#disastrous misunderstandings | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shibaraki · 1 year ago

Text

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

synopsis: slow to heal and forced on sick leave, a lonely Todoroki Shouto decides to download the latest popular app, Enigmail, to cure his boredom. he finds you. the rest is… well. moderately disastrous.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, pen pal au, hero personal assistant reader, prohero shouto, strangers to friends to lovers, injury recovery, online friendship + eventual romance, feelings development, misunderstandings, identity reveal, pining, sexting, masturbation (male chara), making out + heavy petting, getting together, *slaps roof of fic* you can fit so much fluff in this thing

wc: 17K

It started unexpectedly—with a tremor.

Rather, it started with Oda Shuichi, the prolific villain known as Tremor. At the time of the incident his quirk had been unregistered, but doctors quickly found that it severely affected an individual's motor neurons. According to them the length of time that he has a five point touch hold on someone influences how long they will lose motor function—and how poorly their muscles atrophy.

Shouto spent three uninterrupted minutes trapped in his clutches.

“I promise I��ll come by and visit whenever we can. You’ll still get updates and reports through your work email,” Midoriya tried to assure him with that signature smile, brows drawn together into an almost pleading expression. “It’s just for a little while!”

“For a month,” Shouto pointed out petulantly. Nori, his elderly adopted cat, stirred from her place on his stomach while restless fingers combed over her short pale fur.

“A month,” Midoriya parrots. He offers an apologetic grimace and leans over where he lies horizontal, slumped and agitated, to fluff up the couch cushions behind him. The newly crowned Symbol of Peace obviously felt needlessly responsible for the situation at hand. Shouto had only allowed Tremor to grab him so Deku and Suneater could get the hostages out, after all.

“Taking a break isn’t so bad, Shouto. And Hawks told me you’ve yet to actually use any of your vacation days,” he continued. “Even Kacchan takes time off. Do you know how many hours you have to work to outdo Kacchan?”

“I’m sure you could tell me exact numbers”.

“Don’t be mean,” Midoriya said, dithering as he peers around the room, slightly unfamiliar now that the furniture has been temporarily moved around to make navigating the space easier. Thanks to an on-call specialist Shouto would still be able to walk in short bursts, but he’d have to gradually build up strength and stamina over the weeks to come.

A pleased sound reverberated in Midoriya’s throat as he finally discovered the TV remote, setting it beside Shouto’s phone on the arm of the chair. “Okay. There,” he hooked an ankle around the coffee table and dragged it a little closer. “If you need us to get you anything from the store just text us”.

Shouto grumbled. Midoriya sighed, fondly exasperated at the childish display. Before leaving he moved the nearby pair of crutches within reach, listing off all the things he can think of, “Hey, maybe you can catch up on Quirky Hearts now! Or read that series Iida said you’d enjoy. There’s that new app I heard about, too. Enigmail? That might be fun”.

The anonymous pen pal app, Enigmail, exploded in popularity after its release in the spring. Shouto barely knew a thing about it, only that you needed to be over eighteen and chatting partners were assigned at random. Nothing about that sounded tempting.

Midoriya’s suggestion hung over his head for the rest of that afternoon. Quirky Hearts droned on in the background. Halfway through the first episode Shouto had yet to retain any information. Nori hardly left her spot. Jaws stretched wide around a yawn, lips pulled back to display what remained of her teeth. He liked to think she sensed his inner turmoil, though realistically, she was likely too lazy to move.

Curiosity prevailed in the end. The logo featured a pink post mounted mailbox, the slot unhinged to receive a folded paper plane. Shouto opened the app onto a pretty basic interface that followed an almost pastel theme. The profiles are barebones. He supposed that was purposeful. It asked for pronouns and a nickname, offering the option to pick an icon from their default library, but nothing more.

From what he could discern skimming over the rules he would be assigned to a random chat room with another person in a speed dating style interaction. A timer would count down from two minutes and upon completion prompt the user to either switch partners or remain talking.

A simple concept. But anything had sounded better than sulking horizontally and staring dead eyed at reality television for the remainder of his night. And when was the last time he met somebody new?

Almost every username he could think up had been taken. Even his hero name was unavailable. In a last ditch effort he settled on a miraculously accepted Sooba and scrolled through the icons. “Hey, it looks like you,” he murmured, pleased by the regal white cat icon. She hadn’t heard him, but sunk her dull claws into the meat of his forearm as he turned the image to her, those dramatic yellow eyes dilating at his coo, “Don’t worry. You’re the only Nori in my life”.

Shouto clicked start.

The first few users are odd, and without tact. Others communicated in languages he couldn’t understand. He stuck around regardless—luckily the developers had thought to include a translation tool, and Shouto managed to befriend one or two people with innocuous pictures he’d taken on previous patrols alone.

Then there’s…

XpLoveGuest ▻ Hey sexy

By that point early evening had already flooded through his balcony doors and drenched everything in a gauzy orange glow. His nose wrinkled. “You have no idea what I look like,” he thought aloud, switching to his right hand to roll the ache from his left wrist

▻ ASL?

Shouto frowned in faint confusion. He minimised the app to search up the term. Results flowed in, and after a brief look over everything he discovered they all repeated the same description. It’s an old acronym.

His thumbs tapped across the keyboard in quick succession.

Sooba ▻ Age: 27 ▻ Location: Tokyo ▻ Sex: No thank you

The chat immediately disappeared. A loading symbol blinks in the centre of the screen. He snorted, and suddenly a new chat opened with a different username blinking at the top corner. It’s a bit on the nose.

‘InsertNameHere’.

You shared the same default cat icon, which he took as an immediate plus.

But a minute elapsed and nobody spoke. There was an unusual trepidation on your part. Shouto chewed his bottom lip. He contemplated starting the conversation when suddenly three dots skipped across the screen, indicating the other user was typing something.

InsertNameHere ▻ You’re not going to send me a picture of your dick, are you? ▻ If you have one that is.

Shouto’s mouth parted in soft surprise, then pressing defensively thin, and he had glanced around his living room as though someone were there to witness this weirdness alongside him.

Sooba ▻ I have one.

InsertNameHere ▻ Ok. Well I don’t want to see it.

Sooba ▻ It sounds like you see a lot of dicks.

Not once taking his eyes away from the screen, Shouto felt for the TV remote and paused the show, brow arching at your next response.

InsertNameHere ▻ And it sounds like you’re new here.

Sooba ▻ I am. My friend recommended I try this to cure my boredom while I recover.

A few beats passed. He eyed the countdown looming over your shared interaction, conscious of how little time is left. You were the first interesting person he’s come across. Though he supposed that isn’t saying much.

InsertNameHere ▻ Recover? That sounds bad. Are you alright?

Sooba ▻ Injury at work. I’ll be fine in a few weeks.

Just as you were beginning to respond, the timer cut out. Shouto reflexively expelled his frustration and Nori lifted her head toward the abrupt movement of his chest, ears twitching. She blinked up at him in disapproval for shaking her. “Sorry sweet girl,” he murmured, wearing a small smile as he scratched under her chin. So temperamental.

A familiar pop up in the cartoonish shape of a postcard covered the chat. Your messages blurred into the background. It read: Do you wish to continue corresponding?

Shouto clicked ‘Yes’. And apparently you did too, because your contact pinned itself to his in-app mailbox.

A melodic chime pinged from his phone. Confetti burst across the off white background in pixelated blooms.

✎ CONGRATULATIONS! You have a new pen pal ✐

InsertNameHere ▻ Guess I can keep you company in the meantime. ▻ You’re the only sane person I’ve come across so far.

Shouto smiled, even as the muscles in his cheeks protested. It’s a stubborn reminder of his condition. He repositioned himself to lessen the strain on his wrists, chin tucked to his chest where his phone is propped, and said:

Sooba ▻ I’d like that. :)

The fortnight that followed is slow to pass. An endless cycle of wake, stretch, eat, lightly exercise as instructed by his physiotherapist, play with Nori, eat, watch Quirky Hearts, stretch. Midoriya stopped by, bringing Iida along with him. Jirou sent him playlists to listen to. Fuyumi called every evening and shared the phone with his mother, gentle in their fretting. He assures them all that he’s coping just fine from the Shouto-shaped depression in his couch cushions.

But there’s also you; the stream of consciousness keeping his seams together, lest he fall apart from the complete and utter boredom he’s been forced to endure. In the beginning he wasn’t sure of the rules. Talking online is not his forte and neither is making new friends. That entire first morning was spent ruminating whether or not texting you ‘good morning’ was strange, and estimating how many times was appropriate to message you before he violated some invisible social boundary.

Normal had been irrelevant until now. Normal, to Shouto, consisted of avoiding his father’s phone calls, sending the occasional concussive text message—indecipherable to even the greatest cryptanalysts—and giving Nori updates in the 1A Grad group chat.

Sometimes he’ll open the app to see you typing, pausing, typing. Imagining you, a faceless someone, equally uncertain about your footing pleases him a little. In the end he figured if you didn’t want to talk to him, you wouldn’t respond. Evidenced by how you often saved him the trouble by messaging first, sometimes as early as five o'clock in the morning. Apparently you worked irregular hours in a rather unpredictable industry. Shouto weighs the possibility that you might be a fellow hero—or something close—more than he cared to admit.

Any trepidation he felt would always dwindle as soon as a notification lit up on the screen. He reads your username and his insides turn over.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve escaped to the break room. ▻ Do you ever think about how we don’t have muscles in our fingers? How fucked up is that?

Shouto smirks, pulled away from the conversation at hand. He unlocks the phone in his lap, beneath the kotatsu to remain hidden, an attempt at being inconspicuous as he replies.

Sooba ▻ I try not to think too much about anything.

You throw back a few laughing emoticons and satisfaction washes over him. “You’ve been texting a lot. Who’s got you smiling like that?” Natsuo asks slyly. He’s cross legged, tie tossed irreverently over his shoulder, shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, having come straight from work. “A special someone?”

Shouto forces the muscles in his face to relax into feigned nonchalance. “Nobody. Nothing,” he says unconvincingly.

Rei enters the room with a modest tray of dango before Natsuo can open his big mouth. She’s wearing a bi-coloured hoodie. The sleeves slip as she sets the treats down on the table beside the green tea Fuyumi brewed earlier; another gift from Yaoyorozu’s family travels. Natsuo’s face twitches under Shouto’s unbroken stare, which is daring him to bring it up while their mother is here.

Then his phone vibrates and any possibility of peace is shattered.

His mother glances curiously at him, expression soft in the dewy afternoon light, and she smiles. “Are you speaking to one of your friends?” she asks. “Please tell Deku ‘thank you’ for sending me your new Shouto hoodie. It’s very warm”.

The words fill something cavernous inside him. Soothes the ache with gentle wonderment. She smiles down at his hero logo printed proudly across her chest, rubbing the hem between her finger and thumb. A younger Shouto could have only ever imagined it.

“I’m not so sure it’s a friend this time,” Natsuo teases, spoken with a playful, sing-song cadence. “Shouto wouldn’t text at the table and risk facing Fuyumi’s wrath just for a friend”.

Shouto does not pout. “I would risk anything for my friends,” he says, affronted; anything maybe except his older sister's well intentioned nagging. “…It’s a new friend, that’s all”.

Rei perks up, settling on her knees and laying the kotatsu blanket over her thighs. The quiet sound of plates and cups clinking together fade in from the kitchen. Natsuo hums, unconvinced, and hides a smile behind his mug. It's moments like this, when the people he loves are gathered in one place, and he can hear them in every corner of his home, that he’s glad for buying a smaller apartment.

“That’s wonderful, Shouto,” Rei murmurs as Fuyumi pads into the room, Nori not long behind her, threading through his elder sister's ankles. She too arrived right after work, donning a suit-skirt and blouse. “What’s their name?”

His thoughts stutter. Fuyumi’s nose wrinkles seeing the panic stark on his face. “Who are we talking about?”

“Beats me. Ask him,” Natsuo says, taking a stick of dango between his teeth as he tries not to grin when Shouto’s phone vibrates a second time. “I want to know who’s so eager to talk to my little brother”.

InsertNameHere ▻ Sooooobaaaaaaa ▻ I’m on my lunch keep me company

Shouto snatches up his phone to respond. He brings it closer to his face to allow Nori access to his lap. She monopolises the space instantly. “You’re not a teenager anymore, Shouto,” Fuyumi laments. “No phones during family time”.

“I know. I’m sorry, nee-san. I just need to…” his thumbs dance over the keyboard, head ducked in amalgamated shame and apology.

Sooba ▻ Question ▻ InsertNameHere ▻ What is your name?

InsertNameHere ▻ At the personal info stage already? You move fast. ▻ Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.

That stirs a faint unease in his gut and he understands better then. Anonymity is what gives people a sense of security and he isn’t exempt from that. In truth, right now he doesn’t want to know what might change if you knew who was on the other end yet.

Sooba ▻ You can call me whatever you want.

“Shouto”.

InsertNameHere ▻ That’s not even a line is it. ▻ Man. You’re dangerous.

Sooba ▻ ???

Shouto stares at the flickering dots by your username. You type, then stop. Type, then stop. As if you were deleting and starting over again. A habit of yours he’s quite endeared to. “Shouto!” Fuyumi huffs, poking a manicured finger into his side. Though short, the nail still causes him to flinch, and he’s quick to stretch his phone out of reach as her hand swipes through the air. “I mean it!”

Nori is jolted. She voices her immediate displeasure and Rei titters into her sleeve. The sleeve with his name stitched into the fabric. He breath catches, like it always does when his mother laughs. “Shouto doesn’t have to tell us anything until he’s ready,” she assured, offering him a gentle look—a look so sincere he feels awful for being evasive.

And his feeble resolve fractures.

“I don’t know,” he confesses bluntly. Natsuo and Fuyumi frown, at one another and then back at him, in unsettling synchrony cultivated through siblinghood. Shouto shrugs and pulls at a stray thread in his jeans cut loose under Nori’s claws, “I can’t tell you a name because I don’t know it”.

Natsuo appears mildly surprised. Fuyumi sinks into disbelief, feet curled beneath her body, going lax at his side. She drops her arm. “You… don’t know it?” she repeats.

“The app is anonymous,” he supplies hastily, attention flickering to his mother, far more worried about discerning her reaction. She’s unreadable. “My name isn’t on there either. We just talk about stuff”.

“Stuff?” his siblings' voices overlap, told apart only by the difference in tone. Natsuo’s shock has melted into some strange mix of pride and innuendo. “Is it that penpal thing everyone has been talking about? Enigma?”

“Enigmail,” he mutters. Natsuo lights up. Fuyumi does not share the sentiment.

“You’re a hero, Shouto! What if it’s someone with bad intentions?” she frets, brows drawn down and together, mouth pressed thin. “They could be tricking you. The internet is rife with predators, and—!”

“Nee-san. I’m a grown man. I understand the importance of internet safety,” Shouto interjects.

Natsuo slumps onto the table with a mawkish sigh, the sound steeped in fondness. “Let him have fun. You know he’s right, ‘Yumi, he’s an adult. It’s a wonder where all that time went,” he says. A few beats later he’s abruptly straightening his spine, “Gods, Fuyumi. You’re almost thirty five!”

Fuyumi glares from behind her glasses. She reaches across the kotatsu and swats lightly at his bicep, “Do you have to say it like that? You’re thirty one!”

“Please. Stop arguing,” Shouto says. He pets the unperturbed cat curled up on his thighs, “You might startle Nori”.

“Shouto. She’s deaf”.

Rei cuts their bickering short as she breathes, “When did you all get so big…” a serene smile hung on her lips, not a hint of grief to be seen. The answers surrounding your identity—or lack thereof—are lost to the nostalgia cloying in his throat.

They return to enjoying tea and dango after that. Shouto sets his phone face down on the floor and turns off vibrate. For now, he wants to ward off further interrogation.

His mother intuits this and steers the conversation in another direction, “Natsuo, how have things been at your new job? Are they treating you well?”

Things are good. Fuyumi’s class would soon be graduating, an award for Best Teacher polished and positioned on her desk. Natsuo had landed the job he always wanted—a medical welfare officer working closely with trauma survivors—and was already making waves. His mother, Rei, finally finished cultivating her traditional garden, weaving tales of lush foliage and water spouts. Touya too has been improving in his rehabilitation programme, according to his psychiatrist’s reports.

A tremor quakes through the tendons in Shouto’s forearm as he lifts his tea to sip the remaining dregs. Yaoyorozu outdid herself this time. If he hadn’t already known the price he would have discerned it from the refreshing, uniquely sweet taste. Thoughts of you cross his mind in these instances without warning. Would you like it? What’s your favourite tea?

Shouto scrunches his eyes shut as if it might wash those thoughts away. How is it that the stranger in his pocket possesses the ability to awaken such yearning in him; he feels mildly ashamed to have realised his loneliness with an audience.

The hour rolls into another. Shouto scrapes the last dango along the skewer with his teeth, jutting his chin to evade Nori’s curious sniffing. “This was lovely, Shouto. Thank you for having us over,” Fuyumi expressed as she carefully ran her hand along the feline's back.

Sensing the finality, Shouto motions to stand and sets Nori on the couch. Everyone protests it. He huffs, sliding a crutch over from where they lay nearby and letting it take his weight. A good decision, he thinks, inwardly grimacing as the blood rushes to his feet, prickling like violent white noise under his skin, and his knee almost gives out.

“I’m okay. The doctor told me I should be trying to move around more anyway,” he tells them, deigning to mention that he expended most of his energy tidying up this morning before their visit. “You’re my guests. I want to walk you to the door”.

Shouto tries not to bristle under their wary scrutiny. A cool hand slips around his arm then. His mother’s natural chill seeps through the sleeve of his shirt and allays the irritation. “We appreciate it, sweetheart,” she says.

“We do,” Fuyumi gently insists. “We’re happy to see you recovering well. Right, Natsu—?”

“Kiss tax!” Natsuo exclaims, oblivious to his surroundings. He scoops Nori up from the arm of the couch. She is comically tiny pressed against his chest. A continuous indignant drone rumbles in her throat as his brother peppers firm kisses to the top of her head.

“Put my baby down,” Shouto deadpanned.

“She isn’t your baby,” Natsuo slides one hand under Nori, the other carefully tucked into her armpits. He holds her close to Shouto’s face. Dramatic round eyes stare back; a flat expression emphasised by prominent cheekbones. Barely a hair's breadth between them, Nori begins to swipe her rough tongue against his scarred cheek. “See? You’re her baby”.

“Mine, too,” Rei rises to her tiptoes and scratches behind Nori’s ear, turning a smile toward Shouto. That same hand moved to cup his cheek. Though far taller than his mother, Shouto tips his head and finds himself feeling incredibly small as she presses a kiss to his forehead. “Your hair is getting long again,” she adds as she pulls away.

“I can trim it if it’s bothering you,” Fuyumi nods, sidling up beside Rei to survey the growth together. She brushes back the wayward strands framing his face and Shouto blinks. “Though, I think I like this look on you. What’s it called? A wolfcut?”

“I’m not sure. This is how Mina cut it a few months ago,” he replies.

Natsuo interjects without Nori in his grasp, now notably covered in short cat hair. He claps Shouto on the back and pulls him into a firm side hug, “She did good. Our handsome little Shouto”.

Initiating physical affection with his family was still a weary affair after all this time, though patently one sided. Having them touch him so freely always left him a little stupefied.

After they depart, Shouto hobbles to find his phone with all the grace of a newborn fawn. It is face down under the kotatsu cover right where he left it. And as it blinks to life, he skips the notifications from the 1A group chat to find your screen name at the bottom.

InsertNameHere ▻ My boss has these awful little nicknames for everyone in the agency. Mine’s ‘Maestro’. Nerd and butterfingers, too, but mostly Maestro. ▻ To do with my quirk and role, I suppose. Good for morale etc. His creativity astounds me (๑ಕ̴ _̆ ಕ̴) ﾝ？ ▻ Not that I don’t appreciate it but. Well shit, what about my morale? Lol ▻ You there? ▻ Sorry if I scared you off by getting personal.

Shouto worries at his bottom lip. Maestro. Something new about you. A foreign feeling churned in his chest. Faint, barely there, but new enough for him to notice. He’s not sure how to pin it; whether your mention of working at an agency bothers him or the fact that others, people who are not Shouto, get to see you everyday, close enough to give you a personal nickname.

Sooba ▻ Sounds like you have a good relationship. I’ve got a close friend who sounds similar. People say it’s just his love language ha ▻ And you didn’t scare me off. I’m the one who asked. Some family came to check on me.

He barely thinks it over before adding:

▻ My mother said hi by the way.

Your reply isn’t immediate but it is quicker than he expects.

InsertNameHere ▻ You’re right. I do like my boss sometimes. Maybe. And I love this job but I think it has aged me ten years. My ulcers have ulcers! ▻ Also—telling your family about me now too? We really are moving fast.

A soft huff of laughter jumps in his throat. There’s a distant clamoring near the kitchen. The sound of Nori’s bowl being pushed around the tile. Her absence clicks in place when he looks at the clock. He should feed her soon.

Sooba ▻ Technically it was only my mother, older sister and brother. ▻ But I can relate about the work stuff.

InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah? You mentioned being on leave because of an injury. Do you like your work?

That’s a question he has never asked himself, nor has he ever felt the need to. Heroism was the path life handed to him. The path he ultimately followed of his own volition. Shouto loves his family, his friends. He’s good at his job—enough to have made it into the top ten. And isn’t that all that matters?

Sometimes he would take a long, weary look out the revolving agency doors, recognise the heaviness in his bones and give the entire thing a second thought. But that never made any difference. Because people needed him. And he needed them too.

There’s a fleeting urge in that instance; a temptation to come clean, if only to sate his own curiosity. To compare the idealised image of what you looked like or how you sounded. He’s spent many a shameful night thinking up romanticised scenarios in his mind about what it would be like to meet you in real life. Shouto always squashes it. He doubts you’d believe him.

Ever perceptive to his moods, Nori chooses that moment to pad in from the kitchen and sit herself directly in his line of sight. She wails, demanding attention and lacking any volume control.

Right now he is not a hero but a man alone on two unsteady legs with a small living thing reliant upon him. He’s just Todoroki Shouto. He’s just—

Sooba ▻ As of right now my occupation is ‘Nori’s dad’. I like it pretty well.

Your reply is immediate.

InsertYourName ▻ Oh you have a kid?

Nori’s frustration grows. Her tail swishes back and forth, agitated. “It isn’t time to eat yet,” Shouto tells her, pulling up his phone camera and zooming in. On her next yowl the shutter goes off. The picture is perfect. Mouth wide open, large ears flat and nose wrinkled in displeasure, lips curled up to display her pink gums.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_0243] ▻ Something like that.

It’s a risk and he knows it. Though infrequently his team has posted Nori to his social media in the past at the delight of his fans—she was younger in those pictures, but if you were well acquainted with him there was the possibility of you putting the puzzle pieces together.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god sooba. She’s so cute. Give her everything she asks for, you monster. ▻ Hey. Are those Ingenium themed crutch pads?

Anxiety rockets through him. He pulls up the photo and sure enough, his crutches are in the corner of the frame, laid within reach beside the couch. Secured around the handles are Ingenium themed pads to cushion his palms.

Sooba ▻ They are.

InsertNameHere ▻ Is he your favourite hero?

He turns his phone over in his hands before he types, overcome by an abrupt restlessness.

Sooba ▻ One of them. ▻ Do you have a favourite hero?

Nori wanders off in his periphery and not long after he hears the telltale sound of cardboard being torn apart. You stop typing, replies coming to a halt. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

It becomes clear you’re offline. Shouto spends the evening imagining your answer—ducking sheepishly at the idea that you might say him, then cringing at his reaction—and reading through his work emails.

Partnering with Hawks hasn’t been the worst thing in the world. Despite his carefree demeanour and general lack of personal space Hawks was professional and meticulous when it came to his work. As promised, Shouto was CC’d into every important thread and forwarded every significant incident report each day. Apparently there’s a big fundraiser tonight that he is unable to attend.

Hawks suggests matching Endeavor’s donation in spirit. Shouto doubles it.

The night air barely touches him. Leaning against the balcony railing he surveys the cityscape. A kaleidoscope canvas. He stares until the pinpricks of light stretch and bend, streaking his vision, regaining shape when he blinks. Nori is curled around his calf, playfully kicking her back legs at his ankle. She’s careful to never break skin.

It’s nearing midnight when you get back to him. A disconcertingly vague reply of:

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve had enough of heroes.

Shouto waits for you to elaborate before presuming anything nefarious. He would hate for Fuyumi to be correct. She’d never let him forget it.

▻ Shit that made me sound bad, didn’t it? I promise I’m not a villain

He snorts, reclining himself into one of the chairs on his patio. Yaoyorozu insisted upon helping decorate the space. This piece in particular had been chosen by Uraraka, if only for its cocoon, egg-like shape. She always sat in it if she came over; Shouto can’t say he blames her, now curling up inside it himself, leaving one foot flat to the floor for Nori to cling to.

Sooba ▻ Only a little bit lol.

InsertNameHere ▻ I just mean for today! I’ve had enough for today! ▻ There’s… a whole lot of them at this work event I’m attending is all. ▻ See! ▻ [IMG_0589]

It’s the first picture you’ve ever sent to him that wasn’t a meme. Your legs are crossed, turned inward to show more of the showroom floor. There are people everywhere. You’ve overturned your lanyard in your lap, straps dotted with the charity logo, to display the back of your security pass. No identification. Just proof that you’re there—

Proof that you’re a real person, giving colour to the vague, shapeless figure in his head. The figure once outlined only by random tidbits, like your favourite food, the music you like, the movies you loved as a child. The figure now clad in tight fitting, seemingly pearlescent sheer material from the waist down.

—Shouto swallows dryly.

You have nice hands. He tries not to linger on that.

▻ That’s why I disappeared, btw. Sorry about that. ▻ I feel weirdly underdressed.

The logo on your lanyard has recognition prickling in the back of his mind. Hours earlier Midoriya had texted him two pictures from the ‘HEROKIND’ fundraiser Hawks mentioned. One being a selfie of him and an aggrieved Bakugo, each wearing their own fitted suit, and another of Uraraka in an evening gown stood behind the imposing silhouette that was his father, stealthily pointing her middle finger at his back.

He saved that one to his camera roll.

Sooba ▻ In that case I will close the HPSC anonymous tip line ▻ Sometimes people try too hard at those events and forget why they’re there. You look good from what I see.

InsertNameHere ▻ How very gracious (´・｀ ) ▻ Sounds like you have some experience with this kind of thing. My condolences lmao ▻ But thank you. I’m glad you think so.

Shouto entertains the idea of sending you something back. His eyes surreptitiously flicker around as though being watched. Nothing revealing who he is, but enough to maybe—

The camera captures a few of the modest flower beds and cat grass lining his balcony, Nori coiled around his bare ankle. He looks at his hand. Shuffles his hips further down to mirror your angle and flexes his fingers in his lap. Heat floods his body, guided by the shameless desire to inform the image you might have of him in your own head, too.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_288] ▻ At least you’re having more fun than I am.

You type for a long ten second interval. Then restart. A tedious minute elapses and just as regret creeps in, your messages come through.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’m not so sure about that. ▻ Actually it would probably be more bearable if you were here with me.

The sound of his heartbeat floods his ears. So warm it’s like he’s standing under the sun. Shouto belatedly realises it’s just his quirk, as the steam blows out through his nose. Nori butts his ankle in complaint. He bends to take her into his arms, feeling ridiculous and somewhat bad at being a person.

Sooba ▻ Think so? ▻ Just so you know I have been called socially inept on numerous occasions.

InsertNameHere ▻ Then we can hide together in the corner, get tipsy and sneak bits of the fancy spread.

This—doesn’t happen to Shouto. “Nori. I have feelings for a person I’ve never seen,” he pushes his face into Nori’s fur, and she purrs, feeling the vibrations of his voice. Admitting it aloud only highlights the absurdity. He feels out of his depth. And he decides he’s glad for the anonymity. Grateful, even. Lest he publicly humiliate himself and set off every fire alarm in the vicinity.

Sooba ▻ That sounds perfect.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll hold you to that. There’s another one of these coming up in two weeks. ▻ Prepare yourself (ꈍᴗꈍ)

“You’re really not helping,” he continues. Nori rubs insistently under his chin. “Fine, fine. I get it,” She croaks as he presses into the touch, mimicking her movement and cradling her as he gets up.

Before retiring to bed he pulls up Yaoyorozu’s contact. He settles into a comfortable position in the covers, propping his phone on his stomach, and he types:

Shouto : 00:14

I think I need help.

Consciousness eases into him slowly. It’s a sleepy pastel morning. Dust dances in the soft spotlight cast through his curtains. Shouto’s jaw unhinged to release a long yawn, limbs stretching every which way under the covers as his joints click.

Shouto props up on his elbow, twisting in place to reach and unplug his phone. He blinks away the blurriness hemming his vision and squints at the stack of messages from Enigmail right at the top of his notifications.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh shit. Hero Shouto donated double the amount of what Endeavor gave and he couldn’t even be here tonight. That’s hilarious. Can that guy get any hotter ▻ I didn’t intend for that to be a pun. ▻ These cocktails are becoming suspiciously easy to drink. ▻ You’re probably sleeping like a good boy but I miss you. Wake up! ▻ Have you ever had feelings for someone you’ve never met

The loose tongued messages stop there, at around one o’clock in the morning. Then there’s a seven hour jump to only ten minutes ago.

▻ Oh my god. Please ignore all of that. And then kill me.

Hardly awake, sleepsand still crusty at the corners of his eyes, Shouto’s mind reels as he considers pinching himself. He doesn’t know which part to focus on. Your apparent—and unknowing—attraction to him as a public figure or the implication that you had feelings for Sooba.

But you’re obviously embarrassed. So he bites back a smile and starts with something simple.

Sooba ▻ Good morning to you too ▻ Remember to drink water and take some bufarin.

Sitting upright with legs hung over the bed, Shouto clicks out to his text app by way of distraction. There’s another photo from Midoriya. This time it’s just him. Speckled light glitters along his cheeks, expression beaming as the hero holds a piece of sashimi in front of his pink face. Shouto heart reacts to the text.

InsertNameHere ▻ Send more Nori

He chuckles, sleepy. That makes known Nori’s absence. Strange, he muses. She is usually the one to wake him. Rather than search he scrolls through his albums to find a photo you hadn’t seen yet. It was taken a few months ago. He’d slipped his camera under her chin and pressed the shutter when she looked down, looming over the viewer with a dumbfounded look.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_142]

After a few minutes with no response, assuming that you had accepted his bribe and sought out some painkillers, Shouto braced against his bedside table and stood, phone in hand. Every muscle in his body felt like wet sand, held together by too tight skin. This morning, though, the incessant ache that beat alongside his heart was gone.

Walking still felt as though he was wading through molasses but strength was steadily returning to his physique.

The floor is cool under the soles of his feet as they shuffle down the hallway. There’s a noise in the kitchen that gives Shouto pause. A voice, hushed yet high pitched voice, cooing like someone might to an infant.

He drops into an ungainly defensive stance, pyjama bottoms and all. Worst case scenario they at least hang low on his hips, loose around his legs, leaving room for flexible movement. He rounds the corner without a sound.

And relief beats like a drum in his chest.

Yaoyorozu meets his gaze from the kitchen island where one hand is petting a very happy Nori, sipping from a glass of water with the other. Her face is bare, shadows soft under her eyes, hair pulled haphazardly into a low ponytail as if she had just rolled out of bed and rushed here. Creati in a bleach stained hoodie and leggings. The press would have a field day.

The sight brings a small smile to his face. Their schedules have been misaligned for months. It’s good to see her—if only her expression had not then darkened. “Todoroki Shouto,” she says with all the authority of an older sibling, “What on earth was that text last night? You had me worried sick”.

“Text?” he parrots dumbly, looking to check his phone.

InsertNameHere ▻ Painkillers acquired. Thank you Nori ▻ I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night.

“I let myself in with the key you gave me. I hope that was alright,” she continues, quiet and apologetic now. He skims over your reply and switches to check his text app. Sure enough the last thing he sent to her was an ambiguous plea for help.

“Of course it’s alright,” he replies, regarding her with a meaningful look to cover for how sheepish he truly feels. “I gave you the key because you’re always welcome here”.

Yaoyorozu smiles on the end of an exhale, idle hands smoothing down Nori’s cheeks. “Of course,” she echoes, examining his form closely now her anxiety is assuaged. Over him comes the muted awareness that he’s being judged. “How about we go on a short walk for once, since I’m here? The weather is quite pleasant”.

Shouto steps forward with mouth downturned, “Momo, I assure you I’m fine. You don’t need to walk me like a dog,” he says, wincing thereafter at his bluntness. She only hums.

“When was the last time you went anywhere?”

Very uselessly he replies, “I go places”.

Yaoyorozu’s potential to lead and assert had never escaped him, not even in his teenage years, and it was something he staunchly admired her for. But never has he resented his own affinity for compliance more than he does the moment she ignores his pouting and tells him to finish his morning gait training and get changed.

Dressed casually and statuesque in the centre of his living room, left leg lifted to mimic a flamingo, Shouto’s limbs shake far less than previous days. He can hold his phone while he balances now, too. You haven’t sent any new messages. Probably waiting for him to assure you that he isn’t upset, but even so he’s a smidge disappointed.

Sooba ▻ I’m here. A friend appeared in my kitchen. ▻ You don’t need to apologise for anything, I wasn’t uncomfortable. I've received worse drunk texts I assure you.

He switches to his right leg and chews the inside of his cheek. Facing villainy was far less daunting than navigating his feelings.

▻ I thought it was cute.

That’s about as brave as he felt today.

Yaoyorozu resurfaces from the coat closet with a jacket in hand and a pep in her step. There’s something else coiled around her wrist. Nori’s cat leash, red and attached to a blue harness, matching Shouto’s hero colours.

“Can we bring her along?” she asks, bouncing in place. Upon recognising the leash Nori makes her opinion known, releasing a drawn out yowl. “Oh please, Shouto”.

Nori didn’t regularly enjoy walking but she had been trained to do so from a young age. She was peculiar and picky, and Shouto trusted her to let him know if ever she wanted anything—something she never failed to do.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, bending to tap her nose. It wrinkles, a stray tooth flashing between her lips. “If you get tired I won’t carry you”.

Nori blinks. A lie and they both know it.

Shouto sighs, defeated. “Okay. She hasn’t wanted to in a while so I can’t really deny her”.

“Wonderful,” Yaoyorozu breathes, handing him his jacket before undoing the harness and crouching to slip Nori’s paws through one by one. “We can grab a warm drink to go from the cafe downstairs and talk”.

Shucking the jacket on and flattening the collar, Shouto dithers in the genkan with his crutches nearby. He tucks the wayward strands of hair into a knitted hat and loops his mask around his ears. The scar couldn’t be helped but atleast this way a majority of people would not think to look twice.

They leave the apartment together, all three. In the short time it takes to step out of the building's lobby you still haven’t replied. He shoves his free hand in his pocket, fingers clasped around his phone in case it vibrates.

The establishment across from Shouto’s home has been open for longer than he’s been alive. An elderly couple named Pierre-Louis and Tsutomu run the place. The two men moved back to Japan decades ago to care for Tsutomu’s sick mother, and with Pierre-Louis’ incredibly unusual coffee quirk ‘Bean Boost’, opening a cafe seemed the right route to take.

Since moving here they’ve endeared themselves to Shouto. If they see him on his way to work Tsutomu will often rush to offer him a takeout cup. This morning is no different.

“Mon petit chou!”

Tsutomu slides open the walk up window and calls his name, beckoning them closer. The breeze tousles the short grey curls around his ears. Shouto’s heart near stops when the older man leans out to greet Nori as she stretches upward and almost loses balance. “Tsutomu-san, please be careful,” he says.

“I am still rather spry, young man. Don’t worry about me,” he returns happily, gaze moving to Yaoyorozu when he rights himself. “Lovely to see you again, Momo-chan. Have you come to rescue our prince from his cave?”

Indignant, Shouto grumbles, “I wish you would all stop acting as though I’m a hermit. I haven’t been stuck indoors that long”.

The two level him with a look of doubt. Tsutomu gently pinches his cheek and rubs a thumb over the swell above the mask. “Your pallor betrays you, Shouto. Let the sun kiss you more, no? We worry”.

“Tout va bien?” another voice interjects. Pierre-Louis squeezes up next to his husband, ignoring his disgruntled noise, and brightens when he sees Shouto on the other side. “Mon chou, you’ve emerged! And with two beautiful girls at your side”.

Yaoyorozu muffled a laugh while Nori busied herself chewing on the nearby grass, leash never pulling too far. “Pierre-Louis,” Shouto murmurs, unable to keep the fond lilt out of his voice. “It’s good to see you both”.

“And you,” he beams. The wrinkles by his eyes deepen. Shouto never met his grandparents but he thinks perhaps this is the closest he’ll get. “Are you going anywhere special?”

“We’re just taking a walk, Pierre-Louis. I thought it might be nice to get a warm drink for the journey,” Yaoyorozu spoke warmly and nudged his side. “Where better than here?”

“Bien sûr! Will that be one earl grey and one green tea?”

Shouto nods at her questioning glance, “Loose leaves today, please”, he adds.

Pierre-Louis disappears to make their drinks, shortly returning with two takeout cups, steam pluming softly from the mouth. Shouto swaps his crutch to his right side and accepts the green tea with his left hand, heat seeping through the cardboard sleeve.

“How much will it be—?”

“Nonsense,” Tsutomu interrupts with a sudden switch to English. He shakes his finger, silencing any protest, and his husband gives a resolute nod in support. “Take it, mon chou. Call it a family discount”.

Shouto bids them a dazed goodbye, leaving the walk up window; a lump in his throat that he tries to wash down with hot heat, tongue impervious to the temperature. “They’re very sweet. I’m glad you have them,” Yaoyorozu muses. “What is it they call you? ‘Chou’?”

“Mon petit chou,” he repeats clumsily, accent slightly gawky. “I asked Aoyama a while ago and he told me it means ‘my little cabbage’”.

Yaoyorozu pauses and Nori continues ahead, leaping up onto a nearby half wall with her tail hooked high. She pounces on a crack between the bricks, blissfully unaware of the nearby traffic, trying to eat a ladybug.

“My little cabbage?”

Shouto hums, squinting up at the early sun, rising in a blanket of pale blue and mottled grey clouds. The air is refreshingly cool. “Apparently it’s something French parents call their children,” he shrugs, as though he were not then warmed from the inside out at the reminder that they truly did see him as one of their own.

“That’s lovely,” she says, slowing to match his pace. He’s not tired so much as he is enjoying the morning dew. They follow a familiar path. Turning down a hidden narrow walkway that leads to a neighbourhood park. Nori’s chitters fill the spaces left by comfortable silence.

Yaoyorozu suggests sitting at one of the picnic tables. Tall trees flanked the area on either side, columns rising to create a weave of foliage that shrouded them in gold. The old wood is cold under his thighs. Nori hops up onto the bench, ears flat to her head, and hisses at a dog across the way which hasn’t even noticed her presence.

“So,” Shouto glances over toward Yaoyorozu as she speaks. Her arms are settled on the tabletop, fingers curled around the disposable cup and swirling the liquid inside. “Are you going to tell me what you were panicking about last night?”

He picks at the cardboard sleeve, twisting it, and supposes this was inevitable. Slipping down his mask, Shouto brings the tea to his lips in distraction, grasping for a way to articulate his situation without simply saying: “I have feelings for my anonymous online friend”.

In the end he realises there really isn’t any other way.

Yaoyorozu listens intently, as he expected she would. Of all his well intentioned friends Shouto knew she’d be the most open to his reasoning. Her expression visibly softens while he wrings his hands and rambles about the palpable connection that he first attributed to his own loneliness—

Rambles about you; you, the one now carried with him everywhere, the presence weaving his days into tapestry; you, accepting of his random thoughts, giving of your own; you, unintentional charm and bad jokes and sharp wit; you, faceless and voiceless, the one to receive first and last thought.

He expels his fears. Concerns of who you really are. Of what you might think upon learning his identity—if you wouldn’t like him anymore, or if his own feelings might change after meeting you offline, and if that makes him a terrible, shallow person.

Then he mentions the photo from the Herokind event and her head cocks in interest. “May I see?” she asks. Shouto murmurs his agreement and pulls his phone out from his pocket.

You’ve messaged him.

InsertNameHere ▻ Appeared? Like, teleported?? ▻ I’m glad we’re ok. I would miss you otherwise. ▻ But you can’t know I’m cute. You’ve never seen me lol

Shouto is typing back with unfounded confidence before he realises it.

Sooba ▻ I don’t need to see you to know that.

Then his eyes flicker to Nori, staring up at him clad in her Shouto themed harness, lip caught on her scraggle tooth. He takes a quick picture. Examining it before sending, he notices Yaoyorozu’s slender hands in the background, and wonders if you might be jealous.

He scoffs inwardly at his own childishness and sends the photo.

▻ Not teleported hah, just came in with a spare key. We are out walking now.

“Sorry—I just wanted to reply first,” Shouto clears his throat and presses his phone into her now proffered hand. Given without question.

Something flickers in her expression at your photo; it’s a brief shift that flies over her gaze like a shadow. Her thumbs pinch and part on the screen as she zooms in. “I was there for a few hours last night,” she says. “I recognise this outfit. Would it not be easier to check the list of attendants?”

“…That doesn’t feel fair,” he admits soberly. “I know that’s silly”.

“It’s not silly,” she affirms with a small smile, fingers now moving as she types. “You are aware of your position. You have the resources to find them and presumably they do not. Of course it seems unfair”.

It’s testament to their friendship that he feels no need to check what she’s doing. Her brows furrow slightly, then arch into her hairline, eyes brightening. Pleased, Yaoyorozu locks the device and hands it back.

“What did you do?”

“Don’t worry. I didn't do anything untoward,” she replies. “But I do know who you’re talking to now”.

Shouto’s fingers flex around his phone. “You do?” he breathes, incredulous. Just like that?

Yaoyorozu nods, lending her attention to Nori. “I don’t have a name. But if you want to find them I think you’ll want to speak to Bakugo-kun”.

“Bakugo…?” Shouto echoes.

“I believe your friend may work for him,” she clarifies. Ah. The clamouring in his head comes to a halt. In hindsight it’s clear. Your nicknames make sense now.

“I’ll think about it,” he swallows, bringing his tea to his face for another sip. He finds it tepid and warms it again with his quirk. Yaoyorozu doesn’t push.

They spend the hour catching up on the things Shouto has missed in the weeks he’s been absent, and the weeks prior. Midoriya’s claims of him being a workaholic become a reality he can’t outrun. Tea finished, Shouto takes both cups and disposes of them in the recycling bin. Yaoyorozu stands from the picnic table with Nori cradled to her breast—Nori stares back at him, smug—and they make their way back to his apartment.

“Shouto,” she coaxed, now standing outside the tall glass doors leading to the lobby. Nori’s claws sink into the collar of his jacket as she’s passed to him. He takes her leash from Yaoyorozu, bunching it up; and she covers his enclosed fist with her hand.

“Go for it,” she tells him, giving a firm squeeze. “I’m rooting for you. Just be safe”.

Stepping back into his apartment, his cheeks are warm and his limbs are trembling. You’ve buzzed inside his pocket three times.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god. How can such a perfect creature exist? And her harness! Shouto colours? ▻ I hope you’re having fun. <3 ▻ You know, you never answered my question from last night

“You don’t think I’m hopeless, do you Nori?” Shouto asks the thin air—Nori has already scrambled toward the nearby shoebox, bunny kicking at the corner as she chews. He sighs.

Yaoyorozu’s encouragement rings loud in his ears while he replies.

Sooba ▻ Yes. I think I’ve had feelings for a person I’ve never met.

And it feels like a confession.

Shouto sees the week come to an end before he finds enough strength, physically and mentally, to visit Bakugo’s agency.

Your conversations have evolved. They carry a flirty undertone now, the verbal toeing of the line that makes his heart pitter patter. You send pictures throughout the day. Always angled away from your face. Swathes of skin. A pen between your fingers. Stacked paperwork and an empty coffee cup. The burgeoning skies on your walk home. Comfortable at home, your legs crossed over the other, a fluffy slipper hanging at the end of your foot.

He never knew so much thought had to go into making a photo appear candid, effortless. At one point he purposefully shuffled his workout shorts lower on his hips and spent the remainder of the afternoon mortified with his head deep between the couch cushions.

Liking another person is humiliating. He feels exposed, like a flesh wound that you won’t stop prodding.

InsertNameHere ▻ [IMG_412] ▻ I hope you have a good day!

You’re sitting at your desk, presumably. A slide knot bracelet hangs loose around your wrist. Hand held out over the mouse and keyboard, you’ve pinched your thumb and finger—smudged with black in—together to make a heart shape. It’s cute. You’re cute. He files the pose away for any later run-ins with paparazzi. His PR has been getting on about trying harder when they photograph him for months.

Shouto’s body rocks with the train car as it careens down the tracks and readjusts his grip on his crutch. He smiles behind his mask, sinking into the confines of his hood which he has pulled over his cap. There are eyes on him today. It can’t be helped in such close quarters. But they’re uncertain—too afraid to bother him and be wrong about his identity.

Sooba ▻ You too :) ▻ Remember to take breaks. I read that you should spend five minutes away from your screen every hour.

InsertNameHere ▻ You have to stop making me smile at work. My coworkers think I have a secret husband or something.

Sooba ▻ I promise to send you off with a homemade bento tomorrow morning.

InsertNameHere ▻ And a kiss.

Shouto grabs the nearby pole as he is almost knocked on his feet. Passengers board, others depart, and his heart hammers in his throat like a fist.

Sooba ▻ A kiss?

You’re still typing a reply when Shouto hears the hesitant evocation of his name. It’s timid and hushed, belonging to a person trying to restrain their excitement. She covers her mouth with a gasp when he meets her eyes.

“It is you,” she bubbles. A metallic taste pervades the static air around her, short hair wiggling on end as if it were responding directly to her excitement; behaviour unbefitting of a typical reporter, he notes.

Your text box jumps onto the screen in his peripheral vision, bumping up the chat. He jolts and angles the phone away from her just to be safe.

InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah! A bento box and a kiss to get me through the day, obviously. As my husband.

There are three others a few feet away, huddled together beside a pillar and abuzz with energy. Mild dread churns in his stomach. Definitely not a reporter, then. “If you have a moment…” the young woman spares a glance over her shoulder and her friends excitedly encourage her forward. “Um. Would you maybe be interested in—”

“No,” Shouto replies. The young woman winces at his tone. Ah. She’s embarrassed now. He really should make a habit of lying in consideration for other people's feelings. Fuyumi did mention that, though not in as many words. Before her face can crumple further he continues, “I’m very sorry, that was rude of me. I’m in a bit of a hurry”.

Her relief is palpable, near contagious. Expression softened with understanding she folds her hands against her stomach and ducks into a slight bow. “Of course, I understand,” she says. Somehow it makes him feel worse. “And—I’m glad you’re well, Shouto-san. We’re all wishing you a complete recovery”.

Gratitude bubbles inside him. He smiles, pressing a finger over his mask, and her complexion turns a bright shade of pink. She nods in understanding, scurrying to her friends.

Shouto departs the train without disruption. The conductor takes stock of his gait and the crutch at his side, offering to lay out the ramp, but he politely refuses, stepping onto the platform with ease. He feels good; closer to his other self, the one before his muscles were run through a metaphorical centrifuge.

Sooba ▻ Obviously. ▻ I suppose I can add ‘house husband’ alongside ‘Nori’s dad’ on my list of occupations now.

Blast Zone isn’t far, a fact for which he’s grateful. Bakugo insisted on rooting himself in the centre of the city, right in the spot where all transport routes seemed to meet; there stood the symbol of victory’s headquarters, imposing in the skyline.

According to journalists at PowrStruct magazine The Blast Zone agency is an ode to modern architecture. A steel frame structure surrounded by reinforced concrete, an outer coating embossed with a texture that gives the award winning building the fragile appearance of having been meticulously glued back together while simultaneously being both blast proof and earthquake proof. Shouto cares not for design in general. He does, however, steal a mini Dynamite themed pen from the front desk while he’s waiting to be signed in.

There’s a thin chain attached to the cap with a Chibi Bakugo hung on the end. Sue him.

“He’ll see you now, Shouto-san,” the receptionist states, pupil-less eyes blinking back at him. Shouto tucks the pen into his sleeve, feeling foolish and somewhat nervous. “Head on up to the office on the twelfth floor. He knows you’re on your way”.

Shouto clears his throat. “Thank you,” he says, weakness in his knees that has nothing to do with his nerves. The Ingenium handle pads cushion his palm as he braces onto his crutches, supporting him toward the nearby lift. There are eyes on his back as he goes. They’re heavy, lingering like physical touch. Something in him spoils at the unnecessary pity.

The lift remains mercifully empty. He presses the twelfth floor button and it glows green. The ride up is smooth, and quick. Double doors slide open onto a sprawling office space flooded with natural light. No one bothered to glance in Shouto’s direction as he gawked. If he remembered correctly this area was specifically for employees that worked closest to Bakugo. They’re all so nonplussed and focused. No nonsense. He likes that.

“Loser,” Bakugo grunts. He appeared from thin air, standing aside with arms crossed over his chest, eyeing Shouto’s stiff form with suspicion. “What the fuck are you doing here? You’re still on leave”.

Shouto makes a noncommittal noise, inwardly miffed. He straightens his posture and takes more of his own weight. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. Maybe I missed you,” he says. Bakugo’s expression suddenly soured, as though he swallowed a lemon, mouth thin against his teeth.

Amusing as it is, acknowledging the disconnect aloud makes him truly accept the distance he had put between himself and his friends; how he’d worked too hard, untied himself from the tangle of their lives and ended up isolated.

“Nori told me to say ‘hi’ by the way”.

Bakugo sweetens. “She like that cardboard house I sent you?”

“She already destroyed it,” Shouto admits. And Bakugo laughs, irritation split by a crooked grin.

“Atta girl,” he nods in approval, turning on his heel and starting toward a pair of towering doors. “Oi. You comin’? Or are you going to stand there all damn day?

Dynamite’s office is anything but corporate. Professional, yes, but it’s also so plainly personal in a way that screams Bakugo. A setup reconfigurable for days that he can’t sit still, a folding treadmill under his large mahogany desk to keep him moving. Bakugo works better on his feet, something Shouto knows well.

Built in shelves line the accent wall, filled with framed pictures of friends and family, newspaper clippings and awards. There are even fan creations—mostly from his debut era, when being favoured felt far more significant, but Shouto finds it sweet all the same.

Walking ahead of him, Shouto approaches the desk. Bakugo lingers for a beat to holler something out the door before returning to his desk.

Two consult chairs face the head office chair opposite. Lowering into one of them, Shouto props his crutch up and takes his phone out of his pocket. Ever hopeful, he unlocks it, opens Enigmail and refreshes the chat list. There are new messages from a few other people he added in the beginning, but nothing from you. He tries not to sigh too obviously.

“What’s got you all fuckin’ mopey?" Bakugo leaned over to look down at the phone. Shouto hastily locked it and the explosive hero narrowed his eyes at the impassive veil Shouto pulled over his face.

“Nothing. How did the first Herokind event go?” he asks, fiddling with his newly acquired Dynamite pen. “Midoriya always sugar coats things for me”.

“Went fine. You didn’t miss anything,” Bakugo waves off. The leather office chair creaks as he leans back. “Boring as all hell since it was just the kickstarter. Food mild enough for a toddler to eat and too much alcohol. The auction will be more interesting. That birdbrain partner of yours was hilarious, though”.

“Hawks?” Shouto’s mouth twitches, failing to conceal his mirth. “What did he do this time?”

“Spent the night antagonising your shitty old man,” Bakugo pauses for a brief moment and rescinds his words. “Or aggressively flirting. Can't tell the difference with him”.

Shouto keeps his thoughts to himself on that one.

“Ended with Endeavor triggering all the sprinklers at the after party though,” Bakugo ends, eyes crinkled under the weight of his wicked grin. Shouto pursed his lips tight. Amusement huffed through his nose. He imagines his father standing in the middle of the room, pathetically soaked through, wisps of smoke rising from his put-out embers, and he laughs.

Bakugo looks rather pleased by the reaction. But then his gaze flickers over Shouto’s shoulder and his brow arches expectantly. “Did’ya need something? I shouted for the Egghead because I thought you were on your break”.

Shouto’s laughter dwindles as he follows Bakugo’s line of sight. His breath catches. An employee stands in the doorway peeking around a tall box of paperwork. Wide eyed as they examine him.

Wrapped around their wrist is a familiar sliding knot bracelet.

“I just—uh…”

His head spins. There’s a smudge on your finger where your pen's ink leaked, just like in the photo. Could this be you? You are—

“What the hell has gotten into everybody today,” Bakugo tuts, pushing up from his desk and striding over to receive the box himself. Your shoulders slump when you are relieved of the weight. Bringing your hands to your chest and massaging the joints.

—still looking right at him. Cute. He cannot help but think how cute you are, tripping over your words, losing your footing.

“Oi, maestro,” Bakugo clicks his fingers in your face and startles you out of your stupor. “Get it together. I need you with a clear head when that sleepy bastard from the HPSC gets here”.

You glare at Bakugo, “Mera-san is the least of your problems, Dynamite. Worry about yourself and the six unanswered emails I forwarded to you from the claims manager”.

You’re beautiful. And your voice, it’s so—his lips part, and he tries to speak, to interrupt Bakugo’s incessant teasing, but words fail him.

“Whatever. Those insurance claims are bullshit and you know it,” Bakugo mutters. He turns and moves to shove the box of paperwork beside the desk. His mouth downturns into a smirk when he stands and notices your attention drawn to Shouto once again.

“Is that everything? I’d appreciate it if you stopped gawking,” Bakugo drawls, a dry rasp to his taunting that seems to embarrass you further. Shouto isn’t sure he’s breathing. You’re right there. You’re within reach and he’s rooted to his chair.

“You’re such a—! Y’know what, no, I’m leaving now,” replying harshly you start toward the open door where you come to an abrupt halt. Shouto feels the distance like the pull of a leash. You incline your head into a short bow, losing strength in your voice as you acknowledge him, “Have a good afternoon, Shouto-san”.

Then you’re gone. He stares after you dumbly. In all the years he has worked in the hero industry Shouto has never been more thankful for choosing to make his given name his brand than he is now.

Bakugou falls heavily in his chair and sighs.

Shouto swallows, “Who was—”

“Don’t,” Bakugo stresses the command, as though telling a dog to heel. Shouto can feel the heat behind his pointed glare. Undeterred, his eyes linger after you, stuck on the spot where you once stood, heart beating like a hummingbird’s wing.

“I mean it, Halfie. Run off the only competent PA I’ve ever had with your pisspoor flirting and I will kill you,” Bakugo barrels on. There’s no true malice but it comes through gritted teeth, like he has resigned himself to the impending stupidity. Because Shouto is already looking back at him with that small, impish curl to his lips.

“I’m not that terrible at flirting,” he says.

“Making eye contact for three uninterrupted minutes is not flirting,” Bakugo scoffs.

Shouto hums. “And what is? Pulling their pigtails for ten years?”

“Watch it,” Bakugo grouses, bottom lip jutting. He kicks the leg of Shouto’s chair and he laughs; he’s missed this.

Hoping to get back on track then, Shouto asks, “Will you be attending the charity auction, then?”

The other man grunts an affirmative. “I’ve put some memorabilia and shit up to be sold. Sparky somehow convinced Eijirou to auction himself off for a date,” Bakugo snorts and gives an amused shake of his head. “I’m willing to bet he’ll rake in at least ten million yen. Minimum”.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Shouto agrees. Kirishima had grown a lot since graduation all those years ago. Pair a stocky build with a big hearted guy like him and everyone is tripping over themselves to get a piece. “Is he nervous that he won’t make much?”

Bakugo clicks his teeth, interlocking his hands across his midsection and getting comfortable. “He really hasn’t got a fucking clue. The HPSC schmuck I’ve got to talk to today has already suggested extra security in case certain high profile guests get resentful,” he says. Crimson peeks through narrowed eyes, considering, calculating. “Are you gonna go? You’re looking steady enough”.

The last Bakugo had seen of him was directly after the incident—crumpled into the fetal postion and involuntarily spasming with six second intervals. Unable to speak, to walk, to turn his head. Worst case scenario presented on scene was that he could lose the ability to function at all, and Shouto had been thrown into a pit of depression so oppressive that he withdrew from himself all together.

There’s an underlying relief in Bakugo’s question that comforts him in ways he wasn't aware he’d been seeking. Pleased, Shouto drags his crutch between his thighs and twists at the padding around the handle. “I’ll be in attendance. I plan on bidding on a few things. David Shield’s original design sketches maybe,” he admits. “…Will ‘maestro’ be there?”

Bakugo seems to parse the response carefully, as if it cracked open a hole into Shouto’s psyche. “Izuku is shooting for those, you know. I’m the one that’s gotta deal with him cryin’ if he loses”.

“I know,” Shouto’s mouth splits in a wry, intentional smile. “If I’m not outbid then I’m happy to give him whatever I win”.

“Shill bidding? Ha. Izuku never believes me when I tell him you’re secretly a dick,” Bakugo smirks. A thought visibly crosses his mind. He props his elbow on the arm of his chair, chin resting in his palm and considering Shouto closely. “…My PA will be there for the auction. Working. So if you show me up—”

“I won’t,” Shouto interjects.

“—I will see you to the pearly gates myself,” Bakugo continues, unperturbed. There’s no true malice to his tone, moreso fond resignation, and Shouto’s chest bubbles with affection for his hard headed friend.

“That’s nice of you,” he says sincerely.

“Get fucked. You want an update on the cases we opened this week or did you seriously come here just to annoy me?”

“To annoy you, mostly,” Shouto ducks away from the hand that swiped at him. “Hawks forwarded me the arrest report. Tremor ended up going for a plea deal?”

“Yeah. Sold out the extras that helped him gather the hostages,” a forceful click of the keyboard; Bakugo slaps the spacebar to wake his monitor and makes clear his disapproval. “They went too fuckin’ easy on him,” he sneers. “Deserved a longer sentence”.

“As long as they’re off the streets,” Shouto muses. He isn’t one to hold a grudge against villains who’ve harmed him, but he can understand his friends' frustration. Had it been Bakugo or Midoriya, Shouto too wouldn’t be so quick to accept this outcome.

The gentle light flooding through the office windows recedes a fraction as a dense cloud covers the sun. His visit to the Blast Zone is but a blip of time, cut short by the foreboding ring from Bakugo’s emergency pager. He’s up and moving immediately, routine woven into him like muscle memory, and Shouto can’t help feeling jealous.

Under the door to his office, Bakugo clears his throat. He cocks his head toward the impending rain, “You need me to have someone drive you home?” And appears to regret it right away as Shouto smiles up at him, touched by the suggestion.

“No, thanks but I’ll be fine,” he waves off. Bakugo departs with a grunt, demanding he take an umbrella from the receptionist, because who doesn’t check the weather before they leave the house. The thud of his work boots reverberate off the walls as he disappears around a sharp corner, and Shouto shifts in the residual silence.

He takes out his phone as he pushes upright on his crutch; a habit rather than necessity. You haven’t messaged him since before your paths crossed—though you wouldn’t know that. He sighs. A niggling guilt has burrowed into his chest but it remains largely outweighed by his impatience.

Employees greet him on his short journey to the lift he arrived in. Bowing their heads, evoking his name with appreciation and awe while he’s scanning the space for signs of you. It’s a fruitless affair. Coming up short he steps inside, frown etched into his brow, and presses the ground floor button.

The speaker alerts him that the doors are about to close. He turns on his heel, leaning a hand on the support bar. Looking up from his shoes his eyes fall on your figure. You’ve stepped out from one of the closed off rooms, thumb tapping away at the phone in your hand. Shouto swallows, watching his own with trepidation.

Sensing a heavy gaze your eyes flicker to meet him at the last second, contact through the crack right as it shuts. He can hardly think. If this were a scene in Quirky Hearts he thinks he might just cast aside his dignity and sprint up the fire escape to confront you. The mere idea has heat simmering under his skin; it makes him want to fold himself into singularity. Shouto, a top five hero, a sword without ire.

Waiting dutifully, the receptionist hands him an umbrella from behind the staff desk. He squints at her name tag, muttering “Thank you, Akiyama-san” while he tucks the umbrella under his arm, deigning to mention the murky blueish blush that floods her skin, those pupil-less eyes shimmering. Shouto pulls his mask up over his nose, breath warming his cheeks, and takes a moment to observe the street.

Throngs of people scurry along the pavements to get away from the unforgiving chill. Raindrops can become a thousand paper cuts when the wind wills it. Afternoon starters amble into the lobby with wet shoulders. In his departure nobody so much as looks his way.

Sooba ▻ Hope you didn’t forget an umbrella today. Stay warm.

His thumb stopped mid-air, right above the “send” button. Sparing a lasting glance to the upper floors, Shouto quickly presses it, pockets his phone and opens up the umbrella. Stepping into the storm white noise fills his ears, tapping harshly on the PVC canopy over him.

Shouto tugs his jacket closer to his chest. The pavements are soaked, water fed into the uprooted cracks. He threads through the moving bodies back toward the station. With the streets overcast he feels better concealed.

A train is already waiting at the platform, decorated in yellow. The colour identifies it as a slow running train, taking the local stops route rather than the rapid one. He hides in his collar and stands in the corner of the carriage, umbrella collapsed and hooked over his wrist.

Six stops later—rather than three—and Shouto is closer to home. In the time it took to reach his street the rain had thinned out, now a sparse sun shower as the clouds pushed eastward.

Nori yells accusingly the very second his key slots into the door. He turns the lock and pushes it open, holding out his foot to keep her from rushing past. “I know, I know. I’m sorry sweet girl,” he scratched her head while bent to line up his shoes. “I missed you too. Bakugo said ‘hi’”.

She mewls and circles in place on her delicate paws, flicking her tail at him. Shouto takes it as forgiveness. “I think I met someone special today,” he recites to her, “The one I told you about…”

Stopping in the middle of his warm apartment, Shouto becomes unbearably aware of how damp his clothes are. He fishes his phone and wallet out from his pockets and sets them on the kitchen island before padding toward the bathroom.

A thorough rinse and long soak later, Shouto sprawls himself across his couch, phone laid on his chest and arm hung loosely over the edge while Nori plays with his fingers. She clings to his forearm as he cups her full belly, lazily dragging her back and forth across the floor.

He’s sipping on the mouth of his water bottle, mindlessly watching as Aki-or-something begs for Saeko-or-other to take him back after going on a date with another contestant, when your messages come through on Enigmail.

InsertNameHere ▻ Guess what happened today ▻ Saw Pro Hero Shouto at work. ▻ I think he might hate me? lol

Shouto inhales sharply, choking on his mouthful of water. Tears prickle behind his eyes as his diaphragm spasms, and he tries to catch his breath, fist thudding at his chest. Oscillating between mortification and delight—it really had been you.

Sooba ▻ Why would you think he hates you?

InsertNameHere ▻ I left an awful impression. And he looked at me like this (⊙＿⊙’) the whole time.

Heat burns at his nape; embarrassment spilling over into every crevice of his body. The air around him distorts and he exhales, steam curling from his lips. Nori watches on from the floor in fascination, sparing no sympathy. Maybe Bakugo had a point.

Sooba ▻ Maybe that’s just his face.

InsertNameHere ▻ Maybe… ▻ It is a pretty face though. Prettier in person.

Shouto feels all the air deflate from his body. He sinks into the couch, head lolling against his shoulder as he turns to press a grin into the cushions, gripped by a sudden rush of endorphins. It had been you. You’re real. More importantly, you are attainable.

Now did he want to do anything about it?

Sooba ▻ You think so??

The typing dots bounce along the chat room border as you reply.

InsertNameHere ▻ I know so. I was there. Beautiful even when he is staring right through me (￣ロ￣lll)

The memory of you speaking his name echoes like a broken record. He has yet to tire of it. Though he’s lightheaded and hazy, your features are still clear in his mind. The sure fire in your eyes, your sharp tongue and your pouty lips. A slow, warm tension trickles into his gut, swooping in anticipation and breathless longing as he imagines the face you might make if he touched you.

Sooba ▻ That’s presumptuous. He was staring at you. Why wouldn’t he be

InsertNameHere ▻ I. ▻ You’re so unfair you know that ▻ If you were here I would

His breathing picks up ever so slightly.

Sooba ▻ What would you do with me

InsertNameHere ▻ Are we veering into sexting territory right now

Sooba ▻ Unintentionally.

Shouto shifts his hips. The movement pulls his sweatpants tighter around his hips and a familiar tingling rushes below his waist. When was the last time he touched himself? He brings the phone to his forehead for a moment of clarity, peering up at the screen through his eyelashes.

InsertNameHere ▻ Is this the part where we come full circle and you actually send me a dick pic

He tucks his chin, a lazy smile playing on his lips. The gentle throb in his briefs pulses throughout his body and he answers, reaching to squeeze himself through the fabric, just for relief.

Nori sneezes. He falters, reminded of her presence and overcome by the urge to cover up. Proverbial tail between his legs, Shouto retreats to the privacy of his bedroom, shutting the door with a quiet click. Evening filters in through the windows, mauve and rosy. He kneels on the bed and it yields under his weight, frame silent while he crawls to the headboard and reclines back, phone in hand.

▻ Shit, sorry. I was joking you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to

The message goes over his head. He opens the front camera and stares back at his flushed, disheveled face before tilting the device, angling it toward his body.

Frosted fingertips trail up his stomach and it jumps, laying the hem of his shirt across his chest. Down again to the fine dark hair below his belly button, goosebumps rising across skin, blood rushing to the surface. Hooks his thumb suggestively into his waistband, hand splayed across his hip, and takes the photo.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_628] ▻ I want to

Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Abuzz with salacious apprehension he wonders what would it sound like above him? Under him? Breath knocked from your lungs, whining through the motions. He traces the outline of his clock. Covers his eyes with the crook of his arm and releases a shuddered breath, hips rising into the heel of his hand. A hand too big to be yours. Sweatpants pushed halfway down his thighs he pictured it anyway—you laid on your side, at his side, loose fist stroking him root to weeping tip.

Shouto thumbs at the head, smearing precum over his sensitive frenulum. Panting heavier, he squeezes his cock and wonders, would you tease him? Lick into his mouth and tell him not to be quiet?

The phone in his hand buzzes. Anticipation grips his heart. He almost drops it on his face when he squints up to read the screen.

InsertNameHere ▻ Fuck. You’re so gorgeous ▻ I can’t concentrate

Sooba ▻ You like it?

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll show you how much ▻ [IMG_447]

Heat races through him. You’re in a loose tank top, touching yourself over pale boyshorts. The dark straps have fallen around your shoulders in an almost demure manner, collar slipping forward to reveal the soft cleavage of your chest. You’ve mirrored his position, albeit a little higher, enough for your mouth to be in frame. Wet and rouge, if he thinks hard enough he can imagine he left them kiss bitten.

Sooba ▻ I want to touch you

He’s desperate to know what you like. The way you want to be touched, how you might yield under his wandering hands. Patterns dance behind his eyelids as he reaches to knead his pecs, pinching the pert nipple with a breathy moan. He smooths over his abdomen, corded muscle tensing beneath the added sensation, arousal coiling hot in his belly.

InsertNameHere ▻ Touch yourself for me instead, yeah? ▻ Gonna think about you too

“Fuck,” he chokes. Shouto loses his phone amongst the sheets. Feet planted flat to the mattress, his knees spread until the waistband protests. “Please. Please. I’m so close,” he whispers to the image in his mind. His pace stutters, feverish as he fucks his fist. Your lips brush soft along the column of his throat to feel him swallow. He turns into the pillow, mouth parted for heaving breath.

“That’s it Shouto. So beautiful for me,” you’ll murmur, so at home in the crook of his body. Amidst the desperation you’ll straddle his thigh, rhythm synchronized, chests rising. Your hand—his hand—slips further, fingers curled to press up behind his balls. He’s on fire. “Cum for me, baby. Let me see you cum”.

Shouto’s head tips back into the plush of his pillow, every muscle clenched. Pleasure rockets through him. His cock twitches in his grasp. He cums with a strung out moan, breaking into short, wet pants as he catches his breath.

Riding the gentle aftershocks, his arm falls heavily to the side and hits his bedsheets with a quiet thud. The smell of old petrichor blows into his room with the draft draws his attention to the darkened window. Streaks of gold sunlight peak between the buildings across the street where it settles under the horizon.

The stickiness between his fingers is difficult to ignore. Drying steadily on his chest. Reality returns to him slowly as he stares at his soiled hand. After cleaning himself up with the wipes in his bedside table, Shouto tugs up his sweatpants and rubs at the pink splotches leading up his throat. With clarity comes a vague haze of shame and he is loudly alone; something vibrates and he is anything but lonely. He lifts his head, rummaging through the sheets to find his phone.

InsertNameHere ▻ Want you to feel good ▻ You there baby? ▻ Sooba? ▻ Hm. That’s not the sexiest of names

Shouto laughed through his nose. Endeared by your awkward jump from flirting to nervously making up for a perceived misstep.

Sooba ▻ sorry can’t multitask ▻ shouldnt make fun of your house husbands name

Exiting his bedroom is uncomfortably close to a wall of shame. He drags his feet; gait unsteady for far nicer reasons than a near career ending injury. Nori has acquired his spot on the couch, retaining warmth in his absence. She observes him, all knowing.

InsertNameHere ▻ No capitalised letters? Punctuation? What have you done with my Sooba lol ▻ How are you feeling?

Sooba ▻ really good. sleepy

He wanders to the kitchen and dithers over his next message, leaning his forearms on the cool countertop. This fleeting, unintended conversation could change everything and that fact is starting to nag at him.

▻ what about you

InsertNameHere ▻ I feel really good. And sleepy <3

The implication is not lost on him. He chews his bottom lip, flustered at just how pleased that makes him.

The next burst of chat bubbles appear in an instant, one after another. Typed hastily as though to outrun your own apprehension.

▻ Can I ask you something? ▻ Did you mean it when you said you’d come to the event with me? ▻ I have a plus one. I want to see you. But you don’t have to

Shouto swallows. Tugged between elation and fear. You’ve become all he yearns for and you could be just that, his, yet he panics all the same. Heroism had consistently been his lacquered shield. An excuse for his self isolation that people had to begrudgingly accept. Working himself to the bone afforded the luxury of never having to dwell on it.

Exhaustion aside he was content with the humdrum life he hid behind. Before you, Shouto rarely wanted for anything. He had his family, and good friends, and a job that felt rewarding; it didn’t seem worth it to lay himself bare and be dissected on the off chance that someone new might love him.

Because hectic work and risks aside, he’s profoundly aware of the ghosts he has yet to conquer. That somewhere, there is something fundamentally different inside him that you might find disappointing.

Unthinkingly, Shouto grapples with the courage in him existing on the fringes and replies in much the same way you had.

Sooba ▻ I meant it. I want to see you too. ▻ I’d like to go with you ▻ Don’t worry about a plus one. I’ll meet you there

InsertNameHere ▻ Wow, okay. That was easier than I thought. I’m so excited ▻ And super nervous

As it turns out the impending date motivates Shouto like nothing before. Days pass without fault or interruption. The man-shaped dent in his couch rises without the constant weight. He sticks closely to the routine his physiotherapist drew up for him. Walks longer distances and soaks up the sun daily, to Tsutomu’s great delight.

Too wrapped up in his own coalesced anxiety and elation, he realises he hadn’t found it remotely odd that you hadn’t questioned his ability to get into the auction.

His train of thought is interrupted by a firm hand coming down on his shoulder. “Man of the hour!” A familiar sharp toothed grin blocks his vision. Shouto clenches under the sudden weight to keep himself upright as Kirishima gives him a shake, “We missed you around here. You’re looking good!”

The charity event is in full swing. An anticipatory lull permeates the atmosphere as the chosen guests, heroes and civilians alike, wait for the auction to finally begin. Shouto arrived fashionably late, as Mina called it, after spending nearly three hours on a group call with her, Yaoyorozu, and his sister.

The applause upon his entry had not been expected. His palms are still clammy.

Compared to Shouto's charcoal three piece suit, tailored to precision, Kirishima dons a charmingly loud burgundy blazer over a dark turtleneck, pulled together by a simple chain. The material is tight across his broad shoulders. “Thank you, Kirishima,” Shouto smiles. He looks him over, “You look good too”.

That signature grin grows weary. “You really think so?” Kirishima lowers his voice into a hush, tugging at the loose hair framing his face. “I wasn’t so sure about tying my hair back. What if nobody bids for me? I’m dying inside just thinking about it”.

Shouto turns away from the sea of vibrant clothing and chatter to pat his friend on the arm and level him with a serious look. “A lot of people are going to spend money on you tonight, Kirishima. But in the impossible event that they don’t I’ll bid on you myself,” he tells him. “We can go to Mythoscape and try that new rollercoaster”.

“Bro…” Kirishima’s eyes are wide and glassy. While Shouto expects the firm hug, he is mildly surprised by the long, dramatic kiss to his cheek. His breath smells faintly of white wine. “You’re the best,” he continues as he sets Shouto back on his feet. “But is it really okay for you to do that?”

A flash goes off. Shouto frowns. He scans the crowd and rubs away the wet mark left behind. Yaoyorozu catches his attention with a delicate wave from her place beside Kendo and Uraraka. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, smiling back, yet distracted. You’re still nowhere to be found.

“Well,” Kirishima draws breath through his teeth. “Bakugo kinda told me about your crush on his PA,” whatever he sees pass over Shouto’s expression has him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck and scrambling to explain. “Nothing bad, man! You know he actually seemed pretty approving of it, in his own way”.

The evermoving mass of bodies sharpens around a few other familiar faces. Midoriya is excitedly gesticulating as he rambles to a visibly overwhelmed HSPC shareholder. Bakugo watches the interaction with no intention of concealing his amusement.

“I’m not sure about that,” Shouto rasps, narrowing his eyes at the man in question, like the pressure behind it might be enough to elicit his attention. Bakugo of all the people here would know where you are. The phone snug in his inside blazer pocket remains silent. A pout works its way onto his lips before he can stop it. “He said I’m bad at flirting”.

Kirishima stifles a laugh and clears his throat when Shouto directs the petulant glare to him. “You are a little bad at it. But only when you’re actually trying! And even then that’s part of what makes it charming, y’know?”

“No, I don’t know”.

“You’re the type to flirt without realising you’re doing it—or atleast people think you are, because you’re handsome and attentive and whatnot. But when you try it’s kinda obvious and bro, please stop looking at me like that,” Kirishima explains clumsily, tone pitching higher the longer he talks.

Shouto’s lips thin as he tries to suppress a smirk. He rights himself as Kirishima nudges his side, catching a smile of his own, “What I meant is you have a chance. And Bakubro thinks so too. He wants you to be happy”.

The sentiment warms him from the inside out. But it also makes apparent something trepid and cold in his gut. Regardless of his friends unfettered support there remains the real possibility that he will be rejected. That you will be disappointed or scared away by his status. That you could do as you please with the intimate parts of his life ‘Sooba’ gave you.

Scarier is the hope that you won’t.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Shouto announces, noticing Endeavor prowling around in his peripheral vision. Kirishima’s brow furrows, mouth parted in confusion, no doubt seeking to reassure him. “I’m okay, Kirishima. I just need something to do with my hands”.

“Alright,” the taller man murmurs. Shouto finds himself at the end of a gentle smile once more. “Make sure to say ‘hi’ to Denks if you see him. He misses you too”.

“I will,” Shouto nods, ducking away from the inexpressible tenderness that has clung to him since stepping into the hall. People part to allow him through. His left leg has already begun to feel weak, not enough to worry but enough to notice, and he hopes he can later blame his gait on the alcohol.

He reaches the bar and wrinkles his nose at the thick amalgamation of perfume, body odour and over-applied cologne. The bartender slides up to him. “Umeshu, please,” he says. “On the rocks”.

Another body settles beside him. He shifts to accommodate them but doesn’t look; too distracted as he inhales deeply through his nose and exhales long out his mouth to allay his beating heart. Pulling his phone out from his inside pocket, the screen lights up and he finds it void of messages.

After the… sexting, things had been fine. Better in a lot of ways. You both felt emboldened to truly act on your feelings. Sharing more pictures, secrets—though never your names—and laughter. It is disconcerting that you would now go silent.

The bartender sets his drink down and Shouto quietly gives his thanks, bringing it to his face, briefly caught in the soft glimmer, cubed ice submerged in liquid gold, tasting the sweet aroma at the back of his throat. He tips it back and drinks.

As the glass hits the surface once more, the person next to him softly asks, “Are you waiting on anyone?”

And his mouth goes dry.

You’re bracing on crossed arms, watching him closely. Speckled in the warm low light reflected on the bar, you are more beautiful than he remembers, and just as nervous. There’s an air of uncertainty about you that shifts as your eyes meet, faint but palpable, encouraged by what he can imagine is the wonder on his own face.

Shouto wets his lips. The plum taste lingers on his tongue. “…I might be,” he murmurs. You brighten at his reciprocation, a more charged kind of nervous—the kind that swoops low in your belly right before you take a leap.

“If I’m wrong don’t laugh and don’t tell Dynamite,” you turn to face him and smooth your hands over your hips. This allows him a better look at your attire. Silken fabrics that form gentle lines around the waist, loose but elegantly so, not in a way that the clothes wear you.

Your eyes dipped low, averted to avoid his stare. He cannot seem to direct it anywhere else. The auction has fallen away in its entirety. As far as Shouto is concerned there’s only you.

“It’s me. And you’re…Sooba?”

The tremble in your voice shrikes through him and it occurs to Shouto that you have always been the brave one.

He leans into your space, enjoying the way you quickly draw breath at his proximity, forced to meet his gaze. Rather than something remotely suave or cool, he dumbly asks, “You knew?”

Part of him wants to tuck his shoulders to his ears as you begin to laugh. They’re warm, undoubtedly red. Amusement is not at all what he prepared for. He thought this might all end up in his scrapbook memory, to be taken out and pined over now and then.

“Shouto-san with all due respect, you came to my workplace with your very recognisable crutches and stared at me like a deer in headlights”.

“Shouto,” he says.

Your laughter simmers, “Hm?”

“Just call me Shouto,” he tells you, equal parts relieved and embarrassed.

“Shouto,” you smile at him with a fondness that derails his thoughts. He has the vague urge to whine when it wanes. “I’m—I really am sorry I didn’t tell you. I swear I didn’t know until after you visited the agency. It all made sense after I looked up your socials and saw some old pictures of Nori”.

“It’s alright. I knew and didn’t say anything either,” Shouto inclines his head, abashed. Then with a sudden sharp sort of clarity, he continues, “So then you knew, when you asked for a dick—?”

Words evade him under the warm press of your hand as you quickly cover his mouth. You glance around the room, closer than before, and you don’t seem to realise. Cautious, he touches your waist; he puckers his lips to kiss your palm; he feels your stomach jump under the silky fabrics.

Your eyes darken, swallowed by pupil. “You’re a menace,” you simper, and reluctantly pull away. “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere with less…cameras”.

Umeshu abandoned, Shouto wraps an arm around your lower back and allows you to direct him through the crowd. You weave through the moving bodies like thread through a needle, at one point reaching behind to take his wrist, becoming his tether.

Bakugo meets his gaze from across the room. His eyes flit to you, widening in surprise. Shouto flashes a boyish grin before disappearing through the side door.

The door you choose next opens to a private bathroom. Shouto surges forward, taking you by the hips and crowding you against the bathroom counter, overcome by the need to feel everything that you are pressing into everything that is him.

He kicks the door behind him and settles in the clutch of your thighs as you scramble to balance on the marble edge. Your hands slide over his shoulders, splaying over each cheek. You’re both breathing heavily despite having done nothing at all.

“I said talk,” you remind him with a tremulous smile. Shouto knows you’re being playful. He apologises anyway; rests his head in the crook of your neck, letting the moment simmer, and you comb through his hair with your fingers. A shiver rolls down his spine.

“Did you know it was me? Before you came to the agency, I mean”.

He reclines from his crook to look at you. Eye level, silhouetted by the cheap bathroom luminescence. “When I saw you in there—and put it together I was so scared,” you continued.

“Scared?” he echoed with a frown, knuckles brushing your cheek.

“Not like that. I was scared of what you might think,” you turn into his caress and his pinched expression falls away. He can’t stop touching you and he can’t bring himself to be sorry about it. “I mean, I looked terrible that day, and you appeared out of nowhere and I wasn’t mad it was you. I was just…”

You swallow thickly, emotion swelling in your eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners. “You’re so big and bright. I didn’t want you to be disappointed”.

You were unaware of it—the profound cord you struck within him. How even in anonymity, your incorporeal fingers always seemed to find it. Even now, as you echo his own fears.

“Momo first mentioned you might work for Bakugo. I didn’t know before I saw you that day. I still wasn’t certain until tonight”. You peer at him through your lashes then, listening intently. He brings your foreheads together and tells you, “There is no way you could’ve disappointed me”.

“Oh? I could’ve been a villain”.

“My oldest brother was a villain,” he monotoned, wandering hands squeezing intermittently at your waist as though to make sure you’re still there. “My capacity for love and forgiveness knows no bounds”.

You snort. The sound is abrupt and the force knocks your skulls together. “Oh—ow,” he grins, insides melting. Together you dissolve into a warm fit of laughter.

“Hey, Shouto?”

He hums in acknowledgment, eyes fluttering as your thumb swipes over the red mark below his hairline. “I like you,” you murmur. “I like you so much it’s stupid”.

Plunged into an ice cold realisation, Shouto freezes to process your words. “You—like me?”

“Yeah?” you said it like he was dense, like it was clear all along. “I can’t help it when you’re so…yourself”

And isn’t that all he’s ever wanted? To be loved without pretense, without a winner. To be special to someone for no special reason.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Me too. I like you. I want—” his fingers flex at your hips, grounding. He blinks. “I don’t know your name yet”.

Affection colours your features. Shouto likes you best like this—sure of yourself, of his feelings for you. You recite your name. He repeats it endlessly in his mind and rolls it around his teeth. He calls to you even when you’re right in front of him.

“Can I kiss you now?”

“You were waiting?” you laugh, tucking his hair behind his ear. It’s such a novel thing but it makes something monumental swell in his chest. “Kiss me. I want you to”.

Given permission, Shouto traces the curve of your jaw with a bold shyness, from the sensitive skin below your ear to your chin. His finger hooks beneath. You’re lovely. He thinks he could spend an hour describing your demure half smile, how your lips yield under the light pressure of his thumb; your tongue darting out reflexively.

He shakes at the desire that fills him. He’s not used to it—this wanting. It feels like a thousand insatiable butterflies in his chest. Dipping into your magnetism, his heart beat faster and faster with the simple brush of your lips. He kissed you, innocent and honest, and then he kissed you again, licking the seam of your mouth, arms coiling around your middle as you cling to him.

You tip forward. Your thighs clench at his waist and drag him impossibly close. It brings you chest to chest. He tries to hold you steadfast as your hand wraps around his nape, softly scratching his scalp; he feels you smile against his lips when he shudders.

You break for air. Arousal shoots through him at your half moan, the sound tapering into a happy hum the instant his lips trail down your neck, tasting your pulse before making his way down to your exposed collar. He peppers kiss after kiss on every swathe of skin he can reach, sinking teeth into every little reaction you give him.

Big hands at your lower back arch your body into his. You yield, tension sapped from your limbs, grappling his shoulders to keep yourself from falling while you grind down on his lap. Shouto groans, grip slipping lower to cup your ass.

“We’re getting carried away,” you gasp between kisses. That alone was obvious. His cock strains uselessly in his suit pants. But the light glints tantalisingly along your mouth, swollen and wet with saliva. Shouto kisses you again so you won’t have to tell him to attend to his responsibilities.

A warm breath scores his cheek as you huff through your nose, nipping firmly at his lower lip. “I mean it. I am technically still at work,” you try again, voice lacking strength. “Dynamite will knock on every door in this building—don’t wrinkle your nose, you know I’m right”.

“Alright. I know,” he rasps, barely an exhale. It takes all his willpower to pull away. He steadies you on your feet, smoothing out the creases in your formal attire while you are quite pleased to simply watch on as he adjusts himself in his pants. “I’m glad my suffering is funny to you”.

“Don’t be dramatic,” you murmur, pecking the corner of his mouth. “I'll hide with you in the corner like I promised I would. We can make up for lost time after the auction. You know. The one for charity”.

Shouto hums and reaches for the door, knowing you’ve won. “Oh. I told Kirishima I’d bid for his date night,” he recalls as he turns the handle. “Would that bother you?”

“Of course not baby,” you reply and take one last look at your reflection, less disheveled than before. The endearment ‘baby’ almost has him walking into the doorframe.

You straighten up. Shouto thinks he must look incredibly dumbstruck, if your concerned expression is any indication. “You okay?” you ask, proffering your hand. “You didn’t bring your crutches tonight, did you?”

“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” he intertwines your fingers, dizzy as you squeeze around him.

“It’s just a tremor”.

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

2K notes · View notes

figonas · 1 year ago

Text

I’m sorry but you all aren’t listening, lyctorhood itself is not the “indelible sin” and you can pry this theory from my cold dead hands, honestly, maybe not even then. TazMuir herself could not dissuade me until she explicitly tells me otherwise. My proof for this you ask? Pyrrha’s conversation with Varun in NtN chapter 9.

But let’s backtrack for a second. John has stated that the resurrection beasts are after him and the lyctors for committing the indelible sin of lyctorhood, and as such the lyctors can never return to the Dominican System for fear of drawing the RBs back to the Nine Houses. I’ve never believed this was true given the fact that John is always the greatest common denominator when it comes to the presence of an RB and there’s no mention of an RB going after a lone lyctor. Sure, lyctors have been killed fighting resurrection beasts but there’s a huge difference between being caught in the crossfire and starting a firefight. For me, Nona the Ninth only reinforced that what we’ve been told is the “indelible sin” is either John misunderstanding the RBs (doubtful) or lying for his own purposes (more likely).

In chapter 9 of NtN, Nona recounts the story of her disastrous beach trip and towards the end of this recitation Nona says that Pyrrha;

“…crossed to the taped-up window, bottle and glass in hand. To Nona’s awe, she twitched the blackout curtains aside—stood bathed in the hyper-blue light from the sky as Nona held her breath—and she said to the window, “Here’s to Camilla Hect, yet another of devotion’s casualties,” and knocked back the glass. Then she said to the light, quite gently, “No, I don’t blame you, man … He was always looking for things to throw himself on.”

Pyrrha stands in front of Nona, bathed in the light of Varun the Eater, and proceeds to have a conversation with it. We only get one side but based on the context of the last line, “No, I don’t blame you, man … He was always looking for things to throw himself on.” Varun seemingly apologizes to Pyrrha for killing G1deon. It’s proven later on in the book that Varun can speak to Nona, and while it could be argued that since G1deon is dead and his soul is gone the “indelible sin” has been undone this still begs the question; why would the punisher apologize to the sinner?

If Varun and the other RBs are hunting the lyctors to dole out justice for their sins why would they apologize for doing the very thing they sought to do unless that wasn’t their true intent. The “indelible sin” is not the consumption of another soul, it is the consumption of a specific soul. It is John taking Alecto into himself, not being able to house all of her and instead making an exchange. Housing a piece of her in him, and a piece of him in her. Splintering the soul of a great and terrible force into manageable parts. Which explains Varun’s ominous presence hanging over the planet in the first place.

If RBs are hunting Lyctors there are no lyctors on this planet. Palamedes has not consumed Camilla’s soul, G1deon is gone, Harrow is in the River, Gideon is thumbtacked to her dead body, the only soul of any significance to Varun is Nona. Later on in chapter 13 Varun, by way of Judith, says to Nona;

“…what they did to you and what they wrung from you and what shape they made you fill—we see you still—we seek you still—we murdered—we who murder—you inadvertent tool—you misused green thing—come back to us—take vengeance for us—we saw you—we see you—I see you.”

And in chapter 27,

“….what did he do to you, to make you this way.”

What did HE do to you!!! what did HE do to YOU!! To give John credit he doesn’t deserve he may not realize it himself but the RBs have been looking for Alecto this whole time. They don’t want the lyctors, they want what John stole, they want the piece of Alecto inside of him. Want to make her whole again, their misused green thing. She’s almost there. She has her piece back from harrow’s body, united with the piece of her hidden in the locked tomb. She only has 1 piece left to collect. And god knows what will happen when the green and breathing thing is whole once again.

#the locked tomb #Nona the ninth #john gaius #alecto the first #tlt #tlt theories #this has been rattling around in my brain since Gideon the Ninth #John’s explanation of the RBs just doesn’t add up #and you know he has to be lying about it because he straight up lies to Harrow about the number of RBs in HtN

3K notes · View notes

hd-junglebook · 6 months ago

Text

"Hey Sugar"

-said with rizz

Luke Hughes x F!Reader, Trevor Zegras x Reader (platonic)

Masterlist Link

a:n Now we're delving into some of the drama. I have so much planned for Luke, so I hope everyone's excited. I will be posting a little 'announcement' later today to see what work you want from me next.

Warnings: throuple jumpscare, flirting, maybe cursing, suggestive flirting, nausea/vomiting, arguing

Summary: Luke's brother Jack arrives with friends, and a misunderstanding about you and Luke being engaged unsettles you. You long for Luke to clarify the situation, but he doesn't. When Luke suggests slipping away together for a bit, you're torn between giving in to your desire for him or protecting your peace.

Word Count - 3774

Part 3

Two agonizing days had passed since the disastrous dinner, and the volatility raging through your system showed no signs of abating. If anything, the jarring mood swings and bouts of nausea seemed to intensify with each lurching hour.

One moment, you'd be curled in a tight, miserable ball on Luke's rumpled sheets - stomach cramping viciously as you fought back waves of queasiness. The next, an irrational spike of anger would crest within you, bitter resentments and grievances spilling forth in a blistering torrent aimed at anyone within blast radius.

Poor Luke had borne the brunt of your mercurial temper more than once over the past couple days. You still cringed inwardly at the snippets of venom that replayed through your mind...the unfair accusations and white-hot outbursts detonated at even his mildest gestures of concern.

Yet, despite the vitriolic lashings, the man remained a stalwart presence at your side - steadfast and seemingly undaunted in the face of your hormonal cyclone. As if determined to simply weather the tumult until it passed, Luke took each scorching barb with stoic poise before eventually gathering you into the protective circle of his powerful arms.

It was there, cocooned in his solid warmth with his soothing baritone rumbling through your quaking frame, that you found fleeting moments of reprieve from the flames. Until, inevitably, the fires would rage anew - sparking from some unknowable origin deep within you.

This morning appeared to be no exception as the first fingers of dawn spilled buttery light across Luke's titanium sheets. You squinted against the pale glow filtering through the parted blinds, feeling that telltale cramp already blossoming in your lower belly. A low moan slipped unbidden past your lips as you instinctively curled into a tighter ball, dreading the hell to come.

In the periphery of your vision, Luke's massive frame shifted almost imperceptibly - the steady rise and fall of his sculpted torso indicating he still clung to the final wisps of slumber. A rueful smile tugged at your lips as you watched the slight furrow materializing between his brows, no doubt registering your fitful stirrings on a subconscious level.

Sure enough, those ridiculously thick lashes began to flutter in the next breath.

You tensed in anticipation as Luke's searing browns slowly blinked into awareness, searching your side of the bed with instinctual concern. When his hooded gaze finally landed on your hunched form, his features contorted into an achingly tender look of understanding.

"Hey..." The graveled endearment was little more than a whisper as Luke shifted onto his side to fully face you. "Another rough one, huh?"

You could only nod tightly, jaw clenched against the impending cramp as you focused on his beloved face. Luke regarded you with those piercing brown pools for a weighty moment, seeming to assess if reassurances or remonstrations would be required for this particular flare-up. When your expression remained pinched with stoic endurance, he simply sighed and extended one arm in mute invitation.

The profound relief that blossomed in your chest was instantaneous and overwhelming. Without a second thought, you surged into the solid warmth of Luke's bare torso - shamelessly seeking the grounding familiarity of his scorching skin against yours.

He didn't hesitate to accommodate, muscles flexing fluidly as he secured you against the powerful cage of his chest. You sagged gratefully into the protective cradle of his unyielding frame, drawing solace from the reassuring lub-dub of Luke's heart reverberating against your cheek.

Potent arms like towers of steel encircled you, one corded forearm cushioning the tender dip of your waist while the other smoothed over the rigid line of your shoulders in broad sweeps.

As always, Luke lent his steadfast strength without reservation or expectation - merely offering the uncompromising bastion of his body to weather your internal squalls.

You focused on the smoldering brand of his touch, allowing the cadence of Luke's respiration and the exquisite familiarity of his clean, male musk to sweep you under like a balmy riptide.

There would be time later for confusion, for interrogation over these distressing symptoms plaguing both body and spirit. For now, surrendering to the sanctuary of this man's healing embrace was the only sensible form of self-preservation.

…

Two hours had passed, and you felt it was time to get up. You walked around the room, gathering your clothes scattered haphazardly across the floor. Luke's rich baritone reached you from the rumpled bed. "Where you goin', gorgeous?"

Pausing, you shot him a glance over one shoulder, taking in his tousled bedhead and sleep-swollen features. "I'm gonna go talk to Jess. I'm tired of rotting up here, you know?"

Luke regarded you steadily for a beat before giving a slight nod, seemingly accepting your need to rejoin the world beyond these four walls.

"Don't take too long to come down, okay?"

The gentle plea beneath your somber tone wasn't lost on him. It caused a small, reassuring curl to unfurl in your chest as you offered a tight smile.

"I won't."

Then you were shouldering out of the bedroom, pulling on clothes with clumsy motions as you made your way down the hall. The hushed cadence of voices soon reached your ears, and you followed the murmurs into the open living room area - freezing at the scene playing out before you.

In one corner, Jessica and Maggy were engaged in what looked to be a heated exchange - their body language taut and confrontational as they traded heated whispers. You watched with a growing frown as Maggy gestured emphatically, clearly trying to make a point.

"I don't know how you expect this to work out, Jess," she hissed, slicing one hand through the air. "We both like him. He's either gonna choose one of us with your stupid ultimatum, or we can both be happy!"

Jessica scoffed loudly at that, tossing her silk tresses as her eyes flashed with indignation. "Don't give me that 'we can all be happy' bullshit, Mags! Trevor deserves more than being passed back and forth."

As their heated words escalated, you realized with a jolt that the object of their dispute was conspicuously absent. Scanning the cavernous living area revealed no sign of Trevor anywhere in the fallout radius of their confrontation.

It wasn't until you turned again that you finally spotted him - a hunched, dejected figure tucked in the far corner beside the hearth. His hulking frame seemed to radiate naked defeat as Jessica and Maggy's scathing tirades washed over him.

The swell of pity and protectiveness that bloomed in your chest was visceral. How could any of you have let things deteriorate to this point? Trevor was the kindest, most tender-hearted soul you knew. He didn't deserve to be torn asunder by your dysfunctional dynamic.

You took an instinctive step towards him, intent on extracting him from this torture. But before you could cross the distance, Trevor lifted his gaze to yours - and the breath punched from your lungs in a soundless gasp.

Glittering tear tracks shone down both whiskered cheeks, those warm hazel eyes glimmering with a devastation so profound it pierced straight through to your soul. For the span of a haunting, eternal moment, you held that hollowed stare...letting its harrowing anguish sear into your very marrow.

Then, as quickly as the connection had materialized, it was severed. Trevor blinked and rose unsteadily, turning to make his silent escape out the back entrance as Jessica and Maggy's shouts reached a fever pitch around him.

You could only watch, stunned and horrifically impacted, as he slipped away - your mind reeling from the truth that revelation had shored into aching focus. This was the insidious danger of your tangled web, of prioritizing passion over genuinely healthy bonds...

…

Luke bounded down the stairs at the sound of arriving cars, his heavy footfalls reverberating with unbridled energy. You watched from the entryway as not one, not two, but three vehicles came to a rumbling stop outside the lake house, kicking up plumes of dust in their wake.

Your brows hiked skyward as you registered the unexpected numbers, though Luke didn't seem the least bit fazed. If anything, his features were split by a wolfish grin of anticipation as he reached the front door in a few powerful strides.

"That'll be my brother and the rest of those delinquents," he supplied by way of explanation, giving your shoulder an affectionate squeeze as he brushed past.

You could only nod mutely, trailing after him as Luke flung the door open with gusto. A chorus of raucous hoots and hollers immediately assailed you, accompanying the cacophony of car doors slamming and heavy footsteps crunching up the gravel drive.

At the head of the boisterous pack was a towering, broad-shouldered figure that could have been Luke's doppelganger were it not for the closely-shorn chestnut hair and thick mustache framing his full lips. This man - undoubtedly Luke's older brother - wore an equally shit-eating grin as he bounded up onto the porch, thick arms already outstretched.

"Bout damn time you got here, dipshit!" Luke crowed with unbridled affection, not even bothering to dodge the crushing embrace that sent them both rocking back on their heels.

The two titans of men crashed together with the force of linebackers, deep laughs rumbling through their powerful frames as they jockeyed for supremacy. You couldn't help but hover in the open doorway, temporarily dumbstruck by the sheer unvarnished joy radiating from their reunion.

"Hey, watch the shoulder, asshole!" the brother growled out between peals of laughter, giving Luke's trapezius a playful shove. "Just had that shit rehabbed!"

Luke simply cackled louder at that, ruffling the cropped bristles atop his sibling's head with unrestrained glee. "Don't be such a bitch, Jacky. Maybe if you toughened up, you wouldn't keep getting hurt."

The snide remark earned Luke a solid jab to the ribs, causing him to let out an undignified wheezing grunt. But the brilliant smile never faltered, only stretching wider as he hauled his brother into another fierce hug - this one softer, more lingering.

"Missed you, man," you heard Luke's deep bass rumble against the solid plane of Jack's shoulder.

The tender endearment, mumbled as it was, still managed to strafe your heart with a piercing ache of...something. You blinked rapidly, struggling to process the sudden upwelling of emotion clogging your throat as you watched them embrace.

What was happening? This was hardly the first time you'd witnessed a brotherly reunion between Luke and Jack. Hell, the two had been practically inseparable growing up, despite the five-year gap in their ages. You'd lost count of how many rowdy homecomings and holidays you'd shared in their boisterous presence over the years.

So why did this particular moment feel so viscerally charged? Why were your eyes prickling traitorously as you drank in the simple scene of contented intimacy? It made absolutely no sense, and yet you couldn't seem to halt the swell of sentiment cresting within your thundering chest.

Luke must have sensed your roiling inner turmoil because he suddenly disengaged from their clinch, turning to face you with a softened expression. Those searing brown eyes found yours over the solid mass of Jack's shoulder, glowing with naked tenderness that momentarily stole the very breath from your lungs.

"Y/N..." he rumbled, somehow managing to imbue your name with gratifying weight. "You know my knucklehead brother, Jack."

The gentle prompt snapped you from your fugue, forcing you to blink rapidly as you refocused on the newcomers scattered across the front yard. Jack had spun towards you now, those craggy features arranged into a rakish grin that could have been lifted straight from Luke's playbook.

"Well, well...if it ain't my future sister," he all but purred, sweeping you up into an enthusiastic bear hug before you could protest.

You instantly found yourself engulfed in sinewy muscle and subtle cedar musk - not entirely unpleasant save for the way it constricted your ribcage. Still, you managed an awkward sort of half-laugh, giving the man's broad back a few consoling pats.

"Nice to see you too, Jack. Take it easy there, I need these bones."

The teasing only earned you a full-bellied guffaw as Jack finally relented, carefully extricating you from his vice-like embrace. His eyes - a slightly paler, more aquamarine shade than Luke's midnight browns - crinkled with unrestrained warmth as he regarded you.

"She's a goddamn knockout and she can hang? No wonder you finally stopped fuckin' around and put a ring on it!"

The vulgar observation, accompanied by a roguish wink, instantly resurfaced the blooming mirth in your chest like a lead weight. Suddenly, the giddy elation of witnessing their reunion had evaporated - leaving only an unmistakable hollowness in its wake.

Luckily, the moment of visceral emptiness was fleeting. Luke quickly crowded in beside you, snaking one long arm around your waist in a infinitely more welcome embrace. His palm settled low on your hip, radiating delicious warmth even through the thin cotton barrier.

"Don't get too far ahead of yourself, Jackass," he admonished lightly, those smoldering browns finding yours once more with weighted intention. "There's still time for her to call the whole thing off if you keep running that mouth."

Jack simply scoffed at the empty threat, already turning back towards the cluster of cars where the rest of his companions were beginning to emerge. "Whatever you gotta tell yourself to sleep at night, baby bro!"

Though the flippant retort rankled you momentarily, you couldn't find it in yourself to properly bristle at Jack's outrageousness. Not when Luke was nuzzling his prickly jaw against the sensitive curve where your neck met shoulder, blissfully impervious to his brother's antics.

…

The raucous celebratory energy suffusing the lake house should have been infectious, intoxicating even. Jack and his misfit band of cohorts had effortlessly slotted into the group dynamic, their arrival sparking an instantaneous resurgence of riotous laughter and shamelessly off-color anecdotes.

Yet you remained closed off from it all, a mere bystander watching the raucous bonhomie unfurl at your periphery. No matter how many times Maggy looped an arm through yours with a conspiratorial wink, or Jessica pressed a fresh drink into your hand, you couldn't quite shake the leaden emptiness seizing your chest.

It was a persistent, gnawing ache - as if someone had nestled a lead brick between your ribs, slowly constricting your lungs until each inhalation was a monumental feat. You'd never felt so profoundly untethered from yourself, from the steadying anchors that typically kept you grounded.

Worst of all were the furtive glances you kept stealing towards Luke, desperately hoping to lose yourself in the contented glority of his smile...only to have Jack's parting quip ricochet through your skull like shrapnel.

Over and over, you replayed the crude insinuation in your mind's eye, feeling that spiderweb crack in your temporarily invulnerable facade each time. Why hadn't Luke corrected his brother's assumption about your relationship status? Sure, putting a defined label on the passion between you was unimportant in the grand scheme.

But the fact remained - you weren't Luke's fiancée, and the very notion that he'd allow someone to believe otherwise disquieted you in ways you couldn't fully articulate. It felt dishonest somehow, a falsehood woven into the rich tapestry of your lives that didn't belong.

So you lingered in the periphery, watching the party swirl around you in roiling eddies of boisterous camaraderie. Luke, ever the epicenter of the chaos, ricocheted between boisterous debate with Jack and sotto voce flirtations whenever you drifted within arm's reach.

Each time, you found yourself silently imploring him to bring up the innocuous comment, to casually clarify with that easy cadence of his that you were simply...complicated. That labels and conventions meant little in the face of your profound bond.

But the words never materialized, and you were left suspended in tangible torment - questioning everything and nothing all at once as the night raged on around you.

It was well after midnight when Maggy plopped down beside you on the sagging sofa, knocking your shoulder playfully as she sank into the buttery leather with a contented sigh. You barely registered her arrival, too consumed by the bitter chorus in your head.

"I'm sorry you had to see that earlier," she murmured after a contemplative pause, drawing your vacant stare instinctively. "We...Jessica, Trevor, and I...we decided it's best if we're just together. All three of us. It makes us happy, you know?"

The gentle confession, layered with audible reticence, had your brows hiking towards your hairline in a silent question. Maggy caught the wordless probe and flashed you a rueful half-smile, clearly interpreting your confusion.

"The arguing, the jealousy bullshit...it's just not worth it," she elaborated with a philosophical shrug of those curvaceous shoulders. "We're happiest when we're completely open and honest with each other - no holding back. Even if it means breaking some stupid societal norms along the way."

You felt your lips part, a thousand queries marshaling on your tongue as you processed Maggy's candid revelation. But in the end, the only response to materialize was a low, ragged exhalation - somewhere between a snort and a rueful chuckle.

Because in that endless night, with an internal war raging inside your shattered breast...you'd never felt more adrift and utterly rudderless than in the presence of their blazing certainty.

There was a tangible rightness to the path these beautiful souls had carved for themselves - a fearless adherence to the truth that burned within, regardless of proverbial norms or expectations. A level of uncompromising vulnerability that you could scarcely fathom in your current state.

It was transcendent and horribly enviable all at once...and it scorched you from the inside out.

"I...wow," you eventually managed in a papery tone, giving Maggy's slender fingers a reflexive squeeze. "That's...amazing, Mags. I'm really happy for you guys, and proud of the courage it took to get there."

Maggy's incandescent smile could have powered a small city as she angled herself towards you fully. "Thanks, babe. That means everything coming from you."

She bumped your shoulder playfully, as if to ease some of the heaviness between you. But nothing could alleviate the maddening ache spiderwebbing through your marrow - that hollowness that threatened to devour you from within.

From across the room, you watched Luke throw back his head in a rich peal of laughter at something Jack had said, jaw clenched and eyes crinkled in genuine merriment. Something fragile in your chest simultaneously blossomed with tenderness...and withered into stark disrepair.

…

A tranquil hush had descended over the lake house, the typical raucous energy giving way to contented quietude as the night crept deeper. Outside, the inky blackness was softened by a shimmering blanket of stars reflecting off the glassy waters, casting everything in an ethereal glow.

You shifted drowsily on the plush leather sofa, savoring the remaining tendrils of warmth radiating from Luke's solid frame where he was nestled against your side. His arm was looped securely around your waist, palm splaying possessively over the slight curve of your hip.

For a few languorous moments, your mind pleasantly drifted - lulled by the steady cadence of Luke's breathing and the occasional chorus of night birds trilling outside. He always ran several degrees warmer than you, his potent furnace of a body suffusing you with delicious heat.

You had nearly succumbed to a light doze when the low rumble of Luke's voice reverberated against the back of your neck, sending a shiver rippling down your spine.

"I planned a really special night for us, y/n." His midnight timbre was velveteen and hushed, thrumming with an undercurrent of anticipation.

You stirred groggily, twisting in the haven of his embrace until you could regard him properly. Luke's striking features were gilded in the pale moonglow filtering through the windows, casting his chiseled jawline and proud nose in stark relief. But it was his eyes - those blazing, all-consuming pools - that arrested your full attention.

They fairly smoldered with unnamed intensity, holding your drowsy stare hostage as one corner of those obscenely full lips quirked upwards.

"For what?" The words were slightly graveled from impending slumber as you blinked owlishly.

Luke's smile deepened into something richer and infinitely more weighted as he began tracing lazy, spiraling patterns along the soft skin of your thigh.

Each meandering caress of his calloused fingertips seemed to sear straight through the thin barrier of cotton separating you, raising delicious gooseflesh in their wake.

"I just want to do something for you," he rumbled in that sinful rasp, holding your molten stare unblinkingly. "It's...a surprise."

You felt your breath stall in your lungs at the heated promise that single word seemed to ignite. A surprise from Luke invariably meant some grand romantic gesture - extravagant and shamelessly indulgent in a way that never failed to overwhelm you.

Luke must have registered the momentary paralysis in your features because he leaned in fractionally closer, close enough for you to drink in the rich amber and cedar notes of his cologne. His palm drifted higher, finally coming to rest low on your abdomen as those blazing browns searched your face with undisguised intensity.

"This one won't be like the others, y/n," he murmured, the graveled lilt seeming to caress every syllable of your name. "This is going to be really...really special. For you. For us."

The naked sincerity, the profoundity behind those quietly uttered words...it stole the very air from your lungs in a sharp exhalation of pure wonderment.

Every nerve ending in your body seemed to blaze into awakeness, zeroing in on the scorching brand of Luke's touch as it meandered across your tingling skin.

You could only gape at him mutely through the rushof feeling, overwhelmed by the searing tenderness flowing between you in dizzying riptides.

Luke was many things in these moments - playful, irreverent, smoldering with the promise of white-hot passion. But above all else, he was steadfast - grounding you in the unshakable truth of just how treasured you were to him.

"Where?" you eventually rasped out once you'd recovered enough to form words. Moisture stung at the corners of your eyes as you held his blazing stare, everything inside of you seeming to crystallize into this single suspended heartbeat.

An achingly gentle smile curved those beloved lips as Luke reached up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear, callused knuckles grazing your fevered cheek in a scorching caress.

"I want to take you somewhere we can be alone for a little while. Just you and me under the stars. After we get home to Jersey, a night for just us, Y/N."

…

159 notes · View notes

snuurp · 1 month ago

Text

introduction to the WORMS IN MY BRAIN jk this is a modern fantasy au for baldurs gate 3 plain text and more info under the cut

intro to the au, forewarning i haven't done much research, and my first playthrough of the game isn't done yet (I AM in act three tho I swear 2/3rds of the three guys r dealt with and so is cazador.) keep in mind i have no idea what i'm doing.

the mindflayer stuff is like. an experimental implant they all dubiously agreed to without all the info. extra enhancements (like the other tadpoles in game) are like drugs, and they appear once weekly at everyone's doors whether they want it or not. initial implant stabilizes Karlach's engine, helps with Astarion's vampire stuff, etc. etc. and the extras just feel good to use, it's addictive.

all of them are in a support group together meant to encourage them to stay clean from the extra tadpoles. time they've spent with the group varies.

there WILL be more detailed posts for them later, i have a lot of thoughts on Karlach and Wyll especially. implied/possible shadowzel and wyllstarion. my tav will be present, this is very self indulgent and i am in lesbians with Karlach.

plain text for images:

KARLACH

6'11" - 7'

construction worker.

her first job was disastrous.

foreman Goretash pushed her into dangerous situations that she felt pressured to be in because she was the newbie.

things went wrong with the electrical on the job site, landing her in the hospital with a near-fatal heart problem.

but good* news! avernus co. offered her a mechanical heart for the low, low price of a ten year work contract! (strings attached.)

she's out of the contract now, and avernus co. is refusing to maintain her heart (and the other "upgrades" they gave her without consent.)

still in construction, unionized and a loud advocate for workers rights.

can't do caffeine. her coffee order is a creamy chocolate chill from TImothy Horthingtons.

favourite board game is ticket to ride or uno, surprisingly mean and competitive in games.

SHADOWHEART

5'6"

works at hot topic (emo)

just got out of the commune, full swing edgy phase and does NOT know how un-niche her music is yet (please don't tell her)(she might cry)

"adopted" by Shar's cult when she was little, doesn't remember much before or after that beyond what other members told her.

dissecting her faith.

roommates with Lae'zel. (they hate each other)

"roommates" with Lae'zel also. (they still hate each other) (kinda)

rps her fursona COOL CAT CHARACTER DO NOT STEAL online.

very afraid of wolves which does include sparkledogs and makes rp super difficult.

her favourite board game is catan or any ttrpg.

if asked, her coffee order is "black, like my tortured soul" but she actually gets a vanilla latte with extra syrup and sweet foam. (oat milk because regular makes her tummy hurt)

LAE'ZEL

5'7" and gods does she ever hold that extra inch over Shadowheart.

works as a personal trainer, her clients are scared of her which makes her VERY effective for the right people.

insults clients, perfectionist.

mommy issues x100

the creche has a very community/it takes a village style of raising but they do a really bad job.

she wants to be the BEST of her siblings, doesn't take failure well.

loves competitive solo sports, hiking, marathons, bouldering, boxing, etc. etc.

delights in pushing Shadowheart's buttons.

she doesn't drink coffee, her order is a smoothie.

willingly drinks the ones with kale like a CRAZY PERSON.

favourite board game is chess and while she is good at it she is a SORE loser.

WYLL

6'1"

used to work for avernus co. and now works a much quieter, mostly Mizora-free job at an elementary school.

the students favourite gym teacher.

estranged from his dad after a huge, explosive misunderstanding re: the very un-HR Mizora incident(s)

likes Go Fish and cribbage, but he's happy playing any board game the others suggest.

generally just happy to be here.

coffee of choice is an americano with a shot of apple cinnamon syrup.

loves knitting.

definitely not crushing on Astarion whaaat crazyyyy.....

his watch is from his dad. he looks at it when he misses him.

misses him a lot.

ASTARION

5'9"

former troubled teen kicked out by his rich parents.

Cazador was a "pastor" that took him under his wing and adopted him into his group home (for a price)

in debt to him now and can't outrun it.

has two jobs.

works at Olive Garden, HATES IT.

works at (insert coffee shop chain here) ALSO HATES IT.

somehow has a very popular aesthetic tumblr blog in the year of our lord 20XX

coffee order is an iced caramel latte (sometimes gets strawberry/cherry/raspberry syrup to make his pictures cooler)

his favourite board game is monopoly (he steals from the bank) but he DESPISES cheaters edition because that "takes all the fun out of it"

Wyll's feelings are mutual and he knows about them but he's too insecure to talk to Wyll about it (nerd)

GALE

5'11"

unemployed, formerly university librarian/professor.

is not over his ex, will not be over his ex for the foreseeable future.

eventually goes to a new university to teach tho.

zero rizz, this man uses mage hand to play wizard wonderwall while concentrating very hard and that makes him look constipated sorry Gale likers.

has a part time job at a Barnabus and Noblemans before going to the new university.

commissioned Wyll to make his sweater vest in affront-to-the-gods purple.

wrote some very prolific papers in the wizard community.

coffee order is matcha or a mocha

favourite board game is clue. he gets really into it.

97 notes · View notes

superbat-love · 20 days ago

Text

Clark watched Bruce warily as he experimented with the string between them. Bruce had long ignored the red string of fate that connected them, but he could no longer avoid it after Clark had used it to stop him from storming out of a heated argument. Although only Bruce could see the string, Clark always felt its undeniable presence.

Recently, Bruce had begun to find practical uses for their bond. He usually used it as a communicator, tugging at the string whenever he needed Superman’s assistance.

Despite their growing reliance on this bond, neither really talked about the emotional weight of their connection. Bruce never initiated the conversation, and Clark hesitated to push the subject, especially when Bruce had only recently acknowledged the string's existence.

Clark had always assumed that Bruce saw their bond as more of an inconvenience until one day, Clark suddenly found himself able to see their string.

To his shock, it wasn’t the red he had expected—it was black. Traditionally, red strings of fate would turn black when a relationship was filled with rage and contempt. Bruce had been distancing himself because he thought Clark harbored resentment toward him.

But as Clark examined the string more closely, he realized something Bruce hadn’t seen. Their string wasn’t truly black—it was the deepest shade of red, signifying a mutual love that had matured and strengthened over time. Its color was so saturated that it appeared black to the naked eye.

What Bruce mistook for hatred was, in fact, a love so strong that its depth had been misinterpreted.

#au #red string of fate #soulmates #disastrous misunderstandings #dc headcanon #drabble #dc fanfic #text post #dc #superbat #superman x batman #batman x superman #superman/batman #batman/superman #superman #batman #clark kent #bruce wayne

826 notes · View notes

linkemon · 1 year ago

Text

Confession headcanons

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here.

Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you're interested.

Other headcanons from this series can be found here.

Part 2 | Part 3 of the confession headcanons.

This part contains: Malleus Draconia, Idia Shroud and Kalim Al-Asim.

Malleus Draconia

• Malleus' confession of feelings involved a number of obstacles and misunderstandings, although happily resolved.

• He wrote about you many times in letters to his grandmother. And although it made him realize the fragility of relationships with humans, grandma was also very happy knowing that her grandson had experienced such deep love. She really wanted to meet you, even though you didn't know it at the time.

• Draconia's biggest fear and block from telling you how he felt was the fear of loss. In various aspects of it. He was aware that he would certainly outlive you, and from time to time the thought of you returning to the world you came from floated in the back of his mind. In addition, you were his first real friend, not counting the people who were with him every day. Rejection could cost him the entire relationship.

One most ordinary night, he simply realized that the risk was worth trying to tell you how he felt.

• Malleus sprang into action with eager vigour. Unfortunately, these efforts were somewhat misdirected. It took Lilia to clearly explain to him that the customs adopted among fae do not necessarily translate to humans. He was forced to do this, as it were, because after you threw away his family generational necklace, the clouds over Diasomnia were darkening day by day and a disastrous downpour with lightning was brewing.

Meanwhile, you were simply afraid that Grim would destroy such a valuable and expensive gift. You had absolutely no idea of the additional meaning it carried.

• The second attempt was definitely more successful. Malleus gave you the rose seeds he grew in Briar Valley. Planted in Ramshackle, with his magic they turned into a field of red flowers. Combined with the moonlight and the fireflies dancing around you, it created a wonderful atmosphere that you will remember for a long time.

It was then that the fae confessed to you that he had been smitten with you from the very beginning but it was your friendship, so precious to him, that turned into something more. The fact that he knelt down in front of you and promised to give you everything you wanted made you think for a moment that he was going to propose to you. Initially, that's what he planned, but Lilia talked him out of it...

Idia Shroud

• It's not that Idia didn't know what love was. He had played so many otome games that while he wasn't an expert, he certainly wasn't a noob. However, without Ortho's help, he would not have correctly recognized its signs in real life.

• He started by avoiding you. The rapid heartbeat and red tips of his hair were becoming more and more frequent and it was difficult for him to control them. So he found the best solution he could come up with, which was to lock himself in his room. He avoided you as much as he could all over campus.

• His brother, although he quickly understood through data analysis what was happening to him, did not think it was good to raise the topic too early. Initially, he wanted to give Idia time. Time was clearly running out because the robot, seeing you once again look sadly at the tablet and gave it a wide berth, decided to act. He prepared a series of tests to convince your older brother that you reciprocate his feelings. Of course, Shroud hid under the blanket, mumbled to be left alone. Although he pretended to be uninterested, the speech actually sparked hope in him.

Maybe this time he wasn't a total knight nerd and side hero? Maybe he could play the lead role for once?

• He did what he does best. He designed a program that allowed him to send a request if you wanted to be his girlfriend. At worst, he was going to pretend it was a mistake.

When he saw that instead of checking the tick box, you had come to Ignihyde, he immediately paled. You had to knock on the door, telling him that you wouldn't leave until he explained to you what was actually going on and how this confession related to his constant avoidance of you.

Idia just stuck his head out of the crack, stammered and said that he was like the worst NPC you've ever seen but if you let him have some time, maybe he'll become a main character worthy of you.

Kalim Al-Asim

• Friendzone should be his middle name. From the beginning of your relationship, he sent you signals that you considered romantic. Until you started spending more time with him around others and you found out that Kalim treated them the same way he treated you. That's when everything started to get confusing for you.

• When you tried to tell him that you liked him very much, he replied that he liked you too. When you said more, he said more, more. And when you said he was more than a friend, he said you were his best friend. He did all this with such a wide smile on his face that you didn't have the heart to explain to him the true meaning of your statements. You knew the sincerity of his words. Few people in the NRC matched him in truthfulness. But it was incredibly frustrating for you.

• Grim knew exactly what was happening, seeing your hearty eyes every time you left the desert dormitory. He calculated in his head how many cans of tuna he would get if you got together with the prefect of Scarabia. This prompted him to not-so-subtly blurt out to Kalim that you were romantically interested in him. In return, he received a promise of a container of fish delicacies.

• The boy was in great shock but in a positive way. He didn't know what to do with all his joy, so he grabbed the first flowers in a vase he had at hand and ran towards the flying carpet. You weren't expecting him at all in the evening, dressed in your pajamas and ready to go to bed. He hugged you so tightly that he almost knocked you over and that was before he even remembered that he hadn't told you why he actually came...

#twisted wonderland x reader #malleus x reader #kalim x reader #idia x reader #malleus draconia #kalim al asim #idia shroud #headcanons

428 notes · View notes

yenonnoff · 5 months ago

Text

TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE! 28. what comes after heartbreak?

note: word count is 3.2k (^O^)

atsumu was face-to-face with the person he used to call his “love.” what would usually be the feeling of butterflies or warm rush of affection through his body was replaced with pure contempt. now, he only saw a witch—a girl that had insidiously beguiled him into falling in love.

atsumu was already inside the record store when he saw emma. long hair, rosy cheeks, full lips—the epitome of pretty privilege. from afar, she looked as approachable and friendly as a lily; however, get close and she might bite you like a venus flytrap.

atsumu understood why he was so charmed by her all those years ago. nevertheless, that was then and this was now. a switch was flipped the moment the two broke up, and all the sweet affection was drained from him.

one moment, atsumu was inside the record store; the next, he was sitting across emma in a nearby cafe. this was against everything atsumu stood for. however, he needed answers and he didn’t want to rush headlong into a sudden confrontation. he didn’t want to destroy his one sanctuary just because of emma.

“why are you here? how did you know i was here?” atsumu demanded firmly. a vexed wrinkle formed between his eyebrows, matching the guarded way he sat with his arms crossed over his chest. his body was completely tense. atsumu miya’s defenses were all up and his system was working overtime on full alert.

“oh, please. it’s a public place for crying out loud,” she retorted.

atsumu stared at her in disbelief, his frustration completely inflamed. “first, it was that photo you posted. now, you appear in front of me in the record store. how much more selfish can you get?”

“what? selfish?! this was the only time i’ve been back to that scruffy place filled with junk. besides, i just asked around for your schedule. today’s your break and i know you always go there to clear your mind.” she drew in an exaggerated breath, her index finger twirling a strand of hair. she continued with a scoff, “especially after everything that happened last week, i had a feeling you’d come back here.”

one thing about emma was that she always got whatever she wanted. but not here, not with atsumu.

“never come back here again. i thought i made that clear when we broke up—guess i’ll have to drill it into your brain for you to actually understand. if you don’t leave me alone, i’ll reveal every single detail of what you did during the time we dated to the public.”

emma’s eyes widened. “are you crazy? are you threatening me right now?”

that was another thing about emma: she only ever cared about herself.

“our agreement was that i keep your shamefulness a secret. in exchange, you were to never associate with me again; never message or mention me; and never step foot near the places connected to me. this included the record store. you broke the rules first, i have every right to ‘threaten’ you.”

atsumu’s body was less rigid now, but his eyes were still narrowed in earnest hatred. his disdain for emma ran deeper than anything anyone could ever imagine.

when a waiter stopped by, atsumu waved an absent hand in dismissal. “i’m not ordering. i won’t be staying long enough for a drink anyway.” awkwardness swirled in the air and atsumu could feel the thundering displeasure coming from across the table. after the waiter walked away, emma grumbled, “could you have at least saved me some face? now i look desperate.”

“funny. that’s rich coming from you.”

“listen, i think there’s been a misunderstanding. i didn’t come here intending to break our agreement. i came here because i was worried about you.”

emma’s third thing: her dedication to her cruel artifices, honing them like a mad lady. that was how she’d fooled him into becoming so disastrously lovesick. if he didn’t know better, he would’ve been swayed by her endearing concernment.

“why would you be worried about me?”

“because of the movie theater incident obviously. i recognized the denim hat you always wore, and that hoodie, it’s the one your brother gifted you, right?”

atsumu’s gaze bore into her. he wanted to laugh at her absurdity but her words had brought up another issue he’d been dealing with: you. he hadn’t been able to talk to you all week. his mind was restless wondering how you’ve been doing.

he wanted to talk to you in person, be surrounded by your warmth again and experience the fervid comfort you bring him just by being there. even now, in the disturbing presence of his ex-girlfriend, all he could think about was you. he thought about your worrisome craze for coffee, wondering if you’d like the small cafe he was currently in. he thought of all the puerile topics he’d talk to you about if you were sitting in front of him instead of emma.

“still obsessed with me are we?” atsumu asked.

to be honest, he was exhausted. he’d only come here to be alone in the record store absorbed by all the captivating music it had to offer. but no, he was wasting his time talking to a brick wall. he wished you were here instead.

emma huffed, crossing one leg over the other. “honestly, how could you be so reckless? how could you get caught with a no name actress? good thing that guy cleared things up. do you know how damaging it could’ve been to you?”

the fourth thing about emma was her shameless ideology: reputation and prestige mattered more than anything else. obviously this was all masked during the time they dated. for two years, she concealed her dishonesty and false compassion—even her friendliness and good nature weren’t real. she had played atsumu miya like a fool. and he often wondered if she ever went to sleep laughing quietly to herself while being cuddled in his arms.

atsumu rubbed the bridge of his nose. of course he didn’t realize how damaging his actions could’ve been, he wasn’t even the one getting bashed on by randoms. it seemed—similarly to them—emma also lacked critical thinking skills. she failed to see that her fans were targeting you instead of him. so while she sat here blabbering ludicrously, you were probably still dealing with crazy fans in your comments.

there was another thing atsumu couldn’t let go. how could she call you a “no name actress,” when you weren’t the one that paid your way into the industry? her comment was just ridiculous.

“never talk about y/n like that ever again. i’m serious about my threat, emma. i wasn’t the one that wanted the agreement in the first place. you’re the only one who'll get hurt if i release a statement.”

he prepared to stand when emma reached over and caught hold of his arm. he pulled away immediately, disgust written all over his face.

emma let out a defeated sigh. “wait, please. look, i don’t think we ever got the closure we needed, so i came here to say i’ve changed a lot after we broke up. i don’t do that thing anymore…”

atsumu rolled his eyes. it’s been more than a year since they separated. what closure did she need now?

“and by ‘that thing,’ you mean your habit of bribing people,” he sneered.

emma’s gaze faltered. his words had made her hesitate. “yes, i’m just grateful to director sage and his film. it allowed all of these opportunities and sponsorships to come in.”

atsumu’s hands curled into fists by his side, his knuckles turning patently white. at that moment, he wanted to scream at her. she’d learned nothing; this whole time, she barely needed to lift a finger. all those opportunities were handed to her after she paid for a role on director sage’s film. it was still bribery. she still paid her way to success.

“then what about your current role? why am i hearing people say you paid for that too?”

“what? where are you hearing that?” she asked, enraged. emma’s fifth thing: she hated being criticized and proven wrong.

“you forget that everyone in the industry hate you. staff members talk shit behind your back and actors despise your guts. even director sage hated working with you. it’s astonishing really.”

emma was too dazed to reply. she didn't know if it was true or not, but she hoped it was just an attempt to rankle her.

atsumu continued after her silence: “tell me, did you or did you not pass the audition?”

“this again? i told you, i stopped doing that stuff a long time ago!” emma groaned, tapping her index finger against the table frantically. “obviously i passed. that’s why i have the role in the first place.” her finger continued to tap, her feet flicking up and down in a similar rhythm.

“liar,” atsumu said plainly. “you’re lying right through your teeth. you did it again, didn’t you? used your dad’s money to buy the role you failed to get.”

“i’m serious!” tap, tap, tap— everything about her was becoming a nuisance. she was a disturbance to the cafe’s homey atmosphere; her honeyed voice, the one he’d once loved so dearly, had turned rough and utterly annoying.

atsumu shook his head. “oh, c’mon. you claim you’re an actress but you can barely lie to save your life. stop doing that thing with your finger and foot whenever you lie, it might help you save some embarrassment.”

“are you being for real right now?”

“extremely. so stop it, emma. stop trying to be so glorious. stop trying to act like jolie.” he scoffed in disbelief, “did you really have to stoop so low?”

he watched as her face twisted in confusion. “i know you tried copying her personality. did you know she still gets hate for it? when your quote-unquote fans noticed similarities between how you both acted, they went rampant on jolie for ��copying’ you. you’re poison, emma. you only cause people harm.”

emma waved a dismissive hand in the air as if his words were a pest. that action alone embittered atsumu beyond belief. he could still remember how jolie felt after receiving hundreds of tirades from people online. she was torn between being true to her selfless nature or containing it. she’d chosen the latter, and it was only recently that she started loosening up again.

“i’m done. i don’t know why i wasted my time here with you. if you post another picture as a ruse to get people talking, i really am going to expose how you cheated on me.”

that garnered an immediate reaction. “it wasn’t like that!”

“right. on our business trip, in our hotel room, on our bed. who were you even fucking? some a-lister you randomly met?”

“i was drunk!” her exclamation received stares from nearby staff members. emma’s drink had been on standby for a while now, except no one was brave enough to bring it to her. they didn’t want to get caught in the heated conversation, preferring to tend to other customers.

“you already gave that excuse,” atsumu said, his voice barely above a whisper. he was reliving hell just by sitting there. the memories of the heartbreaking incident were unfolding in his mind—the memories he wanted so badly to suppress.

it just had to be on valentine’s day of all days. the two of them were invited overseas to partake in a modeling event; they were there for three days and on the last, emma reid got bored and messed up.

atsumu learned two things that day: first was his girlfriend’s incompetency, and how she resorted to bribery to get acting roles. the next was her disloyalty and how their relationship was a complete lie. it all happened in a single evening.

the last day of their trip was dedicated to solo activities only. emma had finished her duties early and was free to do whatever she wanted around the city. atsumu, on the other hand, was stuck at a stuffy and formal gathering. people of various reputable statuses were there and atsumu was invited as a guest by a brand he was modeling for. being social and talkative was one of atsumu’s strong suit—but it also led him to discovering a truth he never wanted to know.

that night, a young man around atsumu’s age approached him with a smile. he was another model that was invited as a guest, and the two got along quickly. then, when the man asked about atsumu’s relationship, atsumu watched as he started to laugh boisterously. apparently he’s worked with her before. the world really was small.

“oh, but isn’t her family really rich? i heard her dad’s loaded! looks like he dotes on her a lot.”

“and?” atsumu asked, wondering where the conversation was going.

“well, i heard she only gets roles and gigs through underhand tactics. y’know, like bribery, using her family’s name and wealth to—“

“but you only heard that though. it’s not true, just gossip.”

he gave atsumu’s arm a playful slap. “hey, man! stop hurting my feelings, i have lots of connections so i know everything that happens in that industry. it’s fucking twisted honestly,” the young man laughed again. “i heard a director talking about it once, so my suspicions are cleared. do you want another dri—“

by then, his words were already drowned out by atsumu’s racing thoughts. his mind was engaged in a futile debate, but he already knew what was true and what wasn’t. atsumu was slowly piecing together all the coincidences during the time they filmed with director sage. he was always so distraught by her for no apparent reason; he was also much harsher on her compared to the others in the main cast. he was more displeased, more spiteful of the film despite it becoming a large success. connect that with everything else and a complete puzzle was formed.

atsumu was too lovesick to see anything at the time. he was too convinced and blinded by her geniality to notice her hateful schemes. still, this was something the two of them could overcome… they could talk about it, resolve things, and he could help her become better.

but could he? would his conscience allow it? would he be able to sleep soundly knowing he was with someone who stole opportunities from others?

the rest of the event was a blur. when everything ended, atsumu rushed back to his hotel room, clinging onto the diminishing hope that everything would work out—that the two of them would still be okay after this. then, he saw someone leaving the shared hotel room: a man atsumu was sure he’d seen on one of the city’s billboards. the attractive man faltered when he saw atsumu in the hallway, and atsumu felt his world falling apart.

a million assumptions ran through his mind and he reached the door in hurried steps, bypassing his girlfriend’s accomplice completely. the sight of her naked on their shared bed had said enough—said everything.

clothes on the floor, crumpled sheets, tangled hair. all atsumu could do was whisper her name in crushing anguish. he stood there as she fumbled to shield herself with the blanket, shame overriding her previous smiling expression. she’d been caught. she’d messed up.

he watched as she clothed herself, a swarm of emotions rushing through his veins. he swallowed his heartbreak and bore his defenses. he needed to prepare himself for the next few agonizing minutes.

at first, he was calm. perhaps a bit shaken up, but he’d just returned back from an exhausting event. the collar of his dress shirt was digging into his skin, and he feared he didn’t have enough energy to argue.

emma—beautiful and serene, the one person atsumu confidently loved with his whole being—sat in front of him avoiding eye contact. she didn’t say anything; she didn’t even apologize. the gesture made atsumu question their whole relationship.

through her silence, atsumu found his strength to speak up. defend himself. he inevitably triggered a tug of war, a painful back and forth between him and her. both were persistent and defensive, becoming increasingly inflamed with anger.

their words sharpened into blades that pierced one another’s hearts at different angles. atsumu continued to sit while emma stood with ire surging through her body. she was on the verge of tears, overwhelmed by his barrage of accusations and questions directed at their relationship.

did she even love him? did she even care about their future? about him? what was he to her?

then, atsumu brought up her bribery and her facade instantly cracked. she didn’t give him any honest answers. the only thing that increased with her excuses were his sighs. so this was how they were going to end things.

caught in the heat of the moment, emma admitted that atsumu was only a publicity stunt to her. she’d only dated him for more recognition and immersion into the acting industry. his good looks and charms were only a bonus. she’d said out of spite, hoping to hurt his feelings, and it’d accomplished just that.

it was done: their relationship, their future, everything.

atsumu moved past emma to pack his belongings. he’ll get a new hotel room and flight tickets; he’ll get to see his brother again, maybe even visit rin in his studio, or just invite all three of them (omi if he’s not too busy) to play beach volleyball. yeah, he’ll be fine. everything will go back to normal when he lands in tokyo again.

then, emma grabbed onto his arm. she begged him to keep everything a secret—to have the faintest sympathy towards her. if emma’s cheating schemes were exposed to the public, even her family’s wealth wouldn’t be enough to calm down the media. her bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks had convinced him. while he might’ve been in love with a facade this whole time, he’d still experienced happiness. she’d kept him content and smiling for two years; keeping this a secret was the least he could do.

however, if he was going to do this, she needed to agree to his conditions as well. peace was all he wanted and he’d set up the agreement with it in mind.

back in the cafe, emma continued to insist on a false reality: “atsumu, honestly, i didn’t know!”

he saw her tapping finger and felt something ugly and twisted wrap around his tattered heart. he felt regret for ever comparing you to her. clearly, you were far greater and more special than emma will ever be. he truly wished her the worst.

“we’re finished here. i don’t ever want to see you again; i know how precious your reputation is to you.” he stood from his seat, his sudden action surprising the nearby weary staff members. “oh, and, stop with your stunts, they’re embarrassing. you should know better than to drag rin into this. he hates your guts as much as i do, maybe even more.”

“what?” she craned her head upwards to stare at him. “but he always waves back when i see him in the studio. he… smiles sometimes too.”

“here’s the nice thing about rin: he’s not an actor but he can still lie. did you know he tells us everything behind your back? he always has a good laugh, saying how stupid you are.”

“he—!”

“go buy some acting classes with your dad’s money for god’s sake. you have so much at least put it to good use.”

atsumu didn’t wait to see her reaction. he left the cafe immediately, calling for a taxi home.

masterlist ⌒☆ previous ⌒☆ next

fun facts:

atsumu was able to hang out with osamu, rin, and omi when he got back to tokyo. however, he fell into long periods of stagnation afterwards, finding it difficult to stop thinking about emma and their previous life together. it ultimately led to his year long hiatus.

the cafe staff members were lowkey eavesdropping, but they were completely clueless about what was happening. they're just teenagers trying to get a paycheck, someone help them. all they knew was that the girl messed up and the blond guy was right (as they should!).

please join the emma hate group along with me, atsumu, jolie, and rin (there are probably more members we hate this girl)

emma actually fumbled. why would you cheat on atsumu in the first place, please!!

TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE! ｡ｏ♡ an atsumu miya smau

synopsis: when y/n l/n, a rising actress, decides to star in a romance film that could make or break her career, she’s unable to showcase her skills, revealing her inexperience within the romance department instead. worst of all, atsumu miya, her co-star and the main lead’s love interest, seems to hate her guts! with absolutely, unbearably zero chemistry between the two, an idea was proposed: spend time with one another in the upcoming weeks. will y/n be able to ignore her professionalism and listen to her heart? and will she, a clueless romantic, be able to pick up on the signs her co-star is sending her?

a/n: idk if my writing is inconsistent pls tell me if it is actually no actually yeah. hmmm anyways act 3 guys !!!

taglist is open! dm or ask to be a part of it! (those bolded were unable to be tagged)

⌒☆ @kqbukimono @empathum @clyver @chosoluv @oceansfloor @sunarots @marga-j @rukia-uchiha-98 @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @rintarousgirl @ast4rg1rl @seiamor @saiewithakatana @usermins @literally-a-ferret @terrarain @iuspired @haruskatana @wolffmaiden @ris-krispie @vellichxrr6782 @animenaces-world @reignsaway @emii4evr @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @yuminako @tojirin @v3nusplanetofluv @vyvixen @secondary-character-25 @tenjikusstuff4 @444choso @mylahrins @deimmortales99 @hisfuture @staywhelmed8801 @dl-yum @nessaasstuff @milesmoralesluvs @101tsumu @ryeyeyer @cherrypieyourface @azharyy @mimi3lover @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @dazball @whykirbo

93 notes · View notes

anonymousewrites · 6 months ago

Text

A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 1) Chapter Eight

Kusuo Saiki x Reader

Chapter Eight: Valentine’s Day Chaos and Movie Night Misunderstandings

Summary: Saiki tries to get chocolate and to see a movie without spoilers, and neither goes well.

Saiki arrived at school with zero interest in the chocolate that Toritsuka was so excited over receiving for Valentine’s Day. Sure, he liked sweets and knew people could give them as thanks and platonically, but he didn’t want the hassle of having anyone mean it romantically.

“Good morning, Saiki!” greeted (Y/N) cheerfully. They were slightly nervous thar morning. It was clear why. Inside their bag, which Saiki could see through easily, were wrapped sweets. Valentine’s Day gifts.

Saiki nodded to them in greeting. All his previous distaste for the holiday flew out the window at seeing them. Those feelings were slightly different when it came to (Y/N). Saiki wouldn’t mind (in fact, he wanted) chocolate from them since sweets they gave/bought him were always nice (and, obviously, it was just friendship, so he had no worries, nothing had at all, everything was normal).

His mood was dampened somewhat when he spied the gifts on their own desk, but he simply sat down next to them. Hopefully, their chocolate was for him (he just wanted sweet treats, and they were always best when they came from (Y/N)), and they’d have a chance to give it to him. However…

“Have you heard? Teruhashi brought chocolates for someone!” announced a boy.

Saiki nearly groaned. Once again, Teruhashi’s strange interest in him was causing problems. She was planning to give him her chocolates, and that would cause him to be the target of the other boys’ wrath. He would have to avoid her outside of classes today. And that meant…he wouldn’t be around (Y/N). He wouldn’t get any sweet treats from them.

There is no God…

Saiki was forced to sit through class after class while listening to Teruhashi and all the boys’ thoughts. All the while, (Y/N) hadn’t made a move to give anyone their chocolates. That, at least, gave Saiki some relief. Obviously, he wanted the sweets, and it would be a disappointment if the chocolate went to someone else since he wouldn’t have anything nice to eat. That would be the disappointment.

After school ends, I’ll give these to Saiki! He’ll be so stunned by the perfect pretty girl thanking him—

Saiki’s thoughts were interrupted by Teruhashi’s plotting.

Thanking me for what?

—And he’ll say “Oh, wow!”

Yare yare.

The teacher dismissed the students. Quickly, Saiki speed-walked out of the building and around the corner before anyone could catch him. He could hear Teruhashi’s thoughts from above him as her fans tried to get in her good graces. They wanted to receive her chocolates, and she had hidden in the bathroom.

These are my only courtesy chocolates… If those guys outside find out that I gave them to Saiki…he’ll definitely be…! Teruhashi pictured Saiki beaten up by thugs. No, not only that. A World War will break out! O-Oh, no! To think that my chocolates are the most dangerous weapon known to man! I can’t give this to him at all! She opened the bathroom window and tossed the chocolates out. I’m sorry, Saiki!

The gift dropped next to Saiki in the grass.

Yare yare. That’s a tad overdramatic. He reached out and placed his hand on the chocolates. Easily, he teleported it to Hairo’s bags of sweets. It would blend in there and not go to waste. Saiki couldn’t eat them. Even his sweet tooth was subject to his emotions. He wanted only (Y/N)’s chocolate on Valentine’s Day because…Well, because they were the only person he could truly admit he had a connection—friendship—with. Saiki stood up and walked towards the school entrance. Now that the situation was fixed, he could leave without being chased by Teruhashi. He rounded the corner and paused in surprise.

(Y/N) was sitting on the curb at the gates, swinging their legs idly. The sun shone down on them, giving them a glow akin to Teruhashi.

Oh, wow.

A small voice in Saiki’s mind whispered the two forbidden words, and he cleared them away immediately as (Y/N) turned and saw him walking towards them.

“Saiki!” They beamed. “I’ve been waiting!”

“You waited for me?” It was…sweet. He liked the warm feeling it brough to his chest.

“Of course!” (Y/N) answered as if it was obvious. “I’ve got something for you!”

So it was for me. Saiki was glad.

They brought out their chocolates from their bag. “Here you go! For being such a wonderful friend!” And the one I like. But I can’t tell you that.

Ever since their realization, they’d battled their feelings and come to the conclusion that they’d just be a good friend to Saiki at most. They wouldn’t cross his boundaries since he didn’t seem to like anyone having a crush on him. (Y/N) would just be his friend. It…hurt a little, but they wouldn’t give up a good friendship for a ruined attempt at romance. (Y/N) valued Saiki as a friend as much as anything else.

Saiki blinked and took the gift. “Thank you very much.” He was constantly blunt, but somehow, those words felt more truthful to his heart than any others he had spoken in his life.

(Y/N) skipped towards the move theater happily. They were excited to see the Specializer: Live Action movie. They were more delighted when they spied Saiki entering the cinema.

“Saiki!” They waved to him. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’m a teenager at the movie theater.” Saiki was being sarcastic as usual, but (Y/N) was right, he didn’t go to the cinema anymore. His telepathy caused too much trouble. Now, however…he had his very own germanium ring. Saiki didn’t have to hear people’s thoughts anymore. He wouldn’t have anything get spoiled.

(Y/N) shrugged. “Fair point. Are you here to see Specializer?”

“Yes.”

“I am, too!” They grinned. “Let’s go get tickets!”

For all my bad luck, it looks like God is actually helping me out today.

“That’s a nice ring!” commented (Y/N) as they walked in. “They look like the same metal as my earrings.”

Saiki shrugged in answer.

“Two tickets to Specializer,” said (Y/N) to the saleswoman.

“Oh, how nice, a date to the movies!” remarked the lady.

(Y/N)’s cheeks warmed. “Oh, uh, it’s—”

“Yes, it’s nice,” said Saiki shortly, paying for the tickets and walking away. “No point in arguing with her. It’ll just waste time.”

(Y/N) jogged to keep up with him. “If you say so.” They pushed away their stomach doing flips. “Let me pay for snacks at least. Now I have more money to spare on it.”

Saiki nodded and let them buy the popcorn and sodas. While they walked to the theater, he easily avoided all the people who might have spoiled movies in the past. He and (Y/N) got nice seats in the theater, too. Things were actually going well for Saiki. He couldn’t help but smile.

A germanium ring and (Y/N). It seems today is working out surprisingly in my favor.

“Saiki, (L/N)?”

I spoke too soon.

(Y/N) nearly groaned. They almost got over an hour of time alone with Saiki (extremely difficult to obtain and rare), but, of course, a wild Teruhashi had to appear and ruin it. (Y/N) had nothing against Teruhashi, but…she attracted attention, especially from boys, and it made (Y/N) a bit insecure. Plus, it annoyed Saiki, and (Y/N) didn’t want him to have a bad day.

Next to her, Saiki was also nearly groaning at how much the world hated him. He was also realizing that he could have avoided Teruhashi if he heard her thoughts early and cursing germanium again.

“Hi, Teruhashi,” said (Y/N). They managed their usual cheerfulness and smiled.

“Wow! What a coincidence! Are you two on a date?” Teruhashi’s eyes darted between the two.

“Um, no, we aren’t,” said (Y/N) while Saiki shook his head.

“Oh!” Teruhashi’s cheeks turned pink. She was happy to know that, although she couldn’t admit it to herself. “W-Well, I guess we’re all watching the movie together.”

“Yeah…” answered (Y/N).

I can’t hear her thoughts…That’s a problem. But I’ve been wanting to see this movie for a while, and I’m having a decent time.

“D-Don’t this is an excuse,” said Teruhashi, “But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” She looked at Saiki, obviously speaking more to him than (Y/N). “You see, I’m here with someone, and…”

“Oh?” Even Saiki was surprised on that one.

“Kokomi! I bought some popcorn!” said a male voice. It was a boy with blue hair and sunglasses on.

I swear I know him from somewhere, thought (Y/N). Probably someone famous since Teruhashi thinks he’s worthy of her.

“Hey! Hey, you!” The boy took his sunglasses off and glared at Saiki. “What’s your relationship with my Kokomi?” He caught sight of (Y/N). “And what’re you doing with this poor teenager!”

(Y/N) tilted their head in confusion at the statement.

Yare yare. I never thought that (Y/N) would bring me unwanted attention.

“Ah! Hey! Don’t take off your sunglasses!” exclaimed Teruhashi.

Suddenly, all the patrons of the theater recognized the boy. It was Toru Megumi, the star of the film. They immediately crowded around him, obscuring any sound or view of the screen. Saiki decided to leave. The commotion would cause the showing to be canceled anyways. When he looked around, however, he could barely see (Y/N). Only their hand was visible. Using a bit of his super strength, he pushed through and grasped their wrist. Saiki pulled them out of the crowd and the theater.

(Y/N) took a few deep breaths. Being nearly trampled was not a pleasant experience. “Thanks, you really saved me back there,” said (Y/N), chuckling through the adrenaline.

Saiki simply nodded at them. Of course he had. They were his friend.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to see the movie. Do you want to go watch one at one of our houses?” asked (Y/N).

“My mom has been asking to see you,” mentioned Saiki. It was a good excuse to invite (Y/N) over without admitting he tolerated them.

“She’s sweet!”

Saiki and (Y/N) had long since finished the move that had been playing on TV, but Mrs. Saiki invited (Y/N) to stay over. Now, the two teenagers were sitting on the couch reading comfortably as Mrs. Saiki turned on the television. Saiki was holding the book while (Y/N) looked over his shoulder from where they lay on the couch (He had taken off the ring by now). So far, it was a relatively quiet, domestic night. In fact, Saiki was quite enjoying having (Y/N) over. And his parents liked them, so slowly but surely, (Y/N) was somehow becoming part of the Saiki household. Their parents were often away, so (Y/N) spent time in the Saiki home. Saiki didn’t mind them being a permanent part of his life. It was nice to have them around. Saiki supposed having it as a constant would be even better.

But what that meant evaded him in a strange manner. He had the disconcerting feeling he was missing something.

“Ah! Toru is on TV!” gushed Mrs. Saiki.

“Who?” asked Mr. Saiki.

“Oh, you don’t know him? It’s Toru Mugami,” said Mrs. Saiki. “He’s the most popular young actor today! I’ve become a huge fan of his! He’s known for his good looks, charm, and talent! Many people admire him. What do you think of him, (Y/N)?” Mrs. Saiki had taken to calling (Y/N) by their first name since she viewed the teen as a kid (and hopefully an in-law, if she had her way).

(Y/N) shrugged. “I like his movies, but he’s not my type.” They glanced at Saiki for a moment before looking carefully away.

Not their type? Maybe Kuu is! They’d be so cute together! thought Mrs. Saiki.

Saiki’s eyes widened minutely. He hadn’t expected that.

“Honey…who do you like more? Me or that Toru guy?” asked Mr. Saiki.

“That’s a no brainer! Of course, it’s you, honey! Compared to you, he’s a fly on dog droppings!”

“Isn’t that a little harsh?”

“Your parents really love each other,” observed (Y/N), smiling softly.

“Yeah.”

“I hope to have a love like theirs. Not as energetic, but…true, enduring love,” said (Y/N). They laughed sheepishly. “I guess it’s a little silly, isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t.”

Saiki knew what they meant. He saw people at school get in and out of relationships frequently, but although his parents were annoyingly in love, he preferred their constant affection compared to rocky relationships. He’d rather find one person he’d want to be around forever than be “passionately” into different people every-so-often. Besides, only one really fit his temperament.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and the moment was broken.

“Oh, a visitor!” remarked Mrs. Saiki, still hugging her husband while they used their strange fly on dog poop metaphor.

“Geez, can’t they see we’re having a moment?” said Mr. Saiki.

“Coming! Who is it?” Mrs. Saiki opened the door and gasped.

“What’s wrong, honey?!” cried Mr. Saiki.

“It’s the fly…I mean…!”

“Sorry to bother you this evening,” said Toru Mugami. “Is this where Kusuo Saiki lives?”

Mr. Saiki looked from him to the TV. “It’s the guy from TV!”

“Why is Toru at our place?!” cried Mrs. Saiki.

“Quiet. You’ll upset the neighbors.”

Finally, Mr. and Mrs. Saiki managed to compose themselves and set out a drink for Toru in the dining room.

“Thank you very much!” said Toru. He looked at the two teenagers. “Kusuo, (Y/N), do you remember that we met at the movie theater? I thought you might’ve gotten the wrong idea, so…To tell you the truth, Kokomi and I are siblings.”

“You do look quite similar,” remarked (Y/N).

“People often mistake us for a couple,” continued Toru.

(Y/N) made a weirded-out face. Ew.

“Wait…your Kokomi’s…?” Saiki’s parents were surprised.

“Toru Mugami is my stage name,” explained the idol, “My real name is Makoto Teruhashi. Kokomi is worried that Kusuo and (Y/N) got the wrong idea, so I came to explain it to them. I’m lucky (Y/N) was here and not at their home.”

“I wonder why she’s worried, right?” Mr. Saiki still believed Teruhashi was his New Year’s wish for Saiki come true.

There are much better options for me, Dad. Saiki wasn’t really sure what those options he kept thinking of were, but the word kept coming.

Mrs. Saiki noticed the time. “Ah! I have to make dinner.” She and Mr. Saiki walked out of the room.

“Your parents sure are cheerful,” chuckled Makoto as they left. “Oh, that’s right. I have one more message for you.” He faced Saiki. “This one is from me. Could you hear me out?”

(Y/N) looked between them and sipped their water to avoid feeling too awkward.

“Stay away from my sister, you stupid piece of trash.”

(Y/N) spit out the water in surprise.

“And stop drawing other innocent people into your schemes!”

Confused, (Y/N) tilted their head.

“I don’t know if you’re my beloved Kokomi’s classmate or what, but don’t push your luck, you little snot,” said Makoto. “She’s out of your league, you worthless four-eyes.” He looked at (Y/N). “And you!”

They pointed at themself awkwardly. “Um, yeah?”

“Don’t get trapped by this perv who clearly wants a harem!” declared Makoto.

(Y/N) nearly died on the spot.

“I don’t want that at all.”

“Then, you at least want my Kokomi! And I won’t allow it! You’re a fly on dog droppings!” sneered Makoto.

“I never knew that was such a popular analogy…” mumbled (Y/N).

“Don’t start using it.”

“Do you think you have a chance?” questioned Makoto scornfully.

“Nope, not thinking that,” answered Saiki frankly.

“Since you see her every day and can even say hi to her, you probably think that you’ll get married after a long courtship, right?” rambled Makoto.

“Not thinking that, either.”

“This is really detailed…” commented (Y/N). “It’s pretty concerning.”

“Stop dreaming, you scum,” said Makoto.

“I said I’m not, didn’t I?”

“She’s such a pretty girl. It’s just natural that you’re drawn to her just like hyenas to dead flesh,” said Makoto.

“In that analogy, Teruhashi is dead flesh.”

(Y/N) stifled a laugh.

“Kokomi isn’t just a pretty girl!” declared Makoto. “She’s a masterpiece created by God!”

“I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

“So the only one who’s suitable for Kokomi is me!” Makoto pointed to himself.

Saiki, and even ever-bubbly (Y/N), turned blank.

“What the heck is he talking about?”

“That’s just wrong,” said (Y/N), staring at Makoto. They were deeply disturbed

Even (Y/N) doesn’t like him. That meant Makoto was truly terrible.

“Your just her classmate,” continued the weird boy, “I’ve been by her side since she was born!”

“Yeah…because you’re siblings,” pointed out Saiki.

(Y/N) nodded, their face showing their growing concern (and disgust) for the state of Makoto’s mind.

“The one who’ll marry my sister is me!” cried Makoto.

“I see. So he’s a perv.”

(Y/N) shuddered. “Gross, gross, gross.” They edged behind Saiki slightly.

“I’ll never have some filthy nobody have my Kokomi!” Makoto had crazed eyes. “The only one who can lay their hands on her is me, her brother!”

How did his parents let him get this bad?

“Ahhh, Kokomi! I love you more than anyone else in the world does!” declared Makoto.

“Obsession doesn’t begin to cover this…” muttered (Y/N) uncomfortably.

“Don’t you ever get near my Kokomi,” sneered Makoto to Saiki, “Don’t try to make a harem with her and this teenager. Don’t even look her. In fact, don’t even breathe the same air she does.”

“Yare yare.”

Suddenly, they all heard a knock at the Saiki household’s front door. It gave (Y/N) and Saiki the perfect opportunity to escape the stifling room. They stood, but before they reached the door, Teruhashi herself opened the door.

“Kokomi?” exclaimed Makoto.

“What’re you doing here?” asked a frenzied Teruhashi.

“Wow, she easily figured out where he was,” remarked (Y/N).

Actually, I called her here.

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” repeated Teruhashi.

“Well, you were worried that Saiki and (L/N) got the wrong idea, right?” said Makoto, smiling innocently.

“What…? I didn’t tell you that…How did you…,” stammered Teruhashi.

“I always know what you’re thinking,” said Makoto. “You no longer have to worry about it. I explained anything.”

“I-I see. I’m gla— What?” she cried. Does that mean Saiki knows I was worried he got the wrong idea?!

She really isn’t concerned about (Y/N).

Makoto continued, “I’m always—.”

“Why…” said Teruhashi lowly. “Why did you have to stick your nose into this?! I hate you, big brother!”