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seiwas · 4 months ago

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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! also maybe slightly unrealistic office/hr rules but 🤷‍♀️ he’s the boss he makes the rules 🤧

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 so he could explain the whole point system of golf for like 30 minutes LOL)

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#shouto x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #bnha x reader #prettyboysummercollab #mha x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #shouto x you #todoroki shouto x you #bnha x you #shotorus.writes #shouto #bnha #three-part honesty #if i have any typos pls let me know.... HHAHAHAHA

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stanurines1mp · 3 months ago

Text

Until We're Satisfied

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Zenin!Reader (she/her)

type: angst + smut

an: pt 2 of Summer Nights based on this. lord this is my first smut that i have the courage to post bcoz my bsf told me to. its probably shitty and kinda rushed in the end but tbf i wrote it while i was battling my demons (sleep and period cramps). anyways, pls lemme know how it is.

warnings: a little bit of angst, smut, handjob (m!receiving), gojo eating you out (self-indulgent to the core), praise kink if you squint, gojo is desperate and so are you, slightly possessive gojo, spit kink (lord help me), forbidden love, slight hair pulling (self-indulgent pt2), gojo is a tease and so are you, switch!gojo, body worshipping, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, i think that's it? have fun ig

Part one

~~~

You both headed back to the hotel, ready to pack your things and go home but your tracks were frozen in place as your hands flew to cover your ears, a ringing pain appearing.

This wasn't anything new to you.

When you finally had to use your technique and go all out after months of not using it, your ears would feel a sort of shrill and your head would hurt, feeling like it could burst at any given moment but it never does.

Although you were used to this, Satoru never knew this consequence of yours. Almost immediately, his arms went to you, trying to keep you steady when you bunch over your stomach and holding your head in pain.

"Are you okay? What's going on?" He asked, worried that maybe you had been hit by one of the Curse User's techniques without either one of you realizing it.

"I'm fine," you dismissed with a simple wave, recollecting yourself to stand up straight and fight the pain. "I just need to get my meds in my bag at the hotel."

Your words held no intended urgency but apparently to Satoru, that was all that mattered. To get you back to the hotel room.

In all honesty, he had no idea what was going on. But he was not about to take any risks as he wrapped an arm around you and warped you both back to the room.

Suddenly, your eyes were blinking in the view of the bedroom, eyes twitching to adjust to the lighting but the pain in your head was a step ahead of you, not even allowing any adjustment as your eyes screwed shut in pain.

"God, Satoru, why the fuck did you warp us?" You almost screamed, scrambling to find your bag by the couch.

Satoru's eyes widened, overpowered by guilt. "You said you needed to get your meds here!" He replied with just the same amount of defense as the frustration in your voice.

He stood frozen in fear, unsure of what to do as he watched you scrimmage your bag, creating a mess on the floor but you hadn't got enough to care for it at the moment.

He saw you holding a bag that contained a few boards of pills, all of them a different type. Taking out two pills of different kinds, you popped each of them into your mouth, swallowing them down your dry throat.

There was a lingering sting in the back of your throat, causing you to wince.

You tried to stand up, but your body was weak and threatened to fall. Satoru rushed right next to you, one hand holding your back and one hand holding your stomach, helping you to keep upright.

"Woah, are you okay?" His voice was low against your ear, somehow a comfort to your searing pain.

"Yeah, just need to lie down for a sec," you nodded, arms reaching forward to the bed.

You tried to walk but really, you were closer to falling to your knees than you were to walking.

And Satoru noticed that.

Stopping you, he instead scooped you into his arms and walked over to the bed. Even though the walk was short, you let your head rest on his shoulder, eyes closing while the pain in your head throbbed endlessly.

He gently laid you on the bed, right on your back. Your head immediately settled into the soft pillow while your hand reached out to tug at his wrist.

"Water- Please," your voice choked out in a small cry and Satoru just about dashed to the pantry to get two bottled water, just in case.

He placed one on the nightstand next to you while he helped open the other and handed it to you. You took it gratefully, murmuring a jumbled 'Thank you' before downing the beverage.

A soft sigh of relief escaped you once you stopped drinking and Satoru took the bottle from you to help close it, placing it next to you on the nightstand. He was scared and clueless, standing so awkwardly still to assist you with any wish of yours.

"Chocolates," you coughed, pointing to your bag on the floor by the couch.

"What?" He asked with a scrunched face, not noticing your gesture.

"In my bag, there should be a small jar of chocolates," you managed to say smoothly, the water and medicine taking effects. "Can you help get them?"

"Of course, princess," he mumbles before almost diving into the floor due to his speed and managing to fish out the very thing you wanted.

He gave it to you after taking off the lid of the jar, the smell of milk chocolate with almonds filling the space between both of you.

"Thanks," you pursed your lips and took a small square of chocolate to bite into. "You can take some if you want," your words were smooth but the pain was still heavy in your mind. You noticed Satoru's hesitance as he eyes the chocolate then you then back to the chocolate. "Don't worry, they're not magic chocolates or whatever."

His lips tugged in a small smile as he helped himself to a square before taking a seat by the edge of the bed, right next to your stretched-out legs.

His eyes remained on you even while he took the chocolate into his mouth, watching the way your eyes were fluttering to suppress the pain in your head but you did seem much better now.

"So, are you gonna tell what the fuck that was?" He finally voiced out, licking his lips for a hint of chocolate residuals.

The tone he used shocked you but it also amused you, causing you to let out a small giggle.

And oh, how for once Satoru thought he was actually useful if he could have made you let out such a beautiful harmony.

Your giggles settled into a gentle smile as you pushed yourself upright with your palms on the bed. "You know my technique, right?" You asked with a raised brow.

Know?

Satoru might just have memorized every little thing about your technique. Or at least, every little thing about it that you've told him over the past few years of being together during occasional missions.

But he just nodded and allowed you to explain.

"And you know that cursed energy has its own frequency too, right? Everyone's cursed energy has different frequencies," you said, earning a nod from him. "When I use my technique, it causes my cursed energy to lower. Like you, too," you paused before continuing, "And usually, it's fine. But when I use it a lot, especially after not using it for months like what happened today, I get these really bad migraines for about a day or two. It's like my body can't adjust to the low cursed energy."

Satoru nodded as he fathomed your explanation, the information he received was no doubt going to the little space in his memory reserved especially for you.

"Wait, so, why were you angry that I warped us here?"

"Because the frequency of your cursed energy gets higher when you use it and it was very loud and it-"

"It was hurting you," he concluded, earning a slow nod from you. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," your shoulders shrugged. "I'm honestly used to this. I just have to take my meds, drink water, and eat something sweet. Chocolate usually helps," you added, reaching forward to grab another chocolate square from him.

"Makes sense, chocolate helps with everything."

"Finally, something we can agree on," you laughed and Satoru thought that when people talked about angels singing, they must have meant your laugh.

Because that was truly all that he believed you were as his eyes were captivated by the way your shoulders shook in laughter.

Really, if he was placed on this Earth solely to make you laugh, then so be it. He will fulfill his role to its fullest.

But he couldn't really do that, could he?

"Excuse me," he cleared his throat and placed the jar of chocolates on the nightstand before walking out of the room.

Your smile faded as quickly as he walked out and shut the door, leaving you frozen and clueless. You had no idea what just happened but your mind was too hazy and tired to think anything more, causing you to fall asleep.

Satoru only excused himself because he had to free himself of you. Of the way your hair fell so nicely over your shoulders even in such a state. Or the way your eyes crease slightly when you laugh.

And don't even get him started on your laugh.

Any second longer in front of you and he would have kissed away all your troubles.

But he couldn't do that to you.

He didn't want to put you in such a position.

Satoru was sitting in the lounge of the hotel lobby, his phone constantly by his ears as he waited for Ijichi to answer, wondering when it would be time for you and him to return home.

But night was aging fast and you were still in a terrible state that he had given up on trying to find a way back home.

That was, a way back home that wasn't you.

Walking to the receptionist, Satoru confirmed with the man that he wanted to extend the stay yet another night.

Once things were settled, and he was sure he could face you again without having the heavy urge to kiss you and hold you against him (though he wondered if that was even possible), he returned to the bedroom and saw that you were still fast asleep in your uniform on the bed.

But his arrival had caused you to stir awake, being a light sleeper and all.

"What time are we leaving?" You mumbled, pushing yourself up by your elbows.

"Ijichi isn't answering. It's getting late and you clearly need more rest," he sighed, adding, "I've asked them to extend our stay another night."

"We're sleeping here again?" Your forehead creased with worry, watching him nod in confirmation. "Satoru," your voice trailed off, low and pleading.

His gaze met yours, blindfold off and staring right at you. He didn't have to ask you to know what you were thinking about. Looking away, his voice was quiet and laced with bitterness.

"It won't happen again, I promise."

You took a deep breath and nodded, trusting him for all that he could give you before tossing away the blanket that covered your legs.

"I'm gonna take a shower," you informed and took your clothes from last night before entering the toilet.

Satoru was seated on the edge of the bed, watching as you passed him by, your posture and the way you walked more stable than earlier. He washed over with relief, thankful that you were feeling better.

Although you had assured him that you were used to feeling that way, he was still overwhelmed with worry. But all in all, he was just glad that you were okay.

He heard the water begin to run but his mind was occupied by the sound of his phone ringing. Pulling it out of his pocket, he read the caller and answered it, informing Ijichi that he had decided to stay another night and have the manager come pick you both up tomorrow at noon.

Eventually, you returned to the bedroom, your hair damp and the ends were held up by the small towel in your hands. You flashed Satoru a glance, feeling shy when you noticed how his eyes were in a trance, staring unashamedly at your figure.

"Stop staring, perv," you huffed, bending over to your bag to get your hairdryer out.

Your words brought him back, and he muttered a small apology before tearing his eyes away from you.

But you really weren't making it easy.

What's worse, he thought, was that you weren't even doing this on purpose yet he was already so desperate for you.

Just as you began drying your hair, Satoru got up abruptly to enter the shower but you paid him no mind.

It didn't take too long for you to finish drying your hair but it certainly took Satoru quite some time in the shower, the sound of water running louder than you've ever heard since yesterday.

You lay back on the bed, massaging your temples to relieve the surges of migraines that hit you. You didn't even realize it when Satoru finished showering, your eyes closed in peaceful slumber.

His towel hung over his shoulder, the end of it moving as he took silent steps towards you. His lips curled in a gentle smile upon noticing the state of your slumber. Your lips were parted to elicit soft snores and he just thought that you looked absolutely adorable.

Careful not to wake you, he brought the blanket up to your shoulders. He took his spot next to you, the bed sinking on his bed as his weight met the mattress.

His gaze snapped to you quickly in panic, his head almost tore off but he relaxed when he noticed that you were not stirring awake. Perhaps the medication caused you to sleep soundly. Either way, Satoru let himself relax next to you, falling asleep on his own.

Your eyes shot open for a second before they closed in an attempt to relieve the surging headache that appeared. Fingers stretched out, you were struggling to find your phone but when you did, you checked to look at the time.

It was only 11 but you knew you must have slept early and Satoru was softly breathing in his sleep next to you. You wanted to get up, stand, and walk to the bathroom to wash your face.

But you had accidentally fallen, causing a loud thud, waking the white-haired sorcerer.

"Sorry, go back to sleep," you mumbled from the floor, waving a hand.

His eyes were droopy when he scooted to your side of the bed and stretched his neck out to see you on the floor. He raised a brow laced with confusion and amusement. "You okay down there, princess?"

"Fine," you pursed your lips.

"What are you doing?"

"I was trying to go to the bathroom," you answered lazily.

You pushed yourself up, holding onto the edge of the bed to lift yourself only to be barely an inch away from Satoru's complexion. His eyes were bright on yours, lips twitching to pursue yours against his but he decided against it.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your eyes feeling hazy with the lack of oxygen that stood in the gap between you and your supposed enemy.

Enemy?

Or, was he more of a partner to you at this point?

You pulled away, creating distance when you straightened your back. Satoru was left inhaling the residuals of your scent as you walked to the bathroom.

Cold water splashed across the complexion of your face, bringing relief to the faint feeling of pain that had woken you up. When you returned to the bedroom, Satoru sat up straight so quickly, it was as if he was paying respect to an elder or something.

His eyes were frowning, almost expectant but you ignored it to grab some pills from your bag. You sat on the bed and took your medicine with the water to help you swallow them easier.

"Go to sleep, Satoru," you sighed exasperatedly.

"I'm worried," he pouted and you could hear it in his voice.

"I'm fine," you rolled your eyes, settling your gaze on him. "Sleep."

He didn't budge and you rolled your eyes once again, climbing under the blanket that hugged your body softly. Your back was turned to him as if you were telling him that you were ready to return to sleep.

You stayed that way for a few minutes, hoping that Satoru took it as a sign that he should sleep too. But he didn't. Because when you turned around to lie on your left side, your eyes were met with his that stared back at you.

"Why aren't you going to sleep?" Your voice was gentle and quiet.

"I can't go to sleep with you acting all weird," he shook his head but his movements were constricted by the pillow under his cheek.

A thankful beam adorned your lips while you spoke, "I'm fine, Satoru."

He wasn't sure if it was your smile or the way you said his name that caused him to reach out his hand, brushing a strand of hair to tuck it behind your ear.

"You sure? You seem a little on edge," he hummed, the sound originating from his chest.

His thumb caressed your cheek, his movements causing your eyes to flutter shut as you nuzzled for the warmth he radiated. His body moved closer, his arms on your back to pull you in against him.

Your head collided lightly with his chest, hands going to the shirt over his chest, and your palm splayed out. You felt his lips pressing against the top of your head, leaving you almost weak and helpless under his gentleness.

"We shouldn't do this," you whispered, your fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt.

"You say that but, you're holding onto me tighter," he murmured lazily, looking down while you looked up, locked on his intimidating blue eyes.

"You promised," your words were choked out unwillingly.

"Turns out I'm not good at keeping promises, princess," a small chuckle escaped him. "It's just you and me here," he assured, his fingers beginning to card through your hair, inching lower and lower to rest on your lower back.

You wondered if Satoru's blue eyes were truly his or just part of the Six Eyes. But it didn't matter.

Because you were looking at him. Just as he was looking at you.

The air in between was heavy and hot and you knew it wasn't just the summer proving its presence. But it didn't matter.

Because Satoru was leaning closer, his neck slightly craning down. Just as yours were tilted up.

There was a gap that acted as a wall of fire, the heat scorching and burning both your and Satoru's skin.

But it seemed that the feelings you both held were much stronger, and the fire was no match for the inferno that itched within the depths of your hearts.

The gap soon burned into non-existence as Satoru pressed his lips against yours, his eyes closing in bliss. It was a soft kiss, chaste and innocent but was deepened by his hand that rested on your lower back.

He pulled you closer against him, your face flushed with his, lips engulfing one another to merge as one. You relaxed, tightening your grasp on his shirt as you pulled yourself up, lips eagerly moving against his as your nose brushed with his.

Satoru couldn't help it.

A soft but muffled moan had escaped past his lips and entered straight through yours before he could stop himself. His hand that stilled on your back lowered itself on your body.

He reached the dip on your body where your back meets your ass, lowering and lowering his fingers down to your ass and he gave it a gentle squeeze. In turn, your lips were parted in a gasp at his touch, allowing his tongue to find purchase within the cavern of your mouth.

Running down your thigh, his hand slowly pulled your leg to have it weigh on him by his waist before his fingers continued to massage the skin of your thighs softly.

"Satoru, wait," you whispered in between kisses, your words taken in by his tongue. "Wait," you repeated, more firmly this time.

His hand stopped its movements, his lips going slack to pull away as his eyes scrunched with worry and hesitance. His chest rose under your grasp, up and down as he breathed heavily with desire.

"We can't," your voice trailed, your eyes closing as a tear fell onto your cheek. "You know we shouldn't do this."

A sigh slipped past his lips, his heart aching with each beat that it took. His hand that wasn't on your thigh rested on your cheek, his thumb wiping away the stain of the single tear that fell. He leaned in and kissed the small area of your skin, the taste of your tear meeting his lips.

He gently nudged your head to rest under his chin, his lips pressing a sweet kiss atop your hair. He was gentle even as frustration and guilt colored his skin.

"I know, I know," he cooed into the strands of your hair.

"Why," you sobbed silently against his neck, your tears falling along his skin to his shirt. "Why does it have to be like this?"

He held you tighter against him like he was afraid any distance that would exist would multiply more and more and he would no longer be able to hold you. He was most afraid of that, he was sure.

"Because of our families, the danger that comes with being together when we live in this world of curses, and because," his voice trailed, cracked with emotions. "Because we're not supposed to love each other."

"And do you?" Your words were quick, rushed, and desperate to hear an answer that you hoped would match what you felt.

He slowly pulled away to lock his eyes with yours.

"I've never known what love is, how it looked like, or smelled like, or sounded like," he whispered, low and quiet as he poured his barest thoughts. "I've searched for it night and day, and I was always clueless. I didn't know what was right. But I know now, I've known for a while. Love is," he paused, fingers going to cup your cheek. "Love smells like lavender and rosemary with hints of rose petals. Love sounds like the way you say my name, the way you laugh, and the way you are constantly nagging at me when you pretend to hate me. And most of all, I know that love looks like you."

Your lips allowed a light giggle to escape, bringing a genuine smile to Satoru's lips. "But we should hate each other, shouldn't we?"

A bitter laugh escaped Satoru, his arms tightening around you.

"We should. We've always been told to, but we don't. That's the problem, right?" He hummed, a hand of his now on your lower back again. Slowly, he leaned into the crook of your neck, just the spot where your ear met your jawline, his voice speaking softly, "But how am I supposed to hate you when all I can think about is how much I want to be with you every day." A kiss was placed on your skin, "I want to wake up next to you," another kiss, lower on your neck this time, "Hear you laugh," another kiss, "Be the one to make you laugh. I can't stop thinking about how much I love you and how much I need you."

Tears leaked from your eyes, falling onto his white-colored hair but he didn't care. His head rested on your shoulder, the tip of his nose against the crook of your neck.

But he pulled away before his cheek could leave a lingering warmth on your skin. Gaze locked onto you, blue eyes flickered to your lips as he leaned down again, his lips gentle on yours.

It was sweet but there was no mistake that something much darker hid beneath the innocence of his action.

"Tell me to stop, and I'll stop," he murmured against your lips, panting slightly with the way your hand gripped his shoulder.

"Don't," you shook your head, eyes scrunched to allow your tears to escape. "Please don't stop."

It didn't take Satoru long at all, barely even half a second after your last word before he was back on your lips.

Just like Satoru, you couldn't even let a second pass before kissing him back, your emotions uncovered with all that you could give him in that kiss.

"I love you," he whispered in between your lips, slightly muffled but with the lack of distance you two shared, it didn't matter.

A smile drew on your lips and he could feel it, he almost died.

Not that he would have cared.

If he were to die against you, lips attached to yours like magnets of opposite poles, he would die happy.

"I love you," you answered, chasing the taste of his feather-light lips on yours.

"I'll always love you," he assured, brushing the skin of his nose against yours in a small bump.

Pulling away, you dared not to remove your eye contact with him. "Even if one day my family tells me to kill you?" Your voice was shaky, reminded of such a dark possibility.

Satoru's eyes darkened, a sigh escaping as he rested his forehead against yours.

"Even then, I'll still love you," he whispered to the air you both shared. "And I'll always hope that you'll choose me instead of them."

Maybe he was being selfish.

But at this point, he already knew he was a selfish man.

He allowed his desire and love for you to take you both this far. That was more than enough proof that Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, the bearer of Six Eyes, was a selfish man.

"I don't know how," you sobbed softly.

"I know, princess, I know," he comforted with his thumb wiping away your tears before he peppered soft kisses on where your tears once stood. "I don't want you to have to choose, but-"

"But?"

"But if it comes down to it, I hope you'll choose me. I hope you'll choose us," he sighed, wanting to curse himself for being so goddamn honest even knowing that his honesty was just the words of a selfish man.

But Satoru Gojo was a selfish man.

Your eyes closed, and a sigh escaped you as you allowed yourself to lean into Satoru. Your lips met his and just as quickly, his lips engulfed yours.

It was warm and welcoming, things you were never accustomed to up until now.

"I love you," he repeated, pulling away to kiss the corner of your mouth.

"We can't be together, Satoru," you sniffled as you let him kiss your skin.

"I know," he nodded, pulling you close against him. "But that doesn't change how I feel about you. I want you so bad it hurts," his voice cracked as his head fell slumped on your shoulder, finding security in the dip of your neck.

"Where, Satoru? Where does it hurt?" You whispered into his ear.

"Here," he answered, taking your wrist and resting your palm on his shirt, just above his heart. "Can you hear how my heart beats for you?"

You could hear it all, feel it all.

"I can make it hurt less," you suggested quietly.

"No," he said, fingers gripping your wrist tightly.

"Why not?"

"I want my heart to be honest when it comes to you. I want to let it beat for you as it does."

"Even if it hurts?" You asked gently.

"I want to hurt for you," he answered to the skin of your neck.

Your hands tugged on his shirt, trying to get his attention. His head tilted up, creating a little distance, one that he quite hated.

But it didn't matter.

Not when your lips found home on his, pushing into the kiss desperately. A muffled groan slipped past Satoru, his body arching into you to deepen the kiss.

The kiss was no longer the kind you both had shared a few times over the course of the night. The hidden darkness had taken over, desire creating a mess of tongues clashing.

He stole the opportunity the moment he was presented with it, his tongue entering your mouth to slide along yours and you almost couldn't help the way your lips hungrily sucked onto it, a silent whimper of yours hidden beneath the collision.

One of your hands had found its way to the back of Satoru's head, fingers entangled in his white locks while your other hand was gripping onto his bicep as if it was a way to keep yourself grounded before losing truly to the desire that was quickly burning in your body.

The way Satoru couldn't keep his hands still definitely hadn't helped your case. His touches were no longer feather-light, instead, they were hungry and rough as they roamed your back, your hip, your ass, and your thighs.

At this point, he wasn't even just touching you but groping, giving your flesh squeezes here and there as he pleased.

And oh God, was he pleased.

He was drinking in everything about you.

The soft whimpers of yours that he swallowed deliciously and the way your body would tense and relax over and over again with every move of his hand. Satoru was noting every little thing about you that he never could before.

He was sure he had memorized your body now and he hadn't even done anything.

But you weren't the only one falling victim to passion. Satoru was just as big of a mess as you were, groaning with every squeeze that he would give you. He was hopeless, truly lost to the way you were giving him all that he could ever dream of.

"I need you so bad," Satoru moaned against your lips and you let out a gasp, feeling the rough grip he held on your hip.

"Show me," you whispered against his lips, letting your noses brush teasingly.

His eyes widened at how easily you accepted it. Pulling back, his hands were shaky on your hip as his eyes contacted yours.

"Are you sure?" His voice was hoarse with desire, barely a whisper as if he was afraid. "I don't want to hurt you."

Your hand on his arms snaked to cup his jaw, your thumb gently tracing the skin under his eyes. "I trust you, Satoru."

He closed his eyes, leaning right into your touch as if it was home. And maybe, it was.

Actually, Satoru was sure it was.

"But if it's too much, just tell me to stop, okay?" He assured gently.

"Okay," you nodded with a smile that he knew could have easily fished him out of darkness anytime he found his way in such a place.

With both of his hands on your hips, Satoru pulled you flush against him, lips meeting once again with an elevated taste of desire. You let him lift your leg to rest on his leg.

Your palm was on his chest and you used it to push him to lie on his back against the mattress but you never once disconnected the mess that was created by your lips against his.

Satoru gripped your hips tighter, holding you on him while he moved back so that he was sitting upright, his legs stretched out. You straddled his right leg, your fingers roaming his hair.

Tugging on the ends of the white locks in an attempt to get his attention, Satoru groaned deeply, feeling his pants growing tighter. It was safe to say that this was the only time you had failed to get his attention.

You tried to pull away from the kiss, needing a moment to breathe but Satoru's arms immediately wrapped your behind and his head followed you forward, desirous for the taste of your tongue.

God, he had waited so long for this, not even knowing if it would ever come true.

But there he sat, under you and he never thought he could ever be this happy. His hands were everywhere but they rested on the edge where your shirt ends.

"Take- Take this off," he gasped into your lips, a whine following him as he tugged the fabric.

He only pulled you away to roughly pull your shirt over your head, almost ripping it as he gleamed with impatience. The shirt was thrown somewhere on the floor but you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

He was quick to have his lips on yours again for a few seconds before he leaned back, hastily taking off his shirt. The room was dark and it remained that way but the light that shone through the windows was enough for you to admire him.

His body was showered with old scars, beautiful as they glimmered in the dark due to his sweat. You didn't have enough time before Satoru stole your view of his toned abdomen, his tongue already prodding for your lips to open.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he whimpered with his tongue deep in your mouth.

His right hand was steadily holding you on your lower back, his left hand flying up to your breasts, groping the flesh over your bra. His lips lowered to your jawline, peppering hungry kisses as they trailed down your neck.

Soft whines escaped you, his lips on your neck driving you wild. He was relentless with every movement of his.

His hand on your boobs was overwhelmingly rough. And the feeling of his soft lips was so contrasting with how mean he was biting your skin and licking over it to soothe.

Your head tilted back, using your hand on the back of his head to keep him to the exposed skin on your neck. He was leaving marks but your mind was too hazy, feeling arousal begin to pool in your panties.

You felt his hand on your back skilfully unclasped the hook of your bra, the piece of clothing now on the floor with your shirt (you assumed). Pushing you against him, your back arched slightly, almost screaming when his lips wrapped around your hardened nipple.

His mouth was hot on your chest, moving from one tit to the other with extreme hunger. He moaned around the flesh, louder and getting more high-pitched with the way your fingers tugged on his hair to keep him sucking expertly on you.

He was growing harder, his cock throbbing with every sound you made, a harmony of pleasure that he caused.

Your hand wandered lower down his body, feeling the rough remnants of scars and you let your fingers trace over them longer, appreciating each and every one of them as you commit the picture to memory.

Satoru felt his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and he hid in the crook of your neck.

"They're from old battles," he whispered in your ear softly.

You pulled away, seeing him colored by blood rushing under his skin. "You're so handsome, Satoru," you caressed his cheeks, encouraging him to look into your eyes.

"R-Really?" He gaped in wonder, his eyes scrunched with the need for your validation.

"You're the most handsome man I've ever seen, Satoru," you nodded, a soft smile drawn on your complexion.

You leaned forward and took his lips in between yours, cupping his jaw to keep him moving against you. Satoru's eyes rolled back, his hips bucking up in heat.

His cheeks were hot, embarrassed by his own lack of self-control and he prayed that you hadn't noticed it. But of course you did.

How could you not notice it when his hard bulge rubbed at the skin of your thigh?

Your hands danced lower on his body, lower and lower until you reached his happy trail, the feeling of the soft hair tingling underneath your fingertips. You reached the hem of his pants, pulling it and slipping your hands past his boxers.

"F-Fuck," he moaned when he felt your fingers softly grazing his tip that leaked pre-cum. "Please," he croaked out, his voice hoarse and heavy with desire.

"Hmm?" You hummed teasingly against his lips before going to his neck, now exposed with his head tilted back.

You couldn't help but feel proud as you teased him, taking in the sight of his desperation.

Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, was quite literally crumbling in the palm of your hands.

Your lips latched onto his skin, kissing, sucking, and biting down on his sensitive spots. Satoru cried out with a whimper, his hands on your waist now tightening as he felt every bit of your touch on him. His hips moved, seeking friction as he tried to fuck himself on your hands.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he repeated, his voice broken and desperate with your slow movements. "Touch me, please," he moaned, begging in desperation.

Your lips on his neck curved in a smirk, pleased with yourself at how well you've crumbled the man. Gently, your fingers wrapped around his dick and you could feel how girthy he was, still growing as he throbbed under your skin.

His head fell to your shoulders, crying softly with his hips weakly chasing your hand. You set a steady pace for your hands, moving them up and down his cock, occasionally pumping his base and swiping the endlessly leaking pre on his slit.

Satoru's hands could only rest on your back, fingernails digging crescents as he put up with the pace of your hands. But it wasn't enough, not at all.

By your ears, he pleaded, voice stuttering as he said, "M-More."

You nodded, heeding his wishes as you quickened your pace. Satoru showered your ear with the sounds of his pleasure, his hands now back to groping every part of your skin that he could.

But his head stilled on your shoulder, his breathing becoming more shallow with each jerk of his hips. He was a man on a mission and his mission was to reach his release at the hands of you - quite literally.

He needed more, not even caring about how fast he was approaching that high. His hand gripped one of yours on his cock, guiding your fingers to work faster on himself.

"Fuck, baby, just like that," he breathed heavily against your ears.

You could feel his dick twitching in your hands that were entangled with his very own. The pace he set with his hand on yours was rough and fast, you were beginning to lose it but his hand gripped yours tighter, fisting himself with your hands.

"I'm close," he moaned, low and slightly muffled with the skin of your shoulder pressing against his lips.

"It's okay, it's okay," you cooed softly, causing him to lean back.

In the darkness of the night, his eyes made contact with yours, noticing the red color that flushed your skin, undoubtedly matching his. Your lips were red and bitten and his heart swelled knowing that he had caused that.

"You can let go," you whispered, eyes boring into his.

Satoru nodded, his face inching closer to yours to pull you in a kiss. It was soft, quick, and gentle.

Unlike the way he was helping you please him, passionate yet fast like he was racing against time.

But he really was approaching his high and you took notes of the few things you noticed about him in such a vulnerable state.

The way his cock twitched in your hand, his hips bucking and moving erratically, his breathing shallow as he panted endlessly and most of all, the way his eyes were screwed shut in bliss, his moans growing higher in notes that melodiously passed through your ears.

"Ah- ah- I'm-" His words were cut off by his own gasps of pleasure consuming him.

You felt the thick substance on your fingers when Satoru reached his high. His eyes were closed in bliss, the sight so beautiful and erotic, that you had it memorized freshly in your mind.

His hand was slack against yours, leaving you the freedom to slow down the pace, helping him ride through his orgasm. His chest rose heavily, trying to regain his steady breathing.

"How does that feel?" You hummed, using his lack of focus to kiss his jawline, peppering sweet kisses all over his skin.

His eyes opened, heavily lidded, his pale skin now flushed and relaxed. "So good," he smiled, dropping his head to the crook of your neck, nuzzling into the warmth you provided.

"Good," you smiled, tufts of cloud-like hair rustling your lips as you stroked his hair gently.

Satoru gently guided your hands out of his pants and led them to his tongue, licking off all his essence that smeared your skin. You hummed appreciatively at his actions, eyes fluttering with love and all that you were.

"Thank you, princess," he murmured, earning a nod from you who was oblivious to the glint of mischief that drawled on his lips. "Let me repay you," he whispered.

He didn't give you a chance to question his words before using his hands on your hips to flip you. You were laid on your back as Satoru crawled onto you, his right hand roaming your skin while his left hand cupped your jaw.

Sharing an ardent kiss, you whimpered at the feeling of his fingers toying with the hem of your shorts. He pulled away, lips now praying onto your skin as he left marks to scatter you.

His fingers at your shorts were teasing and slow, agonizing as you closed your eyes. You felt him moving up, and your eyes met him immediately as he ghosted over your complexion.

"May I?" He giggled softly, tugging at your shorts. You nodded with consent but he shook his head with a smile, nudging the tip of his nose with yours. "Say it, baby."

"Yes," you breathed before leaning up to kiss him. "Please do."

He smirked against your lips, pulling away.

He went to sit on his knees, both his hands by your sides, gently pulling off your shorts, and leaving you in your underwear. His smirk grew wider at the sight of the apparent wet spot that stained your undergarment.

You propped yourself up by the elbows, watching as he teasingly brought your panties down to your ankles and through your feet. He dangled it in front of him, teasing you with slight hints of mockery and you rolled your eyes exasperatedly.

"Satoru!" You scolded with wide eyes as you watched him jumble the piece of fabric in his hand and keep it in the pocket of his pants.

"Relax, I'll buy more for you," he winked before returning his eyes to you.

Or rather, your pussy.

Glistening under the faint color of night, Satoru sat still with eyes of awe, he was sure there were hearts bulging in his eyes. He was quiet, only admiring his view that had caused his pants to tighten again.

"Wh-What are you doing?" You mumbled, shy and looking away with red cheeks as you closed your legs but were stopped by Satoru's hand in between.

"I'm admiring you," he said with a tut, gently spreading your legs. "You're just so fucking irresistible," he moaned, placing a kiss on your inner thigh once he lay on his stomach.

"Satoru," you breathed, letting your head fall on the pillow.

"I mean it, baby, you're so beautiful," he hummed against your pussy, his hot breath fanning the most sensitive parts of you. "The prettiest girl ever and this," he smiled, placing his lips to ghost over your entrance, "This is certainly the prettiest pussy I've ever seen."

"And how many have you seen?" You quirked a brow, a tinge of jealousy brewing under your skin.

"Does it matter?" He huffed with a slightly annoyed tone.

"I don't know," you mumbled.

His lips lifted in a playful smirk. He rested his head on his knuckles that were propped up by his elbows. His eyes flickered from your cunt and to your eyes, unsure of which part of you he wanted to see.

"Are you jealous, princess?" He purred mischievously.

"Shut up," you groaned, lifting yourself up by your elbows to glare at the man.

"Gladly," he murmured silently before using his hands to pull you into his face by the back of your thighs.

"Satoru!" You yelped, taken aback by the sudden way his tongue licked a long stripe along the lips of your pussy.

"My God, love, you taste so good," he moaned, the vibrations coursing through you.

He smirked against your cunt, pulling you flush against his as he prodded into you. His nose nudged your clit, causing you to close your eyes in bliss.

"Shit," you breathed out in a moan, your hand covering your mouth.

"Baby, what are you doing?" Satoru's voice was low, vibrating against your cunt and it caused you to clench on his finger.

"What?" You frowned, unable to think anything about how his fingers managed to reach you in the deepest parts.

"Let me hear you," he whined, almost childlike. "You sound pretty," his eyes gazed at you, round and desperate with his puppy eyes. "Tastes so good, too. Like heaven," he said, licking your essence that had dripped down his chin.

He wasn't lying.

Satoru thought that if he were ever to get a taste of heaven, it would taste like you.

He returned his focus to your pussy when he noticed you heeding his wishes. His fingers left you only to be replaced by his tongue.

And you never thought his tongue could actually pleasure you this much but there you were, moaning and whimpering as he started tongue-fucking you. His groans were heavy against your pussy, and you could feel it morph into building pleasure, your cunt clenching on his tongue.

Your fingers gripped the sheets of the bed and Satoru noticed it from the corner of his eyes. Rolling his eyes in annoyance, he grabbed your wrist and brought it to his hair instead.

You immediately pulled at his hair, the man now rolling his eyes with pleasurable pain. His fingers began toying with your clit but his movements soon quickened in pace.

"Oh my God," you cried, pulling his head further into your cunt.

Satoru used his left hand to lift your leg, throwing it over his shoulder to give himself more access to devour you. Your eyes were rolled to the back of your head, lost in the pleasure that Satoru was giving you.

"There, Satoru- Ngh, right there," you whimpered when his tongue reached that one spot inside you, feeling his flesh prod at it over and over again.

You felt the familiar build-up of pleasure all over your body. Satoru was working at you expertly, his fingers flicking at your clit with technique and skill.

"I'm- Fuck- 'm close," you whined, your breathing growing shallow as you gasped for air, desperately chasing your peak by grinding on Satoru's face.

"Go on, princess," he smiled with eagerness and awe. "On my mouth, come on," he giggled slightly, eyes blown open as he anticipated.

He didn't falter his movements at all, only adding the amount of aggression and speed. His eyes rolled in absolute bliss at the way your pussy clenched so tightly onto his tongue, refusing to let him go.

He wondered how it would feel with his cock inside you. He groaned just thinking about it.

"Fuck," you moaned loudly, feeling your orgasm crash over your body.

Your body squirmed, your fingers still in his hair. Your hips slowed down but Satoru's tongue had not.

He was drinking you up, staying true to his intentions. You could hear the wet sounds of Satoru slurping as he helped you through your orgasm.

Your chest breathed heavily, trying to regain the senses that you had lost to the way Satoru had pleasured you on his tongue. Your eyes were hazy, watching as Satoru approached you.

His skin glistened with your essence and you thought he looked so beautiful like that.

"Hi," you uttered breathily.

"Hi, love," he smiled gently, so sweet and lacking any hints of desire. "How do you feel?" He asked, his finger tracing your cheek and wiping away any tears of yours that had fallen.

"Feels good," you whispered softly.

"Great," he leaned in, kissing you and allowing you to taste yourself on him. "You're so perfect," he murmured, pulling away from the kiss. "Really, so gorgeous. And beautiful. And you taste so sweet. God, I can't believe I've waited this long to taste you, baby," he groaned as he yapped to you about yourself as if you weren't you.

"Shut up," you rolled your eyes in embarrassment, your cheeks flushed and red.

"Shut me up, then," he grinned proudly.

You looked at him with a pair of judgy eyes before bringing your hand to the back of his head, pulling him to kiss you. He kissed back fervently, so hungry for more with the way the kiss deepened, creating a mess of spit and slick.

"Satoru," you called in between kisses.

"Hmm?"

If Satoru were to pinpoint exactly only one thing about you that he loved, he was sure now that his answer would be the way you say his name.

Everyone says his name in a rushing manner and he was used to it. But you?

You ring out each and every syllable as if you had all the time in the world. You say his name as if to remind you that it was his, that it was only his.

Although, he was sure that his name was created just for you to speak of.

But most of all, you say his name and enunciate every bit of it as if it were important. As if he was important.

"Please, take this off," you begged, tugging at his pants.

He smiled, pulling away to obey your words. You took in the sight of Satoru Gojo in his most vulnerable state, the most bare he could ever be. Your thighs rubbed against each other, desire creeping up your skin.

"Not again," he beamed, using his hand to spread your legs, exposing yourself. "Come on," he nudged your nose gently, his hands wrapping around you before flipping you around.

His back rested against the headboard of the bed and you were sat in between his legs. His gaze lingered on yours, fingers caressing your jawline lovingly. He placed a soft kiss on your lips.

"I love you," he whispered lowly in the air.

"I love you," you answered with as much fervor and love, wrapping your arms around his neck.

The kiss continued, blossoming into something more as passion rained over. His hands are safe against your back, pulling you in closer, flushed against his body.

"Do you want to-"

"Yes," you nodded eagerly, panting into the gap that was a mix of breaths.

Satoru's hands lowered to your ass, giving it a little squeeze while he helped you straddle him. His gaze went down and yours followed.

Both of you watched as he aligned himself to your aching hole. Your breath hitched momentarily when his red tip rubbed against the entrance of your pussy.

Your body slumped on Satoru's, your head falling into the crook of his neck. Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly while he helped you lower yourself on his cock.

The second his cock began to enter, Satoru threw his head back, his lips parted to release a groan. You whimpered into his neck, muffled by his skin.

He was stretching your walls so good, you felt dizzy but full. You could feel his length inside you, and you were scared of even moving.

Once he was buried inside you to the hilt, he held you still to let you adjust to his size.

"You're so big, Satoru," you cried softly into his ears.

"Sorry, love," he gave you a light chuckle. "Whenever you're ready, okay? I can stay inside you like this for however long you'll let me."

"Don't- Don't say shit like that," you glared but it came off half-assedly.

"Why not? It's the truth, princess," he pouted, gently stroking your back for comfort.

"I can move now," you informed, slowly lifting yourself up with a moan.

"Shit, baby," he whimpered.

His hands returned to your ass, lifting you up as well. His entire length almost left you, leaving only the tip of his cock inside you. You lowered yourself quickly, moaning in pleasure as he stretched you.

"So- Ngh- You're s'tight," he whimpered, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

You whined, slowly setting a steady pace as you began to move up and down his cock that throbbed inside you. Satoru was losing his composure and he found himself thrusting his cock inside you further.

"Fuck!" You almost screamed, falling limp into his body.

Satoru's hands on your hips tightened, his breathing erratic. He leaned into you, peppering kisses along your jawline, endlessly muttering, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

You nodded against his hair, pulling him impossibly closer but he leaned back. His arms around you guiding you to bounce on his cock, the pace increasing in speed harshly.

The sound of skin slapping against one another, paired with the wet noises of your slick mixing with his echoed throughout the room. His eyes longingly gazed into yours, flickering to your lips that were parted as a way for your whimpers to escape.

His brows furrowed eagerly, hungry to have more of you to taste. You had no idea how but it was as if you knew exactly what he wanted.

Giving him a slow nod, you collected the substance at the tip of your tongue before opening your mouth. Your tongue stuck out, and he watched with darkened anticipation as your spit fell onto his tongue and he swallowed it, humming as he did so.

He was near satisfaction, having something of yours inside of him, marking him up for life the way a ring couldn't. It would serve him as a reminder of the night you shared, not that he could ever forget any of it.

Satoru was desperate now, even more eager to mark you up the same way you marked him. His hips thrust into you, the pain smoothing out into pleasure that caused your back to arch into him.

"Shit, I think I'm close," he muttered, grunting with each clench of your pussy on his cock.

"Me too," you whimpered, wrapping your arms around him. "Satoru," you breathed next to his ear, earning a whine from him. "You can cum inside me if you want."

If he wants?

God, he needs.

He nodded eagerly, fingers carding through strands of your hair to meet him. His hips were growing sloppy, his focus was on you and only you.

Your lips latched onto his, letting him swallow your moans through his tongue that explored your mouth. He knew you were close, reminding himself of all the ways you would show the signs.

You were clenching so tightly around him, almost refusing to let go of him. His eyes rolled back, feeling the way you arched yourself into him without ever breaking the kiss.

"Satoru," you moaned loudly into him as you cried, letting your orgasm consume you.

He groaned inside your lips, the sound of his cock fucking into your cum was making him dizzy in all the best ways possible. His pace never faltered, only quickening.

His hands guided your ass still but your mind was too hazy to be able to control your body. It was his lone effort as he fucked himself into your cunt, his cock spasming inside you until finally, he released with a loud cry of your name.

You whined, feeling his warm semen mix with your own, dripping down his cock and falling to the sheets. His thrusts slowed down as he rode out his high, pushing his cum further and further into you. His head tilted back in heavenly bliss as his eyes were heavy on yours.

"I love you so much," he muttered, kissing you softly as you both settled.

"I love you, too," you replied with a small smile.

He remained inside of you for a little while before helping you get off him. He gently let you lie on the mattress as he climbed over you.

"Satoru," you called, causing him to study you properly. "If tonight is the only time we could ever do this, then, I think I want more."

Your words caused darkness to shadow his eyes. His lips settled into a gentle smile as he kissed you lovingly, pouring out all his emotions into such a simple and chaste press of lips.

"If tonight is the only night we could be together, then let's have each other until we're satisfied."

But neither of you thought you could ever be satisfied living a life without one another.

Still, it will have to do.

Because he was a Gojo.

And you were a Zenin.

And Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, the bearer of Six Eyes will have to leave behind the only light in his life that stood in the shape of you.

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bingusmode · 5 months ago

Text

“Friendly” Suggestions

Red Medic x Reader

Warnings: Google translate German, inaccurate German culture, little spellcheck, and hints of sexism (if you squint)

A/N: instead of reader, I am using a class name instead. Vet, short for veterinarian.

Being the only woman on the team was already hard but being Medic’s second hand was even harder. If Vet did one thing, he would do another. If she stitched up one of the boys, he would correct her on her work. God forbid she healed someone on the field, without fail, Medic would throw his “Friendly Suggestions” her.

“I don’t know if I can handle any more of it” Vet took a swig of her morning tea, her other hand rubbing at her temple.

“I’m sure you’ll manage” Spy sat across the table from her, flipping through a magazine. Looking unbothered and uninterested as ever.

“I know I’m not a human doctor, but I know what I’m doing, I don’t need this constant hovering”

Spy didn’t take his eyes off the page he was reading, letting out a neutral “Hm”

Vet rolled her eyes and stood up from the table, going to the boiling tea kettle for a refill.

“Always a joy to talk to you Spy- Fuck!”

Vet dropped her cup in the sink and put down the kettle as fast as she could without spilling boiling water everywhere. Switching on cold water from the faucet to put her now burned hand under the flow.

“That's the second time you’ve burned yourself this week while pouring tea”

“Thank you Spy, I’m aware-”

“You burned youself?”

Vet swore mentally, of course Medic would walk in, he seemed to have a sixth sense when she was doing something wrong.

“Its fine, just a little slip up, nothing serious-”

“Serious or not, you shouldn’t be using cold water. Burn cream is more effective”

“I know but-”

“Here, take this”

Medic took out a small tube of burn cream and set it down on the counter

“Now you’ll be more prepared for another accident, your first aid kits seem often understocked”

Medic smiled at her while grabbing his morning coffee.

“I’m always available if you need any tips,”

Vet could feel her eye twitching. Medic took his mug and whistles as he left the room.

“...My first aid kits are NOT understocked”

“Do they have enough burn cream?”

“I’m gonna punch you Spy”

“Not with that hand you aren’t”

Vet felt her eye twitch in annoyance, leaving the burn cream on the counter. She was not a rookie that Medic needed to guide.

It was hot. Almost unbearably so in the gravel pit. It was nothing new to Vet. She wiped sweat off her neck before wrapping Scout's injured arm up and shooting him up with a small med pack.

“You could do that a little gentler you know-“

“And you could not get shot at every match, but here we are”

Vet stood and extended her arm out to him, helping him off of the ground.

“Go get ‘em champ”

Scout adjusted his hat before bolting off, a quick thanks was shouted over his shoulder.

Vet quickly moved to her next patient. Can’t stay in the same spot for too long in battle. Engineer was up next, he was usually an easy save. She weaved in and out of the empty buildings, making her a harder target to shoot. Her journey was abruptly stopped when a hand grabbed the back of her shirt and jerked her back into the shade of an overhang. Vet had her hand on her gun instantly, trying to find her next target.

“No no! None of that! It’s just me!” She heard Medics' voice before she registered him. She had half of a mind to still pull the trigger.

“Are you out of your mind Medic? I could have sent you to respawn-“

A glove clamped over her mouth as an enemy Demoman ran past their hiding spot, not noticing the two. Once he was gone, Vet wrestled his hand away.

“Would you-“

“The UV index is at a 10 today Frau”

“What.”

Medic smiled at her before pulled out a tube of sunscreen, spreading some on his gloves

“Skin cancer is no joke, even Mercenaries need sun protection”

Without warning, he applied sunscreen to Vets cheeks. Humming as he made sure her face was covered.

Vet had absolutely no words, whatever thoughts she wanted to say failed her.

Medic tapped her cheek once he was done.

“See? Better, it’s good you have someone looking out for you”

He did a once over of his gear before getting back into the action. Eventually Vet felt her rage return in spades.

She wasn’t a child, sure Medic was overbearing, but this was too far.

“That motherfucker-“

Sunscreen be damned, Medic be damned, they had a match to win. And afterword, she would rip him a new one.

Right now, ripping Medic a new one was far from her mind. Vet clutched the enemy’s briefcase to her chest, running as fast as she could. She had one thing on her mind, and that was securing her first win. Her lungs heaved and her knee was absolutely screaming in pain. The enemy Scout caught her with a crowbar, but she kept running. Less like running and more like limping with her busted knee, but she was so close. Just a few more seconds of pain, blood, and heat. With one final sprint, Vet flung herself into Red Base. The brief case falling to the floor with her.

A crisp victory flooded the loudspeakers and soon enough her teammates surrounded her. Heavy was the first to lift her up, cheering as he did.

“Blue team is no match for our Little Doctor!”

“You did alright Miss Vet”

“Mhppppmm!”

Vet soaked in her well deserved accolades, her shattered knee taking a backseat.

Until Medic slowly walked up, his eyes trained in on her injury. He stayed silent while the rest of the team celebrated.

“Frau-“

“I did it! Oh my lanta, I did it,”

“You were foolish”

Voices died down as everyone took in Medics disapproving look.

Vet felt her spark of rage within her chest.

“I’m sorry?”

“Heavy, bring her to my lab. This needs to be treated as soon as possible. Really Frau, you need to take care of yourself”

Medic turned away briefly to clean and adjust his glasses.

Engineer tried hearding the team out of the room, sensing that this conversation was going in the wrong direction.

“How dare you.”

Medic paused, turning to face Vet. She was still in Heavy’s arms, but she had so much to say.

“I won the match and you can’t even congratulate me? Everyone on this team has come back with worse injuries and I’m the one you reprimand?”

Confusion flooded across Medics face, like he wasn’t expecting this response.

“You are not like everyone else-“

“Enough!”

Vets voice rang loud and clear.

“I am a person! You cannot talk down to me and treat me like a child. I have a degree, I pull my weight, and I’ve done plenty to prove myself. You have been singling me out since I got here!”

Heavy could see the sweat forming on Medics brow, and it wasn’t from the heat.

“Frau, I meant no harm-“

“Everyday you correct me or tell me something you think I’m doing wrong, that ends tonight. I’m done, I’ll heal myself”

Vet spat at him, feeling her hands start to shake from all the emotion and excitement.

“Heavy, take me to my room, please”

“Little Doctor-“

“Heavy, please”

Heavy glanced over at Medic before shuffling out of the room. The rest of the team quickly dispersed after that. Not wanting to be caught up in whatever drama was happening.

All that left was Medic, staring at the brief case on the floor and shame washing over him.

“I do not understand”

Medic moved his chess piece, waiting for Heavy’s next turn.

“What am I doing wrong? Have I not been clear enough?”

Heavy studied the board before making his move.

“You have been very clear my friend, but you two are not of the same world”

Medic groaned and took off his glasses, trying to rub away his oncoming headache.

“Care to elaborate?”

Heavy paused, his chess piece a few inches away from being placed on the board.

“You Germans…how do I say this…express your feelings differently”

“I express myself perfectly fine!”

Heavy held up his hand, Medic huffed before shutting his mouth.

“To her, it sounds like you are doubting her abilities, questioning her judgment. Making Vet feel like less woman and more like child”

Medic tossed up his hands.

“How else will she know I can take care of her? I give her burn salve when she gets burned, I make sure her skin is protected from the harsh sun, I showed I care more about her than a…than a dummer Aktenkoffer!”

“This may be true, but to a non German, you are undercutting her success.”

Medic leaned forward

“Am I really doing that?”

Heavy nodded, taking Medics chess piece.

“Listen to Little Doctor. She is capable of taking care of herself”

“I know she is capable, much more than that…I just want her know I can take care of her too”

Heavy patted his friend on the shoulder.

“Do not give up hope Doctor, plenty of time for you to fix mess”

“I hope so…”

Just from around the corner, Vet listened. She had only meant to grab more bandages, not eavesdrop.

This whole time, Medic was trying to flirt with her?

She felt the tips of her ears warm, some of her anger starting to ebb away.

Well, if that’s how he flirted, maybe two could play at that game.

“Scheiße!” Medic jerked his hand away from the stove.

“Scout! You cannot leave this on!”

“Wasn’t me jackass!”

Medic rolled his eyes before searching for his salve, remembering that he gave it to Vet weeks before.

“Idiot boy…”

Heavy mumbled, turning a page in his book.

Vet peaked around the doorframe, fidgeting with the burn salve Medic gave her.

“Medic?”

His attention was immediately on her, Heavy watched from behind his book.

Vet approached and held out the salve. Letting Medic take it.

“Thank you Frau,” Medic watched himself carefully, doing his best not to say anything that could make him look worse.

Vet hesitated before giving him another tube of burn salve, a different brand.

“This is my preferred brand, I think it’ll take care of you better”

Medic and Heavy both paused, wondering if they heard that right.

“Oh, well, thank you”

“You’re more than welcome to see me if you need anymore”

Vet smiled at him before going on her way.

As soon as she left the room, Medic met Heavy’s gaze.

“She - she flirted with me! The German way!”

“I don’t think you have enough salve Doctor, the burn is big”

Medic nearly tripped out of the room following Vet, calling out to her to wait for him.

Heavy let out a small sigh, going back to his book. If Medic burning his hand was enough for Vet to notice him, then Heavy would have left the stove on a long time ago.

#team fortress 2 #team fortress two #tf2 #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #team fortress 2 x reader #team fortress medic #medic team fortress 2 #medic team fortress two #medic x reader #tf2 medic x reader #tf2 medic #I got this idea from a TikTok #it just makes sense to me that Medic aggressively flirts and it comes off awful #like #he is so smart but as an idiot

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 2 months ago

Note

heyy just started an ssri yesterday and tried to jerk it and it uh. Did not go well. Which is weird bc I'm usually always able to come, and I was also under the impression that it would take longer for that particular symptom to kick in. There doesn't seem to be a consensus online abt whether its temporary, but do you have any advice for managing this?

hi anon,

the odds that the SSRI hit hard enough to immediately impact your libido are pretty low; in this particular instance that's probably a bit of the ol' placebo effect.

having said that it is 100% possible for SSRIs to tank your libido, as virtually any hormonal medication can while your body figures out what to do with it. whether or not it's temporary varies from person to person, as no two bodies are the same. purely speaking from anecdotal evidence I've been on my SSRIs for something like four years and I'm horny as could be, while I've known plenty of people who lived out the irl version of discovering that what they identified as asexuality was actually just their meds. so what will happen in your particular case is difficult to predict with any accuracy.

in the meantime, be gentle with your body while you look for any changes. it's not the end of the world if you can't always cum exactly the way you used to, especially if the tradeoff is improved mental health. your goal doesn't need to be experiencing sex in exactly the same way you always have; it's fine to play around and find new ways to receive sexual pleasure either alone or partnered.

I know some people with ADHD who try to time sex for when their meds at their most effective so that they can focus long enough to cum, and some folks on SSRIs who aim for the exact opposite timing. nothing's effective for everybody, but it might be worth keeping in mind.

if you find that you're experiencing a drop in libido that's genuinely making you unhappy and uncomfortable, you can always talk with your healthcare provider to let them know your concerns and see about switching up your dosage or trying a different prescription that might be less disruptive.

#sex edventures 2024

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peach-princess-snz · 7 months ago

Text

Baizhu Snzfic (Part 2)

Pairing: Baizhu x OC

Includes: allergies, stifles, let out, false alarm... and more

Art by SayuuHiro

The long way up the stairs to Bubu Pharmacy had never felt longer on this hot summer day. Why would they build a pharmacy so high up in the first place? Who in Teyvat thought, "Ah yes, let's make people do an entire cardio routine if they wanna get their meds - that'll surely cure them!" I wonder what Dr Baizhu thinks of it. Ehsan chuckled at the thought of Baizhu throwing his hands in the air dramatically and rolling his eyes at the incompetency of people around him. Step. Step. One more step, and he was at the top. The wide, rounded entrance of Bubu Pharmacy tempted him with its dimly lit interior, and he could almost feel the cool breeze coming from the inside. Gui, the pharmacist at the front, noticed him first and waved.

"Good afternoon, welcome back! Eyy-saan, was it?" Gui looked at the guest, seeking confirmation.

"Uh, yeah, I'm good with that."

Gui noted something in a big book and moved it over to the side of the counter in one swift gesture. "How may I help you? Aah, you must be looking for Dr Baizhu. He is in the back, getting the medicine ready for his 3 o'clock appointment. I will let him know you stopped by."

The pharmacist barely finished his sentence as the door on his left swung open, and a familiar tall figure with long green hair, a flowy blue coat loosely draped over his shoulders, and a white snake coiled around his neck entered the room. The man seemed fixated on a couple of brown pouches in his hands.

"Gui, I will need more sweet flowers and slime condensate, and for Rex Lapis' sake, where is Qiqi?" Dr Baizhu looked up, shifting his weight to one side impatiently.

Gui glanced at the doctor, then at Ehsan who was still standing at the entrance.

"Oh, my!" Baizhu's voice switched to the drawn-out purr he assumed with his patients. "Ehsan, please accept my sincere apologies. If I knew you were visiting, I'd brew some of that tea you enjoyed last time you were here," he said, setting the pouches down on the counter.

Gui sighed with the sigh of an underpaid employee too tired to question his supervisor and began scribbling a note. "Qiqi is still in the mountains," he replied. "I pray to the archons that she didn't get stuck between the rocks... again. I will make sure she gets your message when she returns."

"Thank you! Now that you say that, I am considering taking a stroll into the mountains to ascertain her well-being firsthand. The thought of any harm befalling my little Qiqi troubles me deeply, particularly as our herbal supplies dwindle. Now, where were we? Ehsan! How are you feeling today?"

"Thank you, Dr Baizhu, I'm doing quite well. I haven't made another trip to the Chasm yet, but definitely considering it for my vacation destination next week," Ehsan chuckled, exposing his perfect white teeth. "I was wondering if you were feeling any better?"

It's been two days since the accident, and, judging by his elevated mood and glowing skin, the doctor seemed to be in perfect health. Ehsan wondered for a second how one could recover from an illness so quickly when he saw Baizhu sniffle and quickly dab his nose on the back of his hand. Looks like even the most talented doctor is not immune to the fragility of human nature.

"Truly, I am flattered by your concern about my well-being, but I assure you there is no need to worry. My chronic condition tends to flare up from time to time, but I am feeling perfectly fine today." Baizhu smiled and gave a little pet to Changsheng, comfortably resting on his shoulders. "Did you by chance come back for more herbs to help expedite your recovery?”

"I actually stopped by just to see you," Ehsan almost let the words slip out of his mouth. "I actually stopped by just for a moment. I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time as I see that you already have a lot on your plate." Nailed it.

Baizhu sniffled again and tilted his head quizzically. "Well, if that's the case, allow me to at least walk you out."

As Baizhu was passing Ehsan, Changsheng gave the Sumeru scholar a long look as if she knew something about him that even he did not.

--------------------------------------------------------------

"So, ahem..." Baizhu cleared his throat. "Where are you headed next?"

Ehsan couldn't help but notice that the tip of the doctor's nose had turned pink as they began descending the stairs. Was it just his imagination? Ehsan felt a wave of tingles rush down his back and hurriedly turned away from the doctor's face.

"Ah, my schedule is pretty flexible. In fact, I've decided to take a day off from writing my thesis. Um… I was wondering if I could help with the search for your assistant? I've been meaning to explore Liyue beyond the Chasm, and this looks like a perfect opportunity."

Baizhu's face took on a concerned expression as he squinted his eyes and looked in the distance. Changsheng slithered down his body onto the ground and continued moving beside them. "Was I being disrespectful? Should I not have offered? Does he... not want my company?" Ehsan's usually collected thoughts were scattered all over the place.

"That would be most generous of you," Baizhu finally replied with a soft smile. As he said that, his nostrils suddenly twitched, forcing the doctor to bring a hand to his nose and give it a little rub. Ehsan's cheeks turned red, and he prayed that Baizhu would not notice the difference on his bronze skin. The doctor, however, seemed preoccupied with something else as his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. He sniffled again, wetly.

"Ehsan, I have to admit, I was delighted by your offer to accompany me. If I may be so bold, would you be willing to share your knowledge of herbal remedies in Sumeru? I find myself enraptured by the intricacies of medicinal practices in other nations, and your insights would be most enlightening."

"Of course! It is my pleasure as a scholar of Amurta..." Ehsan began as he heard the doctor's breath hitch, "...to share what little I know of..." Baizhu's breath hitched again, and it took all of Ehsan's willpower not to look over at the doctor, "...the biological, uh, structure of the, umm, world." He could not help but glance at his companion, now frozen in a perfect pre-sneeze expression, his eyebrows folded, eyes shut, lips slightly parted, and his face lifted towards the sun. The next moment Baizhu ducked into his elbow with a strong "Hiih... He-kxXnt!"

Distracted, Ehsan tripped on a perfectly smooth road but caught himself just in time. Baizhu did not seem to notice. He lifted his face away from his elbow and took one brief look at the sun, which seemed to be just enough to make his breath hitch again until he forcefully jerked forward with another stifled "Hiih’NKxshh!!"

Baizhu blinked and shook his head. "Please excuse me! Huh, look at that, as soon as I proclaim my well-being, I promptly make a fool of myself," he chuckled.

"I-uh... I assure you that is not the case... Ahem, as I was saying, I'd be happy to talk about Sumeru. Do you have any particular questions?" Ehsan struggled to compose himself. Normally, he could always push his emotions aside to make way for more important things. Yet today this task seemed almost impossible for a reason Ehsan did not want to admit to himself.

"Alright," Baizhu agreed, smiling. "My first question is, what is that exquisite scent you are wearing? I can discern some familiar notes, yet I cannot place them." Baizhu inhaled deeply, evaluating the fragrance. "Hmm, similar to glaze lilies, but much stronger, and with a hii-... hint of sweet fl…hih-flowers." Baizhu's eyelids fluttered and he brought his elbow up to cover another sneeze, but it seemed to escape him as the doctor lowered his arm with a sigh.

Ehsan felt the ground fall out from underneath his feet. He was indeed wearing a perfume he bought in Port Ormos before his trip to Liyue to remind him of home, and he did indeed hope that it would impress Dr Baizhu... just not like this.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Ehsan uttered softly. "I hope you are not allergic to my perfume? I would never have worn it if I had any idea..."

"Nonsense! I'm just... hih... enjoying the delicate scent, and this sudden outburst is likely completely unrelated," Baizhu declared cheerfully. "So, what are the exotic ingredients in your fragrance?"

"I-uhh..." Ehsan attempted to recall the label on the bottle containing the source of Baizhu’s misery. When that failed, he began listing random plants in hopes that at least one of them was correct. "Yes, the scent comes from traditional Sumeru flowers like nilotpala lotus, padisarah, sumeru rose..." Ehsan stopped as he heard Baizhu draw a sharp breath. He watched as the doctor tilted his head back, shut his eyes, and erupted in another semi-stifled fit, barely caught by his elbow.

"Hiih... Hheh... eKschh! Hih-hih... nGKkt-chew! Heh-kshuu!"

Baizhu paused with his face still buried into the crook of his arm. His chest expanded as he took a deep breath and lurched forward, struggling to contain his sneezes that seemed to be getting stronger the more he tried to stifle them.

"Huh... Hh-eKSCHew!! Haa-aKXTShhew! Ugh... snff.. Excuse me."

Baizhu finally put his arm down, removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"Bless you! Once again, please forgive me if your, err... current condition is due to my carelessness,” Ehsan began. "I should not have assumed that Sumeru plants were harmless to..."

"Ehsan, you of all people should not be apologizing for an oversight on my part," Baizhu interrupted. "If I didn't forget to bring my handkerchief, you would not have been subjected to my utter lack of manners."

"But I do want to be subjected," Ehsan thought and immediately bit his tongue so as not to say anything stupid.

Changsheng made a noise in between a hiss and a scoff. "I too enjoy taking a short break once in a while, but if we don't get a move on, we might just lose our favorite herb collector, and you will have to run errands all by yourssself, Baizhu."

"Heh-AhTSHoo!" This time Baizhu didn't have time to cover and instead turned to the side with his hand hovering over his face helplessly. "Ah... snff... Yes, we should probably keep... hiih... g..." The doctor's eyes snapped shut and his eyebrows darted upwards. His voice trailed off as his breath wavered.

"Huh!.. Hh!.. Ahhhh," Baizhu opened his eyes and sighed wearily. "I am truly sorry for this display," he said quietly. "I do wish my adverse react... hiih.. was not a hh-hindrance to this otherwise pleasant conversation." Baizhu looked up searching for the sun through half-closed eyelids. His nostrils quivered impatiently and his nose wrinkled, and the doctor stood motionless, taking in air in short, rapid bursts. After a moment he sighed again and rubbed his nose vigorously. He turned to Ehsan.

"Oh, please, don't look at me with this concern in your eyes," Baizhu tried to give his companion a reassuring smile, but deep embarrassment and discomfort were written all over his face. "Truly, I am alright, my body is simply not cooperating with me today, but it's nothing to worry about. I promise you."

Baizhu's voice sounded more leveled and his sentences dropped their embellishments. He sounded almost... somber, for reasons unknown to Ehsan who took the doctor's change of tone as proof of his own guilt.

"I'm... So sorry," he mumbled. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Now, now, we should really get going," Baizhu smiled. "After all, we're here to save Qiqi, not me."

--------------------------------------------------------------

They left Liyue Harbor's gates and continued their way up the road. Ehsan kept hearing Baizhu's sniffling and an occasional soft gasp for air, but he couldn't bring himself to look at the doctor. The most he could do now was help Dr Baizhu as much as possible and not make the situation any more awkward. Ehsan kept walking and almost didn't notice when Baizhu stopped following him. Ehsan turned around to witness the tall figure of his companion standing on the side of the road, his head tilted up and his eyes shut. His shoulders tensed up as his lips parted and he took a shaky breath.

"Hiih... Ah... Huuh..."

Nothing. Baizhu wiped his nose with the side of his hand, exhausted by the persistent tickle that didn’t seem to be getting better any time soon.

He noticed Ehsan staring at him and laughed it off, reassuring the scholar that "it was nothing to worry about" and "seriously, Ehsan will make him blush if he keeps giving him so much sympathy." They continued walking with Baizhu slowing down every couple of minutes to try and relieve the itch buried deep inside his nose to no avail. After some time, Baizhu requested to sit down on a broken bench under an old oak tree on the side of the road. Ehsan joined him. The doctor looked weary and kept pressing the back of his gloved hand to his reddened nostrils glistening with moisture.

"When on the road, one should take ample time to pause and appreciate the wondrous scenery along the way," Baizhu finally said, looking at the blue sky dreamily.

"You're about to collapse, aren't you?" Changsheng responded without hesitation.

Baizhu was about to say something when his gaze went blank and he drew a sharp breath.

"Oh, come on!" Changsheng exclaimed impatiently. "If you weren't so dead set on trying to be polite, you'd feel much better without needing to sit down and catch your breath." She then turned to Ehsan, silently demanding his participation in the discussion.

Baizhu sighed and slumped on the bench. "I'll be alright. I just hh-... need a moh... hhh-... ment."

Ehsan felt bad for the doctor, but this feeling was mixed with a sort of excitement that gave the scholar goosebumps. He didn't realize as his intrusive thoughts got the best of him:

"Dr Baizhu, if I may, sometimes your body just needs a slight push to help it get rid of the allergen and make you feel better."

Ehsan froze with his mouth still slightly agape, unable to believe in the reality of what he had just proposed.

Changsheng gave him a curious look but didn't say anything. Baizhu lifted his head and looked at Ehsan. His soft green hair spilled out from his bun and unruly strands were now framing his elegant face, making him look ethereal in the dappled golden light filtering through the canopy above. "Did you have an idea?"

Ehsan almost jumped at the question. Baizhu did not seem like somebody who easily accepted the help of others. But if what Ehsan heard two days ago, albeit muffled by the walls of the pharmacy, was really what he thought it was... Ehsan's cheeks flushed crimson.

"I um... could help you... sneeze," the last word was so quiet it almost got lost in the breeze. Baizhu's piercing golden eyes seemed to widen, and his vertical pupils turned into thin lines.

"Alright, I have to admit, I'm intrigued. Mostly because I'd never expected to see such an offer coming from you." Baizhu's lips stretched into a smirk, and he sniffled wetly. "Suffice to say, it feels different to be on the receiving side of a treatment, but I... hiih-..." Baizhu's breath hitched, and he lost track of his thoughts. "Ahem, what I'm trying to say is, I guess, as a doctor, I myself should be an example of a perfect patient readily accepting hii-... the…"

Ehsan saw the desperation in Baizhu's eyes, barely masked by his pretend nonchalant attitude.

As the doctor sighed and rubbed his nose again, Ehsan bent down and pulled out a thin blade of grass, soft with a pointed tip. He looked at Dr Baizhu, hesitating. The doctor seemed calm, if a little tense, whether from the persistent itch in his nose or the peculiar situation they found themselves in. Ehsan reached out toward Baizhu's face but stopped himself, afraid that the doctor would burst out laughing at how silly Ehsan must look, exposing the affair as a joke he never took seriously. However, Baizhu's facial expression remained neutral, and he didn't pull away from Ehsan's hand. Ehsan carefully cupped Baizhu's cheek, feeling the warmth of his soft skin under his fingertips. He looked into Baizhu’s eyes, as if asking for permission. The doctor sniffled again and reached out for his nose instinctively, but Ehsan stopped his hand and put it back on the bench. Baizhu's bright eyes lit up with curiosity. Ehsan brought the thin blade of grass to the doctor's right nostril and brushed it gently. Baizhu's nostrils twitched, and the bridge of his nose wrinkled. Fascinated, Ehsan brushed the outside of the left nostril to witness the same reaction. Baizhu blinked a couple of times and exhaled shakily. Ehsan inserted the grass blade inside the doctor's nose and gave it a slight twirl. Baizhu's breath wavered as his eyes rolled back and his eyelids dropped. Ehsan kept rotating the grass blade, slowly climbing deeper into the doctor's quivering nose. Baizhu's breath was now hitching uncontrollably and his eyebrows darted up, forming a triangle. He tilted his head up, leaning away from the grass blade that was now tickling deep inside his irritated nose. Ehsan responded by pushing the grass blade further in as Baizhu audibly gasped for air. "Aaah!.." The swift movements of Ehsan's fingers sped up as Baizhu's nose kept scrunching up and twitching, buzzing with an unbearable itch. "Ah!.. Hh... Hh... HaaH!.." Baizhu lifted a hand motioning for Ehsan to stop, but the scholar was too entranced by the show to pay attention to anything but the doctor's red, twitchy nostrils and his shaky breath. "Aaah!!.." Baizhu froze for a split second before jerking forward towards Ehsan violently. The scholar quickly snatched the grass blade away as Baizhu erupted in an uncovered sneezing fit, misting Ehsan's lap with tiny droplets of spray.

"Huh'dSCHh'sshuh!! Huh'dSCHh'ssh! Hiih... Hiih... Hiih'IISSSHiuu! Haah.. Ah-kTSHHew!.. Hh... Heh-Eh'sSCHew! Eh'sSCH'ew!............................ Huh... Hh..." Baizhu paused with his eyes still shut and took another slow deep breath. Without thinking, Ehsan reached out and slid the wet grass blade back into the doctor's irritated nostril, making the latter gasp and lurch forward with a loud "Hhah!!... Ah'eeKSCHHew! Ah!.. Ae'SCHoo!...................Huh-AaahSCHHew! Ugh..."

The doctor blinked rapidly, collecting himself. He sniffled, trying to stop his dripping nose from making a mess, then grabbed a sleeve of his coat and buried his face into it.

Ehsan flicked the grass blade away, not taking his eyes off the absolutely breathtaking god-like figure sitting next to him dabbing the thick fabric to his sensitive nose and misty eyes.

"Phew... Ahem," Baizhu coughed into the sleeve a little longer than needed to clear his throat. "I have never experienced anything quite like it, that's for sure," he finally said, still wiping his nose in an upward motion. He then turned his attention to Ehsan and his face dropped.

"Oh, archons!! I am so, so sorry! Please do accept my sincerest apologies, I did not mean to... erm... make such a mess, let alone sneeze all over my patient!"

Baizhu lowered his head, bowing to Ehsan, who, in all honesty, did not mind a little mist on his clothes that seemed to make the doctor feel so flustered.

"He liked it," Changsheng stated with zero emotion in her voice. Baizhu lifted his head and looked at the white snake, his face still reflecting deep remorse. "What I’m saying is, our ssscholar friend seems to enjoy," Changsheng began, making Ehsan wish he’d met his fate at the Chasm and avoided going to the pharmacy altogether, "...helping others, and it bringsss him great joy to see people feeling better." Ehsan could have sworn that if snakes could smile, she would be giving him her sassiest grin.

"Oh, is that so?" Baizhu sniffled again, but his nose no longer looked red and irritated.

"Y-yes, I am indeed glad to have been able to repay your kindness as you saved me the other day," Ehsan hurriedly replied. "Besides, I couldn't bear watching you suffer any longer."

"Well, in that case..." Baizhu's face took on a contemplating expression before he turned towards Ehsan and looked straight into his eyes. "It looks like we have a lot in common."

#genshin snzpact #bai/zhu #genshin snz #snz kink #snzblr

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minniethemoocherda · 4 months ago

Text

Iridescent: Chapter 22

A/N: Holy shit!! Cannot believe that it has been over a year now since I started this fic! Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck around for this long!! Xxxxxxx

Ao3

FF.net

It was early the next day and Prowl was trying to catch up on paperwork after the fire had completely knocked him off schedule. Which was not an excuse to not go to see Bluestreak in the temporary med-bay.

Prowl hadn't even opened his first file when his office door was hacked open.

At this point, Prowl had come to expect Jazz's unscheduled break ins, so he when the door opened, he was surprised to see the twins instead. Not least for the fact that the pair were supposed to he unconsciousness in the temporary med-bay.

Sideswipe's optic was still cracked and without any replacement lenses they were just going to have to wait for the self pair nanites to do their work and whilst Sunstreaker's arm was hidden behind his back, Prowl knew that it was currently wrapped in a cast.

An unusually serious expression was work by both their faces. It was never a good sign when the twins were serious.

Before Prowl could ask what they thought they were doing here, Sideswipe as usual opened his big mouth.

"So you know how we were banned from the med-bay right?" Sideswiped started.

"I am aware." Prowl replied curtly.

"Yeah well we were trying to sneak in to see Bumblebee so we borrowed a trick out of his book and went through the vents but Sunny's fat aft got stuck.-"

Sunstreaker punched his brother in the arm but Sideswipe continued unbothered.

"-so whilst I was trying to push Sunny along the vent for no particular reason whatsoever, through the grill we saw Silverstreak running out of the med-bay. Which is odd because usually you only people running towards the med-bay like when they're dying or rushing to see their conjunx who's been injured after a big battle. But Silverstreak was totally fine after her last mission and according to the base gossip she isn't dating anyone. So we thought that she had to be running away from a wrench wielding Ratchet. So obviously we hung around to watch because that's always fun to see when its not us and-"

"-And then the med-bay exploded." Sunstreaker interrupted cutting straight to the point.

"Yeah exactly and then- err hey Prowl? You doing okay dude?" Sideswipe asked. Sunstreaker barely managed to drag his brother out of the way as Prowl marched out of his office.

Prowl couldn't speak. They couldn't even think. All he felt was white hot rage. All of his tactical net was now focused on one mission. To kill Silverstreak.

For once luck was on Prowl's side as he spotted Silverstreak at the end of the command corridor.

Silverstreak took one quick look at him and she must have seen the bloodlust in his eyes because in the next second she bolted.

Prowl transformed, sirens blaring as he raced after her.

However his luck was short-lived as he hadn't even made it to the end of the command corridor when someone walked out of a nearby door opened and Prowl immediate switched all his focus into breaking on time to not run them over.

"Do you want to tell me why you're trying to kill one of my agents?" Jazz asked, appearing unbothered by the fact that he had almost been flattened.

"Because she tried to kill Bluestreak!" Prowl yelled, trying to drive around him, but Jazz just stepped in front of him again.

"And you think this because?"

"The twins told me!" Prowl yelled, aiming a punch mid-transformation at the spy's face.

Jazz caught his hand with a raised optic ridge.

"I know the twins," Prowl argued, trying to yank his hand free of the spy's grip. "And we both know that they wouldn't joke about that."

"Well that would explain why I've currently got Sideswipe shouting down my comm that you're going to kill somebody." Jazz replied, keeping a tight hold on Prowl's wrist. "But we can't kill Silverstreak yet. We need her alive for questioning first."

Reluctantly Prowl had to concede that Jazz did have a point. Not that he was going to tell him that. Prowl managed a sharp nod, finally pulling his hand free as Jazz loosened his grip.

Prowl didn't wait for Jazz as he returned to vehicle mode, catching a glimpse of Silverstreak before she turned a corner.

It was late so the corridors were relatively empty. The few bots they did come across were to quick to get out of the way.

Prowl took a few shots at the traitor but despite their shared Praxian forms, Silverstreak was faster, her sleeker form allowing her to dodge his lasers. Jazz wasn't having much luck either, the other spy already knowing most of his tricks before he even got a chance to try them.

Suddenly Silverstreak transformed. In the air, during her transformation, she used her new legs to leap off the wall, down the sharp turn of a slim maintenance hatch.

Prowl sped past before his optics even had time to process what had just happened. He skidded to a stop, scrapping his sides on the walls as he forced his body to turn around. Jazz had to jump over him to stop themselves from crashing.

Now in robot mode, Prowl squeezed himself down the maintenance tunnel trying to shove himself down it as fast as he could despite the fact that he had to run sideways down the narrow passage. The hot rusted cogs of gears and bolts stabbed into his paint. However, Prowl paid no notice to the warning of surface level damage to his body, his mind focused entirely on one purpose.

Prowl saw a flash of light up ahead as Silverstreak must have opened and closed the hatch at the other end. Barely a minute later, Prowl reached the same hatch. He charged through it, a set of hinges clattered to the floor as it snapped.

On the other side was a seemingly ordinary corridor. Prowl glanced left then right but he could not see Silverstreak. He did however spot Inferno.

The fire truck who had been driving along the metal floor, jumped the sight of the Second in Command running towards him.

"Woah where's the fire-"

"Did you Silverstreak?" Prowl demanded, his voice barely more than a growl.

"Err no, not since we came back from Tyger Pax." Inferno replied, turning into robot mode so that he could hold up his hands as took a step away from the usually stoic commander.

"Then where is she!"

Prowl scanned the corridor back and forth and back and forth. Logic dictated that Silverstreak should still be within his lone of sight but no matter how many times he turned his head he could not see her anywhere.

Eventually Prowl's sight latched back onto Inferno, the only other bot there.

"And why aren't you at your post!" Prowl screamed.

Inferno apparently decided to interpret that as a rhetorical question and sped towards the temporary med-bay before they could give him an answer.

Prowl was about to storm after them when he felt someone grab him by the shoulder.

Prowl spun around, hoping to find Silverstreak but instead it was Jazz climbing out of the hatch.

The spy was apparently unfazed by his anger, simply pointing to the ceiling. Prowl looked up to see a vent with the grate now hanging by its hinges.

Prowl shoved Jazz off him. He climbed up the grate. His wings screeched against the metal as he tried to push himself inside the enclosed vent. But the facts of reality was that he was too large to fit inside.

"I commed Red Alert," Jazz called up to him, evidently deciding that trying to stop him would be a pointless battle, "I told them to seal off all exists, including the vents."

Prowl couldn't even bring himself to nod. He was too angry at himself for being too much of a slave to his emotions to think to call Red Alert before. If he had, the chances that they would have caught Silverstreak increased astronomically.

The suddenly influx of calculations and missed possibilities crashed onto his head like a freight train. He stumbled as he dropped from the grate.

Jazz caught him before he could trip over his own exhaustion.

"It's okay." Jazz tried to reassure him, stroking a hand down his arm, but Prowl just shook his head.

"No. It is not. Not until Silverstreak is dead."

#transformers #jazzprowl #transformers jazz #transformers prowl #prowljazz #autobot jazz #bluestreak #silverstreak #sunstreaker #sideswipe #jazz x prowl #jazz #prowl #tf jazz #tf prowl

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mychlapci · 7 months ago

Note

Someone inspired me with their thunderclash/roddy pill mention so of course my brain went…

What if Ratchet did the same to Roddy because he & drift want a sparkling but neither are the type to carry and they don’t want a spark from a hot spot and they can’t since they aren’t on cybertron. So their best bet is to find a mech who can carry and guess who is the perfect mech with a very high fertility before he even gained the matrix?

Thats right, Roddy.

And who’s the mech desperate to make up for the all pain they caused their amica and said amica’s conjunx?

You guessed it, Roddy.

So of course Ratchet plans to ask Rodimus to carry for himself and Drift. He knows both speedsters still have deep feelings for the other and he can admit he likes the flame racer quite a bit too.

So why not ask?

Well, Rodimus hates his status and ability to carry and how fertile he is. He out right admits at the bar he’s on very heavy meds to keep from getting sparked while wearing a tank bolt and using spike wraps. He openly says he never wants to have a sparkling or lose his figure.

The words are a major hurt and disappointment for Ratchet and he can see it in his conjunxs eyes even if he didn’t know about Ratchets plan. Ratchet knew Drift had a fantasy about Rodimus carrying ever since he was Deadlock, he just never admitted it.

Sooo maybe Ratchet decided he didn’t like the spark broken look on his conjunx at Rodimus words.

Maybe Ratchet decided Rodimus needed a mandatory cheek up after a long enough period. He’s typically thorough in all his examinations of patients so its no shock when he checks Rodimus’s tank bolt.

It’s nothing for him to tamper with the bolt and pop it off without Rodimus knowing.

The mech feels lighter on his pedes without it and leaves with a bounce in his step on his way to get his medication that Ratchet later on switched to placebo pills after going to rodimus hab suite with Drift and excused himself to use the wash racks?

Maybe he mentions the idea of a drinking game a few days later to Drift so it would land all three of them with a couple bottles of energon, low lighting and a charged captain that ends up in berth with the two of them?

Things are awkward at first when Rodimus wakes up furiously apologizing and leaking thinking he’s ruined things between them but Drift is quick to assure him everything is fine, more than fine really and the subject of adding another to their relationship is suddenly brought up but Ratchet doesn’t mind the least. It really goes all together with his plan, something he wishes he thought of in the first place.

The two make it back to their own hab suite where Ratchet is thinking of ways to ask Drift why admit now he wants Rodimus when he hadn’t before and without saying anything to him. Only to be met with Rodimus’s actual medicine pack in Drift’s servos with the mech looking at him with such an unreadable face plate.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I…”

“You should’ve told me.”

“Wait. what?”

“I knew. Roddy said he left a check up with you. But it wasn’t his turn to get a check up just yet. I know, because I always remind him to schedule it right after my own.”

Ratchet was at a lost for words and Drift steps closer to him.

“I know why you did it,” Drift hugs him and Ratchet feels the world spin as he wraps his conjunx in his arms.

“I wish you would’ve told me from the start. I would’ve helped ya know? I don’t like secrets between us, though, its still a nice surprise.”

What could Ratchet really say to that?

Drift tells him they get a sparkling and he gets Rodimus. He asks what he can do for Ratchet getting him such wonderful gifts that he’s always wanted and Ratchet just—

“I want those things too.”

So to their happiness and elation and Rodimus’s greatest despair and terror, he’s sparked from that night.

So many tears, a lot of broken things in his office to later his hab suite that he trashes before eventually clawing at his own frame and tanks in pure distress before Drift and Ratchet have to grab and sedate him.

They learn the news when Ratchet does a scan after they lay him in the med bay and through a lot of tears on Rodimus part and reassurance on Drift and Ratchets, they convince Rodimus to keep the sparkling and even share hab suites to help him better in this process.

Just Ratchet doing a dirty underhanded thing and Drift finding out on his own only to join in and really help seal the deal. They got what they wanted.

A sparkling and Rodimus.

And said bot is none the wiser to any of this till he’s in the half mark of carrying and finds his actual pills that they forgot to get rid of.

But by then its too late and he’s already more in love with the two but now there’s this underlying fear and anxious curl in his being every time he looks at them to the point he doesn’t want them to touch him.

I would guess he admits he knows when laying in berth and the two become worried at their breaking point when Rodimus won’t allow them to touch him even though he needs it for a healthy carrying and sparkling.

Just all of them messed up from this outcome but still staying together?

I probably should’ve posted this myself instead of putting all this in your ask box 😭

OHohoh we are stealing Rodimus’ birth control again. yeah, oh yeah, Ratchet meddling with Rodimus’ very meticulous installed birth control because he and Drift are too old to spark, so why not have Rodimus make up for all the ways he’d hurt Drift by carrying their sparkling? Getting Roddy tipsy and dragging him into their bed is the easy part…

god i just love creepy older couple dratchet.

Once Rodimus is knocked up against his will and knows that they’ve both planned it this way he’s too numb to freak out. He withholds sex from them, hoping he can halt the carrying cycle by not taking any transfluid, but that thing just holds on and he eventualy gives in. Once the sparkling is about to pop out, Rodimus feels just too ugly to go to someone else… but Drift and Ratchet still want to interface with him, even though his belly is stretched out and his waist is filling out, and he knows no one else will want him more than they do at this point.

Drift and Ratchet love him, in their own way, he knows that...

#valveplug #pregnancy mention #why are we doing this to him‼️#dubcon #texty

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julijbee · 5 months ago

Note

Id love to hear your review of the dlc and your alternate plot ideas if youre willing to share! The plot seemed. questionable

i am so glad you asked (evil smile). so i'm going to spoil the whole dlc, even irrelevant things that aren't "main story" plot that you'll probably want to experience on your own if you're still playing so proceed with caution. also this is entirely opinionated and you'll likely have a different opinion from me and that's fine. my opinions aren't objective fact they're just how i feel.

also if you are familiar with the plot of elden ring, particularly to do with miquella, as well as the plot of the dlc, you know what content to expect. if you are new to this content and have no idea- first of all what are you doing here? second of all i'll be discussing incest and sexual assault. peace and love, enjoy my 5,920 word review.

I played the dlc as a NG+, FAI/DEX build using vyke's spear, godskin peeler, and bloodhound's fang, and used my incantations for both buffs and attacks and switched them often. summoned mimic, always wore pot on my head, and favored light/med carry weight.

GAMEPLAY (not story, just scroll if you only care about story)

so i'm going to start with reviewing the gameplay first because unlike the story section this is more positive, and while less people probably care about this, I DO!! i've been playing fromsoft's games for years and its because i enjoy them and think playing them is fun, that the stories they tell have resonated with me and i liked (most of... .. .) them has been a happy bonus. my honest opinions about the gameplay difficulty is that at this point in my souls playing hobby i think i've finally become one of those really annoying people who has no real idea of how hard the game actually is. with the exception of a few bosses, i thought the dlc was easier than expected, and i sometimes found myself wishing i found some of the earlier bosses more challenging, because those were objectively more fun fights than the later ones. i think the scadutree fragments are a really interesting way to both:

a: help players control the difficulty of the dlc, collecting more if they are stuck somewhere, or abstaining from use if they want more of a challenge

b: encourage exploration of their very vertically dense dlc map

it both maintains that idea thats vital to elden ring's formula, that the open map allows for you to explore and level up before attempting a boss again, but also ensures that you can find those levels you need without having to grind too hard in a smaller dlc area, and aren't kept from the main story for too long. i really enjoyed this, and honestly the side stories were the only things keeping me playing once i realized what the main story was doing, and all the life was slowly sapped from my body.

i am pretty sure at this point in time that i have completed most of the bosses- i think i am missing one of the four mausoleum bosses and i think i skipped one of the dragons on the way to bayle because i was sick of fighting so many dragons in a row, and i'm sure i've missed some mini bosses or areas, especially in the rauh area which i am guilty of sprinting through at a certain point.

with the exception of the final boss and bayle, i enjoyed the bosses in this dlc. the thing with the difficulty of these games is that in the past a lot of the difficulty spikes between games comes down to movement speed of player and bosses, and the effects this quicker and quicker timing has on the gameplay. they've also introduced some combat enhancements or tried out some ideas like weapons arts in ds3. (in non-souls games you have a lot more variations on the formula, with bloodborne's parry mechanics and less of a reliance on the character builds and armors, sekiro's systems being something that almost felt like you had to relearn how to play their games)

elden ring complicates this formula even further by introducing an expanded and much more practical system for weapon arts, a shit ton more weapons and armors, faith and int builds that are finally viable, and consistent boss summons with the spirit ashes. i'm both impressed that the game maintains the challenge of prior titles and even has some bosses that well outdo their difficulty, and also remains fun to play. the dlc maintained this FOR THE MOST PART, but with bayle and the final boss this kind of stumbled.

the problem i was shocked elden ring didn't already have was that when you're already going as fast as seems feasible, how do you augment the difficulty to give new challenges, and how do you make something fresh within this old formula. their bosses are difficult, but for the most part they're fun, and you can get to a point where you make that call of okay, this is hard but this is possible, or no this isn't possible right now, i need to change my strategy or level up or something else. the dlc was very fun to me because i was able to utilize the full arsenal of things id acquired over the course of my two prior playthroughs of the base game. if i had trouble with a boss, i realized at some point that i had plenty of viable builds i could apply to my character that better suited the boss. i switched between weapons, swapped out miracles, did some experimentation with the talismans and armor, and it felt a lot like fun trial and error to see which build would work, and very rewarding when it finally did!

bayle and the final boss felt kind of like they knew they were obligated to be crazy difficult, but they couldn't quite iron out how to do that without it being ridiculous. bayle less so than the final boss, but i feel like the warning for the final boss was there in bayle. he was whispering to me hey, hey, watch out. you know i cant be the worst, you know that final boss will be worse. also bayle gets a bit of a pass because he was a side story boss (i appreciated that the main story was a little bit easier than the side stories, because obviously you want your players to be able to get through the main stuff, with the side stuff being the extra. i personally liked that. anyways.) i did not have fun playing the final boss and it wasnt just the psychological damage (though that made me want to stop trying way more than the difficulty did tbf.) so far as gameplay is concerned i really enjoyed the dlc and i had a lot of fun exploring and fighting my way through it, there were some beautiful areas that made me excited to look at the concept art, and the weapons and new systems they added were a lot of fun when i tested them out. if it were just this gameplay i would be happy with the dlc and would probably still be playing it now.

THE STORY REVIEW. (hell.)

what makes me mad is that to some extent they gave me what i wanted. if you look back through my old posts or have the displeasure of knowing me in real life and heard me gushing about this, you already know some of my dlc wishes came true!

some of my dlc wishes:

i wanted new flowers to pick (small fish all things considered)

i wanted a boss with a large spear to skewer me in the air like a kebab

i wanted more frenzy content

i wanted some kind of resolution or at least some mention of godwyn's situation

i wanted miquella's gender to be unambiguously weird

i wanted miquella to be evil

i wanted more explanation for marika's whole "deal"

i wanted dumb melodramatic dlc npcs that are doomed to die horrible dlc deaths but one of them must be unspeakably snatched while doing so.

let sword freak (denoted by a line i heard from one of the dlc trailers) be a woman

please let the bewitching branch item description not imply what i think it implies about miquella and mohg

so. if you know the story you will already notice some red flags. i'll start with some positives

i really enjoyed my little dlc npcs, hornsent was the only thing carrying me through the middle-end section of the main story as i was buffeted on all sides with the terrible realization that they were going the exact direction that i begged and pleaded they would not go. i loved the heightened role the npcs played in the story, how frequently i was able to check in with them and have new little dialogues or tidbits, and i love that there are absolutely batshit unhinged women in this dlc and i am so happy there are more than one. in no particular order, things i really liked about the npcs:

hornsent is my sweet cheese he is my guy. i was really rooting for him and as someone who went into this dlc as an attached weepy miquella fan, i was on his side before the dlc killed my hopes and dreams and dashed them against the rocks. character who abandons all sense of self and personhood to become the embodiment of their hurt and rage? faceless formless gnarled twig of a character with desiccated bugs all over his face? character who i can feed soup to? character who somewhat hates me? character who made me laugh following the messmer fight by calling him "your ugliness"?? his death was inevitable and i accepted it, because i agree with him. miquella should not take his revenge from him, there will be no forced absolution nor "gentle kindness" imposed upon him. this was the evil miquella i wanted, the god so compassionate that no discord nor hate could exist under his rule, and all will be enveloped in kindness. it is horrifying to discard the self when the self is entirely made of hurt, and it is horrifying to be robbed of personal agency. anyways i love hornsent.

freyja is so gleefully ready to commit unspeakable acts of violence and so genuinely happy and excited about it that it makes me squeal. i love a character that is so excited to punch things that they cant keep it to themselves. they are happy and thrilled to be in the dimension of violence and strife. and she's so nice! usually you see these people falling into the edgelord stereotype which i am not particularly fond of unless they're especially pathetic and camp about it, but she was just a joy to interact with. when she told me not to worry if we were to fight on opposing sides, she would gleefully meet my blade and it would be an honor to do so, i wasnt even sad! yeah! it will be fun freyja, thank you. little bit soured to her towards the end there where she learned about the incest plot and had no other reaction to that other than to be excited radahn would be back, but to be fair to her why would she give a shit about this. sure, freyja. i'm happy for you, glad you're enjoying this dlc.

speaking of unhinged women, leda is despicable. i love her. the point that she sees nothing wrong with herself or her actions is integrated into even the most inane little dialogues, the one that stuck with me was her explanation of the war with the hornsent- she said they were the losing side of a war, and it was a terrible shame what happened to them, but they were no victims. (they had it coming. further than that, it was right that they were the ones to lose, winning holds significance in terms of showing divine favor and justice. its a terrible shame what "happened" to them (passive word), but they were not victims, the actions of marika and messmer's army were somehow vindicated in their actions). she's another look at what i had hoped for with my evil miquella point. i will expand on this when i start ranting about miquella so put a pin in this for now.

moore. another point into the miquella as a refuge category, or miquella as the water that washes away, and provides absolution. outside of that though i'm always somewhat on my guard with a character who has a speech impediment and seems to have some kind of cognitive disability, but he made me happy to talk to. i don't know if what i'm feeling is unsure about how he's written, or just wishing for more from him, but the exchanges you have with him where its clear his motivations are intensely people-pleasing, and that he is honestly very sad as a person made me sad :( hes a big guy, and dangerous in a fight (as i figured out pretty fast after he downed me with scarlet rot) so its difficult to minimize this outward appearance to keep oneself a: safe and b: friendly or pitiable enough to others that they offer the sort of protection necessary in numbers in the situation he finds himself in. i think he makes sense as a character, and i think hes very concerned with the opinions of others and his helpfulness to them and his perception. and while i think the kindness and generosity is learned and a necessity, i also think he's just genuinely a kind person, which is why he's relying on his strengths like this. anyways, sorry moore. :(

igon is way too much and i'm so glad he's real. i genuinely cracked up when i summoned him for the bayle fight and cackling at him got me killed. i wasn't expecting him to scream his little heart out and then keep going. and then keep going again. he won't stop it's spectacular. another thing of note is that he didn't get a single hit off that entire fight for me, drawing his bow took too long, and he spent most of that fight flat on his back with the damage counter going up. it just made his shouting even funnier, i wasn't even mad he was awful as a summon, he was so funny i was just glad he was there as a morale boost. also appreciate that dragon priestess seemed pretty done with him. i hope everyone else can appreciate his autistic charm with me.

WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT MIQUELLA NOW.

so i want to set the context for my dlc experience properly so everyone can understand where i'm coming from, because miquella was already a delicate character to like, and how they're a radioactive trash fire that's trying to kill me.

(also dlc confirms he/them miquella alongside he/him base game and she/her trina so you'll note the pronouns shift around. it's a little complicated given the whole trina splicing and diverging of identities thing so it'll be inconsistent, but hopefully everyone can tell who i'm talking about as i'm talking about them.)

having a character who is unspeakably old, but also has the physical appearance of an 8 year old is a red flag so large that anyone could see it, and i knew this from the moment i started picking up their lore in earnest. IN THEORY this could be a very compelling character, it has been done a couple times before well, and countless times before very poorly. i was not optimistic, and already in the base game his character was not treated as well as i would have preferred, but i was coping.

having someone who is trapped by their own body, or confined by both the perceptions of- and the realities of their body can be a compelling character. having someone who's life is impacted by perceptions of, judgements upon, limitations thereof of their body tends to be a character that i gravitate towards because surprise, this can be relatable for a lot of people- and a lot of different types of people. whatever allegory you're applying to this narrative of the disconnect between the body's presence in the world and the world's treatment and expectation of the body, i'm sure you can tell there's a broad scope of applications there. and then you add on this element where they're present in the realm of dreams. the implications of a god who walks dreams, the realm of the subconscious free of expectation and limitation, and then also is trapped by both a cursed body and the weight of duty, faith, and expectation, i enjoy these dynamics, i really do. it only helped that their gender was weird, and he walked dreams as a girl.

and the thing is, i've wanted him to be evil, i wanted him to be evil so bad you have no idea. not just because (by base game assumptions...) evil had been done to them, and theevil was a reaction to this, no! there was always something wrong with them, he was always scheming, they didn't turn evil.

the haligtree and their actions in going against the golden order are calculated- do i think their aspirations are better than his mother's? maybe? i think it's more the order he instates has the possibility of being better as a side-effect of his actions and they would have gone forward with their own ambitions with or without this possibility of things being measurably better. taking in a class of people subjugated by the current order to build their armies feels a bit cynical and calculated, no?

the second huge red flag was the bewitching branch item description. at first i was a bit thrilled, there! i said, there is the canon justification for my somewhat unfounded hopes for evil miquella! the suggestion that he is able to meddle with emotions and perceptions is a pretty troubling trait to have! especially by a character who is spoken of with both love and to a smaller degree hatred and fear! and then i spent longer than a few seconds thinking about this and was immediately worried about the implications that had on the mohg issue.

THE MOHG ISSUE.

so first things first, the existence of the dlc does not mean that suddenly mohg isn't bad gay rep anymore. like let me be clear here, for two years we had a gay pedophile in our triple a title who kidnapped his little brother for pretty unambiguously sexually charged reasons, the fact that the dlc seems to tack on an addendum of "oh by the way its actually not his fault and he didn't choose to do that" doesn't suddenly erase those two years, and the initial judgements a new player or someone who is unfamiliar with the lore might make. like that's bad, guys, that's pretty bad. i was really disappointed at the time that they had included this character archetype- moreso because i was a fan of their previous games that had their little nuggets of queer representation, and i made the mistake of expecting better from the developers and writers.

i was also mad because they didn't have to write it this way, this was a choice they made to include this, and it's my preference to not enjoy it, but it wasn't necessary at all. if the plot necessitated that something go wrong with miquella's cocoon and initial schemes for god pupation, it didn't have to be that his half brother kidnapped him.

(my borderline au content writing no one asked for: an alternative that i was fond of at the time (B.D., before dlc) was that proximity to malenia's rot could have caused him issues. you still have the issue of something has gone wrong, miquella remains asleep and rots in his cocoon, but you also have this element of the potential guilt on malenia's end- that would be incredible guilt to know she was at fault for the failure of all they had been working towards, and the added grim irony that (as we figured at the time) in shedding his curse in order to help her shed hers, she unintentionally sabotaged him by staying so close to "guard" him. it also involves malenia more in the game story, which was something i had hoped for a bit more of from the base game anyways.)

my concern over the bewitching branch lore can be summed up by saying this. having someone the story paints as the victim suddenly revealed to have wanted it all along, and been the instigator behind the assumed assault is shitty. it's just shitty. and i'll admit i might be more sensitive to this topic than the average elden ring player, so this is all colored by my opinions and biases, but it's bad taste. it's not a fun surprising revelation, it's not a plot twist you feel particularly excited about, you feel bad, and then you feel confused. I like the lore of elden ring, i've spent a lot of time reading it and speculating on it, and it is confusing why miquella would be the one to instigate their own kidnapping and assault.

you would assume that their intended plan would be the plan A he was going with, stay in the cocoon, do his thing, remain in the haligtree so it is sustained and they are safe within it, let malenia handle the defense and conquest while he naps, wake up at some undetermined date with his goals achieved (whatever those mysterious goals may be) and continue on with later stages of their plans. and you would assume that being ripped from the haligtree and doused in blood in a basement somewhere was not within the bounds of his plan A. part of why i dared to hope that i was reading too much into the potential mind-control thing was because it didn't seem like mohg's actions were benefiting miquella's plan in any way- it seemed pretty bad. the haligtree was dying, malenia was rotting, their body looked to be in pretty awful shape, and even their allies did not know where he was.

BACK TO THE DLC.

the dlc did not really expand the context in a way that made this make sense to me. context that he was discarding his body entirely made sense for miquella's character, and if they didn't care about the state of their body, i guess he wouldn't care that his body was taken from where it was abandoned- but it didn't seem like that was their intention to abandon his flesh from the start? or if it was, that they placed his flesh within the haligtree for a reason, and i'd assume he'd have wanted it to stay there. if they were concerned that his flesh was no longer safe in the haligtree and wanted it spirited away by any means necessary (i.e. "kidnapping"), first off i'm unsure of the danger that would cause that, but second off if he didn't care about their flesh- see earlier point- why would they care if it was endangered within the haligtree enough to have it kidnapped? so, this already doesn't make sense to me, and the added justification of oh, he just has the hots for their brother, this isn't satisfying to me. sure i don't enjoy it as a story element in general, but past that it just doesn't feel like a satisfying justification in context. he's ambitious and he's seeing his ambitions through by any means possible, why would they act in this selfish manner that seems to be detrimental to their own ambitions?

issues with the sense of the mohg situation aside, why radahn? the justification given in item descriptions and dialogue states that miquella found him sure and kind and worthy of being a lord in contrast to the conflict, fragmentation, and personal afflictions they were facing, but. why radahn? i liked radahn, i'll gladly point out that yes, he does seem to satisfy all of these character traits, but there isn't any established context between them. miquella doesn't interact with radahn in the base game, malenia dooms him to walk the battlefield addled by scarlet rot and reduced to an empty husk, and if it was miquella's intent to have him be their consort from the start, this paints malenia in a pretty negative light, no? we were led to believe they were a united front, her and miquella, that many of his actions were for her benefit, and they worked so hard in part because of his desire to cure them BOTH of their afflictions, especially and explicitly her affliction. so she's sabotaged miquella's plans? for what reason, did she not agree with it, did she hate radahn? there's no explanation given for this, like how there is no further explanation as to why it is radahn miquella is so hell bent on bringing back to life.

which is odd when you consider that there is another demigod who meets miquella's criteria, was definitely loved by miquella, seemed to be loved by malenia, seems to be depicted in the haligtree, and miquella was previously confirmed to have been trying to bring back to life. where the hell is godwyn?

let me clarify here, i do not like this plotline they have created where miquella apparently has the hots for every other brother in his family, i don't tend to appreciate incest as it occurs in stories, and if it were my choice i would just choose not to include it. i also understand that plenty of people don't care about that, and that media like game of thrones that features incest pretty prominently within the story is beloved by mainstream audiences. i am also aware of the historical trend of royalty being inbred and incest existing on a sliding scale of taboo through the millennia. the greek gods are all siblings, i still enjoy greek myths, etc. etc.. so if i were the sole writer for elden ring and was beholden to no one the story i would write would diverge from the current canon and i would not write myself into a position where miquella is marrying their brother because personally i do not enjoy this. this is not the reality we live in, and this is not the story we got.

within the framework of their story, it should have been godwyn, and i have no idea why it wasn't. i can speculate all i want, was it misplaced fanservice because people liked radahn? was it a plot twist executed poorly, is there some other reason im missing but someone else has pieced together and they'll call me an idiot over? i don't know, and i also sort of don't care, it doesn't make sense, and it also disregards a lot about radahn's character than i and others liked to get him to fit into this weird situation.

where is his horse? if miquella cared for him, and they were able to bring back a whole demigod, was it so impossible to resurrect his beloved horse? if miquella didn't care about him enough to bring back his horse, wouldn't radahn put up a fuss about that? if miquella was controlling him to agree to being his consort, and didn't allow for him to be concerned about his horse, this raises a few more questions about malenia fighting radahn and destroying all of caelid- and likely everywhere else if the fires at the borders of caelid ever go out. was he always controlling radahn, were they ever controlling radahn? what are the limits of this control, what are the rules, if any? there are too many frustrating elements that make very little sense about radahn.

conversely, these elements make a lot more sense when applied to godwyn, and it pisses me off that it seems like, to my speculative eyes, they pivoted away from him. it would make sense why they would need a body to resurrect him when he is just a deceased soul, and his body is busy being a tumor. you could argue radahn's body was not in great shape and was eaten by alexander, and that's a completely fair point, but to me godwyn makes much more sense. not to mention, again, miquella had been explicitly trying to bring godwyn back in the base game.

(and this is a smaller gripe, but radahn's previous boss model had no feet. in his lore they discuss him riding his horse, and then learning the gravity magic to lessen the load on his horse so he could keep riding it. like yes the missing feet could be chalked up to rot, but he also just could have not had feet and was using his beloved mobility horse and the gravity magic to get around the challenge of not being able to walk. i thought that was cool if true, and it was a little speculative thing about his character i really loved, and that just kind of got thrown out with the dlc too so i guess i'll have to die mad.)

was it really necessary to have the assumed sa victim with the body of a child secretly be the instigator and assaulter all along? and then to add insult to injury not even have their actions make any sense within the existing plot? like was that all entirely necessary.

OTHER DLC LORE OPINIONS

you might be surprised to learn that i did not hate most of the other dlc lore.

miquella using mohg's body as fuel to resurrect their consort, while fucked up, i think could work with character motivations. especially if he was holding a grudge towards mohg, or mohg's actions were in fact antithetical to their plans, or he wasn't the one in control of mohg's actions. it could make sense that he would want to humiliate him (as ansbach mentions a few times...). and as i've said before i think miquella is fucked up, i think they do bad things, i think their moral compass is skewed, i think he's a creature of ambition and spite. i could see a world in which he does this out of hatred and spite, but in the situation they've set up where miquella was the one potentially compelling mohg? it lessens that spite, why would they be so hateful or willing to humiliate him if they were the one to compel his actions? you could just say oh, miquella is cruel and messed up like that and he's doing it for the hell of it, but it's not that compelling and doesn't make it as interesting. it just kind of feels gross. so yeah, in the current story i'm not a huge fan, but i see the potential here.

marika's character development was genuinely cool to me- and i understand i'm speculating and i've been speculating this whole time, but that's my business and and i acknowledge it's speculative. marika as a hornsent is a really cool concept to me, and it makes pieces of the main game make more sense. it makes her motivations make more sense, adds color to her character (and she was already interesting to me) and even though this dlc is like a lot of their other dlcs where it adds characters and backstory for no reason and does the ds3 thing of surprise! more secret children! i enjoyed it. it gives her more of a why past judgements of her personal moral character, it grounds her more, i like it. i also enjoyed the tidbits with the pots and sages, further (if not vague) developments with the outer gods. like this is speculative lore than i enjoy, and it's the kind of stuff i was excited for in the dlc.

as i said before elden ring kind of did the ds3 thing where they just added a secret child that was suddenly plot relevant and added a bunch of unnecessary lore, but i didn't really care too much in ds3 and i don't care here. messmer's voice actor is funny and messmer himself is compelling enough that i'm fine with not taking things too seriously. it helps that without messmer there is not hornsent, and a dlc without hornsent is a dlc i wouldn't have finished. (genuinely, i was so discouraged by the main story plot revelations i didn't feel like it was worth it to finish the dlc, but i felt bad leaving hornsent unresolved so i killed messmer. and then just finished the dlc anyways, so thanks hornsent.)

truly and genuinely i was happy with st. trina. i was so excited she was included in this, i've been a st. trina truther for too long and i don't even know what that means because there were like two sentences about her in the whole game, but she's great. i could take or leave thiollier, on the one hand having a creep as a character is fine and hes written in a way that feels believably creepy while also like hes enough of a 3 dimensional character that he has his own personality and motivations, but him included with miquella being elected the president of incest for no reason was a bit of a sour note.

the idea that miquella is discarding his body, and every piece he discards is a piece that they may hate, but they also have to discard those pieces that he doesn't hate, and their power, and all that he is, that's a real sacrifice and i think it speaks to the depth their character COULD HAVE HAD. that and their very clear conflict with their own gender, and conflict with himself over his actions. they discarded the girl sleeping within them and locked her in a pit in the ground so that none would find her. and he discarded with her their love, and the "treacherous" parts of himself that doubted, and disagreed, and with this he was able to become more resolute on their path. trina disagrees entirely with miquella's path to godhood and begs you to kill him, pities him, says their path is destroying him, and those are all doubts he has discarded with her. it is genuinely sad to me that this is not the side of miquella that we get to enjoy as a character because of all of the rest of the mess that's thrown on top in the dlc.

and of course i'm mad because he's acting like marika, they're shaving off pieces of themself and sacrificing for ambition, and they're becoming her while he's intent on being the opposite of everything she stood for, and we were so close to having this. we were so close.

CLOSING THOUGHTS

so far as gameplay goes, i enjoyed this dlc and it did a good job of replicating that feeling of playing elden ring and exploring again in its condensed and familiar setting. i like a lot of their new mechanics and ideas they introduced, though some of the later bosses fumbled it for me balancing the difficulty with actually enjoyable boss fights that feel fun to play.

the main story pissed me off so bad i almost put down the dlc, and erased all excitement i had to play it (even keeping in mind the reservations i already had going in). the side stories were frustratingly fun and compelling when compared to the main story being such a trash fire. i wish things were different but they are not, and i am very disappointed.

if you actually read all of this bless you, i hope you have a beautiful day.

#elden ring dlc #shadow of the erdtree #elden ring dlc spoilers #shadow of the erdtree spoilers #sote spoilers #im tagging all the variations of those because this is spoilers taken to the extreme #also im being negative and i dont want people to feel bad abt enjoying something i feel negatively about #like im just a person and my opinion shouldnt matter to you like that.#also i genuinely enjoyed parts of this dlc which is why im so passionately mad about it.#but also thank you for asking for my opinions. ( ◡‿◡ *)#i didnt talk as much about my re-writing because the review itself was way too long but i threw in snippets here and there #peace and love

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