

"What?!" he said, ruffling through his pockets and pulling out a wrinkled old paper with a familiar face on it

"Is this your father?"

"That's Daddy!"

"You're the child of H-

His discovery Is cut short as a tremendous force cuts the huge galleon in half, making the baratie sway violently.

"Look out!" He growls, moving reader out of the way as the swaying throws the chairs and tables around, almost taking with it Reader.

He squeals at the sudden collision and movement; they look up a Zoro

"Are you okay?"

He, however, does not respond, eyes glued in front of him, staring at the ship that was slowly sinking to the sea, and in front of it floated a raft with a familiar man sitting on it.

"DADDY!" he cheers, wriggling out of Zoro's grasp to fly towards their father, barreling right into him

Mihawk catches the young child, gently holding him in one arm.

"There, there..."

"You're here," he mutters

Mihawk nods, gently running his fingers through his hair

"I am," he says, looking down at him

"Are you unharmed? Did they hurt you?" he said, gesturing to Zoro and their aquentainces.

He shakes his head

"They helped me, they gave me food, and they took care of me."

He hums at their answer

"Damn you, what did we do to you?! Why the hell did you have to follow us all the way out here!" a crewmate of Krieg sneered, pulling out two guns and shooing the swordsman

"Why? What impertinence to ask such a question; I came because you had the nerve to take something from me," he said, deflecting the bullets from him and his child with ease.

"You really are the strongest... I set sail to meet you," Zoro says, slowly stepping closer

Mihawk glances at him and then down at Reader.

"Stay here; I will return shortly," he said, placing him down in the raft and stepping into what remained of Krieg's ship towards the ex-pirate hunter

They engaged in a few words and then engaged in the one-way battle, Mihawk not moving from his spot as he easily bested the green head with his tiny dagger; impressed with his ambition, ferocity, and conviction, he asked for his name, and gave him his respect and honor of bringing him down with all of his force, using Yoru.

"Stand Strong, Roronoa; I will wait for you at the top. No matter how many months or years pass, I will wait for you to surpass my sword."

He smiles as he watches as Zoro raises his sword and promises Luffy never to lose again

"You make a good team; I'd like to see you in the future. You have my thanks and respect for taking care of Reader while I was gone," He says, walking away to his raft and scooping said child, smiling again as they giggle and nuzzle into them.

"Farewell

Okay, y’all im not used to something this long especially for it to be following canon so closedly so idk I feel like its a flop, I don’t feel that usual 🥰 vibe, ya know? I did have to start skipping and resuming some parts, cause well I don’t want ya to read a manuscript of the manga…

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

[deviantdaffodil]

In Heat

Miguel O’hara x Reader smut

IM ALIVE !!!! WAHHH i need miguel o’hara more than ANYTHING !!!!!!!!

!!SMALL SPOILERS MENTIONED EARLY ON!!

contains: biting, breeding, office sex, clawing, a bit of blood, choking, praise, dom miguel, sub reader, fem reader, size difference, heat, in heat, whatever you call it, dubious consent/very very very slight non con if you squint, primal/prey if you close your eyes, slight anal play if you squint

You decided you wanted to go up and visit Miguel. He had been busy since he was struggling so hard to find Miles Morales, so you wanted to go and try to cheer him up. You were a spider-person yourself and though your canon event went nothing like Miguel’s, you still felt so bad for him and took it upon yourself to be a sort of.. support system for him.

You enter the elevator of the HQ and make your way up to the top floor. Felt fitting for Miguel to have his office be the highest up.

Upon reaching the top, you step off the elevator and enter his office. “Miguel?” you call out into the darkness. You thought it was so strange how.. spooky his office felt. You became a little nervous, unable to locate Miguel. A tingle shot throughout your body and you quickly whip your body around. Standing behind you, Miguel towered over you. You jumped slightly, clenching your hand around your heart. You slip your mask off your face and look up at Miguel. “You scared me,” you said nervously with a slight chuckle.

Miguel slid his mask off as well and looked into your eyes. He was panting and sweating and you could feel the heat radiating off of him. “You shouldn’t really be here.”

You pout. He always liked your company. What’s gotten into him? Well.. you two weren’t exactly dating per se, so it’s possible he just didn’t want to be around you at the moment.. This thought hurt your feelings a little. “Is everything alright? Did I do something?” Your voice is so innocent and Miguel shudders; unbeknownst to you, pleasure and lust are clouding his mind and all he can think about is locking the door and taking you right then and there. He’s been anxious and hesitant to start a new relationship, but something about you made him go wild. He needed you, bad.

“You just- you wouldn’t get it,” he said, exasperated. “I just. I can’t be around you, it’s not safe - you’re not safe.”

You tilt your head. Again, your innocence and ignorance about the situation makes his cock throb. “Why not?”

An animalistic growl erupted in his throat. he just could not take it anymore. The shock of the noise made you back up a good bit. This only made him smirk; he enjoyed the hunt. He lunged at you on all fours; you yelp unable to get away fast enough and he quickly rips your suit across the front, nicking your flesh in the process. He latches his teeth onto your throat and bites down with a force that leaves you temporarily breathless. Heat immediately floods into your body and travels between your legs.

“M-Miguel!” Your voice cracked as you shouted, trying to get him off of you by hitting him with your fist. You did not want someone to see the two of you right now. Miguel kissed and licked at the wounds he made on your flesh. It felt like electricity was flowing through you and you moaned slightly. You carefully hold up your arm and fire a web at the door, in hopes it keeps people out. “Miguel!” your voice is now more stern.

He looks up at you, his eyes seem to glow red as your blood drips from his lip. “I need you,” he pleaded. “I need to fill you up, please..” He brushed his fingers against your clothed pussy as he pleaded with you. You instinctively grind your body against his fingers and bite your lip. It was your turn to pounce, capturing his lips in a kiss, tasting your blood on them. This was all he needed for confirmation; his claws came out and he started ripping off your suit and his own. Once he freed his cock, he held his hand up to your face. “Spit. Now,” he growled at you. You did as he asked and spit in his hand. He rubbed some of your saliva onto his cock and then some was used to lube his fingers for your pussy.

“I need you to be good and wet for my cock, okay,” he started to babble, “I don’t want to hurt you,” he cooed as he rubbed his finger around your pussy, careful to avoid your clit or your dripping hole. You were whining and whimpering while he played with your pussy and leaned in for a kiss, gently biting your lip. You were instinctively bucking your hips against his hand, praying you would get the friction you wanted so badly.

“Miguel please,” you pleaded as you run your hand down his chest to his v-line. Another growl rummbled in his throat. He picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, giving your ass a good smack or two, earning a delicious whimper from you. He took you to his desk and ran his hand across the desk, knocking everything off of it. He laid you down on your stomach on the desk and spread your legs with his knee.

He leaned over you, his toned chest pressed against your back. “I’m going to fill your pussy with my cum and put a baby in you, you slut,” he growled into your ear. Just his voice made your pussy tremple. He slapped his massive cock against your ass and began fucking your plump ass cheeks, using his own spit as lube. He grabbed both ass cheeks and squished them together on his cock as he thrusted. Once he was satisfied, he spit on his cock again and rubbed the tip of his cock around your hole to tease you. You let out a cry when he accidentally brushed it up against your clit and that was what sent him over the edge. Immediately, he stuffed his cock into you. Tears formed in your eyes and you cried out as loud as you could, babbling about how full his big cock made you feel.

He grabbed your hips then dug his claws into them, pounding away at your pussy. He continued squeezing and smacking your ass as he abused your womb. You were crying out for more and more as he bottomed out his cock in you.

“M-Miguel! Oh god don’t stop! I don’t want this to stop! Oh god you fill me up so good! Your cock is so big and so good!” you moaned, completely cock drunk. Miguel leaned forward, still abusing your pussy. He wrapped his hand around your throat and allowed his claws to dig into your flesh.

“You gonna let me cum inside? Gonna let me put a baby in you? Gonna let me knock you up? Huh? Huh?” He pleaded and mumbled into your ear. You nod rapidly in response, mind too numb to find the words. “Such a good girl,” he pulls away from your ear, slowing his pace earing a whine from you, “Such a good slut.” He spreads your ass cheeks again and using the pad of his thumb, starts applying pressure to your asshole. You whimper out of pleasure and can’t help but buck your hips back into him to make him fuck you again. He gently slides his thumb into you with the help of some of his spit and fuck it in and out of your hole. Once he’s satisfied, he picks the pace back up with his hips, wet slapping sounds echoing throughout the room. You’re a moaning mess right now, your legs feel weak and you can feel yourself getting close to an orgasm.

“Cum inside me Miguel,” you cry out, “I want t-to have your babies please!” He’s thrusting at a rate your mind cant keep up with, he’s huffing and grunting and digging his claws into your flesh. every thrust felt like heaven and you could feel a knot forming in your stomach. “Oh god! Right there Miguel! Just like that! Don’t stop!” You start to babble about how much you want his cum in you and how much you love him and need him for the rest of your lives which sends the two of you over the edge. Your walls clench with an orgasm and Miguel’s throbbing cock fills you with a huge load of cum.

The two of you sit there, regaining your composure. Miguel doesn’t pull his cock out of you, wanting to keep his cum in you.

“Did you mean that..?” He asks breathlessly.

“H-Huh?” then it hit you - you definitely told him you loved him. Your cheeks began to burn from embarrassment. “Y-Yes,” you admitted, completely ashamed that you lost control of yourself that badly.

Miguel huffed, amused. “Good.” He pulled himself out of you and you sat up and turned to face him. “I love you too.”

[petit-etoile]

*meekly raises hand* I'd had an idea for a drabble prompt. That hug Astarion gets? What if it also led to him kissing Tav, really kissing them for the first time? Like one that he is able to put his heart into without the fear of being used and tossed aside?

wave after wave (like a transparent star)

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 762 content warnings: none other tags: canon compliant, introspection, character study, kissing, gender neutral tav, human!tav if you squint archiveofourown: here. .

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils, be added to the taglist here

summary: What if the hug also led to him kissing Tav, really kissing them for the first time?

‘I want,’ you say with the slightest shake of your head, ‘I want. I want  —  ’

This, is what you would say if you had the words to speak. Instead, you stare at Astarion with a sense of unrelenting urgency between the two of you. It’s as though you are frozen in time with your palm resting flat against his, both of his hands framing yours protectively, his skin, his fingers, his everything laid bare against your silly little hand.

Astarion collides with you like a star racing across an ocean. He is a tide that overcomes you and threatens to take you out to sea. You wrap your arms around his thin frame to keep yourself grounded. The dark depths of the ocean swirls around you, but you hold onto Astarion and he holds onto you, your arms wrapped around his waist, his hand gently cradling the back of your head as he desperately presses his forehead against yours with a shuddering breath as he fights that urge to consume.

And just like that, a supernova creates itself in the middle of camp in the dark. You tilt your chin at just the right time to catch his mouth as he crashes into you. Astarion kisses you so passionately that you have no choice but to seek purchase on his shoulders to avoid toppling over. There’s hysteria in his tongue, in the way his lips tremble, but all you can smell is rosemary, bergamot, and brandy, and tears, yours and his together.

This might’ve been how he would have kissed his highborn lover back in Baldur’s Gate before everything. Before mindflayer and tadpole, before Cazador and the attack, before you and your frightening humanity.  This is a kiss a magistrate would have given to a recently courted lover in private away from prying eyes. You almost feel as though you’re being swept off your feet, like you’re being properly romanced instead of hunted in the woods, and it does something to the pit of your stomach. You swoon.

‘I think,’ Astarion says thickly, ‘I know what I’m feeling for you.’

‘I know,’ you say, nuzzling his jaw. ‘I know you love me.’

His eyes soften and then, well, it really is a collision this time. Somehow, Astarion kisses you roughly and tenderly all at once. His nose presses sharply into your cheek, and you clutch his elbows like at any moment, if he chooses to let go, you’ll be stranded at sea. It’s a different kiss from all those you’ve experienced from him before. From the kiss during sunset, the kiss when he first drank your blood, and the shyest kiss from right after his confession. This is something else entirely. A fire let loose in the wood.

He kisses you like a man who has only known hunger. Astarion takes and he takes and he takes until you’re almost certain he’s hunting for your soul from your lips, and you would give it to him if you knew where to look for it. This is a kiss  —  a real and genuine kiss  —  from a man who has only known desperation, nails scraping against the grain, seeking something far beyond himself. You would feel scandalized by the passion if it were anyone else.

And when he’s done fervently kissing you, Astarion cradles your cheek in his hand and runs his thumb over the curve of your cheekbone as if you were the most precious idol he could have laid his hands on.

There’s something different about the gleam in his eye, a glossiness that you’ve never seen before, not really. Beneath all the vitriol and discomfort, there is a young man who wants nothing more than freedom.

He presses his forehead against yours and sighs, and the sound is relief composed as a symphony by the saddest souls. You return the favor, your fingers sliding across the familiar harsh lines of his face, and decide to show him the purest of emotions so that he knows.

‘I don’t know what comes next,’ Astarion says, his tone a touch agonized. ‘But wherever this leads, I know that I want it to be you.’

For once, his words are honest and match his intentions. It’s something you come to cherish. You’re the only one he’ll ever show this side to; this kind devotion belongs to you and you alone. This is the part of Astarion that Cazador can never touch. There is still hope in his skeletal frame.

You kiss his cheek softly.

There’s no other place you’d rather be than at Astarion’s side.

[shadowdaddies]

My heads empty except for thoughts of Lorcan with a size kink, if you could please right somthing with this,🙏🙏🙏🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

yep I think it's canon our 7 ft tall axe-slingin' Lorcan has size kink👀

So Lorcan Did

Lorcan x Reader smut

warnings: smut below the cut, this is just pwp, size kink, oral f!receiving, p in v sex, maybe breeding kink if you squint

You fumbled for the doorknob, twisting it open as you stumbled backwards through the doorway into your room. Lorcan spun you around, your body pressed tightly between his and the door. You craned your neck - the extent to which you had to bend just to look him in the eyes almost painful - as his massive form towered over you. 

Large hands wrapped around the backs of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as Lorcan pinned you against the wall. It was dizzying, being lifted so high, his hard body enveloping yours as he gripped your hair, tilting your head back to grant himself access to mark your neck. 

You gasped, small moans escaping you while you writhed against his firm grip as he held you in place. “Fuck, Lorcan, please touch me,” you begged, your dress suddenly like fire against your skin, begging to be extinguished. He pulled back, black eyes taking in your flushed state. 

With a dark chuckle, Lorcan tossed you onto the bed as though you were light as a pillow. The mattress was huge, as though you were swimming in a vast sea - until Lorcan stripped off his shirt and crawled over you. His massive form swallowed the space, suddenly making the bed feel so small as his body well more than covered yours. 

Propped up on your elbows, you watched as Lorcan toyed with the hem of your dress, looking up to see him watching you with a smirk. “Let’s take this off, love,” he murmured - you eagerly shifting to help him remove any layers separating the two of you. He took in the sight of your bare breasts, a slight groan escaping him as one hand moved to toy with your nipple, his palm covering your breast and more as he tweaked the sensitive nub.

Gasping, you arched into his touch as you babbled unintelligible requests for more. Switching hands, Lorcan toyed with your other nipple as he brought his mouth down to soothe the bud he’d been teasing. You moaned instinctively, hands moving down to thread in Lorcan’s long black hair. 

He pulled away, warm breath fanning over your wet chest as he smirked, tsk’ing as he shook his head. “Hands to yourself until I say otherwise, love,” he whispered, easily grabbing both of your hands in one of his as he pinned them above your head. “Keep those there,” he mumbled against your skin as he continued his path down your stomach.

Lorcan settled above the fabric of your panties, inhaling the strong scent of your arousal as his hand splayed just above the line of fabric that spanned your hips. Your legs clenched as you felt his hand cover your entire stomach, a lewd moan escaping your lips as you looked down, sight confirming what you felt. Lorcan was so much larger than any male you had been with - or even known, for that matter, and you were burning with anticipation.

Slowly dragging your silky panties down your legs, Lorcan paused to admire the wetness that had pooled on the fabric, dark eyes watching you as he licked away the juices. You mewled, toes curling at the sight as you shamelessly begged for Lorcan to move faster. “Oh love, this is as fast as I can go. You’ll need plenty of time to warm up and be stretched out before you can take me.” 

With that, Lorcan moved to lick your clit, sucking on the bud as he inserted one finger into you. “Fuck, Lorcan,” you moaned, his one finger making you feel so full already. You started to stress, unsure if you would be able to take him. As if he sensed your nerves, Lorcan pressed a kiss to each of your hips. “It’s okay, love. If you feel any pain, just tell me and we’ll stop.” 

You nodded, feeling assured as you encouraged him to continue. Lorcan worked you a little bit longer, curling that one finger against your walls in a way that drew obscene sounds from your dripping pussy. He licked your clit furiously, distracting you as he added another finger. The stretch was glorious, back bowing off the mattress as your mind reeled, already reaching your high. “Let it go, love,” Lorcan spoke against your clit, the vibrations setting you off into an explosive orgasm. 

You hadn’t even caught your breath when you felt Lorcan add a third finger, using the fresh wetness from your orgasm to pump into you more easily. The slight burn as he worked you added to your pleasure, tossing your head back and forth on the mattress as you clumsily pushed his head away from your swollen clit. Lorcan chuckled at your movements, pressing a kiss to the bud before removing his fingers, licking them clean as he untied his pants with his other hand. 

Your heart pounded as you dared to look at his hard cock, slapping against his stomach as he carefully watched your expression. “One word. If you’re uncomfortable, we stop,” he promised. You nodded, biting your lip as your legs hooked around his waist, drawing him closer to you. Sliding his cock up and down your folds, Lorcan collected as much lubrication as he could before sliding slowly into you. 

By the time he bottomed out, you were struggling to breathe - you had never felt so full. Your pussy clenched around him in reaction, and Lorcan hissed at the feeling. “Fuck, angel, if you keep doing that, I won’t last long.” Inwardly, you thought that might be for the best, as you weren’t sure how long you could take him. With a nod of encouragement from you, Lorcan began moving in and out at a gentle pace. He looked down at your body, a loud moan escaping his lips as he watched his thrusts. 

You managed to sit up just enough to see the outline of his cock as he entered you - how incredibly full of him you were. You let out a string of curses as Lorcan picked up his pace, his hand sprawled along the place on your stomach it had been earlier, this time forcing you to feel everything. “Gods, you’re so tight,” Lorcan whispered, watching your center tighten around him as his thrusts became more frenzied. 

Lorcan licked his thumb, bringing it down to your clit as he rubbed circles, the stimulation sending you over the edge just as you felt his cock twitch inside you, warm release coating your walls as you came together. Lorcan drew out of you slowly, catching his cum before it spilled onto the sheets and shoving it back inside your core. “Clench that tight pussy for me, love. Don’t let this spill.” 

You moaned a half-conscious agreement, still in a post-orgasmic haze as Lorcan settled next to you in bed. He pulled your body close to his, and you realized he had officially ruined all other males for you.

[readerstories]

In Rain and Mud - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 2/4

Saw the movie in theaters finally, brainworm ofc came in strong. (Part 1) (Part 3) (AO3)

Warnings/tags: male reader, canon-typical violence, blood, gore, eventual smut

Wordcount: 2023

Summary: Your cabin lays far away from anything and everything. And with the rainstorm currently battering the woods this night you don’t expect to see or hear another human being until you leave for town. So when there’s banging on your door, you switch your book with your shotgun from its place on a sidetable, loading it as you approach your door.

You are not sure what woke you up, a sound, a smell, or something stupid like a weird dream, but you are wide awake you don’t even know how many hours after you fell asleep. It’s been long enough though that there is some semblance of light bleeing through the clouds not currently filled with rain, and the wind has slowed down, though far from died.

Then you hear it.

A branch snapping.

It’s not an animal.

They stay clear of your cabin.

The mix of human and wolf smell keeps them away.

So whatever or whoever it is, it’s not good news.

You get out of bed, padding on silent feet as you step out into your living room, as it sounded like the noise had come from the front of your cabin.

You feel the hair on your neck thicken, transforming into grey and brown fur, then raising as a low growl threatens to escape your mouth.

It does come out when there’s movement to your left, but it’s only Logan sitting up from the couch, blanket slipping down from his torso to pool in his lap, your eyes following the motion, as quick as it is. You had completely forgotten that there was two other people in the cabin.

“What-“ He starts, but stops when you put a finger to your lips and tilt your head to listen more closely to what’s happening outside.

He frowns, but mirrors you, listening.

Multiple sets of footsteps, cocking of guns, hard to decipher how many.

“Grab Wade and go out the front as distraction, I’ll go out back and don’t do anything until I show myself.” You keep your voice low, a whisper to make sure those outside can’t hear you, but you know Logan can with the way he focuses on you. His voice is just as low when he answers.

“Why the fuck would we-“

“Just shut the fuck up, grab him, and get him talking, I imagine that won’t be difficult.” Logan squints at you and scowls, but gets up to walk on surprisingly quiet feet to your guest room where Wade is snoring.

You set your sights on the back door, stripping out of your clothes as you go, not wanting them to get ripped and ruined as you transform. You slip out into the cold and just windy morning, praising yourself for oiling that old squeaky door last time you were here. 

Shivers shake your body in a mix of excitement and bite from the cold, but they mostly stop as the hair all over your body starts to transform into fur. You stand still to listen more, trying to figure out how many people are around, but it’s difficult with how the wind howls and whisks away any smells other than those of the woods.

You hear Wade and Logan inside, Wade getting up with minimal complaining and no jokes.

Doesn’t last long though, as he opens the front door and steps out.

“Oh look peanut, we got company! And here I thought we were going to have this romantic getaway for ourselves.” After that you don’t pay attention to his words or anyone else’s, your slowly shifting form taking precedence. 

You fall forward on all fours, legs and arms growing longer, twisting and transforming, making you grow taller and larger with every passing second. A deep growl grows in your throat as your snout appears, but you hold it back to not alert anybody of your presence.

Slowly, ever so slowly, you inch forward so you can peer towards the front of the cabin, looking through the small gaps of the shed attached to one wall that stores your firewood.

You can see at least 20 people, all dressed in tactical gear, guns trained towards the front of your cabin where Deadpool is still blabbering, somehow not yet stopped. A guy in the front yells something back, perhaps a boss or leader of some sort. 

Not that you care. 

Your eyes are on someone else. 

A single person standing on the edge of the group, gun aimed like everyone else, just far enough away from another person they will be easy picking.

Weak link.

Without much more thought, you crouch down slighly, finding steady footing on the wet ground, and push off. You run around the corner with a snarl, catching everyones attention, though too late for anyone to react before you have the lone persons torso in your teeth, their gun landing in a mud puddle with a splash.

They scream and wriggle in your mouth, you bite down hard, hearing bones breaking and crunching.

There’s silence, a stunned one, before it’s broken by a laughing and clapping Wade.

“Oh my fucking god, that’s a big secret sweetcheeks!” You look at him and growl, blood dripping out from between your teeth and the by now barely moving body inbetween them. All he does in response is gasp and clap some more, joy somehow shining through his mask. Logan is standing next to him still, scowling, fists clenched, metal knives(?) shining from between them, his eyes flicking between the two of you.

Wade opens his mouth, but whatever stupid thing he was about to say is cutoff by a shot ringing out, and pain shooting through your left shoulder. 

You throw the person still in your mouth to the side with a flick of your head, their body landing with a thud as you turn towards where the gunshot came from.

All the guns are now trained on you, but you can tell it’s the person closest to you that shot, their gun reaking of gunpowder more than the others. The bullet is already being pushed out from your healing skin, fall to the ground slowed by your thick fur, but it hits a puddle with a plop.

You growl, crouching down, eyes trained on the person who’s gun is starting to shake, ever so minutly.

“Oh you guys are so fucked !” Wade yells, your answer to that is a snarl, and in seconds you have your jaws around a new person. 

There are gunshots, some of them hit, but the pain of them barely registers as you attack person after person.

Ripping of limb after limb.

Crushing skulls.

Chasing down screaming runners that don’t get very far before your paws push them into mud and sharp teeth rip their head off.

You drag one man is circles, his body bouncing around as he tries to get a hold of the slippery ground to no avail, not even his companions shooting you giving a reprive from his situation before his heart gives out on him.

One guy swings at you with his knife in a desperate attempt to stop his own death, and though he manges to stab you in your front leg, all he gets for his troubles is his stomach ripped out. You pull the knife out with your teeth, dropping it to pounce on the next person in your eyes sight.

You get an arm in your mouth, the fear reeking from the man as you bite down, the scream he lets out grating on your ears, so you let go of his arm to rip his throat out instead.

Another person you throw up into the air like a ragdoll, catching him with your teeth on his way down, shaking him like a chewtoy.

“Oh that is fucked!” You hear someone laugh and drop the body. For more than a few moments you had forgotten there was other people here than the ones that you were killing. You look over to the cabin, Logan is sitting on your porch, while Wade is still standing, watching you with hands on his hips, leaned slightly forward.

“Sorry about this reader, but I gotta.” Wade shifts, standing a little more straight as he spreads his arms wide, yelling “PUPPY!” at you.

If you could laugh in this form you would at least have chuckled, instead your answer to the clearly crazy man is to pad over to the porch, then giving him one long lick from head to toe, covering him in a mix of spit and blood.

“Oh, that is SO gross!” Wade sounds absolutely delighted, at least you can still scoff at him as a wolf. You glance down at Wolverine.

“Don’t you fucking dare bub.” You’re tempted, even as he holds up a closed fist, the knives that turns out to be more like claws appearing from between his knuckles.

It would be funny.

You would get stabbed for your fun. 

Probably.

You don’t feel like being stabbed by those sharp and shining things.

So you don’t lick him.

For now.

Instead you bark at him once and turn around, looking over the scene you’ve made.

Bodies and body parts strewn all over the clearing in front of your house, guns discarded, bullet casings littering the dirt and mud. Tracks in the ground where your claws dug in, or desperate feet tried to get away.

What a mess.

With a sigh you pick up a torn off leg and start walking away from the cabin.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to start gnawing on that like a bone.” You stop, sending Wade as an incredulous look you can manage over your shoulder before you keep walking. 

You don’t go far, still visible from the cabin as you drop the leg you had been carrying and start digging in a spot that haven’t been completely transformed into a mud puddle by the rain or the fight.

You dig and dig, the blood in your fur being mostly replaced with mud and dirt, the occasional bullet falling down into the hole as you dig and heal. 

Wade and Logan starts to gather up bodies as you dig, at least helping with the cleanup after letting you take the fight alone. Not that help was needed or really wanted, you were just protecting yourself and your things from whoever the mystery people were. 

You have a sneaking suspicion that they weren’t even here for you, but instead for Logan, who is picking up bullets and guns, and Wade, who is dragging what is left of a torso while complaining how heavy it is. 

You finish digging, hole now deep enough to hide everything and everyone, so with a few pushes and some throws, the hole is filled with bodies, guns, and bullets.

“Most people skip over this part when writing you know.” You ignore Wade, you don’t have an idea what nonsense he is talking about. 

You cover the hole with dirt, spreading the leftovers around where the hole once was, stamping it down, blending it in so it looks like there was never anything dug down here. It mostly successful, the water and more rain that you can smell is coming will do the rest of the blending.

“Job well done champ!” Wade reaches up and heavily pats your shoulder, seconds later leaning into you fully to get a full face of fur. “So soft….” You shake him off you with a huff, turning to walk over to the cabin, quickly catching up with Logan who reaches the porch just before you. 

As your front paw touches the wood, you let yourself transform back into you fully human form, back on two legs instead of four. You are still covered in blood and mud, though less with your smaller form. You hear a sharp wolf whistle behind you.

“Nudity! God damn, I love fanfiction.” You growl at him, Wade winks, as he get within reach you push at him, making him land on his ass in the mud.

“Deserved.” Is all you say, glancing at Logan, catching an ever so slight uptick of his lips as you all head inside, you first, Logan and Wade following, closing the door to the rain that seemed to start up as soon as Wade got up off his ass.

“I’m taking a shower, you can have it later of you ask nicely.”

“I can even beg handsome.” You don’t gratify Wade with an answer to that.