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intromortal · 5 months ago

Text

kayla. kayla. kayla.

you're actually insane because tell me why i actually had to take a break for 5 minutes or i would've fainted😭 HOW DO YOU DO THIS EVERYTIME EXPLAIN NNN EXPLAIN PLS

Like I Was Already Tweaking and somehow this sent me straight up LEVITATING QHAT THE HELLLLLLLL

once again, this stands true.

Crazed Nights | K.SN & Y.JW

「parings」 : sunoo x fem!reader x jungwon 「word count」 : 7.1k

「synopsis」 : after being ghosted by the guy you were seeing, you went out to a bar with your friends, getting drunk off your ass. however, the last people you had expected to run into were two of your brother's best friends, two that you had a huge crush on at that. they were just going to take you home, but what if the alcohol gives you a little more courage than you had expected?

「genre」 : smut, brother's best friend(s) troupe, threesome

「warning」 : threesome, unprotected sex (big no-no), oral (m. & f. receiving), face sitting, biting/marking, dubcon(?), all three are slightly intoxicated, cussing, alcohol/drinking, teasing, dom!sunoo x sub!reader x dom!jungwon, praising, degradation, making out, cum eating, face fucking, riding, creampies, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, clit play, petnames (baby, princess, pretty, slut...), slight choking, begging, slight manhandling, implications of multiple rounds, lmk if I missed anything!

「notes」 : I got this idea from reading something a few days ago and knew I wanted to write it out, just didn't know which pair to use. after some consideration and asking friends I decided on pocketz. now, I can't tell you why I chose them exactly, just that it seemed fitting to me, and tbh, I've had bad sunwon brainrot since this past weekend... I also got a little carried away with the word count... n e who... I hope you enjoy this!

“I swear I’m never dating another man again,” you cried out as you downed your nth shot of soju. Dayeon and Wonyoung sat on the opposite side of the table, looking at you with a mixture of annoyed and concerned gazes.

“Is she seriously drunk already?” Dayeon sighed, downing a shot of soju herself. Wonyoung just shook her head, mumbling about how she knew going out would be a bad idea, especially when they knew you couldn’t hold your liquor very well.

“I can’t believe he took me on two dates and we even made out just to tell me that I wasn’t his type.” You exclaimed, tears brimming in your eyes. “TWO FUCKING DATES!” Your voice raised a few notches, causing both of the girls to jump, instantly trying to shush you. “How can someone be so heartless?”

“That was pretty mean of him to do.” Wonyoung agreed, swirling the small shot glass in her hand, while Dayeon nodded in agreement.

“Right!” You exclaimed once more, and Dayeon scolded you for being far too loud, but you just pouted, slumping down in your seat.

Dayeon then grabbed your bowl, which still sat empty in the middle of the table, as well as the ladle. “Hey, y/n. Eat some of this before you drink anymore.” She scooped some of the hotpot that sat in the center of the table. " You’ll end up hugging a toilet all night if you drink on an empty stomach.”

Tears poured out of your eyes. " Thank you, Dayeon…” You grabbed the bowl, staring down at the broth inside. You weren’t sure why the simple gesture that she had done so many times was making you so emotional. Maybe it was all of the events that had previously taken place. Or maybe it was just the alcohol that was in your system.

“Yeah, and don’t dwell on Junmin. He was a prick!” Wonyoung reassured you as she sat a glass of water in front of you, hoping to sober you up at least a little bit.

“BUT I LIKED HIM!” Your outburst drew the attention of those around you, “I LIKED HIM, THAT’S WHY I DIDN’T CARE THAT HE WAS A VIR-”

“SHUT THE HELL UP DUMBASS!” Dayeon reached across the table, grabbing your cheeks and muffling your shouts while Wonyoung looked around the bar with a nervous gaze.

All of your movements stopped, and your teary eyes looked up to meet Dayeon’s annoyed ones before flickering down to Wonyoung, who had slid off of her chair onto her knees in embarrassment. You didn’t have to look any further to know that you had caught the attention of those around you. The feeling of eyes on you was too heavy to ignore. You let your body slide down the chair in embarrassment as Dayeon’s hand fell from your face, eyes looking around.

“No one heard that, right?” You mumbled, too ashamed to look around yourself. Your face grew even warmer when you noticed the uneasy looks on both of your friends' faces, the heat making you feel lightheaded and dizzy. So you slumped forward, resting your forehead on the cool wooden table, arms hanging off at your sides.

“Jeez, you really have no filter when you drink.” Dayeon groaned, sitting back in her seat while Wonyoung followed suit, running her fingers through her hair. Deyeon then grabbed a napkin from the center of the table, wiping her hand of any tears, snot, and/or saliva that had gotten on her skin from when she grabbed you. You just mumbled incoherently into the surface of the table, completely missing the two figures that had walked up to the table.

“Uh, excuse me… hi?” Jungwon was the first to speak, Sunoo not too far behind him. His eyes were fixated on you, taken in your drunk form. Even from a mile away, he could recognize your unkempt hair because you refused to put it up before doing anything, claiming that it ‘hurt your scalp.’

“Yes?” Wonyoung and Dayeon both looked up at the two males, eyes looking them up and down. If they didn’t know any better, they would have thought they were going to ask you three to join them. Wonyoung’s eyes then shifted over to the table they had come from, seeing one dude passed out on the table while the other stayed unbothered on his phone, completely uninterested.

“Would you happen to” “Yeah, no thanks,” Wonyoung cut the boy off before he even had a chance to finish his sentence, catching both Jungwon and Sunoo off guard.

“Sorry?” Jungwon blinked a few times. Had they misunderstood him?

“We don’t want to join you, plus she’s drunk out of her mind.” Dayeon deadpanned, jabbing a finger in your direction. You were still in your own little world, telling the table stories that were far from comprehensible.

Jungwon’s eyes then widened in realization, his hands waving around frantically, assuring them that’s not what he wanted, “No, no, we were just wondering if you were Wonyoung and Dayeon? Y/n’s friends?” He asked, his finger hesitantly pointing in your direction.

Your ears stopped ringing just in time to hear your name roll off of Jungwon’s tongue, lifting your head at the familiar voice. A chill went down your spine when you met both of their eyes, suddenly feeling sober. Of course, you just had to run into your brother’s friends, not just any of his friends, though. The two that you have had a raging crush on for the majority of your childhood.

You felt heat rush up your neck as you flung yourself backward, regretting it instantly, “Fuck me in the ass! Of all the people to meet here, it just had to be you two.” White flashed across your vision making you groan, bringing a hand to cover your eyes.

Sunoo then walked over to your embarrassed form, making sure you weren’t going to fall out of your chair. Jungwon’s eyes followed the older of the two, but the feeling of eyes on him made him look back over, meeting Dayeon and Wonyoung’s confused looks.

“Oh! We’re friends of y/n’s brother…” Jungwon laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“Really? Nice to meet you!” Wonyoung exclaimed while Dayeon bowed in greeting, “We didn’t realize that the two of you were y/n’s friends.”

You whined, mumbling how unlucky you had become, wishing that the ground would just swallow you whole. Sunoo reached over, placing his hand over your forehead, making you jump. His fingers were cold against your burning skin, but despite that fact, it only caused your face to heat up even more, your brain short-circuiting at the contact. Sunoo’s eyes moved from your figure, meeting Wonyoung and Dayeon’s.

“Why is she so drunk?” He asked, removing his hand from your face not missing the way your shoulders relaxed at the loss of contact. He had to fight the urge to roll his eyes; even in your drunken state, you wanted nothing to do with them.

Dayeon leaned forward, resting her head in the palm of her hand propped up on the table. " The guy she was seeing ditched her,” she said.

“Ah, so that’s what all that yelling about a virgin was…” Sunoo mused, and you lifted your head, looking up at him with wide eyes while the two other girls groaned. His eyes flickered down to you, a smirk playing on the corner of his lips.

“Man, Jay would get so pissed if he found out. He’d flip his shit and go after that guy.” Jungwon sighed, causing both Wonyoung and Dayeon to visibly stiffen, “and if he found out y/n got drunk, he’d raise absolute hell.” He sweatdropped, arms crossed over his chest, and Sunoo’s lip twitched in nervousness.

They both knew how overprotective Jay could be, especially over his little sister, and god forbid they did nothing. It would be safe to say that they wouldn’t live to see the light of another day.

During all of the small talk, your head lolled forward, and your face planted into the table once more. Dayeon had to stifle a laugh while Wonyoung was too busy panicking that Jay could find out that they had let you get drunk.

Sunoo pulled your chair out to help you up, but you didn’t budge, dragging your face along the surface of the table. However, before you could flop to the ground, he wrapped his arm around your chest, pulling you back. Jungwon then walked over to help the older male pick your body up off of the chair.

“Come on, y/n. Wake up. We’re going to take you home,” Jungwon grumbled as he tried to pull you to your feet.

Wonyoung rubbed her temples when you started having a hissy fit about going home, but you were quickly silenced when Sunoo mentioned your brother. A pout formed on your lips as you slumped onto Sunoo’s back, loosely wrapping your arms around his neck. The smell of his calonge instantly invaded your senses, making your head spin and your stomach churn.

“I feel like I'm going to be sick…” You mumbled quietly as you buried your face in Sunoo’s neck, which only strengthened the scent, but you couldn’t pull yourself away. Slowly getting high off of his scent, the slight citrusy smell was making your brain spiral.

“I swear to god you throw up on me; I will not hesitate to throw your ass.” Sunoo threatened, but his shoulders went stiff when he felt your nose brush against his neck. He became acutely aware of just how close the two of your bodies were at that moment. Your boobs pressed against his back, his hands wrapped securely under your plush thighs. He bit the inside of his cheek to try and keep a level head, but it was futile as he felt his dick twitch in his jeans.

Jungwon couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy seeing you so close to Sunoo. Though he told himself that it was just because you were drunk, that as soon as you were sober, you would yell at them for barging in on your night out.

Biting back a sigh, he turned towards the two girls who were watching them, “Well, we’ll be going now. I’ll leave a note reminding her to message when she wakes up.” Both of them nodded, waving softly.

They watched as the two men walked out of the bar with you before it finally dawned on them what just happened. Dayeon groaned, throwing her head back while Wonyoung scrambled to find her phone.

“Did we seriously just let two strangers walk out of here with y/n?” Wonyoung panicked as she quickly pulled up her socials, tapping on the search bar. Dayeon tilted her head slightly, looking over at the blonde who was sitting next to her. As calm as she may seem, she was freaking out on the inside because she knew they would both be dead meat if anything happened to you and Jay were to find out.

Not even five minutes later Wonyoung melted into her chair, placing her phone down on the table. “Thank god… they’re really his friends.”

About halfway back to your apartment, Jungwon had offered to take you and as much as Sunoo wanted to say that he was fine. He wasn’t. His will slowly break every time your fingers caress his chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Or the way your foot brushes against his crotch. He was starting to go insane.

So he let Jungwon take over, helping move you to the younger’s back. You protested at first but were quick to go silent again when your face fell into Jungwon’s neck. Your whole body tingled when his fingers grazed a little too close to your barely-covered core.

“You okay?” Jungwon asked when Sunoo’s breath hitched in his throat. The reason being that when he backed away from your body after making sure Jungwon had a good hold on you, he could clearly see your lace baby blue panties.

Sunoo quickly cleared his throat before reaching out and pulling your dress down. " Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s go.” With that, the two of them continued to walk down the dimly lit sidewalk. Thankfully, there weren’t very many people out and about, so they weren’t getting suspicious or weird stares.

You had woken up about ten minutes away from your apartment, your head was a bit clearer, but you were still surprised when you found yourself on Jungwon’s back. You nearly flew off of his back in surprise, causing Jungwon to stumble, but thankfully he was able to balance himself.

“Hey! Stop moving around, or I’ll drop you,” Jungwon exclaimed, his grip on your thighs getting tighter. A small squeak left your lips at the sensation, his fingertips grazing the inside of your thigh.

“Put me down! Where do you think you’re taking me?!” you exclaimed, arms flailing around. Even though your head still felt a little dizzy, you were sure that small nap had sobered you up. However, neither Sunoo nor Jungwon were dumb enough to put you down. You’d just run, and with their luck, you’d get hit by a car or something.

At first, the two ignored your whining and continued walking, but when you almost caused the three of you to fall backward down the stairs, Sunoo had enough.

“Y/n.” The tone in his voice sent a shiver down your spine and heat rushing to your core. You stopped struggling in Jungwon’s grip, causing the younger male to let out a sigh of relief. A small pout formed on your plump lips, and Sunoo had to damn near pinch himself to keep from kissing you until they were swollen.

“You guys are bullies,” you whined, shoveling your face into the crook of Jungwon’s neck. His scent, much like Sunoo’s, intoxicated you—so much so that you pressed your nose against the warm skin of his neck, inhaling deeply. “Wonnie, you smell so good.”

The poor boy could have sworn he felt his heart stop and heat rushed up his neck. His grip tightened even more on your legs as the three of you stood outside of your apartment. Sunoo noticed that Jungwon’s face was more flush before seeing you nuzzling into his neck.

“Dammit… isn’t Jay off on a trip somewhere?” Jungwon swallowed thickly, trying to ignore how you leaned more into him. He could smell your strawberry lotion mixed with the alcohol that you had drunk earlier.

“Fuck, yeah. Do you know the code?” Sunoo groaned, his eyes falling back on you. Meeting your eyes as you looked up at him from Jungwon’s neck. He could feel his dick twitch in the confines of his jeans when he saw how lust-blown-out your eyes had become. He wasn’t going to be able to keep his composure at this point. He needed to get you inside and in bed before anything happened.

“Oh uhh, I’m pretty sure it’s eight, two, thre- hey y/n stop that!” He warned when he felt your lips press against the skin right under his ear. His will was only holding on by a strand, and much like Sunoo, he wanted to get you inside before anything happened.

You weren’t even sure what had come over you, but you did know that Jungwon’s scent and his touch left you more drunk than any of the alcohol you had. You could blame the alcohol that was still in your system for your bold moves, but you were sober enough to know what you were doing. Both of your brother’s friends were taking you home, the very home where the three of you would be alone. You’d be a fool to not take advantage of it.

So, as soon as Sunoo managed to open the door and all three of you were inside, you straightened up a little bit. Thinking you were about to try and jump out of his arms, Jungwon opened his mouth to protest but was cut off when you ran your fingers through his hair far enough to get a good grip before pulling his head to the side so you could latch your lips to his neck. It all happened way too fast for Jungwon to stop it.

“Hey! Y/N, stop. We need to get you to bed.” His voice shook, catching Sunoo’s attention. As soon as he saw you, his eyes grew wide.

Jungwon’s face was cherry red, his eyebrows scrunched together due to your lips and the grip you had on his hair. His fingers were digging into your thigh, probably tight enough to leave bruises. He was scared to move, knowing he would fold the instant he tried to.

“Come on, her room is back here.” Sunoo coughed, covering his lower face trying to hide the blush that had taken over his cheeks.

However, before Jungwon could step further into the apartment, your voice cut him off. Your words sent his mind reeling.

“Won’t you fuck me, Wonnie?” Your voice was raspy from attacking his neck like a starved wolf, “I know you want to.” Your heel-clad foot brushed against his growing erection, causing him to hiss.

Hearing your words made Sunoo stop dead in his tracks, turning to face you and Jungwon. Sunoo’s gaze had turned dark, pupils blown wide. It scared Jungwon a bit, but the feeling of your lips on his skin once more and your foot pressing against his hard-on was making it hard to care.

“Won put her down.” Sunoo’s tone left little to no room for discussion, so Jungwon untangled your legs before setting you on your feet. You whined in protest, ready to latch yourself to Jungwon once more, but Sunoo was quicker. In a few quick strides, he was standing in front of your smaller frame, your chin nestled between his thumb and forefinger. His face is close enough to yours that you could feel his warm breath fanning your lips. “Are you really that much of a desperate slut that you’re willing to throw yourself at your brother's friends?”

His words made your breath hitch in your throat, but the name didn’t hurt your feelings. No, if anything, it left you dripping more in your panties. Your eyes searched his darker ones, trying to find the words to say. You wanted to make a lie and just say yes that you were willing to just throw yourself at them because you were so pent up, but in reality, you just wanted them. Both. If it was any of Jay’s other friends you wouldn’t have enough thought about doing what you did to Jungwon.

Not getting a response from you, Sunoo clicked his tongue before pulling your face closer to his. He watched in amusement as your eyes fluttered close as his lips ghosted over yours. You then mumbled something he didn’t quite catch.

“You’re gonna have to speak up, princess.” He grumbled against your lips, causing you to open your eyes. Your pupils were blown out to the point that hardly any of your iris was visible.

Your hand wrapped around his wrist, “If wanting the both of you makes me desperate,” Your eyes flickered over to Jungwon, who was standing no more than two feet away, “Then I am very desperate.”

“Sunoo… we shouldn’t be doing this; none of us are sober.” Jungwon panicked because as much as he wanted to sink his dick so deep into your cunt he knew it was wrong for multiple reasons.

In a matter of minutes, Sunoo had your back pressed against the cushions of the couch, his lips attached to your neck. Biting and sucking before dragging his tongue along the wounded area, the feeling making you squirm.

“I’m completely sober, Won, have-” A squeak cut you off as Sunoo’s hand squeezed your thigh roughly, “I have been since I woke up earlier.” Your head then fell back when Sunoo ground his hips against yours, pressing his hardened erection against your clothed cunt.

Jungwon stood there fidgeting, conflicted about what to do. On one hand, you did say you were sober, but on the other hand, you were his friend's sister. However, when Sunoo pulled away from your neck to look back at him, he could have sworn his soul had left his body.

“You either join us, or you can leave; the choice is yours, Jungwon.” Sunoo’s voice was deep and husky, making your head spin and your pussy clench around nothing.

Jungwon then threw all caution to the wind. When would he get the chance to do this again, especially with the girl he had been crushing on for the past three years? He made quick work of his jacket, pulling it off his body and throwing it somewhere in the room.

Sunoo smirked before facing you once more, “See that princess, Wonnie is gonna join us.” His fingers that had been resting on your thigh trailed up until he brushed against your clothed pussy. A whine fell from your lips, and your hips bucked up into his touch, causing him to chuckle. “God, you’re so cute but so fucking sexy at the same time.” He bit down on the junction of your neck as his fingers pressed against your pussy. “And you’re so fucking wet, you’re soaking your underwear.”

You let out a choked whine, covering your face, but Sunoo was quick to grab your wrists, pinning them next to your head. Tears brimmed your waterline, and Sunoo could have sworn he could cum at the sight alone. His eyes then trailed up to the awkward male who was just standing there.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, princess; you’re going to suck Won off while I devour this pretty cunt of yours.” He smirked, leaning down to your face, ghosting his lips over yours once more, “You’ll do that for us, won’t you?” You were quick to nod, but Sunoo just hummed, “I want words, princess.”

“Yes, please.” The tears in your eyes built up more due to how pent up you felt, you just wanted them to touch you, do something. Anything. So you shifted your eyes from Sunoo’s to Jungwon’s, who had pulled off his shirt, leaving you a good view of his toned torso. “I wanna suck Wonnie’s cock while you eat me out, please, Sun-” Before you could even finish your sentence, Sunoo had his lips on yours.

The kiss was full of hunger and need, but the force was almost bruising, leaving you breathless when he pulled you to sit up. His hands make quick work of your dress and bra, throwing them off to an unknown location in the living room. Then his lips were back on your, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back to deepen the kiss. His eyes then looked over at the younger male. It didn’t take a genius for Jungwon to figure out what he was saying, so he quickly shed the rest of his clothes before finding his spot at the end of the couch, right behind you.

Sunoo pulled away from your lips, a string of saliva connecting the two of you until it snapped, and your eyes fluttered open. His hands smoothed down your sides before scooting back a little bit.

“Turn around for me, princess.” His voice was soft, but the look in his eyes made you follow his command as quickly as you could. Turning around onto your hands and knees, facing Jungwon. His eyes were clouded with lust as he took in the sight in front of him; your tits hung underneath you as your ass was pushed up, giving Sunoo the perfect view of your pantie-clad pussy.

Sunoo’s fingers traced up your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before pressing down right between your shoulder blades. A small whine fell from your lips as you moved closer to Jungwon. His eyes stayed focused on you as you came face-to-face with his dripping cock. Beads of precum decorating the tip. Situating yourself, you arched your back a little more before taking his hard dick into your small hand.

A groan tore through Jungwon’s throat as you started to rub up and down his shaft. His precum was more than enough lubricant to make your movements easy. Sunoo watched in amusement as Jungwon’s head fell back, one hand gripping the back of the couch while the other covered his mouth. Taking his attention off of the younger boy Sunoo moves his hands down to your hips, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your underwear.

The soft whines that were slipping through Jungwon’s fingers sent shivers throughout your body, your pussy clenching around nothing. It made your head fuzzy, and you wanted to hear more. Leaning forward, you give his tip a few kitten licks, making his body shutter, his hips bucking up in your hold.

“Don’t be so scared to touch her, Won; she obviously wants it. Look how wet she is.” A whine escaped your parted lips when Sunoo’s cool fingers grazed along your slit, gathering your slick before pulling back to show Jungwon. The younger male's eyes went wide at the light reflecting off of Sunoo’s glistening digits.

“Shit…” Jungwon cursed under his breath when you finally took him in your mouth, moving his hands to gather your hair into a makeshift ponytail. His mind went whirling when he made eye contact with you, his breath hitching, seeing the lust in your eyes. When you took him completely in your mouth, he could have sworn he would bust right then and there. However, when you moaned around him, sending vibrations reverberating throughout his entire body, his hips bucked, causing you to gag. God, it was the best feeling he had ever experienced.

Sunoo moved down until he was face-to-face with your cunt, blowing on your glistening hole. You whined against Jungwon once more, causing the boy to groan, tears pricking at the edges of your eyes.

“Fuck, baby, can I fuck your mouth, please?” Jungwon asked, hips bucking once more, making you gag. You looked up at him with a gaze that clearly said yes, but he wanted to hear you say it. So he pulled you off of his dick with an audible ‘pop,’ caressing your cheek softly, “I wanna hear you say it pretty.”

You leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering for a moment before you moved to capture his lips with yours. He was surprised at first but was quick to recuperate the kiss, leaning into you to deepen it before pulling away. You pressed a small kiss against his lips again before moving down to his dick once more, rubbing languidly.

“Please use me however you’d like, Wonnie.” Your voice was raspy but full of lust. You then took him back into your mouth. Jungwon damn near lost his mind when you took him in your mouth all at once.

Sunoo’s hands found their way back to your thighs just as Jungwon started to buck his hips up into your mouth, holding your head in place. He didn’t give you any kind of warning before diving in, mouth latched onto your soaping pussy, making your body twitch as you moaned around Jungwon.

“Fuck!” The younger man moaned out, his movements picking up as you tried your best to focus on your breathing. However, the assault from both ends of your body was enough to leave you breathless.

“Did you forget about me already, princess?” Sunoo chuckled against your cunt, making you moan again, but was quickly choked up by Jungwon’s cock.

Your eyes rolled back when Sunoo sucked harshly on your clit, the pleasure making you go insane. Your grip on Jungwon’s thighs tightened when Sunoo’s tongue prodded at your entrance before he pushed in, letting your juices fill his mouth.

Jungwon wasn’t going to last much longer, and even through your fogged brain, you could tell. So you pressed your tongue against the underside of his cock while using a hand to fondle his balls.

“Holy shit…” He groaned out as his dick twitched in your mouth before painting your throat white. After a few more thrusts, he pulled out of your mouth, allowing you to swallow his load, which only turned the poor boy on even more.

Your head then fell forward when moved to your clit once more. However, Sunoo was growing more and more needy. He needed more, and this wasn't enough. Pulling away, he turned around, where he was lying on his back underneath your dripping cunt. You went to whine in protest, but he harshly tugged on your thighs, making you sit on his face.

“Sun- fuck!” You moaned out when his lips latched onto your clit once more; shocks flared throughout your body as he continued to eat you out like a starved man. You lifted your upper body, hand gripping the back of the couch like a vice to try and keep your balance. You were so close, and Sunoo could tell how your thighs were starting to shake.

Jungwon watched the scene in front of him like it was his favorite porn, his hand pumping his sensitive cock. He just couldn’t seem to get enough of the faces that you were making, and it turned him on so fucking much.

Sunoo’s grip on your hip got tighter, and he pulled you further down onto his face; you tried to resist, scared that you would hurt him. He wasn’t having any of it, using his strength to pull your pussy flush with his face listening to the pretty sounds that fell from your swollen lips.

“I’m- fuck, I’m so close.” You whined as your grip tightened on the couch, hips rutting against his face chasing your high. Sparks dance across your vision when your high comes crashing down, your body trembling in Sunoo’s hold. Small cries fell from your lips as Sunoo continued to lap at your twitching cunt, prolonging your orgasm until he was satisfied. When he pulled away, Jungwon reached out for you and you took his hands without a second thought.

All of the awkwardness had fled from Jungwon’s body at this point; now, he wanted nothing more than to completely ruin you. A smirk pulled on his lips when you perched yourself on his lap, his hands finding your hips. You leaned forward, latching your lips onto his once more; he pulled your hips down enough to have his rock-hard cock slip between your folds. A whine tore through your lips but was swallowed by Jungwon’s mouth.

“Fuck I can’t wait much longer,” Jungwon groaned against your lips before biting down on your bottom lip, “will you ride my cock, pretty?” He asked, moving your hair from your neck so he could place soft kisses along your jugular.

“Please.” You sighed, your hand moving between your bodies, growing impatient. Jungwon chuckled before leaning back to watch as you lifted your hips so you could line his tip with your entrance. The stretch was something you’d never experienced before; he was definitely bigger than any of the other guys you had ever been with before. Jungwon noticed your struggle and rubbed soothing circles on your hips, telling you to take it easy, but you shook your head. No, you were far too desperate to feel him buried in your cunt to wait any longer. So you took a deep breath and tried to relax as much as possible before sinking fully down onto his girth.

“Such a desperate little slut aren’t you?” Sunoo teased you as he moved from the couch to stand behind you. His hands move down to grope your boobs, squeezing hard enough to elicit a whimper from your pretty lips. “Go on, ride him.”

You didn’t have to be told twice, slowly rocking your hips on Jungwon. The younger let out a throaty groan, his grip on your hips tightening. You were clenching around his dick so tight it was driving him insane.

Sunoo leaned down, moving your hair to the side, placing kisses along the skin of your shoulder and up your neck. Your body leaned back into his chest, basking in the feeling of both of their hands on you. The angle you were sitting in only drove Jungwon’s cock so much deeper into you, hitting all the right places.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” The word left Jungwon’s lips like a mantra as he rutted his hips up into yours. “Shit, I’m sorry, y/n.” Before you could even open your mouth to ask what he meant, he planted his feet behind you before stilling your hips above his and thrusting up into your cunt harshly.

“Jun-” Your breath caught in your throat as he continued to thrust up into you without any remorse. Sunoo grabbed your chin softly, tilting your head back to connect his lips with yours in an upside-down kiss. He swallowed all of your pants and moans with a smirk; he ran his hand down to your core, pressing his middle finger to your clit.

Jungwon could feel you tighten around him like a vice when Sunoo wrapped his other hand around your throat. Your eyes then trailed down to meet his, eyes completely blown out in lust. He felt his dick twitch when your eyes rolled back as Sunoo sped up his fingers on your clit, mouth gaping open. You were close, and both of them could tell.

“Go ahead, princess, make a mess all over Wonnies cock.” Sunoo cooed in your ear, his movements not slowing.

Your grip on Jungwon’s forearms tightened, nails digging into his skin, sure to leave marks in the morning. Sunoo’s hand around your neck tightened, making you feel lightheaded as you came all over Jungwon’s lap. Your eyes stayed connected to Jungwon’s as he continued to rut his hips into yours, oversensitivity creeping into your body and making your whines louder.

“Wonnie.” You whined out, back arching, causing him to push even deeper into you. Stars started to dance across your vision as Sunoo released your throat to plant hot and wet kisses along your jugular. His fingers never left your spasming cunt, working in tandem with Jungwon’s thrust.

“I’m almost- fuck, I’m almost there, pretty.” He let out a choked groan when you tightened around him, “Just a little bit longer. Can you do that, baby?” You nodded your head like a broken bobblehead.

Sunoo chuckled as he released your clit from his touch as soon as your body tensed, causing you to whine. He then bit down on the junction of your neck as Jungwon’s hips shuddered because of how tight your pussy was clenching around him.

“Fuck.” Jungwon moaned out, head falling back as his grip tightened and his thrust because sloppy, “I’m cumming, shit, I’m cumming.” He pulled your hips flush against him as he released his load deep into your womb.

“God, that was hot as fuck.” Sunoo groaned as he let you lay against Jungwon, face buried in his neck. He then pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it off somewhere in the room to join yours and Jungwon’s.

“Fuck, you did so good, baby.” Jungwon cooed as he pressed a soft kiss against your temple, hands smoothing over your hips and thighs, squeezing the soft plush.

After stripping, Sunoo walked back over to the two of you, rubbing your shoulders, “Think you can handle another one, princess?” His finger kneading into your sore muscles made you feel light as a moan escaped your lips. “Hmm?”

You removed your face from Jungwon’s neck, leaning back in Sunoo’s hands. “I can, Sun; please fuck me.” Your whiny voice left his dick twitching, wanting nothing more than to bury himself in your cunt beside Jungwon’s, but you weren't ready for that yet. Instead, he sat on the opposite side of the couch, smirking at you while your eyes watched him.

“Come here, princess.” He motioned for you, and you reluctantly lifted yourself off of Jungwon, making the two of you whine out in sensitivity.

Crawling into Sunoo’s lap, you were quick to grab his hard dick, trying to line it up with your entrance. However, Sunoo clicked his tongue, moving your hand away and you looked up at him confused.

“You’re so impatient, but don’t worry…” A squeak left your mouth when he grabbed your thighs, quickly lying you down on your back, hovering over you, “I can’t wait any longer either.”

He threw your legs over his shoulders before pushing into you swiftly. Your jaw fell slack, head falling back as the sudden intrusion. He wasn't much wider than Jungwon, but god, was he longer, his tip kissing your cervix.

“Fuck you’re still so tight.” He groaned, giving you a split second to adjust. You reached up, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him towards you. He practically folded your body in half as he kissed you deeply, rutting his hips slowly until you gave him the green light.

As soon as you gave him the green light, he started to piston his hips into yours. Broken moans of his name fell from your tongue, tears spilling from your eyes. Every time he would hit your cervix, you swore you saw colors dancing in your vision.

“Fu- fuck Sunoo!” You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders at overwhelming pleasure.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe I waited this long to fuck you.” Sunoo groaned, burying his face in your chest, nipping at the skin around your collarbones. Your brain was far too fogged to comprehend what he had just said; the only thought in your fucked out brain was how good it felt to finally have him buried in your cunt.

Sunoo wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol that lingered in his system or if it was because he was so hard for so long, but he was already close to cumming. However, he wasn't about to cum before you; no, he needed to feel you cum around him. Pulling back, he grabbed your legs right behind your knees, thrusting faster into your abused pussy.

“Come on, baby, cum around my cock.” He cooed, biting back a groan when he saw Jungwon’s head thrown back as he rubbed his cock with sloppy and fast movements. Chuckling, he dropped one of your legs to grab your chin, forcing you to look back at the younger male, “Look how hard you got him, princess; he’s gonna cum again just by watching me fuck you.”

Your eyes met Jungwon’s, his hooded gaze making your body tingle and pussy clench. Sunoo watched with dark eyes, keeping his orgasm at bay until he got you to cum once more. Letting go of your face, he trailed his hand down your body to your heat, pressing sharply on your swollen clit.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” You chanted, eyes squeezing shut as your whole body started to shake. Your impending orgasm creeps up even faster, “Sunoo! I’m gonna cum.” You whined, back arching off of the couch. Sunoo hissed as you squeezed tightly around his cock before your walls started to flutter around him, silent screams falling from your lips.

“Shit, that was hot,” He groaned, moving his hand from your bundle of nerves. Grabbing your leg once more, thrusting into you in deep, hard movements. His eyes studied your fucked out expression wanting nothing more than to burn it into his brain, unsure if he’d get to see it again.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum again,” Jungwon whined, his thumb pressing against his tip. Sunoo’s eyes flickered up to him, a smirk adorning his lips.

“Then cum Won, cum all over our needy slut.” His words made your mind reel, unfocused eyes meeting Jungwon’s as your head fell back. Your heated gaze was enough to push him over the edge, cumming all over your chest and abdomen with a string of curses leaving his lips.

Sunoo’s hips shuddered, his high right on the tip of his tongue. Looking down, his eyes caught sight of the white ring that wrapped around the base of his cock. The sight flipped something in him, his pacing picking up once more, making you cry out in sensitivity.

“I’m gonna cum,” Sunoo groaned when you squeezed around him again, “gonna cum in this needy little pussy of yours, fill you up so full.” He growled, pushing his cock deep into your cunt, “so full you’ll be dripping for days.”

You gathered some of Jungwon’s cum onto your thumb before placing the digit in your mouth, eyes locked with Sunoo’s. The sight caused both of the males to groan, Sunoo’s hip shuddering.

“Then do it.” Your voice was hoarse as you pulled your thumb from your mouth with a ‘pop’.

That’s all it took for Sunoo to bust, groaning as he painted your gummy walls white. His hips fucking his and Jungwon’s cum into you until slowing to a stop. He let your legs down gently before pressing soft kisses to your face, letting your racing heart calm.

The three of you sat in comfortable silence, catching your breaths before Jungwon spoke up.

“Jay is going to kill us.” He panicked a little, causing both you and Sunoo to burst out laughing. Jungwon looked at the two of you with wide eyes before slowly melting and joining in.

You ran your fingers through Sunoo’s hair as his face was buried in the crook of your neck, your body sticky with sweat and cum. Suddenly acutely aware of this fact, you cringed, “We need to shower.”

The two males burst out laughing again before agreeing and helping you to the bathroom so you could shower. Maybe get another round or two in before the three of you piled into your queen bed, passing out.

“What the fuck?!” The sound of your brother’s shouts woke you dead out of your sleep, sitting up in bed quickly. Sunoo was right behind you, shaking his head out while Jungwon remained lying down, awake.

“Was that Jay?” You asked, looking over at Sunoo with wide eyes.

Sunoo opened his mouth to say that you had probably just heard things and that your brother wasn’t supposed to be back until that night. However, the sound of heavy footsteps shut him right up.

Jungwon shot up in the bed, eyes meeting yours and Sunoo’s panicked ones.

“We forgot to clean up the living room,” Jungwon whined, rubbing his face and flopping back down on the bed, accepting his fate.

Oh, you guys were definitely screwed.

@alvojake | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 : @heesitation @riftanswhore @yeonzzzn @yzzyhee @skzenhalove @seuomo @moonchus @enha-stars @ikeuverse @prized-jules @ro-diaries @yeonjunsfox @luvyong2z @snoopypupp

#PLSSSSSSSSSSSSS #PLSSSSSSSS🙏#PLSSSSSS🧎‍♀️#in yn defense i've said way worse around guys i've then proceeded to fuck #she's just silly!'#OH TO BE IN SUNOO'S ARMS #once again she's sm better than me #bc me?#i would've latched on his neck right away #NO HESITATION #A WHOLE LEECH #jungwon being jealous omg i giggled #don't worry baby🫦#this must look crazy to an outsider perspective😭#her drunk as hell being carried around by two men #IDC IF IM IN DANGER‼️#NEVER ATTEMPT TO SAVE ME❌🙏#oh she is NOT better than me she IS me #her latching on jungwon as soon as i typed that😭#yes sunoo that is exactly what i am.#JUNGWON JOIN JUNGWON JOIN JUNGWON JOIN #oh great heavens #i'm actually not okay #oh kayla #MY KAYLA #let me smooch you #because what #what did we do as a society to deserve this #`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹✩°｡⋆⸜ ✮ mortal reads #☾⋆⭒˚｡⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⋆✩ hyper stellar; kayla

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seiwas · 4 months ago

Text

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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